By Saj
Where we left off:Spike:
He looked at the trail that led to back to the village and to Ralph, and then glanced at Sabrine. She stood regally tall and as still as a statue, as if she had been frozen in time. Then Spike realized that she was in a state of deep concentration, her eyes closed, tears gathering at their corners. Her lips barely moved as she chanted silent incantations, protecting the space around them.
Spike sighed, lowered his head for a second, then looked up and rolled his eyes. Bugger. A shudder of dread passed through him as he accepted the inevitable. He supposed Ralph would be waiting for him. Christ, for all he knew it could have been her dicking around in his head just now. Wouldn't have been the first time.
Ralph, Willow and Giles:
Ralph glanced about at the small group sitting at the round oak table. "There's no reason at all that you should trust me. In fact, you should not. Are you under the delusion that I trust you?" The strange, crinkly brown witch looked at them with piercing black eyes that reminded Willow of the little shiny beetles that scampered under her feet in Sunnydale. "What I am suggesting is that it is perhaps to our mutual advantage to forge a partnership of sorts, based on self-interest. Trust will come or not. That remains to be seen."
Sabrine:Spike's bare body lay spread out on a bedroll of coarse blankets, his bluish-white form dappled with the soft pinkish-purple light of dawn as it filtered in through the dark mesh-covered opening above him. With her eyes Sabrine sensuously traced each line and plane of his sleeping body. The soft hollow of his neck, the defined muscular curves of his arms, and the baby-soft curly line of hair that traveled from just below his navel to the nest of brown silkiness at his groin. She could imagine her fingers and tongue exploring and tasting the snowy plains and valleys of this one. A flush of impatient heat and possessiveness ran up her spine as she continued to study him, understanding completely that she had not known one as exquisitely beautiful or as unbelievably dangerous as this rare and foolish vampire.
Buffy:
Buffy hit the black leather punching bag as fast and hard as she could, trying to release the feelings of fear and powerlessness her dream had left her with. She let loose with a series of blows leaving her fists burning and her right hand bleeding, but still the feeling of Spike's limp body in her dream lingered on her fingertips and the certain knowledge that he was in grave danger lay chillingly rooted in her chest. As she kicked, punched, and screamed, images of the leathery ancient crone and the Chinese Slayer kept circling around her. She could still hear that crusty voice whispering in her ear, "He is mine". Breathing hard, Buffy stood in the center of the training room and began to unwrap the tape from her hands. As she flexed her bleeding fingers, she looked around the room and heard herself say slowly and softly, "No, he is not yours. He is mine." There was silence in the darkened room, and then Buffy screamed, "Do you hear? Mine! He is mine!" As she headed for the door, she added quietly, "And I will find him."
Chapter 6
PowerYour power is rooted in darkness.
A creature whose darkness rivals my own. . Find it.
The darkness. Find your true nature.
Dracula, S4, Ep.
Lavender gossamer mists floated among layers of downy cloud drifting through the sultry air. As the last light of the African sun was transformed into a fiery sunset, a tiny silhouette appeared against the horizon. Spike studied the figure, squinting his eyes to see more clearly. He leaned against a tree, waiting, watching, sensing as the sun melted into the purple line of distant hills. He felt a spark of recognition just as the small form disappeared within the enveloping darkness.
"I've been looking everywhere for you."
Spike turned to the small woman who had materialized behind him. "I've been lost," he said in a soft, apologetic voice. "Seemed to have got myself stuck here. It's a bugger of a mess."
She moved closer to him and reached for his hand. As he felt her familiar grip, she said, "It's all right. Come on, Spike. I know the way out."
He played tenderly with her fingers as he held her soft hands in both of his, and brought them to his lips. How could he tell her? The silky skin of his scar began to burn. "Can't, love. Can't leave," he said, quietly. "Get yourself off now, to where you'll be safe. Go now, pet. She'll be along any minute." The moment he released her hands, a small bird flew up into the sky. It glimmered in the moonlight as it skimmed across its gliding form. In the same moment the small bird took flight, his soul broke loose from the cage of his chest and soared toward the pale moon.
High above the earth, Spike watched his abandoned physical form below become smaller and smaller. He could feel, hear, and taste the gauzy night around and inside of him. The only sound was the strong wing beat of the iridescent bird next to him---or what was left of him, which seemed to be nothing more than his consciousness and five senses.
A high-pitched cry pierced the air, and suddenly the sky was thick with thousands of birds, circling and swirling around him, through him. The tiny bird next to him flew higher, her shrill cries becoming louder and louder. Spike felt free, liberated from the passions and suffering he had known both as a human and vampire. In this moment he seemed to be a simple wisp of spirit, flying home to the shimmering white brilliance of the full moon.
The little bird flew close to the moon, so close that all Spike could see was the gleam of rocky whiteness amidst countless sharp shadowed crevices. Then she turned and began a slow descent back towards the shimmering blue pearl of earth. The flocks spread out, surrounding the single bird. She pulled him along by an invisible tether, keeping him close to her, his soul flowing with hers as she circled lower and lower, until the Southern California coastline became visible and distinct. Then her cries stopped, and the flocks of companion birds scattered across the heavens, disappearing behind the pinkish clouds of the coming dawn. He felt a heaviness descend upon him, congealing him into form again. He began to feel the burdens of fear and attachment, love and heartbreak, desire and hunger, the vulnerability to death, to darkness, to…
"Where am I, love?"
She took his hand and pulled him to her. "Here, with me." She kept one arm around his waist as she reached down with the other, picking up his weathered black leather duster and wrapping it around them. Within the warm darkness of the heavy coat she held him close, laying her head against his chest. "You're safe now," she said gently.
Spike looked around. The room was familiar, and not. A hot pain was gathering within the scar tissue on his chest, becoming so intense he felt it would burn right through to his spine. He stroked Buffy's back, drinking in the warm strength he knew so intimately. He sighed and rested his forehead on the silky blond tangles pressed against him. "Buffy, love, she's not letting me go, pet. She's not done with me." He placed his fingers under her chin and tipped her face so that her eyes would meet his. "Listen, love, you need to..." At that moment a presence filled the training room: the air became cold and time itself froze. Spike tried to speak, but his words were trapped within layers of icy silence. He continued looking into her eyes even as he was pulled from her grasp, and dissolving beneath her fingertips.
Someone was gently touching his face, "It's all right. Come on, Spike, wake up."
Throbbing razor-edged heat radiated from the scar on his chest to his back. Anger, fear and grief pooled in a hot sludge at his throat. Spike took a deep breath and opened his eyes, looking around the room. It took a minute to remember where he was: Africa, Ralph's village, in a hut where Sabrine had left him. Was that this morning?
"You were having a nightmare. What were you so afraid of?" Sabrine was squatting next to him, her warm hand resting on his shoulder, light and comforting. He struggled to sit up, his nakedness immediately apparent. The thought crossed his mind to reach for a blanket to cover himself, but he didn't have it in him to pretend at modesty. Besides, it was obvious she was far from uncomfortable with his bareness, though the realization made him a bit uneasy. "How long did I sleep?" he asked, reaching for his clothes. He looked through the mesh opening above him and saw the sky was pitch dark noted it was dark, with a scattering of stars.
"You slept all day. It's an hour or so after sundown. I thought vampires had built-in clocks, always knowing exactly where the sun or moon was."
He rubbed his head a bit and made waking up growly sounds. "A bit groggy here. My vampire time mechanisms don't seem to be fully functioning."
Spike frowned slightly, the remnants of the dream making him feel far away and disconnected. Sabine looked at him indulgently, like she wanted to kneel down and stroke his head, as she would an upset child. Instead, she said, "So, tell me about your dream. What do vampires dream about?" She smiled at him playfully.
Spike studied her as he pulled on his jeans. Her thick, black wiry hair was loose and wild, jutting out in all directions. She wore a large white muslin shirt that hung low to her knees and khaki pants that ended midway up her shins. She gave off a sweet, musky scent, like sex and mangoes mixed with the sweet stickiness of tropical fruit. Her brown skin was moist and shiny, as if she had just oiled it.
"Vampires dream of death and blood and sex. That's pretty much it, pet. Sometimes a few oedipal issues sneak in, but mainly it's just gore and guts. He looked around the room. "Have you seen my shirt, love?"
"This it?" She held up his faded and tattered black t-shirt. He reached for it, and she reluctantly released it to his cool hand. She continued to gaze at him.
Spike pulled on his shirt, aware of Sabrine watching him. Her hunger was like a soft growl deep in the belly of the space between them. He could taste her desire floating on the tip of his tongue, a warm open petal, wet and sweet. Quiet, hot energy had begun pulling him toward her. Aw, fuck. Spike quickly leaned over and picked up his belt, breaking the snaking, seductive attraction. He tucked in his shirt and put on the thin leather belt. The aura of her want had thickened the air, and her quickening pulse was causing him an inconvenient and uncomfortable erection. He ran a hand through his hair before looking her square in the eye. He reached out and tenderly placed the palm of his hand on her head, his thumb resting on her temple. He said softly, "Look, love, I'm here to get business done and be on my way. Not saying I'm not tempted, but s'not a good idea."
Her eyes had closed, her dark features softening under his touch. Then Sabrine sighed, opened her eyes and gently removed his hand from where it had become sensually entangled in her thick tresses. She looked up at him and smiled. "No, it's not the best of ideas, but I've had worse." She laughed then, a deep loose laughter that poured through him like honey. "Much worse."
Pulling on his boots, Spike looked up at her and grinned. "I can imagine. We'll have to swap stories sometime." He liked her. Liked being near her, made him feel easy inside, warm-like. He stood up looking out the windows and past the open door. "Where's Ralph? I need to see her."
As he headed for the door her strong hand wrapped around his arm, stopping him. "She's not here. She's in London."
"London? You've got to be kidding. Ralph's in London?" He was beyond shocked.
"Ralph comes and goes rather unpredictably. With unimaginable speed, I might add."
He had just never thought of Ralph as anywhere but here in the wilds of Africa, weaving her magic and watching the world through her crystal ball. He had dismissed her educated way of talking as something she had cultivated as part of her new identity when Raaeolaphogusia became Ralph, sort of like his taking on an East Side brogue when William became Spike. He just could not picture her walking the streets of London. What was she doing there? Ralph didn't seem like the tourist type. Besides, things were happening. Not the time for a little holiday. In the back of his mind her story of falling in love with an Englishman tugged at him. Could her trip have something to do with that? She had practically spelled out that he had been a Watcher. Might she be paying a visit to the Watcher's Council? Surely not.
Just then, awareness of the silence surrounding them hit Spike like a slap across the face. There was hardly a sound. "Why is it so quiet, pet? Where is everyone?"
"They're up at her house. We'll go up and join them in awhile. But first, you must be hungry." She walked over to a bamboo box she had apparently brought with her, and pulled out a thermos. Handing it to him, she said, "How's O positive?"
"As long as it's human and nothing fancy, like, you know," he made a face of disgust, "Slayer blood." He took the thermos and tentatively brought it to his lips. Seemed regular enough. He began to drink as he walked out of the hut and looked around the village compound. He took another swallow. "Okay, Sabrine, let's have it. What happened down there on the trail, and what's my part in all this?" He looked at her challengingly as he drank the rest of the blood, "Or do you know?"
Sabrine leaned against the hut and looked into the night sky, as if she were studying the constellations. Spike was mesmerized by the perfect curve of her wide hip resting against the clay wall, taking momentary pleasure in imagining the soft power. . . Sabrine broke his reverie.
"I know what I know. And I sometimes understand things differently than Ralph." She sighed and motioned to a bench that was off from the main part of the village. "We can talk some, and I'll answer your questions best I can. But we don't have a lot of time. They'll be waiting for us."
"Is that right?" He was feeling impatient. The dream of Buffy floated around him like an apparition, whispering at him, urging him to find out what he needed to know and get out of there. And what's he doing? Watching Sabrine with a hunger he hadn't felt for a woman since…Buffy. He was not only feeling impatient, he was feeling guilty, for Cor's sake. Like he shouldn't think about or want another woman.
Sabrine had been watching him, her eyes filled with a sudden dark knowledge. "She was in your dream."
Spike stopped his obsessiving long enough to be surprised. "How'd you know that?"
Sabrine closed her eyes and concentrated, becoming very still. "Oh. It wasn't a dream. Her spirit was here. She came for you." Sabrine opened her eyes and smiled, looking at Spike. "My, my." Then she tilted her head as if listening for something. She nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly, and closed her eyes again. "But she couldn't hold you." She furrowed her brow as if trying to see more. "She's powerful, more than we thought. More than she knows." Her face became relaxed, the strain had lifted. "She pulled your soul and spirit back with her. There is a bond between you, a primal connection. Like gravity, it keeps pulling the two of you toward each other. But there is…" her eyes flew open before she could finish and she doubled up in pain, falling from the wooden bench to the bare ground. She lay there in a ball, holding herself, moaning.
Spike was next to her immediately, his large hand on her forehead, his arm around her shoulders. "What is it, love?"
Sabrine's body straightened and became stiff as she let out a long low howl. Then she collapsed, breathing hard against the dirt. Spike picked her up and carried her to the hut, laying her down on the blankets. She looked up at him, amazement and terror on her face, her lips trying to move.
"Shh, shhh, pet. Don't talk." Spike got a ladle of water from the bucket in the corner and brought it to her, pressing it to her lips. The pounding of her pulse vibrated through him. Her terror and shock throbbed into in him, her red-hot pain pulling at him like the call of blood. The nerve endings of his vamp face were tingling with an urgency to surface. Instinctually he leaned in closer, the hunger in him directing the first moves toward the kill. He froze as a shot of clarity hit him. Right. A vampire trying to nurse and comfort a Slayer. Made him feel like he had a slate loose.
"A soul doesn't end the hunger of fear, does it?" She had been watching him, aware of his arousal, and ready to counter any attack, like any Slayer would be.
"No. Apparently not." He said unapologetically. He held the ladle up to her lips again and she drank thirstily. "I'm a vampire. The soul's an afterthought."
She sat up, holding her head in her hands, trusting him again. "Not such a little thing, a soul. Not so insignificant. You have no idea." She looked up at him, clear-eyed. A fierce, defiant clarity brightened her features.
"Sabrine, my dream, how did you…"
"Comes with the Slayer package of preternatural abilities. You know, super strength, shape-shifting tendencies, psychic sensitivities, uncontrollable urges to hump vampires. The usual." She shrugged, then carefully stood up, clearly still in some pain.
He put an arm around her to steady her. "Not the usual Slayer skills I've known."
"Yeah, but you haven't known what a Slayer can be."
Spike intuitively knew this was true, except for maybe the Chinese Slayer. She had seemed just what he expected a Slayer to be, but then he hadn't known that she had special tricks up her sleeve. He'd never experienced or heard of a Slayer like Sabrine. He wanted to know more. But this wasn't the time.
"Something didn't want you poking around in my dreams, pet. Knocked you on your arse." He looked at her questioningly. "You said we were safe here."
"We are." Sabrine sighed and added with a slight tone of embarrassment, "As long as the psychic boundaries are maintained."
"And?"
She took the ladle from him and drank again. Then she walked to the corner of the room and dropped the ladle into the pail. It hit the metal corner, causing a sharp clang. "In order to see into your dream, I had to bend the energetic barrier between realities. That created an opening. Sorry. You know what they say--curiosity killed the..."
She looked at him with a face stripped bare, exposed, all her truths there for his taking. Her voice was cold and challenging. "You want to know your part in all this?"
Spike waited, his crystalline blue eyes meeting the obsidian blackness of hers.
"A soul? You're telling us that Spike has a soul?" There was not only utter disbelief, but also no small measure of disgust in Giles' voice. "Next you'll be telling us that he has expressed remorse and begs forgiveness for his endless acts of brutality."
Ralph had a patient and somewhat forced smile on her face. "You'll have to ask him about that. I find it irrelevant. The point is that a vampire has never…never…sought out his soul. Think about it, Watcher. Think about what it means."
Willow was spellbound, more so by the witch across from her than by the information---which she understood was shocking from Ralph's tone, rather than her words. What did it mean that Spike had a soul? So did Angel. A situation not without its advantages and its pitfalls, but not exactly the end of the world. Willow was more interested in Ralph. She could feel the old woman's restrained power in every molecule in the room. She had never felt such a depth of magical energy. Even when the darkest of forces had rushed through her fingertips, destroying all she touched, she had not felt this. If she dropped her awareness a little deeper and squinted her eyes, she could see the golden cords of primal power extending from the witch's form into the earth. This strange, wrinkled crone of a witch was connected. And not just to the higher powers.
"…you don't really think.." Giles paused, a frown forming on his forehead as he struggled to grasp what it was that the witch was implying.
Blythe, who had been silently watching the interaction between the witch and the watcher, finally spoke. "Who is Spike, again?"
Both Giles and Ralph gave her the briefest of dismissive looks before continuing with their exchange. Willow didn't even hear Blythe, but she noted Rose's eyes grow large as saucers with understanding.
Ralph continued, her voice heavy with anger. "Where were you, Watcher, as your Slayer was fighting for her life and finding it in the arms of a vampire?" Ralph sighed heavily, as if to shake off the ire that was replacing her impatience. "Oh well. Not really your fault. You might as well ask, where was I? But who would have thought? Anyway, it's happened. The impossible. And nothing will remain as it was."
Giles squirmed in his chair. He took off his glasses and rested his forehead against the palm of his hand. "Let me see if I have this right. By the very act of transforming his nature, Spike has created an imbalance…no, that's not quite right, is it? It's more like the slayer/vampire bond has been altered and . . .the complexities of the situation boggle the mind."
"Yes. The exchange of power between Slayers and vampires has been affected. Think about it. If evil, pure evil, can conceive of and manifest goodness, than what becomes the purpose of Slayers? What will the makeup of future Slayers be? Will the Slayer line even continue? And," Ralph paused, as if hesitating to touch upon the real subject of her concern, "what consequence might occur within the Slayer lineage when a vampire, say Spike, for instance, can love so deeply as to sacrifice himself? What consequential event might occur of equal power?
Giles rolled his eyes and mumbled, "Self-sacrifice, indeed. Mark my words, it was nothing of the sort. Everything Spike does is about himself."
"Giles, be quiet." A shiver had run through Willow at the witch's last words. She looked directly at Ralph. "This isn't just about a potential shift in primal energies. Something has happened as a result of Spike's soul-getting. What evil did his good deed shake loose?"
Giles and Ralph stared at her, caught off guard by Willow's sharp interruption.
Willow sat straight in her chair, looking unflinchingly into Ralph's eyes. Ralph seemed amused by Willow's air of challenge, and looked back at her softly, with something akin to kindness in her old eyes. Giles cleared his throat, and spoke, "Willow's right. What does Spike have to do with the evilness that is emerging? That's why you're here, isn't it?"
Willow was quiet deep inside, listening for what intuitive information would come her way about Ralph. The others had been silent, leaving the discussion in the hands of Giles. Rose had her notebook out and was busy scribbling like her life depended on it. Ralph slowly turned from Willow, breaking their connection, and answered Giles.
"Spike has broken the biological and spiritual bonds that define a vampire, giving him access to powers he can't even imagine. Which, by the way, he has no inkling of. If that weren't scary enough, your Slayer is coming into her second level of change. She is unaware of what that involves and is not prepared for what is happening to her. We can only be grateful for the short respite their separation provides. The two of them together, unconsciously combining and using their energies, would at the very least stir up a nasty mess of cosmic chaos. We'd be lucky if resulted in no more than the a major earthquake in California." Ralph stood up, swinging her green wool poncho around her, scattering tiny blue sparks of energy as she moved. Walking over to the window, she added. "If these two don't come to understand and direct their powers and soon, then Garanthe will do it for them."
Before anyone could ask who Garanthe was, Ralph turned away from the window, her coal black eyes sparking as she zeroed in on Willow. "And you, child. Where did you come from? Do you ever wonder how you and Buffy Summers ended up in the same place at the same time? Do you think you have not known the lure of magic or the partnership of a Slayer before?"
She walked over to Willow and stood behind her. Placing her hand on the young witch's shoulder, Ralph stood preternaturally still. Closing her eyes, she started to sing a low chant in Irish. The room began to shift and change, time unraveling before them. A young woman took form in front of the hearth, her amber-red hair whipping wildly in all directions. The sound of waves crashing against rocks was all that could be heard. Behind her was an endless body of water the color of tourmaline. Craggy gray cliffs covered with wild plum-colored moss surrounded her. As she stood before them, she slowly began to age, until a withered crone was alone on the beach, leaning on a gnarled staff. It had been carved from a root of some kind and was covered with engraved symbols blackened by age.
The old woman raised her hand and pointed a crooked finger at Willow. "I have brought it for you. The root." She took a step closer to Willow. Peeking out from layers of wrinkles, her eyes sparkled with tears. "Sister, we have traveled with Slayers through time and dimensions, you and I, weaving our spells of dark and light." She continued to stare into Willow.
"Theila," Willow whispered.
The ancient one lowered her head in recognition and reverence. "Gwendolyn," she answered back. When she raised her head, her eyes were pools of black. "Beware Garanthe. She is watching you, waiting for her moment." The old woman took the rod in her ancient hands and lightly held it high in front of her for a moment. Then, with a wild screech of ancient incantations, she twirled the staff into the air where it remained suspended above them, spinning, wrapped in iridescent web-like shadows.
An icy oceanic wind blowing in her hair and the powers of the earth swirling through her mind, Willow found herself being sucked down, down into the woman standing before them. Willow knew this body, this mind. Theila. Her sister. They had ruled the covens in Ireland together in the 1700's and fought beside the Slayer. Then, as her sister said the name, Gwendolyn, Willow had found herself elsewhere.
The most beautiful woman Willow had ever seen was looking intently into her eyes, her face so close Willow could smell the lavender in her hair. The Irish Slayer's eyes were a translucent emerald green, cat-like and sharp. Willow smiled at her and reached to pull her into her arms. Garanthe leaned forward to kiss her. At that moment, a red bleeding pain shot through Willow's left breast as a steel point found her heart and slipped through. The warm touch of Garanthe's soft kiss upon her lips was the last sensation she felt. "May you find peace as you sleep in the arms of Gaia, my sweet Gwen," were the last words she heard before her soul and spirit drifted from her body.
"Awake!" It was Ralph's voice, quiet and sharp, bringing Willow back to the present. Ralph removed her hand from Willow's shoulder, and the witch on the beach disappeared. But the room remained filled with the woman's ancient strength, and the fierce power of the earth she had emerged from.
Giles came to Willow as soon as he was free from the vision spell. He knelt beside her, rubbing her hand, a look of deep concern on his face. "Willow, are you alright?" Not waiting for an answer, he stood and turned to Ralph, enraged. "What are you doing?"
Ralph ignored Giles. She looked into Willow's eyes, which were clear, and as still and deep as a winter lake. Ralph nodded once at her, then was silent for a second before asking, "Will you take it?"
Tears gathered in Willow's eyes as she sat perfectly still, staring ahead. Then she looked into Ralph's eyes and slowly nodded. She got up and went to stand below the staff floating near the ceiling. She watched it for a long time. It kept rotating high above them in a perfect circle. Giles made a protective move towards her, but Willow held out her hand indicating that he should stay where he was. Then she began to sing softly, with an Irish lilt in her voice. The rod started to glow in an effervescent sea green, very faint at first. Willow held up her hand and the staff immediately began to shine and move, turning into a pearly green snake. "Ey! To me, mine!" Everyone jumped and stood back, except Ralph, who remained close by. The snake dropped silently into Willow's open right hand, and wound itself into a tight coil. Willow held it tenderly and whispered words only Ralph could hear. The snake gradually unwound itself until at last it became a plain staff again, carved out of an unknown root, ash brown with a tint of green.
Giles looked over at Ralph, unable to speak.
"You asked what I needed from you. I need all of your powers. Your Slayer's, the vampire's, and the witch's. Spike's claiming of his soul has opened a portal within the slayer lineage. Garanthe has risen and will not easily be defeated."
"Run that past me again, Pet."
Spike was pacing back and forth across the length of the hut. It was clear to Sabrine that if it were possible for vampires to sweat, he'd be swimming in it by now. She yearned to reach out and touch him. She, a Slayer known across Africa for her skills in killing and taming vampires, stood here using all her willpower not to offer a vampire solace. She sighed, resigning herself to the first of the inevitable changes to come.
"It goes like this. There is a biological and spiritual web that connects Slayers and vampires. It is spun from the raw powers of the universe. Like a spider web, it is deceptively strong and amazingly sensitive. Picture the web as extending around the earth's surface, and at each hell mouth a spider resides. A Slayer. The spider is attuned to every movement and vibration that disturbs the web. One day, a certain master fly gets tired of playing by the rules of the web. It begins to have tender feelings for the spider. It even begins to dream of becoming a spider."
"Bloody hell woman, enough! Being likened to a master fly is a bit too much." Spike threw up his hands and turned to her, talking between clenched teeth. "Explain it, plain and simple and to the point."
"You changed the rules of the game by changing what you are. Nothing is as it was, including the web and the spider."
"The Slayer's different cause I got a soul? How?"
"Don't forget there's more than one Slayer." She was getting a little irritated at how he seemed to continue to ignore that fact. "I'm not unaffected, you know." Sabrine couldn't stand the confinement of the hut any longer. "Come on. Let's head toward Ralph's place." She grabbed a light rose-colored shawl from off a hook on the wall and she walked out the door.
Spike followed, lighting a cigarette. Catching up with her, he exhaled a thin line of smoke and said, "Okay. Let's start with you then. How's my getting a soul making you different?
Sabrine was caught off guard at the quick turn of attention to her. She felt confused and exposed. For starters, the most immediate and noticeable change had been her feelings toward Spike. She had not experienced deep feelings for a vampire before. She hadn't thought of it as even a possibility. Sure, she'd tamed and had sex with more than a few, as was expected of her. But the feelings she had for her domesticated vampires weren't like this. She respected them for what they were—powerful and primitive animals. A domesticated vampire was a beautiful and extraordinarily useful possession. As their master, she took responsibility for those that she tamed and kept. There were even two of her vamps that she was especially fond of and tended to pick more often then the others for the rituals and hunts. It was not in her biology or belief system to think of a vampire as an equal. Certainly, she had never felt anything emotional or beyond the built-in slayer/vampire sexual attraction toward one. She would have questioned her sanity if she had.
The ancient sexual rituals she had participated in were meant to allow her powers to awaken and evolve. As powerful as those experiences had been, they had never led her to desire a vampire. She hungered for the opening of power, but not for the vampire. But, Spike. She wanted him. More than that, she wanted to know him, to touch him tenderly, to share her power with him. She shook her head. Crazy. A Slayer willing to share her power. Feeling flustered, she looked at Spike. He had a smirk on his face and his eyes told her he knew. She took on the stance of royalty. Tilting her head regally, she stalked off, throwing over her shoulder, "I think I'll answer that another time."
"Fine then. Now, tell me about the Slayer."
Sabrine felt a twinge of resentment, or jealousy, or both. She wasn't sure. She'd think about what she was feeling later. Right now she considered what changes his Slayer might be going through.
"Chances are she's experiencing more of her darkness consciously. It's possible that she's gaining awareness of the connection that exists between slayers and vampires. She is probably becoming clearer about what makes up her connection with you. These are just guesses. You see, part of a Slayer's makeup is a built-in blind spot. Because of you getting a soul, her protective barrier has probably weakened, allowing her to know more of her darker nature. Beyond that, I really don't know." Sabrine stopped walking and took Spike's cigarette from his mouth, taking a deep drag. She handed it back to him as she exhaled, saying, "Since you asked." She thought it best to leave out that his Slayer was also going through a natural growth cycle that was pure hell. Least it had been for her. All those crazy visions and psychic changes. She shuddered.
"That don't sound so bad. She could use a little more insight. A taste of her own nastiness would do her a world of good. The Slayer thinks her darker side is a temporary fluke of nature. She acts like she not only has to save the world, but has to demonstrate the importance good attitude while she's at it." Spike stopped and looked at Sabrine. Speaking louder than he needed to and pointing to himself in an aggravated fashion, he said, "And one more thing, she couldn't face up to the fact she wanted to shag this evil disgusting vampire everytime she saw him."
Sabrine laughed. How little he understood what it is to be a Slayer. When Ralph first told her of the California Slayer's relationship with a vampire, she was shocked. Then, as she had thought about it, it was obvious that the Slayer had been acting instinctually in order to engage and awaken her slayer energy. Although lately, she had to admit, she was not so clear that had been a correct assumption.
She said, "The changes that are happening might be a good thing. An evolution of spirit for both vamps and Slayers. Or not. Time will tell. For sure, Slayers will not be the same. Slayer culture can't continue as it has if it accepts the truth of what has occurred."
Spike looked a little nervous. "You know, pet, it's my experience that most cultures have ways of making sure that things don't change—unless the change serves the existing power structure." He took a drag off his cigarette, and said, "The way I see it, Ralph's the boss around here and she's been none too pleased with me lately."
"Ralph is not your biggest concern right now, believe me. Could be it will come to your life depending on her powers and knowledge. She's had plenty of chance to dust you, or worse. You could have found yourself sitting happily on her shoulder like Dracula, picking off fleas."
"Hah. Right. What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just what it sounds like. Literally. Her and Drac go way back. Ralph actually had great fondness for Dracula—still does. I think it's possible they were lovers at one time. They had an understanding between them. But, he just couldn't resist. He had to try and seduce one of her Slayers." Sabrine looked up at him and smiled. "Yours, I believe. He's been at Ralph's side since, her favorite of all her pets. You don't want to mess with Ralph."
Spike was speechless. His lips were twitching, indicating he was trying to say something. Then he broke out into a huge grin and began laughing, until he was howling. "Guess that's one debt I won't have to look over my shoulder about anymore." Sabrine watched him with a smile on her face, her hands on her hips. He suddenly stopped laughing and said, "Ralph did that? Bloody hell." Sabrine could see that he was struggling to grasp the latest piece of information she had shared. Well, time to get to the real scary stuff.
"There's something else." Ralph's cave-hut was in sight up the trail, marked by myriad points of light. She turned to Spike. "The force you felt trying to control you? Her name is Garanthe. She was released when your soul was returned to you. She was a Slayer in Ireland in the 1700's, who sold her power to an ancient sorcerer for, you know, the usual: immortality. She sought to gain control over the Slayer line and was barely stopped. Her lover's sister, Theila, a ruling sorceress, was able to immobilize Garanthe's power and seal her within a containment spell."
Spike froze beside her, his face gone corpse-blank. "What? One moment we're talking about slight shifts in the slayer/vampire dynamic, and the next you're adding, as though in passing, that there's an evil Slayer out to get me? What is it about me? Do I have a brand on me that says 'Slayer Property' or something?"
Sabrine's eyes widened. "Well, as a matter of fact, yes."
"You're not talking about the "called" thing, are you? There's something else?"
Sabrine nodded and reached out to touch the place where the crescent scar burned on his chest. "You were called and domesticated. This," she pressed on the scar, "tells all demons that you are ours. That way, you will not be harmed, at least by other vampires or demons. The real question at the moment is which Slayer will you service? Garanthe is making a powerful play for you."
Spike was suddenly shaking with rage. He went into game face and moved toward Sabrine. She prepared to defend herself. "If any Slayer has a claim to me, it's Buffy. And, she don't want me and, even if she did, no one owns me." He grabbed Sabrine by her hair and twisted her neck back. She saw his eyes narrow a little in pain, and she knew the scar must be sending searing pain down his chest and arms for trying to harm her. But his grip remained steady. "So Ralph trades the chip in for a little brand, and just like that," he snapped his fingers in her face, "Slayers alone can say who and what I kill."
Tears ran down Sabrine's face. She could stop this, but she waited to see if he would stop himself first. "Spike. Let me go. There's more important things for you to know."
Spike had one hand in her hair and placed the other on the side of her head, moving into a familiar maneuver. As he went to twist her head to break her neck, he released her and fell to the ground, writhing in agony.
Sabrine was sobbing and she hated herself for it. She wanted to run to him. For the first time in her life, she felt ashamed of being a Slayer.
After a few moments, Spike slowly got up, the pain apparently easing. He was out of game face now, blue eyes staring at her with a stunned expression. "I tried to kill you." He sounded both puzzled and defeated. "And, I wasn't able to." The look of bafflement changed to horror. "Oh, my God. I would've killed you."
"I'm not easy to kill." She stepped toward him slowly, as she would approach a wounded animal. "I'm sorry, Spike. Really." Still crying, she said, "You asked me how your having a soul was changing me." She looked up and into his eyes. "I feel shame."
He stared at her, his face like stone.
Sabrine stepped closer. "I promise you, I will release you from the Slayer hold as soon as I can."
Spike put his hand to his chest, fingering the small scar. "Branded. Ralph branded me. It's the only thing that kept me from killing you." He looked down and put his fists against his temple, letting out a low growl. Suddenly he stopped. He looked at her and said calmly, "I'm still a monster, even with a soul. Ralph knew. She was right to mark me." Spike said softly, "Stop your crying, Sabrine."
"I'm not crying. I never cry."
"Right." He moved toward her and slowly took her into his arms. He buried his face in her hair. Sabrine put her arms around him and slowly rocked against him, until their pain at having hurt each other softened. Spike nuzzled into the thickness of her hair. He muttered, "This is some mess."
Sabrine mumbled against his chest, "It's always that way. There's nothing I can do with it."
Spike laughed and stroked her hair. "Not your hair, love. The mess I've created. Could've spent a week drinking my brains out like I usually do when my heart's broken. But, no. I got to go get a soul. Seemed simple enough. Now I've got three, count them, three slayers after me." He looked at her and added playfully, "For one reason or another."
"Four."
"I counted you. I know you've got your net out for me. Can't say I mind," Spike said, a little cockily.
"Aren't you sure of yourself?" Sabrine pulled away from him and smiled. "Ralph. You didn't count her."
"Ralph? A Slayer?" Spike became quiet. Then he said, almost as if to himself, "The familiar buzz I felt around her, but couldn't place. Slayer energy. I didn't catch it cause it was too impossible of a thing to imagine. Ralph, a Slayer. I'll be buggered."
"There's so much you don't know. Ralph is a Slayer and always will be. Spike, I'll tell you anything you ask. Later. But right now, you've got to understand about Granathe."
Sabrine began walking and pulled Spike after her.
"What does she want with me? Isn't freeing her so she can go on with her evil plans enough?" Spike lit a cigarette and continued walking close to Sabrine. "How did my soul-getting break the containment spell anyway?"
"Ralph's theory is that a vampire reclaiming his soul was so radically unexpected that only something as equally radical and unexpected within the slayer lineage, such as Garanthe's betrayal of her nature, could manifest as an equalizer. But, frankly, I don't think she has it all worked out. My theory is…"
"What does she want with me?"
Sabrine stopped a moment. Spike stood next to her, waiting. Off in the distance she heard the soft beat of drums. He pulled another fag out of his pocket and lit it. The village was now far behind them. They had been following a path where the ground had been pounded hard as rock by thousands of bare feet. She looked down at his beaten up leather boots. A few inches away were her feet, naked and strong, a string of opal beads around one ankle. Her heart pumped in a calm, steady rhythm. She moved closer to him, deep in thought, seeking his presence for grounding. She looked up at him. She almost gasped. Written on Spike's face as clear as the tattoo on her right hip was his desire for her. She hadn't realized he had felt the attraction also. Just as he was about to move his fingers to touch her, she began hurriedly walking, her feet not as confident as they touched the hard earth as before.
A foot ahead of him, she said, "She wants to use your powers. Ralph thinks that Garanthe doesn't know how you released her. She suspects that Garanthe probably thinks it was through the great powers you have as a dark sorcerer and master vampire. I don't think…"
"What powers do I have?"
"That remains to be seen. There is no doubt that by breaking out of your nature as a vampire that you have accessed higher powers. Just what they are and to what extent, we don't know. You haven't exhibited anything extraordinary that I've noticed. Other than the ability to make me cry."
"And that was so hard." Spike touched her hand slightly as they walked. "Sabrine, from what I understand, when a vampire and slayer are able to align their powers consciously with intent, there can be great power."
"Of course. That's exactly what she has in mind. The question is, how much and what kind of power would you bring to such an alignment? She doesn't know that. Neither do we."
"How does Buffy fit into this?"
"She will be needed to help defeat Garanthe. But not yet. She is not ready. Neither of you are."
________________________________________________
They walked in silence the last few stretches before reaching Ralph's place, all the time Spike's thoughts were reeling. He couldn't decide what was the more disturbing—the branding, Garanthe, or. . .the poor bloke---Dracula as a parrot. In with all of those very upsetting facts, were the feelings he had for Sabrine. Course he wanted to shag her. Slayer, thing and all. He always wanted to shag 'em. Ralph, being the exception.
Once there, they found that there were several hundred people, what looked like the entire village, sitting in silence among numerous, tall, burning torches. The crowd extended from the large level area in front of the oak door, to the edge of brush that marked the beginning of the sloping trail leading back to civilization. As he and Sabrine approached the hut, she motioned him to be quiet and took his hand, leading him towards the door. From inside he could hear a quiet chanting of female voices. As they approached the old wooden door, it suddenly opened. The inside of the hut was lit with countless candles. In front of Spike and Sabrine stood Ralph, her silhouette lit from behind, making her fuzzy hair look like a shaggy halo.
"You're just in time." Ralph opened the door in a gesture of invitation. In the center of the room, surrounded by a small circle of chanting black women, sat Giles, cross-legged, with his eyes closed. He was wearing khaki shorts with a white cotton shirt. There were red and black streaks of thick paint across his face and a white dot painted between his eyes. He was beating softly on a small black drum. Dracula, sat on his shoulder, appearing very solemn. Spike had to look away, he couldn't look Drac in the eyes.
Off to Spike's right, just inside the doorway, he heard a whisper, "Pssst." He gingerly leaned inside and looked around the corner.
"Well, I'll be buggered," he said under his breath. Here in the middle of nowhere, a sodding sink-hole of a place that he couldn't find his way out of, stood Willow, smiling at him as if she had just flown in on her broom.
Ralph gave him a firm, but light shove, pushing him all the way inside. In her deep, raspy voice, she said, "Come in, Spike. We've been waiting for you."
Sabrine followed, shutting the door behind her, mumbling, "Damn."
"Where am I, love?"
She took his hand and pulled him to her. "Here, with me." She kept one arm around his waist as she reached down with the other picking up his weathered black leather duster and wrapping it around them. Within the warm darkness of the heavy coat she held him close, laying her head against his chest. "You're safe now," she said, gently, relieved.
"Buffy, love. She's not letting me go, pet. She's not done with me." He placed his fingers under her chin and tipped her face. "Listen, love, you need to…."
She looked questioningly into his eyes, her right hand resting above his heart, his skin hot to her touch. At that moment the air became cold and still in the training room . Time froze. Spike's face became focused, determined, and he tried to speak, but his words were trapped within layers of icy silence. All Buffy could make out was a name, "Ralph", before raw anguish passed across his face, twisting his features as he was pulled out of her grasp, dissolving beneath her fingertips. Buffy tried to scream, to move, but she couldn't. She felt as if she were encased in a block of burning ice. The leather coat dropped from her shoulders and burst into flames.