"You a friend of Spike's?" Twice in one night, but this time I asked alone.
"We have some friends in common."
This was getting more and more promising.
I kept the walk to the cemetery brisk. I knew my stamina wouldn't suffer, and I wanted him at least a bit winded. I paused near our crypt door.
"Tired?" I asked.
"Not really."
Damn.
"What did you say your name was?"
He looked at me squarely and without humour. We both knew he'd never actually said.
"Lindsey."
"And you know Spike from where?"
"A mutual friend sent me in this direction."
I'd had enough time to smell that the girl had left, but I couldn't be sure if the silence housed Spike. By now we'd made enough noise, and Lindsey had left enough scent that … I heard a heel make contact with concrete deep inside. Time to go.
"C'mon. We're almost there."
I took him to a modest two-person mausoleum, in no way connected with the network of catacombs that had evolved beneath the Sunnydale cemetery. He stood, arms crossed, outside the door. I gestured him into the darkness, taking careful time to watch his ass as he went inside. Lighting one of the torches that had been propped against the wall by the entrance, I tucked it into the makeshift sconce and positioned myself casually between the stranger and the fire.
Spike's footsteps heralded his approach. I started to smile well in advance of his arrival. As he reached the door, I turned to meet him. His hand took mine, and we moved to the bier near us, still effectively between Lindsey and both the exit and the potential weapon.
I pulled myself close to Spike as he sat. I nuzzled his neck gently, carelessly inhaling the staling smell of the girl. I figured it would be best to let the guys stare it out for a few more seconds.
And then they were done.
The vibe in the room gave Spike the home court advantage. Which was the way I liked it.
I decided to hench it up and walked over to Lindsey. I circled him, like I'd circled the girl earlier, but with less benign intent. He bristled with tamped-down hostility.
"So. Here's Spike." I leaned my breasts into his arm, as I breathed into his ear. His muscles were as firm as his demeanour. "What did you want from him?"
"I have an offer for you." He was addressing Spike, ignoring me entirely. I liked this man. He was fun. I moved around behind him, tracing my fingers through his hair. He kept ignoring me. "It's about your chip."
I glanced quickly at Spike. What chip? We hadn't really spent much of our time talking since I'd been vamped. But I could read his surprise. He hadn't expected this man to know about his chip either.
"How do you know about his chip?" I asked.
His smile was small and cocky. I ran my fingers over his shoulder. Nice broad shoulders, he had. Strong. Oh, and the heat that rose off him.
"A little bird told me," he said.
"Drusilla." Spike raised an eyebrow, and lowered it slowly.
I took a last sniff of Lindsey. Sweat and cotton and confidence. I rejoined Spike, perching on the bier next to him, and rested my hands on the soft worn leather of his coat.
"You weren't very nice to her when she last visited," Lindsey rebuked with mock concern.
"Things change."
"You hurt her feelings." It was obvious he didn't care. "But that's not why I'm here. I want to offer you a chip-related favour."
"You're one of those lawyer blokes she was on about, aren't you?" Spike laughed emptily. "Lawyers don't do favours."
Lindsey's smile became broad.
"Like you said, things change. I'm not one of them anymore. But I still have connections, and some of them are medical. I think we can be of value to each other."
"What's in it for you?"
"Your chip."
"And what would you want with my chip, then?"
"No need for you to worry about that." Lindsey was very matter of fact. "You can look forward to being able to attack humans again, once I get it out of your head. The rest is none of your business."
"Let's pretend it is, shall we?"
Spike's tone was both sinister and playful. But Lindsey didn't answer.
"You wouldn't happen to be thinking of using it on a certain tall dark and broody, would you?" Spike asked.
That got a reaction from Lindsey. Both men shared a moment of camaraderie - but it lasted no longer than their bitter laughter. He shook his head. There was silence again.
Spike spoke first.
"The answer's no, mate. Keep your hands off my brain."
Somehow Lindsey's narrowed eyes became even narrower and flintier.
"I'll give you a couple days to think it over."
And without pause, he left.
I looked at Spike, juggling this new information. I had become preternaturally good at reading people; every gesture, flutter of the pulse or change in body chemistry or language screamed at me with klaxon intensity. But I didn't have what I knew Spike had - the uncanny ability to put all of this into crystal-clear context; to work out the connections, the motivations, and how simplest to use this knowledge.
I knew he was tense, annoyed and disturbed. I did not know why, nor how this inhibiting chip fit into the picture. Maybe this chip stopped him from attacking humans, but why was he so vehement that I must leave them alone?
One thing I was sure of was what would make me feel less tense, annoyed, or disturbed.
"Do you want to go kill something?"
************
As usual, Spike seemed to be working from a shopping list of demons that needed killing. This particular scaly breed was a good candidate for knife fighting. I was especially excited, since I'd been practicing my two-handed knife techniques. Spike tucked a Japanese sword under his coat and looked at me.
"Sorted?" he asked.
I patted my knives and nodded, smiling. We were ready to play.
We took them by surprise. It looked to be an easy kill. I chose the smaller of the two, eager for the chance to finish quickly and enjoy watching Spike fight. But for that moment, all my concentration was on my new knife skills - learning is greatly complicated when you can't practice in front of a mirror.
I started the music in my head. This was a holdover from capoeira. I had dropped the ritual aspects of the art, bound up in life as they were. But the playful spirit of trickery they called malicia I kept, and supplied my own soundtrack to replace the traditional Bahian chants.
To the beat of the rhythm of the night,
Dance until the morning light
Forget about the worries on your mind,
You can leave them all behind
I promise you that it's much less cheesy when you're wielding six-inch blades and darting and slicing the life out of a hulking grey beast. Or maybe you had to be there.
My dance was soon over. I turned to watch Spike. His opponent was armed with a short vicious sword. Spike met every attack with a firm parry and a cut besides, driving relentlessly forward. He danced too as he fought, whether he realized it or not. The music of his fight was more impatient and sensual than mine. I imagined something Latin - a tango perhaps, or the insistent rhythm of the flamenco - as he blocked and slashed. He was enjoying himself. I could see it in the light of his eyes and the tilt of his hips - some of his earlier tension was draining away.
He was wearing his opponent down, backing it (him? her?) towards a wall. These demons I couldn't read, so I don't know if that was resignation I saw on its face as it became obvious there was no escape. Spike's sword bit deeply into the scales, separating much of the neck from its shoulders.
He turned to me, with ichor dripping from his hands. I tossed him a dubiously clean rag from a suspicious pile near me. He wiped himself as best he could before retrieving his weapon from the fresh corpse. That's why I fight in pleather. I'd hate to ruin good leather.
An expression was sneaking onto his face - my favourite expression. It was half smile, half smirk, all sex, all Spike. His eyes sparkled, and I couldn't help smiling in response.
"You were right, kit," he said. "I do feel a bit better."