Chapter 7
So I get Dawn off back to college, and take my lit test, and finally, mid-afternoon, I sit down on a bench in front of the classroom building and call Willow in Sao Paulo and discuss this Spike thing. Dawn’s already told her the basics, and Willow’s started the research. She’s more open to the curse idea than Giles was; in fact, she has three tales of people hit with a muteness hex. “If Anya were still alive,” she says, “I’d suspect her, because it’s used sometimes by vengeance demons. You know, if Spike said something really mean to some girl, she might ask a vengeance demon make him mute to get revenge.”
“I don’t think that’s what happened,” I say. But at least that’s a new avenue to try– vengeance demons can do pretty much whatever they’re asked to do. But as I ring off, I remember what Anya always said, that vengeance demons only act on requests from spurned lovers. Now it’s possible that Spike spurned someone in the time we were apart, but – but he isn’t acting like that. He isn’t acting like this is his fault, like he deserves it. He’s acting like he’s been disabled through no fault of his own. I don’t know how I know that, but I do.
There’s another reason why he can’t talk. I know it. And I’m going to find out.
I catch the psych professor as he’s just sticking his key into his car door. I must look kind of scary, because he draws back away from me. “You remember–” I soften my tone so I don’t sound so much like a crazed obsessive stalker student. “You remember my character who can’t speak?”
He looks relieved. “Yes, I do. Fascinating idea.”
And then I ask what I should have asked earlier. “What causes this?” I ask. “This inability to communicate?”
He purses his lips thoughtfully. “Well, brain damage comes to mind. If the speech center in the brain has been injured by a blow or a stroke, you might see this sort of impairment.”
I don’t think that is what’s wrong with Spike. Okay, yeah, his brain has been hit a lot, but he’s a vampire. He heals. I think of that chip the Initiative implanted– could that be– No. That was two deaths ago.
“Let’s say I need this not to be brain damage. That I want it to be something psychological. What could cause him to become, you know, psychologically mute this way?”
“Trauma,” he replies immediately. “That’s the most likely. If he’s seen something so terrible that he can’t make any sense of it, then he might lose his ability to speak. Or if he’s got some secret that he’s afraid he might tell– But you don’t usually see this in grown men, you know. It’s much more common in children who have been abused by someone who threatened to kill them if they tell. Or if the abuser is someone they love. They resort to muteness as an escape from the dilemma of whether to tell.” He muses for a moment, then says, “You can see, however, that in any child old enough to write, he also has to lose that ability, or he might tell the secret in a note. He has to subconsciously make certain that he can’t tell… because he’s so afraid he will tell, if he can.”
On second thought, I’d rather have it be a vengeance demon.
I shove the why to the back of my mind. I don’t want him to be cursed by a spurned lover. But I don’t want him to have been traumatized either. I’d rather puzzle out another, more pleasant mystery now.
I head for the garden and sit there on the bench with the Flower Language book. The day is clear and the sun is high, so I’ve got no worry that Spike will bound over the wall, trowel in hand. I’m all alone with the flowers.
I start in the corner with the pond. It’s painstaking work, checking each flower against the pictures in the book, finding a match, and then jotting down the translation in my notebook. A half hour later, I have a list:
Bluebells– constancy
American cowslip– You are my divinity. (Aww.)
Camellia – perfect loveliness
Daisy– beauty
Red rosebud– pure loveliness.
Heliotrope– devotion
White periwinkle– pleasures of memory
Pink– pure love
Lavender– devotion
Geranium– I prefer you to all others
Blush Rose– if you love me, you will know
I do know, I want to tell him. I do know.
Every flower is carefully chosen and placed to send me a message. It’s almost breathtaking. My chest hurts as I think about this. He loves me so much. I don’t deserve to be loved this much. But he’s saying, with his garden, that I do.
I wipe the tears away and rise. Sunset is hours away. Spike’s crypt is only 100 yards away. I’ll go and wake him up and tell him that I’ve learned his code–
I turn to pick the book off the bench, and I see the cherry tree and the flowers planted along the back wall. I was facing forward, so these aren’t on my list. So I sit down, my back against the arm of the bench, and start to catalog the back of the garden.
I’m expecting more for the same, you know, ardent love, passion, worship, that sort of thing. But I look up cherry first– because I recognize it without checking the picture– and get this: C herry tree– deception
Hmm. Deception hasn’t ever really been a feature of our relationship. If anything, we’ve always been painfully honest with each other. Maybe he’s trying to apologize for letting me think he was dead.
Or, more likely, I shouldn’t worry about the cherry tree since it was here before he started planting. He didn’t choose it.
The next one is harder to identify– a small flower with white petals and a pale green stalk. It’s not a very impressive bloom, and I’m not sure why, given all the much prettier roses and daisy varieties available, he chose these droopy flowers to line the back wall. I finally find a matching picture. Dogsbane! Well, that’s probably a magical plant, like wolfsbane, the kind of plant Willow uses, so maybe it’s supposed to remind me of her–
Dogsbane– deceit, falsehood
Whoa. More deceit. And these were planted recently, to judge by the damp soil.
It makes me wonder. Maybe he feels really really guilty about something. Maybe there was some other girl along the way– I need to tell him it’s okay. Water under the bridge. We’re starting anew. I won’t ask about her if he doesn’t ask about the Immortal.
Okay, I might ask about her. Make him squirm a bit. But then I’ll forgive him.
There’s another plant next to it. I think maybe it’s just another dogsbane, except the flowers are kind of a greenish-pink, and the leaves are glossier. I get up and walk closer and see tiny green beads at the base of the flowers. Unripe berries. Hmm. I go back and sit down on the bench and leaf through the book, and finally spy the right picture.
Bilberry– treachery, treason
Now wait a minute. We had our differences, but neither of us was ever treacherous. I mean, sure, we started out meaning to kill each other, but we were honest about it. And when we allied to defeat Angelus, we both fulfilled our promises. Okay, that whole thing with Adam… but it’s not like Spike had made any promises. He kept telling us he hated us and wanted us dead.
And once he decided he loved me, well, he was always on my side.
And maybe I wasn’t always good to him– sometimes I was really bad to him– but I never made any promises ….
Okay. I suppose he could mean the amulet. You know, the one I took from Angel and gave to him. Angel was probably supposed to wear it, probably supposed to be the one who died. But– but I didn’t know that. And anyway, Spike demanded it as his due. He said he was my champion. And he was.
I don’t think he thinks that I betrayed him that day. I don’t think so.
But the next flower…. it’s ugly, for a flower. It’s got this sort of hairy stalk, and it look like it would be sort of sticky to the touch, and under the white flower is this hairy tube that looks like a cactus. It doesn’t look like anything that would grow in Cleveland– more like a desert flower. This must be one of those planting choices that made Fleur think Spike was way adventurous. He placed it ten feet from the shade of the tree, in a spot of full sunlight, and it looks to be thriving. Ugly, but thriving.
I finally find it at the very end of the book.
White Catchfly– betrayal
Treachery. Treason. Betrayal.
He can’t be talking about me. About us. I’m the first to admit we didn’t always have the healthiest relationship. But– but we didn’t betray each other. I know that. We trust each other. We have for a long time. Before I loved him, I trusted him. Hey, before I even liked him, I trusted him. And he trusts me back. I know it. I know it from the inside of me all the way to the outside of me.
He doesn’t mean me. The relief hits me, and I sag against the arm of the bench. He doesn’t mean me.
But it’s not an accident. He wouldn’t have accidentally chosen all these negative flowers and accidentally placed them together in the back of the garden, separated by a flagstone path from all the ardent, loving, passionate flowers. It’s a message to me, just like the message of the rest of the garden.
So I stare at the catchfly, willing it to explain. It doesn’t.
There’s another row against the side wall. For a second I’m relieved, because it looks like crocuses, those early spring flowers, the ones that push up out of the snow up here. Hopeful flowers. Happy flowers. Mirth and youthful gladness flowers, that’s what it says– but the picture doesn’t match. The stalks are too tall and the blooms are too shallow for crocuses. I flip back in the book until I find a match.
Cardamine – paternal error
Paternal– Spike’s father has been dead for more than a century. It can’t refer to that. And his sire is Drusilla. She never played a paternal role for him. He was the one who took care of her. Then who–
Angel. Angelus. The one who trained Spike in the ways of the vampire. The one who got a soul and left him. The one who spoke of him with great loathing. The one who lost his soul and betrayed him. The victim of his torture. And somehow, finally, his boss.
No. It makes no sense. He and Angel were rivals, maybe. But–
But I don’t know. I don’t know how their relationship ended up. They came together to Rome to find me, and left together too. What does that mean? What does it mean that Angel gave me that amulet, knowing (I know he knew) that I would give it to Spike? What does it mean that he watched Spike die again in the spring, and Spike hasn’t told him he’s back?
I get up and pace the flagstone path, to the door and back. No. I don’t know what it means. But it doesn’t mean–
There’s one more flower, just a single plant in a terra cotta pot near the path. I don’t know how I missed it. It’s a flamboyant flower, a foot or more high, so high that Spike has used a stake to prop up the stalk. Fluted white flowers hang down, three of them, from the stalk. They’re closed now, furled up like little umbrellas. Night-blooming, I think.
I squat down on the path and open the book again, turning the pages swiftly, searching for this. Devil’s weed– I remember Fleur mentioned that, mentioned devil’s weed tea–
Devil’s weed– murder
Also known as Angel’s Trumpet.
Poison.
I sit on the flagstones until the chill seeps in through my slacks. Then I go and stash the book in the car. And I slam the door and walk through the graveyard gates to Spike’s crypt. I fling open the door, just like old times, and he looks up, startled, from his book.
He smiles and stands up, but he stays well clear of the shaft of sunlight I let in. I don’t move, and he can’t come to me. It only takes a moment for him to figure out that I’m mad.
But of course he can’t ask me why. He just sits down again, sets his book on the marble pedestal that serves as an end table, and waits. He doesn’t have to wait long. I’m that mad. “You better have a good explanation, that’s all I can say!”
He regards me with a long-suffering expression. Okay. I know he can’t explain. I know he can’t even say my name. I even know that probably whatever happened isn’t his fault. But– but I’m so mad.
I flip open my cell phone and am about to stab some keys when I realize I don’t know the number. So I have to call LA information, and I let the operator dial through to Anne’s shelter. As soon as I get Charles Gunn on the phone, I say, “Do you have a cell phone with a camera?”
He’s surprised, confused. But he answers yes, and gives me the number, and I disconnect and call that phone. When Gunn answers, I turn the phone towards Spike and push the camera button.
As soon as he realizes what’s going on, he’s out of his chair. But he can’t leave, and I guess he has too much dignity to cower in the corner. So he just turns his face away. I aim the camera right at him, and through the speaker I hear Gunn’s faint, tinny voice. “Spike? Spike?”
I put the phone back to my ear. “Yeah. That’s Spike. Now I have some questions for you.”
“He’s there with you.” Gunn’s voice still sounds faint, even right up against my ear.
“He’s here. Now you said you saw him dusted.”
Gunn is quiet for a moment, then says, “Yeah. I saw. But… what? Was it a hallucination? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“I don’t know. All I know is he showed up here in Cleveland.”
“Let me talk to him.” Gunn’s voice is urgent now. Thick with some emotion. Tears, maybe? “Let me talk to him. I want to– to talk to him.”
“Just a minute. You have to answer my questions first.”
“Is he okay? Just tell me he’s okay.”
I don’t know if he’s okay or not. He’s with me. He’s okay. “He’s okay. More or less. So you didn’t know he was back from the dead?”
“No. You know I didn’t. We just talked last week. I thought then– it must have been a hallucination. Illyria must have–”
Spike drops back down into his chair. He won’t look at me. That’s all right. I glare at him, and I hope he feels the heat.
“So how did he get here?”
“How do I know?” Gunn says. “Maybe he hopped a plane. Maybe he drove.”
I contemplate a voiceless Spike getting across the country by himself. Not likely. “Maybe someone there helped him.”
“I don’t think so. We all thought he was dead.”
“He’s got a credit card. Lots of money. How did that happen?”
“Oh, that.” Gunn sounds relieved to find a question he can answer. “Harmony did that. She embezzled all this money from W&H before she left. And she gave some to me, and some to Spike. He’s pretty clueless about all that, so she set him up– checking account, money market account, credit card.”
“Harmony? Harmony?”
“Yeah. It was a week or so before the final battle, you know. I got mad at her, but Spike thought it was pretty cool. He said that it couldn’t be that evil, to steal from the evil. So I guess he probably used that stash. And the credit card.”
I shoot Spike a look, but he’s wearing his I’m-a-poor-abuse-victim expression. Okay, I don’t know that I’d expect him to righteously refuse the loot, but still. And I’m not abusing him! I’m trying to help him!
“Then tell me this. When– when you saw him last, was he okay? I mean, before he was … dusted.”
Gunn takes his time before he answers. “Yeah. He was, you know. His normal self.”
“No– no, uh, impairments?” I glance over at Spike, and he’s turned his face away again. I’m hurting him. Humiliating him. He doesn’t want Gunn to know.
“Well, he was pretty hungover. But that’s all. Why?”
I sigh. Spike might never forgive me. But he’s the one who left me the message in the flowers. Some part of him wants me to know. “Because he can’t talk. He’s mute. And he can’t write either.” He came back wrong. That’s what I want to say. But I don’t say that. I just repeat, “He can’t talk anymore.”
Gunn draws in his breath. Then he whispers, “Let me talk to him.”
I walk over and try to hand the phone to Spike. He won’t take it. In fact, he tries to get up and move away, but I shove him down and keep him down with a hand on his– well, look. It works, right? He stays where he is. I sit on the arm of his chair and put the phone against his ear and say loudly, “Go ahead, Gunn. He’s listening.”
I’m listening too. And as I hear Gunn’s faint voice, I watch Spike’s face, only a few inches from mine. He is as tight as a fist, his mouth tense, his eyes turned away from me. “Blondie Ghost!” Gunn says. I guess he’s like Spike– he gives nicknames. Maybe that’s one reason they’re friends. “Hey. It’s– it’s good to see you. Alive. Undead. Whatever. It’s just– just good to see you, buddy.”
Spike’s mouth starts to tremble. I move a little closer, press my lips against his throat.
“Good to see you– look. Got to tell you. Wes– Wes didn’t make it out. He was brave, all that. Stopped Vail. But he didn’t make it. And Illyria, well, she couldn’t take it. So she went back to that well. The one she came from. She said she didn’t like this world. Can’t blame her. Wes and you gone– I don’t like this world much either.”
I feel the harsh breath go through his throat. I kiss him again, right there. Try to tell him I care, through my kiss.
“It’s been…. hard. You know? Thought I’d lost you too. But here you are–”
Spike swallows. I stay right there, my cheek against his. Gunn is going on, “Back again. No one can keep you down, huh? That’s my man. And there you are, with your slayer girl. Landed in clover, didn’t you?”
With a convulsive movement, Spike pushes the phone away, and me with it. Too much. Too much. I understand. I let him get up, and I say into the phone, “Thanks, Gunn. He’s … he’s a little overcome now, but I know he appreciates it. Hearing your voice.”
“Yeah, well, I mean it. Glad he’s back. Glad he found you.”
I take a deep breath. Then I ask the question that I’m afraid will break my heart. “What about Angel?”
Gunn doesn’t reply right away. Then, real carefully, he says, “Angel’s okay. He made it through.”
I already know that. And Gunn knows that’s not what I was asking. “I mean, what does he have to do with this?”
“With what?”
Spike’s standing near the door, his hand on the knob, as if he intends to rip it open and walk out into the sun. I cross the room and grab hold of his belt, and I say to Gunn, “I don’t know with what. I just know that Spike’s gone to some trouble to let me know that Angel did something wrong. Something treacherous. But he can’t tell me what. And – and since Angel ended up back on top, and you said you’re not with him anymore, I’m thinking that maybe, maybe he’s gone….” I force the words out. “Bad.”
Spike yanks away from me, but doesn’t try to open the door. Instead he goes to his little refrigerator and rummages around in it. I ask, “Did Angel go over to the other side? Is he Angelus again? Or still Angel, but … but doing evil?”
Gunn mutters something I don’t understand. Then, more clearly, he says, “Look. Angel’s, well, he’s doing an inside job. I think. He’s acting like he is working with them. I think there must have been some peace treaty once he… once he won. But he’s still–” A pause. “He’s still on this side. I’m pretty sure. He– we– we sacrificed a lot. Lost a lot. And he’s the only one I guess still carrying on the fight against the senior partners. Only… only he’s doing it from the inside. Pretending he’s with them.”
“You’re sure?”
“Pretty sure.” Gunn sighs. “Look, I think Spike might have been–”
Suddenly Spike is at my side. He grabs the phone out of my hand, and points it at himself, and snaps a picture. His face is tight again, tight with refusal, and I hear Gunn saying, “Okay. Okay, Spike. I get it.”
And when I finally get the phone back, he says, “You need to talk to Angel himself. Face to face. He can–”
But whatever he’s going to say is cut off when Spike yanks the phone away from me and throws it against the stone wall of the crypt. It smashes into a hundred little silver pieces. I grab his arm and turn him to face me. “Oh, that was really mature, Spike! That phone cost $70! And Gunn’s going to think I hung up on him!”
He looks down on me, his face so angry, so anguished, that I can’t stay mad. I give it a try, though. I growl, “I’m going to find out what this is about. And then we’re going to know what we have to do to help you.” He tries to turn away, but I’ve got him too tight. “I’m going to help you, because I love you. Don’t you ever forget that.”
And he gives up. He settles against me, puts his arms around me, and kisses my hair. I think maybe he’s realizing that he’s mine, and he knows– I take care of mine. So I’m going to take care of him too.