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Chapter 39
The world around him blended into a mishmash of undistinguishable sights and sounds, all of it passing by him unnoticed. Evan Blakeford drove through dark, empty streets, preoccupied with the knapsack that lay on the passenger seat of his sedan; a mix of emotions surged through him every time his eyes lit on it, from the fear of losing his nerve, to relief that all this would soon be over. His attention concentrated on the bag at his left, the young man nearly collided with the vehicle ahead of him which was stopped at a red light.
 
The rush of adrenaline from the near-accident cleared his head enough for him to realise he had no idea where he was. It was an odd sensation, to have no distinct memory of the last... he checked the clock on the console... thirty-five minutes. No notion of what streets he’d taken, which landmarks he’d passed--it was as if he’d been on autopilot. Granted, that happened most evenings on his way home from work, but he’d never thought it could be possible in any other circumstance. Not when he was so on edge. Not when it was the night.
 
He craned his neck to take in his surroundings. The lack of functioning streetlights made it difficult to distinguish anything apart from dingy buildings and garbage piled along the curbs, but that in itself was enough to tell him that he wasn’t in the safest of neighbourhoods. A movement to his right caught his eye; someone--his mother of all people--crossed the parking lot of an old church before disappearing behind some overgrown shrubs. What the...? When the light turned green he hit the gas, cut off oncoming traffic, and sped into the church’s parking lot.
 
What was his mother doing here of all places? Had her widow/widower’s meetings been transferred here, so far away from the local community hall? Well, won’t matter any longer, he mused as he flung the bag over his shoulder. Everything was still going down as planned.
 
He walked towards the entrance, never noticing the car that coasted into the parking lot, lights dimmed.
 
***
 
“Bloody stupid modern cars. What’s the point in not bein’ able to turn the bleeding lights off, anyway? Might as well have a neon sign up top sayin’ ‘Hey! Look at us!’”
 
He had been like this the whole drive down. Buffy sat in the passenger seat, quiet as a church mouse, letting the vampire blow off steam in his own personal, very verbal, way. She remained silent as she caught sight of Evan disappearing behind some unruly bushes. Letting out a weary sigh--no one’s ever really ready to face an apocalypse--she spoke up for the first time. “Guess we’re right on time.”
 
As they grabbed their weapons from the BMW’s trunk the trip’s first uncomfortable silence settled upon them. They had already given their final speeches--Buffy for once having more to say than Spike--and anything they’d say at this point would just seem superfluous. When he closed the trunk, the Slayer’s attention was brought once more to her companion’s left hand, which now sported a gold ring--much different than the other jewellery he wore, which was all made of silver.
 
She wanted so much to bring it up, knowing it was the promise he’d ixnayed Amelia on. Its purpose, its role in their mission, was gnawing at her. If they had an additional weapon, a card up their sleeve, shouldn’t she be in on it? But her relationship with the vampire--personal and working--was based on trust. And if she placed her trust in him, it meant letting him take the reins every now and then; Buffy had to believe whatever reasons Spike had for keeping this ring were valid and that he had the baby’s best interest in mind.
 
Although his eyes were fixed on the lid of the trunk, Spike felt the Slayer’s gaze on him. He knew that she’d spotted the ring and was amazed that she’d held her tongue. There wasn’t much that was more curious than she; at least, not he’d ever come across. Shit, he couldn’t even put his hands in his pockets without her asking what was in them. And now here she was, literally biting her lips closed, working so hard at showing how much she trusted him.
 
Thing was he was afraid, and that was the main reason for being tight-lipped. The Gem’s powers were legendary, but what if it was really just a bauble, a useless trinket? What if one had to be of stout heart and all that rot for it to work? Hell, what if this wasn’t even the real Gem of Amarra? There was no reason to give Buffy a false sense of comfort in something yet to be proven.
 
So the ring weighed silently on both blondes’ minds as Spike nodded towards where Evan had disappeared.
 
“Ready, love?”
 
***
 
Ignoring the damp chill of the abbey, Evan cursed under his breath as his path meandered from one cold empty room to another. This new development threw his well-organized plans right out the window; too late, he realised he should have left room for Murphy and his stupid law.
 
His mother’s presence baffled him and sent his thoughts flying to the four winds. Why was she here? Was the community centre closed? How many other old crones did she have with her? Had she mentioned something before leaving? The young man was so busy playing twenty questions with himself that he didn’t notice the two shadows following him.
 
***
 
Buffy and Spike trailed their suspect, both lost in thought as they studied the man before them. Inhaling deeply, the vampire frowned. There was something slightly off about the man--or woman, rather, if the Slayer‘s seers were right. He gave the thought a moment’s ponder and smiled as he grasped what had been eluding him. Evan Blakeford didn’t smell like a woman, not even a little. The only sweet tang of female pheromones to tickle his nose came from the Slayer. So what did that mean? Were Buffy’s guides wrong, or was this a glamour to beat all? If only they could get a little closer, he’d be able to get a better idea...
 
The young man was really beginning to set Buffy’s nerves on edge. Although she wasn’t getting any nasty demon vibes off him--hello, human!--that certainly didn’t mean he was ok. His mutterings were audible even with the damp stone walls absorbing all sound, and he sure seemed pissed off about something. She couldn’t make out any of his ranting, but his body language spoke volumes: muscles taut, head bent forward, shaking from side to side, hands gesticulating wildly--this was neither a happy nor a sane camper.
 
When Evan’s pace slowed to a stop--he almost seemed confused--both blondes did likewise, having gained a little ground on him. Now that he was closer, Spike was able to rely on more of his senses. He picked up the young man’s rapid heartbeat, heard his erratic breathing; hell, his fear was almost palpable. Pausing a short moment to relish in its taste--this was their dreaded warlock?!--the vampire came to a decision.
 
The bleach blonde shot ahead of Buffy before she had time to react. “Stupid vampire,” she muttered, running after him. What the hell was he doing? Trying to get them both killed?! She watched helplessly as he grabbed the back of Blakeford’s coat and tossed him soundly against the wall. The Slayer winced at the solid ’thud’ Evan’s body made as it hit stone. Spike’s nose was no more than an inch from his, game face on. She was this close to asking ’what the hell?’ when she heard a whimper, followed by a trickle of something hitting the floor.
 
Cold yellow eyes stared at Evan as an iron grip held him inches off the ground. Whatever it was that had a hold on him wasn’t human--its facial features were distorted, it was growling for God’s sake, and it had... long pointy teeth? The beast’s mouth opened and its head tilted, as it made for his throat. The young man’s eyes shot closed and he held his breath, waiting for his neck to be torn out. Time seemed to slow to a halt as the monster paused, its cold breath washing over his sensitive skin, its hard figure pressed against his, their similar heights making them fit together a little too well. He let out a frustrated groan as his body reacted to its proximity in a very embarrassing fashion. If only this one had been as old and ugly as Nosferatu, this wouldn’t be happening...
 
Spike’s eyes grew wide as he took a sharp step back, letting the man fall and bumping into a frazzled Slayer.
 
“Spike! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Without tearing her eyes from Evan, Buffy grabbed the vampire by his coat and shoved him behind her to the other side of the corridor. She faced the young man with a flashlight in one hand and a dagger--aimed dangerously at his mid-section--in the other. Her eyes narrowed as she took in his countenance. This was definitely Evan Blakeford, the same man whose pictures were in the file Travers had given them, the same man she’d seen at the wharf, yet it wasn’t. There was something vastly different in his eyes; they lacked the arrogance and confidence she’d seen when he’d killed the Pelorak. This man didn’t look like he was high on power and dark magic.
 
Something was definitely of the weird, and she wanted in on it...
 
“Ok, Evan. Spill. Where’s the baby?”
 
At the young man’s frantic protests of innocence, “what do you mean, a baby? Who are you, what is he, and why are you following me?!”, Buffy couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Did these people think she was born yesterday? She was just about to sic Spike onto him when the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the hallway.
 
“Shit, Pelorak.” The bleach blonde was the first to speak up; he grabbed the two others and pushed them into a room, following closely. The darkness swallowed them up, acting as an acceptable cover to keep them from the demons’ eyes.
 
When the danger had subsided--along with the heavy footsteps--Evan was once again unceremoniously jostled out into the corridor, landing in his same spot on the wall. His shoe made a squishing noise as he stepped in his earlier puddle, causing him to wince in disgust. He craned his neck to look down the hallway, where the purple demons had gone. “What... what were those?”
 
The vampire’s chuckle was humourless. “Sure, mate, play the dunce card and we’ll just fall for it.” He was just about to go into a ‘hit first, ask questions later’ mode of interrogation when an idea popped into his mind, one that would help them answer at least one major question. The Slayer was sure to throttle him later on, but it was a valid attempt at getting answers and he was just plain curious to see what her reaction would be. He peeled his duster off, handing it over to Buffy. His eyes met hers for a moment, pleading with her to trust him, before he turned back to the young ‘man‘.
 
Buffy had no idea what the bleached blonde had up his sleeve, but she was curious. If he thought he could get Evan to talk, it was worth a try. She was getting tired of his innocence shtick, anyway--that was just an attempt to confuse them and waste time. What she never expected, though, was for the vampire to turn up the charm. But when she thought about it, what woman couldn’t resist his advances?
 
Their captive gulped as Spike faced him, eyes hooded and tongue tucked between his teeth. The blonde was liquid sex as he prowled across the few feet separating him, in his sinfully tight black jeans and even tighter black tee. A pale, sinuous, arm reached for Evan, calloused fingers gently tracing a cold line down his jaw. The vampire’s body was soon pressed against his, more so than before as they were touching intimately this time, and Evan could feel its taut musculature, coiled like a spring, ready to go off at a moment’s notice. He should have been on his guard, should have remembered the surprise in its eyes the first time it had felt his reaction, but his mind had gone numb. His eyes closed as a strong hand cradled the far side of his neck, pulling his head back, baring him for its cool breath. “I know what it’s like,” it whispered seductively, “to have a secret, Evan.”
 
Buffy was utterly speechless at the sight before her. It was wrong. No, wronger than wrong, actually. However, she couldn’t help but feel her breath shorten, her nerves tingle at the sight before her. Her lover had another man--a woman disguised as a man, Buffy!--pressed up against a wall in the most erotic scene she’d ever witnessed. If her lips weren’t so darned dry--all her moisture seemed to have headed south--she’d try to speak up. Really, she would.
 
“To hide behind a veil, always having to pretend...” The Slayer’s arousal filled his senses and Spike felt himself stiffen. And although it was conducive to his plan, being hard while pressed against another man’s body wasn’t exactly his cuppa--especially when he was no longer sure what gender was hiding beneath the male exterior. Way back when, he would have had his victim’s throat torn out before things could get awkward; women weren‘t the only ones weakened by his guile--he‘d lured his fair share of men, too. But there was a point to this seduction--one that didn‘t include draining the man dry--and it was time to get back on track. And that meant no more thoughts of Buffy and why on earth this image made her so wet...
 
The demon’s words, spoken softly against the shell of his ear, were hypnotizing but true. He was tired of hiding his true self, of putting on a false image to the world. All it had amounted to was an ulcer and a sorry excuse for a sex life, cowering beneath Mother’s shadow. Hell, tonight was the night that would earn him his freedom; what did it matter if he jumped the gun by a few minutes?
 
Spike felt Evan’s body lean into his just before a whisper of breath tickled his ear. As the young man’s words registered, “and you’re my ’out of the closet’ present, are you?”, the vampire felt a warm hand settle on his hip and soft lips press against the skin of his neck.
 
That was the answer he was looking for. Fighting the urge to punch the young man--he had, after all hit on him first--the vampire took a stiff step back, wiping away at the remnants of the kiss, and turned to the Slayer. “Your seers were wrong, pet. He’s not a woman.”
 
The two stared at him blankly, their minds hazy with lust. Buffy was still trying to get past the ’a guy kissed Spike and I thought it was sexy’ realisation as she looked from one man to the other. And then it hit her, what the vampire had worked out: Evan wasn’t female...
 
He was gay.
 
She turned to the vampire and admonished him quietly, her arms crossed over her chest in a patented pissed-off Slayer pose. “That was mean, Spike. I mean, beyond mean--it was downright cruel. How could you play with someone’s emotions like that?!” What she was about to say next was a low blow, but she figured he deserved it. “I guess that having been someone else’s laughing stock doesn’t stop you from doing it to others, does it?”
 
Ok, he knew he deserved some of her vitriol, but not all of it; and certainly not that last bit. “How the hell else were we supposed to suss out if he was a woman? Ask him politely?!” Adopting a very posh Giles-like accent, he continued. “Excuse me, evil powerful warlock, but we’re in an awful tricky spot here--you wouldn’t perchance be a woman, would you?” Pulling his duster on in sharp, angry motions, he snarled. “Don’t rightly think it would have gone down well, Slayer.”
 
“Look, I’m not saying that...”
 
The argument ended instantly when the echo of an angry voice made its way down the hallway to their ears. It was Evan’s voice.
 
But Evan was here, with them.
 
Or was he?
 
Two sets of narrowed eyes turned to the young man and before he knew it he was pressed against the wall--again. Gauging by all the dirt and mould clinging to the stone, his dry cleaning bill was going to be a bitch. The questions came at him fast and furious, almost too much for him to take in at once.
 
“Who are you?”
 
“Are you a decoy?”
 
“Is this part of your plan, to slow us down?”
 
“Who the hell is down there?”
 
“Where’s the baby?”
 
The young man shook visibly; he seemed just this far from hysteria. “Look, I truly have no idea what you’re talking about. My name is Evan Blakeford--although you seem to know that already, somehow; I’m a mortgage underwriter at Friedman, Morris & Thorpe. I don’t know anything about babies or purple... whatever those were, I swear!”
 
Spike stared at the young man blankly for a moment before turning to Buffy; Evan’s huff of indignity went unanswered, as if he wasn‘t present. “Pet, did those seers of yours come and tell you straight out that he was a woman?”
 
“Well, no, but they had a witch--not a warlock--as the bad guy in their play. That’s what was most important, because she’d been dressed as a man, but took the robe off and was a woman. I assumed that meant he was a woman; I never really thought about the other option...”
 
There was no way anyone could have tapped in to his plans, was there? As though he hadn’t enough on his plate already with everything going on. Damn it! Evan’s shrill voice finally got their attention. “... and ‘he’s’ right here in the room with you, so stop talking about me like I’m not here. And how the hell do you know who I am and what I’m doing here?” How would they know? He hadn’t even told Camille about it.
 
With a flick of her hair and a roll of her eyes that told him this wasn’t nouveau jeu for her, Buffy answered him. “Oh, it’s prophesied, just like every other time an idiot like you kidnaps a baby he plans on sacrificing so that worlds can bleed together.” At the incredulous look on his face--damn, but this guy was good, he looked genuinely surprised--she let out a sharp laugh. “What, do you think the good guys are stupid just because we’re nice?”
 
The Slayer almost screamed as he once again began to protest his innocence. This was going nowhere--how the hell were they supposed to get anything done sitting here playing ‘he said, she said’? “This is so stupid.” Grabbing Evan none too gently by the coat sleeve, she began pulling him down the hallway towards the sound of his voice--and gee but didn’t that sound weird? “Why don’t we just go and see for ourselves who Evan #2 is?”
 
As he was being dragged behind them like a rag doll, Evan wondered at his captors’ ability to bicker. It was like nothing he’d ever seen, a constant back-and-forth that seemed as natural to them as breathing. Well, for one of them, anyway. His ears perked up as soon as they fell back to the topic of, well, his leanings.
 
Buffy groaned. He’s never going to let this one go, is he? “And how was I supposed to know they meant he was gay?!”
 
“It’s not a matter of what you should have sussed out on your lonesome, love, it’s what you should have told the witch and the watcher--or me, even. I’m sure one of us could have figured it out. Now that I think of it, I can’t believe we actually bought it--a bleedin’ woman... Christ’s sake...” The vampire paused in his ranting, sniffed, and turned back to the other man. His eyes lowered to the knapsack before returning to Evan’s. “Wouldn’t happen to have a change of pants, in there, do you? You reek.”
 
A snarky retort was on the young man’s lips when the woman cut them both off with a dirty stare. Almost as bad as mum, these two.
 
When their path led them to a small room containing a table, chairs and an oven, Buffy knew they were on the right track. Gingerly opening the creaky door, she motioned to the darkness beyond it. “This way.”
 
Spike peered over her shoulder at the narrow staircase. “How do you know it’s this way? Could’ve been through that other door.”
 
“You know, just for once I’d like you to go along with me, no questions asked. Really, is that too much to ask for?” She waited patiently for the vampire’s ‘sorry, pet’ before explaining. “This is where I went in my dream. At the bottom of the stairs there’s a huge room with a vaulted ceiling. That‘s where I met the Cirque du Soleil wannabes, so I‘m guessing that‘s where Evan... well, the other Evan‘s gonna be. The room‘s perfect for all kinds of portally badness.”
 
As far as deja vus went, she could have missed out on this one and been happy. The air in the corridor was damp and musty, the stone just as slippery. A soft light shone from the room, illuminating the small parcel of floor at the base of the stairs. The parting point from her dream, however, was the amount of noise to be heard.
 
The other Evan, the one not sandwiched between her and Spike, was shouting orders, trying to be heard above the din of clashing weapons and a screaming baby. When her foot touched the bottom step, she quickly poked her head through the doorway, trying to amass as much information as possible from a two-second peek.
 
It could have been worse, really it could have. The other Evan stood on a platform in the middle of the room with Stewie The Wanker at his side and the baby off to their right, in a car seat. And although two dozen Pelorak were nothing to sneeze at, it was a lot better than what she’d witnessed at the docks--go Travers! But it would still be one hell of a job for Spike, even if she did get her hands on a few of them.
 
The Slayer quickly relayed what she’d seen to Spike, adding the layout of the room, which she remembered from her dream. Since everything else was dead on, she had to trust her instinct on that, too. She fully expected the vampire to mutter about needing ‘a bleedin’ miracle’, but Evan’s near outburst surprised Buffy. Struggling to shake loose from the iron-like grasp that held him, he whispered through clenched teeth. “You’re lying! I’m here--I can’t be in there, too! Let go of me! Let me see!”
 
The two blondes shared a confused look. Why would the young man waste his energy now? His gig was up, wasn’t it? Spike’s eyes were drawn to the sack that he held close to him. “Alright, then. But first we take a look at what you’ve got hidden in your bag.”
 
Before Evan had a chance to protest, the knapsack was torn from his grasp and opened. That small girl sure had a good arm on her.
 
The trio remained silent as a black jacket, a balaclava and a gun were pulled out. “Okay, so not what I was expecting...” Buffy looked up at Evan, eyebrows raised. “What the hell is this?”
 
Upset but still a bit defiant, the young man sneered. “A jacket, a balaclava and a gun. Question is, what do you see? A magic wand?” He looked first at Spike then at Buffy. ”Look, I don’t know what you two are, but you’re both off your bird. Now. Let. Me. Go.”
 
The Slayer stood her ground, leaning in until she and the young man were nose to nose. “Who. Are. You?”
 
“Evan. Blakeford.” He half expected them to shine a light in his eyes--this was getting ridiculous.
 
“Evan Blakeford is a psycho warlock, who is in there right now planning on ending the world. Once again: who are you?”
 
“For the hundredth time--my name is Evan Blakeford and I have no bleeding clue what you’re talking about. I’m not a warlock--I... I only played Dungeons and Dragons once, and I was elf. Is that what this is about? Is this some sort of game?”
 
Spike swallowed a laugh before pulling the Slayer off her victim. “Think he’s telling the truth, love. No one would openly admit to playing Dungeons and Dragons if they were making stuff up.”
 
“Then who’s the other Evan?”
 
The vampire shrugged, not being any closer to an answer than the two others. “What were you doing here with the weapon, junior?”
 
Evan, relieved that they were finally following a different path of interrogation, told them everything. About how his mother was overbearing, how he‘d spent years suffering psychological and physical abuse at her hands. That he’d finally had enough of her and decided to kill her--that’s what the gun was for. “And I was on my way to the community centre where she has her widows’ meetings when I noticed that I was stopped across from this place. Don’t know how I ended up here, but I saw her in the car park and followed her. When you two caught me I was trying to find my way through, to see where she’d gone...”
 
Buffy took a sharp step back, nearly losing her footing. “Nonono....” She was shaking her head, her lips pressed together firmly. “No, it couldn’t be. They--those seer guys--they couldn’t have been telling me... oh shit... we‘ve been following the wrong Blakeford...”
 
The answer dawned on Spike, like the proverbial light at the end of a tunnel. “Bloody fuckin’ hell--it’s his mother.”
 
 
Author’s Note: Bet you guys didn’t expect an update till, oh, this summer, eh? :) The ideas for this chapter and the next--the hardest ones to write to date--came to me just days after I posted the last chapter. Hopefully the next one will pop up sometime in the next two weeks. Life’s handed me a lemon (not going back to my old work for various stupid reasons--now I have to find a job pronto that pays as much as my old one. yuck.) and I’m trying to make lemonade... Hope you guys like--let me know what you think of the end; did you see it coming, or was it a surprise?





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