Set during the summer between Graduation Day II and The Freshman

Set during the summer between Graduation Day II and The Freshman.

France is that way?

Part I

Buffy : And you with Harmony. What'd you do? Loose a bet?

Harmony : Hey.

Spike : Actually, how we met. It's a funny story.

(In the Harsh Light of Day).

The Skunk & Ferret Pub in Camden, North London, attracted a certain sort of clientele. By and large its patrons were every bit as grubby & unappealing as the décor and the beer, and every bit as dangerous as the food.

Above all the regulars didn't like strangers. The place was like an old fashioned gentleman's club, you were introduced to the regulars by an existing customer, usually in connection with some kind of shady dealings or simply because the new guy (no women allowed) was family. It wasn't really the sort of place you stopped off for a quick pint on your way to somewhere else, if you did you quickly learnt (once you came round, stripped naked and considerably poorer than when you went in) not to do it again.

Word quickly gets around and those who lived nearby knew never to go in unless by express invitation. These days the only ones who went in who weren't regulars were American tourists, who'd taken a wrong, very wrong, as it would soon become apparent, turning.

Danny McRae, a.k.a. Snide to his few friends, was baffled. He'd spent the last half-hour watching the stranger in total fascination. The man had swaggered in, already three sheets to the wind and looking like a refugee from the late 70's, and loudly ordered a bottle of scotch with the words 'Oi you, bottle of firewater pronto!' and had slapped a stained twenty pound note on the counter.

The other six drinkers in the place spluttered into their pints at the voice and gawped at the newcomer, who returned their stares and politely asked 'What the fuck are you tossers lookin' at?'

As one the group started to rise, McRae quickly motioned that they should sit down. It was not out of any concern for the suicidal bugger but more for the thick wad of notes the peroxide blonde man had peeled the twenty-pound note off. He'd get this one good and drunk before he and 'the regulars' helped themselves to the cash, and break the cheeky bastard's legs of course.

'Here you go sir,' he smarmed, putting an empty glass and a bottle of his cheapest whisky on the counter. 'You want any ice with that?'

The man just flicked the note at him, snatched the bottle and glass and went over to a table in the far corner and poured himself a generous measure. He downed it in one go and sloshed out another.

Maybe one of his arms needed breaking as well, and I'll have that nice leather coat too.

That had been half an hour ago and the berk was face down on the table babbling about someone called Dru.

McRae checked his watch, 11pm - closing time, he made his way round the bar and locked the front door. The other six hadn't moved, they where all watching the stranger. As soon as McRae finished locking up they left their drinks and followed him over to the intended victim. The man seemed unconscious.

Danny gave the table a hefty kick. 'Scuse me.'

'Fuk of,' gurgled the man.

Another kick. 'Scuse me pal, you from round here?'

'Yup. Born on Caledonian Road, always used to come round here.'

Danny looked back at his companions and grinned. 'How long ago was that,' he said pleasantly.

'Long time 'go,' mumbled the drunk.

'Didn't think I'd seen you before. Well, 'cept on the cover of a Sex Pistols album.'

The nameless thugs chuckled.

Danny leaned down until his face was next to the man's head. 'Thing is, we don't like flash gits coming round here being abusive and flashing money like they own the bloody place. Puts people off, and the language. There's little kiddies living down this road you know.'

'Fuck off.'

Danny picked up the empty bottle of scotch and smashed it over the drunks' head. The man yelled and fell to the floor, Danny followed up with a rib-shattering kick to his side. 'Coat and wallet,' he spat, 'and do something with your bleeding hair, Sid Vicious died years ago.'

He went in for another kick and suddenly the man's hand shot out grabbed his ankle, next thing Danny knew he was somersaulting backwards and landed on his friends.

The man got to his feet and he didn't seem so drunk. He looked down at the fallen seven and smiled at their look of horror at the ridges that had grown on his forehead.

William the Bloody grinned and displayed his fangs, 'Dying is one of the many things Sid and I have in common.'

Quinten Travers looked up from the report he'd been given five minutes earlier. 'Well,' he sighed, 'this not good.'

At being addressed, Detective Inspector Chapman stood vaguely to attention. 'No sir. Thought you ought to know, bit rare one them doing something so brazen in London.'

The Senior Watcher nodded thoughtfully. It had been a time-honoured practice of the Watchers Council to recruit and train local policemen throughout the world to their cause. Police Watchers provided a useful source of local knowledge as well as a swift warning system of demonic activity and a handy tool to steer the subsequent investigation in the wrong direction while the Council took the 'necessary' action.

However, it was very unusual to have rely on this resource in London. London was not only the capital of England it was the headquarters of a global society of sorcerers & assassins dedicated to eradicating all forms of hostile demonic life and therefore the safest city in the world in terms of the occult. The presence of the Watchers Council was an even better deterrent than a Slayer; there weren't many creatures foolhardy enough to foul their backyard.

Until now it seemed.

'Do we have any witnesses?' Travers asked the DI.

'Yes sir, we received an anonymous call from someone who heard a disturbance in the Skunk & Ferret - '

'You mean the screaming.'

'Quite. We'll never know who made the call, people don't like to draw attention to themselves where that pub is concerned, not that that'll be a problem anymore.'

'But the witness…'

'American tourist taking a taxi ride to the Tube station sir, the driver was taking him via a 'shortcut.' The yank says he saw some 'disfigured skinny blonde man in a long black coat' running down the street. The driver's playing deaf and dumb though, he thinks its some gang thing and doesn't want to get involved.'

'Good, lets make sure that's what the press think as well,' said Travers.

'Going to be difficult sir, those men in the Skunk were all of the large, tattooed and violent variety and they all had their hearts torn out and three were decapitated. Whether the press thinks its gang related or not there's going to be mass panic, this is London not Los Angeles.'

Travers shrugged. 'That can't be helped. But we can make sure whoever did this doesn't do it again, can't we?'

'Absolutely sir.'

'Do we know who did it?'

Chapman swallowed, he'd been hoping to avoid that one. 'Well, erm. I have my suspicions.'

'Enlighten me.'

'Well, baring in mind the American's description and the fact the vampire was singing 'God Save the Queen' by the Sex Pistols. And, well we've been hearing rumours and well…we think it's Spike.'

Travers jaw dropped. 'William the Bloody! In London!'

'Yes sir, sorry.'

The Watcher leaned back in his chair and groaned. 'We heard he was in Brazil.'

'He had been sir but given his involvement with the current Slayer I decided to check with our ex-man in Sunnydale.'

'Oh, yes,' said Travers without much enthusiasm. 'Wyndham-Price. We fired him.'

'Right, but I tracked him down - seems he's in Missouri at the moment trying to take out a ninety year old woman who's been practicing as a Necromancer without a license. Anyway, Price said that apparently Spike showed up just before he arrived to replace Rupert Giles as the local Watcher.'

'And he was going to inform us of this when?'

'Well, he wasn't actually present at the time and I think he's a bit upset that you fired him. Maybe he forgot to mention it, maybe he kept quiet out of spite. Spike was only there for 24 hours, came in, did a bit of mayhem, and left. Seems his lover Drusilla has left him and he's trying to track her down.'

'Oh god, she's not here as well is she?'

'Now Toby,' Spike said with a grin. 'Let's have another go shall we?'

Toby squealed and tried to back away, the chains were proving a hindrance in this.

'I don't know, oh Christ I don't know I haven't seen her for days!'

Spike sighed. 'See now there you go again. You don't have any demon blood in you do you? I only ask 'cause some species can regrow limbs after they've been severed. That's the only reason I can think of why you haven't told me what I wanna hear. Let's look, you've still got one foot and eight fingers left. I'm assuming the missing parts are going to grow back.'

Toby sobbed and gave a futile yank on the chain tethering him to the wall. 'Please William, please…'

Spike looked at his watch, two hours till sunrise and the commuters would start flowing in via London Bridge Station well before that. At first he'd thought it was funny setting up in an abandoned building on Crucifix Street, bit of cheap irony and it was close to Guys Hospital which had plenty of food that couldn't run away. But he was fed up with lame snacks. He was fed up with the non-stop bustle and noise of a busy train station during the day when he was trying to sleep. He was fed up with the loneliness that only Drusilla could remove and he was seriously pissed off with the craven attitude of the vampires & demons in his hometown. All right, it had been a few decades since he'd been back to London but he couldn't remember the Watchers Council ever being that scary.

'Toby I'm really going to hurt you in a second.'

Toby waved the bloody stump where his foot had been. 'What do you call this?'

With a roar, Spike picked up Toby's severed foot and shoved in the human's mouth. Then he reached down and grabbed the remaining foot with both hands and twisted.

Toby screamed and thrashed around as the vampire slowly tore off his other foot.

'Now,' said Spike in a matter-of-fact tone as Toby rolled around in a pool of his own blood, vomit, urine and excrement. 'In the last five months I have travelled from California to London via Brazil, Guatemala, Haiti, Tijuana, Mexico City, Houston, Dallas and Atlanta. Do you know how difficult that can be for a vampire? 'Specially the flying part? I had to travel in a coffin in the cargo hold all the way from Atlanta to Heathrow; not too sodding comfortable let me tell you. I find Drusilla, the one person who brings something to my life other than a desire to tear the throat out of every bastard who annoys me! We agree to give it another chance and within one week she's gone again.'

He knelt down and stroked Toby's hair, the human was whimpering in his own private universe. Spike couldn't tell if he was listening or not.

'Just tell me where she is Toby,' he said softly. 'It's not like she's going to hurt you is it, you're dead already. The only option is how fast you're going to die.'

'Plu-please…'

'She was staying with that river demon, Nerk, when I found her. They were very pally, you work for Nerk, you drove her around. She liked you, she wouldn't want you to suffer. Where did she go?'

'Greshor.'

'I'm sorry?'

'Greshor, she ran off with Greshor. He-he said he was going to take her to his parent's' castle in Vladivostok.'

Spike sat down, he looked as though the words had winded him. 'Greshor.'

'Please kill me.'

'Greshok.'

'William?'

Spike stood up and very quickly stamped his foot down on Toby's right knee, it went crack.

'Greshok,' he said to the howling human, 'is a fungus demon. He has mushrooms growing between his many chins. And you are telling me that my Drusilla has left me for a 400lb bit of mould.'

Spike reached into his coat and pulled out a hacksaw. 'I think we're going to have to indulge in a bit of messenger shooting. Well, slicing really.'

'A troll?' asked Travers.

'Yessir, it was the only survivor,' replied Chapman.

'And where did you find it?'

'Under Blackfriars Bridge, sir. Nerk's gaff was by Temple Station. It's close to the river and trolls always make for the nearest bridge when they're scared.'

Travers sat back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. In this instance 'scared' could be defined as seeing a blood-splattered homicidally drunken vampire armed with molotov cocktails and a machete charge into the lobby of your hotel and split the owner down the middle.

'It took a while for us to find a translator, sir,' said Chapman. 'It was on a package holiday from Japan and didn't speak the lingo.'

'But we're sure it was Spike?'

'Absolutely. He was seen running out of the fire, killed a couple of policemen. Good lads as well so I'm told.'

'Ours?'

'No, just ordinary coppers, all the same…'

'Yes, yes of course,' Travers stood up and paced his office. Why destroy Nerk's? The river demon's establishment was an accepted no-go area for the Watchers and in exchange Nerk allowed humans, demons and vampires to reside there on the understanding that there would be no trouble. Nerk was harmless, inasmuch that he accepted the status quo in London. In every other regard he was a seven-foot spawn of Hell that could tear a bull in half. Why would Spike attack him?

Travers glared at Chapman. 'Was there anyone at Nerk's who shouldn't have been?'

The DI shrugged. 'Nerk always informed us when there was anyone 'questionable' staying there.'

'That means you don't know.'

'Well…'

Travers wandered over to the mini-bar in the corner of his office and poured himself a large brandy, he didn't offer Chapman a drink. 'You know what I think,' he said as he returned to his seat, 'I think Drusilla was staying there.'

'Drusilla?'

'Hmm, I think Spike has been looking for her. He asked Nerk if he knew where she was and Nerk lied. Spike found out about the lie and vented a bit of anger.' The Watcher downed his drink in one go. 'If she's eluded him I think we would should be prepared for his next little tantrum don't you?'

Spike wandered through the crowded area of Covent Garden. The humans milling around the overpriced curio shops or stood gawping at the fire-eating idiots performing on unicycles had no idea how lucky they were he'd been to Nerks. Finishing off that treacherous river demon and burning his fleapit hotel to the ground had temporarily sated his need to kill, if not his rage.

It probably wasn't a good idea to moving through such a busy tourist area, neither for his temper and because the blasted Watchers Council would now be watching out for him. Still, they wouldn't try anything blatant with so many witnesses here, so many innocent people.

It was at this point that a crossbow shaft went through his left shoulder.

Roaring in agony he span round and saw three men pushing their way through the screaming crowds, one of them was trying to reload his bow as he went.

A van rumbled around a corner and a dozen men, again armed with crossbows and all wearing metal collars, poured out.

Okay, now he knew why London was a safe place for humans.

He charged through the panicking crowds, lashing out blindly. He struck out at one woman, snapping her neck in the process. He grabbed hold of the fresh corpse and swung it over his left shoulder, covering his heart. A second later two crossbow bolts imbedded themselves in the dead woman's back.

Even with the extra weight he knew he could outdistance his pursuers. He leapt onto the roof of a parked car and jumped into a group of tourists. He landed heavily on one, who screamed out something in German. Ditching his human shield, Spike took off towards a nearby-parked taxi and threw the driver out. As he climbed into the drivers' seat he saw ten Council operatives running towards him in the rear-view mirror…

'Er, and then he put the taxi into reverse and backed into them as fast it could go,' said a nervous Chapman.

'Deaths?'

Chapman looked down at his feet. 'No, he didn't really have time to build up enough speed. He waited until they were almost on top of them before he did it. He jumped out of the cab and ran off toward Charing Cross Station. Samson had both his legs broken but it's not life-threatening.'

'No, I suppose not,' said Travers. 'Although that dead woman's family and the German lad who had three ribs broken and a lung punctured because of your incompetence might not be too bothered that Samson will walk again. WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING OF?'

Chapman took an involuntary step back. 'I-I…'

'Out with it man!'

The DI took a deep breath. 'We had a clear shot at him, sir. And I felt the high profile damage he's done since arriving deserved a high profile response and you know what the common herd is like, sir. They'd find all sorts of private explanations as to what really happened, they'd never think they'd seen a vampire being 'dusted.' There's always a more rational explanation.'

Travers stared at the man, how had he ever thought this cretin was suitable for this kind of work? 'The only thing that defies a rational explanation, Inspector, is your moronic actions earlier this evening.'

'But if we'd bagged him…'

'Well you didn't and know we have two needless civilian casualties…'

'Collateral damage, sir?'

'Shut up. Two needless casualties, a lot of unwanted attention and an extremely dangerous vampire that in all probability now believes he's free to do whatever he wants. And judging from our first response, I wouldn't blame him!'

After his escape, Spike made his way back towards London Bridge. Idiots, rushing him at him in such a crowded area. Clearly the Watchers had been resting on their laurels for too long. This was the feared and ruthless organisation that had reduced every vampire and demon in London to quivering wrecks? Pathetic!

He rubbed his injured shoulder; the bleeding has stopped almost immediately. Another 15-20 minutes it would be like it had never happened. Then, feeding time.

As he walked over the bridge a shrill giggle drew his attention. He looked down and saw a young couple walking hand in hand along the dark and virtually deserted South Bank towards the National Theatre.

Where the hell had they gone? It had taken Spike all of three minutes to reach the point where'd he last seen them. He heard scuffling and moaning coming from a narrow sidestreet. He grinned and leant up against the wall for a quick smoke. It would be 'impolite' to disturb them mid-coitus.

Suddenly he heard the man yelp and then something flew out of the alleyway and smacked into him, it was the woman.

Tangled on the floor he had just enough time to catch sight of the man jumping over them and race off, he was holding one hand over his neck.

'You pig!' shrieked the woman in a whiny Californian accent as she struggled to get up. 'Like hurting women do you?'

Spike, still on the ground, stared at up the girls' fangs and ridged forehead. 'You're a vampire?' he asked incredulously.

'He hit me,' the girl sniveled. 'And I only bit him a little. I would have sired him if he'd asked.'

'You're a vampire?'

'Duh! Fangs,' she said, pointing at her mouth.

Spike stood up and brushed his coat down. 'We must be getting desperate,' he muttered.

The girl looked him up and down and gave high-pitched squeal. Spike leapt back in shock and vamped out, ready for an attack. Instead the girl was just jumping up and down on the spot and started clapping her hands.

'This is so cool,' she said, resuming her human face. 'I haven't met a single English vamp since I got here. I just love your accent.'

Spike stared at her beaming and undeniably pretty, but undeniably vacant, expression. 'Yeah, well. We like to keep a low profile, 'softly softly catchee food'. No nibbling in alleyways that has more than one way out. Look, you're a vampire sweetheart, he shouldn't have been able to throw you like that.'

The girl put her hands behind her back and gave him an even wider smile. 'I'm Harmony.'

'Huh? Oh, er William, but you can call me Spike.'

'Spike,' she said with a playful expression on her face. 'That's a sexy name,' she said as she took a step forward. 'It has a kind of rigid quality to it.'

Spike tried to back up but the wall didn't want him to go any further. 'Er, well I've, er never had any complaints.' Something, besides the girl's brazen manner and her vacuous grin, was bothering him. 'I've seen you somewhere before haven't I?'

The girl shook her head, 'Not unless you've ever been to a crud hole called Sunnydale.'

Spike felt lightheaded. 'Sunnydale,' he said weakly. She looked newly sired as well; vamps developed a nose for that sort of thing. 'You don't know a Buffy Summers do you?'

'Oh the Slayer,' said Harmony dismissively. 'Yeah, her and her little dweebie friends and that weirdo librarian. It's creepy, someone so old that hanging out with a bunch of high school kids. I was totally her enemy at school, those clothes and her 'I'm from LA and therefore totally cool' attitude. Soooo passe! Can we can get some real fish & chips, I've never tried any before.'

'Y'what?'

'It is so cool here,' said Harmony as she took Spike's hand and led him back toward the bridge. 'I'm just stopping over till I go to France, I've always wanted to see France. You can get a train from Waterloo Station and it takes you under the sea and into Paris, how super is that. I got a ship to Ireland, then I took a ferry to South Wales, I didn't like Wales. But London is so cool and it's not just the big red buses or Beefeaters, they all speak American here, I totally hated learning foreign languages at school. Do you think they'll speak English in France?'

Chapman sat down in his station's canteen and dug into his fried breakfast like it was his last meal (you never knew, Quentin Travers was not known as a rewarder of failure).

'Guv?' Chapman looked up and saw Detective Sergeant Cunningham standing over him. Cunningham was a solid archetypal copper, a married grandfather in his early fifties and close to retirement. He was also the only other officer in Chapman's nick that worked for the Watchers Council or was even aware of the true nature of things.

'You heard about Covent Garden,' grumbled Chapman quietly.

'Guv.'

'Mr. Travers wasn't too impressed.'

'Well,' said Cunningham as he sat down opposite his superior officer and friend, 'Mr. Travers is a fat old twat who needs to spend a bit more time on the front line sir. Look at that mess in Sunnydale, dismissing Rupert Giles like that. Met his nan when I first joined the service, formidable old bird, her grandson is just the sort to take care of a modern slayer, specially an American one.' The word American was given the same sneering inflection that might be applied to words such as 'moron' or 'imbecile.'

'Now the Slayer doesn't want anything to do with us. Come to think of it we had two Slayers and what does Travers do? Puts a prat like Wyndham Price in charge of em!'

'Yes, well,' said Chapman as he devoured an artery-clanging mouthful of fried slice, mushrooms and bacon. 'Mr. Travers word carries weight with the Council and what the Council says goes. Mr. Giles is out and I'm not far behind him, unless…'

'Unless we take care of young William.'

'Right.'

'Hm. Sir?'

'Yes?'

'Do you want that sausage?'

'Spike, oh wow. You were the one who totally crashed parent-teacher night weren't you?'

'Yup.'

'Killed two slayers?'

'Well, modesty forbids…'

'So why didn't you kill Buffy Summers?'

Spike glared at Harmony and wondered for the fiftieth time that night how she could have survived as long as she had, as a human or vampire. She'd only been made six weeks earlier, a causality of some enormous scrap between Sunnydale High's graduating class (the last it seemed) and a couple of dozen vampires led by the town's Mayor, who was undergoing some sort of demonic transformation at the time. She'd woken up a vampire and was driven by one thing, to see France! France! What was so important about bloody France? As a child of the Victorian era, Spike had views about the French. He had views about most of the major European nations but the Frogs had a special rancorous place in his unbeating heart.

'Never liked the bloody French,' he muttered.

Like so many insults, either implied or spoken outright, the comment didn't even penetrate Harmony's dinosauresque hide. He'd had every detail of her excruciatingly drab life story within forty-five minutes of meeting her (and that included twenty minutes of sex near Tower Bridge). Since then she had wittered on endlessly about France. In a way it wasn't that surprising - she'd always wanted to visit it before her death and desires that were strong enough in life would stay with you as a vampire. But as a vampire you did find room for other needs, you had plenty of time to explore them after all. Harmony, however, was totally fixated with France. He was astonished she'd gone to the trouble of finding accommodation in London, and to be fair she'd done better than he had. He looked round at the sumptuous docklands penthouse apartment she'd acquired, it was very comfortable and had a perfect view of The Millennium Dome.

He'd gone for an abandoned lock-up near London Bridge, she'd killed a systems analyst who worked for Salamon Brothers (she was still in the fridge and tasted very nice, clearly a girl who had liked Bucks Fizz with her breakfast) and taken her flat.

Of course that was the problem, he could stay in his quarters for weeks, months maybe. She could only hold on to this place for a few days, a fortnight if she was lucky before she was discovered. If she hadn't met him, the Watchers Council would have found and dusted her within the next few days.

He wasn't sure whether that would be a good thing or not.

In the plus column was the nymphomania, she was good looking, athletic and inexhaustible, and she was obviously as needy as they came. He could abuse her as much as he liked and she'd never turn on him. In the negative column was everything else about her.

He swigged the glass of twelve year old malt the flat's previous incumbent had bought and leaned back on the apartment's expensive leather sofa. 'So, before you go to France, anything you want to do in London?'

'Ooh, well I'd like to kill her boyfriend, Harry.'

'Her? The bird who use to own this gaff?'

'Yeah, the only time I met him was in a bar and that was just before I killed her. I didn't like him. He was mean.'

'The scoundrel, how was he mean?'

'He hit her in front of me, and he did it after she'd taken her smack. She couldn't have hurt him. He was just worried about his amara gem.'

Spike froze. 'I'm sorry, I thought…did you just use the word amara?'

'Yeah. Some jewel, it's not in France but she kept talking about it.'

'Hur-huh.' Omigod. 'Amara, right. The Gem of Amara that was what she was talking about?'

'Oh, yeah.'

'Right, did, er, did Harry…was Harry a vampire?'

'Oh, no but he thought he could sell it. I don't know where he is; he sort of screamed and ran away when I ripped his girlfriends' throat out last Friday.'

Calm, calm, thought Spike. 'Where can I find Harry?'

Harmony shrugged. 'Somewhere in the West End, he's a cop. His name's Harry Chapman…'

Chapman entered his bedroom, slumped down on the bed and buried his face in both hands. What an unbelievably miserable, pointless, exhausting shitty day it had been. Travers was on his case over the Covent Garden debacle, his Chief Inspector was demanding results over the mayhem in Covent Garden that he had instigated (he'd have to find a suitable crack-head to blame it on). And to top it off, no one at the Council was terribly impressed over the fact that a dozen or so experienced operatives now had to be transferred out of London, and in all probability the UK, due to the fact that they had been caught on a dozen security cameras rampaging through Central London firing crossbows in front of hundreds of witnesses.

It was times like this he wished he more that Cunningham's shoulder to cry on but he lived a solitary existence. His ten years with the Watchers Council had taught him that personal relationships in the vampire slaying trade were a painful distraction. He'd seen too many good people emotionally destroyed over the loss of a loved one to fall into the same trap. Even before he'd joined up to fight the good fight he decided that his career in the force came first and he didn't need to be worrying about a wife and kids as he did his job.

He had needs obviously and carried on a string of loose affairs with, well any woman with a pulse if he was strictly honest. Don't get too attached was his maxim, in and out ASAP and thank you very much.

Even that lifestyle wasn't without risk. He'd nearly soiled himself when that idiot American girl had turned out to be a vampire and killed Lucy last Friday. He turned up half an hour late and found her chatting to some tourist, and Lucy had been high as 747. He'd warned her about that junk, then she got lippy and it turned out she had actually been talking to the vampire about the gem he was looking for. She'd actually used the word Amara. He shouldn't have hit her and it was his own fault for mentioning it to Lucy in the first place, if she hadn't found his file on Sunnydale and the gem he'd never have needed to spin some yarn about attending a jewelry auction.

He'd never hit a woman before and was thoroughly ashamed as soon as he'd done it. Then the American girl got aggressive and started on about not hitting women and she vamped out. At that point Lucy started screaming and with a cry of 'Shut up, I'm trying to help you,' the vampire snapped Lucy's neck.

He had no weapons on him and no alternative but to run so he pushed the vampire over when it attacked Lucy and ran for all he was worth. Several large vodkas and three heart attacks later he realised the enormity of what had just happened. The vampire knew that he knew about the Gem Amara, more than that it knew that he knew where it was.

He was praying that the girl was too stupid to know what the gem meant, not an unreasonable assumption, but he had to move quickly. He had only spent five minutes in the company of the girl to know that she chattered on and on about whatever was in her head at the time, he couldn't risk her mentioning it to some demon or vampire smart enough to understand its significance.

He needed to get to California immediately. But how? Now that the Slayer was refusing to heed Council orders what excuse did he have for going to Sunnydale?

It had been pure luck that he stumbled upon the Gem's location. Six months previously he'd lead a team of Watchers in cleaning out a nest of vampires that had been occupying a house in Pitsea in Essex. The vampires had put up a fight, obviously, but with nowhere to run, the raid took place at midday, it had just been a matter of time. All in all it had been a great success; the Watchers suffered no major casualties and took only a few minor injuries. Best of all they managed to save three children who were being held in cages.

He'd been making one last sweep of the premises when he noticed the laptop computer. It was a strange thing for a vampire to have, with few exceptions they had no real use for technology. Clearly one of the dead vamps was one of these exceptions. Curious, he took the laptop and a pile of notes that the vamp had been making and a musty old book it had been working from.

He learnt from one of his men that the vampire who owned the computer put up the fiercest struggle and when it was cornered it tried to smash the laptop. What was it so desperate to hide?

Fortunately, in a way, he didn't need to report the laptop to the Council - all property removed from a nest had to be turned over, examined and catalogued (a regulation strictly enforced). The other six members of his team were all killed two days later when a drunk driver ploughed into the van they were travelling in.

He decided to check his find before giving it to the Council and almost fell off his chair when he saw that the vampire had discovered the whereabouts of its Holy Grail, a gem that would render its vampire bearer invulnerable - even allowing it to stand in direct sunlight.

He knew the story of course, all Council employees did. Even after thousands of years of bloodshed and depravity the Amara Crusade stood out as one the basest episodes in vampire history.

In the 10th century, hundreds of vampire clans had travelled the known world searching for the Gem and essentially raped the life out of any area they came into contact with. Entire communities were consumed or destroyed as the questing vampires tore the world apart looking for their prize. Despite the obscene death rate the Crusade also served to drastically reduce the vampire population. Only one could wear the gem, and every vampire knew that it was going to be his. There were several documented cases of clans killing each other when they thought they had found the gem and then the last one standing would take the false bauble and charge headlong into the light or at an enemy without bothering to worry about defending itself.

The crusaders went almost everywhere, it was even rumoured that they got as far as Australia. They definitely reached the New World because that was where the gem was. Chapman spent several weeks going through the dead vampires' notes and found that it had been working from the journal of a crusading Finnish vamp called Lif. Lif had learnt of the gem's location and made a note of it shortly before his death.

Lif had been in Northumbria at the time when he encountered a vengeance demon called Anyanka. The demon spent its time avenging scorned women and had just ordered a man who had abused a nine year old girl to hack off his own genitals and consume them. The demon had been watching the vampiric crusade all over the world and looked on it with a mixture of amusement and rage. She had dispatched several vampires who had harmed women and Lif, the demon was pleased to note, had not killed a single woman, not one in his three hundred and fifty years. Despite his nature it seemed that Lif considered women, children and the elderly to be unworthy prey - he liked a challenge and only preyed on men in their prime.

Charmed by this, Anyanka told Lif what he needed to know. She had been told by her master, D'Hoffryn, that the Gem of Amara was real and it was buried in a tomb on the other side of the world, it was six thousand miles away on the far side of a continent unknown to the Europeans. The gem was to be found in a place called the Valley of the Sun, and none of the local demons knew it was there, best off all there were no vampires on this continent.

Lif didn't waste any time. Before setting off for this new continent he left a note of the gem's whereabouts in one of his journals, in case he died before he found the ring he wanted to ensure one of his kind would find it.

Lif's fate was recorded by another vampire, one who knew nothing of the gem. Lif commandeered a boat from Viking raiding party. He sired a quarter of the crew, being careful not to mention the gem, and bound the rest to be used as food for the three thousand-mile journey.

When the Viking boat eventually floundered off the coast of Nova Scotia, only Lif and one other vampire, Herg, were alive. The food didn't last the journey and the vampires were forced to cannabilise each other. Lif and Herg were the strongest two.

Tired and half-insane from hunger the two vampires charged into a nearby forest to escape the rising sun and devour the first animal they came across, unfortunately it was a bear.

Lif's quest for the gem ended in his own cloud of dust shortly after his arrival in the New World. He was so desperate for food he attacked a full grown male grizzly, which removed his head with a single swipe of its paw.

Herg fled and spent the next eleven years wandering lost in a harsh cold wilderness. Lif had told him they were searching for a treasure that could bring power and wealth to whomever possessed it, but didn't mention where, or what, it was.

Vampirism was the first plague brought to the Americas from Europe. As he travelled his new home, Herg fed off any native that crossed his path. One day he sired a young woman and then sent her on her way, she sired her five brothers, they sired their wives. Soon whole tribes were turned. Ten years after Herg's arrival one in twenty natives on the East Coast was a vampire.

The instant one Slayer dies another is called. Just as Herg and three other vampires were chasing down a fourteen year old girl through the swamp that would one day become Washington DC the current Slayer, wounded and half blind, was being mauled to death by a dozen hell hounds in Galway.

Herg's prey stumbled and fell; as the vampire lunged she screamed and in desperation kicked at him. Her foot hit the vampire in the stomach, to both her and Herg's astonishment, Herg flew backwards thirty feet and only stopped when he slammed into a tree and was impaled through the heart on a broken branch.

The other vamps watched Herg disintegrate. Then they looked at the baffled girl and attacked. After a few minutes the last vampire, minus its left arm, fled into the swamp to spread the word.

The first American Slayer had been chosen.

Lif's journal had been discovered recently in the ruins of an abandoned monastery that had been sacked by the Viking raiders he sired and Herg was known in the legends of the Native American vampires.

The vampire in Pitsea had found Lif's journal and had been researching the legend of Herg when Chapman's team raided its nest. It had almost completed a translation of Lif's writings when it was dusted.

Chapman's first instinct was to turn the information over to the Council. Then when he checked his reflection he saw pound signs in his eyes. He was tired of slogging his guts out and risking his life for unappreciative bastards like Travers and he was tired of policing for the same reason. No one had any respect for the law these days. Getting the gem would make him rich and finding a buyer would be no problem. He could even hold an auction and he could invite the Council to bid, the sort of money the stone would fetch could buy him a lot of protection.

He would have to go AWOL and head for Sunnydale and hope he located the gem before anyone knew what was happening. Travers had made it very clear that he was finished with the Council, so let Travers sort Spike out.

Rose looked down at the broken body of her husband. 'Funny,' she said as she wiped his blood from the corner of her mouth. 'You'd expect me to feel a bit upset, we only got married last year.'

'And how do you feel?' asked her sire, Dorian, a tall heavily built black vampire who looked to be in his mid-thirties.

Rose grinned. 'Full.'

Dorian and his gang laughed. They were the most successful group in London. The Watchers had been after them for years but they remained hidden, it was nigh on impossible for a nest to grow to more than four or five vamps before the Council came storming in to do some dusting. Dorian had sired a gang of eight.

Dorian put a paternal arm round his newest charges' shoulder. 'Get used to it luv because you'll never feel hungry as long as you are one of us,' he said as he led the young black woman around the East End garage that served as the gang's HQ. 'We're the meanest dogs in the South East.'

'Dogs, that'd be right.'

Dorian and his followers turned to look at the skinny peroxide blonde standing in the doorway.

Spike took in the scene with a look of utter contempt on his face. 'Dogs,' he snorted. 'Too bloody right you're dogs. Do you know what dogs that live wild do? They scavenge, make do with scraps.' He said the last remark as he stepped over the body of Rose's husband. 'What did he do eh? Looks like some petty crim to me, who'll notice he's missing, who'll care? No one, certainly not the Watchers, how are you going to build a rep when you snack off dross like him?'

Dorian lunged at the intruder, who left it till the last possible second to move. When he did it was to deliver a roundhouse kick to Dorian's head so hard the gang leader actually span in the air.

Spike looked at Dorian's astonished gang, no wonder the Watcher's hadn't bothered with them, one look told him all he needed.

Thieves and whores, junkies, the homeless and except for the one called Rose none of them could have been over fifteen years of age and none of them could have weighed more than seven stone when they were turned, male or female. He treated Rose's husband to another glance. They were feeding off their own kind as well and, probably not venturing beyond their own backyards where they were born. If they'd been picking off city traders or middle class students or tourists they'd never have even seen the Watchers coming. This was how the Watchers liked it, an accepted level of vampirism so long as it was amongst London's underclass.

'Now,' he said, as Dorian lay poleaxed on the ground. 'Seems to me that vampires in London have let themselves go a bit. Hiding in garages, only feeding on the same criminal stock that you lot obviously came from. Why aren't you out there carving a name for yourselves huh? This is the biggest city in Western Europe!'

Dorian's gang looked at each other. Finally, Rose said 'The Watchers…'

'Oh bollocks to the Watchers, I've seen the bastards up close and they couldn't stake me with the element of surprise and twelve to one odds in their favour. They've gone soft. I reckon they need a bit of a wakeup call as well, for their own good. Things in London are bit too sedate for my liking, we need to get this city jumping.'

Spike sat down on a stack of tyres and lit up a cigarette. Harmony came in and draped her arms around him. He blew smoke in the direction of the gang and treated them to a big lazy smile. 'And I think you kids, and Fagin here,' he said pointing at the groaning Dorian, 'are just the ones to help me do it...'

Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, and all characters are created by Joss Whedon and owned by him, Kazui Sandollar®, Mutant Enemy®, 20th Century Fox® and the Warner Bros. Network®. No copyright infringment is intended anywhere. This is a story purely for entertainment purposes. No profit is gained from this story. The author has no connection to Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series, except having a complete love for the show. No harm or copyright infringement is intended.