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Buffy had a way of detaching. It was kind of a thing.

She sat in a circle with her closest friends, holding a rock over her head. Willow, with the chanting in some sibilant language with her hair flying about. Giles, looking like the world might topple at any minute. Xander, trying not to look any way at all. In another context, it could be funny.

But unfunny was the word. Unfunny, and wretched, and miserable. And trying to remain detached.

There seemed to be no way around it. And hey, if he wasn’t a golem thing, no harm done. Spell fizzles, and all is well.

So she knelt, eyes open and without tears, the geode poised to destroy the vessel on Willow’s command. The air in the basement swept around them, building to an almost electric charge that drowned most of Willow’s incantation. As usual, Buffy didn’t need to know the how or what of the spell. Her part was the action. Hammer to anvil. Stake to heart. Rock to vessel. Rock wins.

It made her sick. She stared at the vessel, which burned the soft blue gold of candle’s flame. When she closed her eyes, she saw him in all his various incarnations: spiteful Spike, crazy Spike, soulful Spike. Spike the eminent bad ass of Sunnydale, and Spike, hero of the people.

And now...

Willow’s voice rose above the howl of wind.

“With these gifts I call upon you, unmake this servitor. Restore to earth both blood and bone. Elements return, I call thee! Let what was made now be undone!”

Buffy saw him then. Right then. He was fighting – bleeding – in a high place above the city. Perhaps the spire of a church...

Willow cried out, “Now, Buffy!”

He wasn’t going to win. Buffy hesitated.

“It has to be now, Buffy,” Willow said.

Buffy brought the stone down to smash the vessel...

~*~

Angel and Connor fought as far into the church as the altar. The remaining four sisters joined with the merry bashing, and they weren’t even close to tiring.

“They’re stalling us,” Connor called to Angel.

“Yeah, it’s working,” Angel said. His energy was quickly waning, Connor could tell. Angel ducked a kick aimed for his head, then rolled over the dusty paving stones to stand shoulder to shoulder with his son.

“We have to get to him,” Angel said.

The Sisters – six of them now – formed a loose ring around Angel and Connor.

“Three to one odds,” Connor said. “Had worse.”

Angel whispered. “Break past them. Get up those stairs. If they’re hellbent on data collection, survey says the exchange is about to take place.”

The Sisters closed in, cinching up the circle.

“I’m not leaving you to them,” Connor said.

One of the Sisters drew a short, curved dagger from the scabbard at her hip. The others followed her lead, then took another collective step forward.

“Go,” Angel said. “You have to...”

“Forget it. They want to keep us here, not kill us. Once Willow works her spell, we have nothing to worry about,” Connor said.

“Except then they’ll dice us out of spite at that point,” Angel said.

The Sisters halted their advance. They held their circle around Angel and Connor, but at this point all they could do was wait.

~*~

William fought. He had one warrior Sister to contend with, and she had teeth. And claws. She’d herded him like sheep. Her first blow sent him sailing into traffic. He had rolled over the hood of the car, cracked the windshield, possibly some ribs, but she was on him again once he was up. Dimly, he saw the others attack Angel and Connor. But this one had his name and number.

She had kicked him onto the curb. He struck back. She caught his fist and tossed him through the boarded and chained front doors.

William felt splinters of wood in his neck. He jumped up. “You bitch,” he spat. “What are you?”

She ran at him. He had planned a swift feint, but she was too damn fast. She shoved him. He stumbled back, reeling, trying to keep his feet. She moved with almost blinding agility. Before he knew it, he was fumbling up rotted black steps in a shaft of stairway. Dust clotted in his lungs. He landed one lucky kick to her gut. That sent her tumbling down a dozen steps. He used that moment to gain the higher ground.

William jumped the gap from belfry to rooftop, then scrambled across the slick tiled roof. He turned and waited.

The Sister emerged, walking with measured steps toward him.

William wiped sweat from his face, then looked at his hand in wonder. It was blood.

He laughed. “Oh, I get it. Hit me hard enough and I do bleed,” he said.

She charged in on him. He was ready this time. He deflected her punch, caught her elbow and locked it back. She followed through, swinging him over her shoulder. He landed with an unpleasant crunch on the peaked roof. It was as though she knew how he fought and predicted...

“Right,” he said. He rolled, sweeping her ankles. She dodged, catlike, then kicked him hard under his ribs. Bright sparks of white showered behind his eyes. For a moment he could neither see nor breathe. He had to get back, get to his feet, get up, or she would have him. His boots found the spine of the roof and he stood again. The lights of the London streets streaked and danced before his eyes.

Then she socked his eye, and then his chin. He stumbled backward, but held on.

“I know...” he said. His breath felt like it was tearing his lungs. “I know why... you want to kill me.”

She faltered.

“You... made me, right? Now you’ve... come to claim what’s in my head,” William said. He took several small steps backward. The church spire was behind him. He held his hand out until he could touch it.

The Sister drew her dagger and spun it in her palm.

William cracked his neck. He smiled. “You’ve got me in a footrace, and there’s... no way I can fight you all. But you... you will get nothing from me. Got it?”

Blood trickled down the side of his face. He felt the spire behind him. The way he saw it, his best bet was to jump...

The Sister ran at him again. She moved with such speed, he barely saw her. She swept his legs, then struck his throat with her fist. William reeled. As he fell, she raked the dagger across his chest. Blood spilled down the front of his shredded shirt. He dropped against the spire. He fought to keep his footing. She came toward him, dagger held above his head, poised to strike.

“What are you?” he breathed. The last thing he saw was the dagger arcing down toward his chest.

~*~

Buffy brought the stone down in a clean arc. But stopped herself.

“I can’t,” she said. “I can’t do this.”

Xander and Giles, both cringing in expectation of a blinding flash and spell debris, looked up at her in disbelief.

She looked from the geode, to Willow, to Giles and Xander. “I can’t. I’m not...” she said. She flung the stone into the corner, then overturned the vessel, hastily scattering the contents across the altar.

Xander reached for her. Buffy got quickly to her feet and ran for the basement stairs.

“Buffy!” Giles called.

~*~

Buffy collided with Dawn and Andrew in the entry hall. Dawn caught her arms and they spun on the hardwood floor.

“Did you?” Dawn panted. “Are we?”

“I couldn’t,” Buffy said. “Dawn, there’s a church.”

“The Temple,” Andrew put in.

“Where...?” Buffy asked.

“Four-Two-Three Mercer,” Dawn told her. She gave her sister a brief embrace. “Go.”

Buffy darted past them into the street.

~*~

The dagger’s point met his flesh, but did not break the skin. William looked down, shocked to find that the blood was gradually fading into the wound. Then he noticed the cross that Buffy had given him lying against the tip of the blade. He could feel its weight on his chest.

The warrior woman stared down into his eyes. She held him transfixed with that gaze. Her eyes seemed like deep and ancient wells so calm in spite of the knowledge she no doubt possessed. Her fingertips glowed. The radiance that spread from them looked very much like the light that shone in his aura.

He swallowed hard. “What am I?” he asked.

The Sister dropped to her knee beside him. She placed her hand against his chest, covering the cross with her palm.

“You are worthy,” she said. A faint smile, almost sad, traced her lips. She turned the hilt of the dagger to face him. William closed his hand around it, and the warrior woman vanished.

~*~

Downstairs in the church, the remaining Sisters orbed out, leaving Angel and Connor in stunned silence. Angel strained to listen for signs of a return, and then for evidence that Spike was still alive.

“He did it?” Connor asked.

Angel nodded. “Or he’s dead. Either way, we have to find out.”

Connor led the way upstairs. Many of the steps were broken out like rotted teeth. It amazed him that William had not fallen in his hasty ascent to the roof. They cleared the belfry and saw him. Both men figured him for dead.

Angel picked his way over the shattered roof tiles. “Spike?” he said.

William’s eyes sprung open. He looked around, dazed and disoriented.

“You survived?” Angel said.

“I did?” William asked. His eyes drifted closed.

“Spike. Spike!” Angel called. He raised his hand to slap William awake.

But William caught Angel’s hand, and twisted. “Don’t do that,” he said.

Angel jerked away. “What happened, Spike? Did you... learn something?” he asked.

William uttered a gurgling laugh. “I’m the bloody Tin Man,” he said.

Angel looked back at Connor, who could only shrug.

Angel said, “I think they bashed your head in, Spike. You’re even less coherent than usual.”

William was shaking his head. He swung up to his feet. He tottered on the brink of instability, then regained his center of balance. He cocked his head at Angel.

“What are you doing here?” William asked.

Angel’s eye twitched. “What do you mean, Spike? You know what we’re doing here. We came with you...”

“You know,” he said. “I think I did learn something.” He tossed the dagger in his hand, testing its weight. He climbed over the base of the spire and stood at the edge of the roof.

“Wait,” Angel said. “Where are you going?”

“Got things to do,” William said. He held out his hands and dropped from the rooftop to the sidewalk below.





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