Bleakgrave smiled a cold, disturbing smile at Charlie, and Spike wasn't sure he'd ever been so creeped out by a villain in his life. And technically being a villain himself, that said a lot. It might have been the bright clashing attire the man was wearing, or that the tosser was just downright frightening when he opened his mouth.
"Such a bright girl," Bleakgrave said, in a deep timbre made for the stage, "Though not quite bright enough. I'm guessing you didn't figure out that once I'd gotten your family line down to two, I could start taking some short business trips out of my cell. Took me a while to realize it too, but the last month or so has been marvelous."
Well, that pretty much explained everything that had happened in Sunnydale over the past few weeks.
"You bastard," Charlie snarled, and Spike watched her knuckles begin to turn white as she dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands.
"Well, well, well! Someone's got pluck. Really don't like to hear filth like that coming from a lady though," Bleakgrave said condescendingly, pointing his wooden spoon at her. Though the blunted spoon realistically posed no danger, Spike saw the threat in the gesture and stepped in front of Charlie, bristling with animosity and defensiveness.
"Well I've got a couple for you, you ugly fuckin' mustard whack-toad. An' you're gonna wish-" Spike's mouth continued to move but he was no longer speaking. He clutched at his throat, trying to make any sound come out, and Bleakgrave calmly tilted his head to watch Spike like an insect under a magnifying glass.
"Vampire protecting a human, huh? Interesting. It might be fun to tear you apart and see if there's a soul inside. Not that I need another one right now. Regardless, I don't need commentary from the hecklers. I've always thought it was ru-" Bleakgrave's speech was cut off as his body seemed to disappear and reappear like a television signal. He materialized again seconds later, and patted his arms as if to make sure he was still solid.
Spike took the opportunity to lunge at him, but the magician flicked his hand and Spike flew against the cabin wall, as easily as a kid throwing one of those hand-on-a-string toys at a window. And just like the sticky toy, Spike was held firmly against the roughly cut logs, unable to break away. Bleakgrave's body flickered again, almost imperceptibly, and Spike could feel the invisible binding slip a little as he wildly strained against it.
Bleakgrave let out a frustrated sigh and turned back to Charlie. "Looks like we're going to have to make this a brief performance. Your family did this to me, Charlotte, and I'm rather sick of the hell dimension. Did you know that the only thing to wear are these tracksuits, and every day it's Spam. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. No liquid to wash it down. I've had dry mouth for over half a century."
"Sorry the dress code and the menu aren't up to par with the opera house. You deserve to rot in the lowest level of hell for the things you've done," she spat, giving the magician an enraged glare that Spike didn't think could possible be coming from the girl he knew.
"Now that's where I disagree," Bleakgrave said, stirring the chili again. He took a tiny bite, grimaced, and plucked a jar of cumin off a spice rack, shaking it generously over the tomatoes and beef in the pan. "People loved me. I was doing a service, entertaining them, delighting and terrifying them with what I could do. What kind of boring, mundane world has everyone been living in since I was so sanctimoniously locked in a cage? Power and magic doesn't come without a cost, and my cost just happens to be a couple of souls. Small price for so much art."
"How can you call it a cost?!" Charlie exclaimed, horrified, "It's murder, not currency, and it makes you a vicious monster! You're not an artist!"
"I don't expect someone as insignificant as you to be able to understand. It's my duty to keep performing, and the show must always go on, whatever it takes. And I have to be the best. Always the best."
Spike was itching to do some serious damage the man's smug face, see him try to be the best if he looked like roadkill. As soon as I find a way to end my stint as a sodding vampire wall-mount, Spike thought as he glanced sympathetically at a deer head that was displayed on a plaque over the fireplace.
"You're the best, huh?" Charlie asked Bleakgrave in a very doubtful voice, "Then fix her. Put Carol's soul back in, let her live and prove that you're as powerful as you say you are."
The magician chuckled. "You don't really think I'm that stupid, do you? Go through all that effort, just to undo what I've done to satisfy my ego?"
"Yeah, that's what I thought. You can't do it."
Bleakgrave didn't respond right away, busying himself with stirring the pot clockwise. Though the magician didn't seem to show signs of being bothered, Spike could tell he getting upset by the increased effort he put into the gripping the spoon. Just as he began to feel hopeful that Charlie might have successfully baited Bleakgrave into reversing his latest atrocity, the man launched into another tirade.
"I suppose under a different set of circumstances, I could give you a real show. It's in my blood you know, this passion, these abilities I have. Passed down from multiple generations. There was an actor or two in the family as well, my mother's side. Fantastic monologues, from what I'd been told," Bleakgrave said, looking nostalgic. "But I digress. I should probably get to the point."
"You mean there's actually a point to your insane rambling, Bleakgrave?" Charlie scoffed, "Surprise me."
He smiled, "Sure thing, Charlotte."
A glowing blade appeared in his hand, and before Spike could process what was happening, it shot away from Bleakgrave with supernatural force, striking Charlie in the stomach.
Spike roared silently, thrashing at his unseen bonds, but to no avail.
"Get it? Point? Ah, well, comedy was never really my strong suit. See, it's not personal," he said, flickering slightly again, then suddenly breaking into a fit of laughter, "Who am I kidding? It's totally personal! Your own stupid great-great-great-whoever signed your death warrant when she made your bloodline the lynchpin for the spell. What did she think was going to happen? That I wasn't going to figure out how to break it? I'm the Bewildering Bleakgrave, I can do anything, and there's no force that can hold me forever."
He tapped the spoon against the side of the pan, and wiped his hands on his apron."Now, you've got this whole slow-and-painful-death-by-gut-wound thing under control, right Charlotte? I'd stay but it feels like my time's up for the moment. Oh," he said, turning to give Spike a slow smile, "and enjoy the chili." Bleakgrave vanished from thin air.
Spike's invisible restraints lifted immediately, and he fell to the floor on his hands and knees, just as Charlie sat down heavily on the rug beneath her feet. She touched her shirt with confusion, and as she moved her fingers away, Spike could see they were coated with blood.
"Did he… oh. I think I'm… I think he…"
Spike rushed to her side. "Let me see, pet," he said, lifting her shirt so he could inspect the damage. The knife seemed to have disappeared along with Bleakgrave, but the wound was very much still present. Blood trickled all around the incision in oozy streams of carmine, pooling in his hands as he helped her lie down against him, her head resting in his lap.
He shed his coat and pulled off his thin t-shirt, pressing it tightly to her stomach and watching with near panic at how rapidly it became saturated. The air filled with a thick, coppery scent, and he tried to ignore the fact that his mouth was watering and his stomach was rumbling in hunger.
"It's bad, isn't it?" she asked, looking up at him.
He didn't know what to tell her. Knew he needed to keep her calm though, while he figured something out. "No, not so bad. A scratch is all. Just rest for a tic, luv."
He wracked his brain for some way to get her out, get her to a hospital. Or maybe he could get help to come here. Could he stitch her up himself? He looked around the room for anything that could be of use. It didn't look promising, and even if it had, a sewing kit would merely allow him to knit surface flesh back together, not delicate internal organs.
"Liar," she whispered, tears spilling out of the corners of her eyes, "I feel it now. Hurts."
"Thought those soddin' tattoos were supposed to do some measure of protectin' you, Charlie," he said unhappily.
"Guess not."
She cried out as he adjusted his position to grab a thick dishcloth hanging off the edge of a washbasin, swapping the heavier fabric out with his soaked shirt. "Just need to slow the bleedin', pet," he said, stroking her hair in an effort to pacify her. "How'd your mum-in-law get in touch with you anyhow?"
"Phone."
He saw the antique rotary phone sitting on an end table, and wondered how he'd missed it. Compared to the provincial decor of the rest of the cabin, it was practically futuristic looking.
"Right then, interdimensional phone call it is," he said, carefully wadding his leather coat up under Charlie's head and getting up to dial the number to the Magic Box.
It barely rang once before Anya picked up. "Magic Box," she said cheerfully.
"It's me. Need to talk to the Slayer. Or Red, got a situation," he said, trying to keep his voice calm so as not to upset Charlie.
Anya's tone changed to one of annoyance, and he could hear her rifling through things as she spoke. "Well they're not here, so you get to talk to me."
Spike released a torrent of expletives under his breath, "Where'd they get off to?
"Charlie's apartment, obviously. I'm supposed to stay here and wait for you to show up, they said be back if they didn't find her, blah de blah. Didn't even ask if I wanted to go with them."
"Bloody hell," Spike growled. He picked up the entire phone and realized that it wasn't even attached to a line, so he walked to the other end of the cabin carrying the whole thing. "They need to call the second they're they're back. Went through a portal at the factories and Charlie's cut up somethin' bad, need some of Red's mojo or a med kit and need it now."
"I knew it! I knew she was going to open a portal!" Anya declared victoriously, before switching back to her usual tonality. "And fine, I'll tell them to call. But honestly, I don't see why I should be helping her because she stole merchandise, and I could have gotten fired! I'm really offended that she didn't even consider what could have happened to me."
"Just fucking do it, Anya!" Spike yelled into the phone, rattling off the phone's number that was taped to its front. The digits to Charlie's apartment were the only other numbers listed on the post-it, and he let the phone ring for a few minutes before giving up. He dropped the handset back onto the phone cradle and left it on the floor, running his hands through his hair in an effort to calm himself down.
Charlie was looking at him worriedly from across the room, and he gave her a smile that he didn't remotely feel. "Don't fret, luv. Jus' gonna wait it out, they'll ring and come fix you up, and you'll be right as rain."
He settled back down with her for a while, still quietly stroking her hair and mentally willing the phone to ring. The dishcloth became fully saturated, but he kept pressing it to her stomach, noting with growing dismay that her lips were turning blue.
"Tell me a story?" she asked, after what had felt like a decade. Couldn't have been more than a quarter of an hour.
"What kinda story?"
"Don't care…"
"Right then." He racked his brain for a tale that didn't involve murder, blood, and carnage, and wasn't left with many options. "Well, once upona, there was a cute little girl and her brother, and their mum went out to get them somethin' to nosh on or what have you. So while mum's gone, this barmy cat and his mates come along and start doin' all sorts of tricks, breakin' mum's things and makin' a shambles out of the house. And there's this fish fellow in a bowl, real dull chap, who's tryin' to ruin the fun."
Charlie let out a noise that might have been a laugh, "Cat in the hat."
"Cat's in what hat?"
"The story," she took a deep breath, wincing, "Kid's book."
"Oh, didn' know that's what it was called. Jus' liked the cheeky cat who wrecked the place."
She gave him a fleeting smile, cut short when she began shaking, the tendons in her hands grinding as she clenched her fists, shallowly gasping and trying her hardest to endure what he knew was agonizing pain. He stared angrily at the phone. Even if the slayer called now, there'd be no way help would arrive in time.
"Charlie… don't know what to do," he said, at a complete loss, "Tell me, what can I do?"
"Please-" she whimpered, "Don't- don't let me- I don't want to… hurts so much."
Saving the life that she had now was already off the table. He knew that, just hadn't let himself think about it. But there was one option left, one way she could live. Sort of.
"Have to bite you, luv... won't let it hurt though."
Her eyes locked on his, and he felt as though he'd fallen head first into the depths of her gaze when she whispered, "Trust you."
The two little words filled him with a sense of unexplainable euphoria, as though he'd been searching for such words forever and had captured them at last. He leaned down, and she closed her eyes as he caressed her face with his fingertips, brushing her hair away from her neck. He hoped she was right about the chip not working, or else he was in for the worst headache of his unlife.
"Spike…" she breathed, laboring to speak, "thank you."
"Hang tight, luv, time to sleep," he cooed in her ear.
And then he sunk his fangs into the soft flesh of her neck and drank, without a twinge of pain radiating from his chip. He was a dying man in a desert getting his first sip of water, a monk scorched alive and submerged in a bath of healing salve. He drank until her heart stopped beating, then he tore at his wrist and let his own blood drip past her lips.
Her taste was so ambrosial that even after he had done all he needed to do, he found himself craving her, and again passed his tongue over the two small punctures he'd made. A memory tore into him like deja vu, and visions of campfires, radiant colors, bloodied throats, and burning wagon wheels filled his head. Thoughts and sounds and screams came rushing back and it was then that he realized he had tasted her before.
Not her exactly, but he tasted it in her blood. A hundred years ago he'd reveled in the flavor, wiping out almost an entire tribe of gypsy folk with Dru and Darla, for cursing Angelus with a soul when he had taken their most beloved daughter. There was no doubt in his mind who Charlie's family was, and it shook him to his very core.
Kalderash.
She was a Kalderash.
