Part 2
The alarm clock went off with a vengeance that surely even Anya would have appreciated, but Willow barely acknowledged it beyond a single arm snaking out from under the pillows to blindly hit the off button.
An hour later, she rolled over awakened by the thin sliver of sunlight that had leaked through the curtains. She glanced one-eyed at the clock and let out a little shriek as she tossed back the sheets and ran for the shower. She’d been supposed to go to the campus today, meet with some professors about her absences and see about makeup options.
Being late for that was such a bad idea. And excuses about being trapped in some sort of magical time warp that had messed with her sleep cycle for the last few days wouldn’t help her case.
A hasty shower later, she looked around frantically for her brush with no success.
“Little klepto,” she fumed as she hunted around, pulling out dresser drawers with abandon. She threw open the door to Dawn’s room, but Cyclone Dawn had apparently hit before school. She fought the urge to utter a word or two and locate the brush, throwing open Buffy’s door instead. There, good enough.
She grabbed the silver handled brush that sat next to a matching mirror on Buffy’s dressing table and raced back to her room, tripping over an object as she turned towards the mirror.
Willow glanced down. Ah-ha! There was her round brush. She tossed the silver backed brush on the dresser top as she hurried into the bathroom to dry her hair. She’d put it back later.
++++++++++
“Hello? Anyone home?” Amy’s tentative greeting was met by silence as she stood in the open doorway. Good, Willow had been the last to leave. She should have plenty of time to find what she was looking for.
She took the stairs quickly and opened the door she knew led to Willow’s room, the room she’d been trapped in, and surveyed the dresser. There we go. One hairbrush. Perfect. She grabbed the silver backed brush and carefully placed it into the plastic bag she’d brought with her.
She made her way back down the steps and closed the door, muttering a brief incantation that sent the lock sliding back into place.
+++++++++++++
Amy carefully poured the circle of sand and methodically checked down her list, at least as methodically as her nerves would allow. She was so jittery still. If Willow had only been willing to help her, but no. Little Miss Too Good had told her off, treated her like she was filth. Like the years she’d spent as a rat in a cage meant nothing, or asif what she was doing was so wrong. Willow was one to talk.
She’d thought Willow was her friend, but when the chips were down, Willow had kicked her to the curb. Left her alone, even when she needed help.
So let Willow think she could just walk away from magic. Let her think she was somehow superior. She might just change her mind under the right circumstances.
She checked the grimoire again, trying to get all the elements of the spell down before she lit the candles. It was all there. She had everything right. She carefully placed the hairbrush in the center of the circle and took her position.
She picked up the book she’d stolen from the Magic Box last week and flipped to the bookmarked page which began the entry.
Today, we experienced the most odd occurrence. A vampire doppelganger for Willow was transported from an alternate dimension where the Master had successfully risen due to the absence of the Slayer from Sunnydale . . .
Amy smiled. Time for Willow to see what it felt like to be in a world without friends. She began to chant.
+++++++++++++
Buffy stood outside the crypt and adjusted the collar on her blouse to better show her cleavage. Not that she needed to seduce Spike per se, since he seemed to get turned on even by that hideous DoubleMeat outfit, but she was feeling . . . well better to not go there. He’d been somewhat helpful with the crazy disappearo demon, he’d bought her a pretty gift and she was feeling charitable.
And horny.
She’d thought he’d come around yesterday, drop by work, hunt her down while she patrolled. After that night, when they’d found Katrina’s body, she had hardly expected him to be . . . amorous, but since the party, she was sure he must not be holding a grudge.
You didn’t give pretty gifts to people when you were all grudge-having, or make out with them until they were all trembly and boneless from kissage. Right?
Except maybe he did. Because she hadn’t seen so much as a single bleached hair since then. And she was tired of waiting.
She gave the door a sharp rap and then entered without pausing for an invite. “Spike? You home?”
He was firmly ensconced in his ratty old chair, she could see, entranced by the flickering light of the television set. She glanced at her watch. Oh, right, middle of the afternoon, prime soap watching time. He was so predictable.
She sashayed in and planted herself in front of the screen.
“Hey, watch it, you’re blocking my . . .” he trailed off, as she slipped off her jacket to reveal the short skirt, low cut blouse and high heeled boots. “Never mind. Block away.”
“Where’ve you been?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Why? Been looking for me? Not had a good seeing to in a bit?”
She had the grace to flush a little, but she advanced, sliding onto his lap and distracting him with a kiss. His lips were cool against hers and she sank into the moment, relishing the way he instinctively supported her and responded to her lips. She lost herself in the feel of his hand as it snaked its way up her leg with a brief murmur of approval from his lips and she readied herself for . . .
++++++++++++
Spike shook his head and blinked hard to clear the bright spots that were still exploding in front of his eyes. He could feel the hard floor of the crypt under his back. Must have fallen off the tomb again in his sleep.
He’d been having the most vivid dream of Buffy prancing into his crypt looking all hot eyed and ready for action and things were just starting to get juicy when . . . wait a sec.
He shifted and saw Buffy’s head lying next to his as she gave a soft groan and slowly twitched an arm. He sat up, glancing around, then rubbed his eyes again. Where the bloody hell was his television?
“Slayer.” He poked her as she rolled over and shot him a slightly pained wall-eyed look. “What’s your little witchy friend been up to now?”
Buffy scowled and slowly sat up. “First. Ow. Where’d the chair go?”
He raised his eyes to the heavens. “Ah, first in the class as always. Pay attention, Slayer. One minute I’m dreaming about you slipping in for a bit of afternoon delight and the next I’m laying on the very hard floor.”
She rose and tried to dust the dirt of her black skirt. “Lamebrain. I did come by.”
He grinned in spite of himself. “Thought that bit of tongue you were slipping me was just a little too vivid there, love.”
“Whatever, Spike. Mood effectively killed.” She glanced around the gloom. “Where are we?”
He rose and followed her as she moved around. “Looks like my crypt before I added my own special touch.”
“What’s that called again, junkyard chic?” Ignoring his scowl, she moved towards the door. “I’ll bet it’s those lame-o nemesises.”
“Nemesises? Is that even a word, Blondie?”
“Spike, hello? Kind of in a crisis here. They must have done a spell or something, moved everything out.” She marched towards the door and yanked it open as he stepped back in order to avoid becoming extra crispy.
“Oh no.”
He edged to the door, just out of reach of the square of light, and peered over her shoulder. The Restfield Cemetery was twice as large as it had been when he’d made his way home last night.
“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”