Warflower
A small part of me still expects to see something in the mirror even after all of these years. Without the soul, I had reveled in not seeing it, in what I was and the fact that it made me superior to mankind. They were cattle, sheep, Happy Meals with legs. I was a step up on the food chain. After the soul, it taunted me. I hadn't felt superior any longer. It was replaced by shame and disgust; I was a parasite, a demon, a monster. Now? Now there's just an empty mirror.
The mirror responsible for my trip into the land of self-reflection, no pun intended, was splintered and hanging on the wall of a dirty bathroom the size of a shoebox. As motel rooms went, it probably didn't even make the cut of barely habitable, but it was only a few blocks from the highway and tucked away in a stand of trees. The two-door bucket of rust I had borrowed' in Seattle was several miles away and waiting to be reclaimed. I'd have to pick up another when we left. William had been a little squeamish about lifting the first one from the used car lot in Sunnydale but need overwhelmed conscience. We had to get out of Sunnydale. Now we had to get out of Seattle. Not for me this time. For Faith.
I'm not sure what happened. Staring into the blank mirror, counting the tiles behind my head, I'm trying to retrace our steps for the past three days and put my finger on the exact moment she changed. Figure out what happened. The nightlife was getting crazy, sure; there were demons and vamps by the hundreds, like the whole world had lost its mind. The whispering I heard in Sunnydale was getting louder. Bloody annoying. If I didn't vamp, I couldn't hear it but it was deafening when I did. Buffy said the world was falling apart and after what I'd seen the past few days, I believe her. Is it really my fault? That's the part where I get confused. And then Faith decided to destroy every vampire and demon she could find. Dusk till dawn, she'd thrown herself into a holy crusade to rid the world of evil. I hadn't been able to convince her to leave the city behind. Until a Polgara demon left her bloody and unconscious in a pile of garbage. The memory brings me back to reality.
The blood soaked towel feels like lead in my hands as I wash it out, transfixed by the sight of red swirling down the drain. Faith's blood. Something I never wanted to see again. What had she been thinking? I'm too scared to be angry. Too worried. It's dawn and the first glow of sunlight is beginning to appear behind the seventies reject drapes. She's curled into a ball on the sagging mattress. It creaks loudly as I sit down beside her. Strips of another towel are wrapped around the stab wounds in her arm and thigh. The gash on her forehead will have to heal on its own.
"Hey." Her voice is hoarse and she winces as she rolls onto her back to look up at me. "Where are we?"
"Couple hours out of Seattle."
"Spike." She starts to sit up.
I gently push her back onto the bed. "You're not goin' anywhere, luv. I don't want to tie you down."
"Doesn't mean you won't." With a dejected sigh, she tries to find a more comfortable position. "Got me pretty bad, huh?" She touches the bloody strips of cloth gingerly. "What was it?"
"Polgara. Ran you through a couple of times. Goddamn lucky that's all it did." Now that she's awake and I know she's going to recover, I'm beginning to get angry. "Were you trying to get yourself killed?"
"Don't go all Watcher on me. I'm fine."
"Right." I raise one eyebrow speculatively. "I carried your body out of that alley because you're fine."
"Whatever." She rolls away from me, clenching her jaw tightly against the pain.
"Faith." My voice softens. I lay down beside her, carefully wrapping my arms around her and holding her against me. "Luv. What's goin' on in that pretty head of yours? I know there's something you're not telling me. What happened?" No answer. She slips her hand over mine and shakes her head a little. Eyelashes flutter and I notice a tear slip past them. "Faith?"
"The world's going to end, Spike," she whispers. "And I don't care."
"Then why are you tryin' to take on the whole demon population by yourself?"
"I don't know what to do." Desperation strains her voice and she twists in my arms, burying her face against my chest. "It's not fair. I can't."
"Luv, what's not fair?" She refuses to look at me. "I can't help you if you don't talk to me. Faith." Frustrated, I settle for working out some of the knots in the muscles of her back. She really needs to relax. Maybe I'll take her somewhere quiet when this is all over. No demons to fight, nothing but peace and quiet. My own fatigue is beginning to catch up with me and the warmth of her body soothes away the tension, leaving me drowsy. She must be feeling guilty for leaving Sunnydale, for not staying to help Buffy and the Scoobies with the end of days. Slayers. Always kicking themselves if they're not saving the world.
"Spike?" Her voice is barely audible.
"Yeah?" I press a soft kiss against her hair.
"I talked to Giles." She's perfectly still in my arms. "I called to tell Buffy we were fine. He answered the phone."
"He give you the vampire, Slayer lecture?" I can only imagine it was the same one he'd given Buffy half a million times.
"It's Dawn. She's dying." A tremor passes through her shoulders and she wraps her arms around me possessively, as though she's afraid I'll pull away from her. "I didn't tell you. I didn't want to freak you out."
I'm still trying to find my voice. It got lost somewhere between my throat and my lips. Is this part of the whole end of the world that I'm supposedly responsible for? Is it my fault? In my mind, I see Dawn collapsing in the basement; feel myself straining against the chains to catch her. I should have known. Should have known she was in trouble. I should have stayed in Sunnydale. Stayed with Dawn.
"Don't leave me." The fear in her voice stops the endless parade of should haves in my brain. All I know is that the Watchers blame me for what's happening. It wouldn't be the first time they were wrong or lying through their teeth. I can't help Dawn if I'm dust.
"You said Verek knew what was goin' on?"
"He knew about the Hellmouth calling you." She looks up at me, confused but hopeful.
"Maybe he'll know something. To help the Niblet." I brush her hair back and see the raw relief in her eyes as she smiles. "Rest up til nightfall and then we'll head out. Sound good?" With a faint nod, she closes her eyes and turns back into my embrace, still holding onto me.
I curl around her, keeping her injuries in mind and trying not to jostle them. If the Watchers are wrong and it's not my fault, I need to get some answers. If they're right? I'm not sure what happens then. Maybe the world crumbles and goes to hell. Skies open, death pours down and mankind follows the dinosaurs down that path to extinction. Happy trails to them. If some survive, maybe the landscape will change to the gloomy, post-apocalyptic tangle I've seen in the movies. It doesn't feel real. I'm just one vampire. This burden should be on Angel, the Great Crusader for the People and the original vampire with a soul. Why doesn't the fate of humanity rest on his shoulders? He would choose the world. Not for Dawn, not for Buffy. He would do it for all the people he doesn't know, for the ones who would run screaming from his demon face and not think twice before they tried to stake him. For all of them. He's a hero. I'm not.
I'm just a vampire. Wrong place, wrong time. Story of my life. Would the Initiative have captured me if I'd come back a day later or not at all? Would I have ended up in Lurky's cave if Buffy and I had never been forced to work together? What if Soldier Boy hadn't ever shown up looking for the demon eggs? That particular memory does nothing to ease the mood. He'd better pray he never crosses my path again. Then again, if he hadn't come back, Buffy wouldn't have left me, I wouldn't have tried to rape her, and I wouldn't be lying here with Faith in my arms.
Life's a funny thing.
They were dead. The thought kept Cara moving as she staggered out of the abandoned building where she had found the lair. Dust. It was everywhere. In her hair, coating her skin; she would never be free of it. Everywhere she looked there was more dust and more blood. Wincing against the pain, she stepped into the safety of sunlight and eased herself onto the top of a wooden crate. Only then did she let go of the stake in her hand. It clinked against the guns in her knapsack as she delicately removed the straps from her shoulders and lowered it to the ground.
There was blood in her mouth. A loose tooth. It streamed down the side of her face where the skin had been cut by a piece of metal rebar sticking out of the concrete wall in the basement of the building. Her shoulder was slashed and a deep gash in her right calf was throbbing. Ripping away the bloody fabric, she pulled strips of clean cloth and duct tape from her sack. Steadily and efficiently, she wrapped her leg with the rags and again with the tape. Wonderful stuff. Worked better than surgical tape and stuck to almost anything. The real world was about using what you had, what you could find. A shard of broken glass to blind a vampire, stun him enough to get a good angle with your stake. Little things.
If she hadn't been several hundred miles from Detroit, Avery would have fussed over her wounds and insisted on using something other than tape to bind them. Not sanitary, he would say in his rumbling voice. Just a little thing. She should be worried about boys and prom gowns instead of vampires and combat wounds. He'd never explained what a prom gown was and had only shaken his head when she asked. Blotting the cut on her forehead gently, trying not to break the fragile layer of congealed blood, she smiled at the fantasy coddling in her head. Wounds healed.
At least one more death squad was dust. No clues. She was still no closer to discovering who was behind the murders. And now she knew that she couldn't save them. Even the family in Defiance couldn't be saved. Another group of vampires had found them a few weeks later. Cara had the newspaper clipping folded neatly in her jacket pocket. All she could do was track the monsters down one by one and kill them. Five more vampires were dead. There were others out there, killing innocents. She couldn't save all of them. Maybe she couldn't save any of them. Being a Slayer was an exercise in futility; one girl against the armies of hell. She could kill a thousand, a thousand thousand, and there would still be more coming.
She would be fighting until the day she died. What would she have to show for it? A big pile of dust. The same dust that she could still taste no matter how much water she drank. And scars. Looking down at her arms, she knew where each one of them had come from. Which vampire, which demon, had given them to her as a souvenir. Still she fought. There was nothing else for her in this world. Just dust and blood. Would she ever be rid of it? Ever be able to finally get it all out of her hair, off of her skin. Breath without inhaling it. The world wasn't beautiful. It wasn't happy or peaceful. Every day, every night was a battle. She was a warrior. Simple enough.
Limping away, she went in search of a safe place to rest. Somewhere quiet. She needed sleep before night came and she had to go back out into the streets. As battered as she was, she had to stay away from the usual shelters and kitchens that fed the homeless. It was strange. Surrounded by men and women who scrounged for food, clothing, anything. They were like her. They found their belongings in trash heaps, their life scraped from the bottom of the darkest streets. They were the only people she could really help. Bundled in discarded clothing, they crawled into cardboard boxes with their belongings. Their shopping carts piled high with broken treasures. Whatever they could find, whatever they could touch. The purse with the broken strap was as important to the woman watching from her disintegrating hovel as the stake was to Cara. Nothing left to lose but the blood in their veins and breath in their lungs. Easy prey for demons. Even the innocents she saved were left facing death in another form. She saved them from demons so they could wrap their cars around telephone poles or shoot each other over drugs and money. So they could die of heart attacks and cancer. She couldn't save them from death or from themselves.
As she stumbled around the corner, she noticed a gathering of people in front of one of the large stone buildings that meant safety; the smell of food was thick in the air. One of the small local convents was providing a warm meal for the homeless. Closing the knapsack tightly and covering her bloody shoulder with her denim jacket, she stuck her hands in her pockets and hoped her injuries weren't too noticeable. She was hungry but she couldn't afford to draw attention to herself.
The elderly nun smiled as she handed Cara a bowl of soup. "Where is your family, dear?"
"I don't have any." It was the truth. She didn't remember anything before the Slayer Academy. Life before that wasn't important.
"Are you injured? Do you need a doctor?"
Cara looked down at her hand. Bloody knuckles. It wasn't her blood. Nuns wouldn't understand. They were the type who deserved to be saved. Who were kind to her when they didn't have to be. "I'm fine." She took the plastic bowl and retreated quickly. Just another kid on the street. Probably hurt in a fight, probably high, probably selling her body for drug money. She knew where their pity came from, knew what they saw when they looked at her. It didn't matter.
Her stomach growled as she settled onto a relatively clean patch of concrete to eat her soup. Potatoes, carrots. It always tasted better than anything she could remember. Except Dawn and Buffy's brownies. She hadn't known food could taste like that. Rich, warm. They had been shocked when she had asked what the chocolate squares were. It was a good memory, but she wasn't sure why. What made it good? Why was it pleasant to think of it? It was warm in a gallery of images that left her cold and tired. A ray of light in a parade of darkness. Like the stake in her pocket, it reminded her that life wasn't all dirty streets and empty eyes. There was more than just dust. Even if she would never understand, never touch it or have it. Buffy Summers was different. She belonged in the world, she was part of it. Cara knew that with certainty. Just as she knew that she would never be part of it and never have friends or a sister. Sister. What would that be like? How did someone get a sister? Could she pick one out? Like clothing. Or a cat. The monks had given Dawn to Buffy. Could they give Cara a sister?
Plastic clicked against the metal garbage can when she discarded the empty bowl, still hungry. One of the nuns gave her a smile and thanked her for not leaving the bowl on the ground. Saving the environment. From what? Sometimes people didn't make any sense at all. Most times actually. She settled back down on the ground and watched the crowd. The nuns wouldn't leave until the soup was gone. They were easy targets for a lazy vampire. There were even some who seemed determined to lash out at any and every holy icon; anything blessed or good was an irritant. Whores were easier food to get, but there were always a handful who braved the rosaries and holy water to scare a few old ladies. She wasn't sure if it was supposed to be humorous, still iffy on what was supposed to be funny in this world. Killing demons was the only way she had to thank them for giving her food and kindness; she hoped it was enough.
Checking the sun, she noted that she had a few hours of daylight left. Enough to get some sleep. Her knapsack was a terrible pillow but she felt more secure knowing it couldn't be stolen without waking her up. Only a couple pairs of dirty hands had ever tried. The vamp had gotten dusted for his trouble and the terrified human had ended up in the emergency room. It had taken her a moment to realize he wasn't a demon trying to kill her. Adjusting her wounded leg carefully to keep the injury away from the filthy ground, she tucked herself into a ball and closed her eyes against the light of day. What would it be like to sleep forever? In a soft, warm bed of pillows and cotton sheets. It was a luxury she could barely comprehend but it made her smile and lured her into a restless slumber.
"Time to face the firing squad." Iverson took a deep breath and pushed open the doors to the library. The Watchers who had been opposed to his going to Sunnydale would be up in arms over what he was about to tell them. He already had a headache and Weatherby hadn't even opened his mouth.
Roberts smiled and pulled out the chair for him. "Welcome back, sir."
"Thank you, Roberts." Iverson sat down and gazed over the table, seeing that everyone's eyes were on him. Where to begin?
"I trust your trip went well?" Caldwell inquired thoughtfully.
"It was enlightening at least." The Head Watcher took a deep breath. "I believe that we now know how William the Bloody is responsible for the destabilization. He has a soul."
"What?" Weatherby was the only one to speak. The rest were too stunned.
"He wasn't cursed. He regained his soul of his own free will. Something believed impossible for a demon to want, let alone accomplish." Iverson nodded to Roberts. "You are also aware of the assault on the Slayer lines. I'm afraid that I don't have much hope for the remaining families. We cannot possibly find and protect them all. We believe that vampires, hunting in packs of five to seven, are responsible for the killings but we have been unable to ascertain who is behind the attacks."
"Where is the vampire?"
"I don't know. He was in Sunnydale when I arrived."
"What happened?"
"He left. With Faith."
"Faith? The Slayer?"
"One and the same. Apparently her death was not of the permanent kind." Iverson felt the corner of his mouth twitch as he thought about it. It was still unbelievable and he'd had nearly two weeks to digest the information.
"Miss Summers knew of this?"
"Yes."
"And she did nothing to stop the vampire from leaving Sunnydale?"
"He left with her blessing." Iverson kept his voice as calm and casual as possible. "Miss Summers has refused to cooperate with the Watcher's Council and has expressed concern about our current method of training Slayers. Roberts has informed me that Cara has made no attempt to contact us. Perhaps we should re-evaluate our methods."
"Wait just a moment." Weatherby glared across the table. "She let the vampire who is responsible for this whole mess slip through our hands and she questions our methods? I should think that is all the proof that we need to confirm that we are doing the right thing with the Potentials."
"Perhaps. I would like to have them re-evaluated by a trained psychologist, to check for possible emotional side effects of our methods that weren't accounted for in the initial planning. As for Spike, there is reason to believe that the vampire will return to Sunnydale. Or possibly remove himself from the equation." Iverson hoped that Giles was right.
"What is that reason, sir?" Caldwell had paled considerably.
"An attachment to the Key. Mr. Giles is confident that he will not allow anything to happen to Dawn Summers. Since the dimensional collapse is proving to be quite harmful to her and we have made it clear that Spike is responsible, Rupert believes that it is only a matter of time before he will no longer be a concern."
"You mean he'll stake himself? That's bloody ridiculous."
"Deliberately obtaining his soul is also fantastic but nonetheless, it is true." Iverson shifted in his seat. "We have also sent another extraction team and have employed several bounty hunters to track him down in case he does not resurface before the situation reaches the breaking point."
"We can only pray for that."
"I agree."
"There is one more problem." The librarian woman spoke up. Melinda Bacher, that was her name, Iverson remembered with relief. "If William the Bloody has a soul, what happens to the prophecies found in the scroll of Aberjian? We had assumed that they dealt with Angel."
"We're going to maintain our assumption that they deal with Angel. I don't see a long life ahead of Spike, one way or another, and we know that the Powers have been aiding Angel rather than Spike. This is merely a bump in the road, Ms. Bacher."
"If we're wrong? If the prophecy is meant for Spike?"
"I don't believe we're wrong. The scroll doesn't mention more than one vampire with a soul either. My personal belief is that Spike is a fluke. An unforeseeable anomaly. Our main concern is still his capture." His fingers tapped on the table as he considered the situation ahead of them. "It will be more difficult with Faith alive. Apparently she has begun a sexual relationship with him. She might try to protect him."
"Another Slayer?" Weatherby looked angry enough to explode, his face turning a dark red. "How can this be? Is the Hellmouth doing something to them? He's a demon, for God's sake!"
"I won't pretend to have any answers as to the vampire's appeal but I don't feel it is relevant. If we have to, we will take her as well."
"And Sunnydale?"
"They are looking for another way to prevent the end of this world. I felt it best to encourage their research. If there is another way, I have every confidence that they will find it."
"How long do we have?"
"At the current rate of degradation?" Iverson checked the note Roberts handed him. "Perhaps a month before the world can no longer deny the presence of demons. Maybe another before global war begins. How long it will take for the dimensions to merge completely and mankind to be annihilated is anyone's guess."
"What do we do now?"
"First, we contact the world governments and give them a head start." Iverson stood up. "They may not believe immediately but they will listen. If we can convince them to utilize the forces they already have in place, perhaps we can maintain our grip on this earth a little longer. At this point, we know more than they do. I believe we should offer to share our resources."
"The Slayers?"
"Are on their own. It's time to trust them to do what they were born to do and, for once, look the other way. We will destroy William the Bloody if we can. Other than that, all we can do is prepare for war." He paused for a split second. "This is our purpose, the protection of this world. We can have no higher goal than that. We have been librarians and bookworms long enough, we can no longer just sit along the sidelines. There is precious little time left, let us make the most of it."
I smile at Faith as she stirs in the blankets and finally opens her eyes, blinking into the darkness. "Hey."
"Where are we?"
"Just outside New Orleans. Should be there in half an hour." That should get us out of the coming sunrise with an hour to spare.
"Your accent." She's watching me with the amused look of a mother noticing her child's eccentricities. "It changes."
"Noticed that myself." In Sunnydale, it's thicker and stronger. In New Orleans, it softens and I sound more American. I'm not sure if it's the city itself or the memories that come with it. A hundred and thirty years is a long time to keep an accent. I wonder how long it took Angelus to lose his brogue. I think he still had it around the Boxer Rebellion but it's long gone now. Maybe that's what's happening, I'm finally losing my accent. Somehow, I'm not that sorry to hear it go. Part of the past, part of the Spike that doesn't exist any longer. As long as I don't have to give up a few of my favorite words, I don't think it matters.
"Where'd you get the wheels? It's nice." She shifts in the passenger seat and looks around the interior of the sedan.
"Hot wired it in Dallas."
"I slept through that?"
"You had help."
"I knew it!" She pushes the blankets down around her waist and glares at me. "I knew you put something in my coke."
"Thought you could use the rest, luv." I raise one eyebrow, taking a second to shift my gaze from the road and check the exposed bandage on her arm. "How do you feel?"
"Groggy. No thanks to you." Tentatively she examines the wounds on her arm and thigh. "Sealed up. Probably won't break open if I'm careful."
"Then be
"I don't need a babysitter."
"Good. I'm not in the mood to be one."
"Someone got up on the wrong side of the coffin."
"Coffins don't bloody have sides and Drac's the only one of us who actually uses one. Poncy bugger still owes me."
"That right?"
She's smiling. God, I love that smile. Even if it is at my expense. It's all I can do not to pull over and kiss her breathless right then. Gotta keep moving, I remind myself. Dawn needs help. Why can't I have a nice, normal life with a wife and a few rugrats? Oh yeah. Vampire. What was I bloody thinking when I signed up for this gig?
"We'll find something." Faith's hand touches my shoulder gently. I swear she can read my mind sometimes.
"Just wishing I knew. If it is the soul mucking up the mojo." I chuckle a little bitterly. "Trust me to fuck things up trying to be a better man."
"You are. A good man. I think." She turns back to the window. "I didn't know you before."
"I was a good man. Before Dru sired me. A little on the pathetic side but a good man." Glancing over at her, I leave the highway behind and head into the city. "Anyone tell you where the name William the Bloody came from?"
She shakes her head. "Spike was from the railroad spikes, right?"
"Yeah. Sodding gits deserved it." I catch myself and throw her a grin that says I really don't believe my own words. "Christian name was William. Good and proper name, mum said. Cuffs and collars called me William the Bloody on account of my bloody awful poetry." If I had blood pumping through my veins, my face would be flushed.
"Poetry?"
"Bunch of sodding rubbish, it was."
"Never woulda guessed. Big Bad like you?"
"Only telling you cause I'm probably not going to be livin' long as I thought," I say it lightly, trying to avoid the depressing sadness that has been our constant companion since we left Sunnydale. "Wrote about a girl mostly. Cecily."
"Do you still write? Poetry that is." She's staring out the window again, detached.
"I write a bit here and there. No poetry."
"Why not?"
"Heart's not in it, s'pose. Not exactly the best of memories. Killed the pillocks who laughed at me."
"Railroad spikes?"
"Got it in one."
"Wicked." She turns to look at me, a little surprised. "B told you about the time I hijacked her body, right?"
"Harris mentioned it. Didn't give any details. Just that you fooled Captain America. Not that hard considering he was never one for seeing past his own nose."
"Remember that night at the Bronze?" At my frown, she continues. "Warm champagne?"
The light comes on. "Bloody hell." Braking at a stop sign, I take my eyes off the road to watch her laugh. "That was you?"
"Figured you'd remember."
"Not the kind of thing a man forgets." I smile as I make the turn down one of the side streets.
"Yeah. My revenge on Buffy. Pretty sad, huh?"
"That what it was? Revenge?"
"Should've used railroad spikes."
"Bit messy, luv."
"But more permanent."
I shake my head, laughing a little as I pull the car into a small parking lot. "We'll walk the rest, ditch the car here. Cops'll pick it up in a day or so."
"So considerate." She gives me a wink before gathering up the blankets and getting out of the car. I can tell her injured leg still hurts as she walks around the car. I give the inside a quick wipe down to lower the odds of the lads in blue pulling any fingerprints. Since Faith is supposed to be dead it would be a bit of a problem if her prints showed up in a stolen car. Not too worried about mine. If this whole nightmare is my fault, a few counts of grand theft auto won't really matter. The last thing from the car is a plastic container of blood. I finish it off, pulling a face at the temperature and taste of stale pig blood, and toss the dish into a garbage can as we head through the streets toward the bookstore.
The eastern sky has just begun to lighten as we turn down Bourbon and my skin is starting to tingle nervously. I hate cutting it this close. Ignoring the closed sign on the door, I rap on the glass. I hope it's loud enough for the bookworm to hear.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" Faith looks around nervously.
"I think so." I'm confused. Where am I? Why am I knocking on the door?
"Spike!" The door swings open and I shake my head to clear away the cobwebs, recognizing Verek. "Sorry about that. I've been hiding from the bounty hunters. Quite tenacious. Do come in. Good to see you again, Faith." He ushers us in quickly, shutting the door behind us.
"Bounty hunters?"
"Cable has put a price on your head. That's why I warned you to stay in Sunnydale." His dark eyes take in the fresh wounds on Faith and he blinks. "But welcome back anyway. I'll put some tea on."
Steadying Faith with one hand as we climb the stairs to the small apartment, I'm strangely relieved to be back. Familiar sights, familiar smells. Even watching Verek clear away books from the couch is strangely comforting. He chatters on about the city. I'm not surprised to hear about the increased demon activity or that Cable is calling for my head. Figuratively of course. The vampire actually wants me undusted and in relatively good condition. Probably looking for a stirring round of Kick-The-Spike. Why can't any of my enemies just want to kill me? Faith curls up next to me, her head in my lap, as we wait for the tea. Stroking her hair gently, I let my thoughts wander to the morning after I brought her here, holding her as she cried. Covering her wounds with salve. The first time we kissed. Not exactly painless but mostly good memories.
"What can I do for you?" Verek places two steaming cups of tea in front of us. "I'm assuming this isn't a social call."
Nudging Faith, she sits up and snuggles against my side as I hand her one of the mugs. "It's about a friend of mine. Used to be somethin' called the Key. Green energy ball or whatnot. She's a little girl now and havin' a rough time. I figure it has to do with the world fallin' in on itself." That was definitely the Reader's Digest version. "Thought maybe you'd know about what's going on."
Verek was quiet for a moment. "I know a little about what's happening, the collapse of the dimensional matrix. I'm not familiar with the Key." He frowns thoughtfully. "But I can direct you to someone who might be able to tell you what you need to know. I can't guarantee that you'll get the answers you want but you will get the truth."
"Oracle?"
"Of a sort."
"Let's go then," Faith says, but she makes no move to pull away or get up.
"Only one can go." Verek adjusts his glasses and searches through his pockets for something. "It's probably best that Spike is the one. Let's see, where did I put that?" He starts searching through the pile of books next to the chair until he finds a small box. "Here it is. It's been kicking around here for a while now. I'm sure she'll like it."
"She?"
"Yes. Wonderful lady. A bit particular. And it never hurts to have a gift." He hands me the box. "I'll get working on a portal. Finish your tea."
Faith takes the box from my hands as Verek leaves and carefully lifts the lid. "It's a book. A very tiny book." She holds it out for me to see.
Puzzled, I take the book out of the box. It's the size of my thumbnail. Gently, I open the cover, surprised to see writing on the miniature pages inside. "Oracles. Little on the daft side, most of them. Wonder what it says." Placing it back in the box, I shake my head. "If the bint's got answers, it's worth a million of the things. Just hope she doesn't talk in riddles. Never been one of my favorite things."
"Not exactly raindrops on roses."
I glance at her. "Didn't figure you for the Rogers and Hammerstein type."
"My mom used to play it. When she was really high." She brushes away the memory with a shrug, turning her attention back to her tea.
"What happened to your mum?"
"No idea. Dropped out of high school and left her before I got called. Watcher showed up and trained me for a few months. She died."
"How?"
"Vampire. Ugly bastard too. Followed me to Sunnydale." Setting down the mug, she picks at the bandage on her arm nervously. "I killed him."
"Good for you."
"Yeah."
"You should look her up. Your mum. See what happened to her."
"What happened to your mom?"
Wishing that Verek would return and send me off to whatever hell dimension this Oracle who loves miniature books lives in, I consider lying for a moment. I won't. I can't. But I still don't want to tell her. Finally, I sigh and wrap my arm around her. "Turned her into a vampire."
"Why?" She doesn't sound horrified. Just surprised.
"She was dying. Wanted her to live forever. Be with me."
"What happened?"
"We fought." I breathe in the scent of her skin, closing my eyes against her hair. "I killed her."
"Oh. Didn't turn out how you planned then."
"Not exactly." Smiling, I ruffle her hair playfully. "Can't say Dru was disappointed. Thought I was a bit off for wanting to take my mum with me. Course, Drusilla isn't exactly one to be calling others mad."
"She loved you then? Your mother."
"More than anything." This might be the last time we get to relax. Pulling her into my arms, I intend to enjoy every second of it.
The Incarnation of War heard the battle cry across the globe. The call of a true warrior. He left the dunes and trenches of the Middle East and headed toward America, searching out the voice he could hear above all the others. He found her engaging a vampire. A Slayer. It had been many years since a Slayer had caught his eye. They had gotten far too human in the last century. Her dark hair had been butchered. There was no other word for the unusual hairstyle she was sporting. It looked as though a rat had chewed away the ends at random. The rags she was wearing were ripped and bloody, patched haphazardly with gray tape; black boots were scuffed and cracked with the wear and tear of their brutal life. Lightly tanned skin was marred by bruises, scars, and angry cuts weeping fresh blood.
She was utterly beautiful. A blood stained flower in a world that could not appreciate her purity. Her style was both elegant and furious. He could see evidence of several different schools. Control and balance were tempered with an edge that came from a deep hunger for violence. She was still raw and untested but she adapted to her opponent with the skill of a master. It was strangely heartening to see that the Slayers had not been completely domesticated by the human world around them.
This world was at a crossroad. He could feel it swelling around him, sense the coming wars that would rage until nothing remained of the planet but fire and ash. He was bound, as the others were, to sit and watch. The warrior before him would die with honor and courage, but she would still die. It was the way of this world, the way of time and humanity. The vampire she was fighting turned to dust. She cleaned and inspected her weapons carefully before moving on to find another of her prey. A true warrior. He followed.
There was no harm in watching.