Chapter 8
He'd always wondered what they saw. These women—Drusilla, Harmony, and most recently Buffy.
Well, it certainly wasn't the slight-in-stature, ill-at-ease, gentleman poet, he once had been. The Slayer wouldn't have given a git like that the time of day, let alone given him…the stolen minutes, turned to hours, and then nights.
No, women didn't go for men like that. Nice. Honest. Safe. Of course not. Instead, they went for…
Spike smiled into the dresser mirror, now looking at what they saw.
Mysterious. Dark. Dangerous.
His smile broadened. Yeah, even Cecily…
She'd seen it. Although sonnet after sonnet of his heart-felt poetry had fallen on deaf ears, the sudden gleam in his eyes, the smirk, the sneer, and the touch of cruelty… Now, that had caught her attention. She was his—if he wanted her.
Of course he didn't; not any more. But her sudden interest had proved useful. He patted the bulge in his coat pocket where his father's revolver was hidden. How easy it had been to persuade her to meet him, alone, and in a dark deserted place. A midnight rendezvous. So romantic. But just a ruse.
Ah, well…
He glanced in the mirror a final time before turning to leave. If everything went according to his plan, he'd be back in Sunnydale soon.
* * *
"Tara!" Buffy stood up, waving as the blonde witch approached their table. Tara smiled and quickened her step, then shot a curious look at William as she took the seat next to his.
"So," Tara began, turning her attention to Buffy, "what's going on?"
Buffy looked uncomfortably at William then back at Tara. "Something's happened to Spike," she replied. "He's…not himself."
"Okay…" said the Wiccan, a baffled frown on her face. "That was…vague."
"Yeah, well, he's—" Buffy started to explain.
"I'm not Spike," William said without prompting.
"You're not?" Looking surprised, Tara eyed the vampire. "I mean, you sure look like—"
"Well, technically, he is Spike…only he's not," Buffy cut in.
"I see," said Tara, but her expression showed that she clearly didn't.
"Actually, I'm William," the blonde vampire explained.
Buffy nodded. "William the Bloody."
The aptly named poet looked at the Slayer, horrified. "How did you…?"
Ignoring him, Buffy focused on Tara. "He claims to have come from London."
"Well Spike is British…" Tara said, sounding unimpressed.
"He thinks it's 1880—the year Spike was turned," Buffy persisted.
"So…" Tara shrugged.
"He didn't know he was a vampire."
The Wiccan still looked blank.
"Don't you get it?" Buffy asked, a little flustered. "He's nice! See? He's all thoughtful, and gentle. He's not Spike!"
"So you're thinking it's—"
"A body swap!"
Understanding finally started to register Tara's face. "Oh, like the time with you and Faith?"
"Exactly!" Buffy paused. "Except it's not."
"Uh huh." Blankness set back in.
"I think," the Slayer explained, "that he's the man Spike was…before he was sired."
"Sired?" William frowned. "What do you mean?" But neither girl was listening.
"So," Tara said, nodding, "he's William."
"Yes," Buffy hissed. "William's mind…and maybe even his soul…in Spike's body."
Tara sat back, looking stunned. "Wow." She glanced at William who looked thoroughly confused. "But how…?" Tara asked.
"I don't know," Buffy replied. "Not yet anyway. But that's where you come in. I figure it has to be some kind of spell. We need to figure out how to break it."
Tara was quiet for a moment then looked pointedly at Buffy. "Even if I could break the spell…which is pretty doubtful. Why would we even want to?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you said he was nice… That he may have a soul. I guess I don't see the problem."
"But…" Buffy began. What was the problem? She glanced at William, who immediately looked back at her. His eyes reflected gentleness and warmth. She thought back to the times she'd spent with the displaced Victorian. More gentleness and warmth. So what was the problem?
"Buffy?" Tara said, placing a hand on the Slayer's.
"It's just that…" Buffy's mouth went dry. She felt guilty about lying to her friend. "There may be other consequences that we don't know about." Well it wasn't really a lie. "Magic always has consequences, right?" It was mostly the truth. "So, other stuff may be going on because of this. Bad stuff. Terrible stuff. Stuff we've got to stop."
Tara nodded. She seemed to be buying it.
"So, we've got to reverse the spell—because of that." Buffy finished, letting out a shaky breath. She lowered her gaze down to the table in front of her.
No, it wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth.
* * *
"Where are you going?" demanded a voice, cutting through the dark quiet of night. It echoed softly down the long hallway, making him stop and turn on his heel.
"Em?" he said, peering through the dim at the sister who should've been asleep, but wasn't. She was dressed in her nightgown, peeking out from behind the door to her bedroom.
"Where are you going?" she asked again, her voice a mixture of curiosity and excitement. "Are you going to see Cecily?"
Spike let out a low groan and shook his head. "No, pet," he replied. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm just going to play cards with some of the fellows."
Emily looked skeptical. "But you don't play cards," she said, her voice doubtful.
"Afraid so, sis," he said, trying to keep his tone light, "but don't tell Mother about it, okay?"
"But—"
"Hey," Spike said gently, quickly cutting the distance between them to a couple of feet. "I've a little proposition to make."
"All right," she looked up at him, her eyes both stubborn and eager. Spike couldn't help but smile.
"How about this," he said, steering her back into her bedroom. "You go back to sleep, and pretend that our little meeting in the hallway here, was just a dream, and…"
She dug her heels into the Persian rug. "And?"
"And I'll be forever grateful."
Emily made a sour face. "That's not—"
But Spike was already herding her back to her large four-poster bed. "Ah…ah…ah," he said, now helping her get under the covers. "Don't make light of my offer." He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, paused, then hugged her with a fierceness that surprised him.
"Forever is a long time, luv," he whispered as he pulled away. "A long time."
* * *
She treated him as if he wasn't there; talking about him, but rarely to him. Her eyes avoided his, shifting away whenever they chanced to meet.
He was the problem she was determined to solve. Nothing more. She'd made that clear. Whoever this Spike fellow was, she wanted him back. William may have briefly possessed her body, but this Spike owned her heart.
He'd never had a chance with her. William realized that now. Her feelings for this man, although unprofessed, were true. He saw it whenever he looked into her eyes, and caught the pain. She was trying to hide behind brave words and jests. Maybe she'd fooled the kind-hearted friend who had met them at this place. He took a sip of his latte. But she hadn't fooled him.
No, William was an expert on feelings and love. It was the poet in him, always looking inward, trying to capture emotions on paper. And although, never quite succeeding, it had given him insight into the heart, his own, as well as others.
Hers was wide open, and he'd read it.
Sighing, he took another sip of his drink. Perhaps it was for the best; for him to return to his own time, his own boring, but normal life. There was comfort in his existence…and promise. Even for an ordinary fellow like himself, there was a chance for light. He'd seen it as she'd walked down the stairs at that party, which now seemed like so long ago. The shining, the luminescence…
And though perhaps, not so blinding as the light of the Slayer, she was, he thought, a better match for someone such as himself.
Barely listening as Buffy and the girl named Tara discussed possible spells and plans of action, William sipped the rich, warm liquid that had been ordered for him. A pleasing concoction he'd never had before—and probably never would again. He savored it, savored the moment; of living, and the adventure of being in a world so strange. A world where everything was different. Everything… He paused, suddenly eyeing something that, oddly enough…was familiar.
Not something, but rather someone.
He stared at the rich, brown abundance of curls. The face, round and laughing, as it turned towards him. Her light shown from across the room.
His eyes widened, surprised, mouth opened, lips forming her name. A whisper.
"Cecily."