Chapter Eight
Spike is watching her when consciousness finds her again. He’s turned on his side, facing her with his arm angled behind his head. She mirrors him, only her hand is tucked under her jaw. Though he isn’t smiling, there’s a kindness and light in his eyes even in the indirect sunlight that’s peeking around the dark curtains hanging over the hotel window.
“Hello,” she whispers.
He says nothing, only observes her for so long that she wonders if he’s real or a hallucination from some deep broken part of her psyche. His eyes seem to be trying to memorize every millimeter of her face, and when her eyes start following his, the corners of his mouth push up. An ache of longing blossoms in her chest, but her fear loiters in the background, preventing her from making a single motion or uttering another word.
Finally, he reaches across the chasm between them, brushing a cool fingertip over her forehead to sweep a stray strand of her hair away from her cheek.
“Hello, pet.”
Her eyes well up because his two little words tell her everything that her senses are telling her, but she isn’t sure whether to believe. His two little words tell her that the past hurt between them is forgiven, the gulf of time and space is crossed, and he is here with her in the present. His two little words tell her that he is hers. . . he is Spike.
Allowing the tears to fall, she asks, “Why?”
He reaches for her hand, and sniffling, she gladly gives it to him. “It was an easy choice. Part of me figured that if my spirit was strong enough to overcome something the Powers that Be put in place for me, maybe something out there in the universe was giving me a sign that I needed to be Spike. And when I started remembering, I really missed being a vampire. Think I like the fight a little too much. That came through loud and clear.”
Buffy’s voice is small. “Oh.” She knows this is true of him, but she is disappointed because. . .
Spike continues, “And the Shanshu. . . it was never really mine even though I gave Angel a great show of wanting it and going after it when we thought it was a possibility. The possibility of being human. . . that was meant to be his.”
She blinks back her tears. “Going aft. . .?”
Spike interrupts her, “And a big part of me knew that I couldn’t leave you behind. . . not again. . . not after I’d been such a git before and said goodbye when you were so obviously reaching out to connect. I mean what kind of girl jumps on a plane to New Orleans and goes to get beignets with a bloke who looks like someone she used to know?” He reaches out to run his fingers through her hair which has come loose from its braid.
Buffy laughs and wraps her arms around him. “Me apparently. And you had reason to go. Dawn and I probably sounded completely crazy.” She adjusts back in his arms, so she can view him. “Wait. What do you remember?”
“Red was right. I remember William. . . well, not everything about him. The clearest memories are from the last five years. Before that the William memories are much hazier. The last thing I remember as Spike was the battle in L.A. and well, that one three-headed beast that got lucky.” He shudders.
Buffy recalls what Angel told her about how Spike died being torn apart, and she strokes his arm in an effort to reassure him. . . or maybe herself that he is safe and here now. “How many deaths is that for you now?”
He mock rolls his eyes upward, mentally counting. “Three?”
“You got me beat now. Let’s not make a habit out of it, okay?” She keeps her tone light, but she’s serious.
“I’ll do my best, love. The same goes for you.”
“Deal.”
He nudges his leg against hers. “How are you holding up with all of this?”
How can she possibly summarize everything that’s gone on in her brain and heart the past few weeks?
She feels her way through it, “It’s been a lot, you know? I thought you were dead. . . thought you were dead in Sunnydale and found out that you were back just in time to find out you died again. Well, I thought you died again. And then, Dawn brings me your book. . . or rather, William’s book, and I don’t know.”
Her eyes fill with tears again, and she can’t look him in the eye. “Reading it brought up all these feelings for me that I don’t think I ever fully processed or realized I had. . . about things that happened in Sunnydale, about things with you and with us. Dawn and I spent three weeks in New Orleans talking about experiences that I never thought we’d talk about. It was confusing and hard but also kind of nice all in one.”
Spike doesn’t say anything but finds her hand again, squeezing it in reassurance.
“And now you’re here. I never expected you to be here. . . with me.”
“And now that I am?” He keeps his tone neutral, but Buffy knows better. She knows he’s hiding his anticipatory hurt.
More than anything, she wants to tell him how much she still loves him. . . how much she loved him then but didn’t even realize how much until he was gone. But part of her hesitates because it’s been five years, and he didn’t have a choice five years ago about what happened in his life. She wants more than anything for him to have the choice now without feeling like he has to immediately jump into something with her. He deserves a chance to readjust to his timeline, to accept that he’s a vampire again, and to make sense of what he feels for her.
Before Buffy can give a coherent response to Spike’s question, Willow races into the room, a panicked look on her face as she holds up her phone. “Jenn just called. She’s coming back. Turns out that the witch was more powerful than they anticipated, and Dawnie, Giles, and Liz are in trouble. Jenn can’t find them.”
Their moment of intimacy forgotten, Spike abruptly sits up. Briefly sniffling and swiping her tears away with the back of her hand, Buffy bounds off the bed, heedless of the wave of dizziness she feels from standing too fast.
She’s immediately in Slayer mode. “Let’s go.”
Willow shakes her head and helplessly holds up both hands. “If the witch is as powerful as Jenn is saying, I need a little more time to recharge.”
Buffy crosses her arms. “How much time?”
“A few hours. . . tops. I’m sorry, Buffy. The spell for Spike temporarily took it out of me. The sleep helped but. . .”
“It’s okay.” She tries not to show her impatience; she knows Willow is doing her best.
“If we wait, I can help, too,” Spike interjects.
“You sure you’re up to it?”
He nods. “Just need some blood and a dark sky.”
“And we need a better update from Jenn,” Willow adds.
Buffy is antsy and feels helpless but relents. “Right. So we rest, fuel up, and plan.”
* * *
The nighttime can’t come soon enough for Buffy, not with her sister and Giles on the line. She busies herself with necessary tasks like finding food. Buffy manages to find blood for Spike at the shady-looking El Tiempo Market on Washington, which is unlike any butcher shop in Sunnydale, mostly because they offer a variety of cooked food as well. Buffy buys several carnitas and chicken tacos and a dozen tamales for Willow and Jenn. She is hoping that the extra food will keep for Giles, Dawn, and Liz when they rescue them.
When she arrives back at the hotel with the food, she finds Jenn, Willow, and Spike huddled together in Giles’s suite, strategizing about the rescue mission and relaxing as best they can.
Buffy slides the plastic bags full of food onto the table they’re clustered around. “Where are we in the planning?”
Jenn nabs one of the bags, pulls out a couple of tacos, and hands a container of blood to Spike as Willow fills Buffy in, “From what I can gather, the witch is from a coven in Port Neches, a small town in southeast Texas, that’s been around for at least a couple of centuries. They worked with the Native American population there to craft and hone nuanced cloaking spells.”
Buffy moves into a chair next to Spike’s empty one. “What’s the big deal about that?”
“Well, the coven is mostly benevolent, but there have been a few that have strayed from the group and now reside in another small town in the area. They’ve worked with the KKK there for several decades, and it’s not a far stretch to think that one of them might be pulled to working with vampires, particularly if said vampire has a lot of money and influence. This particular town has historically not been the greatest place to live in terms of racial tolerance.”
Having grown up in California, Buffy has trouble fathoming what Willow is saying. “I can’t believe the KKK still exists.”
Spike returns with a warm mug of blood and casually puts his arm on the back of Buffy’s chair. “I can.”
Buffy leans against his arm so that she can reestablish some of the physical contact they had to forego as Willow resumes, “Anyway, the point is that what Jenn described is a witch with a powerful ability to cloak things. . . people and objects and the ability to do so in the middle of a battle so that you have no idea who or what is where. . .no idea what’s an illusion and what’s reality.”
“And that’s how I lost track of the others,” Jenn says after she swallows a bite of the taco she’s inhaling.
“Can’t we just do a tracking spell and find them?” Buffy asks as she opens her own taco.
“I wish, but no. I already tried that, and well, let’s just say that she’s good. It’s likely that part of the reason is because my powers are down, so I’ll try again before we head out.”
“So, we thought that we’d head to the house in Bellaire at nightfall and start there,” Spike adds. “We’ll probably be able to pick up on something once we’re there. . . whether they’re there or whether they’ve been moved.”
Buffy marvels that he’s jumped right back into helping out again, not that she should be surprised. It feels surreal but right somehow. “When we get there, Willow, do you think you can take the witch?”
Willow nods. “Between all of us, we got this. We just have to figure out a way to knock her unconscious while also taking on this Isaac guy.”
“If she’s unconscious. . .”
“Her cloaking spell probably may or may not be incapacitated, and if it isn’t, it should be weakened enough that we can locate them.”
“And what are the odds that a bunch of newbie engineering vamps know much about fighting?” Jenn wonders.
Spike snorts, no doubt thinking about some long ago memory. “I wouldn’t count them out.”
“All right,” Buffy acknowledges, “Jenn, how many vamps did you guys see?”
Jenn crumples her greasy taco wrapper. “Well, we surprised them, so they’ll probably have more reinforcements when we go back, but I’d say we ran across fifteen to twenty. Liz and I dusted about eight of them before the witch got involved.”
Buffy’s expression is grim. “It’ll be a fight then.”
Spike regards her with resolve in his eyes. “And we’ll get the lil Bit back.”
* * *
The two Slayers, the witch, and the vampire easily find the white house tucked away among other large homes in one of the wealthiest Houston-area cities. The street is eerily quiet in the early evening despite the fact that they are so close to the busy highway. A slight breeze ruffles the leaves of the old majestic oaks, and the air is scented by the white gardenias surrounding the enclosure of their destination. Several houses down, a faded yellow street light provides their only source of luminance.
With a wave of a hand, a recharged Willow unravels the magic wards around the grounds, and Buffy easily breaks the locks and removes the heavy stainless steel chains so that the metal gate swings free without sound.
Willow closes her eyes in concentration as Spike takes a long inhalation of the night air.
Almost simultaneously, they come to a realization, and Willow’s voice resounds in all their minds, “They were here, and something’s not quite right. . . .”
Buffy starts forward without hesitation, aiming for the tall white front door. Spike eases in front of her and silently shakes his head.
Willow transmits again, “Around the back way. The magic is concentrated on the first floor, and with the wards disarmed, they will know. Follow me.”
Buffy nods at her friend, gripping the stake in her hand. Willow casts a temporary cloaking spell of her own and leads them through the darkness of the small front yard and the narrow strip of lawn between the house and the fence.
Once they reach the back, Buffy scans the larger enclosure with the pool and towering trees. The vibrant green pool light casts an eerie glow and waving shadows throughout the space. She doesn’t detect any movement, so her gaze turns to the back of the house, and she eyes the second floor balcony and what she thinks are a set of sliding glass doors.
Without consulting Willow, Buffy scales the ivy-covered trellis to her target. Willow wisely doesn’t complain, and Buffy hears Spike following her. Dropping silently onto the concrete veranda, she detects a dim light through the heavy curtains. Spike slips down next to her.
“Stay down there,” Buffy communicates to Willow and Jenn. “I’m. . . ,” she glances at Spike, “we’re going in.”
“Wait.” Spike’s voice echoes in her head as he places a cool hand on her forearm. Buffy almost imperceptibly shivers and hopes that Spike didn’t notice how much she wants his touch to linger. “There are vamps in there.”
“How do you know?”
“I can hear maybe four or five of them feeding. . . probably fledglings, which is really strange to hear after five years of being a regular human.”
“The engineers.” Buffy can’t help but ask again, “You okay to go in there?”
“It’s Dawn we’re after, isn’t it?” He’s resolute. . . as resolute as he was in New Orleans when Dawn let him into the courtyard.
“Got your stakes?”
His tone in her head sounds irritated as he somehow manages to growl in her mind, “I told you I *got* this.”
“Well, you brought up the hearing thing.”
“Guys!” Willow’s volume is extra loud. “Now is not the time. Get moving.”
“Right. Ready, Spike?” Feeling renewed adrenaline coursing through her body, Buffy’s hand finds the door knob.
“Ready, pet.”
Buffy jerks on the sliding doors’ handle and finds that it easily gives under her touch. The door softly glides on its track, but she doesn’t hesitate and pushes up the heavy cloak of the drapes. The powerful scent of incense fills her nose as she darts inside with Spike right behind her. With a quick glance based on years of assessing situations for fighting, she decides to take the three vamps on the right who are clustered around and feeding on a human swaying in a daze from a hook on the ceiling. Buffy gives Spike a look in dim candlelight. He nods and quietly pounces on the two vampires grazing on two female victims on the king-sized bed.
Dust floats through the air as Buffy stakes one of the engineer vampires before he even realizes she is there. A second hangs back, stunned, dark blood smeared across his chin. He recovers as Buffy stakes the third and manages to throw her stumbling back. His eyes are golden in the flickering light, and he growls. When Buffy regains her equilibrium, she almost laughs because he’s wearing shorts, a polo, and tall white socks with stripes at the top. He even still has a pen sticking out of the shirt pocket.
“Big Bang Theory vamps. Who’d a thunk it?” she murmurs as the vampire charges her.
As she trades blows with her opponent, she glimpses Spike managing his prey with ease, punching, kicking and dodging as if five years without fighting was nothing. She admires the fluidity of his movements, and her heart tugs as her desire rears its head.
When the engineers are dispatched, Spike grins at Buffy like a young boy who just hit his first homerun. Heart hammering from exertion and excitement, Buffy finds herself returning the expression.
Willow and Jenn join them before Buffy can comment, and in silent camaraderie, they check all the humans who were being consumed. One of the women on the bed is dead, but a dark-haired woman on the bed and the man who is dangling have barely perceptible pulses. Spike and Buffy release the man from his bindings and ease him onto the blood-soaked velvet bedspread, and Willow casts a quick shield over them.
“Downstairs?” Buffy telecasts.
Willow’s eyes are shining as she nods.