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Author's Chapter Notes:
A/N: Hope you like this so far. Not much of an author's note here, except to say some other characters will be introduced in this chapter.

CHAPTER THREE

Joyce's thoughts flew instantly to Buffy and Cordelia. How could she somehow escape to let them know she was okay? Even if she did escape and warn them, what could they do against this being?

The mother then thought about Riley, and his friends in the police department. If they could somehow find out about her and this beast, then they could do something. But the fact remained: she was in here, and he was out there, AND he looked awfully hungry.

Joyce swallowed, mustering as much courage as she could. "You don't want to eat me," she told it.

The vampire raised a brow, saying, "Yeh? An' why is that?"

"Because I'm older and tough, and I just got out of the hospital," she said. "I probably don't have enough blood to feed you."

The vampire considered that. Of course, he'd made up his mind about what he'd do to his prisoner when he was good and ready, but a little cowering on her part wouldn't hurt his ego any.

He stared at her as though she was a piece of steak he was considering purchasing from the butcher's window. Joyce didn't whimper or scream, but she closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable. He pulled back from the bars.

**Damn, but she got a set of chops on her!**He thought.

Most people probably would have cried out, or fainted; very seldom, if ever, did they face their fate with quiet resolve. He smiled.

"You can open your peepers," he said. Joyce did so, not wanting to upset him any further. "You got a name?" he wanted to know.

"Joyce," Joyce said with as much force as she could muster.

"Well, Joycie," he said. "I took an early bite this evenin' so I'm not gonna feed on you. Wouldn't be sportin', now would it?"

Joyce was visibly relieved. She put her hand to her chest, sighing, "No, definitely not."

He chuckled and turned away, but said over his shoulder, "But I might change my mind tomorrow."

He heard a gulp from her as his footsteps echoed in the distance. Joyce sank down on what could be her permanent resting place as she considered her options.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Wesley Wyndham-Price drove up the road that led to the biggest house in the small town of Williamstown that evening with his latest acquisition. He'd used some big bucks to purchase it, but he knew it was worth all the money in the world if it would help his friend Spike.

He was glad he had happened to see the address of the magic shop a few weeks earlier and had, upon scoping it out for himself, found one of the things (he hoped) that would cure Spike of his vampirism.

It was the least he could do in view of all that Spike had done for him over the years. He had saved Wesley from a gang shooting years before that had claimed the lives of his British parents before they'd even had time to get used to America.

It was Spike who had taken the mantle of older brother for Wesley; Spike who had eased his nightmares of his parents' shootings with either Spike's patented boring poems which could render anyone asleep within minutes, or with an all night marathon of a soap opera when the orderly wasn't working at hospital.

In return, Wesley made trips to the blood bank when the doctors and nurses weren't paying attention, which was pretty often. He also fended off the curious when those few souls dared to venture to the house, saying that it had been left to him by his family in England, and that he preferred his solitude (which of course he did).

At university, Wesley majored in Library Science, which also provided him with books aplenty to read up on his first loves, demonology and vampirism.

It was his unfailing devotion to those sciences which enabled him to finally find a cure for Spike's seemingly incurable condition. His elation was palpable as he sang off key to an eighties tune, thumping the dashboard in rhythm to the music, glad that his nine year period of watching his friend suffer was going to be at an end soon.

The 22-year-old orderly parked his car a short distance from the house like he always did, lest anyone should follow him and discover Spike. Wesley knew secrecy was key, especially now, with all of the hoopla about the "Vampire Beast" near their town.

The people in Sunnydale, which was the next province over, would never understand a vampire who had not taken human blood in over 90 years except in self defense, or for that already in the blood bank . He knew that they would stake first then ask questions later.

Wesley let himself into the house and was struck by cooking smells coming from the kitchen. He walked inside and saw Spike cooking some soup on the stove.

"What are you doing?" Wesley asked.

"Bowling," Spike answered in his usual sarcastic way. Wesley waited patiently for more information.

"What's it look like I'm doin', boy genius?" Spike asked. "'M cooking soup."

Wesley sniffed the variety; it was homemade Chicken soup. "Yes, I know that," he said in his usual, upper crust British tone. "What I am wondering is WHY you're doing it."

Spike continued stirring as he said, "We have a guest."

Wesley's eyes widened and his face took on a worried frown. "Are you certain that's wise?" he asked.

Spike stopped stirring to look at his friend and honorary brother. He spotted the usual brown sack of blood and something else in Wesley's hand: the "Sunnydale Gazette".

Spike grabbed the paper and saw the midnight edition headline "Vampire Beast Claims Fifth Victim". He went back to stirring, not revealing how worried he was becoming.

"Well, 's not like anyone knows I'm living here, right?" he asked Wesley.

"But this article indicates the beast drained his latest victim at the police station, which is one block closer to the road leading out of town. Suppose they don't find him? Suppose he brings his fetish to our doorstep?" the young man queried.

Spike looked at Wesley, his glowing orange yellow eyes and bumpy face taking on a determined expression. "Then we fight," he said.

Wesley didn't comment further; he knew he was going to put in extra hours at the library tomorrow to find out all he could about the mysterious beast to see if the monster could be eradicated before ever venturing out of Sunnydale.

"Who's our guest?" Wesley asked conversationally.

"Her name's Joyce," Spike said. "Has nerves of steel." He put some soup into a bowl after turning off the stove and included some crackers with it on a tray. "Take this to her. She's downstairs."

"Downstairs?" Wesley echoed. "In the penitentiary? Don't you think that is a bit barbaric, keeping a woman in there?"

Spike growled. "Keepin' her there is the only thing which will also keep her from runnin' off to tell people about this house," he snarled.

"Don't you take that feral tone with me!" Wesley snapped back.

Spike put the pot in the refrigerator before grabbing the sack from the young man's hand and tearing into the bag of blood. Wesley blanched at Spike's behavior. True, the vampire wasn't known for manners or gentility, but it seemed to the Library Science major that the older being was becoming increasingly monstrous in his tone and less human.

Time was running out for Spike to be cured. The other object, a blue white star shaped object, fell to the ground. Wesley picked it up and dusted it off.

"What's that thing?" Spike asked.

He studied the star in his friend's hand. Plucking it from Wesley, Spike grimaced, commenting, "So, we're gettin' into the fantasy realm, eh?"

Wesley grabbed the object back. "The Star of Samara is a documented talisman which is capable of curing vampires of their afflictions! I've done my homework!" he defended. Spike rolled his eyes.

"Well, you need to go back to school, nancy boy," he told his friend. "I know about that li'l gem. I also know that it's part of a binary spell, or din't you know? It can only cure me if it's wielded by the one I love, and the one who pledges her love to me in return."

"And?" Wesley challenged.

"Jus' where are we going to get the bird?" Spike spat. Wesley thought about the female prisoner in the basement.

"Maybe she's already here," he responded. He took the bowl and put a spoon on the tray with some napkins before opening the door to the basement.

"No' even close, Sherlock," Spike said. "She's too old for me; not ninety or anything, but still a bit long in the tooth to be my eternal mate." Wesley considered for a moment.

"Maybe she can lead us to her," he said, brightening. Spike gave him a long look, his orange yellow eyes not showing any emotion.

"Yeah, you keep believin' that," the vampire said. "I'm gonna go watch the telly and see if Pat and Vanna are on."

Spike withdrew from his friend, who was now more determined to see if the woman downstairs was in fulfillment of some prophecy. If she was, then Spike had been right: they should keep her for observation to see if she would lead the vampire to his salvation.





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