Bitter Business
by Kirayoshi
The Last Laugh
[reviews]
Chapter Four
The Last Laugh
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hold
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
--Nine Inch Nails (covered by Johnny Cash)
"Hurt"
The cashier at Baron's Pizza studied the photograph of Dawn that Buffy had handed her. "Hmm," she nodded slowly. "Yes, I think I did see her here tonight. She was playing Mortal Kombat with an older man."
Buffy shuddered slightly as she digested the cashier's words. "This older man," she asked slowly. "He wouldn't happen to be about six-two, slicked-back blond hair, lips in a permanent sneer—"
"Yes, that's the guy," the cashier answered quickly. "He seemed to behave himself around the girl, but still there was something about him that made me uncomfortable. They left here about fifteen minutes ago, but I couldn't tell you where they went"
Buffy closed her eyes and shook her head in exasperation. "Well, thanks anyway." As she headed toward the door, the cashier called out, "I hope you find her."
Buffy turned her head and regarded the cashier, her eyes dark but smoldering. "So do I," she said levelly.
Buffy left the pizza parlor and headed for the rendezvous site, fear and determination guiding her steps. Spike had a fifteen minute head start on her, and Dawn still trusted him. Buffy found herself recalling the fit Dawn pitched when she declared the vampire off-limits; by Dawn's lights, Buffy was keeping her away from her friend and confidant. Dawn simply didn't know the same Spike, the monster who had racked up almost as high a body count as Angelus and once referred to humanity as 'happy meals with legs'. And now, Buffy feared that Dawn would see Spike's dark heart in all its hideous glory. And that may be the last thing Dawn would ever see.
"She's not dead yet, Buffy," a familiar voice chimed behind her.
Buffy spun on her heel, again facing the image of her late mother standing before her, dressed in a beige suit jacket and slacks, a blue amethyst set in gold hanging from her neck. "Mom, I'm busy. Can't you haunt me later?" Buffy nodded impatiently; this wasn't the first time Buffy was visited by her mother's image since her untimely death last year, nor did she believe it would be the last. While the previous visitations were as welcome as sunshine, Buffy was too worried about her sister to worry about any ghostly distractions.
"Please, Buffy," Joyce tried to console her older daughter. "I didn't mean to startle you. I meant to assure you. Dawn's okay. A little scared, but she's fine. Trust me; I'm keeping an eye on my girls."
"Look, Mom," Buffy stammered in slight disbelief. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm still not convinced that you're even here! You're probably a figment of my imagination or something."
"Hmph," Joyce snorted in that tone of loving condescension that could only come from a mother. "Vampires and witches you can believe in, but not ghosts? I'm not quite sure how to take that, dear."
Buffy rolled her eyes and left her mother's spirit behind her. She rushed around the building, stopping in the nearby alley. She glanced around her, scanning the dumpster behind Baron's, the stacks of wooden pallets, the shadowed doorways and passages. "Hey, Goliath," she whispered into the night air, "you there?"
"I am here," her partner spoke in a low rumble, as the Gargoyle emerged from behind the pallets. "Any news about your sister?"
"Yeah, and none of it good," Buffy allowed her shoulders to sag in desperation. "The cashier told me that she saw Dawn with a guy who looked like Spike. They left fifteen minutes ago."
"DAMN!" Goliath strained to avoid slamming his fist into the wall behind him. "Do you have any idea where else she may be?"
"Maybe some friends of hers," Buffy admitted, "but I don't see Spike taking her there. Baron's is her favorite pizza place in town, so that seemed like a good place to start. Willow and Xander are checking out the mall, and Giles is trolling the multiplex. I say we scout out Spike's crypt."
"And quickly," Goliath agreed, his wings unfolding behind him, preparing for flight. "The longer we delay, the greater the likelihood that Spike will make good on his threat. Come, I'll fly you there," he added, offering his hand to Buffy.
Before Buffy could accept the Gargoyle's offer of aid, her cell phone chirped to life. "Willow?" she barked into the phone, desperate for some good news.
"Buffy..." a timid voice answered, "I-I'm sorry..."
"DAWN!" Buffy shouted, and Goliath perked his ears at the mention of the Slayer's sister. "Are you all right?"
"I'm okay," Dawn answered, "but Spike scared me a little, I guess."
"Is he with you?" Buffy demanded.
"No, he's gone," Dawn answered. "He ran off after I saw him kill that gangster wannabe a few blocks from the pizza place. I made it out to the Espresso Pump, and I'm scared to leave. Can you pick me up?"
Buffy released the breath she didn't realize she was holding. "You just sit tight, Dawnie. We'll be there shortly."
"I'm grounded, aren't I?" Dawn asked in a pleading whisper.
Buffy paused for a second. "We'll discuss that later."
"Are you gonna stake Spike?"
The question almost caught Buffy by surprise, and she swallowed hard before answering. "I have to, Dawnie. He's too dangerous to be allowed to live. I'm sorry."
"So am I, Buffy," Dawn answered. "I'm sorry I let him get close to me."
"You didn't invite him in, did you?" Buffy asked, her voice rising in terror.
"No, nothing like that," Dawn answered quickly. "I just let him convince me to go out with him. I didn't know..."
"None of us did, Dawnie," Buffy assured her sister. "None of us did. I'll see ya later, Dawn." She disconnected her cellular and turned to Goliath. "She's alive, at least."
"So it seems, Buffy," Goliath's voice was hushed, but carried the overtones of a distant thunderstorm, "but is it possible that she has been taken by this Spike, and that this is part of a trap? He did tell you he would turn her into a vampire. Forgive me, Buffy, but I felt it necessary to prepare you for the worst—"
"She's not a vampire," Buffy cut him off. "I could hear her panting for breath on the phone. I could hear her fear, no way she could have faked that. She's alive." She punctuated her last statement with an icy stare and a firm set to her jaw that would entertain no argument. Goliath sat back silently, not wishing to upset Buffy any further, as the Slayer tapped out the number to Xander's cellular. "Xander? Buffy. Dawn just called me, she's at the Pump. Can you and Willow...you're on your way? Great. I'll meet ya there, okay? Love ya, Xander. 'Bye."
As Buffy cut off her connection, Goliath stepped forward, his wings unfurling behind him. "Come then," he offered, "I will fly you to your sister."
"Thanks," Buffy answered solemnly. Goliath knelt down, lowering his back for Buffy to climb on. As Buffy wrapped her arms tightly around Goliath's neck, the Gargoyle began climbing the nearby building. Once he reached the roof of the pizza parlor, he ran forward in three long, rapid strides, and leaped forward, his wings spreading wide to catch the air. Within seconds, he began ascending, as Buffy scanned the streets below them, navigating their way toward the Espresso Pump.
"I told you she was okay," a motherly voice only Buffy could hear echoed in the Slayer's ear.
========
The vacant silence of the Magic Box was shattered as the front door gave way, breaking under the sudden stress of a powerful shoulder ramming it repeatedly. Wolf charged forward, throwing the remains of the front door aside, and turned toward his employer. "You wanted in," he announced as two dark figures followed him in, "you got in."
"You fool!" Demona shouted. "Do you want Goliath and the Slayer down on our heads before we've even started?" The sorcerer behind her chuckled in amused tut-tut sounds.
"Be at peace, Demona," the sorcerer admonished gently. "After all, the alarum spell that the witch set up would only alert them to a magical breach. Wolf's methods, unsubtle though they may be, will be less conspicuous. With Buffy and her allies otherwise occupied with the vampire Spike, we are free to loot this shop without interruption."
Demona scowled impatiently, before sighing in resignation. "Very well, wizard. But we don't have the time to dally; let us get what we came here for and leave."
"Any idea where they're stashing the ferula gemina, Demona?" the sorcerer asked as he absently rubbed his knuckles against his shirt.
Wolf sniffed the air around him and snarled. He rushed forward with a loping gait, bounding over the cashier's counter and into the back room. "How about this safe back here?"
"Excellent," the sorcerer smiled, as he and Demona joined the mutate thug by the safe. "I don't suppose that either of you are capable safecrackers, are you?"
"Allow me," Demona intoned, stepping up to the safe. She wrapped her hands around the door handle and yanked hard. The heavy steel door protested with a tortured groan before breaking off of its hinges. "As I said," she snarled as she retrieved a large rifle-like device, "we have no time to dally. Let's go."
"Oh, so now it's okay to use brute force," Wolf muttered under his breath as Demona turned away from the broken safe. He was about to follow Demona out of the backroom when a glint of blood-red caught his eye. He turned back toward the safe and rummaged with his hairy hands, unearthing a large crimson stone, a ruby the size of a golf ball, bearing an engraved letter 'C', and set in a gold medallion on a thick chain. "Well now," he smiled ferally. "This little beauty should be worth at least five figures on E-bay."
"Leave it be!" Demona turned around sharply and slapped the trinket out of Wolf's hand. "We have what we came for!"
"You have what you came for," Wolf angrily corrected the Gargoyle. "What's it to you if I want a little extra?"
"You dare to question my orders, Wolf?" Demona roared, her eyes glowing redly. "I'll rend your heart from your chest!" She charged toward the mercenary, her claws thrust forward.
"Bring it on, bitch!" Wolf snarled, his fangs bared, bracing for Demona's attack.
Demona drew her hand back, preparing to rake Wolf's face with her talons, but suddenly she and Wolf found themselves thrown apart by an unseen force. "Children, children," the sorcerer chided as he calmly entered the room. "Don't make me give you each a time out. You don't work and play well with others, Demona."
"This is not your concern, wizard," Demona intoned darkly as she scrambled to her feet.
"Anything that will aid or jeopardize our mission is my concern," the sorcerer reminded him in a quietly deadly voice as he waved his hand, removing the barrier spell he had erected. "Now then, let me see this bauble of yours." He held out his hand, summoning the ruby to fly into his palm. Examining the jewel, he smiled knowingly. "A Centurion Stone. I thought the last of these to be lost forever." He chuckled slightly as he tossed the jewel casually in the air, catching it as it descended. "Forget E-bay, my hirsute friend! Your serendipitous find will be worth far more than that to our cause. I promise you, Wolf, whatever Demona's paying you for your assistance, I'll triple it."
"Deal," Wolf nodded, a satisfied smirk curling his lip.
Listening to this exchange, Demona turned toward the sorcerer. "Are you saying there is power in that gem, sorcerer?"
"Indeed," he answered, holding the stone up by its chain, "the power to command a hundred vampires. We will need foot-soldiers for our plans to succeed, will we not?"
Demona regarded the Centurion Stone with an appraising eye. "Very well," she reluctantly agreed. "But if you're lying to me," she added, addressing both Wolf and the mage, "I'll rend both your throats!"
"You have anger management issues, Demona, has anyone ever told you that?" the sorcerer commented as the three conspirators departed the Magic Box with their new acquisitions.
========
It had been five hours since he had left Dawn in that alley. Five hours of wandering the streets of Sunnydale, half-crazy from lack of blood, but unable to summon the strength to simply claim a passerby and feed off their life. He finally made his way to Kingman's Bluff, despairing as he recognized the terrible truth, the dark fact of his life. The bitter reality that William the Bloody, the Slayer of Slayers, the Scourge of Europe, could no longer tolerate the taste of blood.
He didn't feel the cool dampness of the soil beneath him as he sat dejectedly on the edge of the bluff. He didn't taste the Guinness he was swigging, or feel the cool hardness of the bottle in his hand. He didn't notice the bright lights of the city stretched below him, or the canopy of stars overhead. His senses, once keenly acute to the slightest changes in light, sound and pressure, were dull and dead.
Just like me, huh?
As he knocked back another deep swallow of bitter beer, he was so caught up in his self-pity and despair that he didn't even hear the footsteps behind him, or smell the distinct perfume or pheromone pattern that he had all but committed to memory. But the low, dark voice that addressed him, he heard clearly.
"Get up!"
Spike remained sitting, not even turning his head to acknowledge the Slayer. Buffy lifted the wooden stake in her hand and shouted, "I said, get up!"
Spike lowered the bottle to the ground next to him and sighed deeply. "Look, let's not get into the old song and dance, Slayer," he harrumphed. "You're here to dust me, so dust me already!"
Buffy regarded Spike with her usual level of contempt, mixed with a growing confusion. "This isn't a joke, Spike. I'm here to put this stake in your heart, got it?"
"Yeah, yeah, got it," Spike groaned. "And if I had any interest left in self-preservation, I might be compelled to do something about that. But I don't."
Buffy fought to sustain her rage as she gazed hotly at the pitiful creature before her. Why wasn't his mere presence triggering her Slayer senses? This is Spike, she reminded herself. William the Bloody. The monster responsible for the deaths of untold thousands of people of the course of his undead existence, including two Slayers. The thing that once referred to humanity as nothing more than "Happy Meals with legs". The beast who tried to drive a wedge between me and my friends when I needed them most, before my final battle with ADAM.
The man who withstood Glory's torture to protect my sister.
"What happened to you, Spike?" she asked the vampire flatly.
Spike craned his head, his jaundiced eyes meeting Buffy's. Buffy was shocked at how dark, how flat and dead his eyes looked. Almost like they were staring blankly out of a recently caught fish. "You really give a goddamm," Spike asked, "or are you just making small-talk?"
Buffy shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. "Call it professional interest. I'm the Slayer, after all."
"How's the Bit? She okay?" Spike opened a fresh bottle of Guinness and lifted it to his lips.
Buffy walked around to Spike's side, and sat down. She found her gaze looking out over the city. "She's fine. Scared, but fine. I spoke with her at the Pump, and Willow's taking her home. She'll be spending the next week cleaning up at the Magic Box after school, by way of grounding."
"It ain't her fault, Slayer," Spike muttered. "I'm the one who conned her."
Buffy turned back to Spike, regarding him with a searching eye. "You still haven't answered my question, Spike. What happened to you? Dawn told me what happened in the alley. After you killed that thug who was harassing her, she said you ran off. You didn't even attack her."
"No, I didn't," Spike answered quietly. "I couldn't." He located his last Guinness bottle and handed it to Buffy. "Here," he said, "have a snort and I'll tell you my story." Buffy regarded the bottle with some caution, but Spike prodded her. "Don't worry, it ain't cursed or anything. Yeah, I heard about that whole Cave-Slayer incident." Buffy smirked as she twisted the cap off the bottle. She took a small sip, only to make a wry face as she tasted the thick bitter drink. "Yeah," Spike barked mirthlessly. "That Guinness is the real stuff, ain't it?"
As Buffy gingerly sipped at the bottle again, Spike returned his attention to the view of the city. "Did you ever wonder," Spike asked Buffy, "why vampires hunt humans?"
Buffy raised her eyebrows in thought. "For their blood?"
Spike snorted once in slight derision. "I'll rephrase the question," he continued. "Why would a vampire go through all the trouble of hunting humans for their blood, when there are so many easier ways to obtain blood? I could siphon off a fresh corpse, or raid a blood bank, or do like Peaches does in LA, cut a deal with an obliging butcher. But most vampires insist on the old-fashioned approach. Why?"
Buffy considered Spike's words before she answered. "You need the hunt," Buffy answered slowly. "Something about the hunt, the chase, that does something to the blood?"
"Something like that," Spike smirked. "Y'see, a vampire not only has to feed himself, but his demon as well. The vampire feeds on blood, but the demon within, it needs something more to sustain itself."
Buffy nodded, comprehension slowly clearing her mind. "Fear," she breathed. "The demon feeds off fear."
"Gold star, Buffy. The demon's a parasite, depending on the vampire for sustenance. There's a gland in the human brain that, in times of extreme stress...say, when you're scared as scat...produces a hormone called epinephrine, also called the 'fight or flight' gland. And that's what the demon feeds on. Epinephrine adds a little flavor to the blood, so we vamps crave it almost as much as the blood itself. Sort of a built-in survival mechanism; without that fear, the demon that controls a vampire will die."
"Whoa, wait a sec," Buffy interrupted suddenly. "What about Angel? He hasn't hunted since the last time he was Angelus, but his demon's still kicking."
"That's easy enough to guess," Spike announced, "it probably has to do with the curse that keeps him from feeling the happies. The gypsy magic that cursed him in the first place probably keeps his demon alive, in a suspended state or something." He took another swig of beer, swirling it against his palate before swallowing it. "But you understand what happened to me now? I've been out of the hunt for three bloody years. And my demon, during all that time, starved to death."
Buffy glanced back at Spike, appraising her former adversary with an almost sympathetic eye. "So you're saying," she spoke slowly, "that your demon's gone, and you have a soul now?"
Spike barked in a mirthless laugh. "I wish, Slayer. Even a soul would be better than what I got now."
"And that is..."
"Nothing!" he shouted tonelessly at the Slayer, and Buffy realized for the first time how truly dead and emotionless voice sounded. "I got no soul, I got no demon, I got nothing! I'm a hollow! That's what we're called, hollows."
Hollow...that, Buffy realized in a flash of insight, was the only word to describe the sad figure that sat beside her. The killer instinct, the dark grace, the absolute ruthlessness, that was gone now. In its place was a shell, the withering husk of what was once the most persistent thorn in her side. "Not the kind of thing we want to get out, you understand, so your Council don't know anything about it. But it isn't as rare as you'd think, Slayer. Probably one out every hundred or so vamps become hollows. Either they don't have it in them to hunt, or they become imprisoned for a spell, or some accident deprives them of the blood, the fear. None of them last too long. They always lose their edge. Without the demon behind them, they don't have the killer instinct to survive. They end up either doing something stupid, either getting killed themselves or getting a whole community of vamps in danger. Assuming a hollow survives any length of time, most other vamps around him will hunt him down to protect themselves. Kind of a supernatural selection."
He lowered his head in something vaguely resembling sorrow, and even Buffy felt a strange empathy. "I used to be a true beast, a glorious monster, beautiful and terrible to behold. The night was mine, Buffy. We belonged together, the night and me, like lovers. Soulmates without souls. Now, I don't belong anywhere. Not among the undead, and certainly not among the living. Both sides would just as soon stake me as talk to me. And that's not how William the Bloody's gonna go out. If I'm gonna meet my maker, I'm gonna meet Him on my terms." He sagged his shoulders in a resigned posture, and glanced at his watch. "So if you don't mind, Slayer, I think I'm just going to sit here and watch the sun rise. Should be in about twenty-five minutes."
"Spike—" she started but stopped herself before she could complete her thought. She was prepared to offer the poor vampire whatever aid she and the Scooby gang could. The possibilities were there; Giles still had the Orb of Thessuluh in his office at the Magic Box, sitting atop a stack of receipts. Or he and Willow could scan through his private library of ancient tomes for some sort of cure for his condition. Maybe even a spell that would revert Spike to being human. Despite all the trouble he had caused, he had done right by her and Dawn during the last year, during their bitter battle with Glory. He didn't just have to take it; he didn't just have to die...
But the moment she spoke his name, he turned his eye to her in a knowing glance. It was a small gesture, but powerful enough for its purpose. He could see it in her eyes, the misplaced desire to help him. He knew what Buffy was going to say, so he silenced her with a gesture. He lived his life without feeling pity for anyone. The last thing he wanted was anyone feeling pity for him.
Buffy nodded, silently honoring her adversary's wishes. "Mind if I watch it with you?"
"Free country," Spike grunted. The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes, their eyes fixes upon the horizon past the bluff.
As the first tinges of rose emerged over the horizon line, Spike stood up and began to take off his duster jacket. "Uh, Spike," Buffy asked, "what are you doing?"
Spike said nothing as he folded the jacket in half deliberately, almost reminding Buffy of an honor guard folding an American flag. "This jacket of mine," he spoke solemnly, "once belonged to a girl I killed in New York. I think her name was Nicki. She was a Slayer." He handed the jacket to Buffy, saying, "A Slayer should have it."
Buffy sat motionless, staring at the offered jacket as though it were a fresh roadkill. "Why, Spike? Why do you want me to have this?"
"Because, Buffy," for the first time in this strange conversation, Spike's voice carried something akin to emotion, "shortly before our final battle with Glory, you began to treat me as a human. I want to thank you for giving me that level of respect one last time. Please," Buffy couldn't be sure if he wasn't pleading, "take it."
Buffy examined the worn leather jacket once more, before snatching it from Spike's hands. "I'll give it to Dawn," she suggested. "She always liked you. I don't get it myself, but hey, kids today."
Spike coughed a dry chuckle, lifting the remains of his last Guinness bottle. "She's a good kid, Buffy. You keep her that way." He returned his glance to the reddening skies in the east. As he took one last swig of his Guinness, he snorted slightly. The snort gave way to a slowly gathering chuckle.
"Something funny, Spike?" Buffy asked conversationally.
"Oh, nothing, really," Spike began. "This whole situation just reminded me of a joke I heard once." Buffy crooked a sardonic eyebrow, and Spike rolled his eyes. "Not that kind of joke, Summers."
"Care to tell me?"
Spike smiled slightly. "Sure, why not? There was this baby polar bear, see. And one day, he turned to his mother and asked her, 'Mum, are you sure that I'm a polar bear?'
"His mum looked at him and said, 'Of course you're a polar bear. Now go outside and play.' So the baby polar bear left to play.
"An hour later, the baby polar bear went to his father and asked him, 'Dad, are you certain that I'm a polar bear?'
"His father looked at him and answered, 'Why of all the silly nonsense, of course you're a polar bear. Now go outside and forget this foolishness.' And the baby polar bear left to play.
"An hour later, Mum called her baby in for supper, and as the family was eating their fish, the baby polar bear looked at both his parents and asked, 'Mum, Dad, please tell me the truth. Are you absolutely, one-hundred-percent, hand over heart sure that I am a polar bear?'
"At this point his parents were understandably exasperated. Finally his father took the boy aside, sat down beside him and said, 'Son, your mother is a polar bear. I am a polar bear. Your grandparents, your uncles and aunties and cousins, all of them are polar bears. How could you possibly believe that you are anything but a polar bear?'
"The baby polar bear turned to his father, and in a voice loud enough to echo across the tundra, answered, 'BECAUSE I'M FREEZING ME ARSE OFF!!!'"
Spike chanced one final glance at Buffy, and was oddly pleased to see her face contorting into a wide grin, before erupting into laughter. After a second, Spike joined her, laughing loudly and raucously. For that one brief instant, the two constant adversaries were not enemies, nor were they truly friends, but something else. For the first time in her life, Buffy felt that she truly understood who and what Spike was, and recognized how sharply he perceived her as well. For the first time, they got each other.
He was still laughing when the first rays of the morning sun hit him. A long sustained laugh born not of defiance but of resignation, of yielding to the absurd. A laugh that was still echoing softly thirty seconds after he silently combusted, and the ashes drifted in the wind past Buffy's face. Buffy herself had managed to compose herself, as she stared for long minutes at the spot next to her where Spike sat. A single tear rimmed her lower eyelid, before sliding slowly down her cheek. She still didn't fully understand why she felt a faint sense of loss. Her enemy was dead. The beast that had hounded her steps for the last five years was no more. But all she felt was regret.
"Goodbye, William," she whispered as she pulled herself to her feet and clutched the dusty leather jacket to her chest. "May you find peace." She turned around and slowly made her way back to the Jeep without a backward glance.
Behind her, the dust of a mediocre poet drifted through the morning breeze.
========
He felt the warmth of a rising sun against his closed eyelids, and wondered why it wasn't the fires of Hell. After all, with the sins he had committed over his unnaturally extended lifetime, he had no doubt of his final destination. The last thing he expected was the feel of a velvet pillow under his cheek, the carpet of lush soft grass beneath his skin, or the fragrance of lilacs wafting through the air.
"I know you're awake, William," a voice like wooden windchimes filtered through his semi-conscious state. Spike squirmed, not wanting to face whoever was speaking. "Arise, William. I did not go to the trouble of bringing you here so you could waste the daylight."
After a silent show of protest, Spike opened his eyes, only to clamp them shut to ward off the morning sun...
The sun...
"Yes, William," the voice insisted gently, but with a determination that compelled Spike to listen. "You still live, for now. And here, the light of the sun will not harm you. I have brought you here to the blessed island of Avalon. Here, the laws of nature are...different, and mutable to my will. And to the will of Lord Oberon."
Spike finally lifted his heavy head wearily off of the pillow, and examined his surroundings. His head lay on a pile of velvet cushions, plush and soft as a dream and opulently draped with purple silk sheets. Around him, a bower of birch trees, their drooping leaves forming a canopy that scattered the sunlight around him, leaving dappled shadows to fall against his skin. The strange, long-forgotten sensation of the sun's heat warming his skin left the normally bellicose vampire stunned into silence. He lifted his body slowly, examining the clean white shirt and black pants that he had no memory of donning. "Wha—what's going on here?"
"Be at peace, dark one," the voice entreated him. "Precious few mortals have ever set foot here, on this blessed isle of Avalon. Even fewer have been permitted to lounge in my scented glade."
Spike looked forward, seeking the possessor of that commanding voice. She strode through a naturally forming archway of willow trees, strands of leaves parting before her and closing behind her like a theater's curtain. She stood before Spike a full six feet tall, and from her strong posture and regal bearing there was no doubt in Spike's mind that she was the mistress of these strange surroundings. Her pale green skin shone in the dawning sun, as pale red hair streamed from beneath the coronet on her head, cascading past her long pointed ears. Crimson silks framed a body both feminine and muscular, both youthful and ancient, and her gemstone green eyes seemed to look through Spike and around him, measuring him, weighing him.
Spike slowly backed away from this woman, recognizing her to be even more powerful than Glory. "Who...who are you?"
The regal woman arched her eyebrow. "I am Titania," she intoned. "Queen of the Fair Folk."
Spike grunted silently. "Fairies? Hmph, my old girlfriend told me she used to see fairies."
"Your girlfriend was delusional," Titania glowered. "None of my race has ever trafficked with the undead before."
"So you've set a precident, congratulations," Spike muttered. "Why did you bring me here? I was quite happily dusted..."
"And so the Slayer shall continue to believe," Titania interrupted, in a rough tone that commanded Spike's silence. "She saw your body decompose at first light, because that's what I willed her to see. She and her friends shall believe that you have gone on to your reward, until such a time as we must reveal the truth."
"Ain't that peachy. And what is the purpose of you largesse?"
"Not to bandy words, so be respectful." With the slightest change of inflection, the tone of her voice shifted from matronly to darkly commanding, causing a chill to race down Spike's back. "I have a use for you, William Exeter. An evil power is rising in your world, and I have brought you here to prepare you for the battle ahead."
Despite his newfound respect for the fey queen, Spike still dared to challenge her. "Got bad news, your Highness, but you got the wrong vamp. I'm not even half of what I was before."
"I know what you've become, William," Titania answered. "And more to the point, I know what you can be. You have spent too much time shrouded in darkness, William. I offer you a chance to regain what the monster Drusilla stole from you long ago."
Spike masked his eyes as he approached Titania. "You're going to give me my soul?"
Titania's laughter reverberated through the bower, gently shaking the leaves around him. "I do not give anything, William, especially souls. You will earn your soul, if you choose to accept my sovereignty. Serve me, fight for Avalon and for your world, and you may regain all you have lost. What say you?"
Spike weighed Titania's words, measuring them in his mind's eye, before making his decision. Leaning forward in a courtly bow, he announced, "You have my loyalty, your Highness."
Titania nodded gently. "Then arise, Sir William, defender of Avalon. And come with me," she beckoned toward the archway of trees, "and meet the other allies my lord and husband Oberon and I have assembled." Spike followed Titania through the archway, joining her at the edge of a great forest, and viewing the verdant pasturelands that spread between them and the jeweled palace of Oberon. Spike glanced around him, noticing the two women who now stood beside Titania.
"Hello, Spike," the blonde smiled warmly. "Welcome to Avalon."
"Hey, Spikester," the dark-haired woman added. "Welcome to the cause."
Spike's eyebrows rose as he recognized the blond-haired girl. "Tara? What're you doing here?"
"The Goddess brought me here," Tara answered plainly. "I only obeyed my faith."
"And Titania and Oberon broke me out of stir," the other woman commented, "so I'm working with them too. Something big's coming up, Spike, and we're gonna need all the help we can get."
Spike glanced back toward the darker woman for a moment. "Do I know you? You seem vaguely familiar."
"We met, Spike," she answered, a sly smile lighting her face. "You wouldn't recognize me, 'cause I was a blond at the time. I'm Faith," she added, offering her hand.
Spike shook the offered hand, saying, "Faith, huh? I've heard about you, from the ol' demon grapevine. You took over Kendra's place as the new Slayer. Wish I could say I remember where we met, though."
Faith's smile widened mischievously. She started to walk slowly toward Spike, a sensuous sway to her hips. "Maybe you remember this?" She quizzed him in a sultry tone of voice. "I could have anything. Anyone. Even you, Spike." She stood two inches in front of Spike, and she lifted her hand to slowly caress his cheek. "I could ride you at a gallop until your legs buckled and your eyes rolled up. I've got muscles you've never even dreamed of." Her fingers began to walk slowly down his chest, and she began to lick her lips. "I could squeeze you until you pop like warm champagne and you'd beg me to hurt you just a little bit more." She leaned into the hapless vampire's embrace and touched his ear with her lips. "And you know why I don't?" She stepped back from Spike, releasing her touch from his body, and suddenly taking a more demure stance. "Because it's wrong." She turned toward Tara and the two young women strolled toward the castle in the company of Titania.
Spike stood alone in the pasture, gasping for a full minute before he could utter two words in a strangled whisper; "Bloody...hell!"
His life, the blond vampire conceded, had just become more complicated. And much more interesting.
FINIS---for now