Dark Alchemy

by Liquidram

A new threat comes to Sunnydale in a very attractive package.

3. Chapter 2

chapter two

Little One	The harsh screech of bus brakes jolted Marcus awake. He opened his eyes and for a moment was lost, the scratched wood veneer on the bedside table was unfamiliar. He mentally shook himself out of the dream that still called, misty shapes of terror reaching out to him with fingers of ice chilling his mind, refusing to let go. He slowly lifted his head to look at the clock, then collapsed back on the pillow. He'd slept later than he intended, but he could have easily slept for another hour. As he rolled on his side, he noticed graffiti from a former visitor, scratched on the wall behind the nightstand. He sighed. His long form lay spread-eagled face down on the white bed, his white cotton boxers blending in with the sheet tangled around his form, looking like dismembered parts lying by each other as if by habit. Like Humpty Dumpty, he had had a bad fall and was waiting to be put back together. Marcus roused himself wearily and staggered into the bathroom. At last, a shower. He had looked forward to one for quite a while. Marcus just hoped that this rundown motel would have enough water in its tanks to scrub the grime from his body. He didn't even care if it was hot - in fact, a cold shower might wake him up. His hand on the doorknob, Marcus was about to close the door when he thought better of it. Besides, he thought ruefully as he reached over to turn on the faucet, if someone goes to that much trouble to pick the deadbolt on the room door, they deserve to see something for their efforts. He slipped off his boxers and stepped into the small brown and orange tiled cubicle, sighing in pleasure as the frigid water cascaded down. For a few moments he just stood, eagerly soaking in the water like a tropical plant after a drought. A large daddy longlegs sat in the upper right corner of the shower. Marcus idly watched; he appeared to be watching Marcus as well, though he seemed just as inclined to react as Marcus did. What do you call female daddy longlegs, he wondered as he gazed at the fragile spindly limbs and gray bulbous body hanging in the center like a ripe fruit. Mama longlegs sounds like a hooker name and sister longlegs seemed vaguely religious. Marcus smiled at his silly reflections and allowed his thoughts to drift as he stood under the pouring water, not noticing as the thick stream of water got thinner and began to abate. "Shit." Marcus cursed the exhaustion that had made him pick the first place he saw. The flow stopped completely. He began twisting the faucets frantically not caring what temperature of water came out, just as long as he wasn't left with half his body covered in dried soap crud and the other half still grimy. The pipes hiccupped and a quick thin spurt of water jetted out, rather like the shower was urinating. It didn't last long, but it was enough to rinse the drying soap from his body. He repeated this several more times to wash and rinse his hair; this long awaited leisurely shower turned into a thorough scouring followed by a mad race to put as much of his body under the brief spurt as quickly as possible.
Humanitas	Marcus came out of the shower, got dressed, and shoved his few belongings into his rucksack. Better to stay a different place every night, keep the wolves off the scent. He paused at the door, noticing the deep scar in the doorjamb. He was briefly assailed with an impression of that dark-haired girl. Her angry face flitted across his exhausted vision, cruel rather than the forlorn expression she always displayed in his dreams. He shook his head to clear the vision.
Brian	Simon figured the best library would be at the local college. It was only fifteen minutes from the bus station, and soon he was wandering the green lawn of a medium-sized university. Which one is the library, Simon wondered as he abruptly turned and banged into someone. It was a young girl with long brown hair. Both figures echoed apologies at the same moment, then laughed. "I guess I better put blinkers on my shoulder when making such abrupt U-turns," Simon told her. The girl laughed again. "No problem. Probably my fault anyway. I wasn't watching where I was going." "Do you know where the library is?" he gestured toward the maze of campus buildings. "Uh-huh, it's right over there in that green building right after the quad. Aren't you a little young to be going to college?" she replied flirtatiously. "Aren't you?" Simon winked at her. Simon liked her smile. It was so open and friendly. She went on her way, and he dropped all pretence and stared over his shoulder at her. There was something there, but he couldn't figure out what it was. He was certain it wasn't just because she was pretty. It was something else. She seemed... familiar, somehow.
Liquidram	The old man gasped. He had tried to turn over in the bed, but the joints and muscles in his back and neck were still stiff from his injuries. He slowly started the excruciating dance he was forced to perform every single day before he could get out of bed. First, an agonizing roll to the right and then to the left, continuing until the pain began to abate. Soon after, he could begin to sit up. Once up, he moved to the window in the tiny room and drew back the curtain to a small slit. The streets were empty. Closing the curtain, he once again thought of his dream, recycling the year's events one more time. The greatest task he had ever undertaken, and he had almost failed. He had been certain of his success until She arrived from nowhere. One second everything he had worked toward, everything he had sacrificed for, was in his grasp. The next, he was high-diving into thin air. He had bested the strongest vampire he'd ever known. Moments later, a tiny blonde girl had ended everything with a single leap. He'd doubted his plans for a while afterwards, but it had all turned out better than he'd expected... except that he did sometimes wish that damned vampire hadn't made it. The old man sat at the wobbly table and stirred sugar into his coffee. His injuries were severe enough to make him wish a few times he'd died, instead, but the strength skillfully hidden in this decrepit body prevented that release. He prayed to his gods daily but they were gone... or at least not answering. That didn't bother him; he'd outlived more than a few in his time. He was old, he reminded himself. There was work to be done, of the kind he could handle without too much trouble. A little more coffee, have some breakfast, and he'd be ready for visitors.
Humanitas	Ignoring the wind tugging at his jacket, Marcus turned his attention to his task. Finding his father's classmate couldn't be too hard, now that he'd come this far. He headed into town, stopping briefly at a corner coffee shop. It was there that he picked up the swirl of magick from the girls of the previous evening. Witches, I'm positive, he thought smugly. The trail from last night was fading already, but there was a much fresher one leading down the street, presumably from this morning. He followed a few blocks to a little shop on a side street. From across the street, he could see the large sign clearly: the Magic Box.
Solitude1056	Marcus hesitated, taking off his rucksack and leaning it against his leg while he tried to figure out just what he intended by tracking these two women. A dark shape moved in the corner of his eye, and he turned to watch, curious - only to see a brown person-shaped blanket dash out of an alleyway to his left and cross the street. Marcus gaped. It's not that cold, he thought. Who in the bloody hell goes around covered by a blanket? This town is bonkers. Then he saw the faint tendrils of smoke drifting in the shape's wake, and heard a nearly inaudible shout as the figure neared the shop. Too indistinct to hear, but clearly that same Cockney accent from the night before. And I thought the day couldn't get worse, he mused, frowning. Since when do vampires - let alone legends - do their shopping at the same two-bit magick store as a couple of young witches? In broad daylight? Marcus snorted in disgust. Even a neutered legend, at that. Marcus shifted his rucksack again and dug his hand down in his jeans pocket to finger the slip of paper. "This is ridiculous," he muttered aloud. He hadn't found his father's classmate, and he wasn't about to if he kept wasting time. Worse, his stomach was starting that familiar empty rumbling. What he needed, he decided, was a large grocery store, large enough that an unfamiliar face wouldn't be worth noticing. Eating on the go wasn't his preference, but in the circumstances, it'd suit. His limited time needed to be spent on priorities, and simple hunger didn't count as one.
Little One	"So now that we are all here, what's the chest-heaving commotion?" Xander asked, idly playing with Anya's hair. "Xander, please," Anya poked him to pay attention. "Pay attention. We have to choose an invitation style." "Right now?" Xander sighed and stared at the five examples laid out on the countertop. Willow exchanged an amused glance with Tara, who ducked her head to cover her responding smile. "I don't know, honey," Xander finally replied. "I kinda like that one. Got the swirly action on the border." Beside them, Giles finished reviewing the store's ledgers and looked at Tara, waiting for her to speak. "Last night," Tara stammered, "I...I...I don't know quite why or how, but last night we met someone. Someone who isn't quite..." "He reminded me of Dracula," Willow blurted. "Dark penetrating eyes," she said dreamily, by way of explanation. Tara raised her eyebrows at Willow. "A vampire?" Buffy said, puzzled. Both girls shook their heads, but before they could explain, a tinkling sound filled the room as the shop door was yanked open. Anya turned, smiling when she saw the huddled smoking figure stumble through the door. "Spike," Anya called out, motioning to the invitations arranged on the scarred mahogany counter. "Which do you like?" Beside her, Xander made a face. Spike shook off the blanket, glancing quickly at the different samples. "That one," he said, pointing. "I like the swirls in the border. Classic." Irritated, Xander glared at him. "Classic 'what' is the question," he muttered. "Like you'd know a fine invitation when you saw one." "She asked, didn't she?" Spike glared at Xander. "I'll have you know, I'm not just here to talk Miss Post about font styles, either. I'm here with some important information." "There's an onion shortage." Xander crossed his arms while Giles, behind him, looked bored. Buffy glanced at Giles and shrugged. "I don't think so, Bowling Boy," Spike replied. "Much more important. Important enough that I didn't even hesitate to dash into the painful, and might I add, quite lethal, sunlight? Nor did I even think once about myself in my mission to bring this pertinent information to you in a timely fashion." Spike struck a dramatic pose as the punctuation to his minor tirade. Anya smiled appreciatively, then glanced at Xander's face and ducked her head back to the invitations, rolling her eyes. "Uh, Spike?" Buffy pointedly glanced at the grease stained brown paper bag in his other hand. "Well, I... Look, a vamp's got to eat!" Spike replied indignantly. He stalked off to sulk on a tall stool in the dark recesses of the shop, just removed from where the Scoobies were huddled. "Let's get back to our discussion, shall we?" Giles pushed his glasses up with his ink-stained forefinger as he turned back to look at Tara. "So what's with the panic?" Buffy asked. "Another garden-variety vampire, movie-star wannabe -" "No, I..." "I know who you're talking about, and it's not a vampire," Spike muttered, crunching on a piece of battered onion. The six friends turned expectantly towards Spike. "Well, it's not!" he said irritably. They continued to stare at him. "I thought you would be less interested in the what-he-is," Spike said defensively, "and more interested in what he was doing following the girls home last night." Tara gasped and Willow instinctively moved to stand protectively beside her. Spike noticed, and nodded appreciatively to himself. "What do you mean? You saw him?" Willow accused. "Yeah, interrupted my hunting last night. He seemed like he was wanting to join in the fun but alas, my prowess had already vanquished the foe." He glanced up to see unimpressed faces. "Fine. Funny thing is...he knew who I was. Called me William the Bloody. Been a while since I heard that," he said, pensively, then, seeing their expressions, continued defensively. "I scared him, scared him good. He tried to saunter off, but I could see his knees knocking. Followed him to the girls' place where he stood for a moment, sniffing the air." "Sniffing the air?" Xander turned to his friends. "So we're looking for a peeping dark master wannabe?" Buffy gave Xander a strange look, then turned back to Willow. "His name is..." Willow piped up helpfully, then shut her mouth again and shrugged. "I didn't get his name. Oops." Spike shook his head, annoyed. "I didn't finish," he grumbled. "I didn't tell you his last stop." Buffy folded her arms and waited. Spike's voice was low, and tense. "He spent about five minutes standing in front of Doc's old apartment." There was a long pause as each person stared at each other, stunned. Finally, Buffy broke the quiet, her voice strained. "What was he doing?" "Not much, from where I was standing," Spike said. "He was just standing there, hell if I know what for. From there, he went straight to that dive over by the bus station. Stayed there, far as I know, until sunup." "I think this is more serious than it seems," Giles said, a note of anxiety creeping into his voice. "Tara, Spike, tell us everything you know and sensed about this thing." Tara began to describe what her senses had told her, and then Willow described meeting the man. The others listened intently, too intent to notice the tall figure across the street, walking away from the Magic Box.
Solitude1056	Marcus made quick work of the distance between the corner store and his destination, throwing the peach pits into the gutters as he finished the small meal. College students passed him on the sidewalk, curious to see one of their age headed so obstinately in the opposite direction. Marcus ignored their friendly glances, and picked up his pace. He was near enough, he could tell instinctively, and soon the small apartment complex was on his right. This was it, and that's the number on the door - but before he could congratulate himself, he looked through the front window to see nothing but boxes and furniture covered with sheets. Confused, he glanced around the empty courtyard. He's gone, Marcus thought, and it doesn't look like he's been back recently, nor like he intends to return soon. Marcus stared through the window as long as he dared without a neighbor getting suspicious, and then walked a few paces to a nearby bench. It was a few minutes before he moved again. He took out his notes and a pen, and carefully drew a line through the last name on his list. That's all of them, he thought.
Marie	There they go again, thought Dawn as she saw her sister and her friends through the shop window. They're always talking about something important, and I'm never there when they do it! Bet they shut up when I walk in. Suiting actions to thoughts, she shoved the Magic Box door open abruptly. "Whatcha doin'?" Dawn smirked wryly when everyone's heads turned sharply from the huddle around the counter. "Nothing," Buffy replied. "Why aren't you at school? Don't you know I could get into trouble if you just take off whenever..." "It's Saturday!" Dawn rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Oh. Well, okay, just don't-" "- Touch anything... I know!" Dawn plopped into a chair at the table and glanced over at the vampire. "Hi, Spike." "Hey, Little Bit. Seen any strangers hanging around?" "Spike..." warned Buffy. "What? She needs to know if there's some stranger knockin' about who could have a connection to Doc." Dawn paled at the mention, and shook her head. "I haven't seen anyone like that, though I did bump into a cute-looking guy just now on my way here from dance class." "Cute looking, huh, Dawnie?" This from Xander. "How old was he?" "About my age, I guess, though there was something in his eyes... Sorta, well, sad." "Well," said Willow, "it couldn't've been the same guy. This guy was at least in his twenties. Buffy, we haven't told you the strangest part. He felt just like you!"
Solitude1056	Marcus was down to one option, and it wasn't the most pleasant but it might serve some of his purpose. Shouldering his rucksack yet again, he pulled into himself, leaving only a bit of his awareness open for the possibility of another attack. Retracing his steps towards the college, he paused long enough to inhale the sweet scent from the two witches before opening his awareness further and listening closely. There, down that street. Marcus followed the inner scent, pacing himself as he listened for the distant moaning that would warn him of his pursuers, but the streets were still. Two more doors, and a set of low steps down to the basement apartment. I should've known, he sighed, and pushed open the door, fighting off a sudden sense of defeat. "Uncle?" Doc glanced up from his cup of coffee, blinked twice, and nodded absent-mindedly. "Come in, boy. Coffee?" When Marcus nodded, Doc pointed to the pot. "You were sight-seeing, I imagine. I was expecting you hours ago. Last night, even." Marcus dropped his bag on the floor and poured himself a cup of coffee. "I was busy." He kept his back to his uncle, hiding his irritated expression. "Mmm-hmm." Doc hummed tunelessly, turning a few more pages, apparently forgetting Marcus completely. The young man twisted his lips sardonically and cleared off an overstuffed chair. Folding his long legs under him, Marcus sat down to wait. Another minute or two, and Doc slammed the book shut. The echoing noise was a thunderclap in the cramped apartment. Marcus continued to sip his black coffee without reacting, and Doc smiled suddenly, a warm expression. "My, my. Years pass. You have your father's height, my boy. At least you got your mother's eyes." Marcus paused, then smiled back at his uncle, almost despite himself. Of course, he thought, he'd have to bring up Mother. Another sip of the bitter blackness, and Marcus began to relax. Part of it was sitting down in relative safety, and part of it was the somehow comforting smell of his uncle's study - mothballs and old man's cologne. Doc let Marcus sit in silence, humming at points as he shifted awkwardly in the chair. Marcus ignored the twinges of discomfort his uncle displayed, knowing full well Doc wouldn't explain. The two regarded each other for a long moment before Marcus broke the quiet, and began to tell his uncle of the argument with his cousins. In exhaustion and relief, Marcus' native lilt began to show through as he dropped the carefully modulated flat California accent. Doc smiled vaguely at the familiar cadence, a peculiar mish-mash of the young man's upper class British father and his mother's adopted Italian. Marcus left out his dalliance with the witches, though, and skipped the search for his father's classmate. That, he decided, is enough until I know whether he'll help me. Doc considered Marcus carefully, his expression thoughtful. "Humans have short lives, my boy," he finally replied. "I'm surprised your father lived this long, myself." Marcus raised his eyebrows at his uncle, the familiar expression that demanded a response. Doc laughed, recognizing Marcus' mother. "One other thing, Uncle. They're hunting me." Doc didn't look surprised. He simply narrowed his eyes at Marcus. All pretense of senility immediately vanished. "Hunting, you say." Marcus described the attacks in curt summary. The sudden stiffness in his body made it clear he had no interest in too much more. Doc noted the white knuckles beneath the stern expression, the suddenly naked eyes that reflected steel and darkness, just like his mother's. Doc pursed his lips, closed his eyes, and then opened it. He appeared to have come to a decision. "I'm not going to protect you." "Uncle..." "Don't play the fool around me," Doc replied, his smile sweet and purposefully bland. "I've been doing it a lot longer than you, boy, and I'm a lot better at it." Doc ran his finger around the edge of his coffee cup, appearing to be enjoying a private joke. "I suspect you have more options than you realize, but even if you don't, it's between you three." Marcus stared into his coffee, wondering how much Doc already knew.
~ continue to next chapter ~