Squaring A Circle

At night, California disappeared into a world of shadows inhabited by creatures who could see in the dark and move with inhuman silence. The noise of man hushed, falling to a low roar in the night. One bungalow style home still blinked into the darkness, windows glowing brightly from within. Willow was staring intently at the screen of the laptop, scribbling incantations and lists of ingredients. Finally she leaned back with a sigh, rubbing her tired eyes. "I think I have it. I'll have to pick up some supplies tomorrow morning but it should be able to tell us if Spike has a soul."

"Why are we even bothering with this? He's lying." Buffy didn't bother to look up from the book she was reading. "And all we know if he is telling the truth is that something that looks like a woman took the chip out of his head in exchange for Faith's life. Not helpful."

"Buffy's right." Dawn pulled her hair back into a ponytail so it would stop getting caught in the worn pages of the ancient codex she was attempting to decipher. "It could be a witch. Or someone with a glamour spell. It could be like the Hansel and Gretel demon. Spike didn't give Faith enough information."

Faith was trying not to fidget too much. She hated research but there wasn't really another option. At least she'd gotten all the mud out of her hair and Dawn had lent her some cotton pajamas to lounge around in. Not her usual style of clothing but they were comfortable and, right now, Faith was all about comfort. "He didn't necessarily say that it looked like a woman."

"He referred to it as she and her. What else would he be talking about?" Buffy's voice was flat, still resonating with her anger and frustration.

"He said it liked to play dress up. Exact words."

"Again. Not exactly helpful."

"Wait." Willow glanced at Faith. "I think I see where you're going. There might be a difference to Spike. It's like Buffy speak. Only Spike speak."

Buffy narrowed her eyes at Willow. "Buffy speak?"

"You know, you sound like Buffy. The way you talk, twist words around. We all do it. Distinct speech patterns." She searched her mind for an example. "Remember how Giles and Wesley never really knew what you were saying? Words like wiggins and hootenanny."

"Hootenanny?"

"Well, that might have been Oz. But you know what I'm saying?"

"Will's right." Xander brushed bits of donut glaze off of his lap. "Like five by five. That's Faith's signature. Remember when she used to say that all the time and we could never figure out what it meant? I mean, was it some sort of subtle way of advertising her measurements? Or just a thing with fives?"

"And you're entirely lacking the conversational eccentricities?" Faith tossed a pencil at him playfully.

"Big words, Slayer. I think there were a couple with three syllables in there."

"And Xander used to call Angel dead boy. Spike calls him the Magnificent Poof. Or nancy-boy," Dawn added excitedly. "And there's salty goodness and sugary goodness."

"Gameface. It's not a word."

"Ubersuck."

"Big Bad."

"How about slayage? Or oogy? Not real words either."

"And butt-monkey. Don't forget that one."

"Okay. Okay." Buffy held up her hands. "We've established a sub-dialect thingy or whatever. How does this help us?"

"We just need to think like Spike. Maybe we're missing a clue."

"We're grabbing at straws, aren't we? Why didn't anyone tell me it was hopeless? Oh wait. I think I mentioned that two hours ago." Buffy slammed her book down on the table. "Maybe we just need to face the fact that Spike's a vampire. An evil vampire who apparently has David Copperfielded all of you."

"There's another one." Xander picked up a book, glancing at the cover. "Demons of the Far East. How far east are we talking? Just humor us, Buffster. We're brainstorming. Without the lightning strikes of inspiration of course."

"Fine." Buffy sat back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Let's all try to think like a crazy vampire. Not exactly a mind I want to get into. I saw that movie. In that way lies only badness."

"Think Spike." Willow tapped her pencil on the table.

"Happy meals with legs," Buffy blurted out. "People are Happy Meals with Legs. He said that."

"Ok. That's good. It's a start."

"Love's bitch," Buffy added. "When he was whining about Dru. And when he was hungry, he said he was peckish."

"I think that's a British thing. Like bloody hell and wanker," Dawn commented.

"And I so did not just hear those words coming out of your mouth Dawn." Buffy scowled at her disapprovingly. "All we have is a list of British insults. This is getting us nowhere."

"Amazing." Faith shook her head and laughed. "You boinked the guy for months and you don't even know him."

"It was a long time ago. How many guys even knew your name?"

"Touche."

"Damn straight."

Faith shrugged it off. "Whatever, B. You guys are thinking way too much anyway. It's simple. Big evil likes to play dress up. Who plays dress up?"

"You've been pretending to be a Slayer for years," Buffy snarked.

Faith ignored the jibe. "Little girls play dress up. And he called her little. Evil little chit."

Willow turned back to the laptop, keys tapping under her fingers. "I think you're right. Chit can refer to a young woman. Or a scrap of paper. According to this website anyway."

"So we've got a big bad who looks like a little girl. Or a piece of paper. Assuming that pieces of paper can't order vampires to kill people, that's gotta narrow it down to at least a couple hundred volumes."

"I only know of one. And it can't be her." Willow frowned. "Remember the Beast? Blocked out the sun in L.A."

Faith nodded. "Been there."

"He killed five totems, the Ra-tet. One of them was Mesektet, a very old, very evil entity. She looked like a little girl. It's in Rhinehardt's Compendium. Wesley sent me a copy for Hanukkah last year." Willow blushed and bowed her head toward the computer screen.

"Are we sure she's dead?"

"Pretty sure. I can't remember any other evil little girls. But if it's a glamour, it could look like anything. There aren't a lot of demons who can cast glamours. It's more of a natural defense for them. Like chameleons."

Buffy thought that over, chewing on the barrel of her pencil until she'd worn grooves in the shape of teeth marks. "Then it's probably magic. How hard would it be to take out the chip?"

"Without damaging Spike's brain? I don't know."

"We don't know he's not damaged. He sounds like a thundering looney to me," Xander said. "Maybe that's why he's been all weird. Chipectomy gone wrong."

"Buffy," Willow hesitated, her cheeks turning an even darker red. "I could have done it. I could have taken it out years ago."

"How many years? Before or after you went black eyed and veiny?"

"Before. I could have done it before you died even. The second time at least. But that's still more power than your average witch."

"And we're back to square one. Except that this thing has a fetish for little girls," Buffy paused a beat, reconsidering her words. "That sounded really bad."

Willow paled, her hands pausing over the keyboard. "And it's going to get worse."

"What are you talking about?"

"I got an email from Giles."

"Color me impressed, when did he join the internet generation?" Xander quipped.

"He says he can't call. His phones have been tapped and someone tried to kill him."

"What?"

"That's not the worst part, Buffy." Willow looked up with a worried expression on her face. "He says that the Council knew about Spike's chip. It happened three years ago. They've known the whole time that he didn't have a chip anymore. Spike's been in New Orleans for the last four years." Stunned silence filled the living room. "Giles is on his way to Sunnydale. The new Slayer should be here by Friday."

"I guess the new and improved Council isn't so improved." Dawn closed her book and leaned back from the table.

"Three Slayers. Gonna get crowded," Faith mused.

"You'll have to show her around, Faith."

"Why me? You're the head honcho around here, B. This is your town."

"I'm taking a vacation." Buffy smiled coldly. "It's a little late for Mardi Gras but I'll manage."

her fists tightly, Faith matched Buffy's glare. "You are not going after him. It's none of your business."

"I'm the Slayer. It's entirely my business. And since we obviously can't trust you to get the job done..." she trailed off deliberately, daring anyone to object.

"I won't let you."

"Try to stop me, Faith."

Faith stood up slowly. "If I have to break your fucking neck to do it. Stay out of this."

"You know you can't take me." They stood toe to toe, nose to nose, glaring at each other across the coffee table.

"Ladies." Xander tried to intervene. "I don't think there's any reason to go to blows over this. It's simple. Buffy stays. Faith goes. No worries."

"How does that solve the problem? She let him get away Xander!"

"And you're needed here, Buffy." Xander smiled apologetically at Faith. "She's not. Everyone thinks she's dead. They don't expect her to be here."

"She's not dead. What's wrong with telling them?"

"Other than the fact that we hate the Council and can't trust them. They knew about Spike and didn't tell us. Not a big warm fuzzy here." Xander touched Buffy's arm gently. "Besides, this way Faith has a clean break."

"What are you talking about?"

"A new life, B. One where people aren't still waiting to stab me in the back the second I turn around." Faith returned to her seat. "I'll go after him. If he tries to come back, I'll stop him. It's that simple."

"You've all lost your minds." Buffy shook her head with disgust. "Fine. Go after him. I don't care. But if I see either of you in this town again, it's over. Are we clear?" She glared down at Faith, seething with frustration.

"Crystal."

Buffy turned sharply and headed into the kitchen, slamming the teapot onto the stove and wrenching the dial to high. She didn't think the tea would help her relax, but it would at least get her out of the living room and away from Faith. Away from everyone who knew about all of her total failures. Sinking onto one of the stools, she put her head down on her hands and tried to take deep breaths.

"Pretty intense, huh?" Willow's voice was a comforting blend of false cheerfulness and concern. "We haven't had a Big Bad in a few years. Nice change."

Buffy looked up, resting her chin on her hands. "Here for the best friend pep talk?"

"That's kind of the point in being a best friend. It has its perks. Ice cream privileges, juicy gossip sessions. And lots of understanding." Willow smiled kindly as she took a seat at the island.

"This whole thing just has me on edge, Will. It's still so weird. And it's happened so fast. One minute he's trying to kill me, then he's run off again and Faith's gone all Angel on us."

"You noticed that too?"

"It reminds me of when I went to L.A. after Faith and had that huge blow-out with him. I couldn't believe he was protecting her. I didn't think she deserved it."

"And you don't think Spike deserves it?"

"Harder to answer. If he has a soul, however that happened, then maybe." Buffy sighed wearily. "It's just weird."

"Yeah." Willow leaned forward on her elbows, watching sympathetically. "You know that if you need someone to talk to. I'm here."

"I know. Thanks."

"Question?"

"Fire away."

"What makes you so angry about this whole Spike drama? More so than usual. I haven't seen you this upset in a long time."

Buffy was silent for a moment, thinking. The teapot began to whistle and she moved to turn off the burner, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard and the box of herbal tea. Steam curled up around the column of water as she filled the two cups. She watched Willow dump two teabags into the water and sat back down. "I think I'm angry because I don't dare hope."

"Hope? For what?"

"At first, that it wasn't true. That he wasn't really going to kill us. Or that it wasn't him. It couldn't be him." She stared down at the mup in her hands, swirling the tea bag slowly. "Then I wanted to hope that he was telling the truth, that he had a soul. That there had to be a good reason he was doing this. It wasn't his fault or he wasn't in control. I don't know. Maybe he was brainwashed or something."

"Or crazy?"

"Even crazy. Seeing him again. It hurt." Buffy shook her head sadly. "And he killed Faith. He killed her."

"But he brought her back."

"Also disturbing. But the worst part is that I think she's forgiven him." Buffy bit her lip, watching Willow's face carefully. "You have to be really strong to forgive something like that."

"Have you forgiven him? For the whole bathroom thing?"

Buffy nodded slowly. "It took a while but I think I have. That entire year was so ugly and painful. For everyone. It's hard to hold a grudge when everyone kinda fell apart and hurt everyone else."

"Do you think she shouldn't forgive him?" Willow sipped her tea, keeping her eyes on Buffy.

"No. That's up to her. It's just that," she stopped and took a deep breath. "If I can forgive Spike for what he did. For what he's done. Hurting me, coming here to kill me. Maybe kill all of us. Forgiving him is the easy part." She could see the surprise on her friend's face. "I think that's why I'm so angry. I shouldn't forgive him. I shouldn't ever forgive him."

"Why not?"

"What kind of person am I, Willow? I can forgive Spike...an evil, possibly soulless vampire, almost anything. Why can't I forgive Faith?"

"So this is the mad at yourself because you feel guilty type of anger."

"It's my fault she died. I sent her that direction. I suggested we split up. If it wasn't for me, she wouldn't have died." Buffy bit her lip dejectedly. "When Giles called, all I could think was that she died before I could tell her that I've forgiven her. That I wanted things to be different between us. Better."

"And not wanting her to go after Spike?"

"What if he tries to kill her again? What if he does? I can't let her die, Willow." Buffy finally took a sip of her tea, feeling the hot liquid burn down her throat. "I'm tired of losing my friends. I'm tired of my lovers trying to kill me. I'm tired of not knowing what to do with my life."

"What do you mean?"

"I work. I slay. But why? Why do I do any of it? I feel so lost. Why do I get up every morning? What is it that makes this whole thing worthwhile?"

"You mean like a higher purpose?"

She shrugged, not knowing the answer and not even knowing where to begin. "Angel has his redemption. Faith has a new life to look forward to. A clean slate. What am I doing?"

"You almost have your degree. A few more classes and you'll be done," Willow offered.

"Yeah. But I think I'm missing something. I'm not part of anything. I'm not connected."

"You have us."

Buffy smiled, reaching out to take Willow's hand. "And you're the best friends anyone could ask for. Really. I love you guys to death. I think I'm just hitting a mid-twenties life crisis. Maybe it's the biological clock thingy. Making my hormones all wonky."

"I think you just need a good night's sleep." Willow grinned and squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Don't worry, Buffy. We'll figure this out. And Giles is coming back. Although that's usually a bad thing."

"He always brings an apocalypse. What kind of a guest does that?"

"Not a very nice one. Who do you think tried to kill him? Do you think it has to do with Spike?"

"I think I'll hedge my bets on this one and say it's all connected. That seems to be the case more often than not." She straightened her shoulders, feeling some of the tension slip away. Whether or not it was due to the tea, she'd probably never know. "Thanks, Will. I needed to get that off of my chest."

"That's what I'm here for. And for eating ice cream and cookies, of course. And research. I'm research girl. Or woman, as is more accurate."

"It's all gonna be okay." Buffy raised her mug to take another sip of tea. "Spike will have a soul and come back non-homicidal. Faith will find a nice young man and settle down to raise a family. You'll find a sweet and adorable witch to cuddle and make with the smoochies. Xander will finally make it down the aisle with a woman who isn't a demon and Dawn will grow up, have a brilliant career, and move far away from Sunnydale."

"And you?"

"I'll retire to a nice cottage by the ocean and never have to slay another vampire."

"Sounds nice."

"Doesn't it?"

"I'll be damned. Is that a smile?" Charlie tossed a bottle of vodka across the bar, confident that I would be able to catch it. "Someone either got lucky or finally stopped carrying a torch."

"Just glad to be back." I toss my towel over my shoulder and go back to my pile of glasses.

"And what brings you back to the City of the Dead? Shouldn't this be some sort of vampire mecca or something. City of the Dead and all."

"No Hellmouth."

"What's a Hellmouth?"

"Door to hell. Attracts demons, evil, all sorts of nasties. Flypaper for bad guys." The club is comfortably noisy with a good size crowd for a weeknight. Music pounds like hoof beats in the background, the steady pace keeping people energized and focused. Part of me is arrogantly pleased that Charlie hadn't been able to replace me in the month that I was out of town. I can't believe I was gone that long. For a change, the smoky club on Bourbon feels more like home than anywhere else in my one hundred and thirty plus years.

"I'll take it your trip was good then."

"Parts of it." I don't think I'll mention being a raving lunatic, eating rabbits, and listening to the trees. Probably a good idea to leave out killing Faith as well. Humans really don't have much of a sense of humor when it comes to murder and mayhem. I haven't told him that I won't be here long, still waiting for the last call to the dimension of pain and torment. It's liberating in a very twisted, masochistic way. I'm not worried about what I deserve anymore. It'll be served up in spades compliments of the Cheshire Bitch. Until then, I'm just a guy mixing drinks in a club.

"Glad to have you back. I was getting tired of explaining to all the women you left behind where you were. I think half of them considered high-tailing after you." He winks at me as he settles onto a stool behind the bar.

"Should've gotten their numbers."

"Now I know it went well. What happened to I-can't-because-some-girl-stomped-on-my-heart routine?"

"Put out the torch."

"Did you see her?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

And I kicked her ass. Can't say that either although there is a certain sense of pride at having finally beaten the Slayer, considering the truly spectacular ass kickings I'd gotten in Sunnydale over the years. It felt good to get a little of my own back, even if it was immediately followed by guilt and remorse over hurting her. When I notice that Charlie is still waiting for an answer I shrug. "Waited for the old feelings to come back. Nothing. Just nothing."

"Best way to go. You're a free man now?"

"Of sorts." I flash him a lopsided grin, nodding to the empty mirror behind me.

"The ladies love it. Creature of the night. Dark, mysterious. It's a turn on."

"Bloody idiots." I try on a friendly smile as a woman approaches the bar asking for a Cajun Bloody Mary and exchange a bit of small talk about the weather and the club as I mix her drink. A few of the customers ask me where I've been. Most of them get completely different stories. I was visiting a sick aunt. I was finalizing my divorce. I was on vacation. Whatever comes to mind and slips off of my tongue. It feels good to know that people noticed my absence. That I was missed, if only a little bit. At least there will be a few people who wonder what happen to the bartender with no reflection after I'm gone.

The night flies by in a blur of alcohol and laughter. New Orleans is in a jovial mood, fresh off of a full week with blue skies and a warm wind from the south pushing away the usual rain clouds and oppressive humidity. My spirits remain high well past the end of my shift and I'm whistling lightly as I turn the task of closing over to a new guy.

Heading out into the night, hands loose at my side, I'm surprised at how comfortable I feel in the black leather pants and white silk shirt. I've decided that I like the color white even if it does almost match my skin. Wistfully, I wonder what I would look like with a tan. My jacket is a lightweight synthetic in deep royal blue. I don't care as long as it's not black leather. Turning toward the cemetery where I first saw the girl in her red galoshes and blue overcoat, I keep my eyes open for trouble. I go there every night. Waiting for her to come and lead me merrily away to face my punishment. A stake sits patiently in my jacket pocket for the occasional vamp. Figure I might as well kill anything evil that crosses my path. Doing my bit for king and country, although technically America doesn't have a king. Some days I wonder.

The gates are locked tight to keep out bored teenagers with no imagination and too much spray paint. One good jump and I'm pulling myself up onto the top of the concrete wall and swinging my legs over. Boots hit the soft earth with a noise that's closer to a squish than a thud and my nose wrinkles as I glance down at the damp ground, hoping I didn't land in something disgusting.

With a sigh, I peer into the dark heart of the cemetery and start my aimless wandering. Off to meet my Maker or other such nonsense. Not that I mind a few more days of existence but I'm getting a little impatient to begin my sentence. Damn shame if my newfound enlightenment goes to waste. There's peace in justice and solace in penance. I'm a step closer to understanding the humans around me with all their self-sacrifice and martyrdom. Never thought I'd be one to willingly die for a cause when all I'd lived for was the rush and power of blood. Death, glory, sod all else, right? Such is youth.

I sigh and scuff the sole of my boot on the boundary of a grave. Evil never understood that people had schedules; places to be, things to do. I didn't actually have anywhere to go but it felt good to bitch about it. Silently, of course. Didn't want her to actually hear me complaining about her lack of punctuality. Punctuality was a virtue. Since when did evil entities give a damn about virtues?

"Spike." Moments after I hear her voice, she materializes a few feet away from me.

Startled by her sudden appearance and the more disturbing fact that she had called me by name, I take a step back before I remember that I'm a vampire. A demon. And I was definitely not afraid of little girls in red galoshes with soulless eyes. "'Bout time you showed up."

"The rogue Slayer is dead. We are pleased. You will not suffer eternal torment."

I stared. Maybe stare isn't a strong enough word. I gaped. My jaw would have fallen open if I hadn't been too busy grinding my teeth together. The creature didn't know that Faith was alive. Didn't know. That blew my omniscient-evil-being theory out of the water. Clearing my throat, I stick my hands in my pockets. "Well, good then. We're both happy."

"Yes." She was just watching me. It felt as though she was trying to see into my soul.

"Don't suppose you do souls?" I ask amicably.

"Why would you want a soul?" She responds without a change in her expressionless face.

I blink once and then smile, recovering from my surprise. "I don't. Bloody terrible things, souls. Wondering if you could get rid of one. For a friend of mine. Goes by the name of Angel."

"The vampire with a soul. You desire removal of his soul?"

"Miss the old man. We did some damage in our day. Heard Darla got dusted a few years back but I could round up Dru. Have a soddin' reunion or something." I was making it up as I went along. "Course you'd probably make me do some other errand for it. Not that I'm complaining. Had a right good time in Sunnydale."

"An agreement could be reached."

"Forget it. He's not worth it. We never really got along anyway. 'Sides, all he really needs is a good shag. Less work on my part." I plaster a cocky smirk on my face. "We're done then, right? You're not going to be showin' up, askin' for favors and the like?"

"We have no further business with you." Black eyes bored into my skull.

"Good. Everything's right as rain. I'll just toddle on home." I take a step backwards, waiting until she vanishes into the darkness before heading out of the cemetery.

The wind had turned cold. I watch people pull their jackets tightly around them as I make my way home. My head is still reeling. What the hell was going on? With every step I take, I am more and more convinced that I've been played like a ruddy violin. Little things begin to stand out in my mind, forming a pattern that is inconsistent with everything I knew about evil. Evil masterminds usually know all of the details or none of them. The Cheshire bitch knew about the chip but not the soul. She knew my name. She knew Buffy and Faith's names. What kind of demon bothered to remember names? She knew Faith had gone rogue but not that the Slayer was still alive.

Boots thump softly against the stairs as I make my way to the fifth floor and the loft I found after returning to New Orleans. Lost in thought, I let myself in and make my way through the darkness to the kitchen. The lights of the city shine through the windows, illuminating the last remaining hours of the night.

In preparation for dawn, I draw the shades, securing the pull strings tightly to prevent them from unexpectedly retracting and setting me on fire. Flipping on the overhead lights, I glance around at the sparse furnishings. I wanted to pick out a few more pieces of furniture. A comfortable chair. Maybe a television. Sinking down onto the sofa that had been left by the previous tenant, I stare at the blank walls and try to picture them covered with posters and paintings. Maybe a tapestry. I could make the space my own. A home.

I'm not going to die. I'm not going to be dragged into eternal torment. Unable to help myself, I begin to laugh. My voice echoes off the walls and I can't stop even though tears are streaming down my cheeks. I've been played, tricked, hoodwinked, Keyser Sozed. It's embarrassing. It's completely mortifying and incredibly hilarious.

The laughter finally subsides and I lean my head back, following the patterns in the plaster ceiling. There is nothing stretching out ahead of me but the life I choose to make for myself. I can do what I want, be what I want. I'm free. I'm finally free.

Smiling, I shrug off my jacket and head to bed. Tomorrow can wait. I need sleep. Long, luxurious hours of uninterrupted sleep. And when I get up, the first thing I'm going to do is track down that two-faced, red galoshes wearing, black holes for eyes, rotten little bitch and rip that mask off of her innocent looking face. Whoever was pulling the strings had just taken advantage of the wrong vampire.

"Here goes nothing. Or something. Is it something?" Willow looked up from her notepad, one hand over the leather duster.

"I think it's nothing. Although that really doesn't make any sense, does it?" Dawn was kneeling next to the coffee table, unwilling to go far from the black coat.

"Okay. If the owner of this jacket has a soul, it should glow blue. If he doesn't have a soul, it should turn red. I think. This hasn't actually been done before."

"Maybe we should test it on something else first," Dawn suggested nervously.

"That's not a bad idea." Xander pulled his long-sleeved corduroy shirt off and handed it over to the witch. "Check my soulness and please don't be red." He glanced around nervously. "You never know."

"Now we just need something that belongs to someone who doesn't have a soul. Anyone have a vamp handy?"

"Nope, but I know where we can get one," Buffy offered. "Although usually vamps just steal everything they have. Would that mess it up?"

"We might need something they were buried in. Just to be safe." Willow double-checked her notepad before nodding.

"Saddle up then. I'm going to need help for that."

"This is cool. It's like a scavenger hunt. For undead clothing items." Dawn grinned. "Can I wear the duster? I would look totally cool...like a superhero or something."

"No," Buffy answered quickly, but her voice was missing its edge and her smile softened the refusal. "You might confuse it. It might think you're its owner and then we'll have to start over."

"Right. Okay. Afterwards then."

"Fine. Let's go."

The gang headed out the front door and down the sidewalk, joking good naturedly as they made their way to Sunnydale's newest and busiest cemetery. Buffy and Faith walked side by side with a sort of relaxed tension, not quite talking to each other but not ignoring each other either. Dawn and Xander fell into their habitual friendly banter with Willow as their almost objective moderator.

"Fresh grave, two o'clock," Faith noted, keeping her eyes on the shadows.

"One vampire clothing caper coming up," Xander said quietly. "Did you catch that? Alliteration. Clothing caper."

Buffy rolled her eyes as she fished her stake out of her jacket pocket. "Clearly clever, Xan."

"That's the spirit."

"Here it comes." Faith motioned to the hand digging up through the loose dirt, feeling around on the top of the grave. "What's the plan?"

"You and I will hold him long enough for them to get something off of him. Then he's dust."

"How do you know it's a he? I mean, it could be a female vamp. Are they really called vampiresses or whatever. Or just vampires?" Dawn looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Dawn." Buffy pointed to the headstone. Jonathon Meers.

"Oh."

"Get ready, B." Faith reached down, grabbed the hand and pulled the vamp from the ground. She gripped his right arm tightly as Buffy took the other arm.

"You're all going to die," the vampire said ominously.

"Shut up." Faith kneed him once in the stomach, hard. "I'm Faith. That's Buffy. We're the Vampire Slayers. Now keep your mouth shut while we take your clothes."

"My clothes?" he gasped, looking more confused than in pain.

"His jacket maybe?" Willow hesitated.

"Pants?"

"Let's not go there, Dawn." Xander shuddered. "I'm voting for the shoes. They're easy. I'll take one leg."

"I'll take the other." Willow nodded. "Dawn?"

"Shoe bound. I hope his feet don't smell."

It turned out that the vampire was very attached to his shoes. They had been a gift from his aunt or something. Dawn had three unsuccessful attempts before she managed to grab hold of one shoe and pull it off of his foot. Xander and Willow, who had been jerked around by the vamp's attempts to shake them from his legs, found themselves inhaling dust as Buffy staked their hapless victim.

"One soul-less shoe. Get it? Soul less?" Dawn held up the shoe proudly, her pun eliciting a collective groan.

"We're test ready." Willow took the shoe and they headed back to the house to finish the spell.

"So what happens if Spike's telling the truth? If he is all soul-having and stuff?" Dawn linked one arm through Buffy's and the other through Faith's.

"Then we have a Big Bad who has it in for Faith," Buffy responded casually.

"But it means we don't hate Spike and want to kill him, right?"

"Don't push your luck," Buffy warned. "But there won't be any hunting down of souled vampires. I didn't hunt Angel down after he went Norman Bates on us. I won't hunt Spike down either. Faith can take care of it. If you want to, that is."

Faith shrugged nonchalantly. "New Orleans is a total party town anyway. I'll fit right in. Have a good time."

"What about settling down? Have you ever thought about college?" Willow asked.

"Don't really have the attention span for the book learning, Will. I'll find something."

"Yeah. You're a survivor." Dawn was almost skipping as they headed up the walk and into the house.

Back in the living room, Willow divided the powder into three portions, sprinkling one handful on each of the three items. Holding her right hand over Xander's shirt, she glanced around the room at the anxious faces. "With rose and nettle, raven's feather and blessed water, Spirits, light the aura of the one to whom this belongs. Show us the heart. Reveal the soul." The rust colored corduroy began to glow softly, casting a pale blue light through the room.

"I have a soul." Xander looked slightly relieved.

"We never doubted you for a second, Xan."

"Next. The shoe." Willow held out her hand and repeated the verse. Black leather began to shine the color of blood. "No soul for the vamp. Check. Seems to work just fine."

Silence fell heavily over the room as Willow moved to Spike's jacket, her hand trembling slightly as she reached out and repeated the verse one last time. Light flickered and began to seep over the coat, spreading down the sleeves and length.

"Blue," Dawn whispered. "Spike has a soul."