Buffy stopped crying, but the tears were
still wet on her face. With a strange sense of calm, she considered
the man before her--beaten, bloodied, full of hope.
Slowly, she rose from the floor. "Take
it, Spike." She offered him the stake.
With trembling hand, Spike took the piece
of sharpened wood from his Slayer. "Pet, is it true? What Angel said?"
Buffy stared at him with blank eyes. Her
voiced choked and hitched as she struggled for control. "Dawn, let's go."
"Buffy?" Dawn put a comforting arm around
her sister. "Don't you think . . ."
"Please, Dawn. Let's go."
Dawn heard it in her sister's voice--the
barely suppressed hysteria. "OK, Buffy." She put on her best menacing face.
"Angel, are you coming too?"
Angel suddenly seemed very old. He raised
his head and twisted his mouth in what he supposed was an approximation
of a smile. "You go ahead."
Dawn's face registered fear. Buffy's face
remained impassive.
"Dawn, don't worry," Angel whispered. "I
won't kill him, not now."
Silently, Buffy and Dawn left the crypt.
Spike grasped the stake in his hand until
his knuckles grew white. Angel simply stared through the open crypt door
at the two figures fading into the darkness.
For Angel, it was over. It felt like
something inside him had died.
Well, it had. The dream that he and Buffy
would be together someday. It was the only thing that had sustained him.
And now his big romantic dream had become a sick farce.
Angel's gaze met Spike's. The younger vampire
flinched in anticipation of the pain he expected his grandsire to inflict.
But no blows came. Angel appeared to be keeping his word. Angel's mouth
opened, and for a moment it seemed as if he were incapable of speech. But
then the words came. Bitter words.
"You should go after her, Spike. Talk.
That's what lovers do."
Spike's grimaced. "Angel, I didn't
mean for this to happen. It wasn't my life's ambition to become a
defanged, fluffy puppy mooning over the Slayer--the Slayer of all people!" He paused, and his tone grew serious. "I do love her, you know. I'd die for her, I'd do anything."
"Then go after her."
Spike got up from his chair and carefully
wiped his still oozing bottom lip. Unsteadily, he made his way to the door.
"Angel?"
"What?"
"Thank you."
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Willow lit another candle and continued
to fume. Well, it was part fuming and part guilt and part something else--fear
maybe. What if Tara never came back? What if she was so angry that she
decided she was done with her?
Willow scanned the pages of Darkest Magic
and absentmindedly caressed her cat, Miss Kitty Fantastico. "Auntie Tara
is wrong, Kitty! Just because she went all loopy and psycho and used this
book to raise zombie-mom from the dead doesn't mean that I'll go loopy
and psycho--does it?"
Miss Kitty purred in response. She liked
having her ears scratched.
"See, of course not! No loopy-ness or psychosis
for me! Only sanity and cool spells. Speaking of which . . ."
Chapter 12: Mind Manipulation.
Willow felt a very large pang of guilt.
This was definitely not of the good. But what if Tara was so angry that
she never came back? What if she could make her forget why she hated the
book Darkest Magic?
It was awfully tempting.
Henbane, mandrake, bat's wing, eye of newt--hey,
she had all this stuff!
Maybe she'd try it, just this once.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"Lena Petrovich, room 518 please."
"Hello." Lena Petrovich sat up groggily
in her bed. "Who is this?"
"Lena, it's Doctor Black."
"Um-hmm. What time is it?"
"Late, I'm afraid, very late."
"Why are you calling me at this hour, Doctor?"
"I have some unfortunate news."
"Oh?"
"Things did not go as planned. Your little
problem--well--I'm afraid he wasn't eliminated."
"William the Bloody still lives? I thought
you told me that the situation would resolve itself?"
"I thought it would . . ." There
was a burst of static. " . . . free will."
"Pardon me?" Lena adjusted the volume on
her phone.
"Perhaps we should discuss an alternate
solution to your problem. I know of some interesting photographic evidence,
evidence of William's continued misdeeds, that might prove to be particularly
persuasive to a certain young construction worker."
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"Did you deal with your vampire problem,
Ms. Summers?"
"No." Buffy's empty eyes met Dr. Higginbottom's.
"I didn't."
"Why's that?" Lydia's face filled with
something like concern. "Did he harm you?"
"No. Apparently, I love him." Buffy shot
Lydia a confrontational look, daring her to react.
Lydia cleared her throat. "I--see. Um,
well, this--this--makes it even more urgent, what I have to tell you. You,
see, this all--well not all--but most of this has happened before. It was
during the Restoration."
Buffy's voice acquired a caustic edge.
"The only Restoration I know is Restoration Hardware."
Lydia shuffled her notes nervously and
shot a sideways glance at Dawn, who held her sister's hand. "Um, Ms. Summers,
what I'm going to tell you might not be suitable for your sister's ears."
"Dawn's heard too much already. Especially
tonight. I doubt a lesson in Slayer history will really hurt her."
Dawn smiled defiantly at Dr. Higginbottom
and squeezed Buffy's hand.
"I'll start from the very beginning. The
Restoration was a period in English history beginning with the restoration
of the Stuart king, Charles II, to the English throne in 1660. Oliver Cromwell
had taken power after the Civil War and . . ."
Buffy groaned. "Cut to the chase. Once
upon a time in England. That's all I need to know."
Lydia sighed and pushed a pile of papers
forward. "Very well. Here. Read these. They're the journal entries. I suspect
you might find them applicable to your current situation."
Buffy read. Blah, blah, blah. A stuffy
Watcher. Obviously hot for his Slayer but way repressed. Slayer kicks major
butt with her crossbow. Stuffy Watcher guy scoping out a potential date
for his Slayer. How weird is that? Thank God, Giles never tried it, although
maybe I wouldn't be in this mess today if . . . Wait a minute. Reggio's
a vampire. Slayer drinks his blood. Watcher freaks. Slayer goes psycho.
Tries to kill Watcher. Watcher kills Slayer. Watcher kills himself. End
of story.
Buffy laughed bitterly. "So, let me get
this straight. Because I drank Spike's blood--and don't forget Dracula--nummy
vampire goodness there--you think I'm going to go all evil and kill my
Watcher? Newsflash, honey! He's not even in the same country."
"Ms. Summers--Buffy," Lydia's face filled
with concern. "Believe it or not, I like you. And as you probably have
ascertained, I like William quite a bit. I've always had a soft spot for
rogues. But it's very obvious his heart is taken by another." Lydia blushed
slightly, but continued. "According to what I've been taught by the Council,
your William should be incapable of feeling anything human. Animalistic
lust, yes. Love, no. But I researched him for years. And I could find nothing
to support the standard thesis. He seems to be an exception to the rule.
Perhaps he can transcend his nature. And perhaps you can transcend whatever
unfortunate side effects ingesting his blood might have upon you. After
all, we all have choices. We can choose to--succumb to our basest instincts,
or we may rise above them." Lydia began to pick nervously at her cuticles.
"For example, part of me hoped the news that William's feeding again would
hurt you. But another part wanted to help you. I admire you, you see. That's
why I'm sharing this information about what happened in the past."
"Does the Council know you're here, telling
us all this? Do they know about Spike?" Dawn's eyes slitted with suspicion.
Lydia shook her head. "No, I've come here
of my own accord. And I haven't told them anything about William--Spike's--feeding
activities. In fact, Quentin Travers would put my head on a pike if he
knew what I was up to."
Buffy smiled weakly. "If what you are telling
me is true, thank you. But I'll have to talk to Giles. He has--sources--that
might be able to back up your story. I wonder," Buffy shuffled through
the papers before her, "did the girl, the Slayer, keep a diary?"
Lydia shrugged. "I don't know. It's standard
practice for the Slayer to keep a record of her life, but for some reason
her journal was never published."
"Maybe it's hanging out in the archives
somewhere." Buffy sighed. "I need to call Giles."
Slowly, Buffy scooted her kitchen chair
back, hearing it scrape unpleasantly against the linoleum tile. "Dr. Higginbottom--Lydia--thank
you." Buffy extended her hand.
Lydia grasped it, pleased. "My pleasure.
Let me know what you find. If I can be of further assistance . . ."
Buffy nodded. "Yes, I will. But now it's
time for sleep." She bit her lip. "It's been another very long night."
Dawn opened the door for Lydia.
Then the three women saw him. Rushing up
the sidewalk, a determined look in his eye.
Spike.
END PART EIGHTEEN