Blackness. Pain. A sizzling sound and the smell of burning flesh.....
Spike's eyes snapped open and his back arched in agony. His vision slowly cleared. He was stripped to the waist, and lying on a stainless steel autopsy table. Riley loomed above, a large syringe in his hand.
"Welcome back to the land of.... well, the land of the soon-to-be-dust. How're you doing, my man? Long time no see."
Spike lunged upwards, snarling and straining against the manacles that held his hands and feet. Riley squirted a bit of the liquid in the syringe out across Spike's bare chest in an arc. It hissed and bubbled, smoke rising. Spike roared and bared his teeth, banging his head against the table.
"Holy water. Fascinating stuff. Just imagine what would happen if I....." He touched the tip of the needle against Spike's arm. "....Stuck you...." He trailed across to the center of his chest. "Here. Or....." The tip of the needle hovered over one ice-blue eye. "Here. Orrrrrr...." Riley pushed the needle into the denim of Spike's jeans, near his groin. "Here." His finger hovered over the plunger.
Riley smiled brilliantly. "Later." He set the syringe down on a tray just out of Spike's sight, and picked up a pair of tongs. He sat down on the edge of the table. "First, we need to chat. What did you think you were you doing, trying to turn my minions against me like that?"
"Not my fault you can't control your lackeys. Maybe you're just not cut out for this 'evil' thing, wot? Some guys just 'aven't got the stones...."
"WRONG ANSWER!!!!" With blinding speed, Riley lept on the table and grabbed Spike's jaw, forcing his mouth open. He reached in with the tongs and wrenched out one of the blond vampire's teeth. Blood spattered across Riley's sweater as Spike screamed. He climbed off and dropped the tooth in a clear glass beaker. Spike glared, eyes a baleful yellow, growling low in his throat.
"Next one out is a fang. Now. Let's try this again. As much as I'd love to draw this out... and you really have no idea how much.... I have a date tonight. So, let's just cut to the chase. What have you told the Slayer?"
"Fuck you." Spike spat blood.
"Now, that's not very helpful. Boys?" Two of the remaining minions came forward and held Spike's head. Riley moved forward with the tongs.
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Buffy paced. The memories of this particular room in Sunnydale General Hospital were all too vivid, and recent. The cheap plastic furniture. The stained and worn industrial type rug. The falling-apart magazines that were six months old. And all the boxes of tissues, at least one on every surface. She could see ghostly images when she looked around. Herself and Tara sitting on that bench. Dawn on the chair next to it, knees drawn up to her chest. Willow, Xander, Anya, and Giles, looking helpless. Buffy felt helpless now. And she wanted to run from that room as fast as she could.
The double doors leading into the waiting area flew open. Willow burst in, eyes swollen and almost as red as her hair. She ran towards Buffy.
"I got your message. Tara....."
Buffy put her hands on her friend's shoulders. "Tara's alive. Somebody broke into the Magic Box and cracked her over the head with one of the big marble runes behind the counter. She's still unconscious"
Willow tried to push past Buffy. "I want to see her. Now."
"Will, you can't. They've taken her back for a CAT scan. They'll come out and tell us when there's any news."
Willow's eyes darted back and forth from Buffy to the ER doors, then she slumped and collapsed back onto the plastic bench. She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, and rested her head in her hands. Buffy sat next to her, and laid her hand on Willow's back. Willow sat up.
"What happened?"
"I'm not sure. The place wasn't ransacked. I couldn't see that anything was out of place... not your usual Magic Box robbery. I don't think it was a robbery at all. But who'd want to hurt Tara? She doesn't have any enemies."
"No, she doesn't. But Anya does."
Buffy sighed. "Yeah, there's a lot of people... and otherwise... who'd take a crack at Anya."
Willow stared into space, silent.
"Will... it's not Anya's fault. And I'll find whoever did this and put the hurt on them. I promise."
Willow turned her head to look at Buffy. "If anything happens to Tara, whoever did it will wish that you found them first." Her voice was cold, and a hint of darkness moved behind her eyes.
The doors opened, and a woman wearing bluish green surgical scrubs came out. "Maclay family?"
Buffy stepped forward. "We're her friends."
"She doesn't have any family." Willow spoke through tight lips.
"I see. Well, then... I'm Dr. Westin. The good news is, Miss Maclay doesn't have a skull fracture. She's got a concussion, a large laceration on her scalp, and she's lost a lot of blood... more than we can account for, actually. The not so good news, there's been some bleeding on her brain. We've put her into a light induced coma to minimize that, but we won't know for sure if there's any damage for 48 hours."
"I want to see her. Now."
"She's not...." the doctor saw something in Willow's eyes and cut short her protest. "Well, just for a minute."
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Buffy pulled down the yellow crime scene tape across the door of the Magic Box, turned the key in the lock, and went in, followed by a reluctant Willow. The latter cut her eyes around from the fake magic geegaws, to the real items of power, to the smudges of fingerprint powder and the smeared blood around the main counter.
"Wills?"
"I'll be fine, Buffy. Where are the things you wanted me to see?"
"Over here." Buffy led her friend to the round table at the back of the store. The books and spell components she'd seen earlier were undistrubed. Willow ran her fingers lightly over the books, then picked up the small ceramic bowls and sniffed the contents.
"There's nothing unusual. Sage, celery seeds, yarrow, althaea, salt water.... standard stuff for prophecy. All easy ingredients to get, nothing that would interest a demon."
"That's what I was afraid of." Buffy perched unhappily on the edge of a low bookcase.
Willow walked away from the table. "The blood loss says 'vampire'."
"Yeah, but there were no bite marks, and since when does your typical vamp have enough self-control not to completely drain their victim?" She winced, seeing Willow's shoulders stiffen at the word "victim".
"Willow, I have to ask... are there any rituals that call for the blood of a witch?"
"Yeah." Willow's voice was distant. She stopped, crouched down, and peered underneath the counter, then she stood up, grabbed a pencil, and used it to pull out a small square of black plastic with wires attached. "Since when do demons, or vampires for that matter, carry pagers?"