CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Transference
Angel stared in annoyance as Xander continued to linger in his personal office. For long months he'd hoped that his partner might start keeping regular, and earlier, hours, but with Xander's break-up with Emmy rapidly reaching its one-month anniversary, Angel found himself missing the solitude of having the mornings to himself.
"I can't say I've noticed," Angel finally replied to Xander's irritatingly invasive question.
Xander stared at him with a skeptical expression. "C'mon, you're telling me that Giles hasn't been hinting for weeks now that Buffy … not your Buffy … has been MIA from his and Olivia's place nearly every night?"
"Like I said," Angel replied as he folded up the newspaper he'd been trying to read and stood from his chair, "I hadn't noticed."
Xander stepped aside as Angel headed towards the coffee machine.
"Besides," Angel called out as poured himself a fresh mug, "it isn't any of my business. Or yours."
"You're not curious?"
Not in the slightest.
Before Angel could find a way to change the subject, the lobby door swung open and Connor walked in.
"Yo, Angel, Jr." Xander said. "How'd the patrol go last night?"
Connor frowned at the nickname, but let it slide. "Other than Buffy … not Angel's Buffy … being distracted and wearing a goofy grin half the time, it went fine."
"Sorry we didn't make it," Angel said as he walked, steaming mug in hand, into the lobby. "Xander and I had a rather nasty run-in with some Blatta demons near the university."
Xander stuck out his tongue and made a vomiting sound. "Like a cross between an armadillo and a cockroach. Gross."
"Did you … you know …" Connor held out his hand and wiggled his fingers towards Xander, "… roast 'em with your new fire powers?"
Angel held his breath while he waited to see how Xander would react to the question. They were fighting a war, after all, and Xander needed to get over his embarrassment at the changes wrought by his demonic eye transplant ... they might turn out to be useful.
"Maybe a few sparks here and there," Xander replied in a grim, strained voice, "but I'm still working on controlling it. Being a human flamethrower isn't going to be much good if I have to be angry all the time, and it won't be particularly helpful to anyone if I accidentally set Angel on fire."
Angel coughed on his coffee, then interjected, "I completely agree."
"Also," Xander continued, "since I'm right-handed, having my left arm be about five times stronger is taking some getting used to all on its own." Xander curled his arm a few times in a parody of a gym exercise and chose not to mention that he'd spent every night the last four weeks alternating between staring wide-eyed at the ceiling or waking in a cold sweat as nightmares stalked his every dream. The raw copper taste and smell of the blood, the acidic bite of the vomit churning his throat, the excruciating pain of his eye being sliced from his skull, and the sight of Emmy being tortured … if not for sheer exhaustion eventually clawing him from consciousness in the wee hours every morning, the still fresh memories wouldn't have let him sleep at all.
"So, what brings you by," Angel asked Connor. "Not that I don't mind the company."
Anything to get you the hell away from those cultists for a few hours.
"Well, I've been thinking, we've been massacring vampires and demons every night for a while now, and it isn't getting any better, right?"
"Not appreciably, no," Angel admitted.
"And whatever this magical 'water' clue Willow found on Richard Wilkins's websites might be, nobody can figure it out, and we can't attack Wilkins directly because of the truce with Wolfram & Hart and its clients, right?"
"Correct again," Xander replied. "Are you going to start having some good news for us?"
Connor shot them a sly, knowing smile. "So why don't we send someone to Wolfram & Hart and start asking questions?"
Angel and Xander gazed at each other for a moment.
"You want to take this one?" Xander asked Angel.
"Sure," Angel replied as he stared at Connor. "How about this for a reason: I've lost all my L.A. privileges, and there's a good chance they'd kill anyone else that stepped foot in their office? Or at the very least, throw them out in a painful fashion?"
"They wouldn't do that to me," Connor replied in a confident, assured tone.
Angel blinked a few times in surprise. "And why do you say that?"
"They're constantly trying to recruit me," Conor replied. "Heck, I've even been tempted a few times."
"Connor!" Angel exclaimed in horror.
His son shrugged nonchalantly. "What can I say, it was a lot of money. Anyway, I was thinking I'd drop by, feign interest, and see if I can't find a friendly ear to gossip with."
"And just who might be a friendly ear in Wolfram & Hart?" Xander asked.
Connor's responsive grin was ear to ear.
He better not be talking about who I think he's talking about.
"Oh no," Angel replied. "You can't possibly be referring to …"
"Illyria," Connor interrupted.
Xander laced his hands behind his head and declared in a thoughtful tone, "Doesn't she hate Angel, and by extension his kid, most of all?"
Connor shook his head. "You guys don't really understand her, but I do. She doesn't hate Angel. She's frustrated by him, she feels betrayed, but she definitely doesn't hate him. I can talk to her, I know it."
Despite his unease, Angel had to admit it made a certain amount of sense. With Willow out of commission and Giles getting nowhere with the research, some answers … or even hints … could make all the difference.
"And you're sure they won't kill you on sight?" Angel asked. "Maybe you should test the waters and call for an appointment?"
"I've got a standing offer," Connor replied. "I'll be fine."
Angel looked at Xander. "Do you want to try to talk him out of it?"
Xander shook his head. "I think it's a good idea, actually."
Angel's face betrayed his uncertainty, but they needed information and were out of options.
I hope I don't regret this.
"Give it a shot," he finally said. "If you see Harmony, tell her I said hello, that I miss her, and that I can't imagine anyone I'd rather have take over my old job."
Connor chuckled. "Basically, you want me to lie to her?"
Angel smiled. "Exactly."
Connor reached for the lobby door. "I'll take off tonight and be there bright and early in the morning."
"I'm guessing a night away from your cult sounds pretty good right about now," Angel suggested.
Connor ran a hand through his hair in an uncharacteristic gesture of irritation. "Yeah, I can't really take them much longer. I'm going to start looking for a quiet apartment on the other side of Moonridge."
"Hey!" Xander interrupted. "If you need a place to crash for a bit, I've got plenty of space."
"Are you sure?" Connor asked. "Don't you and …" his words trailed off and he blushed slightly.
He was going to mention Emmy. Ouch.
Xander decided to purposefully misunderstand Connor's aborted question. "Faith? She's still the champion of night owls, and I've got three empty bedrooms. If you want, drop off your stuff today before you head to Los Angeles."
Connor nodded appreciatively at Xander. "I think I'll take you up on that."
. . . . . . . . .
"Miracle Child, you must understand that our reservations are due to concern for your safety," a gaunt, gray-haired vampire announced in an irritatingly obsequious, fawning manner. Behind it, several other vampires of varying ages stared on with worried expressions. "Would it not be better to remain here where we can keep watch while you sleep?"
Connor looked up from the duffel bag in which he was packing the sparse belongings he'd brought with him to Moonridge. The Cultists of Ul-thar wore coarse, brown woolen robes, bore large pendants with metal or wooden likenesses of his face, and other than the ones addressing him, they were all asleep on thin cots or gathered around various candles and altars spread throughout the condo. So fervent were they in their devotions that the mumbling prayers of genuflecting vampires chanting his name continued throughout every hour of the day. In the kitchen, two refrigerators were fully stocked with blood, and to ensure no sunlight crept into the premises the windows had been covered with heavy, dark fabric.
I need to get out of here for a while … and I'm about twenty years removed from being a child.
"I'll be fine," Connor assured them. "I need to take care of some Miracle Child business, so while I'm gone, you guys keep getting ready for Transmutation Day, or whatever you're calling it now."
"We live to serve," the vampire intoned while the others nodded. "Do you require any assistance in packing?"
"I can manage," Connor replied as he zipped the bag closed.
. . . . . . . . .
"You're serious?" Xander asked Connor as they shared a couch in his living room. "Faith? Really? It seems like she's barely strung more than two sentences together towards me the entire time she's been staying here."
"Yeah, she's probably not too chatty with you … cause of … you know …" Connor replied evasively.
"Emmy," Xander replied. "You can say her name, it isn't like there's some hex or curse on her or our relationship. I mean, she just broke up with me, it's not like she turned out to be an evil demoness intent on dragging me to hell. I've been there, that sucks."
"I hear that," Connor replied as he shuddered at a few particularly unpleasant memories. "I can promise you that I'm not imagining things about Faith. She definitely isn't staying here, or dropping by Moonridge Investigations all the time, just cause she finds your and Angel's company charming."
"But our company is charming!"
Connor shrugged. "I'm just saying. Faith is digging the whole human torch thing you got going on."
Time to change the subject.
"What about you and Colleen?" Xander asked. "Didn't she ask to switch up patrols so that she'd be teaming up with you?"
"I think it's mostly because she doesn't get along with Dana or Jess."
Xander snorted dismissively. "Does anyone get along with those two?"
"Did I hear someone talking about our two favorite bitchy slayers?" Faith asked as she opened the front door and stepped inside.
Connor shot a smirking grin Xander's direction. "Howdy Faith, were your ears burning?"
Xander considered throwing a pillow at him, then decided to take the high road and merely scowl.
"Uh oh, I hope it wasn't anything too scandalous," Faith said as she stepped into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and popped open a beer.
Xander winced as he heard the bottle cap land on the tile and spin away to parts unknown. His heel still throbbed when he'd stepped on one of Faith's identical leavings a few days ago. "You know, Faith," he said as he craned his head over the back of the couch, "I hear that trash cans make really good spots to throw away bottle caps."
"Come off it, Harris," Faith said as she strolled into the living room and sat down on the loveseat flanking the couch. "You're living the bachelor life now. Cut loose."
Connor stood up from the couch and made a show of stretching. "I've got a long drive ahead of me … thanks L.A. traffic … so I think it's time for me to hit the road. My best shot of catching Illyria is to be there first thing in the morning. From what I hear, she's usually cranky and torturing prisoners by early afternoon."
"Lovely," Faith said with an uncertain and quizzical expression on her face. "And why do you think visiting the Old One who body-snatched Fred is a good idea?"
"We need intel," Xander explained. "And Wolfram & Hart wants to recruit Connor, so he's guessing Illyria probably won't devour him. Probably being the operative word." He glanced over at Connor. "Where are you crashing tonight."
"Angel's old place," Connor replied as he headed towards the front door. "It's still sitting there, abandoned, so why let all those hotel rooms go to waste?"
"Sounds creepy," Faith said. "I hope you don't expect us to babysit your cult while you're gone. If they step out of line … or outside those condos they're undoubtedly ruining … we'll stake 'em."
Connor paused as he opened the door. "Do what you gotta do. They're as much a nuisance as they are a help on occasion … hell, I've considered staking them all myself."
After he'd departed and closed the door behind him and departed, Xander and Faith exchanged a long look.
"When did Connor get so cold?" Faith asked.
"He's never really struck me as the warm and fuzzy type," Xander replied. "And babysitting his creepy cult for much of the last decade can't have helped."
"This is a rare night where neither of us are patrolling," Faith said as she stretched. Xander couldn't help but appreciate her sinewy grace as she reached her arms over her head and tilted her head back and forth until the vertebra audibly popped. "Want to catch a movie? Head out to get a beer." She fixed Xander with a frank stare and a sly smile crept to her lips. "Something else?"
I've never been good at subtext, but that felt very subtextual.
"I was planning on sitting around and moping, actually," Xander replied. "I've found it quite cathartic."
Faith rolled her eyed and sighed in exasperation. "Hey, getting dumped sucks, we all know that. But you've taken your month of mourning and now it's time to live a little. Let's go do something. It'll be like old times."
She leaned forward, rested her elbows on her knees, and Xander found himself debating whether or not Faith was intentionally giving him a clear view down the front of her t-shirt. He flushed slightly and averted his eyes.
"Maybe," he equivocated as, surprisingly, he felt the stirring of enthusiasm for the prospect of doing something besides moping. "Should I call around, see if anyone else is up for a mid-week bar crawl?"
"That's a possibility," Faith mused thoughtfully as the corner of her mouth curled up in lopsided smile. "Or you and I could just work on the six packs in your fridge all by ourselves?"
What the hell.
"You know what," Xander said as he stood up began walking towards the kitchen. "I like the sound of that."
. . . . . . . . .
Olivia sipped at her tea while she watched Rupert shake his head and grimace at the television.
"These ads by Richard Wilkins," Rupert said while pointing towards the screen, "they're
designed to appeal to people's most base instincts. Fear of the outsider, security over any other consideration, an appearance of strength with no articulation as to who or what you are appearing strong against … how is anyone gullible enough to not see through these obvious charades?"
"Any of your numbers come up?" Olivia asked with a grin.
Rupert frowned, then cleared his throat as he stared at the dozen or so lotto tickets haphazardly piled on the coffee table. "That purchase represented an extremely pleasant daydream, thank you very much."
"And how about those astrology charts in the newspaper you were checking on to see if Buffy was going to win? Are those not obvious charades, to use your term?"
He scowled at her as he replied, "They're heavenly fluctuations, not astrology, and yes, I have checked."
"And?"
"The answer is hazy … I'll need to ask again later."
Despite the serious look on Rupert's face, Olivia couldn't help but laugh. The resulting glower almost made her chortle again, but she managed to fight off the urge.
"How goes the research?" she asked when her mirth had subsided.
Giles removed his glasses and set them on the table. "Willow finding out Wilkins's master plan has something to do with water isn't much to go on … there are a million references to water with one magical property or another. Other than maybe blood I can't think of a more common element to the mystical arts."
"I'm sure you'll figure out something."
Rupert placed his glasses back on and did not reply.
"How are Angel and Xander doing?" she asked between sips of tea.
"Fine, I suppose," he replied nonchalantly. "I'm sure they have their odd scrapes and bruises from patrolling, but nothing they can't handle."
"Rupert," Olivia said reproachfully, "I'm not talking about physically. I mean how are they doing? Angel saw the dead body of that girl whose mother he knew, Xander lost his eye, then got it back, then lost his girlfriend … there are more than one type of bruises, you know."
"Oh, that," he said with a sigh. "Angel has lost people before, but this one really seems to have affected him. He's trying not to show it, but I can see his eyes glaze over whenever I discuss a point of lore or the latest vampire sightings."
"Yes, I can imagine that would be the case," Olivia said in as neutral a tone as she could manage.
He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment, then continued, "And Xander is … well … he's Xander. He's moping about and miserable, but candidly, he's been like that for so much of the past twenty-five odd years that it's hard to tell the difference."
"Rupert, that's a terrible thing to say!"
He sipped at his own tea and shrugged. "All I'm saying is that I think they'll both be fine."
"At least Xander's not alone," Olivia said. "Faith, and now Connor, are both living with him?"
Rupert nodded and put down the cup. "That's an odd trio."
"The trio?" the younger Buffy asked with a worried expression as she stepped into the living room. "Don't tell me they're back, too?"
"What?" Giles asked in confusion. Then when he understood her meaning, he quickly shook his head. "Oh, no, thank heavens." He reconsidered his answer. "Well, I mean the one who is still alive we have to deal with, but he's definitely more friend than …"
"The trio?" Spike interrupted as he joined them as well. "What do those three dipshits have to do with any of this?"
Giles did his best not to frown at Spike's presence. The teen Buffy, though she'd been more scarce as of late, seemed happier and more at ease than at any time since he'd met her. She'd even revisited the once non-broachable topic of him using magic to lessen the visible appearance of her scar, a query which had resulted in him hugging her tightly until she'd clawed herself free. On finding out the cost of the spell, to the caster, she'd decided to take some time to consider his offer, but still … he considered it an excellent sign that she'd asked, at all.
"Were you two downstairs?" he asked.
"We were," Buffy confirmed.
"Training," Spike added with a grin.
Giles looked them both over. "I don't see any gis … or sweat. What type of training was it?"
Buffy turned beet-red and Giles rolled his eyes as Spike's grin widened.
"We were about to watch Richard Wilkins's campaign special," Olivia interrupted with a merciful subject change. "Care to join us?"
Buffy snorted and shook her head. "Watch that creepy dude lie to everyone? No thanks."
"He is our enemy," Giles pointed out, "and learning more about him, as unpleasant as the notion might be, is not the worst idea."
It was at that moment that Spike noticed the lotto tickets on the coffee table. He pointed at them, then chuckled loudly. "You playing the lottery now, Jeeves? Any luck? Strike it rich? You already don't work for a living, so what would change? A larger tea budget?"
Giles turned angrily towards Spike. "For your information, a larger budget would … wait a moment, why am I bandying words on this topic with you, Spike. You've never worked a day in your life that I've ever heard about." Giles's brow furrowed as he narrowed his eyes in thought. "Come to think of it, how have you managed to rent an apartment these last eight months?"
Spike began to side-step towards the front door. "I was just teasing about the lotto, good luck, eh?"
"Look, it's Buffy!" Olivia squealed as she pointed at the screen. "The other …"
"I know it isn't me!" Buffy interjected. "That isn't my photo up there."
Spike craned his head around the corner and gazed at the television. "I mean, Buffy's only got this Wilkins guy to beat, so that's a positive, right? It's rare we get to take on the bad guys one at a time."
"This is an election, Spike, not a tavern brawl," Giles remarked. "The voters will decide who wins, not wooden stakes or magic spells."
"Presumably," Olivia added.
Giles's mention of magic spells reminded Buffy of a lingering concern she'd had over the past month. "Any luck figuring out what those two yokels were in such a hurry to rush out of the Spirit Square in that iron box of mystery?"
Giles shook his head and inhaled sharply, a sign of exasperation Buffy was all too familiar with. "They have neither reopened for business, nor done so much as open the shades. Angel has informed me that the new owners are using the Spirit Square for deliveries, but we haven't even been able to so much as peek inside."
"I mean, it has a door, right?" Buffy pointed out. "Doors are quite breakable in my experience."
"I am fairly certain the store is warded, as well," Giles admonished her.
A wide, knowing smile erupted on Spike's face. "You already tried to sneak in, didn't you?" he asked Giles. "And I bet you got zapped for your trouble."
Giles's only response was to rub at a deep purple bruise on the back of his right hand.
"Looks like Giles is going to plead the fifth on this one," Buffy said with a chuckle that she quickly tried to camouflage with a pantomimed bit of coughing as Giles turned his head and fixed her with a wounded look.
"You two stay away from that store," Giles said. "I mean it. That was Willow and Oz's business, not ours."
"Yeah, but they sold it," Buffy pointed out as she joined Spike by the front door. "Now it's fair game."
"Buffy, I mean it!" Giles said as he rose from the couch to find Buffy and Spike hurriedly shutting the door behind them as they left.
Rupert sat back down and looked at Olivia. "They're not going to listen, are they?"
"Probably not," Olivia said as she sipped at the last of the tea in her cup. "I'm sure they'll be fine."
"We do once again have the place to ourselves," Rupert said as he affected what he hoped would be a charming smile.
Olivia patted him on the knee, then stood up. "That means we can catch up on some of our shows!"
She didn't quite catch Rupert's reply as she walked into the kitchen and began rinsing out her mug.
. . . . . . . . .
"Spirit Square?" Buffy asked.
Spike nodded and pulled his key fob out of the pocket of his black leather coat. "Absolutely. I've been wanting to rummage through that place since I first laid eyes on it, and now there's nobody to make me feel guilty if I nick the odd trinket or two."
"Let's do it," Buffy replied as the familiar thrill of adrenalin began to tingle. Patrolling was dangerous, it was often deliciously violent, but as of late, it had grown boring. Solving the mystery of 'what's in the box' at the Spirit Square represented, in her view, a delightful and justifiable change of pace.
"Maybe one of us could pose as a deliveryman, or deliverywoman?" Buffy suggested as she opened the passenger door to Spike's car.
They both slid into the seats and Spike shot her a questioning look. "What happened to kicking in the front door?"
"Just saying," Buffy said with a shrug.
"Or we could head back to my place …" Spike said with a leering grin that she found equal parts obnoxious and enticing. "Leave the Spirit Square for another day?"
"I think you're good on that front for a while yet, tiger," Buffy replied in the most snippy tone she could manage. "I do need to work every now and then."
The vehicle rumbled and shook as Spike pressed the ignition button. "Then let's get to work."
. . . . . . . . .
Spike checked in his teeth in the rearview mirror, ran his tongue along an incisor until a piece of chicken that had become lodged when they stopped for fast food came loose, then leaned back in his chair as he swallowed. Buffy, with a pained and disgusted look on her face, turned away and resumed staring at the shuttered windows of the Spirit Square.
"How long were we planning on sitting here?" Spike asked. He theatrically closed his eyes and settled against the window. "It's been hours and we haven't seen a living, or unliving, soul go in or out of the place."
Buffy glanced at the clock on her phone. "It's been twenty-five minutes, Spike."
"Feels longer."
Before Buffy could reply, a red-haired woman wearing a remarkably unflattering pantsuit emerged from between a row of cars and began walking in the direction of the Spirit Square's front door.
"I think we've got something," she informed Spike.
Spike didn't bother opening his eyes. "Wake me when you're sure."
As Buffy watched, the woman … whose skin seemed to be a resplendent shade of silver … glanced around the foot-traffic only alley that the store was located, then removed a key from a small handbag dangling from her shoulder and proceeded to unlock the front door.
"We've got a live one," Buffy said excitedly as she reached for the door handle.
Spike half-opened one eye and watched as Buffy exited the car. It was only after she'd slammed the passenger door closed that he sighed and decided to follow her. Considering that the sun was still high in the sky … a sight that he was finally getting used to seeing … Buffy's crouching gait and furtive glances seemed rather ridiculous. When she gazed back and saw Spike watching her with an amused expression on his face, a brief flash of chagrin crossed her features and she hastily stood upright. When they reached the store, they found the door conveniently half open.
"After you," Spike said as he gestured towards the interior of Willow and Oz's former business.
Buffy walked inside, followed by Spike, then she firmly closed the door behind her and clicked the lock.
"Oh, I'm sorry, the store … is … not …" the silver-skinned woman, who in actuality upon closer inspection was clearly a demon, said. Her words trailed off and her skin seemed to dull and lose its luster as she stared in wide-eyed fear at Buffy and Spike. Her shoulder-length red hair was thick and neatly styled, and her white teeth were needle sharp.
"Open?" Spike finished her sentence with a sneering growl. "Don't worry, we're not here to buy anything."
"The truce!" the demon squealed in a shrill, terrified voice. "You are bound to do me no harm!"
"I don't know, Buffy," Spike asked in a conversational, laconic manner. "Do you feel particularly bound at the moment?"
Buffy slowly shook her head, began to rub at her wrists before she realized what she was doing, then replied, "Nope."
"You see, demon," Spike said nonchalantly, "I don't work with Angel, or for Angel, or even like him the tiniest bit, really, and my gal pal here is from another dimension." He gestured with his thumb towards Buffy. "I'm thinking the truce doesn't apply to us."
The demon cowered against the far wall and looked around desperately for another exit.
"I've got some rope in the car," Spike said. "Tie her up?"
"I don't think that will be necessary," Buffy said as she walked towards the door to the backroom, opened it, then glanced inside. As far as she could tell, nothing in the Oz and Willow's storage space had been changed. She fixed the demon with a stony glare and then pointed inside the room.
"In you go," she commanded. She was more used to killing demons than ordering them about, so she hoped it sounded stern enough. Risking a glance in Spike's direction, he nodded at her and shot a thumbs up.
Ugh.
Upon realizing the demon didn't appear to be any hurry to listen, Buffy raised her voice and screamed, "Get in!"
This time her words had the desired effect. The demon tried to give her and Spike as wide a berth as possible as she scrambled towards the backroom and vanished inside. Buffy closed the door and was about to search for a way to lock it when Spike grabbed a chair and proceeded to wedge it beneath the door knob.
"That actually works?" Buffy asked. "I think I've only seen that in old movies."
Spike yanked at the door a few times; it didn't budge. "It works," he confirmed as he gazed about.
"Why do you have rope in your car?" she asked.
"Never know when it might come in handy," he replied nonchalantly. "Is it just me, or does the store look exactly the same?"
"Not exactly the same," Buffy said as she pointed at several boxes and packages arranged near the cash register. "Looks like they've been getting mail here. I'm not sure if any of that is going to be useful to figuring out what was in that mystery box, but you never know."
"Right then," Spike said. "How about this, I'll open those parcels and see if there's anything valuable inside, and you look about, see what might be missing?"
It occurred to Buffy that neither she nor Spike would likely be able to identify, at a glance, what might have been taken from the store. A satisfied grin crept over her face when she realized there was an obvious solution. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, switched it to camera mode, and informed Spike, "I'm just going to take photos of everything. I'm sure if something important is missing, Willow or Oz will spot it."
"Sure," Spike said indifferently. He had already drawn a knife and, with an avaricious gleam in his eye, begun slicing open the packages.
Buffy turned away from his pillaging and began photographing the shelves, walls, and tables of the store. By the time she was done with the task, a veritable pile of packing debris had accumulated on the floor and Spike was busy examining a number of small, expensive-appearing, items that he'd piled next to the register. Buffy felt her heart flutter a bit when she spotted a golden necklace with a green gem that glinted strangely and a curved dagger with a folded steel blade and a silver hilt. The pile of musty books, on the other hand, she could do without.
"How does it look?" she asked as she held the necklace up to her throat. The gem nestled on her neck and sparkled in the light.
Spike grinned at her as he replied, "Brings out the color of your eyes. Keep it."
Buffy was about to slip the chain over her head, when somewhere in the back of her mind one of Giles's tiresome warnings echoed. "What if they're magical?" she asked Spike as she set the necklace down. "Maybe we shouldn't be horsing around with this stuff?"
Spike picked up a torn open envelope, upended it, and a small gizmo composed of a small, trapezoidal plate made of pewter, interlocking brass cogs, and three rings fell on the cashiering table. Buffy took a closer look and realized that the three rings were connected to the plate by segmented metal tubes. "What do you make of this?" Spike asked as he slipped the rings over his fingers and nestled the pewter into the palm of his hand. He jammed the envelope into the pocket of his jacket and wiggled his fingers.
"Spike, I really think you should stop messing around," Buffy warned.
Spike scowled at her. "C'mon Buffy, have a sense of fun. No sense being a stuck up tight-ass, is there?"
She gritted her teeth and tried to control the surge of temper that immediately welled up. Spike knew how to push her buttons … all of them.
"I mean it, Spike!" she snarled as she reached out and tried to snatch the device from his grasp.
When their palms met, an unseen force drew their hands together. Both of their eyes widened in shock as a white, pulsing glow emanated from between their clenched fingers. The light filled the room for a moment, then it was gone, and Buffy stared with a wide-eyed, shocked expression at Spike, and Spike did likewise towards Buffy.
Except both Buffy and Spike, instead of staring at each other, found themselves staring at their own face.
"Oh, no," Buffy said with Spike's voice, which sounded particularly odd without its customary accent. She immediately raised her hand to her throat, then to the top of her head. She felt spiky, short hair beneath her fingers. The view from her new height was odd, as though she was on standing on stilts, and none of her joints seemed to be of the proper dimension or coordinate correctly.
"What did you do!" Spike shrieked with her, now U.K. accented, voice. He reached up and brushed at his hair, then rubbed at his face and mouth. He spun towards one of the window shutters, slammed it open, and stared at his reflection in the glass. Buffy's visage peered back at him. "I'm you!" he screamed. He immediately reached for his crotch, and Buffy felt a wave of nausea at the sight of Spike pawing between the legs of her body. "My meat and veggies," Spike howled. "They're gone!"
"Not gone," she reminded him as she pulled back the waistband of her own jeans and looked down. Spike apparently hadn't bothered with underwear that morning.
"Hands off the goods!" Spike protested in her voice.
She released the waistband and narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, that's a change of tune from the last three or four weeks."
Spike reached up and began to roughly squeeze at her breasts beneath the thin fabric of her T-shirt. "How do you like it?"
"Stop that!" she scolded him. "It's gross."
Spike dropped his hands and pointed at her. "This is serious, Buffy. Fix it!"
"Don't panic," Buffy said. Her vocal chords felt odd, almost as if they were further down than they should be. The leather jacket swirled about as she found a glass-framed cabinet to stare at. As Spike's blue eyes reflected back at her, she reached up and rubbed at her jawline.
"Don't bloody panic!" Spike yelped. "I'm a girl! Whatever you did, undo it!"
Buffy put her hands on her hips and tilted her head at him. "I think I read about something like this in one of Buffy's journals. Faith used some sort of device on Buffy to swap bodies … I actually thought it sounded pretty hysterical, except for the whole slayers-trying-to-kill-each-other dynamic." She looked for the magical doodad on Spike's hand, then realized it was actually on her own. "All we need to do is clasp hands to swap bodies … I think."
"You think!"
Is my voice really that high-pitched? I sound awfully whiny …
She shrugged. "What could it hurt?"
"A lot. It could hurt a lot."
She did her best to imitate Spike's leer, then in the most smug English accent she could manage, asked, "Who's being a tight-ass now?"
"This isn't funny."
"Fine," she replied as she extended her hand. "Let's give it a try."
Spike rushed over, reached out, and grasped her hand. They both squinted their eyes and looked away in anticipation of a repeat performance of the light show.
Nothing happened.
"Giles will know what to do," Buffy exclaimed as she headed towards the door. She felt ridiculous as the long leather coat swirled around her knees.
"He'd better!"
. . . . . . . . .
"I'm just saying, why not experiment a little?" Buffy asked in Spike's voice. "We might never get this chance again."
"We'd better not have this chance again," Spike replied. At no point during the seemingly endless drive back to Giles's house, which had begun with Spike having to move the driver's seat forward, had he mentally or emotionally adjusted in the slightest to the situation.
"C'mon," she said as she tried to emulate Spike's 'come hither' leer. "Just one little kiss? Who knows, maybe you'll like it?"
For a moment, she thought she could detect a flash of interest in Spike's borrowed eyes, then it vanished, and he shook his head. "Nope."
"Do you two want some alone time?" Giles asked as he returned to the living room. "Olivia and I can catch dinner and a movie, let you sort this out on your own?"
"No," she and Spike both replied in unison.
"Figure out how to change us back yet?" Spike asked.
Giles shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't."
Spike's golden tresses spilled forward as he sunk his face in his hands. "I'm stuck like this? Forever?"
"Not forever," Giles intoned ominously with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "just until Willow gets here. She knows the ins and outs of Draconian Katras far better than I do, and she's confident she can reset the mechanism. She's already on her way."
"Oh, thank whatever gods are out there," Spike intoned.
"You know," Buffy said, "that's my body you're wearing. You could try to be a little less vocally miserable about the situation."
"I'm sorry if I'm rather attached to my equipment, Buffy," Spike snapped.
Giles stared at the two of them with an expression of bewilderment. "You cannot imagine how strange this situation is for me."
"We have some idea," Buffy informed him.
Giles set his glasses on the coffee table and tried to avoid revealing any glint of amusement that he might feel. "Perhaps you will take my warnings about reckless gambles with magic, or breaking and entering, more seriously from now on?"
"Can we save the lectures until we fix this nightmare?" Spike asked he raised his head from his hands.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang.
"At least Willow knows how to approach someone's home with a degree of courtesy," Giles muttered as he walked towards the front door. He opened it and Willow, whose pregnancy was rapidly becoming a sight to behold, waddled inside on comfortable slippers. She stepped into the living room, looked first Buffy, then at Spike, then crinkled her eyes and asked, "So … you've really swapped, huh?"
Both of them nodded their heads, and Buffy replied, "Yes. And while I'm facing the situation with what I believe to be an appropriate amount of decorum, Spike here …" she gestured towards him … "has come very close to hurting my feelings."
"Can you help us?" Spike pleaded.
Willow turned to stare at Giles. "How weird is this?"
"Very," Giles said as he tried to keep from laughing.
Willow began to giggle, then she covered her mouth with her hands. Spike stared at her balefully and frowned. "Ha ha. Laugh at our expense. Poor Spike and Buffy."
Willow cleared her throat and nodded. "Of course. This isn't a joking matter … where's the Katra?"
"In the kitchen," Giles said. "I'll go grab it."
Willow watched Giles leave, then she leaned towards Spike, subsequently realized her mistake and maneuvered towards Buffy, then whispered, "It'll be our secret, forever, I swear, but I have to ask … did you two try to … you know." She waited expectantly.
"Did we what?" Spike asked suspiciously.
Buffy shook her head. "Spike is too freaked to even kiss."
Spike's green eyes widened in horror when he realized what Willow was suggesting. His jaw opened and closed a few times, similar to a fish on dry land, as he sputtered indignantly.
Willow frowned in disappointment, then looked up when Giles returned.
"Here you go," he said as he extended the Katra towards Willow. As she reached out her hand to grab it, Giles thought better of the maneuver and quickly drew his hand back. He instead laid the device on the coffee table.
"You didn't need to worry," Willow said as she picked up the Katra. "Until it's reset, it's harmless." Her hands fiddled with the gears, made several minute adjustments that Buffy couldn't follow, and then a loud click emanated from within the metal.
"All set," Willow said cheerily as she set the device on the table. "Have at it."
Spike leapt from the couch, grabbed the Katra, and with frenzied movements slipped it back over his hand. He moved towards Buffy and extended his palm.
"C'mon, grab it!" he said.
"I haven't even had a chance to try peeing with this thing," Buffy teased as she patted at the front of her pants.
"Buffy!" Spike screamed.
"Fine," Buffy said as he reached out and grabbed Spike's hand.
Another pulsing flash of light, a barely perceptible shifting sensation, and Buffy and Spike were once again staring at each other's respective faces.
Spike ran his hands over his body … in a rather unsettling fashion … and Buffy more cautiously shifted on her feet and assured herself that everything was back in the right place.
"Not an effin' word about this, ever," Spike begged.
"I'll just go ahead and put this somewhere safe," Willow informed them as she carefully slid the device into a pocket on her coat.
"Maybe not so fast, Will," Buffy said in a voice that sounded alien and shrill to her own ears. "Could we use that as a weapon, maybe? Force Richard Wilkins to swap with a gerbil, or something?"
"A gerbil?" Giles asked.
"Or anything, really?" Buffy explained. "I bet he wouldn't be so scary as an itty-bitty kitten."
Willow dismissively shook her head. "Sorry, Buff. Draconian Katras only work twice; once for the initial body swap, and then once to switch back. In order to recharge its juice, I'd have to sleep with a …" her voice trailed off and she shuddered, "… never mind about the details, it isn't going to happen." Her brow furrowed as a question occurred to her. "Where did you two find a Draconian Katra, anyway?"
Buffy swiveled her body so she wouldn't have to see Giles's expression as she answered, "About that …"
Willow glanced at Giles, then back at Buffy. "What did you two do?"
. . . . . . . . .
Willow's eyes were fixed to her laptop as she began cycling through the photographs Buffy had taken inside the Spirit Square.
"Officially, for the record, I don't condone your thievery or breaking and entering," Willow informed Spike and teen Buffy. "Good job, though." Another thought occurred to her. "Don't lie to Oz if he asks, but maybe don't volunteer the details of this particular escapade, either. You get me?"
"We get you," Buffy confirmed.
Spike, who was busy rubbing at his face and staring at his reflection in a window, did not bother responding.
Giles pushed a mug of tea across his kitchen table towards Willow, who gratefully picked it up, then sniffed at it suspiciously. "This doesn't have caffeine in it, does it?"
Giles silently took the mug back, stood, walked over to the counter, then dashed its contents in the sink. "I'm sure we have decaffeinated tea around here somewhere," he said as he began rummaging through cabinets.
"Sounds good," Willow said absent-mindedly as she scrolled through the photographs Buffy had forwarded her. "Is this all the pictures you took?"
"That's all of them," Buffy confirmed. "Can you spot anything missing?"
Willow slowly shook her head as she scrolled through the photographs one by one. "Did they buy the store we built from the ground up just to use it as a glorified mailbox? I mean, everything looks exactly like we …" Her eyes widened as she leaned forward. "I found something."
Buffy scampered behind Willow and leaned forward to peer over her shoulder, while Giles set a mug of milk on the table next to the laptop and joined them in eyeing the monitor.
"This display case, here," Willow said as she tapped her computer screen, "used to have a glass front. The lock is still on the case, but the glass is gone."
"That would explain the sound of breaking glass," Giles mused. "Can you recognize what was removed?"
Willow leaned back, her eyes distant in thought, as she raised the mug to her lips. Upon realizing it was milk, she grimaced and set it back down. Buffy couldn't help but jump when Willow snapped her fingers in realization. "I remember," she said excitedly. "It was an old Norse carving made from cured pinewood."
"A carving of what?" Buffy asked.
"My guess it was a demon of some sort," Spike interjected as he joined them at the table. "Some big, horrible demon that he can bring to life?"
"It wasn't a carving of a figure," Willow explained. "It was a symbol, more specifically a variation of a Norse triskelion." She tapped away on the keyboard, pressed enter, and three interlocking, entwined triangles appeared on the screen. Willow pointed at the design and said, "There it is. This specific motif is called a 'valknut.' It was commonly used in Norse mythology, and while the origins are a bit murky, we know the symbol had something to do with Odin and probably the usual ominous stuff like world domination, bending folks to your will, that sort of thing."
"I thought you specifically steered your business away from anything dangerous or useful in the dark arts, Willow," Giles said with a barely detectible tone of reproach. "How did this Valknut make its way amongst your wares?"
"Hey!" Willow protested. "I never knew it had any magical properties, at all, and by the way, Mr-Immediately-Throws-Stones-From-His-Glass-House, weren't you the one who tucked away an all-powerful magic-destroying Shard of Nulvaris in a drawer for years cause you couldn't figure out what it was?"
Giles coughed and took another sip of tea. "Steering this in a more productive direction, where did you acquire this Valknut?"
"An antique store in Old Town," Willow replied. "The Valknut was salvaged from some church in Sunnydale that an angry mob burned down back in the 1930s. I thought the symbol looked pretty cool."
"Why'd normally ever-so-peaceful residents of Sunnydale burn the church down?" Spike asked.
"They thought it was creating monsters."
"I knew it would have something to do with monsters," Spike said in a proud, nearly triumphant manner.
Willow's voice trailed off as she continued, "Seems like Sunnydale residents could never go more than a decade or so without burning down some building or another."
"Any idea why anyone would find this Valknut important?" Giles asked.
Willow once again shook her head. "Giles. I tested it for magic, of course, and it didn't react at all. It was just a carved piece of wood. I stuck it in our 'not for sale' display case and then forgot about it."
"Well, somebody wanted this Valknut badly enough to snag it immediately upon purchasing the Spirit Square, and then they basically abandoned the rest of the store," Buffy announced. "I'm thinking we dig up everything we can on this mysterious church that burned down, research valknuts … including this particular Valknut … figure out how any of this might be relevant to the magical water vision Willow had in the hospital, and then meet up to strategize."
Giles, Willow, and Spike all exchanged meaningful glances with each other.
"What?" Buffy asked as she spread her arms questioningly.
"It's kind of uncanny how she sometimes sounds exactly like her, isn't it?" Willow asked Giles and Spike.
Both of them nodded in reply.
"Guys, I'm standing right here!" Buffy protested.
Giles ignored her comment as he leaned forward to stare at the computer screen. "I don't suppose that either of you snapped any photographs of the boxes or envelopes you were rifling through?"
"Why?" Buffy asked.
"It might tell us who they were delivered to, Buff," Willow explained.
"Oh," Buffy replied. "I didn't think of that … but wasn't there a new owner listed on the contract you and Oz signed?" Buffy asked.
"There was," Willow confirmed, "but it was just some random LLC with headquarters in another state."
Giles fixed Buffy and Spike with a questioning stare. "Did you happen to at least glance at those packages before you undoubtedly ripped them open like feral raccoons? Maybe you remember a name?"
Buffy and Spike stared at each other for a moment before Buffy replied in a crestfallen tone, "Spike was busy tearing them open, and I didn't think to look."
"That's okay," Willow said as she tried to hide her disappointment. "We'll figure it out."
"Wait a second," Spike exclaimed as he reached into his jacket pocket. "I've still got the package that bloody body-swapping thingamabob came in." He pulled a crumped envelope with a bubble-wrap lined interior from his pocket and laid it on the table. "There you go!"
Willow eagerly grabbed the envelope, spread it in front of her, and then her face went white. With trembling legs, she stood and nearly knocked over her chair as she backed away. Spike and Buffy moved aside to let her pass, and Giles bent down to read the label for himself.
"Oh dear," Giles said.
"What's with the suspense?" Spike asked. "Who the bloody hell is it?"
The ground felt as though it was spinning beneath Buffy's feat as she craned over to read the neatly printed name.
Buffy found she could barely force the words from her mouth. "It's addressed to Richard Wilkins IV."
"I cannot believe this," Willow said.
Giles held up a hand and affected a comforting, soothing tone, "Now, Willow, let's not jump to conclusions, it's one package. It could mean anything."
Willow looked at Giles, and Buffy could not recall her ever appearing so angry. Despite being noticeably pregnant, dressed in sandals and a smock, and, as far as Buffy could tell, being completely magic-free for months, Willow was still frightening enough that she found herself taking an involuntary step in another direction.
"Giles, let's call it like it," Willow said as she jabbed at the envelope with her finger. "Richard Wilkins wanted that old piece of wood badly enough to buy our store, and Oz and I were dumb enough to sell it to him." Her voice grew even heated and thick with anger. "I can't believe I was so irresponsibly stupid. The price was too good, the buyers wanted it too quickly, and I just waltzed into their trap because they made it so easy to not ask questions." Giles raised a hand to interrupt and Willow ignored it. "Well, this isn't over yet! We are going to figure out what Wilkins is doing, and anything I have to do to stop him … and I mean ANYTHING … I'm doing it."
Everyone else in the room found themselves at a sudden loss for words.
Willow sat back down and angrily began typing. "We've got work to do."
. . . . . . . . .
Allan, with mute horror, and Joshua, with indifference, stared at the red-haired, silver skinned, decapitated head sitting on the edge of Richard Wilkins's desk. The eyes were open and unseeing and the mouth with its needle-sharp teeth were slightly open as if the head's former owner had been interrupted mid-sentence.
"Time for some tough love," Wilkins announced in a brooding, ominous tone. "The kind of foul-up that happened today is not something I can tolerate. I can assure you that it will not happen again, and when I say heads will roll, I mean it."
Allan's voice was desperate and wavering as he interjected, "Sir, I swear, I had no idea that Mindy was …"
He fell silent as Richard Wilkins raised a hand and shook his head. "I don't want to hear it. My management team is a team, and they need to act like it." He pointed at Allan. "Deliveries to an unsecured location? Ramshackle wards that can't even stop two interloping burglars? No bodyguards? No protection for irreplaceable merchandise? Where am I going to find another Draconian Katra? I had some very amusing plans for that particular trinket. What wasn't stolen was pawed through, and I just can't have this." For the first time that Joshua could remember, Richard Wilkins raised his voice to what could almost be considered a yell, "I can't and won't have it! Do you hear me?"
"We hear you," Allan said.
Richard Wilkins turned to Joshua. "You're supposed to be working security. I gave you carte blanche freedom to wander Moonridge on your little peeping tom projects. Where the hell were you when Mindy was getting locked in a storage room and my mail, in violation of Federal Law I might add, was being stolen?"
"I was trying to figure out how many of those cultists Angel's kid has holed up in that condo complex," Joshua replied. "Like you asked me to do."
"Well, you should have been with Mindy!" Wilkins yelled again. "She'd still be alive, and I'd have my Katra." Uncowed at all by the height and strength difference, he walked over to Joshua and met him eye-to-eye. "You have a nice comfy castle to live in and I've given you everything, everything, you've wanted or needed. Do better." He swiveled to Allan. "You, too." He pointed once more at Mindy. "And get that thing out of here."
When Allan's face blanched at the notion of touching the severed head, Joshua grabbed it by the hair and held it at arms-length away from his body.
Richard Wilkins turned away from them, walked over to a window set in the stone wall, and stared out into the bruised purple light of the setting sun. "Allan, find someone to replace Mindy. This time, get me an assistant with some backbone. And I don't mean physically," a bit of his old charm returned as he turned at them and grinned with a twinkle in his eye, "just cause Mindy is missing her spine entirely. I mean backbone as in fortitude … mentally." He turned back to the window and chuckled.
"Will do," Allan squawked.
