Elysium, Part Three--Cairo
Before he'd left the States, Spike had called Dawn to let her know what he was doing. She'd expressed her absolute faith in Spike's ability to find Tara and bring her home. Soon. "You always find her," she'd said. True. But Tara had always been in the same damned place when he'd gone after her months before, not to mention that she had a two-week head start on him.
He had studied the departures at the airport around the time that Tara would have gotten there the night she'd whammied him. There wasn't anything on the list that wouldn't "keep", so he looked at the destinations, looked at his list, and saw that there was a flight to Canada around that time. He'd bought a ticket and crossed his fingers that she'd opted for convenient, and hadn't had some kind of specific route in mind.
Then he'd wondered if maybe she'd already gathered everything and was heading back to Sunnydale, if she wasn't already there, to do the ritual. That thought was squashed in Calgary. It had taken her three days to find and obtain a rare Anointing Bowl. Olson had said it was impossible to determine if Willow's energy had been transferred but Spike figured that if Tara had spent three days tracking it down, then, hey, she was pretty damn sure it had been.
From Calgary he'd gone to Berlin, only to realize she hadn't yet been there. He'd been tempted to take care of the business in Berlin, but didn't want to lose track of her. So he'd flown to Paris and found that he'd missed her by only a few days. She'd wasted time there, trying to get the Onyx Heart. Solid sources said she'd headed to Cairo after that, so off he went.
He didn't want to be doing this--traipsing after her. Really didn't. But he was, and the really ironic part of it was that Tara had let him know she didn't expect him to. Her lack of judgment at Willow's grave, when she'd acknowledged that she was damn well aware that he'd shuffled everyone out of Sunnydale to make his own life easier, proved that.
When he wasn't tired from the traveling, he could tell himself that he was doing it for Dawn. No telling how badly she'd react to Tara getting herself killed on this quest, right? Might just be the straw to break the camel's back. When he was knackered beyond belief, he told himself the same thing. Trouble was, he didn't believe it then. Wasn't just for Dawn he was doing it. It was for Tara.
Because he'd made a promise to her that last night before he'd taken her to Wildwind. Goodbye. Hadn't just meant getting her away from the pain of Sunnydale. What exactly it had meant...Spike wasn't even going to go near that anytime soon. He was too busy working himself up to a nice level of irritation that was quickly escalating to anger. Nice feeling, anger. Nothing at all pansy-ass about it. He couldn't wait for it to put in an appearance.
When he got off the plane in Cairo the anger arrived suddenly; Cairo was a stinking cesspit whose odor of oppression and sickness made his stomach churn. Definitely not going to be a fun trip.
Olson and Josh were relatively handy on the computer, but they hadn't been able to track Tara at all through those means. Which meant that Spike was left to his own devices to find her. Took most of the night to find the hotel at which she was staying, and when he finally did, a careless shuffle of bills got him her room number, and access into it. He wasn't exactly pleased about that.
He tossed his small bag into a corner of the room and secured the drapes at the windows, almost tearing them from the wall with his sharp movements. There wasn't a bloody ward or protective spell to be felt in the room, and the Annointing Bowl was just sitting on the nightstand out in the open. Was she really so clueless as to not take precautions? Spike paced and thought about that. If the Arcepts had any idea of what she was up to, they'd be trying to stop her. Not to mention that there was no telling whose attention she was garnering while trying to get what she needed.
The utter lack of caution with which she was going about this enraged him. It was like she didn't care if something got her.
"Soddin' hell," he snapped, kicking at the closed door.
His phone call to Sunnydale didn't make matters better. Quite the opposite, actually. His demon came to the forefront when Giles answered the phone at the Magic Box. "What the hell are you doing there?" he snapped.
"Hello to you, as well," Giles replied, his voice clipped. "Have you found her?"
Spike hung up. Just hung up and punched in the number for his and Faith's flat with more force than necessary. He was half convinced that she was at the Magic Box as well, but he calculated the time difference and realized it was still daylight in California. Then he resigned himself to calling several times so that the incessant ringing would actually wake the Slayer up.
To his surprise, she answered on the first ring. And she didn't sound happy. "I said I'd be there in half-an-hour. Just give me a friggin' break, already," was her hissed greeting.
"What the fuck is Rupes doing in Sunnyhell?" Spike demanded of her. "And why the bloody hell are you awake during daylight hours?"
"What do you think he's doing here?" Faith all but yelled in his ear. "We can't do anything right, remember? We can't train or slay or research or run the store right. Apparently I don't even sleep right, which is why I'm up and tired and waaay bitchy. Oh, and according to Giles? Yeah, we must have all lost our minds to let you go after Tara."
She took a deep breath. "I want to strangle him, Spike," she said, the words precise and furious. "Just choke the life out of him and send his corpse back to England with a big red bow on it. Think that would hurt my bid for redemption?"
"Redemption's overrated," he dismissed.
"Let's just hope he blows out of town before I start agreeing with you," Faith sighed. "Any luck, yet?"
Spike kicked his boots off and sat on the bed. "Jackpot, actually. Just waiting for her to get back to her room."
"Cool." She paused. "Hey, how'd you know Giles was here?"
"Called the store first. Hung up on the git."
There was a long silence, then Faith laughed. "Sweet. Wish I'd seen his face."
"You three come up with anything?"
"Josh is still looking into why the ritual's a killer, and Olsen's still digging into that Arcept so that we know how to take him out if Tara can't get this done." She blew out an exasperated breath. "I've been out scoping for their lair, or whatever you want to call it. I'm hoping to kill the bastards so that none of this matters."
There was a tone to her voice that had Spike glaring at nothing in particular. "But...?" he said knowingly.
"Giles is, like, all up in our faces, Spike," she admitted tiredly. "He's not too thrilled about our plan, and he has this knack for knowing when we're about to do our own things. Keeps insisting that we quit wasting time and shit. Josh would tell him where to shove it, but he's trying to keep the peace for our sake. "
"What's Rupes' suggestion?" Spike drawled, laying back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling.
"The recipient," Faith snorted. "That's what he calls whoever got Will's mojo. Wants us to focus on efforts on finding out who it is. I'm not too clear on the details, since he won't tell me all of it. Came out and said it was over my head, which is asshole for not smart enough. Shit, Spike, I understand what his problem is, but I'm getting damn tired of dealing with it."
He grunted. "Preaching to the choir, Slayer. Anything else I should know about?"
"Olson suggested we see if Wesley's contacts could find out anything for us, but Giles went apeshit." A telling pause, then, "Josh called him the other night and he's on it." Spike laughed. He wasn't one to advocate going to the Pouf or his people for help. Not unless it was dire. Far as he was concerned, this qualified. "Gimme a number to reach you at, just in case."
Spike tilted the phone cradle up and read her the number.
"All right, I gotta go before he comes over to drag me to the Magic Box. Be careful, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"And...go easy on her."
***
It was almost seven before Tara came back, and Spike's rage had dulled to an aching anger that he was almost able to control. But then the door opened and she entered the room. Tired and dragging, head bowed and arms wrapped around her waist, she leaned against the door once she'd closed it. She looked so lost, so small and gone, that the rage came back in full force.
He shot across the room, and her head whipped up in terror as he braced his hands on the door at either side of her shoulders. "Hello, pet," he snarled. Tara's mouth opened and closed several times. A tremor wracked her body and Spike clenched his jaw.
"Spike," she gasped, staring up at him in shock. "What--what are you doing here?"
His eyes widened in shock. "I was just in the bleedin' neighborhood," he snapped sarcastically, "and I thought I'd pop over to see if you had a bloody cup of sugar." Her eyes clouded with confusion and Spike lost another bit of hold on his temper. His next words were screamed at her pale face. "What the hell do you think I'm doing here, you idiot? We figured out what the hell is going on."
"Okay," she said hesitantly. "But why are you here? I mean, I'm taking care of it..."
Her words stopped with a squeal when Spike slammed his hands against the door with enough force to shake the wall. "Very noble of you," he said icily.
Her eyes flew to his and she shrank away from him. Spike watched her face sag as everything except exhaustion and shadows fled. "That's not why I'm doing it," she whispered, leaning her head against his forearm and peering up at him.
Staring down at her, he saw the thousand emotions flitter through her eyes, and he fell forward, dropping his head to her shoulder. Her arms came around his waist. "I know," he said softly, his anger abruptly gone.
There wasn't a damn thing about her that hadn't been laid bare to him six- feet above her lover's corpse. He'd seen the secrets in her eyes, felt the emotions attached to them. And if it had been anything other than love that was at the heart of it all, he might have been able to remain impervious then and now. But he was apparently love's bitch even when it didn't involve him.
She moved closer to him and he buried his face in her hair, his hands rubbing her back. "I'm still not letting you do it on your own," he said quietly but firmly.
"I have to."
In her place, he'd feel the same way. But he'd seen her secrets objectively, and he knew that it was the worst possible thing for her to do. She was acting out a death wish with this reckless jaunt.
He pulled back and pressed his hand on her chest, trapping her against the door. "Listen carefully," he hissed. "I did not haul my arse all over the damn world for shits and giggles, and your head is crooked again if you think I'm just walking away now that I finally caught up to you."
His voice had risen with each word until he was shouting, his face an inch from hers, and she just watched him calmly, blinking. "I'm taking care of it," she said again in a quiet voice, drawing her shoulders up and lifting her chin. "You don't need--"
"You didn't get the onyx," he cut in, and a fine shudder wracked her body. They stared at one another for a beat, then Spike stepped away and gave her his back.
"No," she admitted thickly, "but I'm going back for it."
He snorted impatiently and tossed himself carelessly onto the bed, folding his hands under his head and crossing his ankles. "Between now and then, you're gonna find a way to stomach wading shoulder deep in maggots, are you?" A green tinge came to her face. "Then again," he went on, "you might find something you can stomach less than maggots when you're traipsing around."
"Worse?" she asked with a frown.
Spike smirked. "Had a nice long talk with that chap who guards the onyx," he explained. "Different for everyone, the contents of the pit. Can change for the person, too. Meant to be one thing you really can't bring yourself to go through."
She took in the implications of that and wrapped her arms around her waist, frowning. "What was it for you?" she asked, ducking her head.
"Holy water. Rather an effective deterrent."
"Oh."
"But then I asked the chap what kind of demon he was, and he told me he was a Guntry." He leveled a look at her, and she tilted her head curiously. "Know anything about them?" She shook her head. "They're peaceful, overall, which is good because they're damn hard to kill. Can regenerate their limbs."
Her brown furrowed. "Um, interesting."
Spike eyed the ceiling. "This is why you can't take care of this on your own," he stated incongruously.
"I don't...I don't know what you're trying to tell me," Tara said hesitantly.
"Put yourself back in that damp, dank cave. Think about the little detail I just told you."
"Limb regeneration?" she asked dubiously. "I'd rather not. He had these super long arms and legs with, um, sharp claws. Really sharp."
"Exactly," Spike confirmed, tilting his head up so he could meet her eyes. "The onyx is in my pocket."
He saw her make the connection and then immediately dismiss it. Bloody Hell. If there was someone less suited to navigating the seedy depths of the demon world...
"How...how did you get it?" she asked in a shaky voice.
A small smile came to his face as he stood up and crossed to her until they were only a few inches apart. When he spoke, his voice was a husky whisper, like a lover's tone, but so very not that at all. "You already know."
"No, I--"
"Tara."
Her eyes went a little wild then, separating at the seams for one instant before she drew the material together again. "You ripped his arm off, didn't you? And you--"
"Fished the onyx out of the pit with it," he finished blandly. "And it was a leg. Didn't think he'd be all that quick to get at me, what with having to hop around."
She was silent for a while, confused, thoughtful and troubled expressions flashing across her face. "Why?"
And he didn't need to ask her to clarify what she meant, because he knew. They always knew, him and Tara, didn't they? Ever since that night, they knew.
"Really not in anyone's best interest to let the Arcepts get their way, eh?" he said with a shrug, looking away. Her hand touched his cheek, and he let her turn his head to her again.
"That's not why," she denied, eyes warm and gentle.
"No, it's not," he agreed, pushing her hair out of her face. There were dark circles under her eyes. "You look exhausted."
"I, uh, haven't been sleeping much," she admitted. Her hand slid down his face, along his chest, and around to his side. It jumped from his torso to his arm and took hold of his hand. Her fingers danced around his rings, twisting them absently as she glanced up at him. "I'm sorry. You at least had the right to know that they might come after you."
Spike dipped his head. "Yeah, we did."
He wanted to push her for more answers then. They knew she'd found out about what the Arcepts were up to from the henchman that had been sent to Wildwind, but no one could figure out just how Tara had known about the ritual. It had taken a lot of eyes and a lot of books for them to find out about it, and yet she'd just seemed to know.
But instead he asked, "Any luck tracking down the Keepers of Khentimentiu?"
She shook her head. "Um, no. I don't really know where to look for them."
Spike tugged on her hand. "I'm all out knackered," he announced. "Bouncing around after you isn't particularly restful, pet. Feel like a cat nap?"
Her mouth opened, and a frown pulled at her brow. But Spike just squeezed her hand gently and she wrapped her arms around his waist for another hug. Anyone else might have continued the conversation. Maybe have asked Spike if he knew how to find the Keepers, but all Tara said was, "A nap sounds great."
While she went into the bathroom to change, Spike pulled the Onyx Heart from his pocket and gathered up the Bowl. He stashed both of them in his overnight bag and then peeled his duster off. When she came back into the room, in a large t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, he was already lying in bed after having stripped down to his jeans.
She stopped when she saw him, her pale eyes communicating her every thought. No longer crazy, could she still justify curling up with a soulless vampire? But she'd done that already, hadn't she? Led him to the soft grass of Willow's final resting place, draped her softness on top of him and let the silence envelop her. He saw it all and was unsurprised when she crept forward and slid under the covers next to him.
They lay on their backs, side by side, in an uncomfortable silence that was finally broken by Tara's husky laughter, which became higher in pitch as it went on. Spike raised an eyebrow and shifted onto his side, propping his head on his elbow and staring at her. "What's this, then?" he asked with amusement.
It took a few moments for her to be able to speak. She mimicked his position and grinned. "Just...this. You know? Once upon a time, I wouldn't have thought I'd be in a bed with, um, you. No offense," she tacked on quickly.
Spike rolled his eyes. "None taken."
"And now, it's...um, like. Well," she said slowly, "back in Sunnydale? There was lots of...and then there wasn't any...and now it's all awkward."
"You find that amusing?" Spike asked her diffidently. "Feeling awkward?"
Laughter once again overtook her. Spike's lips pulled into a smile as he watched her try to regain control. So different than the young woman who'd given the Pouf the vampire equivalent of a heart attack by climbing from the front seat to the back seat of the convertible on the way to Wildwind. While they'd been doing seventy down the highway. With the top down. So different, too, from the Tara who had been very much in Willow's shadow before that final fight with Glory.
Recovering from her meltdown obviously agreed with her.
"It's not the feeling awkward," she explained when her merriment had been tamed. "It's why. Not because you're you, but because I'm not crazy." Her face reflected surprise at her own words, then tightened almost imperceptibly.
"No surprise there," Spike put in, reaching out to touch her chin lightly. "Less inhibitions when you're stark raving mad."
She stared at him for a long moment, then her lips twitched until she could no longer contain her smile. "You never, um, pulled punches, did you?" she said softly. "Everyone else? They were very...careful about what they said. You just talked to me like I was still okay."
It was Spike's turn to look surprised. Tara shrugged uncomfortably, looking up at him hesitantly, biting her full lip.
"Your brains were scrambled like an omelet, luv, no denying that," Spike told her casually. "Doesn't mean you deserved to be treated like an imbecile. 'Sides, I'm evil. We don't do 'considerate'."
That last part was tacked on because he was being far too human lately for his liking. He knew what generally happened when he put reminders like that on the table. Wounded looks. Scoffing rejoinders. Things that hte Big Bad rejoiced in.
Tara tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "I think that evil does, um, w- w-whatever it wants. Good...well, good does the right thing, right? Evil can sometimes do the right thing, but it doesn't make them good. Just...self-serving?"
Spike stilled. "You think that being evil just means being selfish?" His tone was careful, empty.
"No," she said thoughtfully. "I think that evil is--de Sade." She nodded her head, as though it all made sense. Spike frowned at her and she shifted so that her head was no longer braced on her hand, but was instead resting on her pillow. "He was all about...fulfilling his wants, no matter what they might be. That's what I think evil is."
She seemed to be waiting expectantly for a response, but Spike honestly didn't know what to say right then. Fact of the matter was, Tara had just proved that her understanding of things was clearer than most other people's. De Sade, though he'd been an utter ponce and loonier than all get out, had systematically burned out any shred of conscience in himself. If one went by his writings, he was a man who'd never denied himself anything. Never apologized for wanting it or taking it or doing it. Had never seen the need to. If he wanted it, it was natural and therefore he should have it or do it. Never regretted it, either.
Tara tossed herself onto her back. "You think I'm...silly, don't you?"
"Sometimes," he admitted, and she scowled at him. He grinned back, even though she probably couldn't see it. "But not now. Think you're dead on." Face sobering, he leaned closer so that she could see him in the scant light that was in the room. "But, you know it works the other way, too, right?" She looked confused. "Good can do the wrong thing, even evil an thing, but that doesn't make them any less good."
Her head tipped to the side, hiding her face from his. "I-I-I need sleep."
He studied the back of her head for a moment, and the curve of her cheek that was on view. Tara had always seemed to him to be so sweet and good that she was incapable of fully knowing the darkness out in the world. That kind of knowledge usually only came when someone contained their own darkness, and it was apparent she possessed none. In fact, she'd been so distanced from the darkness as to not even be on the same plane of existence with it.
Her knowledge had come from elsewhere. She'd listened, watched, learned. She'd soaked it all up and it had coalesced into complete understanding. And it couldn't touch her, really. Couldn't crawl inside and use her for its own, because she could recognize it no matter what form it took.
He wondered if this knowledge was newly found, a result of all that had happened with Glory and the effects of everything that had happened on that tragic night. Could it have been there sooner? Born from spending most of her life thinking she was going to become a demon? No, he'd have seen it before. It had to have been the Glory situation.
"Stop staring. It's a little creepy."
Tara shifted, preparing to turn on her side, and Spike reached out and hauled her closer. Her tense muscles relaxed as he settled her under his arm, her head resting on his chest and one of her arms draped across his stomach. She was already asleep by the time Spike dozed off five minutes later.
***
The next evening, just after the sun had set, Spike learned that Tara had a stubborn streak a mile wide. He'd seen it when she'd been crazy, but had thought it was a byproduct of her condition. To his frustration, it was not. Considering that every damn female he'd encountered in Sunnydale had it, Spike decided it had to be the Hellmouth at work yet again.
"We are not leaving this room until you do it," Spike said firmly, leaning back against the door and raising a challenging brow.
In deference to the heat, Tara had convinced him to forego the duster so that he'd blend in better when they went out. His t-shirt was a dark red, a blood red, really, and he could feel the material stretch as he crossed his arms. Faith had only slightly more talent than he did for doing laundry, and she'd shrunk everything that contained cotton on her last laundry day. The black jeans would have been too uncomfortable to wear if Faith had gotten her hands on them, but she'd been doing colors on the Great Shrinking Day.
Tara was dressed more appropriately for the Cairo heat. Low riding thin cotton pants rested comfortably against her hips, the hem jauntily bouncing between knee and ankle. The dark azure color was a gentle contrast to the bit of skin that was exposed in the gap between her waistband and her tank top, whose midnight blue color offered a harsher contrast that he rather preferred.
Her feet were bare because he'd tossed her sandals aside when they'd begun this argument. She'd been sitting on the bed, obstinately refusing to listed to him, and had leaned down to slip them on. They were currently somewhere on the far side of the room.
"You're being paranoid," she insisted. He narrowed his eyes and her lids lowered as she pulled her ash-colored hair back and secured it in a ponytail with a tie that she slipped from around her wrist.
"And you still haven't given a reason that isn't utter crap," he snapped, infuriated by her attitude.
Her hands trembled slightly as she lowered them from her hair. Without it to fall around her when she ducked her head, she couldn't hide her face from him. She raised her hands again, as though to reach for her hair, and he strode across the room and took hold of them. She froze in his grasp and stared up at him with eyes that were just this side of sane.
"Stop. Just stop and tell me the bleedin' truth. Why won't you ward the room?"
The trembling in her hands spread to the rest of her and Spike loosened his grip and dragged his hands up her exposed arms, feeling the satin of her skin, which he chafed with his calloused hands, hoping that it would bring her back to herself. Beneath that, he could feel the fluttering of her muscles as they tried to choose between fight or flight, the indecision tensing and relaxing them so quickly that the sensation was like that of dozens of tiny heartbeats as his hands traveled to her shoulders. She flinched when he clenched his hands, then blinked quickly, her eyes clearing.
Her head turned away from him, towards the wall. "I've done magic my whole life," she whispered. "But since that night...I haven't...my control...I can't."
Spike wasn't really sure what she was saying. Hell, he didn't know if she knew what she was saying. When he spoke, his voice was severe, cracking from his mouth and making her flinch again. "You're making me question if you're up to this." Her head snapped around, an incredulous look on her face. "Maybe I should send you back to the Hellmouth while I get what we need."
"No," she practically shouted. "I need to do this."
He let go of her shoulders and shrugged. "What you need to do and what you can do are two different things, aren't they?"
When her face crumbled, he wanted to pull her close, chase the look back where it came from, because it reminded him that his facade wasn't as solid as he'd like it to be, either. But he couldn't do that. Her facade had to be strong enough to be almost as good as the real thing. His did too, but he wasn't all that worried about himself; he'd had over a century to perfect the art of ignoring what he was really feeling. Tara didn't.
"I don't much care, really, what you're going through," he went on, still keeping his voice cutting. "Except that you're playing with a lot of lives here, one of them being Dawn's."
"Liar," she accused.
Spike knew which part of that she was refuting but he barreled on like she hadn't spoken. "If you're trying to tell me you can't do magic, then you're flat out lying." He leaned forward and took hold of her chin, tilting it up and catching her eyes with his own. "If you're saying that you've gotten out of practice using it--that, I'd still doubt was the truth, but I'd tell you to get back in practice. Fast. If it's something else, then I haven't the faintest idea what it is." He let go of her face and stepped back, raking his eyes up and down her form. "Whatever it is, you need to say it."
Her face was like a movie, emotions spinning across it like frames of tape across a screen. And he could see the characters, each and every one of them. He could see the plot, twisted and tragic, with its conflict and climax. He knew this one by heart.
"It's--it's--nothing," she said quietly, lifting her head. "I'll put up the wards."
He watched her do it, feeling so damn weary he almost would have preferred to go back in time to the summer after Glory. When he'd spent all of his waking hours patrolling the Hellmouth and dealing with the three humans who had become his responsibility, and who'd been only slightly more broken than he'd been. Because while it had once been comforting, this lying he and Tara each did all the while knowing the truth, it no longer was.
It was truly a sad state of affairs when nothing stayed unsaid even if no one said it.
***
Like a good little Scooby, Tara had started her quest for the Keepers with research. While she'd managed to learn an impressive amount about them, Khentimentiu, and Egyptian mythology as a whole, it did little good when push came to shove.
Spike dragged her along a different route of search that began in the demon underground. He'd been to Cairo once before, with Dru, and though it had been decades, demons weren't much for change. At one time it had been a temple of some sorts. Tara might know what kind, now that she'd soaked up the history, but Spike didn't. Nor did he care to. It was off the beaten path, tucked away on the outskirts of the city, and it seemed to be in such bad shape--threatening to collapse if it was so much as looked at wrong-- that humans didn't generally enter it.
Generally. Sometimes a fool or two wandered in, but as small as it appeared from the outside, it was filled with passages and corridors, and rarely had a curious human actually found their way to the center room that contained the bar.
"My skin," Tara mumbled, stopping next to him and rubbing her palms roughly against her thighs. "There's--it's--crawling. Trying to...pull away from me."
"Yeah, mine is too. It'll do that in here." He gestured around them, at the pale stone walls, the light that emanated from nowhere, yet lit the surrounding area. "Doesn't work on humans, just demons and mystical-types. That's how you know which way to go."
She scratched at her skin through her pants. "It hurts," she groaned softly.
"That's because you're resisting it." Spike moved her hands to his forearms, not wanting her to scratch herself open. Human blood was too tempting to ignore for demons, and it'd just lead to trouble if she reeked of it when they got to the bar. "Just ride it."
A scowl fell upon her face as her nails dug into his forearms. "What does that even mean?" she hissed.
"Treat it like a small pain," he said quietly. "A...scraped knee. Those hurt, right?" Tara nodded skeptically. "But it's just a little bit of hurt, so you bend your knee just right to get it to sting a bit, and it feels good, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, but this...it's not agony, Spike, but it's...every inch of my skin and I really don't know how to bend my skin just right."
He made a small, frustrated noise. "Fine. Pretend it's a knot. You know, a muscle knot," he clarified when she frowned. "Those hurt, but when you relax your muscles, it loosens up. Relax and it won't hurt so much."
She took several deep breaths, closing her eyes while she did so. Her hands never slackened their grip on his arms. Right, maybe he needed to be a bit more precise.
"Start with your feet," he suggested. "Tense them up for a second, real good and tight, then relax them all sudden-like. Work your way up like that."
Her eyes, still closed, squinted together tightly. He felt the reverberations in the muscles in her hands as she gradually got the muscles in her lower body to relax. Less than a minute later, the squinting was gone and she opened her eyes carefully and took a deep breath.
"It kind of...tickles, now," she commented, staring down at her hands. "I can still feel it pulling, but it's easier."
Spike tossed her a smug look and then waved her forward. "Go on. Follow the pull."
They wound their way through the passageways, and she made a few wrong turns. Spike didn't correct her, just let her figure out on her own that she should have gone left instead of right or vice versa. The closer they drew to the bar itself, the more confident she was about direction, and they eventually stood before an impressive set of doors that definitely hadn't been part of the original structure. Not unless mechanized three- inch steel doors had been around about a thousand or so years ago.
"Those are new," Spike said idly as they stared at them.
"Now will you tell me what we're going to do once we get inside?"
Spike chanced a look in her direction. She didn't seem annoyed, just curious. He purposely hadn't told her what the plan was; he'd wanted her to have as little time as possible to think or argue about it.
There was a small buzzer next to the left side of the door, and Spike absently pushed it. "The blokes in there are going to see you as a human," he told her without looking at her. "Prey for the taking. You need to demonstrate right away that you're not just a human."
"But I am," she insisted.
She grabbed his bicep and tried to turn him towards her, but Spike didn't budge an inch, wouldn't so much as turn his head to look at her. If he did, if he saw those wide pleading eyes, he might just drag her out of this place and lock her in the hotel. Truth was, he agreed with her that she needed to do this, needed to put it to rest with her own two hands from start to finish. But it couldn't be her way, not entirely. They didn't have time for her to pour through every book in the city to find what they needed, didn't have time for her wishy-washy hang ups about using magic. The Arcepts were trying to break through her measures, and this had to be done quickly.
Some would have called it trial by fire, but Spike thought something about leading the deer into the lion's den was more fitting, because that was exactly what he was doing. Tara had proved that she knew the darkness, that it couldn't taint her. Now she had to realize that that knowledge gave her an advantage, that she could use it for more than just preventing it from sinking into her.
"You're not just a human, you're a witch," he countered just as the door began sliding open, and he stepped inside. "I suggest you make them aware of that fact."
Even with the noise of the occupants inside the bar, and the clanging sound of the door sliding closed, he could still hear the frantic pounding of her heart behind him. And he wasn't the only one. No less than four of the bar's customers had turned their attention to her. Spike stood arrogantly in the doorway, moving his eyes around the room and affecting a bored demeanor.
Two of the interested parties were vampires; a male and a female. Both were barely more than fledglings, though they were cocky enough to think they were more powerful than they were. He could tell by the amused way they were perusing him, by the sly glances they traded across their table. They'd definitely start trouble, but they'd be easily dusted.
The other two were more of a concern. The Traleg on the left side of the room sat on a stool, rather than a chair, to accommodate his whipcord-like tail. Spike knew, even though he couldn't see, that the tail had double- jointed connections every inch or so, giving it a snake-like movement and offering precise control. The thing was also covered with razor sharp spines and had a damn fast strike to it. The Traleg was a normal biped otherwise, except that his torso was unnaturally long. His skin was thick, rubber-like in consistency and waxy in appearance, and Spike knew from experience that it took a lot of muscle to pierce it.
Unlike the vampires, it wasn't Tara's blood that had garnered the Traleg's attention, but her muscles. Oh, not hers, specifically. The bugger had a thing for human meat. Only thing that would save Spike from having to go head-to-head with him was if Tara came through with her demonstration. Traleg's could be fierce predators, but they were not easily roused from their natural state of laziness. If Tara seemed like too much trouble, the Traleg would forget about going after her.
The same couldn't be said for the Emling in the center of the room. The incandescently furry demon with three mouths and five arms--not to mention the tongues that were coated with a lethal poison--liked brains. Didn't matter what flavor, and Spike was surprised that the owners had even let it in. Emlings were notoriously violent, and were for the most part banned from demon haunts because of it. Spike knew the damn thing wouldn't be swayed from Tara no matter what kind of show she put on. If she even put one on, that was.
"It's beautiful," she said from his side. He spared her a quick glance, and saw that her pale blue eyes were soft as they gazed upon the Emling. With a quizzical tilt of his head, he noticed that her heartbeat had slowed back to normal, and her breathing was as regular and measured as it could be.
"I suppose," he said noncommittally, turning back to the Emling. There was a certain aesthetic appeal to the shining fur, despite the assorted limbs and mouths. The limbs weren't attached to a normal trunk, which meant that they were able to lie more naturally against the body. They could almost be tucked away in concaves that acted as niches. As for the mouths, the extra two were merely slashes on either side of the expected mouth. Looked like creases from smiling.
Beautiful or not, it was the only true problem he saw in the room with regards to Tara. He was preparing to make his way to it, snap its shining neck, and be done with it, when he felt Tara brush against his shoulder as she stepped past him.
In nature, most animals know to steer clear of another critter that's too brightly colored. The fact that a creature doesn't mesh with its natural surroundings means that it doesn't need to hide because it can handle what comes its way. There were exceptions, of course, but it was a pretty good rule of thumb. Tara must have been absent the day that was covered in school. Her eyes were fixed on the Emling, lids slightly lowered so that it looked for all the world like she was challenging it. Challenging a predator that Spike wasn't sure he could take without the element of surprise, which she'd managed to ruin now.
The Emling blinked eyes that were startlingly wide and extraordinarily framed by thick lashes of varying colors. The eyes themselves were silver, and they gleamed like mirrors as the Emling stood, unfolding its nearly eight-foot tall frame, and shoved its table out of the way.
Spike tensed but forced his face into a bland mask of indifference as a thick silence fell over the bar and the other patrons crept into the shadows. Tara had no clue what she'd done. If she had, her heart would have been racing and fear would have been flowing off of her in tangible waves.
The Emling was all fluid motions and rippling multi-colored fur as it shimmied their way.
"Spike?" The word was slightly misspoken, as though she'd uttered it around her smile. He would have checked, but no way was he taking his eyes of the rainbow rug that was getting closer.
"Yeah?"
"This thing...it's not like Clem, is it?" she asked, a catch in her voice.
Blood buggering hell. Girl met one demon that was only partially bad and she got all soft-headed. "No, it damn well isn't," Spike ground out.
The Emling stopped about three feet from them, and had finally looked away from Tara to stare at Spike. It snarled something at him, the sound echoing eerily as the thing had three voice boxes to go with its mouths.
The Emling language had died out sometime in the seventeenth century, rumor had it. Since then they'd taken to glomming off of other demon languages. It took Spike a moment to figure out that it was speaking Roltek, then another second to translate. The bugger had called him a leech!
"Go skin your mother," he replied pleasantly in Roltek, and was rewarded by a dark sparkle of anger in the Emling's mirror-eyes. Another triplicate hiss issued forth, and Spike curled his lips.
"W-w-what's it saying?" Tara stammered.
"Told me it''s not going to let me suck your corpse dry after it rips your head open and eats your brains."
"Oh," she said immediately. Then, once the words had sunk in. "OH!"
The danger must have clicked with her, because she remained quiet and unassuming as Spike traded not-so-witty banter with the Emling. After a few jabs and barbs, the thing's patience came to an end, and it spilled at Tara in a multihued flash. Spike threw himself in front of her and braced himself for an impact that never came.
In front of him, the Emling had come to a dead stop, and Spike frowned for a moment at the strangeness of the action before he felt it. Coming from behind him, where Tara was. Sliding past his shoulders, curling around him like water parting for a rock. The Emlings mouths all gasped and its hulking form shook.
The sensation that Tara could cause--the warning fear that prodded some hidden instinct into making a body run--was being focused directly on the Emling. The effect was obviously more intense than when it was generalized over a large area. The Emling fell to its knees, the five hands clenching as it tried to fight the urge.
Tara moved to Spike's side and he spared a quick glance. She was staring at the Emling again, this time in determined concentration. It whimpered and started frantically crawling to the door, taking a wide berth around Tara and Spike. It scrambled to its feet as the bouncer pushed a button to slide the door open once again, but couldn't wait long enough for the door to open completely. The Emling twisted sideways and squeezed into the hallway. It took off down the corridor at a run.
Spike knew it would run and run until it collapsed from exhaustion, and it wouldn't return to the bar--maybe not even the city--for quite a while. The instinct had been triggered, and it wasn't easily calmed.
The rest of the demons in the bar eased back to their seats and took up their conversations again, each casting wary glances at him and Tara. All in all, it was far less violent than Spike had hoped for, but it had done the bloody trick. He turned his head towards Tara, smiling in approval. She shrugged one shoulder, acknowledging him, then took a moment to scan the room, settling her gaze on the vamps and the Traleg a beat longer than she did the others.
"So...safe passage?" she asked Spike hopefully.
He nodded. "As close as one can get, yeah." He took her arm and led her to the overturned table, righting it. Tara gathered the two chairs that had gone flying as well, and sat down. Spike remained standing. "I'm going to start with the bartender."
"What should I do?"
"Something very important," he replied without hesitation. She sat up straight and her face fell into serious lines. Spike leaned down conspiratorially and whispered, "Sit here and keep out of trouble." Tara sat back and glared at him. He rolled his eyes. "Just stay put for the time being, all right? If I get anything solid, I'll call you over."
He left Tara sitting alone at the table, not liking it but not wanting any of the other customers to think her vulnerable. If he attached her to his side, they'd decide she was in need of his protection and would take the earliest opportunity to make a go for her.
At the bar, he ordered a pint of blood, then tossed a few questions at the bartender. He also had some blood packaged to go, and he dropped the bag at the table on his way past. He did a circuit of the room, subtle questions expertly interposed in the middle of conversation.
Ten minutes later, he caught sight of Tara at the bar. She was obviously asking for something to drink, but the bartender was staring at her uncomprehendingly. Which was to be expected, as it had taken Spike several tries to find a language the bartender knew, and he doubted that Tara was even remotely fluent in Hungarian. She turned and found him in the crowd, sending him a pleading look.
"What do you want, pet?" he called out from the Traleg's table.
"Soda?" she called back. He snorted and shook his head.
"Anything not gross...or poisonous...or that was previously something's bodily fluid...or alcoholic." Her eyebrows were raised in encouragement, and Spike smiled. Catching the bartender's eye, he gestured at Tara then shouted out an order for seasoned iced tea. He watched the bartender prepare the drink, turning back to the Traleg only when he was confident Tara had been served exactly what had been ordered.
Still, he only focused half his attention on the demon, because he'd spotted the female vampire slinking towards Tara's table and taking a seat, obviously not having learned from the Emling's exampled, and just as obviously assuming that Spike's attention was fully diverted.
Tara paused when she noticed the vamp. A frown knitted her brow, but she didn't look to Spike for help. Chewing on her lip, she took several measured steps towards the table, then her teeth freed her lip and Spike saw her mouth moving as she said something. Her free hand lifted, traced something in the air almost absently, and the vampire's chair slid back a good four feet before it just fell apart and tumbled the vamp to the floor.
Laughter echoed through the room as others noticed, and Spike allowed himself a small chuckle at the sight of the stunned vampire. Tara didn't so much as look in the vamp's direction, just continued to the table, sat in the remaining chair, sniffed cautiously at her drink, then took a small sip.
The vamp pulled herself to her feet and snarled at the nearby demons that were laughing. It seemed like she was about to go back to Tara's table, and Spike gave up all pretense of conversing with the Traleg. But the bint had finally remembered the Emling, because her eyes flickered to the door and her motion halted. Tara raised a placid brow in the vamp's direction and lifted her glass to her lips again. The vamp glared menacingly, but went back to her own table.
The Traleg griped about his lack of participation in their talk, but relented and directed him to the Marpel when Spike growled at him. Several more conversations later, Spike wandered back to the table. Tara was finishing her tea and she looked up curiously when he pulled up another chair and sat.
"Good money's on the Marpel demon for getting to the Keepers." He shrugged. "Mostly third- and fourth-hand accounts of her having worked with them."
"Which one is that?"
"One in the corner," he answered. He pulled his cigarettes and lighter out of his duster and lit up. "They keep to themselves mostly, Marpels. Only reason you find one in a joint like this is 'cause they can't blend in human bars."
Tara smiled at him. "Hm. Yeah, purple skin would stand out. Are Marpels...bad?"
"Depends on the Marpel. They're mystically gifted, but it's all emotion based."
"Wild magic," she said knowingly.
"Some are better than others at control. This one--" He gestured with his lit cigarette. "--has damn good control. Didn't react to your display with one of her own. Also did her best to stay off my radar when I was gathering intel."
"Intel?" There was only the slightest inflection to her voice, a bare widening of her eyes, a mere tilting of her head. Tara's version of mockery, right there.
"Oh, bugger off," he grumbled. "She knows the Keepers, and I'm gonna chat her up, see if I can charm something useful out of her."
This time the mockery was less subtle, as her pale eyes shimmered with amusement. "You can do...charming?"
"I'm evil, luv," he reminded her as he stood. "I can do whatever I want."
Tara's soft laughter followed him as he crossed the room to the Marpel. She was indeed purple, a faded purple touched with gray that was somehow or other soothing. The color looked bloody fantastic with her purple-black hair and storm-cloud-gray eyes, which flickered to him as he got closer.
"Hello," he drawled, taking a chance and speaking French--Marpels had been in France longer than anyone could remember. "Mind if I have a seat?" he asked as he sat down.
"I don't associate with vampires," she said in a lilting, almost musical, voice. "Leave."
Spike flashed her a charming but awkward grin. "Not looking to associate with you, just talk. I'm trying to find--"
She sat up and glared at him. "I know what you're trying to find." Her eyes flashed, the clouds gathering in them. "And I will not help an abomination. Go away; I won't tell you again."
Okay, so he'd forgotten how xenophobic and bigoted Marpels were. Right. Spike slouched back indolently, tilted his head forward and gazed at her insouciantly. He waited a beat, then gave her the slow, sexy grin that usually got him his way. "Come on, now. I'm not looking to--"
The clouds had overtaken her pupil as she looked at him full on. Magic was in the air. Spike reconsidered that: magic should have been in the air. But it wasn't. At least, not for him. The embossment on his collarbone seemed to be blocking whatever she was trying to do. In Sunnydale, it had caused the magical attacks by the Arcepts to return to the originator. Violently.
Either way, it was holding up. Spike stared the Marpel down, cool as could be, and she glared at him. A moment later, he felt Tara coming up behind him, her heartbeat slightly accelerated. She placed a warm hand at the nape of his neck, and he felt the embossment flared marginally in response.
"Charm not going over so, um, well?" she asked hesitantly.
Spike waved a dismissive hand. "I'm wearing her down," he assured her, and he felt her shake a little with suppressed laughter.
"Ah."
"Why do you protect this creature?" the Marpel snarled at Tara in English.
Tara's hand spasmed at his nape. When she answered, her voice was steady and sure, if not all that forceful. "We protect each other."
The Marpel sneered at Tara as though she were a fool. "You are food to him."
"Not at the moment," Tara said immediately, still confident. "Or, am I?"
Spike tipped his head back, nudging her stomach. "Nah. Safe from me, pet."
Storm-gray eyes once again on Spike, the Marpel snapped, "What does a vampire want with the Keepers?"
"Thought we could tea together," Spike replied diffidently, pulling his cigarettes out again. "Maybe get together and do each other's hair, tell stories about girls we like."
Tara shifted so that she was standing next to him, but she kept her hand on him. Spike wasn't sure why. The embossment didn't need physical contact to work, so maybe she just didn't want to feel alone in this confrontation.
"I'm the one looking for them."
The Marpel seemed interested in this information, which made Spike instantly suspicious. "Pet," he said warningly.
"Well, she doesn't seem to, uh, like you? Despite the...charm," Tara said carefully.
"You seek a boon for your vampire," the Marpel stated, but Tara shook her head.
"Uh, no. And he's not. Mine, I mean. He's his own."
No. No, he wasn't. He was Buffy's, and through Buffy he'd become Dawn's. But he was also Tara's, and as much as he wanted to completely tie it back to Buffy and/or Dawn, he couldn't. Only comforting thing about being Tara's was that she was just as much his. They'd seen to that last summer.
The Marpel frowned, staring back and forth from Tara to Spike. "Then what do you want from them?"
Spike responded before Tara could take a breath. "That's between her and them." He pointed at her, moving his finger up and down and gesturing at her. "Way I hear it, you can arrange a meeting with the Keepers."
She stiffened at that, pulled herself up ramrod straight and curled her lip. "I will do nothing of the sort unless you tell me why you want to see them."
Exasperated, Spike stood. Tara slid her hand until it grasped the area just above his elbow. "Already told you," he said blandly to the Marpel. "Has nothing to do with me." He glanced down at Tara. "Come on, luv, time to move on."
Looking up at him, Tara searched his eyes, and he nodded shortly. They weren't dancing to the Marpel's tune, simple as that. "Always another way," he told the blond, and she nodded, just once.
"I'm kind of hungry," she said incongruously, her voice casual. "Can we stop for food?"
Spike allowed himself to genuinely smile down at her. She'd outdone his expectations that evening, gone above and beyond. He touched her cheek gently. "Anything you want," he said softly, and he meant it. Right then there was very little he would have denied her.
They had just turned away when the Marpel said, "Wait." As one, they looked at her over their shoulders. The Marpel was staring at Tara again, confused and leery. "You trust him," she said with dawning realization Tara nodded and the Marpel licked her lips. "What--what sigil did you set on him?"
There was a considering look on Tara's face. "Always another way," Spike repeated. The mystical was Tara's field, and he realized with a start that he trusted her judgment on it. "Don't do anything you don't feel comfortable doing," he advised.
She stepped closer, her hips brushing against him. "Are you sure? That there's another way?"
"Positive," he assured her.
So they walked away, heading towards the table that Tara had vacated, and on which still sat the bagged blood he'd ordered earlier. Tara plucked it from the table and they seamlessly changed direction to leave the bar.
When they were just a few feet from the door, Tara suddenly spun around, a quickly hissed word flying from her lips as she flung her hand outward. Some kind of misty ball was shooting towards the Marpel, then Tara jerked her hand to the side and it careened to the right. There was a small explosion of stone as it hit the wall behind the Marpel.
Spike blinked, confused.
"The next time," Tara called out, glaring at the Marpel, "I won't redirect the rebound."
Bloody fuck, the Marpel had attacked him, and Tara had prevented it from being shot back at the Marpel.
Oh, they were well past done with the place. Spike jerked his head at the bouncer and the door began sliding open. He wrapped his fingers around Tara's bicep and stalked to the exit, ready to drag her along if she couldn't keep up, but it didn't come down to that. Tara matched his pace as they crossed the doorway and made their way through the corridors.
It wasn't until they were out of the temple, and had torn through the roads and side streets that led back to the city, that Spike realized that Tara was working on pure adrenaline. Which abruptly ran out as she stopped moving and sagged against him.
"What's wrong?" He scooped her into his arms and looked around. They were in a market of sorts, and he searched through the bustling crowd until he spotted several large barrels behind one of the vendors' stands.
"Wild magic," Tara said, her voice shaky. He set her on top of the barrel and snagged the bag of blood from her hand, placing it on her lap. Then he put his hands at the small of her back, bracing her. She leaned all of her weight on him. "K-k-k-kind of hard to divert."
Spike set his jaw. "You shouldn't have done it, then. She knew it could happen when she pulled that stunt."
But of course, she'd had to. Spike sighed and shifted one of his hands, brushing away a strand of her hair that had escaped her ponytail and fallen across her face. This little adventure might just break her down to nothingness before it set things right for her. "We'll get you some food and call it a night."
"You seek the Keepers?" someone said in English from behind him.
Spike spun around, pressing against Tara's knees as he curled one arm behind him and wrapped it around her back to hold her steady. There was rustling as she moved the bag, then opened her legs and scooted closer to him, her chin resting against his shoulder as they both looked at the three men in front of them.
They appeared human, and his other senses seconded that appearance. Each was dressed casually in linen pants, sandals, and loose-fitting cotton shirts. All three were well built, bulging muscles making themselves known through the thin material of their tops. They seemed to be at ease, casually studying Tara and him, but their eyes were hard and cold.
The one in the middle was several inches taller than Spike, with swarthy coloring and several gold hoops in each of his ears that twinkled from between locks of jet black hair. The one on the right was more golden, his coloring almost lion-like. The short stubbly beard added to that impression. And the one on the left was so dark skinned that dark blue highlights leapt from him, with eyes whose irises were as black as the pupils.
"You seek the Keepers?" the one in the middle repeated, narrowing his eyes.
"Who wants to know?" Spike asked, infusing the words with a bored monotone.
"Spike." Her tone made him twist his neck to look at her. She was staring at the amulets around the men's necks. "It's...that's them."
Spike shrugged and turned back to the Keepers. "Considering that purple bint's attitude, that doesn't ease my mind."
"Emmanuelle does not speak for us," the gold one stated. "In words or actions."
"You sure about that?" Spike grunted, raising a brow. "She seemed to think she was your social secretary and bodyguard all rolled into one."
"We'll offer no harm unless provoked," the dark one said solemnly.
The swarthy one in the center dipped his head and frowned at them. "Many wish an audience with us, but few intrigue us enough that we consider granting it."
Tara's arms came around his waist, gripping him, and he slowly eased his arm from around her back, lowering it only when she stayed upright. Spike met each of the men's eyes. "We're barely out of the bar. How'd you turn up so quickly?" he asked the swarthy one, who seemed to be the leader.
"We've been aware of the witch's desire for an audience since she arrived. We've been watching her." Spike tensed. "When you joined her, we became curious about why she sought us."
His dark green eyes settled on Tara, and she craned her neck to look at Spike. He shrugged. "Your call," he conceded. "You're the one that did the research."
Facing them again, Tara took a deep breath. "I, uh, want to...petition Khentimentiu."
The Keepers' lips quirked condescendingly. "Of course you do," the gold one drawled. "But why?"
"Oh," Tara squeaked, embarrassed. "I wish--I mean--it's a matter--"
"Pet," Spike interrupted her. "Just spit it out."
So she did. "The Cerno ritual. I'm here to ask for Khentimentiu's help."
They went still. "Then your journey was wasted," the leader hissed. "You will receive no--" He broke off, tilting his head to the side. Spike saw that his forest green eyes had gone unseeing. A glare settled over his features as he hissed a word in a language Spike didn't know. "Your audience has been granted," he bit out. "Come with us."
"Right now?" Spike asked incredulously. "Look, we're pleased as punch your boss is going to see us, but--"
"Not you," the leader growled. He pointed at Tara. "She seeks the audience."
The argument grew heated very quickly. Eventually, Tara nudged Spike forward and slipped off the barrel. He ignored the threats the Keepers were issuing him and touched her arm as she let go of the barrel. "You all right?" he asked, frowning as she swayed a bit.
She blinked and then nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine." Spike carefully let go of her arm, his hand hovering until he was sure she wasn't going to fall. "Why can't he come?"
The Keepers glared at her. "You are the one petitioning for aid."
"Well, yeah," she replied slowly. "We're not asking that he, uh, petition with me. Just come with."
"It's not allowed," the dark one snarled. "You can come alone for your petition, or you can not have your audience. Those are your choices."
The golden one stepped forward. "Why do you want the vampire at your side?" he asked, but his voice was...different than it had been. So was his bearing. He held himself with grace and confidence, and he was far more at ease than he'd been before. Spike realized that they were now most likely in the presence of Khentimentiu. Beside him, Tara gasped. "You are of white magic and innocence," he commented to her. "Yet this creature is not."
"I-I-I am of white magic," she confirmed, blindly reaching towards Spike. He took her hand and squeezed it. "But not of innocence. Not for a while now."
Khentimentiu stepped closer in the golden Keeper's body. Full lips pulled in a soft smile. "Nonsense. It surrounds you completely. It's almost tangible."
"Different kinds of innocent," Spike put in idly, pulling out his cigarettes with his free hand and lighting one. He exhaled a plume of smoke. "This one's been tried and tested."
"Perhaps she has," Khentimentiu conceded, tilting his head. "But you haven't answered my question, witch. Tell me why you stand with him, why you walk with him."
"I, uh, don't know," she mumbled. "How to explain it, I mean. Maybe--maybe you look at him and all you see is...is a vampire," she said slowly. "And he is. A vampire. An evil one." Spike puffed his chest out and she jiggled his hand reproachfully. "Like I told the Marpel, he's my friend and I trust him. There's only three...people I can say that about."
He knew who the other two were: Giles and Dawn. A slight smirk pulled at his lips when he realized Angel wasn't on that list. At least he was one up on the Pouf when it came to something.
"Fascinating," Khentimentiu murmured. "In times past, witches and vampires regularly kept company. But the witches were not of white magic, and the vampires had not been tamed."
Spike growled and wondered if the Keepers' were entirely human. Would they set his chip off? What about the one who was currently possessed by Khentimentiu? Would he count as human? Maybe he should find out...
The other Keepers took a step forward and Tara giggled. Khentimentiu waved the guards back and returned Tara's grin. "What do you find so amusing?"
"He's not tamed," she answered, trying to stifle her giggles. "He's the epitome of untamed, actually."
Her words allowed something in him to ease up infinitesimally. Dawn thought he was tame, despite his best intentions to keep her opinion of him based firmly in reality. But Tara didn't, and she probably had more reason to think so than Dawn did. Maybe he wasn't as pathetic as he'd thought.
"Yes, he is," Khentimentiu countered. "Why else would he be here if not because you have leashed him with magic?"
"He's here with me because he wants to be," Tara said firmly, her anger subdued but noticeable. Khentimentiu raised both of the golden Keeper's brows mockingly, and Tara's hand tightened around his. "I don't use magic to, to, to control people."
Her voice shook with a newly raised tide of grief and despair. Glory had done that to her, had driven her insane and embedded imperatives in her that had gone against her very nature. She slid closer to him, pressing against his side and leaning her head against his arm. Her breathing hitched and then the sensation of dread crept outwards, once again bypassing him. It was generalized this time, but still disconcerting for the Keepers who were close to them. They took gasping breaths and backed up several feet.
"You offer us harm?" Khentimentiu asked coldly.
Spike glared at him. "Poking at wounds, even unintentionally, can cause someone to lash out without meaning to," he snapped, trying his best to keep the rest of what he wanted to say from coming forth. Like it or not, they needed Khentimentiu's aid for the ritual. He focused his attention on Tara, turning her in his arms and running his hands along her back.
"I shouldn't remember what she made me do," Tara said, her teeth chattering despite the heat. "I was in her head, not my body. But I do. IrememberIrememberIremember."
"Sh," he murmured, bringing his hands to her face and cupping her cheeks. His eyes flickered to the Keepers, who watched them closely. "Pull it back, Tara."
"I gave her Dawn," she choked out, her eyes unseeing. "It's all my fault." A red haze covered her for a moment, then the blood materialized as it had all those months ago at Willow's grave. It rode over his hands and swept along her skin, pulsing not with a life of its own, but with her life.
He dug his fingers into her until she flinched. "Look at me," he commanded. Automatically, her eyes flew to his, and the longer he stared into them, the more awareness returned. "Pull it back," he said again. "All of it."
It drifted slowly, meandering to her and collecting around her, dancing almost perceptibly with the wraithlike blood until she took a steadying breath and it eased back inside.
She stayed in his arms, the length of their bodies touching as they had so often last summer, when things had gone to Hell six ways from Sunday and the only solace they could find was with each other. Only with each other, because the others had lost family, friends--even children of sorts--but he and Tara had lost their loves. It had been a pain Giles and Dawn couldn't share.
Her pale eyes were soft and open, and she placed her hand on his cheek and smiled up at him. And she knew where his thoughts were. "Your cigarette's burned out," she said solemnly.
Spike blinked and realized that the acrid stench of burning filter was in the air. He pulled his arm from around her and stared at the butt. "Looks like," he agreed. Shrugging, he tossed it aside.
"I'm sorry," Tara said to Khentimentiu, but her eyes were still on Spike. "I'm a little...raw? It won't happen again, I promise."
Khentimentiu bowed the blonde's body gracefully at the waist. "Your apology is accepted as sincerely as it was given." He eyed them consideringly. "The vampire can accompany you. My Keepers will bring you to me."
With that, his body slumped forward slightly before the golden-skinned man shook his head in a daze and stepped back to join his companions.
**
They made the journey in a Jeep. At Spike's insistence that Tara needed to eat, the Keepers had produced several granola bars and a bottle of water for her. It wasn't much, but it would hold her over until he could get her to eat a decent meal.
It wasn't until Tara hesitantly asked their names that the Keepers introduced themselves. The dark one was Gahiji, the gold one was Lisimba, and the leader was Mosi. Thankfully, further conversation wasn't possible, as the Jeep had been stripped of its roof and sides, and the noise was incredible as they sped through Cairo to the other side of town.
Spike and Tara were in the back, on pull-down seats that faced the center of the vehicle. Lisimba was driving, with a none-too-pleased looking Mosi in the passenger seat. Gahiji had perched behind Tara and Spike, crouching down on his haunches in a space that shouldn't have fit him, while he lazily held on to the roll bar. Spike rethought the Keeper's status as humans whenever he caught sight of Gahiji. His muscles should have cramped, locked and given out in that position, yet he was poised and relaxed.
They drove into the desert, the trip jarring and uncomfortable. Tara had insisted he strap himself in, and though he had protested, he was glad he'd given in. If not, he might have bounced out of the damn Jeep and taken a dive in the sand long before it finally came to a stop.
There was nothing around them for miles, save a stone doorway that jutted out from the sand, its color worn away so that it matched the sand perfectly.
"The vampire waits here," Mosi told them firmly as they exited the vehicle.
Spike unbuckled the seatbelt then went around to the other side of the Jeep. He lifted Tara out by the waist, setting her on the dense sand and raising a brow at her. She frowned at the doorway and nodded. "Petitioners only beyond this point," she said gently. "If it gets to close to sunrise? Head back."
"Nah," he dismissed. He ran one finger along her cheek. "I'll just burrow, luv. Done it before." Mosi and Lisimba were waiting impatiently by the door. Gahiji had moved into the backseat of the Jeep and was watching everyone alertly. Spike nudged Tara towards the door. "Go on, then. I'll be out here with Chatterbox."
"Right," Tara said uncertainly. "I'm going." Spike's lips quirked as she remained exactly where she was. She frowned again. "My, uh, knees don't seem to be working."
Spike reached out a lazy arm and gave her a heave. She stumbled, but she'd moved. "Seem fine to me," he said with a smirk, which grew when she glowered at him. But she didn't move again and he sighed. "If you want me to shove you the entire way, I will. Won't be the least bit pleasant, though."
"Walk me there?" she asked, her brows raised hopefully.
"Fine, but let's try and get there before dawn, hm?"
Tara pursed her lips and harrumphed at him, and Spike grinned at her back as he followed her at a nice clip to the door. "Stop gloating," she chided him without turning around.
The Keepers weren't willing to wait for Tara to get up the nerve to pass through the door, so they opened it and drew her inside by way of a hand on each of her elbows. Spike met each of their eyes. "You got fragile cargo there, mates," he said coolly.
The door slammed in his face.
***
The next few hours passed agonizingly slow. Spike had ripped open one of the packets of blood from the bar during hour two, after having spent hour one trying to get Gahiji to speak so much as a word to him.
"Look, I know you're not the yammering jaw type," Spike said with exasperation, pausing his pacing around the Jeep. "But would you at least let me know how much longer this is going to take?"
Gahiji stared at him with eyes that were uniformly black. "It takes as long as it takes."
"Well, thanks, Confucius," Spike snapped and resumed his pacing. "Mind narrowing it down a little? It's been three hours and I'm 'bout ready to storm the bloody castle!" His boot got caught in a sinkhole of sand and he cursed as he yanked it out. "And I've had just about enough of this buggering sand, too!"
"Some come out within minutes," Gahiji said. He shrugged. "Others take days. There's no telling how long your witch's audience will take."
Spike scowled. "I thought you might say something like that." He lit a cigarette and tilted his head. "What exactly goes on in there?" he asked curiously.
Gahiji was sitting on one of the pull down seats in the back, and he propped his feet up on the other seat before answering. "Petitioners are brought to the altar to make their case. Khentimentiu does not give his bounty lightly, and he doesn't agree to do so until he is satisfied with not only a petitioner's request, but their motivations."
"Huh. And how often does he bestow his bounty?" Spike asked cynically.
"Rarely," Gahiji replied. "But he also rarely manifests in any manner before a petitioner, either, and your witch wasn't even that when he graced her with his presence."
"You saying she's got a chance in there?" he asked, bringing his cigarette to his lips.
"Many have sought a counsel with Khentimentiu for the Cerno," Gahiji said slowly. "Few have been granted an audience. It requires great effort to assist those who wish to perform it, and often their reasons are not worthy of the effort."
Tara wanted to perform the ritual to draw Willow's magic from its new home and then make it so that it couldn't be drawn upon again, but he imagined others would use for greedier purposes. Only reason it wasn't used often was because of the low success rate. Getting everything needed for the Cerno was no simple task, and even then the damn thing tended to kill whoever was trying to perform it.
If no one could find out why the ritual was so dangerous and learn how to diffuse the threat...he still wasn't sure what they'd do then. There hadn't been much time to talk contingencies before he'd left, but he knew Faith and the others had done so. Even with Giles' wild goose chase and interference.
"Spike." He spun around, stumbling a bit in the sand. Mosi was at the door, holding it open and gesturing Spike forward. "Your presence has been requested?"
"That right?" he smarted, tossing his cigarette away. "Who by?"
Mosi clenched his jaw. "Who do you think?" he ground out. "Do you wish to come inside or not?"
Oh, he wished, all right. The doorway that jutted from the sand was the top of something...massive. Just massive. He considered himself to have a pretty good sense of direction, but he didn't think he'd be able to find his way back to that bloody door.
Spike came to a halt behind Mosi, who gestured him forward. "Down that corridor, through the door on the right."
He wasn't sure what he expected to find when he entered the room. Maybe some kind of altar, or a sarcophagus. His mind had even considered that he might pass into the room and find himself someplace...else. Instead he entered a room that was undeniably ancient, but filled with--
Leather couches? A large screen television? And was that a...jukebox?
All right, so he hadn't expected that. But what he'd least expected to find was Tara sitting cross-legged next to a vampire. A buggering old one, if the tingling of Spike's scalp was anything to go by. He looked like a mixture of his Keepers, Khentimentiu did. His hair was as black as Gahiji's; his skin the same bronze as Lisimba's; and the forest green eyes were identical to Mosi's.
He rose when Spike entered, and his black dress trousers slid seamlessly back into place, the hems resting lightly on what looked to be hand made Italian shoes. He wore a casual dress shirt, the collar wider than on the kind that went under a suit, and the buttons starting several inches below his neck. There was an amulet around his neck, same as with his Keepers. Some kind of stylized dog creature imprinted on obsidian and dangling from a leather strap.
It was the amulet that got him even more worried than he already was. Because once he'd laid eyes on it, Spike realized that he sensed something else in Khentimentiu besides just a vampire so old that he should have turned into a giant buggering bat at this point. He'd never heard of a vampire who could shapeshift. Some could warp a bloke's head until he thought he was seeing something else, but there hadn't even been rumors of vampires shifting in the true sense of the word.
But when he met Khentimentiu's eyes, he knew. Knew for bloody sure that Khentimentiu could turn himself into some kind of dog--maybe any kind of dog--at will. And if he did that, then Spike and Tara were in serious trouble.
"Bloody hell," Spike growled. "Tara, get over here. Now."
Tara stood and gave him a small smile that he figured she meant to be reassuring. She was just too damn clueless. "It's all right, Spike."
"Luv, it's not even in the neighborhood of all right," Spike snapped, striding to her and yanking her behind him. "He's a goddamn shape-shifting vampire."
"I know--"
"Did he bite you?"
"No--"
"You didn't look in his eyes, did you?" he snarled, glaring at Khentimentiu. "Some of these old ones, they can twist your mind 'round their pinkies."
Khentimentiu held out his hands and inspected them. "There is no sign of nefer on any of my fingers, I assure you."
Spike frowned. "Nefer? Actually, never mind. We're leaving."
Tara was tugging on his arm, and he glanced down at her. "It, uh, makes sense. When you think about it," she tacked on, shrugging. "I mean, he rules the destiny of the dead so...vampire. And...well, I'm, uh, not too clear on how shifting into a dog helps, but..."
"Rules the--?" Spike's eyes widened incredulously. "You've bloody lost your mind again!" Spike shouted at her, stepping back and forcing her to move further away from Khentimentiu, who was watching them calmly. "He kills people, that's the only destiny he rules. Murder. That's what a vampire does, now move those feet and let's get the hell out of here."
"He is as willful as you said," Khentimentiu drawled, taking a seat on the leather couch again.
"Spike, please," Tara pleaded. "He's almost agreed to help. Don't, uh, piss him off. Okay?"
"He's a shape-shifting vampire," he said again.
"So are you. The vampire part, anyway." There was that stubborn streak again. He heard it in her voice, felt it when she pulled away from him, and saw it when she faced him down with her arms crossed over her chest. "But you haven't bit me, and you haven't...uh, wrapped me around, uh, anything..."
Spike raised a brow and she tilted her chin defiantly. The booming sound of laughter sounded, and they looked at Khentimentiu. "Please, have a seat," he said in a deep voice that was surprisingly unaccented. He gestured at the couches around him and smiled invitingly. Spike snorted. Khentimentiu smiled widely, his teeth glowing against his bronze skin.
"I understand your suspicion," he said to Spike, his smile fading away. "I am, as you have guessed, a vampire that can shift. Before I was in this post, I was simply a shape-shifter. After, it is as nefer said: who better to navigate between the world of the living, and the world of the dead, than a creature that is both? I retained my shifting abilities." He shrugged carelessly. "Once again, I assure you that no harm will be offered without provocation."
"So you're not really a god then?" Spike asked snidely.
Khentimentiu shook his head. "Just a servant to the Powers. As is usually the case, the mythos and religion don't get it right."
That was good, at least. Meant Spike might be able to hurt him if it came down to that.
"He didn't try anything?" Spike pressed Tara. "Anything at all?"
She shook her head. "He's been very nice, actually. And he's pretty funny."
Spike narrowed his eyes at Khentimentiu, but could find nothing that posed an immediate threat in his gaze. "All right," Spike consented. He pointed menacingly at Tara. "But if he goes all feral, I'm leaving you to it. Understand?"
"Perfectly," she said, nodding emphatically. Her lips curled inwards, hiding against her teeth in the manner of someone fighting back a smile. She was a closet brat, Spike decided, and thought that he might be better off with the shy, stuttering witch that Willow had first brought home to the Scoobies.
"What's this nefer stuff?" Spike asked her, pointedly ignoring her contained amusement.
"I'm not sure."
Spike tossed a look at the Ruler of the Destiny of the Dead. "It's Egyptian- -"
"I guessed that," Spike interrupted sarcastically.
"It means good or beautiful." He smiled at Tara kindly. "And you are both." She flushed and lowered her eyes. He picked up a piece of parchment from a low table in front of the couch. "This is the glyph."
Spike pushed Tara's arm down and took the paper, holding it so that they could both look at it. They exchanged dubious glances. "It looks like a banjo," Spike noted, squinting at the black lines. "Is it upside down or something?" He turned the paper. "Oh, look--an upside-down banjo."
Tara nudged him, and he looked at her. There was a very obviously forced smile on her lips as she deliberately flickered her eyes to Khentimentiu.
"It's quite all right," Khentimentiu said, laughing again. "Personally, I've always thought the same, though it's actually a rendering of the heart and the windpipe."
Spike shoved the paper at Tara and raised a cool brow at Khentimentiu. "We done with the polite chitchat?" This time, Tara chose a kick instead of a nudge. Spike lifted the corner of his mouth and didn't so much as flinch.
"Yes, but we'll have to wait until nefer comes back before we get down to business." He smiled graciously and waved Tara to the door. "I believe you mentioned before your companion joined us that you had need of the...facilities?" he said courteously. Spike frowned, then realized the tea at the bar, and the water during the drive, must be ready to return to the wild. "Mosi is just outside, and he can show you the way."
"Oh," Tara mumbled. She looked down and crossed to the door. "Thanks."
Once she was gone, Khentimentiu studied Spike for several long moments. For his part, Spike did his best to appear bored. Seemed more than coincidence that Khentimentiu had waited until he knew Tara would be leaving the room to have Spike brought in.
"Normally," Khentimentiu commented at length, "I would have made her..." He gestured vaguely with a bronze hand. "Unaware of this conversation. But I thought it best to not tempt fate twice this evening."
"So, what do you want?" he asked when it became apparent Khentimentiu wasn't going to say anything else. He loped to the nearest sofa and dropped down, resting one arm along the back.
"Compassion is not usually found in your kind." Spike felt his eyebrows raise. As non-sequiturs went, it was impressive. "It's also not something I'm often...burdened with; I've lived long enough to be practical."
Spike grinned at the smirking Khentimentiu. "Has a knack for it," he said easily, glancing briefly in the direction Tara had gone.
Khentimentiu resituated himself on a sofa directly across from Spike, carefully adjusting his trousers as he did so. He steepled his hands and tapped his index fingers against his lips. "I will give my assistance for the Cerno," he said without preamble. "It's not unheard of for me to do so." He shrugged and narrowed his eyes at Spike.
"Well," Spike replied, nonplussed. "Great." Call him touched in the head, but he had the feeling Khentimentiu wasn't done.
"I find myself," the vampire/shifter/god said as he stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles, "in the unusual position of wanting her to succeed. It's something of a quandary."
Spike tilted his head and stared. When he spoke, he made sure his voice was bland and casual. "Best bet for success is knowing why the others failed."
Khentimentiu acknowledged that with a nod. "As with most things, there are rules that even accused gods must abide by." He paused, and Spike felt himself tense as he waited for what would come next. "However, I've also been alive long enough to know how to walk that fine line."
His mind screamed at him to proceed carefully, and he forced himself to take a breath so that he could have a moment to think. "Why isn't Tara here for this?"
"There are several reasons why the components of the Cerno are scattered and difficult to obtain. It's a deterrent, of course. But, it also takes the individual on a journey."
Spike grunted. "Some esoteric journey of self-discovery?"
"That's not for me to say." Of course not. Might've actually been helpful otherwise. "But nothing negates the purpose of a journey more than knowing one is on a journey."
Spike hated cryptic; it left too bloody much room for misinterpretation, and lead to mistakes and fatalities. He took a deep breath through his nose and counted to five to prevent a tirade on the subject.
"If nefer were to perform the ritual right now, she would fail." Spike choked on his breath. Khentimentiu waited until Spike had stopped coughing like a nit before he went on. "The journey is as necessary as the components. Encourage her to be open to it." His lips quirked. "Try to temper your impatience the slightest bit and be open to it yourself."
Spike's cheek muscle twitched as he clenched his jaw. "But at the end of this--" His lips twisted disgustedly. "--journey, she'll be able to pull off the Cerno?"
Khentimentiu held out a hand and rolled it from side to side. "There's a chance." He rose, and the door opened. Tara shuffled through, her head ducked as she smiled shyly up at them.
"Everything okay?" she asked with barely hidden concern, her eyes sliding from Khentimentiu to Spike.
"He has not 'charmed' me into denying your request," Khentimentiu chuckled. Tara looked relieved--too relieved, Spike thought. Her eyes widened when he glared at her, but filled with amusement when she realized why he was annoyed. He could damn well do charming.
Khentimentiu crossed the room and opened the drawer of an armoire. From inside, he drew out a small knife and walked to Tara. She took a stumbling step back and Spike jumped to his feet. Khentimentiu came to an abrupt halt and held up his hands. "I'm merely going to hand this to you," he assured Tara.
Spike made a "gimme" motion with his hand and Khentimentiu handed him the knife hilt first. He lifted his leg and tucked the blade into his boot.
"When you perform the ritual," Khentimentiu said to Tara, "I will do what is necessary."
"Thank you." Her voice was grateful, as Spike had expected. But there was also an underlying note of something that sounded like regret, as well, and it worried him. Maybe the lack of precautions had been because she really didn't want to succeed in the first stage of the Cerno. If so, then she was in for a surprise.
"Now, you should be leaving. There is only just enough time for my Keepers to get you back to your hotel before dawn." They walked to the door, and Tara nodded at Khentimentiu. "Nefer, it has been a pleasure to meet you. I wish you luck in your endeavor."
Tara took his proffered hand, and blushed when he brought it to his lips. "Um...thanks. For everything." She drew her hand back awkwardly and busied it with pushing renegade strands of hair back into the ponytail. "Oh, and it was nice meeting you."
He opened the door, and Spike saw that it no longer lead into a corridor, but out into the night. The Jeep was only about ten feet away, and all three Keepers were already inside. Tara grinned, her eyes twinkling, then slipped outside.
"What, that trick doesn't work on the way in?" Spike asked absently, watching as Tara stopped halfway to the Jeep and waited for him.
"It's all in the journey," Khentimentiu said slyly.
"Right," Spike drawled. He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. He crossed the threshold, expecting the door to close behind him. Instead, Khentimentiu's voice sounded softly enough for only Spike to hear.
"A vampire is just a different kind of dead, Spike."
The door closed. Spike froze. Just went completely still. He spun around, intending to march back inside and demand an explanation. There was a note taped to the door. Spike blinked and then swore loudly when he read it:
"We'll be meeting again."
If it was true that he was just a different kind of dead, then he'd just met Fate. Bloody buggering hell. That couldn't be a good thing.
***
They fell into bed in a tangle of limbs--Tara's recently freed hair finding its way into their mouths and noses --Spike's belt buckle digging into his abdomen and her back--their hands gripping painfully and leaving bruises that wouldn't fade from her pale skin as quickly as they did from his.
Their sleep was deep and empty, and when they woke that evening they ordered food. Over sayadiya and kosheri, they decided to continue on immediately. After the dishes had been taken away, Spike left a message on Faith's cell phone while Tara packed up their meager belongings.
"We ready, then?"
"I, uh, I think so. Let me check the bathroom again...okay, we're ready."
"Right. Next stop, Berlin."
***
End Part Three
Before he'd left the States, Spike had called Dawn to let her know what he was doing. She'd expressed her absolute faith in Spike's ability to find Tara and bring her home. Soon. "You always find her," she'd said. True. But Tara had always been in the same damned place when he'd gone after her months before, not to mention that she had a two-week head start on him.
He had studied the departures at the airport around the time that Tara would have gotten there the night she'd whammied him. There wasn't anything on the list that wouldn't "keep", so he looked at the destinations, looked at his list, and saw that there was a flight to Canada around that time. He'd bought a ticket and crossed his fingers that she'd opted for convenient, and hadn't had some kind of specific route in mind.
Then he'd wondered if maybe she'd already gathered everything and was heading back to Sunnydale, if she wasn't already there, to do the ritual. That thought was squashed in Calgary. It had taken her three days to find and obtain a rare Anointing Bowl. Olson had said it was impossible to determine if Willow's energy had been transferred but Spike figured that if Tara had spent three days tracking it down, then, hey, she was pretty damn sure it had been.
From Calgary he'd gone to Berlin, only to realize she hadn't yet been there. He'd been tempted to take care of the business in Berlin, but didn't want to lose track of her. So he'd flown to Paris and found that he'd missed her by only a few days. She'd wasted time there, trying to get the Onyx Heart. Solid sources said she'd headed to Cairo after that, so off he went.
He didn't want to be doing this--traipsing after her. Really didn't. But he was, and the really ironic part of it was that Tara had let him know she didn't expect him to. Her lack of judgment at Willow's grave, when she'd acknowledged that she was damn well aware that he'd shuffled everyone out of Sunnydale to make his own life easier, proved that.
When he wasn't tired from the traveling, he could tell himself that he was doing it for Dawn. No telling how badly she'd react to Tara getting herself killed on this quest, right? Might just be the straw to break the camel's back. When he was knackered beyond belief, he told himself the same thing. Trouble was, he didn't believe it then. Wasn't just for Dawn he was doing it. It was for Tara.
Because he'd made a promise to her that last night before he'd taken her to Wildwind. Goodbye. Hadn't just meant getting her away from the pain of Sunnydale. What exactly it had meant...Spike wasn't even going to go near that anytime soon. He was too busy working himself up to a nice level of irritation that was quickly escalating to anger. Nice feeling, anger. Nothing at all pansy-ass about it. He couldn't wait for it to put in an appearance.
When he got off the plane in Cairo the anger arrived suddenly; Cairo was a stinking cesspit whose odor of oppression and sickness made his stomach churn. Definitely not going to be a fun trip.
Olson and Josh were relatively handy on the computer, but they hadn't been able to track Tara at all through those means. Which meant that Spike was left to his own devices to find her. Took most of the night to find the hotel at which she was staying, and when he finally did, a careless shuffle of bills got him her room number, and access into it. He wasn't exactly pleased about that.
He tossed his small bag into a corner of the room and secured the drapes at the windows, almost tearing them from the wall with his sharp movements. There wasn't a bloody ward or protective spell to be felt in the room, and the Annointing Bowl was just sitting on the nightstand out in the open. Was she really so clueless as to not take precautions? Spike paced and thought about that. If the Arcepts had any idea of what she was up to, they'd be trying to stop her. Not to mention that there was no telling whose attention she was garnering while trying to get what she needed.
The utter lack of caution with which she was going about this enraged him. It was like she didn't care if something got her.
"Soddin' hell," he snapped, kicking at the closed door.
His phone call to Sunnydale didn't make matters better. Quite the opposite, actually. His demon came to the forefront when Giles answered the phone at the Magic Box. "What the hell are you doing there?" he snapped.
"Hello to you, as well," Giles replied, his voice clipped. "Have you found her?"
Spike hung up. Just hung up and punched in the number for his and Faith's flat with more force than necessary. He was half convinced that she was at the Magic Box as well, but he calculated the time difference and realized it was still daylight in California. Then he resigned himself to calling several times so that the incessant ringing would actually wake the Slayer up.
To his surprise, she answered on the first ring. And she didn't sound happy. "I said I'd be there in half-an-hour. Just give me a friggin' break, already," was her hissed greeting.
"What the fuck is Rupes doing in Sunnyhell?" Spike demanded of her. "And why the bloody hell are you awake during daylight hours?"
"What do you think he's doing here?" Faith all but yelled in his ear. "We can't do anything right, remember? We can't train or slay or research or run the store right. Apparently I don't even sleep right, which is why I'm up and tired and waaay bitchy. Oh, and according to Giles? Yeah, we must have all lost our minds to let you go after Tara."
She took a deep breath. "I want to strangle him, Spike," she said, the words precise and furious. "Just choke the life out of him and send his corpse back to England with a big red bow on it. Think that would hurt my bid for redemption?"
"Redemption's overrated," he dismissed.
"Let's just hope he blows out of town before I start agreeing with you," Faith sighed. "Any luck, yet?"
Spike kicked his boots off and sat on the bed. "Jackpot, actually. Just waiting for her to get back to her room."
"Cool." She paused. "Hey, how'd you know Giles was here?"
"Called the store first. Hung up on the git."
There was a long silence, then Faith laughed. "Sweet. Wish I'd seen his face."
"You three come up with anything?"
"Josh is still looking into why the ritual's a killer, and Olsen's still digging into that Arcept so that we know how to take him out if Tara can't get this done." She blew out an exasperated breath. "I've been out scoping for their lair, or whatever you want to call it. I'm hoping to kill the bastards so that none of this matters."
There was a tone to her voice that had Spike glaring at nothing in particular. "But...?" he said knowingly.
"Giles is, like, all up in our faces, Spike," she admitted tiredly. "He's not too thrilled about our plan, and he has this knack for knowing when we're about to do our own things. Keeps insisting that we quit wasting time and shit. Josh would tell him where to shove it, but he's trying to keep the peace for our sake. "
"What's Rupes' suggestion?" Spike drawled, laying back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling.
"The recipient," Faith snorted. "That's what he calls whoever got Will's mojo. Wants us to focus on efforts on finding out who it is. I'm not too clear on the details, since he won't tell me all of it. Came out and said it was over my head, which is asshole for not smart enough. Shit, Spike, I understand what his problem is, but I'm getting damn tired of dealing with it."
He grunted. "Preaching to the choir, Slayer. Anything else I should know about?"
"Olson suggested we see if Wesley's contacts could find out anything for us, but Giles went apeshit." A telling pause, then, "Josh called him the other night and he's on it." Spike laughed. He wasn't one to advocate going to the Pouf or his people for help. Not unless it was dire. Far as he was concerned, this qualified. "Gimme a number to reach you at, just in case."
Spike tilted the phone cradle up and read her the number.
"All right, I gotta go before he comes over to drag me to the Magic Box. Be careful, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"And...go easy on her."
***
It was almost seven before Tara came back, and Spike's rage had dulled to an aching anger that he was almost able to control. But then the door opened and she entered the room. Tired and dragging, head bowed and arms wrapped around her waist, she leaned against the door once she'd closed it. She looked so lost, so small and gone, that the rage came back in full force.
He shot across the room, and her head whipped up in terror as he braced his hands on the door at either side of her shoulders. "Hello, pet," he snarled. Tara's mouth opened and closed several times. A tremor wracked her body and Spike clenched his jaw.
"Spike," she gasped, staring up at him in shock. "What--what are you doing here?"
His eyes widened in shock. "I was just in the bleedin' neighborhood," he snapped sarcastically, "and I thought I'd pop over to see if you had a bloody cup of sugar." Her eyes clouded with confusion and Spike lost another bit of hold on his temper. His next words were screamed at her pale face. "What the hell do you think I'm doing here, you idiot? We figured out what the hell is going on."
"Okay," she said hesitantly. "But why are you here? I mean, I'm taking care of it..."
Her words stopped with a squeal when Spike slammed his hands against the door with enough force to shake the wall. "Very noble of you," he said icily.
Her eyes flew to his and she shrank away from him. Spike watched her face sag as everything except exhaustion and shadows fled. "That's not why I'm doing it," she whispered, leaning her head against his forearm and peering up at him.
Staring down at her, he saw the thousand emotions flitter through her eyes, and he fell forward, dropping his head to her shoulder. Her arms came around his waist. "I know," he said softly, his anger abruptly gone.
There wasn't a damn thing about her that hadn't been laid bare to him six- feet above her lover's corpse. He'd seen the secrets in her eyes, felt the emotions attached to them. And if it had been anything other than love that was at the heart of it all, he might have been able to remain impervious then and now. But he was apparently love's bitch even when it didn't involve him.
She moved closer to him and he buried his face in her hair, his hands rubbing her back. "I'm still not letting you do it on your own," he said quietly but firmly.
"I have to."
In her place, he'd feel the same way. But he'd seen her secrets objectively, and he knew that it was the worst possible thing for her to do. She was acting out a death wish with this reckless jaunt.
He pulled back and pressed his hand on her chest, trapping her against the door. "Listen carefully," he hissed. "I did not haul my arse all over the damn world for shits and giggles, and your head is crooked again if you think I'm just walking away now that I finally caught up to you."
His voice had risen with each word until he was shouting, his face an inch from hers, and she just watched him calmly, blinking. "I'm taking care of it," she said again in a quiet voice, drawing her shoulders up and lifting her chin. "You don't need--"
"You didn't get the onyx," he cut in, and a fine shudder wracked her body. They stared at one another for a beat, then Spike stepped away and gave her his back.
"No," she admitted thickly, "but I'm going back for it."
He snorted impatiently and tossed himself carelessly onto the bed, folding his hands under his head and crossing his ankles. "Between now and then, you're gonna find a way to stomach wading shoulder deep in maggots, are you?" A green tinge came to her face. "Then again," he went on, "you might find something you can stomach less than maggots when you're traipsing around."
"Worse?" she asked with a frown.
Spike smirked. "Had a nice long talk with that chap who guards the onyx," he explained. "Different for everyone, the contents of the pit. Can change for the person, too. Meant to be one thing you really can't bring yourself to go through."
She took in the implications of that and wrapped her arms around her waist, frowning. "What was it for you?" she asked, ducking her head.
"Holy water. Rather an effective deterrent."
"Oh."
"But then I asked the chap what kind of demon he was, and he told me he was a Guntry." He leveled a look at her, and she tilted her head curiously. "Know anything about them?" She shook her head. "They're peaceful, overall, which is good because they're damn hard to kill. Can regenerate their limbs."
Her brown furrowed. "Um, interesting."
Spike eyed the ceiling. "This is why you can't take care of this on your own," he stated incongruously.
"I don't...I don't know what you're trying to tell me," Tara said hesitantly.
"Put yourself back in that damp, dank cave. Think about the little detail I just told you."
"Limb regeneration?" she asked dubiously. "I'd rather not. He had these super long arms and legs with, um, sharp claws. Really sharp."
"Exactly," Spike confirmed, tilting his head up so he could meet her eyes. "The onyx is in my pocket."
He saw her make the connection and then immediately dismiss it. Bloody Hell. If there was someone less suited to navigating the seedy depths of the demon world...
"How...how did you get it?" she asked in a shaky voice.
A small smile came to his face as he stood up and crossed to her until they were only a few inches apart. When he spoke, his voice was a husky whisper, like a lover's tone, but so very not that at all. "You already know."
"No, I--"
"Tara."
Her eyes went a little wild then, separating at the seams for one instant before she drew the material together again. "You ripped his arm off, didn't you? And you--"
"Fished the onyx out of the pit with it," he finished blandly. "And it was a leg. Didn't think he'd be all that quick to get at me, what with having to hop around."
She was silent for a while, confused, thoughtful and troubled expressions flashing across her face. "Why?"
And he didn't need to ask her to clarify what she meant, because he knew. They always knew, him and Tara, didn't they? Ever since that night, they knew.
"Really not in anyone's best interest to let the Arcepts get their way, eh?" he said with a shrug, looking away. Her hand touched his cheek, and he let her turn his head to her again.
"That's not why," she denied, eyes warm and gentle.
"No, it's not," he agreed, pushing her hair out of her face. There were dark circles under her eyes. "You look exhausted."
"I, uh, haven't been sleeping much," she admitted. Her hand slid down his face, along his chest, and around to his side. It jumped from his torso to his arm and took hold of his hand. Her fingers danced around his rings, twisting them absently as she glanced up at him. "I'm sorry. You at least had the right to know that they might come after you."
Spike dipped his head. "Yeah, we did."
He wanted to push her for more answers then. They knew she'd found out about what the Arcepts were up to from the henchman that had been sent to Wildwind, but no one could figure out just how Tara had known about the ritual. It had taken a lot of eyes and a lot of books for them to find out about it, and yet she'd just seemed to know.
But instead he asked, "Any luck tracking down the Keepers of Khentimentiu?"
She shook her head. "Um, no. I don't really know where to look for them."
Spike tugged on her hand. "I'm all out knackered," he announced. "Bouncing around after you isn't particularly restful, pet. Feel like a cat nap?"
Her mouth opened, and a frown pulled at her brow. But Spike just squeezed her hand gently and she wrapped her arms around his waist for another hug. Anyone else might have continued the conversation. Maybe have asked Spike if he knew how to find the Keepers, but all Tara said was, "A nap sounds great."
While she went into the bathroom to change, Spike pulled the Onyx Heart from his pocket and gathered up the Bowl. He stashed both of them in his overnight bag and then peeled his duster off. When she came back into the room, in a large t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, he was already lying in bed after having stripped down to his jeans.
She stopped when she saw him, her pale eyes communicating her every thought. No longer crazy, could she still justify curling up with a soulless vampire? But she'd done that already, hadn't she? Led him to the soft grass of Willow's final resting place, draped her softness on top of him and let the silence envelop her. He saw it all and was unsurprised when she crept forward and slid under the covers next to him.
They lay on their backs, side by side, in an uncomfortable silence that was finally broken by Tara's husky laughter, which became higher in pitch as it went on. Spike raised an eyebrow and shifted onto his side, propping his head on his elbow and staring at her. "What's this, then?" he asked with amusement.
It took a few moments for her to be able to speak. She mimicked his position and grinned. "Just...this. You know? Once upon a time, I wouldn't have thought I'd be in a bed with, um, you. No offense," she tacked on quickly.
Spike rolled his eyes. "None taken."
"And now, it's...um, like. Well," she said slowly, "back in Sunnydale? There was lots of...and then there wasn't any...and now it's all awkward."
"You find that amusing?" Spike asked her diffidently. "Feeling awkward?"
Laughter once again overtook her. Spike's lips pulled into a smile as he watched her try to regain control. So different than the young woman who'd given the Pouf the vampire equivalent of a heart attack by climbing from the front seat to the back seat of the convertible on the way to Wildwind. While they'd been doing seventy down the highway. With the top down. So different, too, from the Tara who had been very much in Willow's shadow before that final fight with Glory.
Recovering from her meltdown obviously agreed with her.
"It's not the feeling awkward," she explained when her merriment had been tamed. "It's why. Not because you're you, but because I'm not crazy." Her face reflected surprise at her own words, then tightened almost imperceptibly.
"No surprise there," Spike put in, reaching out to touch her chin lightly. "Less inhibitions when you're stark raving mad."
She stared at him for a long moment, then her lips twitched until she could no longer contain her smile. "You never, um, pulled punches, did you?" she said softly. "Everyone else? They were very...careful about what they said. You just talked to me like I was still okay."
It was Spike's turn to look surprised. Tara shrugged uncomfortably, looking up at him hesitantly, biting her full lip.
"Your brains were scrambled like an omelet, luv, no denying that," Spike told her casually. "Doesn't mean you deserved to be treated like an imbecile. 'Sides, I'm evil. We don't do 'considerate'."
That last part was tacked on because he was being far too human lately for his liking. He knew what generally happened when he put reminders like that on the table. Wounded looks. Scoffing rejoinders. Things that hte Big Bad rejoiced in.
Tara tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "I think that evil does, um, w- w-whatever it wants. Good...well, good does the right thing, right? Evil can sometimes do the right thing, but it doesn't make them good. Just...self-serving?"
Spike stilled. "You think that being evil just means being selfish?" His tone was careful, empty.
"No," she said thoughtfully. "I think that evil is--de Sade." She nodded her head, as though it all made sense. Spike frowned at her and she shifted so that her head was no longer braced on her hand, but was instead resting on her pillow. "He was all about...fulfilling his wants, no matter what they might be. That's what I think evil is."
She seemed to be waiting expectantly for a response, but Spike honestly didn't know what to say right then. Fact of the matter was, Tara had just proved that her understanding of things was clearer than most other people's. De Sade, though he'd been an utter ponce and loonier than all get out, had systematically burned out any shred of conscience in himself. If one went by his writings, he was a man who'd never denied himself anything. Never apologized for wanting it or taking it or doing it. Had never seen the need to. If he wanted it, it was natural and therefore he should have it or do it. Never regretted it, either.
Tara tossed herself onto her back. "You think I'm...silly, don't you?"
"Sometimes," he admitted, and she scowled at him. He grinned back, even though she probably couldn't see it. "But not now. Think you're dead on." Face sobering, he leaned closer so that she could see him in the scant light that was in the room. "But, you know it works the other way, too, right?" She looked confused. "Good can do the wrong thing, even evil an thing, but that doesn't make them any less good."
Her head tipped to the side, hiding her face from his. "I-I-I need sleep."
He studied the back of her head for a moment, and the curve of her cheek that was on view. Tara had always seemed to him to be so sweet and good that she was incapable of fully knowing the darkness out in the world. That kind of knowledge usually only came when someone contained their own darkness, and it was apparent she possessed none. In fact, she'd been so distanced from the darkness as to not even be on the same plane of existence with it.
Her knowledge had come from elsewhere. She'd listened, watched, learned. She'd soaked it all up and it had coalesced into complete understanding. And it couldn't touch her, really. Couldn't crawl inside and use her for its own, because she could recognize it no matter what form it took.
He wondered if this knowledge was newly found, a result of all that had happened with Glory and the effects of everything that had happened on that tragic night. Could it have been there sooner? Born from spending most of her life thinking she was going to become a demon? No, he'd have seen it before. It had to have been the Glory situation.
"Stop staring. It's a little creepy."
Tara shifted, preparing to turn on her side, and Spike reached out and hauled her closer. Her tense muscles relaxed as he settled her under his arm, her head resting on his chest and one of her arms draped across his stomach. She was already asleep by the time Spike dozed off five minutes later.
***
The next evening, just after the sun had set, Spike learned that Tara had a stubborn streak a mile wide. He'd seen it when she'd been crazy, but had thought it was a byproduct of her condition. To his frustration, it was not. Considering that every damn female he'd encountered in Sunnydale had it, Spike decided it had to be the Hellmouth at work yet again.
"We are not leaving this room until you do it," Spike said firmly, leaning back against the door and raising a challenging brow.
In deference to the heat, Tara had convinced him to forego the duster so that he'd blend in better when they went out. His t-shirt was a dark red, a blood red, really, and he could feel the material stretch as he crossed his arms. Faith had only slightly more talent than he did for doing laundry, and she'd shrunk everything that contained cotton on her last laundry day. The black jeans would have been too uncomfortable to wear if Faith had gotten her hands on them, but she'd been doing colors on the Great Shrinking Day.
Tara was dressed more appropriately for the Cairo heat. Low riding thin cotton pants rested comfortably against her hips, the hem jauntily bouncing between knee and ankle. The dark azure color was a gentle contrast to the bit of skin that was exposed in the gap between her waistband and her tank top, whose midnight blue color offered a harsher contrast that he rather preferred.
Her feet were bare because he'd tossed her sandals aside when they'd begun this argument. She'd been sitting on the bed, obstinately refusing to listed to him, and had leaned down to slip them on. They were currently somewhere on the far side of the room.
"You're being paranoid," she insisted. He narrowed his eyes and her lids lowered as she pulled her ash-colored hair back and secured it in a ponytail with a tie that she slipped from around her wrist.
"And you still haven't given a reason that isn't utter crap," he snapped, infuriated by her attitude.
Her hands trembled slightly as she lowered them from her hair. Without it to fall around her when she ducked her head, she couldn't hide her face from him. She raised her hands again, as though to reach for her hair, and he strode across the room and took hold of them. She froze in his grasp and stared up at him with eyes that were just this side of sane.
"Stop. Just stop and tell me the bleedin' truth. Why won't you ward the room?"
The trembling in her hands spread to the rest of her and Spike loosened his grip and dragged his hands up her exposed arms, feeling the satin of her skin, which he chafed with his calloused hands, hoping that it would bring her back to herself. Beneath that, he could feel the fluttering of her muscles as they tried to choose between fight or flight, the indecision tensing and relaxing them so quickly that the sensation was like that of dozens of tiny heartbeats as his hands traveled to her shoulders. She flinched when he clenched his hands, then blinked quickly, her eyes clearing.
Her head turned away from him, towards the wall. "I've done magic my whole life," she whispered. "But since that night...I haven't...my control...I can't."
Spike wasn't really sure what she was saying. Hell, he didn't know if she knew what she was saying. When he spoke, his voice was severe, cracking from his mouth and making her flinch again. "You're making me question if you're up to this." Her head snapped around, an incredulous look on her face. "Maybe I should send you back to the Hellmouth while I get what we need."
"No," she practically shouted. "I need to do this."
He let go of her shoulders and shrugged. "What you need to do and what you can do are two different things, aren't they?"
When her face crumbled, he wanted to pull her close, chase the look back where it came from, because it reminded him that his facade wasn't as solid as he'd like it to be, either. But he couldn't do that. Her facade had to be strong enough to be almost as good as the real thing. His did too, but he wasn't all that worried about himself; he'd had over a century to perfect the art of ignoring what he was really feeling. Tara didn't.
"I don't much care, really, what you're going through," he went on, still keeping his voice cutting. "Except that you're playing with a lot of lives here, one of them being Dawn's."
"Liar," she accused.
Spike knew which part of that she was refuting but he barreled on like she hadn't spoken. "If you're trying to tell me you can't do magic, then you're flat out lying." He leaned forward and took hold of her chin, tilting it up and catching her eyes with his own. "If you're saying that you've gotten out of practice using it--that, I'd still doubt was the truth, but I'd tell you to get back in practice. Fast. If it's something else, then I haven't the faintest idea what it is." He let go of her face and stepped back, raking his eyes up and down her form. "Whatever it is, you need to say it."
Her face was like a movie, emotions spinning across it like frames of tape across a screen. And he could see the characters, each and every one of them. He could see the plot, twisted and tragic, with its conflict and climax. He knew this one by heart.
"It's--it's--nothing," she said quietly, lifting her head. "I'll put up the wards."
He watched her do it, feeling so damn weary he almost would have preferred to go back in time to the summer after Glory. When he'd spent all of his waking hours patrolling the Hellmouth and dealing with the three humans who had become his responsibility, and who'd been only slightly more broken than he'd been. Because while it had once been comforting, this lying he and Tara each did all the while knowing the truth, it no longer was.
It was truly a sad state of affairs when nothing stayed unsaid even if no one said it.
***
Like a good little Scooby, Tara had started her quest for the Keepers with research. While she'd managed to learn an impressive amount about them, Khentimentiu, and Egyptian mythology as a whole, it did little good when push came to shove.
Spike dragged her along a different route of search that began in the demon underground. He'd been to Cairo once before, with Dru, and though it had been decades, demons weren't much for change. At one time it had been a temple of some sorts. Tara might know what kind, now that she'd soaked up the history, but Spike didn't. Nor did he care to. It was off the beaten path, tucked away on the outskirts of the city, and it seemed to be in such bad shape--threatening to collapse if it was so much as looked at wrong-- that humans didn't generally enter it.
Generally. Sometimes a fool or two wandered in, but as small as it appeared from the outside, it was filled with passages and corridors, and rarely had a curious human actually found their way to the center room that contained the bar.
"My skin," Tara mumbled, stopping next to him and rubbing her palms roughly against her thighs. "There's--it's--crawling. Trying to...pull away from me."
"Yeah, mine is too. It'll do that in here." He gestured around them, at the pale stone walls, the light that emanated from nowhere, yet lit the surrounding area. "Doesn't work on humans, just demons and mystical-types. That's how you know which way to go."
She scratched at her skin through her pants. "It hurts," she groaned softly.
"That's because you're resisting it." Spike moved her hands to his forearms, not wanting her to scratch herself open. Human blood was too tempting to ignore for demons, and it'd just lead to trouble if she reeked of it when they got to the bar. "Just ride it."
A scowl fell upon her face as her nails dug into his forearms. "What does that even mean?" she hissed.
"Treat it like a small pain," he said quietly. "A...scraped knee. Those hurt, right?" Tara nodded skeptically. "But it's just a little bit of hurt, so you bend your knee just right to get it to sting a bit, and it feels good, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, but this...it's not agony, Spike, but it's...every inch of my skin and I really don't know how to bend my skin just right."
He made a small, frustrated noise. "Fine. Pretend it's a knot. You know, a muscle knot," he clarified when she frowned. "Those hurt, but when you relax your muscles, it loosens up. Relax and it won't hurt so much."
She took several deep breaths, closing her eyes while she did so. Her hands never slackened their grip on his arms. Right, maybe he needed to be a bit more precise.
"Start with your feet," he suggested. "Tense them up for a second, real good and tight, then relax them all sudden-like. Work your way up like that."
Her eyes, still closed, squinted together tightly. He felt the reverberations in the muscles in her hands as she gradually got the muscles in her lower body to relax. Less than a minute later, the squinting was gone and she opened her eyes carefully and took a deep breath.
"It kind of...tickles, now," she commented, staring down at her hands. "I can still feel it pulling, but it's easier."
Spike tossed her a smug look and then waved her forward. "Go on. Follow the pull."
They wound their way through the passageways, and she made a few wrong turns. Spike didn't correct her, just let her figure out on her own that she should have gone left instead of right or vice versa. The closer they drew to the bar itself, the more confident she was about direction, and they eventually stood before an impressive set of doors that definitely hadn't been part of the original structure. Not unless mechanized three- inch steel doors had been around about a thousand or so years ago.
"Those are new," Spike said idly as they stared at them.
"Now will you tell me what we're going to do once we get inside?"
Spike chanced a look in her direction. She didn't seem annoyed, just curious. He purposely hadn't told her what the plan was; he'd wanted her to have as little time as possible to think or argue about it.
There was a small buzzer next to the left side of the door, and Spike absently pushed it. "The blokes in there are going to see you as a human," he told her without looking at her. "Prey for the taking. You need to demonstrate right away that you're not just a human."
"But I am," she insisted.
She grabbed his bicep and tried to turn him towards her, but Spike didn't budge an inch, wouldn't so much as turn his head to look at her. If he did, if he saw those wide pleading eyes, he might just drag her out of this place and lock her in the hotel. Truth was, he agreed with her that she needed to do this, needed to put it to rest with her own two hands from start to finish. But it couldn't be her way, not entirely. They didn't have time for her to pour through every book in the city to find what they needed, didn't have time for her wishy-washy hang ups about using magic. The Arcepts were trying to break through her measures, and this had to be done quickly.
Some would have called it trial by fire, but Spike thought something about leading the deer into the lion's den was more fitting, because that was exactly what he was doing. Tara had proved that she knew the darkness, that it couldn't taint her. Now she had to realize that that knowledge gave her an advantage, that she could use it for more than just preventing it from sinking into her.
"You're not just a human, you're a witch," he countered just as the door began sliding open, and he stepped inside. "I suggest you make them aware of that fact."
Even with the noise of the occupants inside the bar, and the clanging sound of the door sliding closed, he could still hear the frantic pounding of her heart behind him. And he wasn't the only one. No less than four of the bar's customers had turned their attention to her. Spike stood arrogantly in the doorway, moving his eyes around the room and affecting a bored demeanor.
Two of the interested parties were vampires; a male and a female. Both were barely more than fledglings, though they were cocky enough to think they were more powerful than they were. He could tell by the amused way they were perusing him, by the sly glances they traded across their table. They'd definitely start trouble, but they'd be easily dusted.
The other two were more of a concern. The Traleg on the left side of the room sat on a stool, rather than a chair, to accommodate his whipcord-like tail. Spike knew, even though he couldn't see, that the tail had double- jointed connections every inch or so, giving it a snake-like movement and offering precise control. The thing was also covered with razor sharp spines and had a damn fast strike to it. The Traleg was a normal biped otherwise, except that his torso was unnaturally long. His skin was thick, rubber-like in consistency and waxy in appearance, and Spike knew from experience that it took a lot of muscle to pierce it.
Unlike the vampires, it wasn't Tara's blood that had garnered the Traleg's attention, but her muscles. Oh, not hers, specifically. The bugger had a thing for human meat. Only thing that would save Spike from having to go head-to-head with him was if Tara came through with her demonstration. Traleg's could be fierce predators, but they were not easily roused from their natural state of laziness. If Tara seemed like too much trouble, the Traleg would forget about going after her.
The same couldn't be said for the Emling in the center of the room. The incandescently furry demon with three mouths and five arms--not to mention the tongues that were coated with a lethal poison--liked brains. Didn't matter what flavor, and Spike was surprised that the owners had even let it in. Emlings were notoriously violent, and were for the most part banned from demon haunts because of it. Spike knew the damn thing wouldn't be swayed from Tara no matter what kind of show she put on. If she even put one on, that was.
"It's beautiful," she said from his side. He spared her a quick glance, and saw that her pale blue eyes were soft as they gazed upon the Emling. With a quizzical tilt of his head, he noticed that her heartbeat had slowed back to normal, and her breathing was as regular and measured as it could be.
"I suppose," he said noncommittally, turning back to the Emling. There was a certain aesthetic appeal to the shining fur, despite the assorted limbs and mouths. The limbs weren't attached to a normal trunk, which meant that they were able to lie more naturally against the body. They could almost be tucked away in concaves that acted as niches. As for the mouths, the extra two were merely slashes on either side of the expected mouth. Looked like creases from smiling.
Beautiful or not, it was the only true problem he saw in the room with regards to Tara. He was preparing to make his way to it, snap its shining neck, and be done with it, when he felt Tara brush against his shoulder as she stepped past him.
In nature, most animals know to steer clear of another critter that's too brightly colored. The fact that a creature doesn't mesh with its natural surroundings means that it doesn't need to hide because it can handle what comes its way. There were exceptions, of course, but it was a pretty good rule of thumb. Tara must have been absent the day that was covered in school. Her eyes were fixed on the Emling, lids slightly lowered so that it looked for all the world like she was challenging it. Challenging a predator that Spike wasn't sure he could take without the element of surprise, which she'd managed to ruin now.
The Emling blinked eyes that were startlingly wide and extraordinarily framed by thick lashes of varying colors. The eyes themselves were silver, and they gleamed like mirrors as the Emling stood, unfolding its nearly eight-foot tall frame, and shoved its table out of the way.
Spike tensed but forced his face into a bland mask of indifference as a thick silence fell over the bar and the other patrons crept into the shadows. Tara had no clue what she'd done. If she had, her heart would have been racing and fear would have been flowing off of her in tangible waves.
The Emling was all fluid motions and rippling multi-colored fur as it shimmied their way.
"Spike?" The word was slightly misspoken, as though she'd uttered it around her smile. He would have checked, but no way was he taking his eyes of the rainbow rug that was getting closer.
"Yeah?"
"This thing...it's not like Clem, is it?" she asked, a catch in her voice.
Blood buggering hell. Girl met one demon that was only partially bad and she got all soft-headed. "No, it damn well isn't," Spike ground out.
The Emling stopped about three feet from them, and had finally looked away from Tara to stare at Spike. It snarled something at him, the sound echoing eerily as the thing had three voice boxes to go with its mouths.
The Emling language had died out sometime in the seventeenth century, rumor had it. Since then they'd taken to glomming off of other demon languages. It took Spike a moment to figure out that it was speaking Roltek, then another second to translate. The bugger had called him a leech!
"Go skin your mother," he replied pleasantly in Roltek, and was rewarded by a dark sparkle of anger in the Emling's mirror-eyes. Another triplicate hiss issued forth, and Spike curled his lips.
"W-w-what's it saying?" Tara stammered.
"Told me it''s not going to let me suck your corpse dry after it rips your head open and eats your brains."
"Oh," she said immediately. Then, once the words had sunk in. "OH!"
The danger must have clicked with her, because she remained quiet and unassuming as Spike traded not-so-witty banter with the Emling. After a few jabs and barbs, the thing's patience came to an end, and it spilled at Tara in a multihued flash. Spike threw himself in front of her and braced himself for an impact that never came.
In front of him, the Emling had come to a dead stop, and Spike frowned for a moment at the strangeness of the action before he felt it. Coming from behind him, where Tara was. Sliding past his shoulders, curling around him like water parting for a rock. The Emlings mouths all gasped and its hulking form shook.
The sensation that Tara could cause--the warning fear that prodded some hidden instinct into making a body run--was being focused directly on the Emling. The effect was obviously more intense than when it was generalized over a large area. The Emling fell to its knees, the five hands clenching as it tried to fight the urge.
Tara moved to Spike's side and he spared a quick glance. She was staring at the Emling again, this time in determined concentration. It whimpered and started frantically crawling to the door, taking a wide berth around Tara and Spike. It scrambled to its feet as the bouncer pushed a button to slide the door open once again, but couldn't wait long enough for the door to open completely. The Emling twisted sideways and squeezed into the hallway. It took off down the corridor at a run.
Spike knew it would run and run until it collapsed from exhaustion, and it wouldn't return to the bar--maybe not even the city--for quite a while. The instinct had been triggered, and it wasn't easily calmed.
The rest of the demons in the bar eased back to their seats and took up their conversations again, each casting wary glances at him and Tara. All in all, it was far less violent than Spike had hoped for, but it had done the bloody trick. He turned his head towards Tara, smiling in approval. She shrugged one shoulder, acknowledging him, then took a moment to scan the room, settling her gaze on the vamps and the Traleg a beat longer than she did the others.
"So...safe passage?" she asked Spike hopefully.
He nodded. "As close as one can get, yeah." He took her arm and led her to the overturned table, righting it. Tara gathered the two chairs that had gone flying as well, and sat down. Spike remained standing. "I'm going to start with the bartender."
"What should I do?"
"Something very important," he replied without hesitation. She sat up straight and her face fell into serious lines. Spike leaned down conspiratorially and whispered, "Sit here and keep out of trouble." Tara sat back and glared at him. He rolled his eyes. "Just stay put for the time being, all right? If I get anything solid, I'll call you over."
He left Tara sitting alone at the table, not liking it but not wanting any of the other customers to think her vulnerable. If he attached her to his side, they'd decide she was in need of his protection and would take the earliest opportunity to make a go for her.
At the bar, he ordered a pint of blood, then tossed a few questions at the bartender. He also had some blood packaged to go, and he dropped the bag at the table on his way past. He did a circuit of the room, subtle questions expertly interposed in the middle of conversation.
Ten minutes later, he caught sight of Tara at the bar. She was obviously asking for something to drink, but the bartender was staring at her uncomprehendingly. Which was to be expected, as it had taken Spike several tries to find a language the bartender knew, and he doubted that Tara was even remotely fluent in Hungarian. She turned and found him in the crowd, sending him a pleading look.
"What do you want, pet?" he called out from the Traleg's table.
"Soda?" she called back. He snorted and shook his head.
"Anything not gross...or poisonous...or that was previously something's bodily fluid...or alcoholic." Her eyebrows were raised in encouragement, and Spike smiled. Catching the bartender's eye, he gestured at Tara then shouted out an order for seasoned iced tea. He watched the bartender prepare the drink, turning back to the Traleg only when he was confident Tara had been served exactly what had been ordered.
Still, he only focused half his attention on the demon, because he'd spotted the female vampire slinking towards Tara's table and taking a seat, obviously not having learned from the Emling's exampled, and just as obviously assuming that Spike's attention was fully diverted.
Tara paused when she noticed the vamp. A frown knitted her brow, but she didn't look to Spike for help. Chewing on her lip, she took several measured steps towards the table, then her teeth freed her lip and Spike saw her mouth moving as she said something. Her free hand lifted, traced something in the air almost absently, and the vampire's chair slid back a good four feet before it just fell apart and tumbled the vamp to the floor.
Laughter echoed through the room as others noticed, and Spike allowed himself a small chuckle at the sight of the stunned vampire. Tara didn't so much as look in the vamp's direction, just continued to the table, sat in the remaining chair, sniffed cautiously at her drink, then took a small sip.
The vamp pulled herself to her feet and snarled at the nearby demons that were laughing. It seemed like she was about to go back to Tara's table, and Spike gave up all pretense of conversing with the Traleg. But the bint had finally remembered the Emling, because her eyes flickered to the door and her motion halted. Tara raised a placid brow in the vamp's direction and lifted her glass to her lips again. The vamp glared menacingly, but went back to her own table.
The Traleg griped about his lack of participation in their talk, but relented and directed him to the Marpel when Spike growled at him. Several more conversations later, Spike wandered back to the table. Tara was finishing her tea and she looked up curiously when he pulled up another chair and sat.
"Good money's on the Marpel demon for getting to the Keepers." He shrugged. "Mostly third- and fourth-hand accounts of her having worked with them."
"Which one is that?"
"One in the corner," he answered. He pulled his cigarettes and lighter out of his duster and lit up. "They keep to themselves mostly, Marpels. Only reason you find one in a joint like this is 'cause they can't blend in human bars."
Tara smiled at him. "Hm. Yeah, purple skin would stand out. Are Marpels...bad?"
"Depends on the Marpel. They're mystically gifted, but it's all emotion based."
"Wild magic," she said knowingly.
"Some are better than others at control. This one--" He gestured with his lit cigarette. "--has damn good control. Didn't react to your display with one of her own. Also did her best to stay off my radar when I was gathering intel."
"Intel?" There was only the slightest inflection to her voice, a bare widening of her eyes, a mere tilting of her head. Tara's version of mockery, right there.
"Oh, bugger off," he grumbled. "She knows the Keepers, and I'm gonna chat her up, see if I can charm something useful out of her."
This time the mockery was less subtle, as her pale eyes shimmered with amusement. "You can do...charming?"
"I'm evil, luv," he reminded her as he stood. "I can do whatever I want."
Tara's soft laughter followed him as he crossed the room to the Marpel. She was indeed purple, a faded purple touched with gray that was somehow or other soothing. The color looked bloody fantastic with her purple-black hair and storm-cloud-gray eyes, which flickered to him as he got closer.
"Hello," he drawled, taking a chance and speaking French--Marpels had been in France longer than anyone could remember. "Mind if I have a seat?" he asked as he sat down.
"I don't associate with vampires," she said in a lilting, almost musical, voice. "Leave."
Spike flashed her a charming but awkward grin. "Not looking to associate with you, just talk. I'm trying to find--"
She sat up and glared at him. "I know what you're trying to find." Her eyes flashed, the clouds gathering in them. "And I will not help an abomination. Go away; I won't tell you again."
Okay, so he'd forgotten how xenophobic and bigoted Marpels were. Right. Spike slouched back indolently, tilted his head forward and gazed at her insouciantly. He waited a beat, then gave her the slow, sexy grin that usually got him his way. "Come on, now. I'm not looking to--"
The clouds had overtaken her pupil as she looked at him full on. Magic was in the air. Spike reconsidered that: magic should have been in the air. But it wasn't. At least, not for him. The embossment on his collarbone seemed to be blocking whatever she was trying to do. In Sunnydale, it had caused the magical attacks by the Arcepts to return to the originator. Violently.
Either way, it was holding up. Spike stared the Marpel down, cool as could be, and she glared at him. A moment later, he felt Tara coming up behind him, her heartbeat slightly accelerated. She placed a warm hand at the nape of his neck, and he felt the embossment flared marginally in response.
"Charm not going over so, um, well?" she asked hesitantly.
Spike waved a dismissive hand. "I'm wearing her down," he assured her, and he felt her shake a little with suppressed laughter.
"Ah."
"Why do you protect this creature?" the Marpel snarled at Tara in English.
Tara's hand spasmed at his nape. When she answered, her voice was steady and sure, if not all that forceful. "We protect each other."
The Marpel sneered at Tara as though she were a fool. "You are food to him."
"Not at the moment," Tara said immediately, still confident. "Or, am I?"
Spike tipped his head back, nudging her stomach. "Nah. Safe from me, pet."
Storm-gray eyes once again on Spike, the Marpel snapped, "What does a vampire want with the Keepers?"
"Thought we could tea together," Spike replied diffidently, pulling his cigarettes out again. "Maybe get together and do each other's hair, tell stories about girls we like."
Tara shifted so that she was standing next to him, but she kept her hand on him. Spike wasn't sure why. The embossment didn't need physical contact to work, so maybe she just didn't want to feel alone in this confrontation.
"I'm the one looking for them."
The Marpel seemed interested in this information, which made Spike instantly suspicious. "Pet," he said warningly.
"Well, she doesn't seem to, uh, like you? Despite the...charm," Tara said carefully.
"You seek a boon for your vampire," the Marpel stated, but Tara shook her head.
"Uh, no. And he's not. Mine, I mean. He's his own."
No. No, he wasn't. He was Buffy's, and through Buffy he'd become Dawn's. But he was also Tara's, and as much as he wanted to completely tie it back to Buffy and/or Dawn, he couldn't. Only comforting thing about being Tara's was that she was just as much his. They'd seen to that last summer.
The Marpel frowned, staring back and forth from Tara to Spike. "Then what do you want from them?"
Spike responded before Tara could take a breath. "That's between her and them." He pointed at her, moving his finger up and down and gesturing at her. "Way I hear it, you can arrange a meeting with the Keepers."
She stiffened at that, pulled herself up ramrod straight and curled her lip. "I will do nothing of the sort unless you tell me why you want to see them."
Exasperated, Spike stood. Tara slid her hand until it grasped the area just above his elbow. "Already told you," he said blandly to the Marpel. "Has nothing to do with me." He glanced down at Tara. "Come on, luv, time to move on."
Looking up at him, Tara searched his eyes, and he nodded shortly. They weren't dancing to the Marpel's tune, simple as that. "Always another way," he told the blond, and she nodded, just once.
"I'm kind of hungry," she said incongruously, her voice casual. "Can we stop for food?"
Spike allowed himself to genuinely smile down at her. She'd outdone his expectations that evening, gone above and beyond. He touched her cheek gently. "Anything you want," he said softly, and he meant it. Right then there was very little he would have denied her.
They had just turned away when the Marpel said, "Wait." As one, they looked at her over their shoulders. The Marpel was staring at Tara again, confused and leery. "You trust him," she said with dawning realization Tara nodded and the Marpel licked her lips. "What--what sigil did you set on him?"
There was a considering look on Tara's face. "Always another way," Spike repeated. The mystical was Tara's field, and he realized with a start that he trusted her judgment on it. "Don't do anything you don't feel comfortable doing," he advised.
She stepped closer, her hips brushing against him. "Are you sure? That there's another way?"
"Positive," he assured her.
So they walked away, heading towards the table that Tara had vacated, and on which still sat the bagged blood he'd ordered earlier. Tara plucked it from the table and they seamlessly changed direction to leave the bar.
When they were just a few feet from the door, Tara suddenly spun around, a quickly hissed word flying from her lips as she flung her hand outward. Some kind of misty ball was shooting towards the Marpel, then Tara jerked her hand to the side and it careened to the right. There was a small explosion of stone as it hit the wall behind the Marpel.
Spike blinked, confused.
"The next time," Tara called out, glaring at the Marpel, "I won't redirect the rebound."
Bloody fuck, the Marpel had attacked him, and Tara had prevented it from being shot back at the Marpel.
Oh, they were well past done with the place. Spike jerked his head at the bouncer and the door began sliding open. He wrapped his fingers around Tara's bicep and stalked to the exit, ready to drag her along if she couldn't keep up, but it didn't come down to that. Tara matched his pace as they crossed the doorway and made their way through the corridors.
It wasn't until they were out of the temple, and had torn through the roads and side streets that led back to the city, that Spike realized that Tara was working on pure adrenaline. Which abruptly ran out as she stopped moving and sagged against him.
"What's wrong?" He scooped her into his arms and looked around. They were in a market of sorts, and he searched through the bustling crowd until he spotted several large barrels behind one of the vendors' stands.
"Wild magic," Tara said, her voice shaky. He set her on top of the barrel and snagged the bag of blood from her hand, placing it on her lap. Then he put his hands at the small of her back, bracing her. She leaned all of her weight on him. "K-k-k-kind of hard to divert."
Spike set his jaw. "You shouldn't have done it, then. She knew it could happen when she pulled that stunt."
But of course, she'd had to. Spike sighed and shifted one of his hands, brushing away a strand of her hair that had escaped her ponytail and fallen across her face. This little adventure might just break her down to nothingness before it set things right for her. "We'll get you some food and call it a night."
"You seek the Keepers?" someone said in English from behind him.
Spike spun around, pressing against Tara's knees as he curled one arm behind him and wrapped it around her back to hold her steady. There was rustling as she moved the bag, then opened her legs and scooted closer to him, her chin resting against his shoulder as they both looked at the three men in front of them.
They appeared human, and his other senses seconded that appearance. Each was dressed casually in linen pants, sandals, and loose-fitting cotton shirts. All three were well built, bulging muscles making themselves known through the thin material of their tops. They seemed to be at ease, casually studying Tara and him, but their eyes were hard and cold.
The one in the middle was several inches taller than Spike, with swarthy coloring and several gold hoops in each of his ears that twinkled from between locks of jet black hair. The one on the right was more golden, his coloring almost lion-like. The short stubbly beard added to that impression. And the one on the left was so dark skinned that dark blue highlights leapt from him, with eyes whose irises were as black as the pupils.
"You seek the Keepers?" the one in the middle repeated, narrowing his eyes.
"Who wants to know?" Spike asked, infusing the words with a bored monotone.
"Spike." Her tone made him twist his neck to look at her. She was staring at the amulets around the men's necks. "It's...that's them."
Spike shrugged and turned back to the Keepers. "Considering that purple bint's attitude, that doesn't ease my mind."
"Emmanuelle does not speak for us," the gold one stated. "In words or actions."
"You sure about that?" Spike grunted, raising a brow. "She seemed to think she was your social secretary and bodyguard all rolled into one."
"We'll offer no harm unless provoked," the dark one said solemnly.
The swarthy one in the center dipped his head and frowned at them. "Many wish an audience with us, but few intrigue us enough that we consider granting it."
Tara's arms came around his waist, gripping him, and he slowly eased his arm from around her back, lowering it only when she stayed upright. Spike met each of the men's eyes. "We're barely out of the bar. How'd you turn up so quickly?" he asked the swarthy one, who seemed to be the leader.
"We've been aware of the witch's desire for an audience since she arrived. We've been watching her." Spike tensed. "When you joined her, we became curious about why she sought us."
His dark green eyes settled on Tara, and she craned her neck to look at Spike. He shrugged. "Your call," he conceded. "You're the one that did the research."
Facing them again, Tara took a deep breath. "I, uh, want to...petition Khentimentiu."
The Keepers' lips quirked condescendingly. "Of course you do," the gold one drawled. "But why?"
"Oh," Tara squeaked, embarrassed. "I wish--I mean--it's a matter--"
"Pet," Spike interrupted her. "Just spit it out."
So she did. "The Cerno ritual. I'm here to ask for Khentimentiu's help."
They went still. "Then your journey was wasted," the leader hissed. "You will receive no--" He broke off, tilting his head to the side. Spike saw that his forest green eyes had gone unseeing. A glare settled over his features as he hissed a word in a language Spike didn't know. "Your audience has been granted," he bit out. "Come with us."
"Right now?" Spike asked incredulously. "Look, we're pleased as punch your boss is going to see us, but--"
"Not you," the leader growled. He pointed at Tara. "She seeks the audience."
The argument grew heated very quickly. Eventually, Tara nudged Spike forward and slipped off the barrel. He ignored the threats the Keepers were issuing him and touched her arm as she let go of the barrel. "You all right?" he asked, frowning as she swayed a bit.
She blinked and then nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine." Spike carefully let go of her arm, his hand hovering until he was sure she wasn't going to fall. "Why can't he come?"
The Keepers glared at her. "You are the one petitioning for aid."
"Well, yeah," she replied slowly. "We're not asking that he, uh, petition with me. Just come with."
"It's not allowed," the dark one snarled. "You can come alone for your petition, or you can not have your audience. Those are your choices."
The golden one stepped forward. "Why do you want the vampire at your side?" he asked, but his voice was...different than it had been. So was his bearing. He held himself with grace and confidence, and he was far more at ease than he'd been before. Spike realized that they were now most likely in the presence of Khentimentiu. Beside him, Tara gasped. "You are of white magic and innocence," he commented to her. "Yet this creature is not."
"I-I-I am of white magic," she confirmed, blindly reaching towards Spike. He took her hand and squeezed it. "But not of innocence. Not for a while now."
Khentimentiu stepped closer in the golden Keeper's body. Full lips pulled in a soft smile. "Nonsense. It surrounds you completely. It's almost tangible."
"Different kinds of innocent," Spike put in idly, pulling out his cigarettes with his free hand and lighting one. He exhaled a plume of smoke. "This one's been tried and tested."
"Perhaps she has," Khentimentiu conceded, tilting his head. "But you haven't answered my question, witch. Tell me why you stand with him, why you walk with him."
"I, uh, don't know," she mumbled. "How to explain it, I mean. Maybe--maybe you look at him and all you see is...is a vampire," she said slowly. "And he is. A vampire. An evil one." Spike puffed his chest out and she jiggled his hand reproachfully. "Like I told the Marpel, he's my friend and I trust him. There's only three...people I can say that about."
He knew who the other two were: Giles and Dawn. A slight smirk pulled at his lips when he realized Angel wasn't on that list. At least he was one up on the Pouf when it came to something.
"Fascinating," Khentimentiu murmured. "In times past, witches and vampires regularly kept company. But the witches were not of white magic, and the vampires had not been tamed."
Spike growled and wondered if the Keepers' were entirely human. Would they set his chip off? What about the one who was currently possessed by Khentimentiu? Would he count as human? Maybe he should find out...
The other Keepers took a step forward and Tara giggled. Khentimentiu waved the guards back and returned Tara's grin. "What do you find so amusing?"
"He's not tamed," she answered, trying to stifle her giggles. "He's the epitome of untamed, actually."
Her words allowed something in him to ease up infinitesimally. Dawn thought he was tame, despite his best intentions to keep her opinion of him based firmly in reality. But Tara didn't, and she probably had more reason to think so than Dawn did. Maybe he wasn't as pathetic as he'd thought.
"Yes, he is," Khentimentiu countered. "Why else would he be here if not because you have leashed him with magic?"
"He's here with me because he wants to be," Tara said firmly, her anger subdued but noticeable. Khentimentiu raised both of the golden Keeper's brows mockingly, and Tara's hand tightened around his. "I don't use magic to, to, to control people."
Her voice shook with a newly raised tide of grief and despair. Glory had done that to her, had driven her insane and embedded imperatives in her that had gone against her very nature. She slid closer to him, pressing against his side and leaning her head against his arm. Her breathing hitched and then the sensation of dread crept outwards, once again bypassing him. It was generalized this time, but still disconcerting for the Keepers who were close to them. They took gasping breaths and backed up several feet.
"You offer us harm?" Khentimentiu asked coldly.
Spike glared at him. "Poking at wounds, even unintentionally, can cause someone to lash out without meaning to," he snapped, trying his best to keep the rest of what he wanted to say from coming forth. Like it or not, they needed Khentimentiu's aid for the ritual. He focused his attention on Tara, turning her in his arms and running his hands along her back.
"I shouldn't remember what she made me do," Tara said, her teeth chattering despite the heat. "I was in her head, not my body. But I do. IrememberIrememberIremember."
"Sh," he murmured, bringing his hands to her face and cupping her cheeks. His eyes flickered to the Keepers, who watched them closely. "Pull it back, Tara."
"I gave her Dawn," she choked out, her eyes unseeing. "It's all my fault." A red haze covered her for a moment, then the blood materialized as it had all those months ago at Willow's grave. It rode over his hands and swept along her skin, pulsing not with a life of its own, but with her life.
He dug his fingers into her until she flinched. "Look at me," he commanded. Automatically, her eyes flew to his, and the longer he stared into them, the more awareness returned. "Pull it back," he said again. "All of it."
It drifted slowly, meandering to her and collecting around her, dancing almost perceptibly with the wraithlike blood until she took a steadying breath and it eased back inside.
She stayed in his arms, the length of their bodies touching as they had so often last summer, when things had gone to Hell six ways from Sunday and the only solace they could find was with each other. Only with each other, because the others had lost family, friends--even children of sorts--but he and Tara had lost their loves. It had been a pain Giles and Dawn couldn't share.
Her pale eyes were soft and open, and she placed her hand on his cheek and smiled up at him. And she knew where his thoughts were. "Your cigarette's burned out," she said solemnly.
Spike blinked and realized that the acrid stench of burning filter was in the air. He pulled his arm from around her and stared at the butt. "Looks like," he agreed. Shrugging, he tossed it aside.
"I'm sorry," Tara said to Khentimentiu, but her eyes were still on Spike. "I'm a little...raw? It won't happen again, I promise."
Khentimentiu bowed the blonde's body gracefully at the waist. "Your apology is accepted as sincerely as it was given." He eyed them consideringly. "The vampire can accompany you. My Keepers will bring you to me."
With that, his body slumped forward slightly before the golden-skinned man shook his head in a daze and stepped back to join his companions.
**
They made the journey in a Jeep. At Spike's insistence that Tara needed to eat, the Keepers had produced several granola bars and a bottle of water for her. It wasn't much, but it would hold her over until he could get her to eat a decent meal.
It wasn't until Tara hesitantly asked their names that the Keepers introduced themselves. The dark one was Gahiji, the gold one was Lisimba, and the leader was Mosi. Thankfully, further conversation wasn't possible, as the Jeep had been stripped of its roof and sides, and the noise was incredible as they sped through Cairo to the other side of town.
Spike and Tara were in the back, on pull-down seats that faced the center of the vehicle. Lisimba was driving, with a none-too-pleased looking Mosi in the passenger seat. Gahiji had perched behind Tara and Spike, crouching down on his haunches in a space that shouldn't have fit him, while he lazily held on to the roll bar. Spike rethought the Keeper's status as humans whenever he caught sight of Gahiji. His muscles should have cramped, locked and given out in that position, yet he was poised and relaxed.
They drove into the desert, the trip jarring and uncomfortable. Tara had insisted he strap himself in, and though he had protested, he was glad he'd given in. If not, he might have bounced out of the damn Jeep and taken a dive in the sand long before it finally came to a stop.
There was nothing around them for miles, save a stone doorway that jutted out from the sand, its color worn away so that it matched the sand perfectly.
"The vampire waits here," Mosi told them firmly as they exited the vehicle.
Spike unbuckled the seatbelt then went around to the other side of the Jeep. He lifted Tara out by the waist, setting her on the dense sand and raising a brow at her. She frowned at the doorway and nodded. "Petitioners only beyond this point," she said gently. "If it gets to close to sunrise? Head back."
"Nah," he dismissed. He ran one finger along her cheek. "I'll just burrow, luv. Done it before." Mosi and Lisimba were waiting impatiently by the door. Gahiji had moved into the backseat of the Jeep and was watching everyone alertly. Spike nudged Tara towards the door. "Go on, then. I'll be out here with Chatterbox."
"Right," Tara said uncertainly. "I'm going." Spike's lips quirked as she remained exactly where she was. She frowned again. "My, uh, knees don't seem to be working."
Spike reached out a lazy arm and gave her a heave. She stumbled, but she'd moved. "Seem fine to me," he said with a smirk, which grew when she glowered at him. But she didn't move again and he sighed. "If you want me to shove you the entire way, I will. Won't be the least bit pleasant, though."
"Walk me there?" she asked, her brows raised hopefully.
"Fine, but let's try and get there before dawn, hm?"
Tara pursed her lips and harrumphed at him, and Spike grinned at her back as he followed her at a nice clip to the door. "Stop gloating," she chided him without turning around.
The Keepers weren't willing to wait for Tara to get up the nerve to pass through the door, so they opened it and drew her inside by way of a hand on each of her elbows. Spike met each of their eyes. "You got fragile cargo there, mates," he said coolly.
The door slammed in his face.
***
The next few hours passed agonizingly slow. Spike had ripped open one of the packets of blood from the bar during hour two, after having spent hour one trying to get Gahiji to speak so much as a word to him.
"Look, I know you're not the yammering jaw type," Spike said with exasperation, pausing his pacing around the Jeep. "But would you at least let me know how much longer this is going to take?"
Gahiji stared at him with eyes that were uniformly black. "It takes as long as it takes."
"Well, thanks, Confucius," Spike snapped and resumed his pacing. "Mind narrowing it down a little? It's been three hours and I'm 'bout ready to storm the bloody castle!" His boot got caught in a sinkhole of sand and he cursed as he yanked it out. "And I've had just about enough of this buggering sand, too!"
"Some come out within minutes," Gahiji said. He shrugged. "Others take days. There's no telling how long your witch's audience will take."
Spike scowled. "I thought you might say something like that." He lit a cigarette and tilted his head. "What exactly goes on in there?" he asked curiously.
Gahiji was sitting on one of the pull down seats in the back, and he propped his feet up on the other seat before answering. "Petitioners are brought to the altar to make their case. Khentimentiu does not give his bounty lightly, and he doesn't agree to do so until he is satisfied with not only a petitioner's request, but their motivations."
"Huh. And how often does he bestow his bounty?" Spike asked cynically.
"Rarely," Gahiji replied. "But he also rarely manifests in any manner before a petitioner, either, and your witch wasn't even that when he graced her with his presence."
"You saying she's got a chance in there?" he asked, bringing his cigarette to his lips.
"Many have sought a counsel with Khentimentiu for the Cerno," Gahiji said slowly. "Few have been granted an audience. It requires great effort to assist those who wish to perform it, and often their reasons are not worthy of the effort."
Tara wanted to perform the ritual to draw Willow's magic from its new home and then make it so that it couldn't be drawn upon again, but he imagined others would use for greedier purposes. Only reason it wasn't used often was because of the low success rate. Getting everything needed for the Cerno was no simple task, and even then the damn thing tended to kill whoever was trying to perform it.
If no one could find out why the ritual was so dangerous and learn how to diffuse the threat...he still wasn't sure what they'd do then. There hadn't been much time to talk contingencies before he'd left, but he knew Faith and the others had done so. Even with Giles' wild goose chase and interference.
"Spike." He spun around, stumbling a bit in the sand. Mosi was at the door, holding it open and gesturing Spike forward. "Your presence has been requested?"
"That right?" he smarted, tossing his cigarette away. "Who by?"
Mosi clenched his jaw. "Who do you think?" he ground out. "Do you wish to come inside or not?"
Oh, he wished, all right. The doorway that jutted from the sand was the top of something...massive. Just massive. He considered himself to have a pretty good sense of direction, but he didn't think he'd be able to find his way back to that bloody door.
Spike came to a halt behind Mosi, who gestured him forward. "Down that corridor, through the door on the right."
He wasn't sure what he expected to find when he entered the room. Maybe some kind of altar, or a sarcophagus. His mind had even considered that he might pass into the room and find himself someplace...else. Instead he entered a room that was undeniably ancient, but filled with--
Leather couches? A large screen television? And was that a...jukebox?
All right, so he hadn't expected that. But what he'd least expected to find was Tara sitting cross-legged next to a vampire. A buggering old one, if the tingling of Spike's scalp was anything to go by. He looked like a mixture of his Keepers, Khentimentiu did. His hair was as black as Gahiji's; his skin the same bronze as Lisimba's; and the forest green eyes were identical to Mosi's.
He rose when Spike entered, and his black dress trousers slid seamlessly back into place, the hems resting lightly on what looked to be hand made Italian shoes. He wore a casual dress shirt, the collar wider than on the kind that went under a suit, and the buttons starting several inches below his neck. There was an amulet around his neck, same as with his Keepers. Some kind of stylized dog creature imprinted on obsidian and dangling from a leather strap.
It was the amulet that got him even more worried than he already was. Because once he'd laid eyes on it, Spike realized that he sensed something else in Khentimentiu besides just a vampire so old that he should have turned into a giant buggering bat at this point. He'd never heard of a vampire who could shapeshift. Some could warp a bloke's head until he thought he was seeing something else, but there hadn't even been rumors of vampires shifting in the true sense of the word.
But when he met Khentimentiu's eyes, he knew. Knew for bloody sure that Khentimentiu could turn himself into some kind of dog--maybe any kind of dog--at will. And if he did that, then Spike and Tara were in serious trouble.
"Bloody hell," Spike growled. "Tara, get over here. Now."
Tara stood and gave him a small smile that he figured she meant to be reassuring. She was just too damn clueless. "It's all right, Spike."
"Luv, it's not even in the neighborhood of all right," Spike snapped, striding to her and yanking her behind him. "He's a goddamn shape-shifting vampire."
"I know--"
"Did he bite you?"
"No--"
"You didn't look in his eyes, did you?" he snarled, glaring at Khentimentiu. "Some of these old ones, they can twist your mind 'round their pinkies."
Khentimentiu held out his hands and inspected them. "There is no sign of nefer on any of my fingers, I assure you."
Spike frowned. "Nefer? Actually, never mind. We're leaving."
Tara was tugging on his arm, and he glanced down at her. "It, uh, makes sense. When you think about it," she tacked on, shrugging. "I mean, he rules the destiny of the dead so...vampire. And...well, I'm, uh, not too clear on how shifting into a dog helps, but..."
"Rules the--?" Spike's eyes widened incredulously. "You've bloody lost your mind again!" Spike shouted at her, stepping back and forcing her to move further away from Khentimentiu, who was watching them calmly. "He kills people, that's the only destiny he rules. Murder. That's what a vampire does, now move those feet and let's get the hell out of here."
"He is as willful as you said," Khentimentiu drawled, taking a seat on the leather couch again.
"Spike, please," Tara pleaded. "He's almost agreed to help. Don't, uh, piss him off. Okay?"
"He's a shape-shifting vampire," he said again.
"So are you. The vampire part, anyway." There was that stubborn streak again. He heard it in her voice, felt it when she pulled away from him, and saw it when she faced him down with her arms crossed over her chest. "But you haven't bit me, and you haven't...uh, wrapped me around, uh, anything..."
Spike raised a brow and she tilted her chin defiantly. The booming sound of laughter sounded, and they looked at Khentimentiu. "Please, have a seat," he said in a deep voice that was surprisingly unaccented. He gestured at the couches around him and smiled invitingly. Spike snorted. Khentimentiu smiled widely, his teeth glowing against his bronze skin.
"I understand your suspicion," he said to Spike, his smile fading away. "I am, as you have guessed, a vampire that can shift. Before I was in this post, I was simply a shape-shifter. After, it is as nefer said: who better to navigate between the world of the living, and the world of the dead, than a creature that is both? I retained my shifting abilities." He shrugged carelessly. "Once again, I assure you that no harm will be offered without provocation."
"So you're not really a god then?" Spike asked snidely.
Khentimentiu shook his head. "Just a servant to the Powers. As is usually the case, the mythos and religion don't get it right."
That was good, at least. Meant Spike might be able to hurt him if it came down to that.
"He didn't try anything?" Spike pressed Tara. "Anything at all?"
She shook her head. "He's been very nice, actually. And he's pretty funny."
Spike narrowed his eyes at Khentimentiu, but could find nothing that posed an immediate threat in his gaze. "All right," Spike consented. He pointed menacingly at Tara. "But if he goes all feral, I'm leaving you to it. Understand?"
"Perfectly," she said, nodding emphatically. Her lips curled inwards, hiding against her teeth in the manner of someone fighting back a smile. She was a closet brat, Spike decided, and thought that he might be better off with the shy, stuttering witch that Willow had first brought home to the Scoobies.
"What's this nefer stuff?" Spike asked her, pointedly ignoring her contained amusement.
"I'm not sure."
Spike tossed a look at the Ruler of the Destiny of the Dead. "It's Egyptian- -"
"I guessed that," Spike interrupted sarcastically.
"It means good or beautiful." He smiled at Tara kindly. "And you are both." She flushed and lowered her eyes. He picked up a piece of parchment from a low table in front of the couch. "This is the glyph."
Spike pushed Tara's arm down and took the paper, holding it so that they could both look at it. They exchanged dubious glances. "It looks like a banjo," Spike noted, squinting at the black lines. "Is it upside down or something?" He turned the paper. "Oh, look--an upside-down banjo."
Tara nudged him, and he looked at her. There was a very obviously forced smile on her lips as she deliberately flickered her eyes to Khentimentiu.
"It's quite all right," Khentimentiu said, laughing again. "Personally, I've always thought the same, though it's actually a rendering of the heart and the windpipe."
Spike shoved the paper at Tara and raised a cool brow at Khentimentiu. "We done with the polite chitchat?" This time, Tara chose a kick instead of a nudge. Spike lifted the corner of his mouth and didn't so much as flinch.
"Yes, but we'll have to wait until nefer comes back before we get down to business." He smiled graciously and waved Tara to the door. "I believe you mentioned before your companion joined us that you had need of the...facilities?" he said courteously. Spike frowned, then realized the tea at the bar, and the water during the drive, must be ready to return to the wild. "Mosi is just outside, and he can show you the way."
"Oh," Tara mumbled. She looked down and crossed to the door. "Thanks."
Once she was gone, Khentimentiu studied Spike for several long moments. For his part, Spike did his best to appear bored. Seemed more than coincidence that Khentimentiu had waited until he knew Tara would be leaving the room to have Spike brought in.
"Normally," Khentimentiu commented at length, "I would have made her..." He gestured vaguely with a bronze hand. "Unaware of this conversation. But I thought it best to not tempt fate twice this evening."
"So, what do you want?" he asked when it became apparent Khentimentiu wasn't going to say anything else. He loped to the nearest sofa and dropped down, resting one arm along the back.
"Compassion is not usually found in your kind." Spike felt his eyebrows raise. As non-sequiturs went, it was impressive. "It's also not something I'm often...burdened with; I've lived long enough to be practical."
Spike grinned at the smirking Khentimentiu. "Has a knack for it," he said easily, glancing briefly in the direction Tara had gone.
Khentimentiu resituated himself on a sofa directly across from Spike, carefully adjusting his trousers as he did so. He steepled his hands and tapped his index fingers against his lips. "I will give my assistance for the Cerno," he said without preamble. "It's not unheard of for me to do so." He shrugged and narrowed his eyes at Spike.
"Well," Spike replied, nonplussed. "Great." Call him touched in the head, but he had the feeling Khentimentiu wasn't done.
"I find myself," the vampire/shifter/god said as he stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles, "in the unusual position of wanting her to succeed. It's something of a quandary."
Spike tilted his head and stared. When he spoke, he made sure his voice was bland and casual. "Best bet for success is knowing why the others failed."
Khentimentiu acknowledged that with a nod. "As with most things, there are rules that even accused gods must abide by." He paused, and Spike felt himself tense as he waited for what would come next. "However, I've also been alive long enough to know how to walk that fine line."
His mind screamed at him to proceed carefully, and he forced himself to take a breath so that he could have a moment to think. "Why isn't Tara here for this?"
"There are several reasons why the components of the Cerno are scattered and difficult to obtain. It's a deterrent, of course. But, it also takes the individual on a journey."
Spike grunted. "Some esoteric journey of self-discovery?"
"That's not for me to say." Of course not. Might've actually been helpful otherwise. "But nothing negates the purpose of a journey more than knowing one is on a journey."
Spike hated cryptic; it left too bloody much room for misinterpretation, and lead to mistakes and fatalities. He took a deep breath through his nose and counted to five to prevent a tirade on the subject.
"If nefer were to perform the ritual right now, she would fail." Spike choked on his breath. Khentimentiu waited until Spike had stopped coughing like a nit before he went on. "The journey is as necessary as the components. Encourage her to be open to it." His lips quirked. "Try to temper your impatience the slightest bit and be open to it yourself."
Spike's cheek muscle twitched as he clenched his jaw. "But at the end of this--" His lips twisted disgustedly. "--journey, she'll be able to pull off the Cerno?"
Khentimentiu held out a hand and rolled it from side to side. "There's a chance." He rose, and the door opened. Tara shuffled through, her head ducked as she smiled shyly up at them.
"Everything okay?" she asked with barely hidden concern, her eyes sliding from Khentimentiu to Spike.
"He has not 'charmed' me into denying your request," Khentimentiu chuckled. Tara looked relieved--too relieved, Spike thought. Her eyes widened when he glared at her, but filled with amusement when she realized why he was annoyed. He could damn well do charming.
Khentimentiu crossed the room and opened the drawer of an armoire. From inside, he drew out a small knife and walked to Tara. She took a stumbling step back and Spike jumped to his feet. Khentimentiu came to an abrupt halt and held up his hands. "I'm merely going to hand this to you," he assured Tara.
Spike made a "gimme" motion with his hand and Khentimentiu handed him the knife hilt first. He lifted his leg and tucked the blade into his boot.
"When you perform the ritual," Khentimentiu said to Tara, "I will do what is necessary."
"Thank you." Her voice was grateful, as Spike had expected. But there was also an underlying note of something that sounded like regret, as well, and it worried him. Maybe the lack of precautions had been because she really didn't want to succeed in the first stage of the Cerno. If so, then she was in for a surprise.
"Now, you should be leaving. There is only just enough time for my Keepers to get you back to your hotel before dawn." They walked to the door, and Tara nodded at Khentimentiu. "Nefer, it has been a pleasure to meet you. I wish you luck in your endeavor."
Tara took his proffered hand, and blushed when he brought it to his lips. "Um...thanks. For everything." She drew her hand back awkwardly and busied it with pushing renegade strands of hair back into the ponytail. "Oh, and it was nice meeting you."
He opened the door, and Spike saw that it no longer lead into a corridor, but out into the night. The Jeep was only about ten feet away, and all three Keepers were already inside. Tara grinned, her eyes twinkling, then slipped outside.
"What, that trick doesn't work on the way in?" Spike asked absently, watching as Tara stopped halfway to the Jeep and waited for him.
"It's all in the journey," Khentimentiu said slyly.
"Right," Spike drawled. He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. He crossed the threshold, expecting the door to close behind him. Instead, Khentimentiu's voice sounded softly enough for only Spike to hear.
"A vampire is just a different kind of dead, Spike."
The door closed. Spike froze. Just went completely still. He spun around, intending to march back inside and demand an explanation. There was a note taped to the door. Spike blinked and then swore loudly when he read it:
"We'll be meeting again."
If it was true that he was just a different kind of dead, then he'd just met Fate. Bloody buggering hell. That couldn't be a good thing.
***
They fell into bed in a tangle of limbs--Tara's recently freed hair finding its way into their mouths and noses --Spike's belt buckle digging into his abdomen and her back--their hands gripping painfully and leaving bruises that wouldn't fade from her pale skin as quickly as they did from his.
Their sleep was deep and empty, and when they woke that evening they ordered food. Over sayadiya and kosheri, they decided to continue on immediately. After the dishes had been taken away, Spike left a message on Faith's cell phone while Tara packed up their meager belongings.
"We ready, then?"
"I, uh, I think so. Let me check the bathroom again...okay, we're ready."
"Right. Next stop, Berlin."
***
End Part Three
