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Author’s Note: I usually put the author’s note at the end, but I really think it merits being placed before this chapter. I apologize for the very long delay in updating and realise that the flow of the story has no doubt been affected for most of you. So if you want, you can go back a few chapters and reread; if not, I hope you remember where the story left off :)
Real life threw a few wrenches in my writing--my son’s growing up and taking an increasing amount of my time, which I’m all too happy to give him. I also had to work at finding myself a new job, and had to learn said job (a veritable brain-drain). But I’ve been plodding along, even when it was only one sentence at a time, knowing that I’ve got to finish this sucker or I’ll never forgive myself.
I’m not going to make any golden promises as to when the next chapter is going to be posted, but I’d like to think that it’s going to be in less than the 7 or so months it took to get this one up. I’ve only got chapter 41 to write before I reach those that have been sitting there, written more than a year ago.
If you choose to continue reading this story, please let me know. I’m not sure if anyone even remembers who I am :)

Chapter 40
Evan’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he was able to find his voice. “What the hell are you two talking about? What’s this about Mother?” This whole evening had become surreal. First there was the sudden change of plans, then these two show up, and now the sound of his own voice was coming from the adjoining room. Should’ve just stayed home and moped in the dark, putting this off, like every other night.
Inwardly, Buffy groaned; she knew they didn’t have the freedom to explain the ins and outs of the supernatural world to Evan. The more time they wasted dawdling, the closer Mama Blakeford got to success.
And that wasn’t an option.
Ok, she thought to herself, time for a crash course at the Buffy School of Sink or Swim. None too gently, the Slayer found a good grip on his shirt sleeve and shoved him towards the great hall’s entrance. Quietly, so as not to be heard, she muttered “Evan, welcome to your mother’s night job...”
The young man allowed himself to be jostled around. There was no way he could delude himself into thinking that he had a choice, anyway; he’d never met anyone--woman or man--who was as strong as this wisp of a girl.
Now, there are moments in life that remain forever imprinted in one’s mind. Some people remember the taste of their grandmother’s prize-winning blackberry pie, the smell of their father‘s garage, or even the tingle of a first kiss. For Evan Blakeford, it would be the cold terror that crept up his spine as he laid eyes on himself.
Well, it was him, but not really him. The other Evan--the one in the midst of a crowd of those purple whatevers--looked like him, and sounded like him, but there was something about his eyes that just wasn’t right. A wild look that, coupled with his frenetic movements, projected the quintessential mad scientist poster-boy look.
Evan pulled back, paler than ever, his breathing ragged. He turned to the two blondes, resenting the wry amusement with which they stared at him. Damn it but he wanted to sound angry, but he ended up sounding more like a frightened child. “How... how do you figure that’s my mother?!”
Well, he hadn’t fainted or shit his pants, Spike gave the poofter that much. Probably would have pissed himself if he’d have any left in ‘im, though. Just as he was about to launch into a rant about how much personal knowledge one would need to pull off such a powerful glamour spell, a cold, throaty voice interrupted him.
“Evan?” Amused, eerily seductive, yet rife with age and decay, the sound of that one word froze all three peeping toms. Evan’s heart caught in his throat; the malicious glee in the voice chilled him through to his soul. It was no longer the sound of his own voice. In any other circumstance that would have comforted him, but the realisation that it really was Mother in that hall all magicked up, disturbed him more than anything.
A flurry of options flit through the young man’s mind as the seconds ticked by. He had to think fast; as impatient as Mother usually was, he was certain that she would be doubly so in her present condition. His first instinct was to run, plain and simple--just let his legs carry him as fast as they could away from this nightmare. Would the two blondes stop him? No. He firmly believed that even as crazy as they seemed, they were on the straight and narrow. They’d probably just shake their heads, knowing for sure that he was the wanker they thought him to be.
His mother, on the other hand, might not be so lenient. If she didn’t send those purple demons after him, she’d probably turn him into a toad or summon a lightening bolt and fry him on the spot. And even if he did manage to run away, he sure as hell couldn’t go home to hide. So, running away? Not a smart move.
A second option would be to face her, gun in hand, and try to shoot her. Seeing that he knew fuck all about how to work a gun, his chances of figuring out the safety, aiming and firing before something really bad happened to him would be in the ‘Pauly-Shore-wins-an-Oscar‘ league. The odds just weren’t reassuring.
Or, he could play stupid. Something he‘d spent a lifetime perfecting.
Precious seconds ticked away as he struggled through his options. By the time his mother spoke up again, his mind was made.
“Evan, I know you’re there, I can smell your fear...”
No, there would be no more running away. It no longer mattered to Evan if his mother was an overbearing bitch or a psychotic hag. He had to face her once and for all.
Pushing himself away from the wall he headed towards the hall’s entrance, pointedly ignoring the hushed “Hey! Where the hell are you... get back over here!” that the girl tossed his way. However, he allowed his gaze to lock with the vampire’s. Strangely enough, the bleached hottie didn’t try to stop him--he raised an eyebrow, nodded in what seemed like respect, and even held his partner back.
“Hold on, Slayer. Let’s see what Junior’s got up his sleeve...” Although he hadn’t mentioned it, Spike had noticed that Mother Blakeford hadn’t made an allusion to either himself or Buffy. It had been ‘Evan, I know you’re there.’ Not a ‘who is that with you’, or an ‘I can smell your friends, too’. If the young man could keep her occupied, it might allow him and Buffy to get the job done after all.
“H..hello, mum.” He really did wish that she’d switch back to her regular semblance; as little as he enjoyed laying eyes on his mother, it was worse speaking to a deranged copy of himself. There was an awkward pause, with Evan and his mother simply staring, each waiting for the other to speak up. When it was obvious that she waiting for a reason for his presence, he cleared his throat. “Um, well, I was going to water the plants--just like you asked--but, um... I couldn’t find the watering can.” He let out a nervous laugh, wringing his hands and rocking on the spot, just like a six year-old who‘d been caught playing baseball indoors. “Thought I’d left it on the windowsill, but the darned thing just wasn’t there. So I figured I’d come by, see how the meeting was going--you know, meet some of your friends” he waved at the Pelorak gathered around the platform “and see if you knew where it is.”
Back in the stairway, Buffy and Spike gaped at each other. The young man’s story was the absolute worst cover-up and should no doubt have gotten him fried to a crisp on the spot. However, it was so stupid that it had left the witch confused, thus buying them all a little more time. This third person changed their battle strategy which had been, up to the last minute, create a fray, jump in said fray, and slash their way to victory.
But now they had a normal everyday guy to look after, someone who didn’t know a roundhouse from an uppercut, and who certainly wouldn’t be able to hold his own in a fight against a roomful of Pelorak. Evan’s presence was at once a boon and an impediment to their mission.
Evan may have been scared shitless, but the confused look that passed among the Pelorak didn’t escape him. Guess they didn’t expect a bloke to sound like an old woman. Well, it could also have been that they were seeing two of him.
The witch’s voice cut through the room, shaking those who were present from their stupor. She motioned towards a Pelorak who stood near the edge of the dais, calling out to it. “You--take him and tie him up. It will please me to no end to witness his gruesome death at the hands of the first beasts that come through.” When the demon didn’t move, choosing instead to remain on the spot staring at her curiously, the old woman lifted her hand and, palm outward, shot forth a ball of fire.
The acoustics of the room amplified the sound of the spell, resulting in a thundering boom that shook the ground. Evan jumped at the sound and nearly lost what was left of his lunch at the sight of the mutilated demon that lay in his line of sight. Trying to keep his eyes anywhere but on the smoking corpse, he unwittingly turned his attention back to the dais.
Something strange was happening to his mother. She seemed to be shimmering, almost fading in and out of sight. Her short chestnut hair faded to a dull grey mane, the proud, straight body curled onto itself and the youthful mask that she’d borrowed withered and became sallow. Not only did the woman on the platform no longer look like her son, she lost, in her transformation, her own features.
She looks, thought Evan, like... like...
***
“Baba Yaga...”
“Huh?!” Buffy turned to Spike, eyes narrowed. “Did she cast some kind of spell or something, because it sounds like you’re speaking in tongues...”
The vampire couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Haven’t you ever watched A&E on Saturday afternoons? She’s a witch in Russian folklore--one of the real scary ones, not like those Disney wannabes...”
“Hey! Maleficent was real frickin’ scary to this 8 year old!”
Spike snorted in response, but his retort was pre-empted.
“Look, whatever, we don’t have time to argue about cartoon witches when we’ve got the real thing next door. As ingenious as this playing dumb idea is, it’s only going to float for a certain time before Mother gets tired of it.” The Slayer’s quick words were a whisper, almost too quiet for even the vampire’s ears.
Spike nodded in assent. Yeah, it was action time, but he was damned (well, even more damned) if he was going to let Buffy risk her life by taking on a roomful of Pelorak on her own. “Alright, then” he said, readjusting the duster back onto his shoulders. “This might be the best opportunity we have. She’ll be off her game, what with her son’s appearance and dissention in the ranks. Pelorak are a patriarchal society; most of the buggers aren’t going to want to be led by a woman. We should be able to use that to our advantage. Now, I’ll go in first and catch her attention--good looking bloke like me shouldn’t have a problem” he puffed out his chest and winked at her. “Once I have her full attention, hopefully far away from the doorway, you sneak in and get the baby to safety.”
“Oh, no you don’t!” Her emotions ran from incensed, to worried, to angry in the blink of an eye. She poked her finger into his chest, punctuating her words. “You don’t get to pull that macho bullshit with me, mister. Either we both go in, or we both stay here.”
The vampire sighed, and took her hands in his. Logic had never worked well with the Slayer--Rupes would no doubt attest to that--but it was worth a try. “Buffy, if the two of us go in there at once, we’ll both be killed. She’s too strong and we’ve no defence against her magic. All we have left are our wits. It’s the only way we’ll get the baby out of danger. And don‘t worry about me; I‘ve got my bases covered.”
Something about her lover’s strong grip felt different to Buffy. When she looked at their clasped hands she noticed, once again, the glint of the band on his ring finger.
“It’s the ring, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, the watcher bird gave it to me. I’m pretty much invincible while I’m wearin’ it--or so she says.” He kept his gaze fixed on the gold band as if he expected it to do something spectacular. When his statement went unanswered he looked up and found the Slayer grinning widely at him. His face scrunched in confusion. “What?!”
“You’re, like, a superhero now. William the Bloody, former scourge of Europe, now invincible and using his powers for the good of humanity. It’s just... wow.”
“Oi! You take that back!” The vampire couldn’t help but smile, though. The Slayer’s playful ribbing was a good sign that she had most likely resigned herself to agreeing to his plan.
Every fibre of Buffy’s being was telling her that this was a bad idea, that letting Spike go in there alone was going to end badly. But there was the issue of trust, a sharp thorn in their relationship, that she forced herself to remember and--especially--respect. Spike was more than capable of taking care of himself and the ring was added insurance; if he let his ego run wild, as he surely would, it could help just long enough for her to run in and help him knock some heads.
“Bein’ pretty quiet, there, Slayer.” Spike’s hushed words pulled her from her musings. She brought her hand up to cup the side of his face and smiled. “Just thinking about how much ass you’ll kick when you get in there...”
That must have been the right thing to say, because the next thing she knew she was pressed up against the damp wall, the vampire’s cool lips over hers. The embrace was passionate, frenzied and much too short for either of their liking.
“God, Buffy.” The emotion in the vampire’s voice surprised even himself. It sounded choked and rough, and he wasn’t sure it would have sounded much different had he not been forced to whisper. “I love you so much.”
Yeah, the young woman thought, that was *exactly* the right thing to say. “I love you too, Spike. And I believe in you. Now get your ass in there before the baby’s old enough to ask for the car keys...”





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