This next part is a little long, but the tale marks the beginning of the end of my stay in Sunnydale. Actually, I'm quite surprised I stayed as long as I did.
* * *
Although well projected in the echoing church building, Spike's voice was a bit gravelly with forced down emotion. "That's me. I'm Spike. What do you want with me?"
Somehow, as Spike stated his uncertainty about the situation, a gnawing feeling that I'd seen the man before crept into my gut. I couldn't quite put my finger on the source of the reaction though. My thoughts flashed to the First Evil, but I dismissed the idea because the First did not typically surround himself with demons. From what Buffy told me, most demons tended to run from the First.
Buffy flexed her hand around the stake that she'd produced from somewhere on her personage. She didn't interrupt Spike despite what her body language said about her desire to do so.
The man sighed, but the sigh wasn't one of exasperation or fatigue. He was clearly in some sort of ecstasy, but I couldn't fathom why. He clapped his hands lightly together like a four-year-old at a birthday party. "Just the vampire I was looking for." Jabbing a finger lightly at the wary vampire under scrutiny, he continued, "I have something to show you. At least, once you get done with your girlfriend here."
Spike frowned at the man's insinuation. "Now what could you possibly have that would interest me? And she's not my girlfriend, by the way."
Yeah, right, she's not his girlfriend.
Obviously impatient but also probably partly embarrassed at being caught in an intimate situation, Buffy intruded sideways to Spike, "Is he some kind of old acquaintance that you haven't properly dealt with, Spike?"
Spike's gaze didn't waver from the man. "No. I've never seen him before."
Buffy whispered, "You sure?"
Buffy's added question made me realize the truth. *I* was the one who knew this man. The truth hit me like a ton of bricks and an instantaneous knot formed in my stomach. What could I say? I was a psychosomatic person.
Mustering my courage, I stepped forth from the shadows where I'd been cowering. Without looking at Buffy or Spike, I cleared my throat. "Um. You're the man who came to visit me two days ago. Mr.. . . um. . ."
A broad smile spread across the man's face at my appearance. He waved back the demons that had inched forward and were growling in warning at me. (What a laugh; they were giving me the warnings.) "Charles Smith."
Buffy's sarcasm was swift and biting, "How convenient."
Mr. "Smith" raised both eyebrows at the slayer. "Who is this?" One of the demon entourage ambled up and murmured something incomprehensible in his ear. "Oh. Well, she's of no concern to me. What I need is Spike."
*What* not *who*. His choice of words intrigued me.
"I'm standing right here," Spike noted as sardonically as Buffy. "And it would be helpful if you told me what you 'needed' me for."
"I'm kind of interested in what he went to visit Mr. Fisher for," Buffy added, planting her hands on her hips and moving closer to Spike.
Mr. Smith smiled delightedly. "Of course. I'll be happy to explain the situation to the *slayer.* She just needs to come along for the tour. I suppose I could use both of you to help with my situation."
Spike and Buffy spoke simultaneously.
"Why did you visit Mr. Fisher?"
"What kind of tour? And what do you need help with?"
I raised my hand slightly. "Um, if I may." I was feeling more than a little intimidated by the throng of demons surrounding Mr. Smith. . . hence, my timidity.
"Of course," Mr. Smith replied even though he knew I was more interested in Buffy and Spike's approval. . . er, make that Buffy's.
Despite the tenderness he showed Buffy and the multiple times he saved my life, I still wasn't sure about Spike. The human mind worked in mysterious ways.
"He came to the home today, saying he was looking for someone to make a deal with. Someone affiliated with vampires," I explained, gaining confidence with each syllable I uttered. Spike nodded at me to keep going. "He was looking for someone who helped stop the vampires, and he heard I had a hand in it."
Buffy snorted sharply. I wasn't lost on the irony either. Mr. Smith knew who I was but not the slayer? Very strange.
"He asked me point blank if I knew Spike. I've always been a terrible liar because even though I told him I didn't, he must have seen the truth all over my face. I thought he believed me because he left right after. I felt sure he did believe me. . . until now." I drew a breath and added, "He didn't say anything about needing help with anything."
"Why didn't you say anything this evening when I came down?" Spike asked.
Sheepish, I ducked my head. "I forgot, especially after that vamp attacked us." Suddenly, I felt like I was in second grade again when my mother found a pile of hidden "bad" grades in the back of my desk. How stupid was I? I'd stared death in the face too many times in the few months I'd been here to make that kind of mistake.
"It's okay," Buffy reassured me. Her head turned to face Mr. Smith and crew. "So when do we go see what you have to show us and explain what you need help with?"
At that, Mr. Smith grinned. His teeth were extremely crooked. "Now, if you like."
Buffy shrugged. "What else are we going to do? Sleep?"
Mr. Smith laughed as did a few of his demon companions.
I was startled by Buffy's seemingly flippant attitude toward Mr. Smith. My mind flew over the multiple explanations for her behavior. Going to investigate this situation seemed rather reckless. On the other hand, we were badly outnumbered by the demons; she seemed to have little choice about going with him. Also, maybe she believed she should check every set of circumstances to determine if the ultimate evil was somehow involved.
Turning on his heel, Mr. Smith began marching toward the church doors, demon friends hot on his heels. "Let's go."
As Spike and Buffy followed, I attempted to melt into the darkness, planning to contact her friends as soon as the strange man and his demons left the church.
However, at the door, Mr. Smith caught my eye. "You're coming with us."
"What? No," Buffy said firmly. "Mr. Fisher stays out of this."
Mr. Smith wasn't fazed. "He's already waist deep in the middle of it. He comes with us." Dread launched a new campaign on my stomach. He nodded at me. "I could use all the help I can get. He's experienced with dead things." The unspoken, "he's coming or else" hung in the air.
That said, he shoved open the doors to the church and let in the night.
* * *
I won't go into the details about how we got to our destination. Suffice it to say that Mr. Smith and his demons lived in a rather large mansion in a prestigious housing edition in Sunnydale. What made the largest impression on me was what Mr. Smith had displayed in the house.
* * *
"Bloody hell."
Spike's words echoed my sentiments exactly.
"Glad to see my humble space provokes such a reaction," Mr. Smith declared, rubbing his hands together. His demon companions were fewer in the safety of his home, but a handful remained hovering around him.
The room was virtually dark but from the dim lights scattered throughout, the ceiling appeared to be quite high. The room was also so vast that I couldn't make out the far wall. What produced the most intrigue were the objects that were lit by the dispersed spots of radiance. Although I didn't recognize what I was viewing, I was distinctly certain that they were quite important and rare.
"What the hell is all this stuff?" Buffy demanded, hovering close to Spike's side and making certain I was shielded by both of them.
Mr. Smith let out a giggle. . .yes, a giggle. Maybe he was a little bit insane. "What do you think it is?"
His eyes wide, Spike let out a slow breath. "You're one of those collectors," he stated evenly.
Turning to Buffy and I, Mr. Smith smiled knowingly as he waited for Spike's words to sink in with us. He placed the tips of his fingers together expectantly.
"I don't understand. Collectors?" Buffy was confused.
I had less inkling of the truth than she. I noticed that her arm brushed Spike's almost unnoticeably, but she kept her eyes glued to Mr. Smith.
Mr. Smith looked to Spike to provide an explanation. Spike acquiesced, "Pet, he collects demon and mystical artifacts."
"Artifacts? That's not so unusual. My mom collected those for the art gallery."
My heart sunk as the truth dawned, and I thought that I would perhaps never see Amber again.
Buffy was obviously still in denial land. What was housed in this room was more than a simple collection of artifacts for an art gallery. Yes, the museum contained ancient relics that possessed who knew what kind of powers, but as my eyes focused more on the objects in the room, I recognized body parts. These body parts weren't animal or human. . . they were demon.
Mr. Smith held up a tiny device and pushed the surface button.
Instantaneously, a glass case along one wall began moving toward us smoothly and rapidly. Two demon bodyguards hurried out of the way of the heavy container, and my eyes widened as my gaze focused on the contents that had been hidden by their bodies.
"Oh, my g. . ." Buffy whispered. The truth hit her full in the face, and she spoke before she thought, "This is like. . .like what Cordelia told me about in L.A. Those demon auction thingies."
"And I'm the foremost collector among them!" Mr. Smith bragged.
Colorful fingers and toes and limbs and a head or two littered the display. Each piece was clean. . . no gore clung excessively to the flesh. They were carefully mounted and preserved with a label, informing the viewer of the name of the demon and date of capture. . . or death. A jar held a large grayish brain that appeared slightly bloated in the formaldehyde. What looked like twelve-inch spines from an unknown part of some creature's body were mounted in a long row. And these were but a few of the horrors that greeted my eyes.
"Yes, this is my favorite display," Mr. Smith said with a wistful expression on his face. Something akin to icy fingers crept along my spine at his words.
Buffy cast Spike a fleeting look, but the vampire remained stoically staring forward, unreadable. She wanted to touch him; I could tell. Hell, I'd be reaching for my ex-wife if she were here. I didn't care how much animosity might exist between us.
"Can you guess what I want from Spike? What I need help with?" Mr. Smith asked with a trace of eagerness.
Silence met his query.
"He wants my heart." Spike's words were strong, resonant when he interrupted Mr. Smith, and his face stayed impassive.
Buffy frowned. "Now how would that work? He'd be dust before you could get to it. And how would that help you?"
Mr. Smith stared into the distance and smiled dreamily. "I've always wanted to see a vampire's heart. It doesn't beat. . . right?" He transferred his attention to Spike who nodded dumbly. The vampire clenched his fist, and a vein made its presence known on his jaw line. "What does it do in there? Does it get smaller and smaller over time like the Grinch's in that Seuss Christmas tale? Or does it simply rot? Or maybe it gets as hard as a rock. . . like a petrified stone. . . . It's the one piece that I could use to complete my collection. . . to be considered the foremost collector in the world. You would have the honor of helping me achieve this formidable. . ."
While Mr. Smith was lost in his tangent, Buffy and Spike were surveying the room for exits and possible means of escape. She seemed to have formulated a plan after a few seconds because she disrupted his reverie, "Listen, somehow I don't think we'll willingly let you experiment on removing Spike's heart. At least, not tonight. I mean it's really a lot to think about. So, we'll just show ourselves out."
With that said, Buffy tugged on my arm, and the three of us starting proceeding to exit the way we entered.
The two demon bodyguards that were still present didn't hesitate and blocked our trajectory within seconds. Mr. Smith's face hardened. "I don't think you'll be going anywhere. You're going to help me."
*My* heart practically flew out of my chest. The vampire from earlier this evening was nothing compared to the danger I was now faced with.
Before I knew what was happening, Buffy and Spike were leaping on the demon pair. Arms and legs flew in a rapid whirl of motion that would almost be elegant if I wasn't so afraid. Dizzy at being in the midst of their dance, I maintained enough presence of mind to approach the door. . . the threshold of freedom.
Just as I reached my goal, Mr. Smith stepped sideways into my path, blocking me with a small smile. I reacted before I thought, and my fist went sailing across the gulf between us. Pain shot through my arm as I connected with his jaw, and he fell to the ground with a howl like a wounded animal.
He didn't move, and I was triumphant.
However, his cry was a danger signal.
Twelve more demons crowded the doorway and flooded the room. Somehow they seemed to be bigger than in the church.
I looked around for Buffy and Spike who were standing over two lifeless demon bodies, breathing heavily. Dread spread over me.
We were doomed. I would have thought I'd have more faith in their abilities by now.
With a cry of rage, Spike slipped into his vampire face and launched himself at the throng. The demons parted, apparently unnerved that this insignificant little vampire would dare to take them on alone. They parted like the Red Sea, creating a path to the door.
Buffy started to follow Spike's lead, but he stopped her with a growl as he punched a demon in the face and back-kicked the one behind him. "Buffy, take Sam and get out of here."
Freezing for an instant, she protested, "But. . ."
Ducking an enraged demon's slower movements, Spike shouted, "Go!"
Instantly, I knew we had to get out. Without hesitation, I started running. Buffy overcame her reluctance, and soon she had passed me, using her instincts to lead us through the maze of the house to world outside.
Not used to such physical exertion, I was gasping and gulping in the cool night air with relief. Fear and desperation fueled my run until we neared the cemetery where we'd started. Just past the first row of tombstones, I stopped by a tree and bent forward, trying to regain some energy. Buffy was impatient, but she saw that I couldn't keep going.
Needing to do something, she whipped out her cell phone and dialed a number. A brief, clipped conversation led to us being picked up a few minutes later by a man ertible who identified himself as Rupert Giles. I wasn't sure where we'd be going next. . . if we'd be going back to the mansion.
A bit thankfully, I realized that we were heading away from the fray and toward Buffy's home. No discussion was made about taking me home. In fact, no mention of what had happened occurred the entire drive.
