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Author's Chapter Notes:
Back with the next chapter! Just a heads up…my very old laptop may have a failing hard drive. I just finished backing up everything to a flash drive, just in case. I’ll keep trying to make weekly updates until or unless it dies. Don’t know how long it might take to get a new one, but I’ll be back as soon as possible.

Either way, I won’t be updating for the next week or so. My dad’s cancer has returned and I’ll be staying with him at the hospital after his surgery. Prayers and good thoughts would be most appreciated.

In the meantime, hope you enjoy…
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CHAPTER NINETEEN

He wasn’t on fire.

It took Spike nearly a full second to process that fact. Instead of flames, the burning sensation he felt came from the heat of a sun so intense it almost caused him physical pain.

Only…not.

The full significance of this didn’t sink in right away. All Spike could think about was Buffy. He had to know she was okay. Had to be sure her anguished cry was prompted, not by pain, but by his own suicidal charge into the sunlight. Had to first see for himself that she was beautifully alive and in one relatively unharmed piece, rather than dead, dying or mutilated.

Then the reality train hit him full force.

Gazing at Buffy’s gobsmacked face—her mouth agape, eyes wider than he’d ever seen them—Spike giggled. He took in the staring demons, some of them mirroring the slayer’s stunned expression, and giggled harder.

“Spike…” Buffy’s voice sounded as bewildered as she looked. “What…?”

Still giggling, he shook his head. “Dunno, slayer. But whatever it is, it feels bloody brilliant!” Looking down at his outstretched hands, the smooth, pale skin made even more luminous by the harsh sunlight, Spike marveled at the notable lack of smoke and flames. He giggled again.

“Oh, my god.”

The intensity of Buffy’s words sobered him faster than a two-ton charging Tan’ kahar demon. His head shot up. Shoulders back, fists at the ready, he scanned the yard. “What? What’s wrong?”

Shrugging off the slackened grip of her captors, a bruised and slightly bloody Buffy started towards him. No one moved to stop her, the demon leader merely twitching a bit as he hissed low in his throat. Buffy didn’t seem to notice.

“You know what this is. It’s that thing! That shoe-shine thing!”

Relaxing his stance, Spike snorted. “Not bloody likely. Despite appearances to the contrary, pet…still a vampire.”

Buffy stopped less than two steps away. Hands resting on her hips, she regarded him with narrowed gaze. “How do you know? Maybe there was a delayed reaction. Have you checked?”

“Checked?” He stared at her blankly.

“Yes! Checked! When was the last time you went all fangy?”

Raising an eyebrow, Spike jerked his chin toward the watching raiders. “About thirty seconds before you decided to go all Bruce Willis on that lot there.”

Buffy visibly deflated. “Oh. Well…” She frowned. “Maybe it just happened. Try again.”

“Buffy…”

“Just try!”

He vamped out. “Sorry, slayer. Still a hundred percent undead.”

She glared at him, her expression mulish. “Maybe. Maybe not. How come you’re not on fire, huh? You’re not all flamey. You’re not dust. You’re not even smoldering.”

Spike shrugged. “Different dimension, different sun, different rules.”

“Oh, please,” Buffy scoffed.

He bristled. “Hey! Happened to Angel. Fred told me all about it. Went runnin’ around in another dimension. Broad daylight. Didn’t even pack his sunscreen lotion. He didn’t go ‘all flamey’ either.”

A hissing growl rather like an enraged cobra drew their attention to the raiders’ alien-looking chief. Slanted coal-black eyes squinted hard at Spike. “What trick this be? Vampire die in sun. Why not you die?”

They stared at him a full beat then turned back to each other.

“This is my fault.” Buffy bit her lip, forehead creased in thought as she reasoned it out. “I did this. I took it away from you, so The Powers...or whatever…they gave it to Angel instead. But some of it must have stuck.”

Spike snorted. “Bollocks. Think about it, pet. Angel got the fever as soon as he was sucked through the portal. Turned human before you pulled me out of the bloody coma. Whatever this is, I’m betting it’s got nothing to do with any sodding prophecy.”

Another angry hiss sounded. “You show respect! You be vampire! You burn now!” High-pitched hissing sounds punctuated every other word, putting Spike in mind of a demented teakettle. The other raiders shifted uneasily.

Spike wasn’t impressed. “Wait your turn, you git, or I’ll respect your bloody head off!” As he met Buffy’s gaze, his voice softened. “Look…love…I know you think you’ve got it all figured out, but there’s only one vampire with a soul destined to be human and turns out it wasn’t me.”

The hissing escalated. “Stangor no wait! You die now! She die now! All die now!”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “We’re having a conversation here, Stangor. I’ll come kill you as soon as we’re done, ’kay?”

Spike suppressed a smile as she turned her exasperated face back to him.

“Look, we can’t be sure how any of this works. Even if time does go by faster here than it does back home, this is not just a coincidence. I don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn. You wanted this!”

“Did not. Leastways…not exactly. Wanted the prophecy, yeah, but…” He struggled to explain—to himself, to her. “It did mean something, only…it wasn’t…”

The hissing gave way to a massive roar that echoed through the yard. “No more! No talk!” With a few limping steps, the now out-of-patience Stangor planted himself next to Reema and her terrified daughters. He confiscated a sword from one of his men and brandished it in front of the women. “You fear Stangor! You fear!”

A faint whooshing sound reached Spike’s ears. An instant later, a dagger came hurtling out of nowhere. It embedded itself deep into Stangor’s chest, effectively cutting off his rant as the demon’s expression changed from furious to dumbfounded. The sword he’d been clutching slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground. He wrapped pale, shaking hands around the protruding dagger hilt and wrenched it free, waving it weakly in front of him.

“Die…all die…” he gasped. Then a gush of pitch-black blood spurted from his mouth and with a loud, gurgling sound, he fell backwards, arms and legs splayed. Tiny puffs of dust rose up around him, hanging in mid-air before drifting back to the ground.

In the yard, shocked silence reigned until a sardonic voice cut through the hush.

“Hey, Angel! Found your knife. Looks like you left it stickin’ out of some skinny-ass dude’s chest.”

Following the voice, Spike spotted a grinning Gunn standing on the slanted roof of a neighboring building. He leaned against a stone chimneystack, arms folded in a nonchalant pose.

Then a flicker of movement in Spike’s peripheral vision drew his attention in another direction. It was Angel, strolling through the unguarded archway separating the yard from the adjacent street. He carried a sword in one hand—the blade casually resting against his shoulder, tip pointed skyward.

“Really? Damn. Gotta stop doing that.”

Angel eyed the dumbstruck raiders as he came to a halt. “You boys look surprised.” He dropped his gaze to Stangor’s lifeless body, sprawled in the dirt, and shook his head. “Now see, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I shouldn’t have killed him like that. No fair warning for him to sneer at. No ultimatum for him to reject. I didn’t even do the witty banter thing first.”

He shrugged. “Oh, well. My bad. Guess I’m a little out of practice. But if you’re thinking about taking advantage…”

Angel pursed his lips and let out a shrill whistle. On cue, villagers armed with bows and arrows popped out of every conceivable hiding place, pouring through the archway and lining the neighboring walls and rooftops.

“…that would be a very bad move.” Angel’s smile was friendly, but his voice had turned ice cold. “And in case you’re wondering, that’s the fair warning part. Now here’s your ultimatum: If you want to live? Let the women go, and leave. Anyone still here after the count of three is a dead demon. Anyone who tries to come back is a dead demon. In fact, anyone caught within a 10-day ride of this village is a really dead demon. Only it won’t be as fast or as pretty as it was for your boss there. And because for some reason I’m feeling extra generous right now, I’ll let you in on a secret. There won’t be any witty banter then either. I’ll just skip straight to the killing.”

He turned his attention to Buffy. “You okay?” Without looking at the still-frozen demons, he barked, “One!”

A slight ripple of movement ran through the group.

She nodded. “Peachy.”

Angel nodded back. “Good.” He studied Reema and her daughters. “Ladies?”

Jerking free, Reema shoved aside a hulking Bartok demon who stood between her and her children. “Well enough, Angel-kushla. Though better if we could have their hearts for dinner!” she added fiercely.

Angel appeared to seriously consider it. “Could be arranged. Two!”

Three or four demons began edging toward the archway, but the majority still milled around, looking from Angel to the armed villagers to Buffy and Spike and back to the armed villagers.

Angel sighed. “You really are a stupid bunch, aren’t you?” Preparing to signal the archers, he hefted his sword.

A squat raider, looking like a cross between a bow-legged toad and a giant armadillo, let out an ear-splitting yowl and the demons broke rank. A solid mass of scales, hair and slime surged across the yard, stirring up a cloud of dust and forcing Angel to jump out of the way. The panicked group stampeded through the archway, spilling out into the street beyond.

Slapping the dust off his clothes, Angel smirked as the last of the demoralized raiders exited the yard. “Now that’s more like it.” Motioning a few men to shadow the demons’ retreat, he shouldered his sword, still smirking. “Am I good, or am I good?”

Gunn dropped from the rooftop onto a stone wall bordering the yard before leaping gracefully to the ground. “Oh, yeah. You’re good. Almost as badass as I am.”

Then his gaze zeroed in on Meesa, held securely in the circle of her mother’s embrace, and three long strides carried him to her side. He swept her into his arms as she buried her face against his neck and began to weep. Gunn made quiet shushing sounds while her shaken but beaming mother looked on. Nareetha, nestled against her mother’s other side, wiped her eyes and smiled.

Spike himself couldn’t help but smile wistfully at the picture they made but sobered when he felt Angel’s gaze burning a metaphorical hole through him. It brought the reality of his situation rushing back, and he straightened, eyes locking with Angel’s as he raised an eyebrow. It was Angel who finally broke the silence.

“So. You’re not on fire.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Angel scowled. “You can’t help it, can you? Always have to show off. Care to explain?”

Spike shrugged. “Not much to say. Guess you were wrong about the sunlight here.”

“I wasn’t wrong.”

“No? Then how do you bloody explain it?”

Angel didn’t answer, but Buffy did. She folded her arms, gazing at Spike with that familiar stubborn tilt to her chin. “He doesn’t have to. I told you. There’s only one explanation.”

Spike shot her his best squinty-eyed warning glare. Buffy, of course, ignored it.

“There’s something you don’t know. Before we came here, Spike was—”

A blood-curdling shriek cut her off.

Spike, Buffy and Angel turned as one, to find a distraught Reema barreling towards them. “Tondor! Where is my Tondor? Why is he not here? Is he dead? Tell me!” Reaching them, she started to wail.

Angel placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Reema, it’s okay. Nothing’s happened to him. He’s not dead and he’s not hurt. He’s just taking care of a few loose ends and then he’ll be here. I promise you.”

Reema stared at him then burst into tears again, throwing her arms around him in a long, fierce hug. Angel patted her awkwardly on the back, waiting until she loosened her grip. Then he smiled at her reassuringly and gestured toward the inn. “You’ve been through a lot, and so have your girls. Why don’t you take them inside and wait for Tondor there? You know that’s the first place he’s going to look for you.”

Reema sniffled, drying her eyes with the corner of her apron. She straightened—head high, face composed—and nodded. “You are right, kushla. Of course he will come. He is my Tondor. He would not allow anything to take him away from us. I’m a foolish woman to think otherwise.”

With that, she returned to her daughters, gently drawing Meesa away from Gunn as she herded both girls through the inn’s open doorway.

Gunn watched them go then joined Spike and the others, stepping over Stangor’s body without even glancing at it. Spike cocked an eyebrow at Angel. “Loose ends?”

Angel stood silently, avoiding Spike’s gaze. Gunn looked from one to the other and rolled his eyes.

“Okay, I get it. We’re not gonna talk about the elephant in the kitchen yard. That’s cool. No reason I have to know anything. Just because there’s a new-and-improved, non-combustible Spike standing here in front of me, right out in the middle of the blazing sunlight…not burning up. Not like it’s any big deal.”

Spike was undeterred. “Again…loose ends?”

Gunn snorted then shrugged. “Raiders may think they’re free and clear, but Tondor and the others have a little surprise waiting for them as soon as they start to cross the river. Gonna be real sorry they ever tried to lure us away on a wild goose chase.”

“Figured you had something planned,” Buffy said. “So that’s why you weren’t here? They set up a diversion to get you out of town?”

“Yeah.” Angel nodded.

“Almost worked, too,” Gunn added.

“So how did you know?”

Angel snorted. “Please! We’re not stupid. Unlike somebody I know, we’ve got more than half a brain between us.” He directed a sour look at Spike.

Spike studied Angel with narrowed eyes then turned to Gunn.

“Didn’t have a clue, did you?”

Gunn shook his head. “Man, we were so big with the not knowing. If we hadn’t stumbled across that sentry they posted, we’d have been halfway to Wild Goose Land by now.”

Angel ignored the exchange. “Buffy, you wanted to tell me something?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell. You just can’t let it go, can you?”

“Uh…Spike…” Gunn’s voice sounded strange.

“No. I can’t. Buffy?”

Gunn broke in again. “Guys, I think we should save this for later.”

“Spike was sick, too,” Buffy said. “Like you were. But he…woke up too soon. I think Spike is—”

“On fire,” Gunn finished.

Buffy frowned. “No, he—”

“He’s on fire. Now. See?” Gunn pointed.

Three pairs of eyes focused on Spike. In the same instant, he felt a familiar sensation.

“Ow.”

His hands were smoking. As were other exposed parts of him.

“Ow,” Spike repeated, eyes widening. Then, “Ow! Ow! Ow!” Each one escalated in intensity.

This time, he really had started to burn.

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TBC in Chapter Twenty





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