Chapter 13
5 MONTHS EARLIER
It wasn't exactly what she'd been expecting. But then, when she thought about it, Buffy wasn't entirely sure what she had been expecting. After all, it wasn't as if anyone had ever made any hard and fast rules about how immortal demonic crime-lords should live. So who was to say they couldn't have good taste if they wanted to? Or cream-coloured leather walls? Or own a full set of to-die-for Louis Vuitton hand-luggage?
There had been guards on the gate and the door, but just the regular human kind and, albeit big with the muscles and fancy swordplay, nothing that presented her with much of a challenge. The stairs leading up to the first floor office - or 'the nerve-centre of his accursed empire' as Andrew had so poetically termed it - were smooth bone-white marble and, as she ascended them, Buffy had felt a sweetly familiar rush of adrenaline. It had been two weeks at least since her last half-decent fist fight, and the thought of going up against someone as powerful and supposedly dangerous as The Immortal, filled her with an excitement that bordered on sexual.
Giles had been big on the warning: she was 'out of practice', The Immortal was 'at the top of his game...a deadly adversary with almost a thousand years of nefarious dealings behind him', all the stuff he knew was just bound to get her blood pumping. After their heart-to-heart at Christmas, she knew he'd been working hard to get her interested again but, until recently, she hadn't felt anything but a workmanlike need to get the job done. Then a few more girls had started to arrive and watching their confidence grow, seeing the fire in their eyes, had rekindled something inside her she'd thought was all but dead. Passion for what she was, for what her body could do, awoke inside her, and now here she was again. Muscles tensed and senses sharp and her heart beating again with strange fierce joy.
Flattening her body to the wall at the top of the stairs, Buffy craned her neck forward to peer through the gap behind the doorframe, one hand gripping the hilt of a beautiful, mirror-bladed kitana she'd liberated from his own personal bodyguard. A vast, dark mahoghany desk stood in the far corner, the empty chair beside it turned at an angle, as if its occupant had only just stepped away. The voile curtains at the open window behind it billowed softly and, sliding forward, one step at a time, she moved into the room.
A soft, ruby-coloured carpet covered the floor, muffling her feet even more and, in the air, there was a faint smell of sandalwood. Turning her body slightly, she caught sight of her reflection in a long golden mirror and started. Something about the quality of light, the soft glowing colours of the room and its furnishings, made her look…different. Her clothes, jeans and a simple silk halter, seemed to melt to her body, accentuating the sleek curves and lines of her hips and breasts. Her skin shone with health, her hair falling to her shoulders in a sleek golden curtain and, in her own eyes, she saw something that was both familiar and terrible.
"You are The Slayer."
He was standing at the window. Maybe he always had been. Without turning, she touched the tip of the sword to the floor, drew a line between them.
"I'm one of them"
A slight movement of his head, and she knew that he was smiling. A hand reached out to the side, lifted a glass and poured something into it that sounded wonderful. Soft, clear sound and the gentle shift and crack of ice.
"No. You are the only one. For me at least."
"Is that right?"
"It is."
His voice was like the sandalwood, rich, warm and exotic, wreathing around her. Lifting her head, Buffy met his eyes. Something familiar behind them. Something terrible. Taking a step towards him, she let the sword trail out behind her.
"So you're The Immortal."
He bowed, just a duck of the head, but there was a strange kind of amused deference in his expression. As if he already knew her. As if they were friends.
"You may call me Carlo."
She shrugged, "I'd rather not, if that's ok." His whole demeanour was strange, confident and completely at ease. "Tends to get kind of confusing otherwise. When I'm killing you I mean."
"Certainly. Yes. I see that." A small frown creased his brow and, leaning against the edge of his broad desk, he took a slow sip of his drink. "Yes. That must have been very confusing for you. Although I'm sure your Angel has forgiven you by now, yes?"
Something touched her spine: a cool silken shiver, like hands trailing down her back, soft pale fingers reaching into her. Her heart suddenly racing again, she lifted her chin, raised the sword to hip height.
"So you read minds. Nice trick. Want to tell me what I'm thinking of right now?"
His laugh was soft, warm and rich like the scent in the air and, despite everything she knew she should feel, she found herself staring at his throat. The pale, smooth hollow in her throat that fluttered as he laughed.
"Now? Now you are letting your mind wander. Exploring possibilities." His eyes sparkled darkly, "And you are wondering if maybe your friend Giles realises that you are old enough to make up your own mind about who you do and don't.…" a flicker of a smile, "...'make friends' with."
The curtains at the window billowed again, obscuring his face for a moment and, in that split second, Buffy moved forward. Planting the tip of the sword against his heart, she met his gaze with her own. Without breaking it, The Immortal slowly moved a hand to his desk, reached for a second glass and filled it. A soft gurgle of liquid and the same bewitching crackle of ice. Taking a step backwards, she let the tip of her weapon drop to the floor.
"If you think you can seduce me, you should think again. I have natural immunity."
"I would not presume..."
"Of course not."
He was smiling at her and she could feel herself wanting to return it. The sword balanced in her grasp felt light and supple. Her own power was flowing through her like never before. She could kill this man. Here and now. She could end his life forever. It was in her power to do so. But something was stopping her. Something was telling her to wait. Not to be so hasty. Because there was time for this. There was plenty of time.
Extending a hand towards her, Carlo offered her the glass. The liquid inside swirled silver and gold and, as she stepped forward to take it, she heard the kitana's blade slice a deep ragged path in her wake.
ooooooooooooooooooo
"Mol'ech: The Deceiver!"
Seated behind a pile of books on the other side of Buffy's desk, Andrew removed the pair of wire-rimmed spectacles he was wearing and slowly polished them with a clean white handkerchief. The effect was only slightly marred by the fact that he didn't actually wear glasses.
"Not to be confused by Moloch The Corruptor - also horned, now of course deceased - or with Mel'kich The Very Very Tiny . According to popular legend and fable: a demon with 'the head of a bull and the body of a...well a man-like...thing'. Made his first documented appearance around 700 B.C, when he got all the Israelites busy barbecuing their firstborn in the Valley of Hinnom."
Leaning forward to stare at the image of a massive, horned, pre-Christian demon, Buffy found she still had to work to suspend her disbelief. Everything Giles had told them, everything she had discovered for herself, pointed to one conclusion but, for some reason, she just couldn't seem to get her head around it. This thing was living in Carlo's skin. Fifty-some feet of heaving blood-slicked, ancient evil and she had been dating it. She had eaten romantic dinners with it and held its hand along the river at sunset. Sitting back in her seat abruptly, she tried to control the sudden feeling of nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. Oh god, she'd let that thing into her bed. Into her body.
"Hey...you ok?"
Dawn's hand touched her forearm and Buffy saw that both her sister and Spike were looking at her with matching expressions of concern. Covering her discomfort with a frown, she nodded dismissively, pulling the book towards her again.
"So they sacrificed their own children to him. Why?"
"Somehow they got the idea that Mol'ech could control the sun, although - fun fact - there's actually no mention of his having any real god-like powers to speak of. Other than the power of being really really big and scary-looking. so, kind of unsurprisingly, one day there was a big ol' flood. All the people who'd sacrificed their kiddies got really pissed at him and then, pretty much overnight, Mol'ech just...vanished."
He slid a second book on top of the first.
"Ok, now Judea about 200 years later. Whacky religions are the hot new thing. People are worshipping everything from ponies to house cats, and suddenly Mol'ech's bigger than Elvis. There is much feasting and rejoicing - although no deep-fried peanut butter and jelly in those days of course. Then one day Alexander The Great rides up on his big shiny horse and tells everyone how they should all be bowing down to Almighty Zeus. There's no real proof that he actually looked like Colin Farrell of course, but I'm guessing he was pretty easy on the eye. Either way, the Judeans love him and Mol'ech dropped faster than a quirky Fox TV show."
Opening a third book, their self-appointed demon expert placed it carefully on top of the others. The hairs on the back of Buffy's neck prickled as she recognised the subject of the painting. Crumbling walls were silhouetted against a choking, smoke-filled sky and everywhere lay the charred bodies of ruined, dying men, women and children.
"Ok, so...cut to ancient Carthage. Mol'ech's got a temple of his own, hot and cold running kiddies. He's saying all the right things in all the right people's ears, promising wealth and success and glorious victory and stuff which, when you've had the entire Roman Empire breathing down your neck for half a century, has to sound good, right? But then who should come knocking but General Scipio Aemilianus - all round tough guy and darling of the emperor. Incidentally rumored to be played by Bruce Willis in the upcoming biopic of the same name.
Scipio lays siege to the whole city for three years and, despite all Mol'ech's promises to the foolish Cartheginians, he finally manages to beat the door down. And when he does, surprise, surprise - the daemon now known to all as "Mol'ech The Deceiver" had vanished again." Narrowing his eyes, he spread his hands wide on the table in front of him. "Or had he?"
There was a long pause and, with a stir of annoyance, Buffy realised that Andrew was obviously waiting for some kind of 'audience response'. Luckily for him, Dawn took the bait.
"He hadn't?"
"Here's what I'm thinking. Mol'ech's jig was up. He was an old school daemon, all flash and thunder and not a lot of actual pzazz, and times they were a' changin. The Romans still believed in gods, sure, but the ones they really worshipped were men. Men like Scipio Aemilianus, like Cato The Elder. Human heroes were where it was at and Mol'ech decided that he wanted in on the action."
His little speech wasn't exactly up to Giles' standard, but he was passionate, she'd give him that. Frowning, Buffy leant forward to look more closely at the image of her nightmare. In the background, lit by the flames of an enormous fire, a group of tiny figures cowered at the feet of a towering statue. Their small faces, coloured orange by the leaping flames, were filled with fear and wonder as they looked up at the mighty figure of their God.
"In your dream, you said that you heard Similce's son calling out for help, pleading for his life. His own Mommy had just offered him up for a crispy sacrifice and he was desperate." Moving the first book back to the top of the pile again, Andrew spread it wide with a snap. The monstrous figure of the demon covered both pages. "So here's what I think. Mol'ech needed to change his act, he needed a body, a vessel, someone he could shape and bend to his will. And then, who should offer up his own immortal soul to his God but...the Slayer's own pretty little son. And, just like that, Mol'ech gets himself a one-way human ticket out of Carthage city."
It took her a second or two to realize that he was done. His hands laid flat on the table on either side of the book, Andrew seemed to be awaiting their reaction again, but, for the moment, Buffy couldn't think of anything to say. On the couch beside her, Spike shifted irritably. He'd been silent throughout most of Andrew's speech, his face a mask of boredom, but now he moved forward, reaching for the portrait of the demon. Turning it first one way then the next, he dropped it back on the table.
"So forgive me for asking the question I know everyone else is dying to, but how do we kill him?"
There was a pause before Dawn's soft voice interjected. Glancing sideways at the book, she swallowed nervously.
"Um…do we even have to? Fight him I mean?" Looking around at the other three, she raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Without Buffy's heart, he's dying anyway, right? Isn't that what this has all been about?"
Her sister's expression was touchingly hopeful and, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze, Buffy saw Spike reach for her other hand and do the same.
"Can't see The Immortal going out with a whimper somehow, Platelet." The vampire gave a grim smile, "But don't worry. Your sis'll be fine with me to watch her back. We'll take him out, and then the two of you can go back to living the dolce vita."
Although she knew he meant well, his words echoed dully in Buffy's ears, reminding her yet again that his presence in her life again was impermanent. Once this fight was over, Spike would be gone and her life would continue without him. It was a sobering thought and, trying to keep her voice light, she turned back to face Andrew.
"So we kill him. That's pretty much always been the plan right? Is there any special method? Have to say, I'm leaning towards good old fashioned decapitation myself, but I'm open to suggestions."
The expression on his face was less than encouraging. Putting his glasses back on, he started to smile and then seemed to think better of it
"Uh, well…now, that's the bad news I'm afraid."
Rolling her eyes, Buffy sighed softly. "There was some good news? Did I miss something?"
"Uh...well…you see demon-possession isn't usually a long-term thing, except for the traditionally…" he flicked an apologetic look at Spike, "Uh - parasitic species that is. Pure demons use up waaaay more energy than the average human body has to offer. As a result, the flesh becomes weakened pretty quickly and the host is either abandoned for a new one or dies."
"But he found a way to stay alive. The hearts of Slayers. We know all this."
Shaking his head, Andrew leant forward in his seat, sliding out the photograph of Carlo at the nightclub.
"He found a way to keep his body alive, his vessel. In The Immortal's body, Mol'ech has everything he's ever wanted. He's handsome, he's popular, he's rich, he's revered. People look up to him, women freaking love him. He's spent almost two thousand years living the high-life and now you're telling him his time is up? If Carlo's body dies, Mol'ech in his true form is released"
Pushing the image of the towering demon back under their noses, Andrew gave her weak grin. "And Buffy. He is going to be majorly pissed at you."
ooooooooooooooooooo
"I'm the one who has to end this."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew what Spike's answer would be. Standing in the doorway of the Institute's armory, the vampire's brows were drawn together in an angry frown, the expression on his face hauntingly familiar to her. Taking a step into the room, he reached to lift a mace from the wall display.
"Not alone. Not this time. We've been through this."
His voice was calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it. Selecting a heavily decorated broad-sword from the row at the back of the room, Buffy weighed it carefully in one hand before rejecting it.
"That was before I knew what we were up against. Before I knew what he was. We're talking about a pure demon Spike and we don't know that you're strong enough yet. I won't risk you. Not again."
She wasn't sure what it was she saw in his eyes, but the blue in them intensified. Moving to stand beside her, he let the mace drop to his side.
"Bollocks, "he said softly, "You're just worried I'll show you up is all."
For a moment, he seemed to be waiting for some kind of a retort from her and, when he didn't get one, he shook his head.
"Look Buffy, I didn't spend the last year with a bunch of girl-scouts, you know? Angel might be a cock, but he knows good back-up when he sees it. "
It was the first time he'd mentioned his grand-sire's name since the hospital and, suddenly realising the fact, Spike hesitated, as if he knew that some kind of explanation was finally in order.
"He had me all figured out you know."
His voice was light, but she could sense the weight of emotion behind it. His eyes darted sideways, daring her to say something but, when she didn't, he dropped his gaze to the floor.
"I know it always seemed like we hated each other, but deep down, there was always something going on there. Maybe we're more alike then we like to admit. Otherwise how do you explain it? Us both falling for the same woman, I mean?" He glanced at her again, eyes narrowed. "Oh, I know he liked to pretend I was just doing it to get back at him, copy-catting, but deep down? He knew better. Knew you and me better than we knew ourselves, I reckon."
Resting a hand on the rack of swords in front of her, Buffy felt her chest tighten almost imperceptibly.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because he knew damn well that if we made it out of L.A. alive, this was the last place on earth I'd ever want to go...and the only place I'd want to be."
Part of a question she'd never got around to asking had just been answered, but, strangely, now it seemed kind of unimportant. Angel's reasons for mailing a badly-wounded Spike to her had been solely his own, just as all his important decisions always had been. It stood to reason that he would no more have consulted Spike about where he was sending him, any more than he would her. That he had effectively pushed them both back together, whether selflessly or ironically, was so typically Angel it was almost poetic.
"The Personal Effects of Miss B. Summers. " Saying it softly to herself, she almost laughed. "God, he really does have a pretty sick sense of humour, doesn't he?"
"Kind of comes with the whole territory, I guess. That and the need to make himself miserable." Spike's lips quirked into a sudden, wry grin. "Although if he'd really wanted that torment, the old bugger should have taken me with him."
Looking at him curiously now, Buffy wondered at the change that had come over him. What had happened in the last twelve months to alter Spike's feelings towards Angel so drastically? They had worked together, she knew that much, fought together and maybe even learned to look out for one another, but none of that explained why Spike was able to talk about him now with this strange, almost fond detachment. She studied his expression for a moment before she finally realised something.
"You love him, don't you?"
The vampire's face didn't alter, but his eyes flicked to her. "Don't you?"
His expression was unreadable and there was no tension in his body, but still she sensed that he expected an answer from her. Breathing out slowly, she nodded.
"I think part of me always will."
"Thought so."
His eyes were clear and deep midnight-blue, looking straight back into her own and she could swear she saw something familiar in their depths. A tiny flare. Frowning, Spike took a small step back from her and let the mace slip to the ground.
"He always liked to remind me how he suffered, you know? How much the soul pained him, because of what he'd done. Pained him so much worse than mine But you know what? He didn't have to. There was never any need. I always knew who the better man was."
Pushing a hand deep into his pocket, he drew a foot along the carpet. Cocked his head to one side.
"We made a good team, you and I, though, didn't we?"
The hint of a question in his voice almost broke her heart.
"We still do, Spike." She hesitated for a moment and then reached for him. "There's still no one else I'd rather have beside me in a fight…or anywhere. You know that right?"
He was looking at their hands now, a slight frown on his face. Raising them, he spread his fingers wide, before threading them through her own. Buffy's memory of the last time they'd stood this way flashed before her. Sunlight illuminating them, golden flames licking at their wrists and his eyes - ashes and stormy, blue skies - staring back into her own.
"You meant it, didn't you? In the Hellmouth, I mean. You meant what you said, when you said it? About...caring for me."
His voice was soft and steady, but he wouldn't look at her.
"You didn't believe me though. Why?"
A small shake of his head and he almost laughed, disbelief and surprise at even being asked,
"Why? Because...why would you love me!"
"Why would you love me?" she replied calmly.
He was struggling now; she could see that. Trying to find something that didn't exist for him anymore. The chasm that she had felt open between them in the hospital was yawning at his feet now, and, for the first time, he was looking down. Trying hard to visualise what it was that had been taken from him. Shaking his head again, his grip on her hand tightened, a deep frown creasing his brow.
"This is so fucking hard."
"It is." She gave a small nod, wary of what she was about to say. "But maybe…it's something we can use."
Looking at her sharply, the vampire raised his eyebrows, "Use how?"
"Carlo thinks he's taken you out of the equation. He thinks I'm alone. He doesn't understand that it isn't just love that holds two people together."
Spike's expression softened and she knew that he understood. He remembered that much. The thing that had brought him to her that first night outside her house in Revello Drive, the thing that had stopped them from killing each other all those years. Before they'd been lovers or friends, they'd been far more than enemies.
"Powerful sexual chemistry?"
There was a sparkle in his eye that hadn't been there before and, letting his hand drop, Buffy fixed him with a narrowed gaze.
"I meant resp..."
Spike cut her off with a low chuckle, "I know what you meant."
And it was good feeling. That they still got each other. It was a small thing, but it gave her hope and, right now, that was all she needed. Turning back to the rack of weapons, Buffy's hand closed over the cool hilt of the same Japanese sword she'd taken from the Immortal's home that day. Drawing it out, the mirror-like blade made a perfect sound, a high silver note that vibrated in the air around them.
"Nice sword."
Sheathing the kitana with a sharp snap, she turned to face Spike again. The muscles in his pale forearm flexed as he lifted his own weapon in a clumsy salute.
"Nice mace."
"Thanks."
He lifted his chin and regarded her steadily for a moment, the clear blue of his eyes shining, dark and dangerous, in the pale heart of his face.
"Here's to battling ancient immortal evil." A small razor-sharp grin, "Present company excepted of course."