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Chapter 13
Spike stepped out from behind the crypt as Riley went past it. Clouds covered the full moon, dropping a black veil on the cemetery. “Hasn’t anyone taught you corn-bread Yanks not to be going walking alone in the black of night in a cemetery under the light of a full moon?” Spike saw Riley hesitate and stop in his tracks. Only a few feet from each other, Spike could smell the stench of vampire whores on his skin. “Wow, Cap-i-tan, still getting suck jobs from two bit whores. What must the little lady think?”

Riley turned around, facing Spike under the veil of night. “Spike.” Riley stood tall, bringing his shoulders back trying to increase his girth. “What are you doing out here all by your lonesome. Thought you would be hiding behind Buffy skirt-tails at the Council’s Headquarters.”

“Felt like a bit of fun, myself, pillock. Those Cows back there wouldn’t know fun if I bit them in their arse.”

“Biting again? Can’t say that I am really surprised. Told Buffy not to turn her back.”

“Oh, give me a break, Cardboard. I was being sarcastic! You know what sarcastic, don’t you?” Spike spied Drusilla behind Riley, wondering what she was doing; he called out, “Eah, Dru. What are you doing?”

Riley turned around just in time to see the pools of Drusilla’s eyes, swirling with her incantation. Her fingers came up like a cobra ready to strike, pointing into Riley’s own dull eyes; softly she sang, “Be in my eyes, be in me.” Spike watched Riley’s overgrown body sway in a timeless rhythm. When Riley was suitably under, Drusilla turned her eyes on Spike. “Naughty boy, you will not get any ripe peaches tonight. Our little box here,” she patted Riley on his shoulder. “He knows, my Spike. He sees the koi and the serpent dance under the veil of blue.” Drusilla slapped his pouchy face, “Don’t you, boy? The parrot will not sing the lovely song if it is for your cat gobbles her all up.”

Riley stood still, his body barely registering her slap to his face. “Drusilla, what are you saying?”

“Spike, the stars, do you hear? Whisp, whisp, whisp. Gilbert says the naughtiest things, my Spike. Do you hear the jungle cat roar?” Spike watched her body move around, the moon uncovered from the clouds. “Quickly!” Drusilla yelled. “Time is of the essence!” She lifted up her dirty skirt, “You must, you hear? You must find the koi before the cat has a dip.”

“Drusilla what cat, what koi?” Spike could see she was agitated. “Drusilla!”

“No time, my Spike. Gilbert tells me the stories of the night and they are haunting me. Please, take him. Take him to the Owl, they call him the Pueo! Hurry Spike.” Drusilla grabbed his hands, squeezing them briefly before she ran, disappearing into the black night. Something in her voice, the urgency, the soft demand, made Spike move first. Riley was hiding something and, if Spike knew Drusilla as well as he thought he did, that something had to do with Buffy. He thought of the words she used, the references to fish, Hawaiian words, Spike shuddered, it all came back to Buffy.

Sighing, Spike looked at Riley, the thrall of Drusilla was wearing off, leaving Spike with a dilemma. Finding a rock next to the crypt, Spike picked it up and swiftly brought it down on Riley’s head, knocking the military man to the ground.

~*~*~
Luckily, Spike caught a cab, explaining Riley’s condition on being drunk. The cabbie asked no questions while he drove to the Council’s headquarters. He was amazed how far Drusilla and he got from London. Definitely too far to get back on foot, especially with Riley knocked out. Spike stepped out of the vehicle, dragging Riley’s bulk after him. He walked through the door into the dark and deserted main room. Sighing, Spike hefted Riley up the stairs and towards the library. “Oi, Watcher!” he called out.

Rupert looked up to see Spike push Riley into a close chair. “Spike?” The question rang silent as Quentin followed Spike and Riley to the library.

“Oh, you’re back. No luck, I see.” Quentin commented while looking disdainfully towards Riley’s unconscious form. “You brought that soldier here?”

“Looks like,” Spike sauntered up to the research table and sat upon it. He fished out a cigarette and lit it. Quentin glared at Spike, “Can’t stand the smell of the pillock, got to cover it up somehow.” Spike shrugged and looked towards Giles, “Found him traipsing through a cemetery down by the Thames. Bloody awful neighborhood. Smelled the vamp whores on him again. Think he picked up him old habit. Dru gave him the one two, I saved him, of course.” Spike puffed up his chest, “She said he knows something about Buffy.”

“Really? You could discern her crazed ramblings?” Quentin didn’t look like he believed Spike for one minute.

“Look, she isn’t crazed. She’s just… misunderstood. Said to bring the pillock to the owl, who is Giles, by the by. And we should torture the information out of him.” Spike drew the smoke into his lungs, filling them with warmth that he was missing.

“I very much doubt that torture is the correct course of action.” Giles murmured, moving around the room, picking up texts and then putting them down. “Seems to me Riley would sing just fine with a bit of threat.”

“Take all the fun out of it, Watcher,” Spike grumbled.

“Yes, indeed.” Giles stopped his travels when he heard Riley moan. A few moments later, Riley’s body twitched a bit. “May I suggest some ropes, seems to me that even though torture isn’t the correct course, we should restrain him a bit.”

“Oh, can I chain him to the bathtub?” Spike jumped off the table, overflowing with excitement.

“Spike,” Giles looked past his glasses at Spike, admonishing him, yet was smiling. “Quentin, where may we procure some strong ropes?”

“Giles, I do not think that the Council is jumping at your demands anymore.” Quentin smiled sinisterly. Spike looked between the two Watchers, realizing that the power struggle was not finished, but in fact started anew with the missing Slayer. Time was of the essence; every moment that they spent arguing Riley was becoming more conscious.

With lightening speed, Spike extinguished his cigarette and pinned Quentin to the wall. His forearm was pressing against Quentin’s throat, leaving the older Watcher short of breath. “Look here, I’m not playing any games. This bloke knows something about my Buffy and I’m not going to place her life into your power hungry hands a minute longer.” Spike’s eyes turned past golden and bordered on amber as he threatened Quentin. “Get us some ropes or chains or whatever else you have sitting in that dungeon of yours and get them up here now. I’m not playing here. He knows something about Buffy and I want to know it, too.” Quentin was about to say something, but Spike pressed harder on his windpipe. “I’m not expecting a verbal answer, you see. After we find Buffy safe and sound you can have your little power tantrum. Right now, I am not interested in it.” He backed up a bit, relieving some pressure from Quentin’s throat. “The only reason why you aren’t dead and drained is because of her. If it was up to me, you would not have left Sunnydale alive.” Spike looked over his shoulder. “I’m sure Giles would agree with me. Do we have an agreement? No more tirades about who is in charge?” Quentin choked and gasped, “I will take that was a yes.” Spike let go of Quentin completely, letting the old man sag against the wall. Spike watched carefully as he choked and wheezed. “I suggest you call your minions pretty damn quick or I’m going to have to incapacitate cornflake, here, another way.”

Quentin walked over to the phone and managed to squeeze out his orders. Giles watched Riley closely, waiting for any sign that the man was awake. A long length of sturdy rope was delivered within minutes, giving Spike something to do while he fumed. It was obvious that something deeper was going on in the Council. Something didn’t smell right in Spike’s mind; it was just to easy for Quentin to take the council back over. But, he had plenty of time to figure that out later, it was time to find out where Buffy was.





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