Chapter 7
"Why do you want your soul back?" Kyeema asked as she drew another line across Spike's cheek, and then dipped her fingers back into the small bowl she carried in her left hand.
"Why do you think?" Spike snapped, more to take his mind off the fact that he'd become a living canvas than anything else. It didn't help much, the blue-black paint she used itched and stunk of herbs too much for that, but at least it kept him from scratching at the goop. He knew enough about rituals to know that if he so much as smudged her artwork she'd more than likely have to start all over, and he didn't think he could sit still for that long again.
Though, for one of the few times in his unlife, he was glad he didn't have a reflection. Probably looked ghastly, like the garbage called modern art. Never could see how a can of soup became a masterpiece.
No sense of taste at all in this century.
"To win the love of a woman?" Kyeema asked with a distant shrug, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice when she added, "Or a man?"
Spike felt more than heard the growl start in the back of his throat, and he quickly swallowed it back down. "No. I'm not doing this for anyone else."
Kyeema stopped, her finger hanging just beyond his nose. "Are you sure…?"
Tara appeared in his mind, followed by the image of her holding hands with the brunette. "Sure enough."
Kyeema nodded and slashed at his nose with her finger, leaving one last line. She looked him over to check on her handiwork, then nodded and closed the lid of the jar. She settled across the fire from Spike. "Then why?"
Spike watched her through the dancing flames. She'd had him build the fire first thing, and while it wasn't as impressive as the bonfire down below it was still good sized. He didn't need it, but a frozen witch wouldn't help anyone. At least he hoped she was a witch, 'cause he hadn't seen any sign of it so far. Not counting the finger-painting.
"Why don't you tell me?"
He could almost hear her sigh, even over the wind and the popping of the fire. "It's not my quest, William."
He felt every muscle in his body tense, ready to launch himself to his feet, but he was careful not to make any sign. He'd never said his name, been careful not to. Never could tell when he'd run into someone with a grudge. "Do tell how you know my name."
"Magic." With that she reached into the pouch around her waist, pulled some small knickknack out and tossed it at him. The toss was sloppy and would've gone flying over anyone else's head, but Spike managed to move fast enough to catch whatever it was out of the air. The object felt small in his hand, no bigger than a wallet, and smooth. He opened his hand and saw the purple and white cell phone. "Mal told me."
He tossed the phone back; careful to make sure it landed in her lap. "Have to say, this takes some of the wonder out of it."
"We aren't savages, William. Despite what you and yours think."
"Never thought that. And as far as mine are concerned, you lot aren't savages so much as finger food."
"Food with a kick, I hope."
"Wouldn't be as much fun if you weren't."
Kyeema grinned and bowed her head to the compliment. "You still haven't told me why you want your soul."
Spike grimaced and sat back on the balls of his feet. "Thought it would be pretty self-evident."
"Because you're a vampire?"
"Right in one. 'Less I misread my lack of pulse."
"That still doesn't explain why you want your soul."
"You need me to spell it out?" Spike asked as he skewered the woman sitting across from him with a look of incredulity. "I don't want to be a monster anymore. I want to be a man."
"You aren't?" Kyeema asked with badly feigned surprise. She looked him over, studied him in a way that would've been flattering if she wasn't fighting back a smirk. "Then you're a very good imitation. A touch too pale for my tastes, though."
"You know what I meant."
Kyeema nodded. Good thing, too. He was a half second from going down the mountain and talking to the man she'd replaced. Fellow might not be all there, but it'd have to be easier than talking to this woman.
"Yes. I just don't know why you think you need a soul."
"Haven't you been paying attention? I-am-a-vampire."
Kyeema reached down and stoked the fire with a stay stick. "So?"
Spike jumped to his feet. "What do you mean, 'so'? Are you a complete idiot?"
"I'm the idiot?" Kyeema glanced up, but didn't stop working on the fire. "At least I know what a vampire is."
"I know what I am," Spike all but spat out. "A demon in sheep's clothing."
The muscles in Kyeema's shoulders tightened. "No, you're not. At least not completely. You really don't know, do you?"
"'Course I do," Spike snapped, finally losing what little patience he had. 'Course what did he expect, she was a woman. And a witch to top it off. Probably couldn't find a more stubborn mix if he tried. "I'm a demon who has the memories of my old self. Nothing more."
"So the Watchers say."
Sure, he knew the Watchers were a bunch of prissy nancy boys – well, except for Rupert, not that he'd tell the man that – who'd lie as soon as tell the time of day, but everyone; other vampires, demons, the magic types, said the same thing: Vampires were demons in the bodies of dead people. End of story.
And what did this girl know anyway? Sitting half naked on a mountain when it was almost freezing out and babbling on with a vampire weren't exactly signs of being right in the head.
Signs he knew all too well after a century with Dru.
Just his luck to get here right after the man who knew what he was talking about lost his marbles. Probably would've been fine if he'd come a year earlier. Instead he got this half-wit…
"Fine. If I'm not a demon, what am I?"
"Look for yourself." With that Kyeema tossed a last handful of something into the fire. The flames turned a dark blue and shot up an extra ten feet before settling back to a blaze that reached his chest.
The heat that poured off far outstripped the size of the flames, hot enough to force Spike back a half step. He would've retreated further if he hadn't seen Kyeema and realized she hadn't reacted at all to the inferno that licked at her face.
Then he saw something moving in the flames between them, a green shape that didn't belong. The fleeting glance was enough to draw him closer, despite the heat. The closer he got, the clearer the picture became until it was like looking through a pane of glass. Inside he saw a demon with sickly green skin. It was shaped like a man, but was clearly a good bit bigger and stronger with dark green skin. As he watched the demon launched itself at a group of humans, scattering them. All except one unlucky woman who it knocked down and pinned to the ground…
"It lives for the hunt," Kyeema explained, and somehow Spike knew she was watching him with the same intensity he was watching the demon, "the penetrating wound, the blood rush."
The woman let out one last scream as the demon bit into her neck, ripped into it until her blood flowed like wine.
"It is death, incarnate."
The demon looked up and howled its victory into the sky, and for the first time Spike saw it's face, the familiar but much more pronounced bony ridges that lined its brow and the yellow eyes. He shook his head, denying the truth despite having it thrown in his face. Then he finally noticed the lattice of black that lined its torso, exactly matching the pattern Kyeema had painted on him.
"It's me," Spike said, his throat dry even as the demon feasted.
"No. It's an animal. Mindless."
"Until it took mine. William's."
"You still don't understand," Kyeema said, disgust in her voice as she rose to her feet. "It's a part of you, this thing beneath, but it isn't you.
"You are now, and have always been, William."
