A small room, twenty paces by twenty paces, smelling of recycled air and furniture polish. The furniture, a solid wooden desk, chairs and cupboards, he’d jammed against the walls so he didn’t trip over them. And it still felt more like a prison than an office, a feeling reinforced by the minions stationed outside the door. Apparently they were thugs for hire that had been released from the zoo when they’d accepted the offer of employment with the new gang in town.
At least they’d found his clothes for him. The duster made him feel more like his old bad self, even if he was nothing but a crippled wreck.
The wall bore the brunt of Spike’s frustration at his situation, cheap plasterboard crumbling to nothing under the force of the punch. Shaking in anger, he ground his teeth, trying to regain control of his rage. Now was not the time to let rip however good it might feel. That was simply tempting fate.
A low rumble from his stomach elicited a curse. It was a germane reminder that for all his protestations of not being hungry, feeding was becoming a priority and when that happened the bloodlust was going to be a whole hell of a lot more than a slightly hazy and stimulating memory.
‘You can’t starve me out of you.’
‘Piss off, I’m not listening.’
‘You will succumb. The blood calls to you. Smell it, hear it. There is no escape.’
‘I not gonna give in.’
‘You must. There is no choice. I am all you have.’
‘There’s always a choice. I’ll stake myself before I give in to you this time.’
‘An interesting idea. What do you think your childer will do when you are gone?’
‘That bunch of incompetents? I don’t think the world’s trembling.’
‘Not all of them are incompetent. Cullum shows promise. He will certainly take on the mantle of leader and what glorious slaughter he could achieve.’
‘Too right. Enough to make a Sire proud that one… No. No, I mustn’t think like that. Shut the fuck up and let me think. I just need to control them. Stop them from doing anything stupid.’
‘Like getting killed?’
‘Yes. No. Shit. I - I need to keep the body count down until Angel arrives.’
‘And how do you intend to do that if you’re dead? As will happen if you do not feed and heal.’
‘Bollocks. Who died and put you in charge?’
Pointed silence.
‘Ha, yeah okay. I did. Damn.’
"Sir?" The voice came from right in front of him. How long had the other vampire been standing there watching him while he communed with his demon and why did it have to be this one.
"Cullum?"
"Yes… sir. Marlowe’s had an accident so I’ve taken charge until one of you is fit to lead us."
An interesting choice of words. A quick and surreptitious taste of the air confirmed the young vampire’s nervousness and put Spike on alert. Was this a challenge and what exactly did Marlowe’s ‘accident’ entail?
At one time even the faintest suspicion of rebellion would have lead to immediate and gratuitous retaliation, but now was not then, and Spike knew he was not ready for direct confrontation even with a fledgling.
The wisest route would be to play things by ear and try to find out why he was being accused of inadequacy. "And what makes you think I’m not fit to lead you right now?"
Cullum’s nervousness decreased. Obviously not ripping the boy’s head off the minute he opened his mouth was another mistake according to whatever model the young vampire was basing his calculations on.
"There were rumours, about you and a bloke. I didn’t believe ‘em to start with, not until I saw the tapes. Then I thought, maybe this guy isn’t Spike? Maybe he’s just some vamp they picked up off the street ‘cos Spike wouldn’t do that. So I spoke to Ramirez."
"He’s alive?"
"All the higher-ups are alive. We kept ‘em that way when we took the centre. That was my doing, by the way. The others couldn’t decide whether to slaughter them all or release them. I convinced them my way was best. The zoo holds humans as effectively as demons and it gives us a decent food supply."
"Good thinking." As Spike had suspected there was a lot more to Cullum than met the metaphorical eye. The next question was when push came to shove which way would the minions jump?
"Yeah. I studied tactics at Sandhurst before my discharge."
"A military background. Could be useful." If you were trying to take over the Council, which wasn’t at the top of Spike’s list of things to do.
"I thought so but then you didn’t tell the others how bloody stupid their plan was when any idiot can see it’s crap. That’s why I spoke to Ramirez and with a bit of persuasion he gave me some pretty useful information."
"And?"
The younger vampire was now stood right in front of him, the scent of fresh blood strong on his clothes. Spike braced himself for the blow he was sure was coming and focused all his senses on calculating where and how it would be delivered.
"Removing the chip caused a lot of damage, he said. Wasn’t sure exactly what but it might… How did he put it? Oh yeah. ‘Reduce your naturally aggressive tendencies’."
No punch. No accusations of physical weakness. Could vampires get wobbly knees? Spike sat down suddenly. Luckily the chair behind him saved him from an ignominious landing on the floor.
"Sir? Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Just a bit of a shock, you know." Think fast. There must be a way of using this information to your own advantage. "I knew I felt a bit different. Didn’t know why. Guess that must be it. Brain surgery, you say?"
"Yes, sir. Ramirez reckons it’ll heal, eventually, but it could take a while. Until then I’ll be behind you making sure you’ll be all you were."
Cullum was insistent in his offer of support but Spike fixated on his first statement avoiding the implications of the other. "How long’s a while."
"Pardon?"
"How long will it take for my - my brain to heal."
"Not sure. Maybe as long as two or three months. Brains and nervous systems can be a bit dodgy, apparently."
Memories of being confined in a wheelchair flooded Spike’s mind. He knew exactly how ‘dodgy’ nervous systems could be. Would his eyes take as long to heal? Had the brain surgery blinded him as well? It must have. If there were obvious damage to his actual eyes someone would have noticed. An angry growl escaped from his chest and curled unhappily around the room.
"I need to speak to Ramirez. Now."
"Sir, yes sir." There was a click of heels and footsteps heading away from him. Cullum’s immediate obedience was something of a mollifier and, as the young vampire opened the door Spike called after him. "Well done, Cullum. I won’t forget this."
"Thank you, sir."
**
As it turned out the stupid blighter hadn’t the foggiest idea what he’d actually done. For all of Ramirez’ fistful of qualifications, his expertise lay more in the operation of the chips than removing them. All he could add, when Spike told him of the blindness - in the privacy of his office - was that he’d had to cut away significant parts of the visual vortex to extract the entire network of probes that the chip utilised. The whole story about reduced aggression was based on supposition. That had been what he was intending to do, and the concussion Marlowe had given him had left the doctor unsure of whether he had carried out that part of the operation.
All of which got Spike absolutely nowhere. He was still blind, still had brain damage that would heal - eventually, and in the meantime he had Cullum nipping at his heels convinced that William the Bloody had turned into some sort of nancy-boy if he didn’t create merry mayhem.
With another growl of frustration Spike aimed a desultory kick at the body on the floor. At least he’d got a decent meal for his troubles and the news about the damage had put his demon into retreat. It seemed Angelus wasn’t the only one who disliked long term healing. Until his sight was back Spike reckoned he’d have his head pretty much to himself most of the time.
His initial thought when the first bit of colour flickered across his line of sight was that feeding on the doctor had somehow restored him. Something like the hair of the dog - he remembered Dru referring to it as contagious magic. That had always sounded a bit suspect to him, like some disease you could catch from eating a witch.
But it was only a vision. What had thrown him was the lack of mind-numbing pain that had always accompanied them before. However that didn’t reduce the vividness of the images.
Angel, Willow and Gunn creeping through dank underground passages that looked vaguely familiar.
Willow grabbed from behind by Cullum, her neck broken before she could utter one word of a spell.
The other two going down under a scrum of bodies armed with tazars.
Angel and Gunn were being brought before him in chains, bruised and half-conscious.
Choosing not to kill them himself and dying at their sides when the rest of the pack turned on them.
As the images cleared from his mind Spike took a moment to digest what he’d seen before springing into action. He’d entirely forgotten about the tunnels that led to the church, having been thrashed and damn nearly unconscious when Angelus had pulled him out of this place over a century ago. On the other hand at least he now knew exactly where he was, though the knowledge was little comfort.
It was time to take control.
The minion snapped to attention when he opened the door. "Fetch me the witch. Silverwood or whatever the hell her name is. And Cullum as well. Tell him I need to know exactly which humans are alive and I need to know now!"
They ran off to obey his orders and a few minutes later a hesitant knock at the door announced the arrival of the magic user. Not sparing a moment for formalities, Spike jumped straight to the chase.
"There are tunnels running under this place. Can you, I dunno, protect them. Stop people from using them to come at us?"
"Tunnels?"
"Yeah. Under the zoo." He tapped his head to indicate that his inside information had come from a vision. "There’s some sort of entrance down on the lower levels. Might be partially blocked, maybe a rockfall or something."
"I’ll need to find them; after all it’s hardly fair to expect me to ward something I’ve never seen."
There was something distinctly snooty about the way the woman spoke to him and for a moment Spike found himself nostalgic for whips and chains, to teach this childe a lesson in respect. But there was no time. If this vision was correct, and he had no reason to doubt its veracity, he had about four hours to ensure that no one could get into the centre through those tunnels.
"Right. Take some minions with you. Find those bloody tunnels and get them blocked. I don’t want anything moving down there, you hear me. If a mouse so much as farts I want to know about it."
With an arrogant huff, the Witch left.
***
"I don’t like it."
"Nor do I, but the plan has its merits. Spike’s vision told him you and Faith were not here and from what Wesley has told me, the Powers are normally fairly specific in the information they impart. You and Faith remaining here should fulfil that requirement while leaving the rest of us free to enter the tunnels and do some reconnaissance."
"But Dawn? I don’t want her dragged into this." The worry in Buffy’s voice wasn’t sufficient to drown out the slight whine of defeat. She knew Giles was right but that didn’t mean she had to go along without protesting.
"There will be enough of us there to ensure her safety and if necessary we can split the group up to protect her."
Buffy slumped back into her chair and Giles nodded almost imperceptibly at Angel, she had capitulated and the plan could go ahead.
**
"Angel! Hold up a minute." The whisper was sent up the line to the vampire who was leading the way. "It’s Giles. I think he’s having a heart attack or something."
"No, not a heart attack, merely a panic attack I’m afraid." The Watcher was pulling frantically at his already loosened collar, a nervous palsy evident in his movements. "It appears that I am not one of nature’s potholers. The- the walls… too close."
Angel could hear the human’s heart starting to race dangerously fast under the stress and allowed him a moment’s sympathy. He wasn’t a lover of closed in dark places himself, for obvious reasons, and these tunnels with their narrow bottlenecks and frighteningly low ceilings definitely qualified. "We need to get him out of here. Willow, Gunn, you come with me. You others get Giles out of here and back to the church."
"Are you sure that’s wise?" Wesley pushed himself forward, ready to argue for his own inclusion in the group who was going ahead.
Grabbing his arm, Angel drew him off to one side. "I know you want to come, Wes, but Giles is not a young man and if he does end up having a heart attack you’re the best person to get him to hospital."
Wesley’s eyebrows rose exponentially as Angel spoke and he cast furtive looks over at his fellow Watcher, noting the greyness of the other man’s pallor and the flush of sweat that coated his top lip.
"It’s only recon. I promise we won’t do anything stupid."
Now Wesley’s expression was entirely sceptical. "Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Angel. You know as well as I do that if the chance presents itself you’d take on the whole Council to get Spike out of there."
The vampire cast his eyes down and shuffled his feet uncomfortably, lost for a way to answer. Wesley’s hand on his brought his eyes back up. "Whatever you do, just promise me you’ll be careful."
Angel nodded and Wesley pulled away, starting to organise the others so that Giles had maximum support during the trip back without being crowded.
As they disappeared into the darkness leaving Willow, Gunn and Angel alone, the threesome started their own journey deeper into the tunnel system that burrowed under the centre.
***
There was someone crying in the darkness. Huge, heaving sobs through a throat already torn by tears and Ibtesam picked her way carefully through the huddled bodies until she found him.
He was a young man, the remnants of his ripped khakis suggesting he had once been one of the security guards. In the faint light of the electronic lock she could see the bloodstains on his collar and she thought she recognised him from earlier that day. He was one of the lucky ones then, selected by one of those to whom she had returned a soul. Only they had enough restraint to feed without killing, unless their victim fought back.
She offered no words of comfort, for what was there for her to say. Their situation was as hopeless as any she’d ever experienced. Even the refugee camps in Pakistan had held the familiarity of a common language until the militants had forced her to move on from there as well.
All she had was the most primitive of pacifiers, a mother’s warm body to hold and rock you through the terrors of an everlasting night.
Eventually his choking breaths evened out and when Ibtesam was sure he slept she crept away again, back to her own small space in hell.
***
It was three hours before the recon team returned to the church to find the others scattered around the underground crypt waiting for them. Giles looked well recovered from his attack of claustrophobia and the rest were simply bored.
A jumpy Xander greeted them, desperate for something other than lectures on church architecture. "So, we going in tonight? Saddle up and take those bad guys down or what?"
"It’s not that simple, Xander." Willow tried to brush the worst of the filth off her jeans with limited success. "There’s wards. Not strong ones, I could break them with a…" She waved her hand in the air to illustrate. "But then we’d be lacking something in the surprise department. Alarums, alarums." Off his confused look, "Theatre."
Wesley wandered over from a mausoleum he’d been studying to join in the conversation. "Are you not able to spy on them, as you did on Angelus and Spike?"
With a faint grimace of distaste at the unwanted memory, Willow explained. "No, they’re set up to detect that sort of astral projection. Someone really wants to stay private in there."
"How about Cordy? Would she set off the alarms? What!" All of them except Angel stared at Dawn in shock.
Her look of defensive petulance was replaced with horror when she realised what she’d said and clapped her hand over her mouth with a squeak. "Oh god, Angel. I’m so sorry."
"Cordy? I thought she was gone." Angel’s desperate eyes sought out Willow’s, demanding an explanation.
"She arrived last night. It seems that exorcism spell wasn’t so exorcise-y when the ghost is haunting a person not a building and she’s a personalised sort of ghost. Yours to be exact. And she made us all promise not to say anything until all this was over in case you ended up distracted or something."
Rather than pain it was irritation that filled Angel’s face as he tipped his head back and yelled for his dead lover. "Cordy!"
The ghost shimmered into view, her expression equally vexed and snapped back at the vampire who immediately orientated on the sound of her voice. "What, already?"
"What the hell were you doing not telling me you were back?"
"Huh?"
"It was damned dangerous for humans down there. There’s magic, and magical traps designed to kill people. The tunnels are collapsing, and where there’s not rock falls, the roof would come down if you looked at it wrong.
"Not to mention Giles nearly had a freakin’ heart attack." Pausing slightly to grab hold of his temper, Angel then let loose with the final tirade. "You’re still a champion for the Powers, Cordy, dying doesn’t change that. What you did today was totally out of line. You put all your friends in danger all because you decided that it would hurt me too much to see you. You know what? It hurts more to see you now and know that you let them down."
With that, the vampire gathered up his dignity and stalked away to the steps that lead from the catacombs into the north transept of the church.
Cordelia, who had stood with her head down unmoving and unflinching throughout the assault, looked around at the others with a sheepish look on her face, then smiled apologetically. "Oops?"
***
Torture was never Spike’s thing, he was more of a kill them all in the fastest and bloodiest way possible sort of chap. But that didn’t mean he’d neglected the lessons Angelus had taken such delight in beating into him. Right now he was lounging in a leather executive chair at one end of the old conference room - now refurbished as an impromptu throne room, supervising such an exercise. The subject was virtually unrecognisable, his face a swollen mass of contusions from where he’d tried to resist being chained to the wall, and the air was fragrant with the smell of freshly spilled blood.
Even without the benefit of sight it was easy to monitor Cullum’s progress as he worked through his Sire’s first lesson in the fine art of torturing a human without killing them in the process.
"Leave him alone and get some pressure on that last one. He’s bleeding out too damn fast. Did they not teach you anything?"
The brisk movement of feet was ample evidence that his command had been followed and Spike allowed himself to relax slightly. Of course the torture was so much sweeter when your victim knew the techniques as well as this one. And although he was supposed to be keeping the body count down, Spike wagered there were one or two humans in the centre that he was entitled to have a little fun with. Harry Preece was most definitely one of them and after all he had given that little creep Ramirez a clean death. Though that was not immediately obvious from the state of the body that was currently hanging upside down on the wall opposite Preece.
"I trained on demons. This is different."
Spike nodded sagely, humouring the young vampire. At any other point in time he’d have welcomed a fledgling like Cullum, strong, vicious, obedient but far from obsequious and pretty bright. Torturing Preece would keep them both busy for several hours, but after that his second in command was going to be fishing to find out what the rest of the plan was and right now Spike didn’t have a clue what he was going to do next.
The unearthly keening that had been coming from the interrogator cum victim suddenly stopped.
"Oh, thank fuck for that. I thought my brain was going to explode."
"Yeah, even the sweetest tune can become wearing however much the screams of our victims please our demons." And wasn’t that a rebuke wrapped up in an agreement. This youngster was going to be the death of him - possibly literally.
"Sir?"
Spike racked his brain to place the voice. Ah, Miss tomb raider herself. "Lara, love. What can I do for you?"
"I have the shaman. As you suggested she was concealing herself amongst the food but Silver sniffed her out."
"Bloody brilliant." Now he was concentrating, Spike realised that there was a human standing next to Lara. He moved his head slightly so as to appear to be looking straight at the woman. "So this is the one I have to thank for removing my soul."
There was a slight whimper and then Lara’s sharp voice cut out, "Don’t worry, sweets, without you none of us would be here so you’re not going to get punished."
"Do you still have it? In one of those glass things? Or is it floating around in the sodding ether somewhere?"
Spike found he was torn by the loss of his soul. He’d fought long and hard for it and for a damn good reason, and although he certainly didn’t miss the pain, he did crave the clarity of thought and reasoning it had given him. If he remembered correctly, it made it a lot easier to work out what he was supposed to be doing in any given situation. All he’d had to do was think about what he’d done in the past and the horror of the memories kept him on the proverbial straight and narrow. Without it everything seemed murkier.
Still, as of right now he wasn’t desperate to have it back. That, of course, may change in five minutes time - nobody ever accused him of consistency in anything except love.
"Yes… Tekin." A growl from Lara elicited what seemed to be the honorific appropriate to the shaman’s culture, so Spike let it pass. It was one thing letting the young vampires get away with a casual form of address and quite another for a human prisoner.
"So where is it?" With difficulty Spike controlled his temper; he’d get nothing from the woman if he scared her to death and from the smell of her she was getting on a bit.
"I am having it safe, Tekin. It is here." And without being able to see that was a fat lot of help, although the gasps around the room suggested she’d just produced something pretty spectacular.
"Show me." The shaman approached and something cold and heavy was placed in Spike’s hand. It felt like an un-worked gemstone and as he closed his fingers around it he could feel the power pulsing from its heart.
"It sees you, knows you."
"You think?" Spike smirked at the wondering tone in the woman’s voice and leaned forward to whisper in her ear, placing the stone back into her hand. "Tell you what, love. You keep that safe and sound for me. And in return I’ll make sure no one eats you unless we get real hungry. What d’you say?"
The smell of fear pouring from her shot up several notches and she pulled away from him, gasping in shock. "Yes - yes. My thanks, Tekin."
***
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." Cordelia was flapping her hands in front of her face and hyperventilating in a way none of them had seen for years when she reappeared in the middle of the Youth Hostel common room. This was complete and outright panic. If she was still alive, Wesley reflected, she’d likely have passed out by now.
"Cordy, calm down, girl, and talk to us." It was downright impossible to calm someone when you couldn’t touch them but between Gunn’s steadying voice and the other’s silent support, the ghost eventually reached the stage where she could talk about what she’d seen during her foray into the centre.
None of them were expecting to hear what she told them.
"There’s vampires everywhere. Maybe fifty of them and - and people in cages and bodies all over the place. I-I followed some of them and ended up in this big office and… Oh god, he’s in charge. Spike’s in charge of it. He was torturing someone and - and he’s lost his soul." She finished on a wail, which everyone fairly much ignored as they sat in muted shock.
Eventually, Buffy broke the silence, leaping to her feet and yanking a stake from its sheath. "Right, let’s go. Vamps to stake and the night’s a-wastin’."
"Maybe it’s a trick." Angel found his voice was shaking a little. He couldn’t believe that after all these years he had again lost his childe. "Maybe he’s a prisoner. Was Spike actually doing the torturing?"
"No…"
"See. There you go. No need to jump to unwanted conclusions." He settled back with a smile.
"Angel, he was sat on some sort of throne giving lessons on how to do it. And he thanked the woman that removed his soul." Cordelia was shaking her head before realising that it was a pointless act. Instead she continued putting as much sympathy and understanding into her voice as possible.
"There’s no mistake. No trick. That was Spike in there. As in Spike and Drusilla, Spike. Bugman, Spike. You do remember the Gem of Amara and the hot pokers? ‘Cos that’s what we’re looking at."
"And this time he’s going down before he has a chance to kill us all." Buffy was gearing up into full Slayer mode.
There was a muffled squeak from Dawn and Xander grabbed her hand, aware of how difficult this news must be for her. Despite her posturing a few months ago, the young woman was genuinely fond of Spike.
Angel was simply shaking his head, caught deeply in denial.
"I have to agree with Buffy…" Giles’ was interrupted by Dawn breaking and running for the stairs, followed a moment later by Xander.
When some semblance of calm was restored, the Watcher continued. "However, I have to disagree with her methodology."
He turned to face his slayer, "Buffy, I realise your instincts tell you to immediately engage and slay these vampires, however you are unaware of the level of security the training centre boasts. The only way to avoid such systems would be to enter via the tunnels and doing so would seriously deplete the reserves of one of our best fighters."
He glanced over at Willow. "I am correct in that supposition?" She nodded in return.
"In addition we still have the problem with the Council and their attempt to kill you, which, in retrospect, I am beginning to think is part of their overall plan involving the souled vampires. Finally, the fact that it wasn’t actually Spike torturing this unfortunate is suggestive that the chip may still be operational. It would certainly be useful to have that sort of knowledge before we confront him. In conclusion, I believe that with a little judicious kidnap and blackmail we can effectively kill several birds with one stone."
Baffled silence met his announcement until Buffy sat back down, blinked slowly and blurted out. "Giles. Love yer, but huh?"
***
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jamie Macdonald was deeply conflicted by the innate contradiction between the Hippocratic Oath and his need for blood. In all honesty he’d come here to feed but when confronted by something like this, he found that lingering sense of responsibility put a distinct crimp in his appetite.
His eyes passed disinterestedly over the fearful humans cowering at the back of pens from the un-souled fledgling that was feeding messily from one of their number, and automatically turned to the poor living conditions. This would never do. Sanitation was less than basic, they had no fresh water and the food that had been thrown in earlier had been rendered inedible from being trampled into the floor.
A scream drew his attention and he watched curiously as the youngster yanked a young woman up by her hair, thrust her face first into the wall and ripped off her knickers. The scent of blood that rapidly started to streak her thighs made his senses twitch and his demon flickered forward suddenly desperate to taste her.
Too late he went for the door. A body he’d written off as one of the numerous corpses littering the pen shifted and rose unsteadily to her feet. The newly risen vampire shot across the room and hurled the engrossed fledge to one side, sinking her fangs into the woman’s neck the moment she could gain access. Less than impressed at having his fun interrupted, the fledgling roared, threw himself back across the room and tried to tear her away. She resisted, hissing and snarling at his attempts to steal her meal, and clinging to the woman’s body as he dragged it by the arm towards him.
The victim’s screams went from fearful to agonised as the two vampires fought over her, wrenching her first in one direction and then the other like children in a playground. Blood streamed in rivulets down her arms from where their claws had sought purchase and her blouse was torn and scarlet from the jagged wounds in her neck.
Her body failed before their rage, and one particularly vicious jerk tore her left arm from its socket, blood from severed arteries spraying high and covering humans and vampires alike. Unable to take the temptation any longer Jamie leapt into the fray, removing the head of the infant vampire and punching the other hard enough to leave him reeling and senseless on the ground. He managed to catch the girl before she hit the floor and fastened his mouth over the gushing stump, his demon purring when the blood flooded his mouth and bathed his face.
All too soon she was dead, a lifeless husk in his arms and Jamie dropped the corpse to the floor. Appetite sated, he turned his attention back to the chaos around him. The humans had panicked during the fight and all had tried to get as far as possible from the battling vampires. Several were boasting injuries they hadn’t had before and the stench of faeces and urine permeated the air.
Shaking his head, he turned to leave. Honestly this was going to have to change. At this rate they’d be out of food in a week.
***
For some reason she had expected to be returned to the other pens. The way the Tekin had spoken to her had certainly left her thinking that was her likely fate, to be locked away with all the other brutalised victims of his regime. Instead Ibtesam had been allocated a cell of her own, with food, water and a blanket and now she felt grateful and guilty in equal measure.
Heavy footfalls outside her cage sent her fleeing back into the corner, the blanket covering her head, fearful that someone had come for her again. They hadn’t. But the desperate wailing from the pen next door told her someone else hadn’t been so lucky.
Biting back the moan that threatened to escape Ibtesam pressed her fingers to her forehead and tried not to cry. She was shaking violently and it wouldn’t stop. Hadn’t stopped since she’d met him for the first time and recognised him as her first victim. And that was exactly what he was.
In her long years of practice Ibtesam had returned the souls of several vampires, never hesitating when someone had requested it. But always, always, she had taken the families aside first and told them, ‘They will not be the same. The djinn now lives inside them and they are no longer your child.’ Occasionally the families would decide to have their loved one killed, unable to conceive of having them return no longer themselves. But the majority were prepared to take the risk and some paid the ultimate price when the djinn proved more powerful than the soul and sought out their blood in the dead of night.
So she’d known that returning those souls was a risk. And she’d known even better that removing one was an offence akin to murder. Without her collaboration, all this horror could never have happened. It was her arrogance and desperation that had unleashed this terror and now innocents were paying the price.
And what for? The faithless promise of an empty material life in a country where her face would never fit.
She breathed deeply, calming somewhat. Having finally faced her guilt, she could start to move on. There was no doubt in the shaman’s mind as she drifted off into an uneasy sleep that she much to atone for.
***
"Bullseye!"
The dull thump of a projectile hitting its target didn’t hold a candle to the sight of metal cutting through flesh, but it did help Spike understand the limits of his strange ‘handicap’. In theory he should be very nearly as clumsy as a newly blinded human and yet the last few hours wandering around the centre had evidenced his uncanny ability to avoid tripping over and walking into things. That had made him wonder if there was more to it than simple blindness.
Then there had been a nasty episode with that evening’s meal. How the hell the git had managed to hide the knife god only knew, unless it was another of Cullum’s tests. Still, having managed to duck the knife blow that had come from nowhere, Spike now knew he could defend himself against badly armed accountants. It was almost as if he could see without seeing, at least objects and motion. Maybe it was some sort of supernatural sonar?
Spike strolled across the room, secure in his new-found abilities and, without thinking grabbed the knife out of the cold body, unerringly grasping its hilt.
"Sir?"
Snarling, he spun towards the unwelcome visitor. By now Cullum’s voice was more than mere irritation. Every time Spike had some time to himself the creep popped up with some petty question or another.
"This had better be good. Was getting in some quality time with our boy here."
"We need to talk logistics, sir." The young vampire slid casually into a chair and slapped a piece of rumpled, bloodstained paper on the table. "According to Macdonald things are getting out of hand. Humans are being killed and turned all over. Our numbers are increasing rapidly and by the end of the month food’s gonna be an issue. Not to mention the Bank Holiday will be over in a coupla days and someone, somewhere, is gonna notice that this place isn’t answering the phone."
With a resigned sigh, Spike slumped into the chair next to him. This was the part of running a gang he’d always hated. As he spoke he counted the particulars off on his fingers. Long years of practice made this speech almost rote, with one or two details changed for this situation.
"Right. Stake two or three of the stupider fledges and make sure you do it in front of everyone. Send them a message, yeah?
"Tell everyone they ask permission from you if they want to turn anyone and they’d better have a damn good reason for wanting to. Cannon fodder is one thing but we don’t want the place cluttered up with vampire cleaners until we need them for dying.
"Minimum rations. Sharing’s the order of the day and tell ‘em to try keeping the humans alive. There’s enough tinned goods in store to keep a decent larder going for months if we’re careful.
"And check before you eat. The Girl Friday’s fine but lay off the techs and the experts, we might need them."
The scribbling of pencil on paper filled the room for a few moments and then Cullum spoke again.
"What about long term, sir?"
This was it, then. Could he sell Cullum on the plan?
"Long term? Keep our heads down, consolidate, plan and train. I want whoever used to do the meet and greet turned and get the shaman to re-ensoul them. All calls go through the main desk and all enquiries get put through to you or me. We’ll use email where possible and fake what we can’t. Got it?"
The pencil dropped loudly to the table.
"For how long?"
Until someone comes to the rescue? Look who’s the nancy now?
"We infiltrate. I wanna know what the Council’s up to. I wanna get as many of our people into place as we can. Then we make our move. Do it from the inside. They’ll never know what hit ‘em."
"That’ll take a while."
"Yeah, well, the alternative is sitting here until the wankers cotton on and decide to napalm the place. Got any better ideas?"
"Maybe." Cullum grinned smugly at the quizzically raised eyebrow and delivered. "We’ve been doing sweeps, making sure no one slipped through the net and, lucky us, look what we found hiding in a stationary cupboard."
Leaning back in his seat Cullum let rip with a piercing whistle and a couple of moments later the door opened and a human was hustled into the room, stumbling slightly on tired legs. The man smelled unfamiliar to Spike but that didn’t necessarily mean they’d never met.
"Meet Eric Markham. Used to be in charge of Training and Personnel but now heads up the Uriel Project - that’s us, by the way. Or at least it was supposed to be." Callum swung out of his chair and strode over to the man who cringed back from him.
"Got up and bit you on the ass though, didn’t it?" He vamped out and snapped his fangs millimetres from Markham’s face making the man whimper and twitch.
Satisfied he’d made his point, the young vampire turned back to Spike who was sat staring at the interaction in that strange way he had, as if everything that happened around him was slightly beyond contempt. Callum frowned in frustration before quickly schooling his features. William the Bloody was turning out to be very difficult to impress. Unlike previous bosses who had always respected his razor sharp mind and forthright approach, his Sire seemed unmoved by everything on offer.
Jerking his head in Markham’s direction, Callum settled back into his chair. "He reckons he can exchange information for his life. What d’you think."
Spike’s eyes narrowed and he turned a calculating stare on the human. "That he’s a bloody fool." The next was addressed directly at the prisoner. "Spill, mate. Or I’ll make you talk. Understand?"
***
The car window rattled under Willow’s head and she braced herself slightly against the jarring, uneven roads. In the front, Wes and Giles were deep in conversation, their voices pitched too low for her to hear and across the seat from her, Faith was fast asleep. The Slayer was using her time wisely, finishing healing and harbouring her strength for when it was needed. That was what Willow was supposed to be doing but every time she closed her eyes her mind filled with images she’d rather forget. Tara, as always. Warren, Angelus, and, fresh this week, the Watchers that had invaded the hotel.
She shifted slightly to ease the stiffness of long travel and tried to relax, still not believing she’d been talked into this escapade. An illegal alien, who’d been smuggled into England under the cover of night, she was about to help kidnap Quentin Travers, Head of the Watcher’s Council and employee of Her Majesty’s government, and then deliver him up to a pissed Slayer and a vindictive vampire.
She must be completely insane.
***
"Let me get this straight." Markham flinched again as the blonde vampire paced around him, vibrating with barely constrained anger. "Travers’ idea was to make souled vampires to fight with the Slayer. And now he thinks he’s got her a flaming undead support team! Is the wanker completely insane?! Buff - the Slayer would never work with them. She barely tolerated… Angel."
Markham cursed silently, not wanting to share the next piece of information, but well aware that if it came to light later his life would be forfeit in the most painful way possible. "Not Miss Summers, or the other one, Faith. Travers plans to eliminate both of them; in fact he may have done so already."
***
Wesley looked remarkably dashing in his chauffeur’s uniform, not that Travers noticed. The head of the Watcher’s Council barely spared a glance at the front of his Daimler before he climbed in, tossing his coat and briefcase before him.
"Where to, sir?" Living with Spike had given him an ear for a faked London accent, enough to cover up his own Home Counties one, anyway.
"You’re new?"
"Yes, sir."
"Headquarters." He said brusquely and dug into his case, coming up with a copy of the Times. "And make it snappy."
Two miles down the road Wesley pulled over and the back doors opened admitting Willow and Faith. With a single word the witch immobilised Travers, while the slayer searched him for cell phones or transmitters.
Half a mile later, they transferred him to the boot of Giles’ car and drove in convoy to a lock up where they dumped Travers’ Daimler.
The whole operation took less than an hour.
***
"Connors? Tell Quentin that Markham called. Yes, it’s urgent. Ask him to get in touch immediately. Thank you."
Cullum hit the disconnect button and the telephone went dead.
"Well done. You should be on the stage."
Markham swallowed heavily and glanced up at Spike who sat across the desk from him. "What do I do when he calls back?"
"Well, let’s see. Travers is the only one who knows the whole plan. Travers is also the only one who can call off the hounds. And when the Slayer finds that out, Travers is the one she’s going to kill and I want to kill the Slayer.
"What do you say you persuade him to come here and then we can use him as bait in our own little Slayer trap."
Of course it wouldn’t be Buffy who fell into it, though Spike would like to have seen her around about now, but he’d specifically told Wesley that neither slayer was come to England. Instead, it was the combined might of the Sunnydale and Los Angeles gangs who would have to take this place back for the good guys. Not the hardest task in the world. Despite Cullum’s worries there were only about thirty vampires on the premises, all barring himself, fledges and minions.
***
It was a dejected group that sat in the middle of the common room avoiding eye contact with each other and more specifically, any contact with the two aggressors who had taken up positions as far from each other as was physically possible.
Verbally, Buffy and Angel had sparred themselves to a standstill, not something Xander wanted to witness again in a hurry. The problem was both of them had damn good points, with Buffy arguing that as the Slayer, it was her duty to decide what to do about Spike and his gang, and she wanted them dusted. In return, Angel claimed that they were his direct responsibility, his childer even at one generation removed and some attempt should be made to redeem them.
Two years ago, Xander would have been heading up the Buffy cheerleading squad but things had changed, specifically Spike had changed and if there was any chance of returning his soul, staking the vampire out of hand was grotesquely unfair. Having said that, Angel’s assertion that all the vampires in the centre could be redeemed was probably wishful thinking. After all if they still had their souls and were still capable of the sort of carnage Cordy had described then it seemed unlikely. Plus, Xander was highly suspicious that both Buffy and Angel were allowing personal issues to cloud their judgement.
What they really needed to a chance for some calm, cool-headed discussion and to that end he silently attracted the attention of the others and jerked his head toward the stairs indicating that a fast but subtle exit was the order of the day.
Upstairs they gathered in Fred and Gunn’s double room, settling on any available surface and chatting amiably until Xander called the meeting to order.
"Okay. I don’t want to go behind anyone’s back here but someone needs to call a timeout and think about this without going all Itchy and Scratchy on us."
"Right, ‘cos them two," Gunn indicated the firmly closed door, "left reasonable about three exits back."
Dawn stood up, folded her arms and gave the entire room her Buffy approved hard stare. "She’s not gonna kill him. It’s not fair. She always wants to do that." Her voice slipped into a passable impression of her sister. "Oo Spike’s eevill, he’s so gonna get staked. I mean, as if. He hasn’t been evil in like - forever."
The others exchanged glances, silently communicating the perennial message of adults everywhere - if only the kid knew.
"Oh, come on." Now she was exasperated with them. "When was the last time he did anything bad? So he hasn’t got his soul anymore. He didn’t have it when he fought Glory or when he patrolled with us that summer. But one little slip up and he’s now all psycho-Spike again?"
"No, Dawn, that’s not what we think…" Xander acknowledged Dawn’s smirk of triumph with an understanding nod. "But from what Cordy said, it might be true. We just can’t afford to go in there believing anything."
"So why not talk to him."
"Huh?"
"If Cordy can get in there and spy on them, why not get her to go in there and talk to him? Makes sense."
***
Chris Thompson and Frank Raimes had found the bar - several hours ago - and were proceeding to get extremely drunk. That afternoon they’d both had a run in with Cullum and now had the scars to prove it.
"Fucking brown nosed bastard. Who the hell does he think he is anyway?"
Raimes concurred into his glass, before he drained it and grabbed for the bottle that was swinging wildly from Thompson’s hand.
"Do this, fucking fix that. Damn cheek. Should stake the shit, see him argue with that."
The bottle took another detour and Raimes only just managed to catch it before it hit the wall. "Reckon Beryl’d have something ta say’ bout that," he slurred, sloshing another measure into his glass. That one followed the last and as the last drops fled from the glass, Raimes slid gracefully from his seat and puddled to the floor next to the drained corpse of their shared dinner.
"Sod Beryl. She doesn’t know what she’s talkin’ about." The words were brave but Thompson’s anger subsided somewhat at the prospect of confronting most of his brothers and sisters in vampirism. Cullum was one thing, jumped up little Nazi. At the moment though, he was calling the shots and Thompson had no desire to be dragged up in front of Spike for insubordination. The stories that had done the rounds about their sire were enough to make the most recalcitrant vampire tow the line.
"Just wanna little respect ya know." He mumbled then collapsed onto his arms on the bar and a couple of minutes later the sound of a soft snoring duet filled the room.
***
"Excuse me."
The young police constable glanced up from his paperwork and set a quizzical eye on the man standing on the other side of the counter. He was dressed just in a string vest and boxers, and looked cold and confused.
"Could you tell me where I might find the London branch of the Council of Watchers?"
"Sir?" Keeping his movements slow, the PC pressed the emergency buzzer below the desk. This man may look harmless but then lunatics often did.
"Umm… I realise this may sound a little insane, but I woke up in Hendon cemetery with no clothes and no memory of how I got there. But I did have this." He brandished a wallet with what looked like an identity card tucked in the front pocket. "It says that I’m a chauffeur for the Council of Watchers."
***
The doors of the lock-up garage swung open revealing a Council tech team armed for data retrieval and a basic forensics sweep. The satellite tracking device that monitored the location of each Watcher’s vehicle blinked redly from its location concealed in the Daimler’s boot obvious only to those in the know.
"Fingerprints first, then a full work-up. Let’s see if we can’t find out exactly who has Mr. Travers and where they’ve taken him."
***
Spike was bored. Not a situation he was either used to or appreciated. His hours were typically filled with sleeping, fighting, fucking or watching the telly. Failing those he would fall back on reading - something appropriately bloodthirsty and violent or occasionally a whodunit or a bodice ripper. He groaned, tapping his fingers restlessly against his knee. Right now he’d probably settle for one of Angel’s masochistically tedious philosophy books, even Satre was preferable to this - this nothingness.
There was only so much sleeping his body could do, especially when pumped up on human blood, fighting was a non-starter, as was fucking. Much too risky getting close to another vamp that way and he didn’t want to raise any suspicions by doing a human.
A small sound, almost like someone clearing their throat, put Spike on alert. Instinctively his head swung towards it and he inhaled through his mouth, allowing the air to coat his tongue, tasting it for the telltale evidence that someone had invaded his privacy. Nothing. Just the lasting flavours of blood, sweat and fear left over from his last meal. Must be hearing things.
In the corner, Cordelia froze, watching the vampire as he watched her, or at least seemed to. She’d been about to speak but unsure of how to start such a difficult conversation she’d hesitated, the words getting caught in a sort of constricted cough. Spike had obviously heard her - had looked straight at her and done that creepy thing the vamps did that always reminded her of a snake. Then nothing. He just sat there staring straight at her and relaxed back in his chair. Was this some sort of vampire chicken? A challenge to see which one of them would look away first?
Spike closed his eyes, sighed and starting tapping again. Obviously not chicken then.
Staying slightly above the ground to ensure her movements were absolutely silent, Cordy drifted across the room until she was directly in front of the distracted vampire. His eyes opened and he frowned slightly as if puzzled by something.
She waved a hand a few inches in front of his face and the frown deepened, the incessant tapping giving way to complete stillness.
"Is - is someone there?"
Cordelia didn’t answer; fascinated by what she was seeing and a moment later a telephone on the desk started to ring. Spike swung the chair round and without hesitation grabbed the receiver.
"Yeah?"
"What? Slow down a minute…"
"Gone, you say. Where? How?"
"Faith? And Rupes? What the hell…?"
A deep sigh. "Okay. Fine. Tell everyone I need to see them. About half an hour. We’re moving on to plan B."
***
"And you’re certain he couldn’t see you."
The ghost shot a look of utter disdain across the room to where Wesley was sitting, fingers steepled against his mouth staring at her.
"No. I think he was just kidding. Any minute now Spike’s gonna turn up on the doorstep yelling ‘April Fools, oops sorry a coupla weeks late’. What d’ya think I am, stupid?"
Wesley flinched as Cordelia’s voice went up an octave and got substantially louder. Whatever the ghost lacked in physical presence, she certainly made up for vocally, which had always been her best weapon anyway. Given a choice between Cordelia’s tongue and a sword even the most hardened demon would probably choose cold steel as a less painful option.
"Cordy, relax. He’s just checking y’all not mistaken. It could happen, like if Spike wanted you to think that or - or something."
Not even Fred could stand up to the death glare and she gave up, turning back to the other person in the room. Quentin Travers was tied to a chair; duct tape firmly across his mouth and looking a little dazed. Whether that was from the kidnap itself, the three-hour ride in the boot of Giles’ car or the fact that he’d just been introduced to a woman he thought had died several weeks ago was anyone’s guess.
"How’s the annoying prisoner doing?"
"Can we not call him that?" Wesley shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he made his request of the slayer who had just entered the room. "It makes me think of sojourns in jail."
"Oh, c’mon, Wes. Don’t be a fuddy duddy. What’s he gonna do, crawl outa here on his busted knees and go crying to the cops?" Buffy squatted in front of the restrained Watcher and gave him her best ‘evil person with slayer strength’ smirk.
She was good at this; Wesley had to admit it. Even he was convinced by her words and he was in on the good cop/bad cop act. They’d decided that Travers needed to know exactly how accurate their inside information was, and he needed to hear that from the horse’s mouth, so Cordy had been told to give her latest report to Wesley in front of him. And to add that edge of authenticity Wesley had been told to question her, in the certain knowledge that Cordelia would immediately revert to Queen C mode the moment anyone doubted her word. That reaction needed to be genuine. Not that anyone doubted the ghost’s ability to act - not where she could hear them anyway.
"I’m sure there will be no need for that sort of thing, Buffy. After all, Quentin realises how foolish he has been and probably wants to help us as much as he can, right now."
Buffy settled back on her heels and pouted. "No fun," studiously ignoring the frantic head movements and rapid blinking from the prisoner, which indicated that yes, he would quite like to help now, please.
"Quentin? Did you want something?" Wesley addressed him solicitously, falling into his role of kind captor as easily as Buffy carried brassed off muscle.
The subsequent nodding was not as frantic but no less desperate. Over two hours in the company of the people he had tried so unsuccessfully to kill had lead Travers firmly to the conclusion that co-operation was his best form of defence. Not only that, but it sounded like all his worst fears about de-souling and de-chipping William the Bloody had come true. In the back of his mind, Travers was already wondering how many favours he would have to call in to get this mess buried.
Buffy reached up and ripped off the tape leaving the Watcher gasping for air to control the pain from having so many hair follicles stripped simultaneously.
"Okay, buster. Spill."
"What…" Travers smacked his lips together to get some feeling back and tried again. "What do you want to know?"
"Let’s start with why you’re trying to kill me."
Half an hour later, Buffy and Wesley knew as much as Travers - the details of the Uriel Project, including the plan to advance the slayer line on to a more amenable candidate and the idea behind the souled vampires. During that time Buffy said little, leaving it up to Wesley to question and cross-examine. Only when the information dried up did she become more directly involved.
"How many vamps?"
"Eleven souled ones, that I know of, and William."
"No way." Buffy stood suddenly and strode towards the window, glaring out at the windswept grey day outside. "Cordelia said more like fifty."
"Hey, still here y’know."
Everyone ignored her.
Travers elucidated. "If you are right then they’ve been free for several days. It’s entirely possible that there are that many by now. Even on a bank holiday there would have been a skeleton staff of about forty people."
Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Big skeleton. Okay, so let’s say they’ve turned everyone in there. What are they eating?"
Giving this serious consideration before he answered, Travers replied, "There are two possibilities. Firstly there are stocks of animal blood for the demons in the zoo…"
"Not possible." Angel closed the door behind him as he entered having heard the rest of the conversation from the corridor. "No self-respecting vampire is gonna drink that if the real thing is available."
Wesley nodded in agreement remembering the grimaces of distaste drinking pig’s blood had educed from both the vampires in his life.
"Then that leaves us with the other possibility."
"Which is?"
"As you claim there has been no evidence of any hunting in the locale, I would suggest that they’ve been calling in other members of staff in order to feed from them."
Horrified silence met the bland statement and Angel noticed Buffy’s mouth settling once more into her ‘slay now, ask questions later’ expression.
"Eww. That’s pizza delivery but with blood."
"Thank you, Cordelia. I think we all understood exactly what was being suggested."
A loud rap on the door interrupted any further discussion.
"Buff?" It cracked open and Xander poked his head through. "There’s someone here, says she wants to talk to the slayer. Faith is eating so I brought her to you."
They all exchanged puzzled looks and eventually Buffy nodded for Xander to escort the visitor in. A small woman who bore more than a passing resemblance to a sun dried prune entered. She glanced around from one to the next, her eyes lingering momentarily longer on Angel, before she approached Buffy.
"You are the Slayer?"
"One of them, yeah?"
"I am bringing a message from the Tekin." The woman’s black gaze seemed to be boring in below the surface giving Buffy the distinct impression that she was being weighed and found wanting.
"Tekin?" Buffy frowned in confusion.
"The master. The one who is being in charge?"
"You’re the one who took his soul!" Cordelia squeaked, as the woman’s face suddenly became familiar.
From the other side of the room Angel asked, "This master. He wouldn’t happened to have bleached blond hair and a bad attitude, would he?"
A tired smile which seemed entirely too young broke across the woman’s face and gave a new dimension to her wrinkles. "I see you are familiar with the Tekin."
Angel answered with a smile of his own. "Some, yeah."
"The message. What does it say?"
"I am sorry, mistress. He asked that I deliver it to all of you. Except, he said, the Niblet? I am sure you are understanding this far better than I."
"Why not Dawn?"
The woman inclined her head gracefully; transparently conveying that she had no idea what Buffy was talking about and the slayer had no choice but to admit defeat, if she wanted the message she would have to comply with Spike’s wishes.
"Okay. Wes, call the others and tell Dawn to stay in her room, we’ll give her a call when she can come in."
***
"Do you really think she’ll come, sir?" Marlowe was back in the position of liaison, now he had recovered from the nasty holy water burns Caroline had given him during a particularly passionate session.
"Course. She’s the Slayer, she’ll show. Then you’ll see exactly how I earned my reputation."
Outside the door Cullum growled to himself. Spike might be certain that his note would get the Slayer to come to them, but he wasn’t so sure or hadn’t been until now.
***
Being the last to join the impromptu gathering, Gunn attracted dirty looks from both slayers before he found a place leaning against the wall near the bathroom door. Ducking his head a little sheepishly for his tardiness, he muttered to his boots and anyone else who wanted the listen, "Fred’s not coming with. Her shoulder’s paining her so she’s sleeping it off in Dawn’s room."
Buffy nodded shortly at him, content with both the excuse and the reassurance that her sister wasn’t alone. Not that she didn’t trust Spike…
Finally the woman, who had introduced herself as Ibtesam Roohizadegan, now shortened to Sammy as none of the Americans had come even close with their pronunciation, rose to her feet and, after salaaming to both slayers, surprised everyone by approaching Wesley.
"The Tekin said that you should be the one to deliver his message."
Her hand went to the breast of the voluminous garment she was wearing and Buffy tensed, feeling Faith do the same thing next to her. Was the message to be sudden murder? Or some kind of violent self-sacrifice, a la Angelus all those years ago?
Or neither.
Sammy withdrew an brown envelope and put it to her lips before handing it formally to Wesley, who took it, his face frozen in disbelief. Her duty done, the woman moved back and regained her seat.
Wesley stared at the envelope with some trepidation, then with a shaky finger broke the seal and extracted a couple of sheets of paper. His eyes drifted down the pages and the rest of the group watched with increasing fascination as the Watcher’s face turned pinker by the second. Eventually, he finished with his perusal, raised his eyes and cleared his throat before addressing the room.
"Well, I think I now fully understand why Spike did not wish Dawn to be present. The contents of this letter are a little…Umm… Anyway the gist appears to be that he wishes us to meet him outside the centre tonight, between ten and midnight."
"Humph, as if," Buffy muttered, making her feelings on the invitation very clear.
Wesley threw her a filthy look and continued, "To that end he has sent us each a message, something of a challenge if you will.
"Charles? You first. Spike suggests that if you really want to prove you can kick his arse you should stop being a ‘chicken-shit’ and just do it. Apparently tonight would give you such an opportunity."
"Too right. Pasty-ass gonna get himself staked."
"Err… precisely. Willow. Umm… I think I’ll read this one verbatim. ‘Hey, Red. Thanks for the memories. The tree in Buffy’s yard gave me a great view of you and Glinda doing spells. That bird of yours was bloody beautiful.’
"And moving directly on, Xander, according to Spike, you are apparently a closet case who could teach a trick or two to Angelus."
He paused and glanced up at the young man who was staring back looking stricken and slightly green around the gills.
"Giles, ‘your whisky tasted like shit, though the spare cash you left lying around was useful’. And for both you and myself, he’d like to know whether we’d enjoy some of the ‘trips’ he’s been on recently."
Giles blanched a little and avoided Angel’s interrogative look. They’d still not got around to explaining exactly how the Council had ‘persuaded’ Spike to share his memories.
"For Fred, and even though she isn’t here I’ll still deliver the message… Don’t worry Charles, there is nothing incriminating. He just says ‘you’re a geek freak and never forget it’. A strange message, that one.
"That’s the end of the neat ones. The next rather resembles a wrestling match between a spider and an inkpot so you will bear with me if I have problems reading Spike’s writing. I don’t think he was expecting the slayers, despite his stated desire for you both to attend the meeting."
"Guess he must know ‘bout our Watcher guest then."
Wesley focused on the brunette slayer for a moment, astounded yet again by how perceptive the young woman was. It always saddened him to remember just how badly he had let her down. "Indeed, as is evidenced later in the letter.
"But first the message. He starts ‘Buffy, you and your little friend once told me, Two slayers, no waiting. So how come I’m alone here?’ The next is a little strong, umm… ‘Faith. If Harris is the best you can do, I’m willing to take you for a spin. I’d wager the only thing better than killing two slayers would be fucking two and I reckon Buffy will dish on the perverse, degrading bits.’
"And ‘Slayer’ - he’s capitalised the word so I’m assuming he’s referring to you, Buffy - ‘I warned you once that if you didn’t stop being such a bitch, I’d bite you. Offer’s there if you’ve got the stones to take it. Come and dance with me, Goldilocks.’"
"Pleasant." Wesley looked around at the group, the majority of whom seemed trapped somewhere between embarrassment and fury. "All in all I think Spike has manage to antagonise all of us. Quite an astounding achievement, even for him."
With a silent chuckle at their discomfort and an affectionate thought for the perpetrator, Wesley continued, "Finally, I believe this message is for you Mr Travers. And I quote. ‘You fucking arrogant wanker. You don’t have the first idea what you’ve created and if Buffy doesn’t kill you first consider yourself the top of my to-do list.
"And that," Wesley said, folding the pages neatly and poking them back into the envelope, "appears to be that."
Angel shuffled in the corner before plaintively asking, "Nothing for me?"
"Nor Cordelia, though I cannot imagine that Spike knows she’s here. I’m sorry, Angel. Maybe he had nothing to say to you."
"You are correct." Sammy rose gracefully to her feet once more and smiled once at Wesley before turning a more assessing gaze on Angel. "He had nothing to say, but he did have something to give you."
She approached the suddenly nervous vampire and reached again into her robe, pulling something from its confines, something that fitted neatly into her small hand.
"He asked me to give you this. He said you would know what it means." As she spoke the words, Sammy gently lifted Angel’s right hand and placed a large uncut sapphire in his palm. The moment it touched his skin it started to glow with a steady unfaltering pulse, which Angel could only compare to a heartbeat.
"What was it?" He looked up from his hand, searching the woman’s eyes for an answer and found a depth of love and understanding in them that startled and comforted in equal measure.
"It is his soul."
**
They spent the next ten minutes arguing whether to accept the challenge. Buffy still had her doubts, certain that Spike was trying to play some sort of trick and that they’d all be walking into a trap. Her words had merit and the others were starting to fall into line until Angel, who had remained silently staring at the jewel in his hand, quietly stated.
"It’s not a trap."
"Says you, Mr I’m not besotted." The vampire winced at Buffy’s words, knowing the truth of them but unwilling to concede that that was the only reason behind his unfaltering belief in his childe.
"Just… just hear me out, okay?" Buffy nodded in reluctant acquiescence, so Angel continued. "The Powers gave Spike the visions. What if he had one that told him the only way out of this was for us to meet tonight?"
"So why not say that instead of sending us dumb ass insults."
"I don’t know." This time it was Gunn about to interrupt but Angel forestalled him. "But if he’s not in charge then sending us a challenge would be safer." He turned to Sammy. "Was anyone else there when he gave you the letter? Did anyone else read it?"
The shaman answered both questions in the affirmative causing a collective intake of breath from around the room. Then she added, "But there was none other when he told me to give his Sire this gift."
Angel’s whole essence stilled when he heard her words, then he queried, "Was that precisely what he said?"
She nodded and he felt like an immense weight had lifted. Shaking his head with relief, he turned to Buffy. "That proves it. Spike’s in some sort of trouble. The letter was a way to get us all there but the gift was to tell us why."
"Angel, you’re starting to sound like Giles. Enough with the cryptic. Spill."
"It’s simple, why would he give me his soul for the second time if it was a trap?"
"Huh?"
"And think about the messages. Yeah, he’s annoyed you all but they’re reminders of him and each of you. Gunn, you and him are always fighting. And Giles, I remember you complaining about Spike’s sticky fingers when he was living with you."
The others were starting to look a little bemused then Willow chipped in. "You’re right, you know. It hurt, the message, but at the same time it reminded me of Tara and how we were. So it was like a good hurt. Not nice, but good."
"Yeah and Fred being a geek freak. S’like he was trying to thank her for helping with the chip."
Angel took a step back and allowed the others to surround Wesley, each demanding a second look at the letter. The only one who looked a little bothered was Xander and given the gist of his message, Angel decided that any questions regarding it should probably wait. Quite possibly until after the young man was dead.
Typically for the group a small amount of competitiveness started to permeate their exchanges with Buffy claiming that hers totally won because Spike had remembered things that had got her mad years ago. Personally, Angel considered his message the best, and the most sincere. He closed his fingers tightly around the sapphire, relishing the feelings of trust and love that had come with it.
But really there was no time to indulge; the meeting tonight would take careful planning and preparation. Angel took a deep breath before interrupting the friendly banter and it froze in his throat.
Chloroform. What the hell?
He inhaled again, tasting the air more carefully before breaking for the exit and pounding down the hall towards Dawn’s room. Even before the door exploded inwards Angel knew exactly what he would find.
The beds empty and the whole place reeking of vampires.
"Hey, Angel? What’s up? Oh shit… Buffy!!" Xander’s frantic voice echoed up the corridor. "Dawn’s gone."