Chapter 12
"This is one of the spots, I think." The chupacabra squatted and laid her palm against the ground. "Can you feel it?"
Slayer and vampire knelt beside her and placed their hands on the turf as well. A pendant swung outward from Thu's throat when she bent forward; as it neared Spike's shoulder she snatched it back.
"Sorry," she apologized. "It's a katha. It's sort of like a cross or a Star of David. You might've gotten a burn."
"'S all right." He moved his hand slowly through the grass and soil, and then, distantly, he felt it: the throbbing, just-beyond-consciousness vibration emitted by a hellmouth. Before his ensouling it had been a siren song to him: Come down to us, boy. Come and play. It's lovely down here. He nodded agreement to Paloma.
"It's not very big, but it's a hot spot."
From a duffel bag they brought out the materials Singh had provided them for a sealing ritual - "Something to jam the lock and grease the doorknob," he had said - along with some bits to help obscure its presence from all but the most sensitive malevolent noses. (If we had Red here we could probably obliterate it altogether, Spike reflected, and the thought conjured up unwanted memories of Sunnydale, and other unpleasant holes in the ground.)
It didn't take long to perform the task; a final toss of salt and a chant of verses and the job was done. Thu leaned back against a fire hydrant and gazed up at Ashcraft's International House Of Pancakes.
"It's a good thing this wasn't the kind of magic that can only be done at high noon," she commented. "I'll bet the IHOP manager would be pissed if we were out here doing a spell in his flower bed while people were trying to eat."
"You're kind of quiet," Paloma observed on the drive back to the tourist court.
Spike didn't answer right away. "...Been thinkin' about the time in the basement again. After the soul."
"Uh." His loco time. He'd told her a little about it before; it hadn't sounded pretty. "Well, don't let it eat at you, Hermano." She tapped the side of her head with a finger. "Put it in a filing cabinet in your brain in a folder labeled 'Shit That Happened' and just close the drawer for now. It'll always be there if you need it."
"S'pose you're right."
"I KNOW I'm right. I'm- ah, chingada," she swore as the car hit a pothole. "'Course you went crazy. Jesus, you did something INCREDIBLE: you deliberately took your own soul back. No one's ever heard of a vampire doing that!" She shook her head in amazement. "I can't believe those dillhole watchers weren't impressed. Nobody even showed any interest?"
"Fred thought it was great. Everybody else was busy with impending apocalypses, I reckon." He gazed thoughtfully out the window. "Wonder what's stoppin' our latest one from catching up with us?"
Paloma shrugged. "The grace of God? Extraterrestrials in the Superstition Mountains? Quien sabe? Who knows."
They pulled in for gas at one of the enormous truck stops dotting the interstate, where long-distance haulers could find everything from a shave and a shower to a DVD player for the sleeping quarters of their cabs. In the gift shop area Spike found a metal cigarette lighter; the plastic ones cracked too easily and he didn't fancy getting his pockets soaked with lighter fluid in the middle of a fight. Displayed along with the lighters was a selection of costume jewelry, and as he turned to go to the register a piece caught his eye.
It was only an inexpensive opal, teardrop-shaped and suspended from a thin metal chain, but the colors in it were beautiful - pinks and blues and purples, laced here and there with tiny gold flecks and filaments, and a soft pearlescent luster. He chewed at his lip, wavered...then picked up the necklace and carried it to the checkout counter along with the lighter.
"You're early."
Winifred smiled and uncurled from her perch on the sofa in Singh's parlor. Being alone was still unnerving to her, and she always waited out the patrols here with the sorcerer and his cat rather than deal with the solitude of an empty cabin, however late the hour. She yawned and stretched and followed Spike out the door. "Run into anything interesting?"
"Evil motorway median and a suspicious-looking bed of petunias. They'll not be makin' any more trouble."
Fred laughed delightedly, and Spike found the sound enchanting. He stopped a few steps from their cabin and drew a package from his jacket pocket.
"Here...never did give you a proper 'Welcome Home' gift."
She looked at him wonderingly and opened the little box, and her eyes grew wide with pleasure.
"How pretty!" she breathed. She touched the pendant with a fingertip and watched the pastel colors dance across the stone. When she looked back at Spike again she was surprised to see that he was standing completely still, hands shoved in his pockets, his face tight and uncertain as if
(As if I were going to laugh at him? she thought later. As if he was afraid I might throw it back in his face?)
"If it doesn't suit, I can take it back," he said quickly.
She shook her head. I'd keep it even if it didn't suit. It's from you. I love it."
Relief washed over Spike's features. Relief and...happiness. For the first time since she'd known him, he looked completely, genuinely happy.
Now (Does he know that his face is like an open book?) he seemed to be taken by a sudden inspiration. She waited while he licked his lips nervously, hesitated, took a deep breath...
"Would you like to go on a date?"
The little flame of attraction that had been kindling for some time in the back of Fred's consciousness erupted into a full flashover. She was shocked to find herself breaking into a sweat and blushing furiously. This is crazy, she thought, We're two adults and in another minute we're going to start staring at the ground and shuffling our feet and kicking rocks. All I need is a grass stem in my mouth and I'll look like a complete hayseed.
"I'd love to."
The words brought Spike another flood of relief. "'Kay. Great. Guess we should go to bed now- I mean, you should get some rest. It's late." (Bloody hell, it's 11:30.)
For weeks in their motel room they'd been clumping around each other comfortably and nonchalantly in bathrobes and drawstring pajama bottoms and T-shirts; now suddenly they were very aware of their bodies and were seized with an almost comical shyness.
Lying in their separate beds, in the almost-dark, their minds ran races with thought.
Buffy's his first choice, I know that. I can accept that. God, it's only a date; I'm acting like he's proposed. We're just trying out a date, to see if it could work, the same way Wesley and I tried it. Except I already knew Wesley would do anything to make it work, would kill to make it work; sometimes he scared me...why did I date someone who scared me? Because I was flattered? Because mousy Fred knew a guy who was so obsessed with her that he worshipped her like a goddess and believed that the greatest reward in life was to be her boyfriend?
Don't wanna rush anything. She just lost Pryce. She just escaped from a hell dimension.
If she climbs in bed with me again I'm gonna explode.