He was going to have to get a computer, Spike decided. He thought for a
while the technology would wither away, like the eight-track. They all knew
from the beginning - the old ones - that thing was never going to make it.
Laptops now, they might have staying power. Willow had designed a program
that translated the Ratsgninrom Manuscripts into English, and the infernal
machine was doing a hell of a lot better job than he had. Sod it all. No
wonder Giles hated these bloody things.
Spike sat on the floor of the training room, poking timidly at the keyboard of Willow's computer. Just to tempt fate he had sat in a large swath of sunlight. Dying might be better than trying to read through this shit.
Even in English the text was completely garbled. "And so it will be on the seventh night of the sixteenth moon of the year between years that the dreams will be sent forth to she who walks in darkness and blood will flow into the weeks of Thead."
Well good for the weeks of Thead, Spike growled at the screen. Earlier that morning he had given all his weeks worth of happy, living, feline blood to Clem who could eat them with impunity. Stupid bloody annoying conscious. It made about as much sense as these moronic ramblings. He added "weeks of Thead" to his list of things to look up in Giles' books. She who walks in darkness? How about every woman he had met since being turned? Could these stupid, annoying, insane prophets be any more vague?
He looked up when the door from the Magic Box opened. It was Xander, hauling his tools into the workout space. Well, this should be entertaining.
"Spike," Xander scowled, dropping his toolbox heavily to the floor.
Xander could not believe how easy it had been for the vampire to insinuate himself back into their lives. What was it now? Three months that he had been back in town? Hell it hadn't been two weeks before Spike was teaching Dawn how to fight, and training with Buffy. It made Xander sick to think of the Slayer brushing up on defensive technique with her attempted rapist. Of course he had tried talking to her about it, but she got that brittle look she wore when she had set her mind on something stupid and didn't want to hear it. "He has a soul," she said, as though that absolved him of everything.
So what, Xander asked himself. So Spike has a soul now and doesn't seem have that pesky allergic reaction to the sun. Does that make it easier for his victims? He was pretty sure the answer was in the negative.
"I can't believe you had the gall to come back here after everything you've done," Xander said, because shutting up was for other, more intelligent fools. Besides, he had the chip on his side.
"Buffy asked me to," Spike said in a careful monotone. While it was possibly not the smartest thing to say, it was true. The truth had become irritatingly important to him lately. And sometimes, like now, the truth was fun.
Xander shook his head. "I do not get the women in this town. Maybe it's something in the water? Because they all seem to forget what a worthless, murdering low life you are. They may be blinded by the pretty face, but I'm not."
Spike closed the laptop with an amused smile. "So you think I'm pretty do you? Sorry I can't say the same."
He rose to his feet in one smooth, feral motion. "I am here as a favor to the Slayer. When she asks me to leave I'll go."
"Yeah, you're so fucking honorable. So you want to explain to me why you're hanging out with Willow? If you think you're going to get any you're stupider than I thought."
To be perfectly honest, Xander did not have the heart to bring the subject of Spike up when he was with Willow. When she was in a bad mood he could not fathom starting a fight. All he wanted was to make her smile. When she smiled it was Willow! Smiling! There was nothing in the world he would trade for that. There was zilch to stop him from venting his feelings about the friendship at Spike.
Turning his head slowly, Spike watched Xander stalk deliberately around the edge room, allowing himself a leisurely pause before he replied. This game was all about timing.
"Willow comes to me," Spike said smugly as Xander passed by the weapons rack. It was important to him that Harris attack first. Poor predictable Xander, he looked so surprised when Spike spun out of the path of the knives. Ducking and swerving he counted, one, two, three. The blades knocked against the far wall and fell.
Walking over, Spike nudged one of the daggers with the toe of his scuffed boot. He had money now. He supposed he could buy a new pair, but then there would be all that tedious breaking in of the leather.
"Very nice," he congratulated. "I think you bent a tip though. Slayer won't like that."
Xander selected an axe from the weapons rack. He couldn't take it anymore: Spike's posturing, his smug presence, the shame in Buffy's expression when she tried to explain why she brought him back. Buffy should never need to be ashamed of anything, never had been ashamed of anything before Spike. And any advice this monster had to give Willow could only be poison in her ear. Everything he touched died.
"You can leave," Xander said, brandishing the razor sharp axe, "or I can kill you. Pick one."
Slowly Spike reached into his pocket, retrieved a cigarette, and lit it with a flick of his lighter. Buffy would be upset. She hated it when he ashed all over the training mats.
Cigarette dangling rakishly from his lips, Spike crooked a finger at Xander and winked. "Come get me, Cutie."
On some level Xander was right, Spike admitted. His presence did hurt Buffy - or so he had thought before the Bath of Confusion - and he didn't have any right to be around her. Willow was so lost and confused she would latch onto anybody sympathetic, even if that body had been dead for over a century. It was pitiful how Xander always wanted to protect his friends and never ever could. Bloody shame that.
Xander knew this was too easy but he stormed across the length of the training room anyway, swinging his axe in a wide arc, testing its heft.
"There is nothing good in you," he said. Why did he need to explain this? It wasn't like Spike had forgotten what he was, even if the Slayer was sinking into some delusional state.
"It must drive you mad, that Buffy could have chosen someone like me and always rejected you," Spike mused with a cruel smile.
That should be the ticket to send Harris right over the edge. Apparently it did because Xander lunged in, axe high, ready to bring it crashing down on Spike's head. It would not be a clean death. No tidy stake through the heart for old Spiky, Xander thought, throwing all his weight into the swing. The vampire didn't flinch, simply raised one hand and caught the handle of the weapon before its blade could fall.
Right, Xander berated himself, vampires strong. Humans weak. How could he forget that? It was like geometry all over again.
"I have been wanting to do this for bloody ages," Spike smiled. This was going to be worth it.
With his free hand Spike grabbed Xander by the throat and slammed his head into the wall. He hadn't planned it, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. Xander was out instantly but Spike was fully conscious for the pain that electrified his scull.
______________________________________________________________________
"You hit Xander?" Buffy demanded. The vampire was propped up in a chair in the Magic Box, his head still throbbing from the chip's activation.
"Did I not mention the part about the huge bloody axe aimed at my neck? I think it hurt me more than him."
Dawn daubed at his head with a wet towel in a way that did nothing to alleviate the pain. Xander moaned from the floor.
"Stupid git," Spike sneered.
"Spike! Shut up," Buffy snapped.
Dawn rolled her eyes and was rewarded by a surreptitious smile from Spike. At least the Bit was on his side.
"Spiiiiikkke," Xander groaned.
Standing over him Anya debated how helpful she wanted to be. "It's okay. Spike hit you with - what did you hit him with?"
"The wall."
"Spike hit you with the wall, but you are going to be fine." Anya decided that was helpful enough and walked away, leaving Willow to deal with him.
"I don't care who hit whom with what," Buffy said rapping her knuckles against the round research table.
Nobody paid any attention to her. Anya was watching Willow comfort a groggy and disoriented Xander, who was still sprawled on the linoleum floor and acting, Buffy couldn't help thinking, like a big baby. Being knocked out was hardly a new and interesting experience for him. Much to the Slayer's dismay, Dawn was still fluttering around Spike like a neurotic moth. Now that she knew the soul didn't curb all his violent tendencies, Buffy felt her wary trust in the vampire ebb a little.
"If the women will stop tending to the men-folk for two fucking minutes I have something to say!" Buffy said, raising her voice.
Everybody turned, even Xander with his head lying in Willows lap. Awww, they were paying attention to her. Wasn't that sweet? Buffy brandished a newspaper in the air.
"The Massacre has begun. I think."
"They're publishing it in the paper now? Cool. Why are we wasting all our time with the manuscripts again?" Willow asked.
Spike hauled himself upright in his chair and crumpled forward onto the table. Buffy slid the newspaper across to him. "I suppose this must be the week of Thead," he mused to himself.
"The what of who?" Dawn asked, leaning over his shoulder.
"Yes. A lovely summation of all my research," Spike frowned. Something was wrong with the paper. Wait, something was wrong with him. "What does it say, love? I can't get my bloody eyes to focus."
"Serves you right," Xander muttered from the floor.
"Keep your eye on the apocalypse people!" Buffy ordered. "You can kill each other after we save the world."
Time was when the Slayer spoke the team listened. No, Buffy supposed, they had never actually listened, but there was no time like the present for starting a new tradition. Was this how Giles had felt?
"Fifty-seven slaughtered at local children's dance recital," Dawn read aloud over Spike's shoulder. "The doors to the hall were locked and everybody inside was murdered. All the victims were marked with a unique two-pronged knife wound puncturing the neck. Police suspect gang activity."
Anya sat down at the table and pulled the paper towards her. "So then it's over? The Massacre I mean. Are we on to the next portent?"
"The prophecy said the blood would run in the streets. Whoever is doing this will kill until we stop it," Spike said, his forehead resting against the cool surface of the table. That didn't feel better either.
"Vampires. I can handle that," Buffy said, sitting across from Spike. We'll find them tonight, poke them with pointy sticks and call it good. I like old school slaying."
"We?" asked Dawn. "As in all of us? As in I get to go too?" Buffy didn't say no, which Dawn decided to take as a yes. "Neat," she grinned.
Oh sure, Buffy thought. Slaying: a fun after school activity for all.
______________________________________________________________________
That night there would be only nine. Behind her the minions growled and hissed among themselves, discontented. Nine was a paltry number. They had come to the Hellmouth to gorge themselves, to kill not just for nourishment but for pleasure. The streets were meant to be their hunting grounds. Now she wanted to leash them like dogs, turn them into toothless eunuchs to bring her a handful of humans untouched.
Strolling slowly through the passageway, waiting for nightfall, she glanced back towards her followers. "If you don't stop whining I shall eat your eyes for pudding," she told them with a sweet smile. The grumbling behind her stopped. Satisfied she took Judas' arm and continued walking.
______________________________________________________________________
The crypt was cold and dead when Spike came back that night. Cold and dead just like me, he thought. Ha bloody ha. He had expected Clem to be lounging about getting hot sauce on the furniture as usual. Instead all he found on the couch was Dinner, curled up and sleeping in a little black ball. When he stroked her head the cat yawned and went back to ignoring him.
Spike supposed he'd best start examining the printed translation of the manuscripts he held in his hand, do his bit to ward off imminent death and the end of life as they knew it and all that, but his head still ached from the massive migraine he gave himself that afternoon and he couldn't work up the energy to give a shit. All he wanted to do was sleep for a decade, roll over and wake up after the world had gone to hell. Sleep might not be the worst idea, he decided. Give his body a chance to regenerate some of the brain cells he'd fried with the chip.
Going down the ladder he gave an experimental sniff. Someone had been sleeping in his bed. Someone cold and long dead was still there. He could see her in the gloom, stretched out on his sheets with predatory grace, but he climbed in anyway. Nostalgia, he admitted, was a bitch. Sleepily she twined her long, pale arms around his body.
"Hello William."
"Hello Dru," he smiled. He thought it might be her. Not that Drusilla was the only vampire to have a taste for children. He had been known to take a nip from the odd kiddie himself, but there was something about the style, the brutality and neatness of the deaths that felt like the work of someone in the family.
She kissed him, which was an easy thing to do again. Drusilla's lips, the dusty taste of her skin, everything about her felt like home. Then she raked her long fingered nails down his cheek, drawing blood. Yeah, that was familiar too.
"What's the problem, pet?" he asked, grinning.
"I have not forgotten you know. Naughty boy, to tie me up and promise my death." She smeared her fingers with his blood and licked them clean. "The song says I shall forgive you, would you like that? Can you hear the drums?" With the flat of her hand she patted the rhythm of a heartbeat on his chest.
"Of course I want you to forgive me, Dru," Spike said softly, his fingers wrapped around her seemingly frail waist. It had been too long since he's had a good lay and Drusilla, well there were reasons they lasted over a hundred years together. Was he really going to do this? No. He was defiantly, probably not going through with it. He should stake her. Angel with his soul had set her and Darla on fire, but he wasn't Angel. Maybe Spike could convince her to go away, back to Europe where there were no Slayers or annoying prophesies.
"Dru-"
"Shhh!" With one quick, feline motion she was straddling his body, the soft silk of her dress riding high on her pale thighs. "I have a present for you. Do you want to know what it is?" she pouted.
He longed to ask if it was warm. Not alive, obviously, but he could eat something freshly dead. Wash the sour tang of pig's blood out of his mouth. Yes, yes, tell me what it is.
"To tell the truth I think I've had enough presents for a while." Damn it. The nausea inducing soul was going to bollix everything up. Would the green- eyed cave demon take it back? Probably make him go through the bloody trials again.
Drusilla giggled, her happiness bordering on hysteria.
"I was going to tell you all about it, and then you would laugh and clap your hands, but now it shall have to be a surprise." Then she brutally slammed his head into the wrought iron bed frame and everything went black. Drusilla patted his cheek lightly, checking to make sure he wasn't faking. Sometimes her William could be so devious when he wanted to be.
"Judas?" she sang out into the tunnel. "Here darling. Good pet, I thought you had wandered off looking for trees and light. You were not looking for light, were you?" she asked, suddenly suspicious.
"No mistress," Judas said humbly. He stared at the body of his predecessor lying vacant in the dark bed. Drusilla brushed his cheek with her lips.
"Bring him," she whispered, and wandered slowly into the tunnel's darkness. There was nothing left for him to do but gather Spike into his arms and follow her.
______________________________________________________________________
"Wow. I never knew slaying could be so boring," Dawn complained.
"Yeah," Xander agreed. "The cemetery is kind of dead. Dead with the deceased. Where the hell are the vampires?"
"There does seem to be a dearth of the undead," Willow agreed. Xander wondered how she could see anything from under that floppy black hat.
"There have to be vampires somewhere," Buffy complained. "I was promised blood flowing in the streets. We can't even find a trickle. Wait. Is that supposed to be a good thing?"
"I don't think we're looking in the right place," Anya complained.
It was November now and the nights were cold again. She tugged her thin sweater around her body and wished she were home in her warm bed. Then Anya wished there was someone in her bed to keep it warm. Not that she could grant her own wishes, damn it.
"Why would there be a massacre in the cemetery? If the vamps are killing people doesn't that kind of indicate they've already risen?"
"Uh, Anya has a point," Willow said, realizing afterwards those were probably her least favorite words in the world.
Well, second least favorite, right after "Your shirt." Willow stopped on the grass, fighting to forget the memory. Think about it later, Willow ordered herself. Now is saving the world time. Shit. All her friends had stopped walking and were looking at her. Xander looked like he was going to say something supportive and Willow didn't think she could handle that right now.
Willow forced a smile and gave a half-hearted wave. "Hi. Still here."
Buffy looped her arm through her friend's and they walked on. Whenever I think she's getting better Willow goes all catatonic on me, Buffy thought. Was this what I was like when I came back? No wonder everybody was so freaked out.
"Have to agree with Anya on the futility of the cemetery patrol," Buffy said.
"That means the vamps could be anywhere," Dawn complained. "What are we going to do now?"
Cast a demon locater spell, Willow thought. Instinctively she looked for the power inside herself to cast the spell, then rolled her eyes. Just stop that already.
"We'll do a sweep of the town. Break up, look for pale people in outdated clothes."
Buffy's friends were kind enough not to tell her it was a crappy plan.
______________________________________________________________________
Xander decided Buffy didn't think they were going to find anything because she let him wander off on his own. Okay, he admitted, I'm not the swingingist slayerette on the Hellmouth, but I can hold my own in a fight. Sometimes.
Who the fuck was he kidding? He lost to chipped Spike. That had to constitute some new low.
I have other things, Xander comforted himself. I have real world skills. He missed Anya telling him his skills were more than adequate. Let's be honest old buddy, old friend, he said to himself. Anya not looking at me like she wants my insides to be my outsides would make me do a happy dance. His expectations were not high. Civility in conversation would festoon his world with joy at the moment.
Not that his life was empty.
"I can swing a hammer with grace and deftness," Xander announced to the empty street.
"Can you now?" a voice purred in his ear. Xander turned, smiling at the pretty woman next to him, then recoiling as her face grew lumpy and fangey.
Instinctively he backed away from her malicious grin, and slammed blindly into another vamp. This was bad. This was high in the un-good, Xander thought, fumbling for the stake in his pocket. The unseen vampire behind him clasped Xander's arms firmly to his side.
"My what a strong grip you have. Have you been working out?" Xander quipped. More with the inane jokes. Then again, now probably wasn't the best time to be considering a major personality overhaul so Xander quickly forgave himself.
"Some people like it when their prey fights back," the vamp in front of him laughed. "I don't."
Strong hands tightened around his arms as she slid something onto her pretty, pale hands. Brass knuckles. What did she need those for, Xander wondered.
"I'm not allowed to keep you," she pouted, "but that doesn't mean I can't play with you some."
Oh, Xander thought as she slammed her fist into his stomach, that's what those are for. He hoped he would pass out before they killed him.
Spike sat on the floor of the training room, poking timidly at the keyboard of Willow's computer. Just to tempt fate he had sat in a large swath of sunlight. Dying might be better than trying to read through this shit.
Even in English the text was completely garbled. "And so it will be on the seventh night of the sixteenth moon of the year between years that the dreams will be sent forth to she who walks in darkness and blood will flow into the weeks of Thead."
Well good for the weeks of Thead, Spike growled at the screen. Earlier that morning he had given all his weeks worth of happy, living, feline blood to Clem who could eat them with impunity. Stupid bloody annoying conscious. It made about as much sense as these moronic ramblings. He added "weeks of Thead" to his list of things to look up in Giles' books. She who walks in darkness? How about every woman he had met since being turned? Could these stupid, annoying, insane prophets be any more vague?
He looked up when the door from the Magic Box opened. It was Xander, hauling his tools into the workout space. Well, this should be entertaining.
"Spike," Xander scowled, dropping his toolbox heavily to the floor.
Xander could not believe how easy it had been for the vampire to insinuate himself back into their lives. What was it now? Three months that he had been back in town? Hell it hadn't been two weeks before Spike was teaching Dawn how to fight, and training with Buffy. It made Xander sick to think of the Slayer brushing up on defensive technique with her attempted rapist. Of course he had tried talking to her about it, but she got that brittle look she wore when she had set her mind on something stupid and didn't want to hear it. "He has a soul," she said, as though that absolved him of everything.
So what, Xander asked himself. So Spike has a soul now and doesn't seem have that pesky allergic reaction to the sun. Does that make it easier for his victims? He was pretty sure the answer was in the negative.
"I can't believe you had the gall to come back here after everything you've done," Xander said, because shutting up was for other, more intelligent fools. Besides, he had the chip on his side.
"Buffy asked me to," Spike said in a careful monotone. While it was possibly not the smartest thing to say, it was true. The truth had become irritatingly important to him lately. And sometimes, like now, the truth was fun.
Xander shook his head. "I do not get the women in this town. Maybe it's something in the water? Because they all seem to forget what a worthless, murdering low life you are. They may be blinded by the pretty face, but I'm not."
Spike closed the laptop with an amused smile. "So you think I'm pretty do you? Sorry I can't say the same."
He rose to his feet in one smooth, feral motion. "I am here as a favor to the Slayer. When she asks me to leave I'll go."
"Yeah, you're so fucking honorable. So you want to explain to me why you're hanging out with Willow? If you think you're going to get any you're stupider than I thought."
To be perfectly honest, Xander did not have the heart to bring the subject of Spike up when he was with Willow. When she was in a bad mood he could not fathom starting a fight. All he wanted was to make her smile. When she smiled it was Willow! Smiling! There was nothing in the world he would trade for that. There was zilch to stop him from venting his feelings about the friendship at Spike.
Turning his head slowly, Spike watched Xander stalk deliberately around the edge room, allowing himself a leisurely pause before he replied. This game was all about timing.
"Willow comes to me," Spike said smugly as Xander passed by the weapons rack. It was important to him that Harris attack first. Poor predictable Xander, he looked so surprised when Spike spun out of the path of the knives. Ducking and swerving he counted, one, two, three. The blades knocked against the far wall and fell.
Walking over, Spike nudged one of the daggers with the toe of his scuffed boot. He had money now. He supposed he could buy a new pair, but then there would be all that tedious breaking in of the leather.
"Very nice," he congratulated. "I think you bent a tip though. Slayer won't like that."
Xander selected an axe from the weapons rack. He couldn't take it anymore: Spike's posturing, his smug presence, the shame in Buffy's expression when she tried to explain why she brought him back. Buffy should never need to be ashamed of anything, never had been ashamed of anything before Spike. And any advice this monster had to give Willow could only be poison in her ear. Everything he touched died.
"You can leave," Xander said, brandishing the razor sharp axe, "or I can kill you. Pick one."
Slowly Spike reached into his pocket, retrieved a cigarette, and lit it with a flick of his lighter. Buffy would be upset. She hated it when he ashed all over the training mats.
Cigarette dangling rakishly from his lips, Spike crooked a finger at Xander and winked. "Come get me, Cutie."
On some level Xander was right, Spike admitted. His presence did hurt Buffy - or so he had thought before the Bath of Confusion - and he didn't have any right to be around her. Willow was so lost and confused she would latch onto anybody sympathetic, even if that body had been dead for over a century. It was pitiful how Xander always wanted to protect his friends and never ever could. Bloody shame that.
Xander knew this was too easy but he stormed across the length of the training room anyway, swinging his axe in a wide arc, testing its heft.
"There is nothing good in you," he said. Why did he need to explain this? It wasn't like Spike had forgotten what he was, even if the Slayer was sinking into some delusional state.
"It must drive you mad, that Buffy could have chosen someone like me and always rejected you," Spike mused with a cruel smile.
That should be the ticket to send Harris right over the edge. Apparently it did because Xander lunged in, axe high, ready to bring it crashing down on Spike's head. It would not be a clean death. No tidy stake through the heart for old Spiky, Xander thought, throwing all his weight into the swing. The vampire didn't flinch, simply raised one hand and caught the handle of the weapon before its blade could fall.
Right, Xander berated himself, vampires strong. Humans weak. How could he forget that? It was like geometry all over again.
"I have been wanting to do this for bloody ages," Spike smiled. This was going to be worth it.
With his free hand Spike grabbed Xander by the throat and slammed his head into the wall. He hadn't planned it, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. Xander was out instantly but Spike was fully conscious for the pain that electrified his scull.
______________________________________________________________________
"You hit Xander?" Buffy demanded. The vampire was propped up in a chair in the Magic Box, his head still throbbing from the chip's activation.
"Did I not mention the part about the huge bloody axe aimed at my neck? I think it hurt me more than him."
Dawn daubed at his head with a wet towel in a way that did nothing to alleviate the pain. Xander moaned from the floor.
"Stupid git," Spike sneered.
"Spike! Shut up," Buffy snapped.
Dawn rolled her eyes and was rewarded by a surreptitious smile from Spike. At least the Bit was on his side.
"Spiiiiikkke," Xander groaned.
Standing over him Anya debated how helpful she wanted to be. "It's okay. Spike hit you with - what did you hit him with?"
"The wall."
"Spike hit you with the wall, but you are going to be fine." Anya decided that was helpful enough and walked away, leaving Willow to deal with him.
"I don't care who hit whom with what," Buffy said rapping her knuckles against the round research table.
Nobody paid any attention to her. Anya was watching Willow comfort a groggy and disoriented Xander, who was still sprawled on the linoleum floor and acting, Buffy couldn't help thinking, like a big baby. Being knocked out was hardly a new and interesting experience for him. Much to the Slayer's dismay, Dawn was still fluttering around Spike like a neurotic moth. Now that she knew the soul didn't curb all his violent tendencies, Buffy felt her wary trust in the vampire ebb a little.
"If the women will stop tending to the men-folk for two fucking minutes I have something to say!" Buffy said, raising her voice.
Everybody turned, even Xander with his head lying in Willows lap. Awww, they were paying attention to her. Wasn't that sweet? Buffy brandished a newspaper in the air.
"The Massacre has begun. I think."
"They're publishing it in the paper now? Cool. Why are we wasting all our time with the manuscripts again?" Willow asked.
Spike hauled himself upright in his chair and crumpled forward onto the table. Buffy slid the newspaper across to him. "I suppose this must be the week of Thead," he mused to himself.
"The what of who?" Dawn asked, leaning over his shoulder.
"Yes. A lovely summation of all my research," Spike frowned. Something was wrong with the paper. Wait, something was wrong with him. "What does it say, love? I can't get my bloody eyes to focus."
"Serves you right," Xander muttered from the floor.
"Keep your eye on the apocalypse people!" Buffy ordered. "You can kill each other after we save the world."
Time was when the Slayer spoke the team listened. No, Buffy supposed, they had never actually listened, but there was no time like the present for starting a new tradition. Was this how Giles had felt?
"Fifty-seven slaughtered at local children's dance recital," Dawn read aloud over Spike's shoulder. "The doors to the hall were locked and everybody inside was murdered. All the victims were marked with a unique two-pronged knife wound puncturing the neck. Police suspect gang activity."
Anya sat down at the table and pulled the paper towards her. "So then it's over? The Massacre I mean. Are we on to the next portent?"
"The prophecy said the blood would run in the streets. Whoever is doing this will kill until we stop it," Spike said, his forehead resting against the cool surface of the table. That didn't feel better either.
"Vampires. I can handle that," Buffy said, sitting across from Spike. We'll find them tonight, poke them with pointy sticks and call it good. I like old school slaying."
"We?" asked Dawn. "As in all of us? As in I get to go too?" Buffy didn't say no, which Dawn decided to take as a yes. "Neat," she grinned.
Oh sure, Buffy thought. Slaying: a fun after school activity for all.
______________________________________________________________________
That night there would be only nine. Behind her the minions growled and hissed among themselves, discontented. Nine was a paltry number. They had come to the Hellmouth to gorge themselves, to kill not just for nourishment but for pleasure. The streets were meant to be their hunting grounds. Now she wanted to leash them like dogs, turn them into toothless eunuchs to bring her a handful of humans untouched.
Strolling slowly through the passageway, waiting for nightfall, she glanced back towards her followers. "If you don't stop whining I shall eat your eyes for pudding," she told them with a sweet smile. The grumbling behind her stopped. Satisfied she took Judas' arm and continued walking.
______________________________________________________________________
The crypt was cold and dead when Spike came back that night. Cold and dead just like me, he thought. Ha bloody ha. He had expected Clem to be lounging about getting hot sauce on the furniture as usual. Instead all he found on the couch was Dinner, curled up and sleeping in a little black ball. When he stroked her head the cat yawned and went back to ignoring him.
Spike supposed he'd best start examining the printed translation of the manuscripts he held in his hand, do his bit to ward off imminent death and the end of life as they knew it and all that, but his head still ached from the massive migraine he gave himself that afternoon and he couldn't work up the energy to give a shit. All he wanted to do was sleep for a decade, roll over and wake up after the world had gone to hell. Sleep might not be the worst idea, he decided. Give his body a chance to regenerate some of the brain cells he'd fried with the chip.
Going down the ladder he gave an experimental sniff. Someone had been sleeping in his bed. Someone cold and long dead was still there. He could see her in the gloom, stretched out on his sheets with predatory grace, but he climbed in anyway. Nostalgia, he admitted, was a bitch. Sleepily she twined her long, pale arms around his body.
"Hello William."
"Hello Dru," he smiled. He thought it might be her. Not that Drusilla was the only vampire to have a taste for children. He had been known to take a nip from the odd kiddie himself, but there was something about the style, the brutality and neatness of the deaths that felt like the work of someone in the family.
She kissed him, which was an easy thing to do again. Drusilla's lips, the dusty taste of her skin, everything about her felt like home. Then she raked her long fingered nails down his cheek, drawing blood. Yeah, that was familiar too.
"What's the problem, pet?" he asked, grinning.
"I have not forgotten you know. Naughty boy, to tie me up and promise my death." She smeared her fingers with his blood and licked them clean. "The song says I shall forgive you, would you like that? Can you hear the drums?" With the flat of her hand she patted the rhythm of a heartbeat on his chest.
"Of course I want you to forgive me, Dru," Spike said softly, his fingers wrapped around her seemingly frail waist. It had been too long since he's had a good lay and Drusilla, well there were reasons they lasted over a hundred years together. Was he really going to do this? No. He was defiantly, probably not going through with it. He should stake her. Angel with his soul had set her and Darla on fire, but he wasn't Angel. Maybe Spike could convince her to go away, back to Europe where there were no Slayers or annoying prophesies.
"Dru-"
"Shhh!" With one quick, feline motion she was straddling his body, the soft silk of her dress riding high on her pale thighs. "I have a present for you. Do you want to know what it is?" she pouted.
He longed to ask if it was warm. Not alive, obviously, but he could eat something freshly dead. Wash the sour tang of pig's blood out of his mouth. Yes, yes, tell me what it is.
"To tell the truth I think I've had enough presents for a while." Damn it. The nausea inducing soul was going to bollix everything up. Would the green- eyed cave demon take it back? Probably make him go through the bloody trials again.
Drusilla giggled, her happiness bordering on hysteria.
"I was going to tell you all about it, and then you would laugh and clap your hands, but now it shall have to be a surprise." Then she brutally slammed his head into the wrought iron bed frame and everything went black. Drusilla patted his cheek lightly, checking to make sure he wasn't faking. Sometimes her William could be so devious when he wanted to be.
"Judas?" she sang out into the tunnel. "Here darling. Good pet, I thought you had wandered off looking for trees and light. You were not looking for light, were you?" she asked, suddenly suspicious.
"No mistress," Judas said humbly. He stared at the body of his predecessor lying vacant in the dark bed. Drusilla brushed his cheek with her lips.
"Bring him," she whispered, and wandered slowly into the tunnel's darkness. There was nothing left for him to do but gather Spike into his arms and follow her.
______________________________________________________________________
"Wow. I never knew slaying could be so boring," Dawn complained.
"Yeah," Xander agreed. "The cemetery is kind of dead. Dead with the deceased. Where the hell are the vampires?"
"There does seem to be a dearth of the undead," Willow agreed. Xander wondered how she could see anything from under that floppy black hat.
"There have to be vampires somewhere," Buffy complained. "I was promised blood flowing in the streets. We can't even find a trickle. Wait. Is that supposed to be a good thing?"
"I don't think we're looking in the right place," Anya complained.
It was November now and the nights were cold again. She tugged her thin sweater around her body and wished she were home in her warm bed. Then Anya wished there was someone in her bed to keep it warm. Not that she could grant her own wishes, damn it.
"Why would there be a massacre in the cemetery? If the vamps are killing people doesn't that kind of indicate they've already risen?"
"Uh, Anya has a point," Willow said, realizing afterwards those were probably her least favorite words in the world.
Well, second least favorite, right after "Your shirt." Willow stopped on the grass, fighting to forget the memory. Think about it later, Willow ordered herself. Now is saving the world time. Shit. All her friends had stopped walking and were looking at her. Xander looked like he was going to say something supportive and Willow didn't think she could handle that right now.
Willow forced a smile and gave a half-hearted wave. "Hi. Still here."
Buffy looped her arm through her friend's and they walked on. Whenever I think she's getting better Willow goes all catatonic on me, Buffy thought. Was this what I was like when I came back? No wonder everybody was so freaked out.
"Have to agree with Anya on the futility of the cemetery patrol," Buffy said.
"That means the vamps could be anywhere," Dawn complained. "What are we going to do now?"
Cast a demon locater spell, Willow thought. Instinctively she looked for the power inside herself to cast the spell, then rolled her eyes. Just stop that already.
"We'll do a sweep of the town. Break up, look for pale people in outdated clothes."
Buffy's friends were kind enough not to tell her it was a crappy plan.
______________________________________________________________________
Xander decided Buffy didn't think they were going to find anything because she let him wander off on his own. Okay, he admitted, I'm not the swingingist slayerette on the Hellmouth, but I can hold my own in a fight. Sometimes.
Who the fuck was he kidding? He lost to chipped Spike. That had to constitute some new low.
I have other things, Xander comforted himself. I have real world skills. He missed Anya telling him his skills were more than adequate. Let's be honest old buddy, old friend, he said to himself. Anya not looking at me like she wants my insides to be my outsides would make me do a happy dance. His expectations were not high. Civility in conversation would festoon his world with joy at the moment.
Not that his life was empty.
"I can swing a hammer with grace and deftness," Xander announced to the empty street.
"Can you now?" a voice purred in his ear. Xander turned, smiling at the pretty woman next to him, then recoiling as her face grew lumpy and fangey.
Instinctively he backed away from her malicious grin, and slammed blindly into another vamp. This was bad. This was high in the un-good, Xander thought, fumbling for the stake in his pocket. The unseen vampire behind him clasped Xander's arms firmly to his side.
"My what a strong grip you have. Have you been working out?" Xander quipped. More with the inane jokes. Then again, now probably wasn't the best time to be considering a major personality overhaul so Xander quickly forgave himself.
"Some people like it when their prey fights back," the vamp in front of him laughed. "I don't."
Strong hands tightened around his arms as she slid something onto her pretty, pale hands. Brass knuckles. What did she need those for, Xander wondered.
"I'm not allowed to keep you," she pouted, "but that doesn't mean I can't play with you some."
Oh, Xander thought as she slammed her fist into his stomach, that's what those are for. He hoped he would pass out before they killed him.
