Part Five

***

Once they had landed and were settled in Italy, it was the middle of the night. Spike didn't even take time to calm the anger that had started gathering during the flight, he just grabbed the phone in the hotel room and called the Magic Box.

Tara wandered into the bathroom, closing the door with a click. A moment later, while he listened to the phone at the shop ring, Spike heard the shower start. He didn't blame her for not wanting to hear this. As he'd hoped, Giles answered.

"You tell that slimy bastard," Spike shouted, "that the minute this soddin' chip is out of my head, he's in for a long, painful death!"

There was an exasperated sigh. "Spike, what are you going on about?" Giles asked irritably.

Spike kicked at the double bed in the room, and the mattress slid off the boxspring. "That crone is what I'm going on about," he snarled. "And that damn fool didn't even warn us!"

Giles didn't say anything for a moment, then his clipped tones came across the line. "What happened?"

Spike glared at everything and nothing. "Bitch damn near broke the witch, is what happened. Went into her head and then recreated the entire bloody thing in surround sound and Technicolor. Got to see Tara try to put Red's brains back. You getting it now?" he added sarcastically. "Or do you want some more details? Because there's plenty."

"Dear lord," Giles gasped, horrified. "For what--*why?*"

"Payment," Spike ground out. "I'm telling you, that moron--"

"I'll take care of it." His voice had that blunt edge to it, the one that told Spike this was the version of Giles who had stormed the mansion-- crossbows blazing--after Angelus had killed his girlfriend. Well, good. Wesley deserved this hardass Giles going after him if he'd known more than he'd said. "Is Tara alright?" Giles went on.

Spike tossed his hands in the air and then threw himself onto the cozy chair in the corner. "Who the hell knows?" he grunted.

Actually, he knew damn well how Tara was doing and he wasn't sure yet whether it was good or bad. She'd barely spoken two words during the two flights they'd taken from Berlin, and she'd woken up screaming from a nap on the second plane. Also hadn't spared a glance at the renowned Tuscany countryside. Then again, neither had he, for an entirely different reason. But humans were supposedly all gaga about Tuscany.

Giles cleared his throat. "During the, er, reenactment, did you happen--"

"No, you bloody tosser!" Bloody *hell* the man was tenacious. "She was swimming around in Glory's head when it happened. Considering how everything but Willow was warped in that little scene I saw, I doubt she was aware of anything going on around her before Glory died."

"I see," Giles sighed. "Er, yes, well, Josh was here until just a few moments ago. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to determine where you might be able to find the pomegranate."

"Doesn't matter," Spike said tiredly. "We'll figure it out here. Have you been checking in with Dawn like I asked?"

"Yes, yes. She's doing well and is eagerly looking forward to Spring break. She, er, said to give you--and Tara--her...love."

He smirked. "Aw, Rupes, didn't know you cared!"

"I don't, you great plonker," the Watcher grumbled. "Spike, whatever else is, er--that is, please--oh, hell. Dawn can not lose anyone else; I don't know that she'd be able to survive it. Just make sure you keep Tara safe. For Dawn's sake, if you can think of no other reason."

Spike made a sound. The Watcher had a pretty realistic opinion of him; maybe the chip hadn't completely made him a feeb. "Yeah, I'll do that."

When Tara emerged from the bathroom, all pink faced and soapy fresh in her boxers and t-shirt, Spike was just hanging up. He was feeling particularly restless and he was scowling at her as she struggled to set the mattress right. Considering his mood, it seemed like the perfect time to force some answers out of Tara.

"What the hell is the deal with the crap we're collecting?" he demanded to know. "Not very consistent, is it? Egyptian, Roman, Canadian...whatever the hell that bitch in Berlin was, not to mention the damn Onyx."

Tara frowned and began folding her dirty clothing. "It...the Cerno didn't originate from any of those, uh, religions or cultures, or whatever. It just utilizes what already exists." She put the clothing in her bag and sat on the edge of the bed, knees tucked together like a schoolgirl's, her hands pushing a lock of wet hair behind her ear. "Did you read the ritual?"

Spike shook his head. "No, just heard about it from the others. Why?"

"The ritual is designed *around* the objects. The kind of magic that it would require to call the dead back and reverse what they'd done?" She shook her head. "It would have to be the darkest kind. Probably requiring a human sacrifice, or even more than one. That's beyond just dark magic to something that would consume you before you even did what you were trying. But with the Cerno, you don't need to access those magicks; the objects do most of the work for you, and there aren't any, uh, repercussions, either."

"Huh," Spike grunted. "Makes sense." He raised a brow at her. "You know anything about why the damn thing is so fatal? Crone only gave me the one reason, but she said there were more."

She sighed, a flicker of worry chasing itself across her face. "Rumors," she said hesitantly. "Theories." Her legs lifted until her knees were at her chest, her feet hanging slightly over the edge of the bed with a hand braced next to each of them. "There's supposedly a lot of, uh, criteria that needs to be met for it to succeed." She frowned. "But it's not written anywhere."

"That chatty Keeper said that his boss doesn't usually find the reason for someone doing the Cerno to be worthy," he said thoughtfully. "Could be part of it. What did Khentimentiu say when you were in there with him?"

Tara shrugged, her face falling into uncertain lines. "I don't know. It was all really...odd. He talked a lot, but I got the impression that, um, it was what he was talking *around* that was important. Anyway, he, uh, asked me..." Her eyes skittered away. "...why I wanted to do it."

Spike scooted down in the chair, his foot stretching out to drag the matching ottoman closer. Once it was positioned, he propped his feet up, crossing them at the ankles. "You told him everything, then?" he asked, studying her carefully.

She wrapped her arms around her calves. "Pretty much." She leaned her chin against her knees and looked at him again, pale blue eyes struggling to stay focused. That was getting to be her normal look. "He asked me a bunch of questions about--about it all. They were kind of--they made sense. You know, getting the...details. Of what happened."

Spike grunted. "And what about the 'talking around things' business? Got an inkling what he was trying to say or find out?"

Her head shook slowly, awkwardly. "No, but...ever get that feeling that things are waiting to click into place?" she questioned him. "Like you just need some time before something gets to the tip of your tongue? That's what it feels like." Soft blue eyes became curious. "What about when you talked to him?"

"About the same," he sidestepped. "Think he was more cryptic and less charmingly erratic with me than he was with you."

She sat up, knees still at her chest, then leaned back and braced her hands on the mattress behind her. "And the note that made you so, uh, irritated?" she pushed.

He snorted and cut a hand through the air. "Some drivel about him being something like Fate to me because I'm a vamp." He pursed his lips. "Bloke's got delusions of grandeur, if you ask me," he added haughtily.

Her lips quirked, and a knowing light came into her eyes. "Hm."

Spike glared at her. "What's that mean?"

"Oh, nothing," she said lightly, staring up at the ceiling suddenly.

"Think the wannabe god was telling the truth?" he sneered. "Please. Like vamps need some kind of mystical being arranging for them to kill and maim and--oh, drink some blood." A harsh bark of laughter. "'Sides, Peaches is a vamp, and I woulda remembered him yammering on about some shapeshifting vampire being one of the Powers That Be."

"Hm."

Spike growled in frustration. Bloody hell that doubtful humming noise just made him violent. He grabbed his cigarettes off the table next to the chair and lit one, closing the lighter with a loud snap of metal on metal. "Shut up."

***

Tara climbed into bed not much longer after that, the natural undershadow of her eyes more pronounced than ever. Spike stayed on the chair, at first attempting to come up with some way to track down the latest piece of the Cerno. But his eyes strayed of their own accord to Tara's fretful form-- body twisting in the sheets, small whimpers coming from her lips, heart racing and breathing shallow.

He knew that if he were to get up and slide in next to her, she would quiet. He was starting to wonder if that was actually a good thing anymore, if it had ever been to begin with. How was she--how were either of them supposed to get passed anything if they kept running to the safety of silence? Wasn't too much different, was it, than Dawn's movie fixation. Except Dawn had gotten over that.

Tara cried out. A trembling, "Noooooo." His legs fell from the ottoman and he was half out of his seat before he realized what he was doing. Jaw clenching, he forced himself to sit back down. She'd make it through the dreams just fine, wake up a little haunted but all right. But he still had to wrap his hands around the arms of the chair and concentrate on just sitting. He settled his gaze on the wall across the room, hoping that not looking at her would make it easier. It didn't.

There was no stopping him when the crying started, however. Very aware of his actions, he jumped to his feet and hurried to the bed. He didn't even have to gather her in his arms. As soon as his weight settled on the mattress, she scrambled to him. Still asleep. Still crying. The wetness fell on his bare chest for only a minute or two before it tapered off. She sighed, and her sleep became restful. Spike sank into it--into the stillness and the quiet that was accompanied by a gaping maw of loneliness that should have made him uncomfortable, because it served to remind him of losing something that he'd never had.

This was why he couldn't remain across the room. Despite being love's bitch, and chipped, and halfway to becoming his grandsire minus the buggering soul, he was still a selfish git of a soulless vampire--and slightly masochistic. She gave him succor from everything that he hadn't been able to avoid since she'd left Sunnydale, and she also acted as salt on some wounds that he wasn't letting close.

No one had ever accused him of being well adjusted, now had they? In fact, they might have said that he was in love with pain.

***

They woke around midday. Spike showered and came out of the steamy bathroom wrapped in a towel, to find Tara sitting in the center of the bed, a plateful of tomatoes and cheese in front of her. The television was on and she was eyeing it with a frown of concentration. Must have had some high school Italian under her belt, because she laughed when the idiot on the sitcom she was watching made some idiotic joke or other.

"Want some?" she asked, holding out the plate. "The, uh, innkeeper lady brought it up."

Spike took the plate and flounced on the bed, adjusting the towel when her eyes widened and her head snapped away. He snorted. "Just a body, pet. Not even the flavor you're interested in. Grow up."

"Kind of used to, um, bible thumping repression of people being nude under their clothes," she admitted, blushing slightly.

"That a fact?" he drawled, popping a wedge of mozzarella--fresh, Italian mozzarella and not some store-bought American crap--into his mouth. "Think bible thumpers also repress lesbianism, but you're a card carrying carpet muncher, aren't you, luv?"

Her mouth dropped open. "Carpet muncher?" she repeated, her voice cracking towards the high end. "Wow. I think that's the...crudest way anyone's ever put it."

"To your face, maybe," Spike said knowingly and shoved a goopy mess of tomato out of his way in favor of more mozzarella.

Tara rolled her eyes and scooped up the tomato he'd mangled. "That's what I meant. People are pretty PC when they find out I'm gay." She shrugged. "Plus, it's gotten kind of trendy, you know?" Spike mirrored her shrug and shivered in distaste as she ate the tomato. "I have an idea. About the pomegranate?" she said after she'd swallowed.

"What is it, then?"

"I thought I could maybe talk with the innkeeper lady. And her friends. She has lots of them and they all, uh, hang out. Here. That's what she said, anyway. I figure that I could get them to tell me some stories about the area. You know, play up the tourist bit." She smiled shyly at him. "What do you think?"

He nodded and tapped her on the nose. "Sounds fine. Got an idea or two myself when I was showering. I'm going to make a visit to the local vamps when the sun goes down."

She eyed him with confusion. "Are there even any? I mean, there aren't really many people that wouldn't be missed around here. How do they...eat? Without getting anyone suspicious. Or killing everyone off."

"Gossip mill says they keep caged humans on hand. Supposedly bring them in from places they won't be missed." He stood up and grabbed a set of clothes from his bag. "Not sure if it's true or not, but I guess I'll be finding out, eh?"

She was silent, and he glanced at her absently as he pulled out a t-shirt. "What's the problem?" he asked. She had pushed the plate aside, and was picking at a loose thread on the blanket under her.

"You...will you come back?" she asked without looking up, tilting her head even further so that all of her face was curtained by her hair.

Spike closed his eyes briefly. All these humans needing him, needing things from him that he had to scrape the bottom of the barrel to give them. "Course I will, luv," he said softly. "Told you I didn't come all this way just to leave. It's still true."

"I'm sorry." He almost hadn't heard the words because her voice was so thready. "I know you'd rather be home. Or...anywhere."

"Must I remind you, yet again," he drawled, "that I'm evil. I damn well do what I want, and if I'd rather be in Sunnyhell then I'd be in Sunnyhell. Or anywhere else." He slung his clothing over his shoulder and strode to her. A light tug on a lock of hair brought her head up, and she watched him nervously. "We clear on that? Because if not, I'll have to spring for a tattoo. Put it right about here," he said, drawing a line across her forehead. "Get it done backwards so you can read it in the mirror."

She smiled and shook her head, ashen locks sliding along her face. "No tattoo needed," she assured him. "I'll change and go down to Senora Montalbano. Let me know when you're leaving?"

"Sure, pet."

As soon as she'd switched her sleeping clothes for the outfit she'd worn in Cairo, she slipped out of the room to make time with the matronly Italian women.

Spike got to work dismantling the chair and ottoman. Broke them apart into sharp bits of wood that he stashed in his pockets. One was crammed into his boot and he refitted his jeans over it before making a circuit around the room and adjusting his gait so that he didn't give its position away.

These local vamps had reputations that had kept even the arrogant bastards of Aurelius away back in the day when everyone had been happily soul and chip free. The Florence crew had it good, and they knew it so they went to great extremes to maintain it. Imported food that no one thought to look for in the countryside and a safe place to hide. It was the best deal out there, really.

When the sun set, he grabbed his duster and prowled downstairs. Tara was in the back of the inn, sitting at a wrought iron table on a terracotta patio. There were lanterns in the small garden area, chasing shadows across her face as she listened attentively to one of the four women at the table.

"Heading out for a stroll, pet," he interrupted. "Back before you know it."

Tara nodded, a small smile tilting her lips. "Be careful."

He smirked. "Always am." Noticing the interested looks he was getting, and knowing from experience how much Italian senoras could talk, he beat a hasty retreat through the building and out the front door. He followed the gravel road for a while until he came to the "main" road, then cut a right.

He hadn't a clue where to find the locals, but he figured he wouldn't have to worry about that. They'd probably find him soon enough if even a portion of what he'd heard was true. Just a matter of wandering around in plain view long enough.

Sure enough, he felt them coming forty minutes later. With a small grunt, he brought his cigarette to his lips and spun around to face them before they could attack. "Heard you coming from two towns over," he sneered in Italian, tossing the cigarette aside. "Maybe the stories are exaggerated."

The two vamps stared coolly at him, apparently not much for the witty banter. Spike shrugged and went on the attack, lunging forward to dust one before he could move, and then bringing the other to the ground with a sweeping kick that took the git's feet out from under him.

Spike's foot connected with his ribs several times before he leaned down and grabbed the vamp's collar and dragged him to his feet. "Here's the deal," Spike said pleasantly. "I'm just passing through. Don't want to piss you blokes off by snacking, so I thought I'd track you down. So why don't you just take me to whoever gives you your orders? If not, I can just dust you and wait for more lackeys to wander by." He shrugged. "Up to you."

Seemed like the minion had never been asked to make such a difficult decision, and Spike wasn't sure what it meant about these locals. Personally, he liked all but a closely kept two or three minions to be dumb as bricks. Made them easy to confuse, sure, but it also made them easy to order around. It had always been a conscious decision on his part. But stupid minions were often a sign of a master that wasn't vampire enough to handle the smart ones.

The thought didn't sit well with Spike. With the kind of reputation these blokes had...if the master was weak, then it had been earned solely by bloodshed. Which was all fine and impressive, but also a tad more indiscriminate than Spike was comfortable with. Angelus had been impressive not only because of his violence, but because of his imagination and cleverness. Spike had never claimed to be a chip off the old block, but he'd learned how to deal with that type. There was no dealing with a weak or stupid master because they just didn't use their bloody common sense.

The vamp was still indecisive and Spike wasn't about to stand around until the sun came up. "Right, let me repeat this in a way you'll understand," he said reasonably. "Take me to your boss or you're dust. Simple enough for you?"

***

The imbecile had lead him through about half a mile of *gorgeous* countryside before taking him below ground via a cave entrance. Spike vowed to never again complain about sharing the Watcher's old flat with Faith, no matter that the bathroom was a clutter of feminine odds-and-ends that he hadn't thought she would own. But she did, and he always growled in disgust every time he entered the bathroom. No more, though. It was supremely preferable to the ubiquitously below-ground digs he'd formerly inhabited and which he seemed destined to revisit during every part of this miserable trip.

Didn't seem to be much to this lot's digs from what Spike saw. Raw stone walls that weren't relieved by any kind of decoration, dirt floor that had well-worn paths trod through it, and small carved holes in the walls that served as rooms for the minions. No electricity, even, just lanterns in some of the rooms, but not in all of the halls. Old school, as he liked to think of it. Before his time, even, because he'd always been all for the creature comforts. Much like Khentimentiu, now that he thought of it.

The main room of the place was small, and Spike was once again suspicious of the master's level of intelligence and prowess. A human would have called the bare, unadorned room Spartan, but there was no such thing for a master vampire. There was either pretentious or unpretentious. He'd never met a master worth meeting that wasn't pretentious. Was part of the package.

Seemed like the entire crew had gathered to meet him, and Spike smirked lightly. Then he realized that he couldn't identify the master immediately and his lips thinned into a small, tight line. Bloody fuck, he might be screwed but good.

The vampire that stepped from the midst of the crowd was only marginally more powerful than the rest. He wasn't much taller than Spike, and he had the Mediterranean coloring down pat. Thick dark brown hair, skin that was lightly olive toned despite the being undead thing, and deep brown eyes. His clothing left a lot to be desired. Not even close to flamboyant. Yeah, he was well on his way to getting screwed here if the chinos and Henley were anything to go by.

"I'm back, Maurice," the minion announced boldly.

"Gianni," he said very carefully in his native tongue. "You were supposed to dispatch him."

A blank stare worthy of Harmony emanated from Gianni, and Spike snickered. "I confused the imbecile," he sneered. "Didn't understand me when I said I was just passing through and wasn't looking for trouble with you."

"I see." Maurice shook his head slowly, then narrowed his eyes. "I know who you are. William the Bloody. They say you aren't fit to be called a vampire anymore. Unable to feed, helping Slayers..."

Spike's jaw clenched in an impotent fury that was all too real. "Some soldier boys in the States decided to fuck around with my head, yeah," he ground out. "But the only reason I was helping that bitch of a Slayer was because she was threatening to soul me. I played along until she died, then stuck around long enough to make sure the new bitch couldn't pull it off."

Maurice's eyes flickered to gold. Another strike against him. There was no need for pissing contests yet and he was showing a lack of control with that little bit of yellow in his eyes. "Why are you here?"

Spike tilted his head. "Got this bloody brilliant techno human under my thumb," he said with a slow smirk. "Goona get this thing outta my head so I can take care of business again." He shrugged. "I'm playing the tortured and misunderstood vamp for her." A disgusted shudder that wasn't entirely forced accompanied his words. "Trouble is, I have to keep up the ruse until she fixes me up. She wanted to see Tuscany, so I brought her here to the Florence countryside."

When Maurice stared intently at him, Spike read the gaze and realized that he wasn't on his way to being screwed; he'd arrived ten minutes ago. The ponce couldn't figure out if Spike was telling the truth, and if his instincts were trying to guide him, he didn't realize it because he was too damn weak to have honed his predator to the best possible edge.

That's what eating caged and being insular did to a vamp--halted their power growth, dulled their instincts. Kept a vampire that was Peaches' age at minion level, only able to lord it over the weakest of fledglings. Spike was damned glad that he'd made it a point to let his demon reign every which way it could, even if he couldn't kill people. There was no way he'd want to be like this git.

Of course, this git was quite possibly about to hand Spike his arse on a plate...

As Maurice scrutinized him, Spike casually got the lay of the land. There were fifteen vamps in the room, with all but four of them in his line of sight. They were all weaklings, through and through. Even Maurice. Spike had spent a couple of months keeping the Hellmouth under control on his own, and many more months dividing that duty with a Slayer. A slow grin came over his face. Nah, they were the ones that were screwed.

Spike's opinion on who was about to give it to who jumped sides yet again when a murmur and scuffling of feet came from the back of the group in front of him. He raised a cocky brow at first, but then the scent assaulted his nostrils and he felt like his face had just frozen into place. Lavender and hyacinth and rage. Tara. A bleeding Tara.

Angelus wouldn't have been caught like this. And if he had been, he would have had a contingency plan in place. But Spike had been caught, and the only option he had was his old standby: unexpected violence. He forced his features into a mask that was slightly more natural in appearance right as two minions came forward, Tara's unconscious form being kept upright by a hand at each of her arms and her feet dragging along the dirt ground.

Her head lolled to the side and a snarl came unbidden from his throat. She was a damned mess. Her left eye was already beginning to swell shut, and her lips were twice their normal size, split in two places and oozing blood. Her hair was matted with blood just above her right temple, and there was a handprint at her throat that was starting to bruise. But what really got him was the bite mark. He could tell that the bite had been interrupted, the fangs torn abruptly from her neck and ripping her skin raggedly.

"What's this about?" Spike asked archly, waving a hand at the beaten witch. A tingling sensation spread across his collarbone, and he raised a brow at Maurice as though the embossment hadn't flared to life the way it had when Tara had touched him in Cairo.

Maurice's jaw set. "There is no 'just passing through' here. Everyone knows that. You will not take over this territory."

Spike exploded with laughter. "Take over?" he gasped incredulously. "You've *got* to be kidding me. Like I want to rule a lovely bunch of countryside *or* these rejects you've got working for you."

The other vampire's eyes slid away. There was something here besides the countryside and Spike would've bet his fangs that it was the pomegranate. Not that he had any idea what Maurice would want with it, just like he had no clue why the bloody embossment was throbbing like some kind of--his eyes widened, and he cocked his head to the side. Tara's heart was beating in time with the embossment. He felt a pull, felt something draw away from him and sink into the mark at his collar. There was a steady flare along the lines of the embossment, and then everything seemed to happen all at once.

The embossment quieted just as Maurice signaled his vamps to attack. In the brief moment of calm before chaos ensued, Spike heard Tara's heart rate increase until it was damn near off the charts. But he was too busy fending off the vamps coming at him from every direction to spare her a glance. He dusted one of the morons and took two bloody painful hits to the face and gut. With a roar, he slid into game face and lashed out, flinging away the vamps in his immediate vicinity. The calming down of Tara's heart was so strange, given the fight that was raging, that Spike couldn't help but turn her way.

She was lying face down on the floor, obviously having been tossed there when the minions had attacked him. As he watched, she lifted her head and said something too quiet for him to hear in the din. He had a good idea what she'd done, though, when every other vamp in the room suddenly went still, their eyes wide and panicked.

"Bloody hell," Spike shouted and stalked over to her. He glared down at the witch with his hands clenched into fists. "You couldn't have done that when the pillocks grabbed you?!"

"They surprised me," she whispered. Her lips started bleeding anew and she flinched. One hand flattened against the ground and she tried to push herself up. A hiss escaped her and she fell back to the floor with a whimper. "My ribs. I think they broke a couple of ribs."

Spike dropped to his knees and shoved his arms underneath her. One was braced just above her breasts, and the other along her thighs. Without any warning, he flipped her over and sat her up. Every bit of color in her face that wasn't part of a bruise drained away, and tears gathered in her eyes.

"The binding spell isn't going to hold," she gasped. "I can't...I can't focus. Hurts too much."

Ignoring Tara's gasp of pain, Spike pulled her into his arms and stood. "Time for plan b," he announced, striding towards the exit.

Tara dug her hand into his shoulder. "No time. Won't hold. Stop."

"We can't--"

"Stop!" she practically shouted, and Tara raising her voice was astounding enough that he did stop. "Turn around." Moving slowly and eyeing the struggling vamps, Spike moved until they were facing the rest of the room. "Need to borrow more." The embossment flared once again, this time fiercely. It must have completely broken Tara's concentration because the vamps were free again.

"Oh, fuck," Spike breathed as they started to circle him and Tara.

But then there was a word, a single word that was exhaled along with a gasp of pain. "Annullo," Tara whispered in his arms.

The carnage was... unbelievable. Hearts exploded out of chests. Heads twisted round and round and round until they just *popped* off. Blood poured out of mouths until every drop was wrung from the body and it just crumbled to ash. Flames came spewing forth from the inside out, leaving nothing in their wake.

Just one word.

Just forty seconds.

Just one alarmingly cold and shaking witch in his arms.

Spike tore his eyes away from the ash and blood that littered the room. Tara was still staring at it all, her face tight, her eyes blank. It took him three tries before he could get his mouth to work. "You all right, luv?" he asked, voice scratchy and raw.

"Why?" Tara said with difficulty. Her lips were bleeding again. "Why does everything--why is it so *hard*? I'm just trying to make things right."

Spike looked around the room again, shifting Tara in his arms. "Don't know, pet," he said softly, shaking his head. He looked back down at her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He'd been tempted to go for her lips just to taste that rich blood of hers again, but he had a better sense of self- preservation than that.

He tried to set her down on the ground to check her over, but she buried her face in his throat and he felt the tears. "Can't stay here."

"Right," he sighed. "Okay."

He took her straight ahead, through the door at the other end of the room. They still needed to find the pomegranate, and Spike was damn sure it wasn't back the way he'd come. Which left its location deeper in the lair. The door brought them into a narrow hallway, empty except for the lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Spike lowered her to the floor and ran his eyes over her appraisingly.

"Your damn shoulder's dislocated," he muttered angrily when he saw the way it was hanging. How the hell hadn't he noticed it before? Oh, yeah, the vamps had been holding her up by her arms. "So the bump on the head, the busted up face, the broken ribs, the butcher job of a bite, the attempted strangling, and the dislocated arm. Anything else I should know about?"

Tara shook her head. Spike shrugged his duster off and then divested himself of both of his shirts. "What the hell happened?" he asked, eyes focused on his hands as he ripped the black t-shirt into strips of material.

"It was just a few minutes after you left. I had to, uh, go to the bathroom," Tara said tightly. "I just--it was in the lobby. They hit me on the head, first. I couldn't...it made me confused." She whimpered slightly and Spike made a hushing sound as he probed at the gash on her head. "My magic scattered and...but I struggled, and they started hitting me."

Spike tilted her head up and looked at her pupils. She had a concussion from the hit to the head. "I can guess the rest. Grabbed your arm when you tried to run," he said knowingly. "Popped your shoulder right out of the socket." He'd done the same thing a dozen or more times. "Brought you here."

She nodded, and then her eyes rolled up and she started sliding backwards. Spike forced her to sit upright and snapped his fingers in front of her face until her lids lifted all the way. "Stay with me, luv. Can't pass out again."

Her shoulder needed to get put back into place, but he wasn't sure if the pain of it would kick start her adrenaline or just make her pass out.

"I need a hospital," she whispered.

"Yeah, I know. But we have to get what we came for first, then go back to the inn and get the rest of our stuff." He took her hand. "That shoulder needs to be reset. You think you can stay awake if I do it?"

Her eyes widened and she started shaking. "I don't know."

"Guess we'll be finding out then," he said firmly. "Lay back, luv."

Her scream echoed loudly throughout the hallway, and Spike had to grit his teeth to continue the necessary pressure to get the bone back in the socket. Just a quick, forceful push and it was done. Tara was sobbing and screaming through clenched teeth. Spike drew her into a sitting position and pulled her against his chest.

"You did good, pet," he said gruffly. "Real good." He placed one of the strips of material in her hand. "Hold that to the bite on your neck. How're the ribs holding up?"

"Hurt," she said simply.

"They'll do that," he said with a smile. He slipped his button down back on, then put the duster on over it. He adjusted the collar around his neck and then sat there, staring at her pale face. "About what happened back there--"

"Did I kill that guy?" she interrupted. "At the hospital?"

Spike blinked. "The Arcept lackey?" he asked in confusion. Tara nodded, her gaze fixed on the floor. "Where the hell did that come from?"

Tara gave him a look that was empty and hard. "Just answer me, please. Did I kill him?"

"Well," he said, stalling for time. "What did you do to him?"

"Same thing I did at the demon bar in Cairo," she said flatly.

Spike shifted and leaned back against the hall wall. "His heart probably wasn't in the best of shape," he temporized. Her face cracked and Spike was suddenly angry. About her feeling bad, about the beating she'd taken, about every damned thing.

"Want to know what humans have to do to get brought into the Arcepts' little world?" he snapped. "I know all about it, because there are three of them trying to get in good with the bastards in Sunnydale right now. One of them raped a ten-year-old boy. Another one beat some bint to death in the mall parking lot. The third carved some git's face off." She was watching him now, eyes wide and scared. "The one that came to you at Wildwind? He'd already been accepted in."

"Oh god," she murmured.

Spike sighed and banged his head back against the wall. "Listen, pet," he said curtly. "There are things you feel bad about that I think you shouldn't, but they're a matter of opinion. That bastard at the hospital is about fact. He would've done a hell of a lot worse to you than you did to him, and he would have done it on purpose."

"I...I think I'm going to be sick." He got to her in time to brace her by way of an arm across the front of her shoulders, holding her as she heaved up the meager bits of food she'd eaten earlier. Gagging sounds were interrupted by groans and whimpers of pain.

When she had emptied her stomach, she sagged weakly against him. "I don't-- I don't feel bad about the vampires," she said weakly. "But what I did...that's not like me."

"I know," he said tiredly. "It's the stress of it all, wearing you down where it counts." He touched her chin and she looked up at him. "It's almost over, and I'll make sure you won't have to do something like that again, all right?"

She nodded tremulously. "Where--do you think the pomegranate is here?"

"Stake my life on it," he said, his lips quirking. Tara made a small noise that could have been a laugh. "Maurice was hot and bothered about protecting something more than his territory." He looked around the long hallway. "Know it wasn't back the way they brought me in, which leaves somewhere around here. Right or left, pet?"

"Um, right?" she chose.

"Right it is then."

With Tara in his arms, her injured appendage cradled against her chest and her hand holding his t-shirt to her neck, Spike took them down the hallways. They'd gone about ten feet when he began to hear it, and his steps slowed until he came to a stop when the scents became clear as well. "Change of direction," he said and spun on his heel.

He felt her eyes on him but kept his own planted firmly on the other end of the hallway. "Spike..."

"Feel much better about left, really," he said casually.

She struggled in his arms, hurting herself more than getting free of him, and he finally had to set her on her feet so that she didn't worsen the damage she'd already taken. "We're going right," she said adamantly.

"No, we're going left," he argued, reaching for her.

She stumbled away from him, slamming her bad shoulder against the wall. Tears gathered in her eyes but she set her jaw and she started walking. "Right."

He was too soft on her to grab her up and force her the way he wanted to go. So instead he moved to her side and helped her to the end of the hallway, and the heartbeats that awaited them. There was an open door to their right, and Spike saw the lines of cages before Tara did. He blocked her view and stared down at her. "You've been through enough," he reminded her curtly. "Let's just go the other way."

"Move."

Sighing, he stepped away and waved her into the room. They were actually more like cells than cages. There were six on either side of the room, flush with the walls, divided from each other by concrete partitions with bars facing the center of the room. In each cell was a human. They ran the gamut when it came to age and appearance, but they were all female. When they saw Spike and Tara, they cringed and scurried into the shadows of their cells.

Seemed like Maurice hadn't been too concerned about hygiene, because the place stank of bodily fluids and the natural aroma of the unwashed. Not to mention the sour taste of infections, most likely from the bite marks. At the other end of the narrow room was a table of fruit, most of it just this side of rotting. There was a scattering of ashes around it, and Spike turned to Tara.

"Oh my god," she breathed. "This...this is horrible."

"Looks like someone had an accident over at that end," he said slowly, directing her attention to the remains of a vamp. "Was that part of what you did?"

She blinked once, twice. "I, uh, I think so," she stammered. "I didn't know that ones that weren't there would--oh my." She looked at the cells again. "We can't just leave them here."

"Yes we can," Spike said harshly. "They're probably praying for death at this point. I say we leave them to it."

Tara leaned against the wall by the door and shook her head. "No."

Spike got right in her face and glared at her. "They've spent God knows how long being drank from, at the very least," he told her bluntly. "Most likely they've been raped and beaten and tortured just for fun. Letting them starve to death is a mercy." He pursed his lips. "If they were horses, they'd get a bullet to the brain to put them out of their misery."

"They're not animals, Spike," Tara said, her voice small.

Spike took hold of her chin. "To me, they are," he said clearly. "You, on the other hand, have a higher place in my regards. We're getting what we came for, and then getting you to a hospital. I'm not wasting time playing the great conquering rescuer."

"And I'm not leaving them locked up," she insisted and pushed herself away from the wall. It was an awkward movement, what with one hand pressing the scrap of his t-shirt to her neck. "You don't have to help me."

"For crying out loud!" he exploded. "Fine. Fine." He saw an empty cell and on the end and dragged Tara there. "You'll sit on that cot in there while I get these cells open." He pointed a threatening finger at her. "You will not move, and you'll damn well keep pressure on that bite. Understand?"

She nodded slightly and Spike brought his hands to the bars, but he couldn't force the door open. "It's magically reinforced," Tara said with confusion. Spike let his hands fall away. "There's...there's someone in there."

Tilting his head to the side, he listened and sniffed. "Not according to me there isn't," he said slowly. "Bloody hell. Park your arse on the floor right here."

"Aren't you going--"

Spike glared at her. "No, I am *not* going to open a magically locked cage, and let out who the hell knows what. Park your arse on the floor. Now!"

With an ill-tempered scowl, Tara lowered herself stiffly to the floor. At the very least, their bad moods were distracting Tara from just how much pain she should have been in.

The women in the cells cowed in the corners of their small spaces while Spike efficiently went from one to the other and jerked the bars open. When the last one had been opened, he went back to Tara.

"Happy now?" he asked sarcastically, eyeing the cowering women who hadn't left the cages.

Tara obviously wasn't happy, judging by her clenched fists. She struggled to get herself to her feet. "We can't leave them here like this," she said reasonably.

"Do you have some kind of magical bus that can scoot them all away to where they came from?" he bit out.

She turned away. "Spike, please," she whispered, and he could hear the tears in her voice. "There's been too much--I can't leave them. I *can't*!"

Grumbling quietly, he drew her to his chest and let her lean against him. "Hell. You're not playing fair with the crying. You know that, right?" He sighed. "Bloody manipulative, is what it is." He rubbed her back and tried to think of what to do about the dozen women. "Keep putting pressure on it," he said absently, moving her hand back to her neck.

"Maybe we can drive them to, uh, the city? In our car?" she sniffed against his chest.

He snorted. "That little rental barely fit the two of us." The crying continued and he kissed the top of her head. "I suppose we can bring them back to the inn and let the senora get the authorities to sort them out," he said slowly. "Course, we'll have to convince them to come with us, and I don't know how much luck we'll have with that."

She raised her head, all wide tear-filled eyes, trembling lips, and vicious bruising. "But we can try it, right?" she asked hopefully. "And if that doesn't work, we can find something that will?"

Spike let his fingers drift over the few unmarred contours of her face. He was back in Sunnydale the night before she left for Wildwind, back in the demon bar in Cairo. Ready to give her any damned thing she asked for. She should have been a slobbering mess long ago, but she kept on going. Emotionally wrung out, physically beaten, magically weakened--she refused to stop. "Sure, pet," he said quietly. "We'll suss it all out. Then we'll get the seeds and head to Paris. It'll all be over before you know it, yeah?"

They walked to the middle of the room, Tara still held to his chest protectively. Spike turned in a circle, scanning the cages for just one woman that would look at them. There wasn't one.

"All right, listen up," he called out in Italian. "The vampires that were keeping you here are all dead. I'd just as soon leave the lot of you here, but the witch won't hear of it." Tara stepped on his foot and he fought back a smile. Damn, she was feistier than he'd have thought. "We're going to bring you to the inn we're staying at. They'll be able to call whoever you need to get you back home. So, up and at 'em."

"They won't listen to you," a feminine voice said softly. Spike narrowed his eyes. It was coming from the "empty" cage on the end. "They've been traumatized too badly."

"Then they'd better get over it," Spike snapped. "I said I'd get them taken care of, and that's what I plan on doing. If I have to drag them out of here by their hair, I will."

"Spike," Tara chided him.

"What?" he asked indignantly in English. "If they don't give us any other options--"

"We're not going to do that," she said slowly, her Italian choppy but understandable. "We just want to help them get home."

"That's not for you to do," the thread-like voice replied. "It's my fault that they've been held like this, and it's my responsibility to take care of them."

Spike and Tara's eyes met, and she stepped back from him. They walked to the empty cage and found that it wasn't so empty any longer. A young woman sat on the cot, long brown hair falling to her waist, a gauzy white gown fitted to her curvaceous form. There was something almost ethereal in her placid brown gaze, a calming force that made Spike shiver, because he had the feeling it could turn brutal if the need arose.

"Who are you?" Tara asked, still using her schoolgirl Italian.

"My name is Marianna. Until the vampires came, I was the guardian of the pomegranate. But they tricked me." She waved her hand, gesturing at her small cell. "Trapped me in this space and gained unlimited access to the pomegranate and its seeds."

"How long ago was that?" Spike asked curiously.

Marianna's head tilted. "I'm not entirely sure. Centuries, at least."

"I don't understand," Tara said hesitantly. "Why--what could they do with the pomegranate?"

Rising to her feet, Marianna approached the bars of the cage. Spike took an automatic step back, bringing Tara with him. "Do you know the story of Proserpina?" she asked them.

"Ate some seeds and was bound to the Underworld, yeah?" Spike answered.

Marianna shrugged. "Proserpina wasn't just tied to the Underworld as a place. She was tied to all things that it entailed, including the passageways of the dead."

"Passageways?" Tara repeated.

"Yes. The spirits of the dead, as well as the residents of the Underworld, don't travel where we do. There are paths for them, they overlap ours but are just slightly...shifted."

Spike looked down at Tara. "Inter-dimensional travel?"

"Not really," she said thoughtfully. "That kind of travel would take you to...to a different reality, or dimension. But this sounds more like slipping a bit out of perception."

"Exactly," Marianna confirmed. "The seeds allow one to see and use these paths. That's how the vampires brought these women here, and the ones before them."

Tara nodded. "That's--that's why you say it's your responsibility to take care of them."

"Yes. It was my mistake that gave those monsters access to the pomegranate, and to these women," Marianna said hollowly. "I must correct it."

Spike just knew Tara wanted to let Marianna out. "Pet, your focus still isn't all there," he reminded her carefully. "Not to mention that you're in bad shape otherwise. And we only have her word for why she wants out."

"We have more than that," Tara corrected him, staring at Marianna. "I know...that look in her eyes? I know it. I see it everyday."

Yeah, he knew she did. That look had made her leave the haven of Wildwind to drag herself through Hell. He touched the back of her neck. "Take care of the magic."

She took her hand from the bite and handed him the bloody scrap of his t- shirt. Before she turned away, he tilted her head to the side and saw that the bleeding had slowed somewhat.

Lifting the arm that had been dislocated made her clench her teeth, but she forced her hands to take hold of the bars in front of her. A gentle breeze ruffled her hair and she stared at the bars. "Release," she said quietly. Nothing happened, and Spike felt the embossment tingle once again. "Release," she said more forcefully. The wind picked up force for one brief moment, then abruptly died down. There was a hiss of air around the cage, and then a slight popping noise.

Tara let go of the bars and stumbled back. Spike caught her up in his arms and cursed when he saw that not only had her lips had split again, but the wound at her throat was bleeding profusely once more. She shook violently for a moment, then passed out. Spike sank to the floor and called her name several times, then lightly slapped at her face until her eyes fluttered open again.

He repeated his words from earlier, "Stay with me."

"Didn't mean to," she murmured.

"Thank you," Marianna said lowly. Spike looked up at the sound of her voice and watched her phase out of sight. There was a blur of color that made it seem like she was stretching towards them, and then she was on their side of the cage.

"She needs pomegranate seeds for the Cerno," Spike said tightly. "Can you help us with that?"

Marianna studied them with narrowed eyes for a long moment and then nodded. "I can. You'll have to come with me."

"What about the women?" Tara asked, her voice slurred with the effort to stay awake.

"I will attend to them directly after that. A few minutes won't make much difference to them after what they've been through." Her voice grew thoughtful as she looked around at the open cages whose occupants hadn't moved. "In fact, it might help them adjust to the idea of freedom."

"Come on, then," Spike said to Tara. "You're walking."

"Can't you carry me?" she asked miserably.

"I can," he admitted. "But I won't. Less chance of you conking out if you have to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other."

Spike got her on her feet and wrapped an arm around her waist, taking most of her weight but making sure she had to actually walk. Marianna brought them through three short hallways, then through a doorway into a small circular room. In the center stood a small pedestal, on which sat the pomegranate.

Marianna smiled as she entered the room, and there seemed to be electricity in the air around her. She went directly to the pomegranate and motioned them over. "The Cerno is a difficult and complicated ritual," she told them. "The pomegranate seeds allow one to communicate with the deceased, and their power is depleted entirely by the ritual." Smiling softly at Tara, she said, "You will need to select two for the Cerno."

With a trembling hand, Tara plucked two seeds from the fruit and closed her hand around them. "Thank you," she said tremulously.

"I'm the one who owes you thanks," Marianna demurred.

"Off we go, then," Spike said firmly. He arched a brow at Marianna. "No offense, ducks, but she needs to get to a hospital."

Marianna frowned uncertainly at him, then glanced at the pomegranate. "If you hadn't already demonstrated your trustworthiness," she said to Tara, "I would have had to test you before allowing you what you need for the Cerno. But what you did--for me, and for the other women--speaks a great deal about you." She reached out an olive-hued hand and removed two more seeds, then held them out on her palm. "These I give to both of you freely, in a more personal show of gratitude for what you've done."

Spike took them from her hand and frowned. "What are we supposed to do with these?"

"The seeds for the Cerno must be imbibed at the time of the ritual," Marianna explained. "However, if you choose to, you can partake of my gift now."

Which would give them access to the passageways of the dead, and maybe make it easier to gather their belongings from the inn and then get Tara someplace that had a bloody hospital. "Not really eager to be tied to the Underworld for the rest of my unlife," he muttered.

"It doesn't work the same for vampires," Marianna assured him. "That's why Maurice and his underlings needed unlimited access to the pomegranate. The results will be temporary for you--just twelve hours. Even for humans, the results differ depending on how much they eat. The vampires simply wiped a bit of juice on the lips of the women to bring them here; it wore off in less than an hour. The effects of one seed would normally tie you for years to the Underworld," she said to Tara, "but the Cerno is indiscriminate in nullifying any seeds you have eaten."

"Oh wow," Tara said softly. "Thank you."

Marianna dipped her head in acknowledgement. "The passageways are easy to navigate. You simply need to step inside and indicate where you want to go." She waved them towards the door, following behind them. Once they'd left the room, she touched her hand to the doorway and it sealed shut.

"Thank you again," she told them before hurrying back to the cages.

Spike and Tara stood silently for a moment, staring at the seeds in Spike's hand. "What do you say, pet?" he asked, switching back to English finally.

"I say that I hurt. A lot." She took one of the seeds from his hand and brought it to her mouth. Spike popped the other and then they stared at each other. "I, uh, don't feel any different," Tara said hesitantly. "Do you?"

Spike shook his head, and grinned. "No, but I see one of those passageways." He pointed to the left and she turned to look. It was kind of like looking through one of those water features that some restaurants kept in the lobby. A sheen of warped air that seemed to be only two dimensional, and in which blurs of colors waved past.

"The inn first?" Tara asked curiously.

"No. We're getting you to a hospital, then I'll go to the inn and get our stuff." She opened her mouth and he glared at her. "Not listening to any arguments on the subject. You've been stubborn enough for one damn night."

She wavered indecisively, but then she sighed. "All right. Hospital first. Where?"

Good thing she'd relented, because the truth was that her stubbornness in refusing to let those women stay where they were was what had gotten them the extra. If she'd really argued, he might have had to give in on the subject.

"Florence proper," Spike said with a shrug. "Several hospitals there, and it's not too far." He eyed the passageway. "I'm not all that eager to try anything farther right now."

They joined hands and approached the passageway. "Do you know the name of a hospital there?" Tara asked as they reached it.

Spike thought for a moment. "Only one I know is Serristori. Had a bit of fun there a few years back with Dru."

"Hm," she murmured, and there was disapproval in the small sound. Spike grinned. "So Serristori hospital in Florence."

"Now or never," he commented and they stepped sideways into the passageway.

It was like being held aloft by something he couldn't see or feel, an almost stasis-like sensation. Around them there were others traveling along the passageway, some moving slowly, and others almost running. Spike tried to speak their destination, but he wasn't able to. Tara started to stretch away from him, similar to what Marianna had done in the cage, and he couldn't hold on to her. Frantically, he thought of Serristori and then he was stretching, too, crawling along at a high speed and passing the world in a daze.

The passageway took them through buildings and people, through traffic and the everyday scenes of life. Spike saw it all as they sped along, unsure of how he did so when it seemed like they passed everything so quickly.

Just as he was adjusting to the strange sensation of movement, it felt like part of him came to a stop while the rest of him tried to catch up. When he was together again, he shook his head and look around. Tara was at his side, dazed, but he didn't know it if was from the trip or the concussion.

"Linen closet?" she guessed, staring at the bundles of sheets and hospital gowns.

"Looks like. Let's get you checked in."

As soon as they stepped out of the closet, they went to a nurse's station. "I'm trying to find the emergency room," Spike told the nurse in Italian. He gestured at Tara. "She got mugged and she needs some help."

In a flurry of white coats and rubber-soled shoes, Tara was whisked away to the ER for treatment. Before Spike was pushed aside, she managed to hand off the seeds for the Cerno to him. Spike went back to the linen closet and took the disconcerting passageway again, this time directly to their room at the inn. When his thoughts had settled, he saw that the room had been trashed, probably right before Maurice's guys had taken Tara.

Eyes wide, Spike stared at the small dresser where the other components for the Cerno had been stored. The drawers had been torn out of it, their contents upturned on the floor. He cursed and rummaged through the room, relaxing only when he found the plain paper bag they'd been keeping everything in. Tara's ward had apparently held, not allowing the intruders to see the bag. He wrapped the seeds in a tissue and set them inside the bag.

He found their luggage in the mess and started shoving clothes and toiletries inside. Their passports were also in the paper bag and he pulled those out before cramming the bag in his duffle. Grimacing at the damage to the room, Spike made his way downstairs, scrawling a brief note for the senora and leaving a thick wad of Italian lira for her troubles.

Then he sidestepped into the nearest passageway.

***

The hospital insisted Tara remain overnight for observation, and Spike insisted that he stay at her side. In the process of convincing the nursing staff to let him, he got vindication.

"Remember that the next time you say I can't do charming," he sniffed at Tara, watching the matronly nurse blush and stare at him on her way out.

"Impressive," she drawled.

Spike sat down in what had to be the most uncomfortable chair he'd ever had the misfortune to experience. "How're you feeling?" he asked neutrally.

"About the same," she sighed. "Except I'm not leaking blood any longer."

"More's the pity," he smirked.

"Ouch, don't make me laugh. Laughing, uh, hurts."

Spike grinned, then turned serious. "You should get some rest while you can. They're going to be waking you up every couple of hours."

The reminder of rest triggered a yawn. "Did you tell them about your...condition?" she asked sleepily. He nodded and pointed at the blankets that had been draped over the windows. She held out her hand--the one that wasn't hampered by a sling--and Spike took it. He didn't resist her when she tugged him to her, and it took some maneuvering, but he managed to settle on his side next to her, the guardrail on the bed digging into his back.

He laid his head on the pillow next to hers, finding beneath the antiseptics and antibiotic creams the scent of her. She was asleep within moments, and he followed her not long after.

***

By the time the hospital agreed to release Tara, it had been fourteen hours since they'd eaten the pomegranate seeds. Spike's hopes for getting to Paris and to Sunnydale via the passageways were dead in the water.

"Guess we'll be taking the long way," he said irritably as he helped her down from the hospital bed. One of the nurses had come in a short while before to help her change into her clothing, and they were set to go.

"You're kind of grouchy," she noted as they waited for an orderly to come wheel Tara out.

"How are you not?" he snapped. "Damn Nurse Ratchet wasn't who I wanted to wake up to six bloody times last night."

Tara grimaced. "She was rather unpleasant, wasn't she?"

Spike growled. "Unpleasant? She was a damn termagant!"

Even with one eye swollen shut, Tara still managed to mock him with a subtle lifting of a brow. "Termagant," she repeated, the word just a bit misspoken due to her lips. "I don't think I've ever heard anyone actually use that word in real life."

Spike flipped her off and then stared at her when something occurred to him. The seed had worn off of him, but not of her. "You're not planning to do something stupid, are you?" he asked suspiciously.

She didn't even pretend ignorance. "No," she assured him, smiling a bit. "I did think about it, but I really, uh, don't want to go to Paris alone."

"Well, good," he stated. "I still think you should wait a few days--"

"Spike, there's no time," she interrupted him.

"With stitches on your head and lips and neck, you're just asking for an infection," he maintained. "Or worse."

Tara crossed the small room and reached up to touch his face. "I don't have a choice," she said softly. "The sigils can't hold up indefinitely. I really don't, uh, want to do this at all, much less..." She took a breath. "I'm not waiting. I can't."

The orderly arrived, smiling happily at them. "Let's get the pretty senorita out of this gloomy place, yes?" he chirped in English.

Spike rolled his eyes and Tara smiled again. "Yeah, let's," Spike drawled.

The hospital had arranged for a cab earlier, and it was waiting for them, holding up traffic on the busy street. Spike tossed their bags in the trunk that the driver solicitously opened for them, then helped Tara into the back seat. He loped around the back of the car and got in on the other side.

"Airport, eh?" the driver remarked in Italian.

"Yes," Tara said quietly, leaning her head on Spike's shoulder. "We're going to Paris."

"Ah, Paris. The city of lights and lovers," he said slyly. "Just made for nice young couples like you."

Spike laughed darkly and Tara simply sighed.

***

End Part Five