Part Three: Finding Heaven
Reconstructing the Fables –
The world didn't end in a blaze of fire or the relentless creep of glacial ice. It simply disappeared in the blink of an eye to be replaced by something that looked and sounded like the world. But it wasn't the same. Anyone with more than five senses and two eyes, more than the limited human perception of sight and sound could feel it, see it. This new world was fresh, young, and as all newborn worlds, overflowing with power.
Verek watched the worn, weary, and slightly hung over group from Sunnydale depart hours before sunset. Once more alone, he sat among the ruins of his bookstore and breathed in the acrid scent of burnt books. Lost magic. Words of power and substance. How many species didn't realize the power of the word? How many relied on blood or sacrifice to wield their power? He wondered, as he absently scribbled dates and times in a small notebook, what kind of power this new world would choose. The word? The fist? The only type that he could rule out was Death Magic, which typically didn't rise to domination until the last days of a dying world when there was no other power left.
This new world had a touch of whimsy in its fashioning, as though a child had taken their hand to the fabric of reality and enthusiastically colored it into a refrigerator masterpiece. There was youth in each breath of wind and a new spring in the freshly washed earth. He could sense that the Ageless Ones had retreated to the Nexus; where they would remain, probably arguing over the details of the reconstruction, until they were needed once again to tip their hands and show that despite the illusion of objectivity, they were all up to their elbows in the chaos of everyday. What piqued his interest the most was the taint of humanity he saw in the reality around him. It infused every aspect; even the signatures of the convergence sites had shifted and he knew without doubt that the hands that had done the weaving had loved this world.
He pondered the possibilities as he examining the smudges of ash on his pale hands. Boundless curiosity had always been one of his more admirable traits, and he was more than a little interested in what had been the final seconds of the old world. He knew what had to have happened for this new world around him to be possible and knew the after effects. But he wished he could have seen the vampire's death. Perhaps then he could have helped Faith before she drove away, her dark eyes staring blankly through the window.
With a weary sigh, he began the preparations for one more portal. There were days he wished that he hadn't been blessed with the gift of knowing how to bend and shape energy barriers; after the first three hundred years it lost its appeal. He scratched a circle into the rubble, reciting the mystical address of his destination in little more than a whisper. It would be much easier if he could adapt the system to GPS. Maybe now that the world was young and malleable he would be able to integrate modern technology. Air shimmered; he sometimes imagined that it was waving hello rather than just giving off light as the molecules rapidly cascaded through changing energy states. Tucking his return ticket into his pocket and securing his notebook, he stepped through the glittering oval. Blazing fireworks surrounded him, sparking with joyous energy as it hurled him through time and space to his destination in the countryside of Devon, England.
Where he landed, dawn was just beginning her first advance over the lush landscape and the sky was still a mass of slate gray clouds piling haphazardly one on top of the other. Light shone through the coven's windows and he smiled, knowing they would be rising to greet the sun and celebrate. Fresh power was always exhilarating.
"Verek!" A voice broke through the early morning stillness. He turned to see one of the Priestesses walking briskly through the underbrush, waving cheerfully as she approached. "How many years has it been? Seven? Isn't this amazing? We've been up half the night like teenagers."
"It's quite a change. How are you doing, Mariann?"
"Lovely. Out for my morning constitutional."
"Restless?"
"Rejuvenated. Come inside and have some tea."
"An offer I'd never refuse." Verek followed after the witch, noticing the new bounce in her step and the way her normally straight hair was curling at the ends. "How is the coven doing?"
"Well, very well. We've become a not so silent voice in the New Watcher's Council. Things certainly have changed since I visited you in New Orleans. Do you still have that little bookstore?"
"In a manner of speaking." He winced as he thought of his ruined shop. There wasn't much that upset him but the useless destruction of books happened to be at the top of a very short list.
"The Head Watcher is supposed to stop in for a bit of a chat this morning," she commented as they entered the cozy building. Formally a mill, the coven had renovated the three stories of stone and wood into a comfortable meeting place and home. "Although I'm not sure he'll like the answers we have to give him at all. We've been beside ourselves as it is."
"How so?" he asked, taking the seat she waved him toward and settling in to wait for his tea.
"We're seeing a big change in the forces surrounding the Slayer. No details. Just something new." She hesitated for a moment. "There is one other thing that has been puzzling us. Perhaps you can shed some light on the subject. What happened to the vampire?"
"He is dead."
Mariann nodded solemnly. "We felt the world collapse just for a moment, and then it rebuilt around us. As though it had never ended. And now?" She took a deep breath. "I'm sure we must be mistaken but one of the seers, Natalie, swears that she can still feel him. His essence. That he is still in this world somehow."
"Why is that a mistake?" Verek asked carefully.
"Shouldn't the balance be disrupted if he was still alive? Or undead, as it were."
"Who says the balance is the same now as it was?" He watched as she considered his words. "Has his essence changed as well?"
"Now that you mention it." Mariann tapped the counter, ignoring the teapot as it began to hiss. "Natalie said he felt different. Almost human."
"Perhaps a change has occurred. Shanshu? As mentioned in the Aberjian scrolls."
She shook her head and moved to the stove. Hot water steamed as she poured it into two thick ceramic mugs. "Shanshu is much different. The human body is reanimated and the demon is cast out. His essence is still distinctly Spike."
"Will you tell the Council?"
"I'm not sure that is the right course of action. If it is possible that he has become human, which is what Natalie is trying to convince us of, then I feel bound to inform the Council." She measured out the tealeaves carefully, focusing on the actions of her hands. "But I can't begin to understand how it happened."
"Perhaps it was a reward."
"Perhaps. But for what? And how is that a reward? Take a vampire and give him back all the weaknesses of a human being? Vampires pride themselves in their immortality, you know that."
"And Spike was no different. He gloried in the strength of his demon, albeit quietly after he regained his soul."
"Then why take that away from him?"
"Perhaps the humanity itself was not the reward but what comes with it."
"Elaborate, my demon friend. You know more than you're saying." She smiled as she handed him one of the cups. "I know you have connections even if you don't take advantage of them."
"Consider it logically, what can humans achieve that vampires never can?"
"Disease?"
"The real curse of vampirism is not hiding in darkness or drinking blood. It's being trapped in the shadow of the living." Verek sipped his tea carefully. "True life is about achieving joy. How many vampires actually achieve happiness?"
Mariann raised one eyebrow. "I can think of one."
"He had a soul. Very different."
"They seem pretty happy to be killing and maiming to me."
"Granted. But Spike, the demon, the vampire, wanted to be part of this world. To belong. To have friends who would never wonder if he was looking at their necks the wrong way. No longer trapped in the darkness that separated him from those he cared for. As long as he remained a vampire, all of his dealings would be controlled by the fact that he wasn't one of them. He would have spent eternity watching everyone he loved die around him and know that even in the end, a part of them could never trust him. Could never truly love him."
"Do you really believe that?"
"Human beings, for all their strengths, cannot seem to see past certain differences. Skin color, social class, species. They cannot love what they cannot cease to fear."
"And his reward?"
"I don't believe he was made human, if that is what has happened, so that he could experience death or sickness. I believe he was made human so that he could be loved. A means to an end rather than an end unto itself." If he knew Chronos, it would be something along those lines. The Incarnation had a tendency to focus on the long-term results.
"And who would be behind this so called reward? Who has that kind of power?"
"Would you believe me if I told you that this is not the same reality to which you were bound just a day ago? That even the fundamental laws have been restructured?"
"That would explain the alterations in the Slayers." Mariann watched him thoughtfully for a moment. "And the power we've been feeling." She shook herself visibly. "Enough of serious conversation. Will you be here for Iverson's visit? He would love to meet you, I'm sure. Since you were actually there when all of this took place."
"What kind of man is he?"
"A good man. A little Machiavellian for my taste but he holds the Slayers above all else. It has been a long time since there has been a man more devoted to aiding the Chosen than Iverson."
"Good intentions pave the road to Hell."
"More true than you know." She turned away for a moment. "But we have hope. With only three Slayers remaining, there is an opportunity for a fresh start. To do it right this time."
"I could probably stay. It's still night in New Orleans." Verek checked his watch. "The cleanup crew isn't due until mid morning. I'm afraid they blew up my bookstore."
"That's awful! What are you going to do?"
Verek frowned grimly. "I'm going to find the idiot vampire responsible and introduce him to this fine new world. Preferably in several million small particles."
Mariann laughed. "I forget how protective you are of your books and I pity the poor creature who deserves your wrath."
"The fact that my race is peaceful does not mean we have no skill at warfare."
"May he be slowly rendered to dust. And let us know if there is anything we do to help with restoring your library."
"Thank you. I had hoped that you would say exactly that."
"Anything for a friend."
Telling the landlady was something widows did. Cleaning out closets and picking up laptops was something wives of fallen soldiers had to face. It wasn't something Faith had ever wanted to do and she'd cursed herself ever since Willow had driven away, promising to return in an hour. But it had to be done. Spike had built a life in his four years away from Sunnydale and he had been proud of it. He had friends in New Orleans who needed to know he was...she stopped herself, latching onto a doorframe as a wave of nausea sent her stomach into a spin. As long as she kept the images out of her mind she could keep food in her stomach, but the second she let them in, she would find herself on the side of the road with Buffy's soft hands smoothing her hair out of her face.
Embarrassing, yes. She was too miserable to be embarrassed. Part of her wondered why. She'd known him less than three months. There wasn't the long and sordid history that he had with Buffy or the purity of the connection Dawn had. Just a lot of pain and running and sex. Still, he had been the best friend she'd ever had. Sometimes it wasn't the amount of time that mattered, a little voice whispered in her head. Telling herself it shouldn't hurt wouldn't take the pain away and denial couldn't fill the emptiness.
She packed everything into the box she found in the bedroom closet of his apartment, smiling sadly at the fact that every time she ran away, she ended up without anything to wear. They hadn't taken much in their flight from Sunnydale. The box was only half full when she carefully wrapped the slender computer in a towel and nestled it into the clothing. Making sure all the lights were out and everything was back in its place, she locked the door behind her and headed toward Crazy Judy's. The Tupperware dish rattled lightly on top of the box. Once she found the manager's apartment, she set it down gently and picked up the plastic bowl, dumping the key to Spike's apartment into it as she rang the doorbell.
"Coming!" The muffled voice of the landlady called out through the door. After another moment, Faith heard the slide of dead bolt and the familiar smiling face appeared in the shadows. "Oh! It's you. How lovely. Is William back again?"
Faith opened her mouth and nothing came out. She hadn't actually said it aloud. Hadn't said it silently either. Swallowing painfully, she shook her head and physically forced the words out of her throat. "He's dead." Two words. Two syllables. A thousand stinging needles in her chest.
"Oh my." Judy stepped out of the apartment, eyes wide in surprise. "I'm so sorry, dear. I remember the day my Oscar died like it was yesterday. Ate his Raison Bran one morning just like always and set off to go bird watching. I've always wondered if he died because of a spotted Thrush or speckled Blue Bill."
"Huh?" Faith blinked, wondering if anything Crazy Judy said actually made sense to anyone.
"My husband, Oscar. He died five years ago. It was a lovely service." The landlady dabbed at her eyes. "Now he's lying in the ground moldering away with the worms. Eventually there will be nothing left but a pile of dust inside a casket."
"Dust," Faith repeated blankly.
"Yes. It's quite sad when you think about it."
"Sad."
"Are you all right, dear?" A warm hand settled on Faith's arm and she held out the Tupperware defensively.
"The key's in the bowl. I have to go." She almost dropped the Tupperware before Judy could take it from her hands.
Picking up the box, she headed back to the street where Willow would be returning, ignoring the calls from the woman behind her. Nothing left but a pile of dust. Don't turn around, don't look back. Never look back. Taking a seat on the curb, she wrapped her arms around the box and took deep, calming breaths. She just needed to get away from here and away from Sunnydale. It would be awhile before Guard Buffy and her Attack Dawn let Faith out of their sight for more than an hour. They were all worried and sympathetic. It made Faith cringe.
Dawn wanted to remember everything about Spike, to talk about the things he'd said or done over the years. Faith wanted to forget. Her memories were still too real, too raw and painful. But the Summers sisters were gung-ho about getting Faith to face her pain and get on with the grieving. She had to give them points for effort and they certainly knew a few things about grief. So she didn't smack them when she really wanted to or lash out at Willow, who kept glancing in the rearview mirror with sad, tear washed eyes. Willow knew how it felt to watch a lover die.
Rational thought kept her grounded, hugging the cardboard box fiercely and telling herself that they were trying to help her heal. The world had taken Spike away from her with the same cruelty that it had taken everything else, but she'd get by like she always did. Damaged, yes. Alone, always. There would still be a hundred million words she'd wanted to say to him that she'd never say. Didn't even have a grave to talk to when there was no one else who would just listen and not try to make her feel better.
A car engine roused her from her thoughts and she looked up to see Willow pull up to the curb. Loading the box into the backseat, she slid into the passenger side and clipped in the seatbelt.
"How'd it go?"
Faith stared out the car window, watching Sunnydale fly by. "Maybe you could help with his computer. I know he had people he emailed and shit. I had some classes in prison on computers but I'm no hacker."
"Sure. No problem," Willow answered too cheerfully. "I can be computer girl."
"Yeah. Everyone alive here in Sunnyhell?"
"A few bruises but all present and accounted for. Angel and Cordy wanted to say hi before they left for L.A."
"Nice of them."
"Well, you know Angel."
"Yeah. Always the nice guy."
"He cares about you."
Faith shrugged as they pulled into the driveway at Buffy's house. One more person to coddle her and tell her that eventually the pain would go away. At least she could probably count on some good old-fashioned insensitivity from Cordelia; it would be a refreshing change from everyone else walking on eggshells. She grabbed the box and shut the car door with her hip, marching across the grass toward the front porch. Might as well get it over with so that Brood Boy and Queen C could get on their merry way.
"We're back," Willow called as she shut the front door behind them. "Buffy was going to get her old room set up for you. Do you want me to take that up?"
Faith reluctantly let go of the box, feeling adrift without it to anchor her. She followed the soft voices coming from the kitchen. Buffy was probably making tea. She did that when she was tired or stressed.
Dawn's sad voice floated through the doorway. "At least she's talking now. She didn't say a word until we were halfway home."
"She just needs time." Angel's familiar rumble was calming.
"I don't know what to do for her." The sound of pouring water augmented Buffy's response and Faith smiled a little. Tea.
"There may not be anything you can do, Buffy. Just be there for her." Giles was still here then. Of course.
Faith took a deep breath and headed into the kitchen. She waved at the group weakly, suddenly self conscious and wishing for a place to hide. "Do I get tea? Or is this some sort of drinking club I don't belong to?"
"One steaming mug of herbal goodness coming right up." Buffy handed her a flowered mug. "There isn't any sugar or honey in it. Let me know if you need anything."
"I'm good. Thanks, B." Faith held the cup tightly, enjoying the soothing heat. "I'm just gonna sit outside. Drink my tea. Look at the stars."
"Want company?"
"Rather be alone." That way they could continue to talk about her without watching their words. Maybe they could even come up with a plan to make all the emptiness disappear. She settled onto the top step of the back porch and the quiet chatter resumed in the kitchen. Buffy was raging about the government and Riley. Life always threw the curve balls when you least expected them.
The backyard smelled of grass and lilacs. It was a beautiful night, brilliantly arrayed with stars and just enough of a warm breeze to keep the temperature in the pleasant range. Cinnamon apple tea was sweet against her tongue. She could remember when drinking tea was something old, stuffy people did. Not her. Not Faith. Wild and free, she'd never be caught dead doing something like that. Die young and leave a good-looking corpse, that's what slaying was about. She shook her head bemusedly. Six years was a long time, six years in prison was even longer. Gone was the rebellious teenager with enough issues to buy stock in a baggage company. She wasn't quite sure what was left in her now.
"Beautiful, aren't they?" Angel stepped silently from the doorway, closing the door firmly behind him before sitting down beside her. "I know you wanted to be alone and I can leave if you want. But I wanted to be with you. For a while."
"No big, Angel." She shrugged, taking another sip of tea. "Long as you don't start crying too."
"Over Spike?" He sounded more than a little incredulous. "Sorry to say the only side of him that I ever saw wasn't exactly the best."
"Too bad. You probably would've liked him. With the soul and all."
"Really?"
Faith gave him a sideways glance and half of a smile. "Nah. You two still would've hated each other."
He leaned forward to peer out into the darkness, always watchful of what might be lurking in the shadows. "Thought about what you're going to do now?"
"Not really. Kill a few vampires. Life of the Chosen One and all. Or Chosen Three." She tipped her head to side and watched him for a moment. "Think we could pull off the Three Musketeers?"
"Haven't met number three yet."
"Don't know much about her. Tall."
"How are you doing?"
She raised her eyebrows before looking away. "You get whiplash from that subject change?"
"Couldn't wait any longer. But I promise not to ask if I can get you anything."
"Good. Hear that one more fucking time and I'm gonna scream."
"Are you going to answer my question?"
"You caught that, huh?"
"Your attempt to get out of it? Yeah." Angel stared down at his hands. "I'm sorry it had to be you, Faith."
"You ever kill anyone you loved, Angel?"
He hesitated for a second. "No. Not really. Darla doesn't count for half a dozen reasons. There was Cordelia. Long story."
"Not goin' anywhere."
"There was something evil inside her and in order to kill it...I had to kill her. I was going to." He shook his head sadly. "I remember raising the sword over my head, thinking about what would happen when it hit her neck. But I was too late to stop what was inside her."
"Didn't have to kill her then?"
"No. And I realized something, actually." Pensively, he leaned back to stare at the stars. "If I'd really loved her the way I thought I did, I wouldn't have been able to kill her. Not if I knew the real Cordy was still in there somewhere. I would have done anything to save her." Dark eyes turned toward her, watching her intently.
Faith stared into her mug, wishing the dark liquid would somehow give her the answers. "Oh."
"Love's a funny thing that way."
"Don't believe in love. Nobody ever loved me. Never loved anybody." Faith finished her cooling tea quickly. "Don't think it's as big a deal as people make it seem. Love doesn't make the world go round."
"But you couldn't kill him."
Faith turned slowly, seeing nothing but compassion in his handsome face. "How'd you know?" Her voice was quiet, almost lost in the breeze.
"Lucky guess."
"They don't know." She nodded toward the house. "Didn't want to tell them."
"Because you thought they'd be disappointed in you?"
"No. Just...just didn't want them to know. That he had to, he had to do it." She set the mug down and wrapped her arms around her knees. "Because I was too weak."
"You're not weak, Faith." His hand rested gently on her shoulder. "Love isn't weakness, it's strength."
"How many times do I have to tell you people that we weren't in love?"
"You would've done it if you didn't love him."
She opened her mouth to disagree and the words escaped without making any sound. Finally she smiled and laid her head against her arms. "What we had wasn't love, Angel. Maybe everyone calls it love because they don't have any other words, but it was more than that. It was just...everything."
The state of the Watcher's Council before the end of the world - and the world had ended according to the coven in Devon - had been the purest form of chaos Iverson had been unfortunate to witness. After the walls came back up, it got worse. Now they had a public relations nightmare as the world struggled to sweep the darkness back underneath the rug and the diplomats were busily mining all of the Council's best lies while creatively spinning their own. Global warming was responsible for the storms. No, that hurricane off the coast of California hadn't actually been a hurricane, everyone knew it was impossible due to water temperatures. Mostly, people began to clean up the wreckage and get on with their lives. For the Head Watcher himself, black plastic and particleboard weren't as picturesque as the view of London he used to see through his office window, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Iverson was grateful he hadn't been in his office when the malicious chunk of burning rock had crashed through the window and set his desk on fire. Bloody meteorites. Bloody vampire. Bloody everything and the little old lady down on the corner too.
Relief had barely settled over the Headquarters when Weatherby started crowing that there hadn't really been any danger at all and that Iverson had gotten them worked up and exposed over nothing. In one of his rants, he had been particularly incensed that the American military now had knowledge of the Slayers and Iverson had been forced to point out the ugly truth. They had always known. Where did Weatherby think the information on demon anatomy came from? Where most of the information they had taught the potential Slayers and the conditioning techniques they had used came from? The man had turned ashen and left the office stuttering.
Another part of Samuel Elliot's legacy was a deal with the devil wearing red, white, and blue. No one had liked the decision but they hadn't seen a better way to replenish the resources lost in the explosion. And there had been the opportunity to actually train Slayers and possibly give them an edge. At least, that was what Iverson had told himself when he had cast his vote to support the deal. For the most part, the U.S. government had been content to share and watch, without intervention or hindering the Council's work. Now that only three Slayers remained, the winds of change were blowing and the hulking superpower had turned its eagle eyes toward the Council with renewed interest.
The future that Iverson hadn't dared hope for was now barreling down at them with a vengeance and he was scrambling to find his feet again. Which was why he'd sent the Watcher's Council off on an extended retreat with their cell phones glued to their ears while he was headed into the heart of Devon for some excellent tea and good advice. Regardless of the information he received, his next stop would be Washington D.C. in an attempt to head off the inevitable clash between military brass and at least one very brassed off Slayer. He needed support and not just Buffy's. He needed Faith's and Cara's as well for the deal to work. Buffy would be the easiest to convince because she already knew that the Slayers had the power. They were the coveted commodities. If she would just trust him enough to hear him out, it could possibly work out for all parties concerned.
Bumping over a hole in the road, he maneuvered the rental car into the rocky drive next to the barn and climbed out of the small vehicle. The wind had picked up and despite the sun shining overhead, it was beginning to turn chilly. He knocked loudly on the old mill and hoped there was someone to hear his pounding. To aid their meditation, Mariann had sound proofed the second floor and he could stand on the doorstep banging against the heavy oak until the world ended again before they would hear him.
"Mr. Iverson! What a pleasure." A young woman beamed as she opened the door. "Of course, everything is a pleasure this fine morning."
"Yes. I'm sure it is." Her obvious excitement was a marked change from the usual serenity of the coven and he stepped across the threshold with a bit of apprehension.
"Mariann is entertaining a guest in the sitting room but asked me to send you right in."
"Thank you." Iverson shrugged off his jacket and found his way through the darkened hallway.
His skin was crawling more than normally, reminding him of why he had never really liked magic. It had its own rules and ideas about the way things ought to be. The only thing about magic that was predictable was the fact that it always came back to bite you in the ass. That had been one of the reasons he had voted for the military's method of conditioning rather than a mystical one. Soft light poured through the doorway as he entered the sitting room. Mariann was an older woman and best described by the word generous. Hair, curves, even her personality was embodied in that single word. The man beside her was small with pale hands and avian eyes.
"Perfect timing, Clair." Mariann held out a saucer and cup, motioning him to take a seat.
"I won't beat around the bush." Iverson nodded his thanks as he took his tea and retreated to one of the cushioned sofas. "Here for the state of the world report and then I'm off to America."
"Well, as you can see, the world is still here."
"Yes. And the vampire?"
She hesitated, glancing at the man beside her. "We aren't sure."
"Not sure?" Iverson frowned. That was not the answer he had expected.
"This world isn't quite the same as it was before."
"It came back wrong?"
"Not wrong. Just different." She handed him a tray of biscuits.
"How is this important?"
"We don't know yet. We've sensed changes in the forces that surround the Slayers, nothing threatening. And one of our group believes that Spike is still here, in this world."
Iverson frowned some more and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I keep asking you questions that you can't answer. What can you tell me?"
"That this new world is more stable than the old one. It will take a great deal more than one vampire to tip the scales again." She settled back into her chair. "Forgive me, this is Verek. An old friend of mine, he runs a bookstore in New Orleans. Or ran, I suppose."
"Pleased to meet you." Iverson held out a hand.
Verek shook his hand quickly. "I had the opportunity to meet both Spike and Faith before the end."
"Really? I do wish I could have met him. What was he like?"
"Quite fascinating, actually. Very complex. I'm sure it had something to do with the soul and demon coexisting in the same body. Two fundamentally different personalities gelling together to become a single whole. The struggle for identity."
"I was under the impression that only one could be dominant at a time."
"That would be true if the demon had fought against the soul the way Angelus fights against Angel."
"You're saying it wasn't that way?" Iverson studied Verek carefully. He wasn't used to people knowing so much about the supernatural world, although if he was a friend of Mariann's there was little doubt that he knew of it.
"Not at all. As I said, quite fascinating."
"You said you also met Faith. What were your impressions of her?"
Verek's eyes softened for a moment. "When Spike first brought her to my store, she was covered in blood and nearly dead, I couldn't believe she had survived her ordeal. Have you seen her?"
"No. I'm afraid not." He knew Faith had been captured but no details had been available.
"I don't believe there was an inch of her body that wasn't covered with bruises, cuts, or burns. She was beaten, whipped, and her face had been carved like a Halloween pumpkin. Two days later, still barely able to walk, her only concern was getting back to Sunnydale to protect those she considered friends. She may have made mistakes in her past but her heart is in the right place."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you don't know her. None of you ever did." Verek smile had turned cold.
"Duly noted." Iverson set his tea down carefully. "Any idea when you might have a better idea about what changes we can expect?"
Mariann shook her head. "It is too soon to say. We will keep in close contact with the Council of course."
"It's all I can ask for." He took a deep breath. "Off the official record. The United States has expressed interest in regenerating the Slayer lines and I have horrible visions of doped up Slayers in medical labs with babies in test tubes. I don't trust them, they don't trust me. How paranoid should I be?"
"Goodness Clair, you don't need a seer to tell you they'll stab you in the back if you turn around."
Tepid water splashed against his skin, dripping down his wrists and forearms. Gripping the edges of the sink firmly, he stared up at the bathroom mirror into bright blue eyes. A single drop hung precariously from his chin for a moment before plummeting to the porcelain basin beneath him and for just a second, he was convinced that it wasn't his face staring out of the mirror. The metal band of his watch clicked softly against the sink as he reached down for a towel. Fingers caught the edge of the terry cloth, pulling it up to his face and rubbing it roughly against his skin.
You walk in worlds the others can't begin to imagine.
Pulling the towel away quickly, he frowned into the mirror. Maybe he was losing his mind. Hearing voices couldn't possibly be normal. But there was something familiar about the voice that he couldn't place, couldn't understand. Like the flashes in his dreams that stuck with him long after he awoke, heart racing and trembling; it felt so real. And the world around him didn't feel as real any more. As though something was missing.
"Working too hard, mate." He told the face in the mirror, combing his fingers through thick brown curls. Shaking off the uneasiness creeping up his spine, he tossed the towel back over the rail and padded barefoot back into the bedroom.
The answering machine was announcing that he'd missed his partner's wake up call. How long had he been it out of it, staring into the bathroom mirror as though it held all the answers in the universe? Forty-two. A smile turned the corners of his lips up as he thought about the tattered paperback Gage Matthews always carried with him as a good luck charm. And a towel. He didn't ask for details, just rolled blue eyes skyward and shook his head. They were the odd couple of Boston law enforcement, not quite Abbot and Costello, not quite Laurel and Hardy. More like George and Gracie. The jury was still out on which one of them was Gracie.
Their friendship started their first day in training when they'd managed fill out all the wrong forms, knock over a coffee maker, and crash one of the patrol cars into a concrete barrier. They bonded over the fact that both of their names were subject of ridicule among the other officers. New Age, hippie, girly names all twisted around backwards, with their proper, masculine names trailing at the end. Gage Matthews, Davis Williams. Should be the other way around, the guys said with a slap on the back and friendly grin. None of them actually called him by his given name. As a congratulation present for passing the exams to become a detective, they'd given him a dog collar studded with silver spikes and the words Marrett's Attack Dog written on the inside. The name Spike stuck. Gage was the proud recipient of a terrycloth hand towel that proudly proclaimed So Long And Thanks For All The Fish. It had been five long years in the making and the best day of their lives. Tapping the machine, he headed to the closet and leisurely began to dress.
"Spike! Hey man, this is your six a.m. wake up call. Be there in an hour, I'll bring the Starbucks." The machine beeped as the message ended.
Six in the morning wasn't Spike's best time of day. Ungodly hour to get up and start hunting down evil. Most evil happened at night when it could slink and hide in the shadows, masked from all that was good and holy. His mother, God rest her soul, had fretted about her son following in her late husband's footsteps, picking up a badge and gun. She never really understood that while Thomas Williams had patrolled the streets to make them a safer place for his family, her son did it because he enjoyed it. It wasn't something he talked about or mentioned to the police psychiatrist either. Gage loved putting criminals behind bars. Spike loved the chase, the hunt, and the occasional fight when nothing but fists or bullets could solve the problem. He wasn't crazy or a sociopath; he just enjoyed the release from a bit of old-fashioned violence. Ended up in homicide because he had a knack for getting inside the killer's head and making the connections.
Thoughts of his mother brought a smile to his face and another memory surfaced of her reminding him to put on sunscreen so he wouldn't burn or freckle. Of course he'd been a headstrong child and had ignored her completely, burning to a crisp at every possible opportunity and ending up stuck in a bathrobe for two agonizing days afterward. Still, his addiction to the sun remained undiminished.
Grabbing a carton of leftover Chinese from the refrigerator, he headed into his living room. It had become the Inner Sanctum for the latest case they were working on. Even on what looked to be a lazy Sunday, they were getting together outside the office to go over the details again and again until something caught their eye. Or at least until being inside drove Spike stir crazy and he had to get out. The past weeks had been pure hell for him, kept inside or soaked to the bone. At least the panic about the rising sea levels had begun to recede with the rain. Right as rain. He frowned, where had that come from? Right as rain? Shaking off the vague feeling of deja vu, he settled down onto the couch and flipped on the TV to catch the early news broadcast. For the rest of the day, he wasn't going to worry about strange dreams or voices. They had to be dialogue from a movie or television show he'd seen, buried in his subconscious and triggered by daily events. It was the only logical, reasonable explanation.
Slow news day. He traded the idle banter of the anchors for the radio, searching the bands for something to listen to. None of his CDs were particularly appealing for some reason and he was surprised to finally settle on a punk rock station. Maybe he was feeling nostalgic for his college days of distortion guitar, booze, and sorority girls. Except that he'd never been part of the intense party crowd. Every now and then had been good enough to soothe the craving for wild and crazy; he'd preferred to work off tension in the gym or on the soccer field. He'd never been a bookworm either. Grades were good and he picked up a taste for classic literature along the way, but reading away a sunny afternoon wasn't something he fancied. Loved the feel of the sun on his face too much for that.
"Must be one of those days," he commented to the empty apartment. Nostalgia kick. Maybe that meant he was ready for a change. His partner was trying to persuade him to look into something more permanent than a two bedroom flat on the third floor of Grove Terrace. Time to think about the future, he said. Gage had just bought a small starter home, determined to build a nest for himself and maybe even a future Mrs. Matthews.
Another hurdle between them and the rest of the team was that most of them had families waiting at home. Spike and Gage were still blissfully single. Gage managed to keep hoping that Miss Right would walk into the station one day needing a knight in shining armor to carry her away on a white horse. Spike, on the other hand, hadn't found anyone who held his interest for more than dinner and a movie. He knew he had issues with commitment, what rational human being didn't? Casual sex every now and then to take the edge off, but he kept feeling that something was missing. That he just hadn't found her. Whoever she was. All the women he'd known lacked fire, intensity. He frowned, crossing the room to open the blinds and let in the pale morning light. A degree in psychology wasn't really the best thing to have now that he was freaking himself out. At least he'd be able to diagnose himself before they locked him away in a padded cell.
The sound of his front door opening had him reaching for his gun before he remembered that Gage had a key to the apartment. They had a standing agreement that doors were always open for each other.
Gage grinned as he rounded the corner and set two grande cups of coffee on the table. "I can feel the tension from here. You spacing out or something today?"
"Weird dreams." Spike returned to his seat, turning his attention to the stack of manila folders waiting on the edge of the coffee table.
"Any naked women?" Gage had an easygoing temperament to match his sandy hair and freckles across the bridge of his nose. He was handsome in a clean cut, boyish sort of way, exuding a natural charm that more often than not landed him in hot water. Beneath the humor and playfulness, he had become the rock that kept Spike earthbound and focused on the real world.
"Blood and violence mostly. Vampires." Spike grinned across the table as he began spreading out photographs and notes.
"You've gotta stop watching those horror movies. They'll rot your brain." Gage frowned at the radio. "Since when do you listen to the Sex Pistols?"
Spike flipped through one of the legal pads, trying to find the most recent entry. "Don't know what it is, just flipping through the stations."
"No worries. Everyone has skeletons in their closet. Never would have pegged you as a Sid and Nancy type, but to each his own."
"Do you?" Spike stopped and shook his head as he changed his mind. "Never mind, stupid question."
"Come on, do I what?"
"Believe in reincarnation. Past lives and that shit."
"Anything's possible. Be cool if I had been Roman gladiator or a knight, wouldn't it?"
"What if you were some type of criminal?" Spike glanced up to check his partner's expression. He didn't want to let Gage know he was on edge. "Like Jack the Ripper or Hitler."
"This some sort of psych exercise? Cause you know I hate it when you do that." Gage eyed him thoughtfully. "You're sure you're all right?"
"Fine. Just wigged out by the dreams is all."
"Wigged out? You sound like my nephew and he's twelve."
"Fuck you, Gage." Spike grinned as he tossed the notebook to his partner. "I say we finish this today."
"You're on."
They traded barbs and challenges back and forth as they organized and sorted through the evidence. Photographs of the crime scene, autopsy reports, notes of the interviews they had done. It seemed simple enough. A young woman found shot in her car outside a convenience store; caucasian, five feet six inches, brunette. According to identification found in her wallet, her name was Caroline Milner, age 20; Boston College ID card, a couple credit cards, and some cash. He stared down at the photograph of her driver's license. She looked tired. He remembered his college days as a blur of books and sleep deprivation, trying to learn and retain everything deemed necessary for the hoops he was jumping. The only thing that kept him going was the light at the end of the academic tunnel and the look of pride in his mother's eyes when she talked about her son.
Cause of death was a bullet through her left temple from a maximum distance of fifteen feet away, small caliber handgun. The clerk in the store reported that he had heard shouting, possibly an argument, and then a gunshot. Interviews turned up a roommate who was surprisingly callous about her friend's death and an ex-boyfriend with a restraining order. It should have been simple. Except that everyone seemed to have an alibi and the ex-boyfriend didn't believe in guns. They couldn't seem to get through the wall of lies surrounding the dead girl's life. Wind and rain had washed away any evidence that might have been left behind except for the body.
It's ripe and ready, my darling, waiting for us to devour its fruit.
Putting down the photographs so that Gage couldn't see his hands shaking; he turned to the window and tried to push the voice out of his head. Concentrate. They had a case to solve, bad guy to catch. Heat from the sunlight warmed his skin, comforting and calming. Summer was gearing up for a full out attack of heat and humidity. Especially after the recent storms, it would be thick as butter and twice as hard to deal with. Couple days and his hair would go from curl to frizz. He'd better leave himself a memo, pick up hair gel. Just get to work and everything would go back to normal. Nice, normal world again.
"Spike? Hey, Davis?" Gage's voice was concerned as he snapped his fingers in front of Spike's face.
"Sorry. Daydreaming I guess."
"Been doing a lot of that?"
Spike began straightening a stack of papers absently. "I'm fine."
"Wasn't gonna ask."
"Yes, you were."
"Fine. But I was gonna ask what was on your mind first."
"Just feeling a little out of it. Probably bad Chinese from last night." He motioned to the empty carton that had served as breakfast.
"Right." Gage's skeptical look screamed that he wasn't buying what Spike was trying to sell.
They'd been through a lot in the last five years. Partner changes, shift changes, but they'd always ended up together because they were a damn good team. Part of that was the ability to read each other so well. Gage would know something was off as sure as he knew that Spike wouldn't come clean until he was good and ready. But it didn't keep the man from bugging the hell out of him in the meantime.
"Is it a girl?"
"What?"
"The reason you're George Jetson this morning? Is it of the skirt variety?"
"No. Maybe that's the problem. Complete lack of distractions in the form of women." It had been awhile since he'd gotten laid.
"Date with Liz didn't pan out then."
"Nice girl. Just not what I'm looking for," Spike answered noncommittally. She'd seemed like a good person, compassionate, interested. Boring as hell.
"What are you looking for?"
"I don't know."
"Then how are you gonna find it?"
"I'll know it when I see it, alright?" Spike checked his watch. Maybe it was time to get outside; take a walk and get some air.
"I don't think there's a woman on the east coast who has what you want. Maybe you should lower your standards a little." Gage noted his restlessness and stood up, heading for the doorway. "I don't even know what your standards are but they've gotta be too high or something."
"What kind of life does a cop's wife have anyway?" Spike shook his head as he followed his partner out of the apartment, changing the subject to something less personal. "You know the divorce rate on the floor. We've seen it fall apart for half the guys we work with. Why even sign up for that gig?"
"Man wasn't meant to be alone."
"We'll be alone until we die, my friend." Spike patted his partner's shoulder. "Just one lonely existence after another until you die and turn to dust. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."
Gage rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, food for worms and carpe diem. I saw that movie."
Conversation faded out as they finished the last flight of stairs, leaving the air-conditioned building behind. Sunlight poured over Spike's shoulders like syrup, thick and hot. He stretched his neck and shoulders, turning right on the sidewalk to begin their circuitous route of the neighborhood. Never could stay in one place very long, a desk job would have been sheer hell for him. The amount of paperwork he had to do now was nearly at his breaking point and if Gage hadn't been there to keep him on task, he'd never get any of it done. It had been worse since the storms ended. He felt as though he hadn't seen the sun for a hundred years. And there was an itching at the back of his skull. The nagging feeling that he was missing something important. Something right in front of his face.
The King of Cups expects a picnic. But this is not his birthday.
What? He knew that voice but not the words, not what they meant or where they came from. A feeling of amusement, of revelry and excitement. Of power. But nothing concrete, no face or time stamp to tell him who and where he'd heard the words. King of Cups. Wasn't that a tarot card? He stared blankly at the street, realizing that Gage was already halfway across the road. He hurried after his partner. It had to be stress. His mind's way of telling him that he needed to chill out, take time to cool off and recharge the batteries. He hadn't taken a vacation in five years because he loved his job, loved what he did and the danger it promised.
Frowning, he replayed that thought several times. Adrenaline junkie? Not really. And he never took risks that put others in danger or had suicide odds. He just needed a good rough and tumble every now and then. A spot of violence. What the hell was a spot? He clenched his fists tightly at his sides. "I'm losing my fucking mind."
He managed to pull himself together by the time he caught up to Gage. Talking was kept to a minimum. One word, a few syllables, nothing that would give away his agitation at waking up with a head full of voices that creeped him out more than any horror movie ever had. He didn't scare easily, never had. But this? He'd never thought to ask his parents if there was a history of mental illness in the family. The part of him that always expected the worst was already counting the days before everything he had worked so hard for, had fought for, was stripped from him as he wandered away into Wonderland.
"Fucking Christ, Davis." Gage's voice shattered his train of thought and he blinked as he realized that he had almost stepped into the path of an oncoming car. The hand on his arm had been the only thing holding him back. "Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on with you or do I have to beat it out of you? Don't think I won't."
Spike tried to brush him off. "Gage, it's nothing. Really."
"You were almost road kill, man. That's nothing? If you really can't tell me then explain to me why I'm your partner." Soft brown eyes watched him, a little bit angry, a little bit hurt. "How can I trust you to have my back? You're off your game and I need to know why."
"I don't know." Spike pressed the heels of his palms against his temples. "Maybe I'm losing it."
"Losing what?"
"My goddamn mind. I keep hearing this voice." He shook his head as though it would rip the words out and dash them into pieces. "A woman's voice. It's so clear. But I don't understand what she's saying and I don't remember. I just don't remember. And I keep saying, thinking, these things. Shit that I know I don't normally say."
"Do you feel okay? Physically?"
"Never better. A little edgy, maybe." Spike pulled away from his partner's grip and headed back to his apartment.
"Maybe you should talk to Dr. Coleman."
"And have her put me under a microscope and pull my badge? No fucking way."
He reached out, taking hold of Spike's arm again. "Look, man. It's your business and you know I'm behind you a hundred percent. Just promise me you won't squirrel this away into the Davis Williams forbidden catacombs or wherever you store the rest of the issues."
Spike raked one hand through his hair and took a deep breath. "Let's just get back to work. All right?"
"Sure, man. It's cool."
Spike nodded mutely. Telling Gage was the right thing. If he wasn't in top form, he was putting them both in harm's way. If he was rattled and distracted, his partner needed to know. Before his distraction got one of them killed.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a group of kids playing ball in one of the apartment courtyards. Laughing, shouting, they were completely oblivious to the darkness in the world around them. The world that they would inherit. He was looking at the next generation of sports stars, actors and actresses, politicians, cops. It had all seemed like a grand adventure, growing up and finding a place in the world. When you grew up, you knew how the world worked. You knew everything and you didn't hear voices. He shuddered a little. One of the players tossed the ball to his friend. Dirt smudged hands missed it by a few inches and the ball collided with the girl behind them, bouncing off her shoulder.
"Gage." Spike frowned as the girl began cussing the two boys up and down. Older sister probably.
"What if Caroline wasn't the target?"
"You mean the shooter thought she was someone else?"
"No. I mean, what if she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?"