Chapter 7: Cafe Luna Sea
Monday night 11:00 p.m.
I ran toward the screaming like a big dumb boob and found myself in front of Cafe Luna Sea, a new outdoor bistro a couple of blocks from the Stake.
Half a dozen teens, both demon and human, huddled in a frightened group, all stiff legged and wide eyed, looking like they were either ready to run or vomit.
A willowy demon boy held a tall human girl wrapped tightly in his arms, both of them sniffling and staring toward the little tables arrayed beyond the delicate iron fence in front of the place. There was no sign of the employees. I shoved past the lovebirds and checked out the scene.
It was definitely a scene, in every sense of the word. I figure the owners had patterned it after one of those hip little French style cafes so popular with the artsy crowd. Somebody was making art, all right. Big, monstrous art that made Dali look like Norman Rockwell.
A auburn haired woman had been propped upright in a little wire chair in the center of the outdoor tables. I recognized her. It was Sasha, Anya's pal from the club.
Grotesquely, she appeared to have dozed off during her coffee, a cigarette still burning in her hand Except that her throat was hanging in bloodless shreds wreathed in smoke from the smoldering cigarette, and something wet and slick had been placed carefully on her shoulder like some monstrous corsage. The remains of her white blouse were stiff with with dark blood from a vertical gash that opened her down the front like buttons on a coat. I could see the white ends of bone protruding through the now bloodless gash.
I brought all the old cop instincts to bear and looked closer. I fought the smell of poor Sasha's opened viscera to burn the details into my brain. The murderer wanted to show me something. He wanted someone to get his message.
Sasha worked at the Stake. Half-demon, snappy dresser,and a friend of Anyanka. A cigarette, burnt to ashes in one hand, a cup with the ice-cold dregs of black coffee in the other; surgically neat incisions and ripping bite marks, nasty and personal. Sasha's red-enameled fingernails were broken and torn and her fingers were folded back, broken, probably post-mortem. One red nailed finger pointed to an article in the neatly folded newspaper. An advertisement for Christmas shopping with a headline that read: Only 7 Days Left! Blood puddled on the newspaper in a sort of design. A signature.
I heard sirens in the distance.
I slunk back into the shadows before the cops showed up. The last thing I needed was a run in with the law to give the persistent and possibly homicidal Officer Finn an excuse to come sniffling around my office door again.
I turned the corner back toward downtown and slammed into an unmoving body. He was flattened against the alley wall, furiously drawing on a cigarette, staring out into the velvet darkness. He turned his head and gave me a sour look.
Following me again, Harris? He snarled, Thought you were supposed to be smarter than that?
Yeah, me too. I looked him in the eyes and forced my pulse down.
Yeah, I was. Sometimes my stupidity amazes even me. Where did you go after you left Willy's? Spike's volatile temper went from zero to sixty in nothing flat. He leapt into the pale light from the streetlights and began pacing a narrowing circle around me, snarling.
None of your goddamn business, monkey boy, he bellowed, his hands stiff with fury. Bloody bits! That's what you'd be! I could pluck out your entrails and...
Like you did that girl?
The air froze around me. He stopped the mad pacing and stared at the ground. Then he began the familiar ritual of pocket patting, looking for his pack of smokes and coming up, as usual, with an empty crumpled pack. I shook out one of mine for him. He lit it with the old chrome Zippo. We stood there in the alley smoking in silence for a while. Just like old times. Except this time he might decide to kill me.
There was a subtle shift in the air and I was looking into the yellow demon eyes, feeling the menace and deadly power. Just as suddenly, it was gone. He looked up at me, the baby blues wild with something like fear.
He leaned tiredly against the brick building, looking all of his hundred-some years for an instant. He sucked in a breath of wintry air and exhaled it in a puff, Look, I.. I think there's something wrong. With me. He started pacing again, careening back and forth silently for a moment, trying to decide whether he should say anything more. It's bad, isn't it?
I was at sea here. I won't lie to you, Spike. It looks bad. As bad as it can get.
I'd expected to hear denial or bluster or threats, maybe. Not this lost voice and gaunt, desperate face. Things have been strange.. as if...I'm losing time... He straightened suddenly and began pacing, curling his hands into tight claws,
I'm not sure of..much of anything. Anything but that I'm a demon. Evil. Get it? He seemed unconvinced, even as he said the words, See, it's like there's this wall and I can't get around it or over it or through it, but I know it's there. I know I must have met you. You and I.. we were friends? I trusted you, I think. But... everything else, though... He threw the stub of his cigarette to the ground and turned to me. The Slayer... she knew it from the start. That's why I couldn't be ... near her. Until I can fix it.
I sure as hell couldn't fix anything. This was way out of my league. This was sorcery and black magic and demon stuff. We didn't have Giles or Willow anymore, but we did have Anyanka and my rabbity pal, Andrew.
I didn't want to believe that he'd gone bad, killing innocents and mutilating poodles. But that was his nature: He was a monster, a predator. He fought it, wrestled it into submission every day and every night. But you couldn't escape it. He was, after all, a demon. I decided to play it by my gut. I took a chance.
Yeah, you're a demon and you're a damn good one. You could have killed me a half dozen times, but you didn't. I trust you. I haven't always, but you've never been anything but a square-shooter with me. Now, let's get the hell out of here before Sunnydale's finest decide to show you the dusty end of the stake.
He shot me a cynical glance, Maybe it would be for the best. Maybe some people think that's what ought to happen to monsters like me. Maybe some people would say that's the best thing that could happen to me.
Maybe some people have got it all wrong. Now, quit being a pain in my ass and get moving.
His weary blue eyes betrayed his cool exterior. We headed for the Stake.
Music: David Sandborn, Man from Mars from the album, timeagain