Chapter 22
The sun was still hiding below the horizon when Buffy made her way to the back porch dressed in Spike’s jeans that insisted on sliding off her hips. He’d walked her as far as the fence though she’d told him he didn’t have to. Then he’d waved her off with a brief ‘I’m off’, which had been the only thing he said from the moment they’d stepped out of his house.
The silence hadn’t really been awkward but Buffy felt he hadn’t even been aware of her presence. He’d kept scanning their surroundings, never sparing her a second glance. Was he giving her the silent treatment because he regretted kissing her?
Men sucked.
It had been his idea to begin with and although the urge to ask him what he really wanted from her grew stronger by day, ignoring that particular elephant was so much easier. Talking things out was nice on paper but people rarely actually did it. At least not her.
Clutching the borrowed jeans, she turned the doorknob with her free hand.
“Buffy?”
She instantly froze and wondered if one could have a coronary at the age of almost-eighteen.
Her fingers slipped from the knob as she turned around to face her father. Where had he come from? He was supposed to be sleeping right now!
They stood there facing each other, his eyes as wide as hers.
“What are you doing up so early?” he asked in a shrill voice then coughed and walked inside the house.
She gulped and followed him, her brain curiously blank as to how she’d explain sneaking into the house before dawn. Then she remembered calling him to say she was staying at Anya’s.
They stood awkwardly in the kitchen and only then she noticed he wasn’t really wearing much more than a shirt that was buttoned up askew and his hair looked like a flock of birds had attacked it.
“So,” he said and leaned against the counter, not quite meeting her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be at your friend’s house right now?”
“Why aren’t you asleep? It’s barely six am.” And wait, what was that on his neck? Was it… a hickey? Oh. Gross!
“I’m the father here,” he muttered like a sullen child. “I don’t have to answer to you.”
“You know what? Please don’t.” She had a pretty good idea what he’d been up to and just the thought of that made her skin itch. “I’m pretty sure you’re… tired. And actually,” she said and faked a yawn, “Anya and I stayed up late talking and stuff… because that’s what girls do. I’m kind of tired myself. You know how it is with strange beds, you just can’t fall asleep. That’s why I came home early.” She felt bad for lying to her father but it was preferable to telling him the truth. He’d probably pop a blood vessel. “As did you, obviously.”
“I was just… taking out trash!”
“Of course you were,” she said. “Which is why you have a huge hickey on your neck.”
His hand flew up to cover the side of his neck.
“It’s…” She pointed to her own neck. “On the other side.” she said with a snicker, to which his ears turned pink. Adults could be so juvenile.
“That’s umm… it’s not a hickey.”
She looked at him expectantly as his eyes darted around and she was thankful that he was too embarrassed to give her his full attention. Otherwise he might have noticed the oversized pants and she’d be knee deep in shit creek with no paddle in sight. She was glad she’d put on the coat that reached mid-thigh.
“Then it had to be a raccoon. It probably jumped out of a trash can and sucked on your neck,” she said dryly.
“Well, there are still a couple of hours before I have to open the shop, so…”
Ah, avoidance. Something she’d apparently inherited from the Summers gene pool. Hank adjusted his shirt in a way he probably thought looked dignified and not at all guilty before he walked up the stairs.
Should she be amused or disturbed? Because she kind of felt both. Like any educated, self-respected seventeen-year-old, she believed hers was an immaculate conception and that her father was a eunuch.
Something that Spike definitely wasn’t, she thought as she made her way upstairs. And therein lay the problem, didn’t it? Damn those bedroom eyes and large, slightly calloused hands. As obnoxious as he could get, he was hard to resist. And he’d asked her if she trusted him. What did he want her to say? Trust couldn’t be just given, it had to be earned. Then again, what other choice did she have? If she wanted to find out what was going on, she had to take the leap.
She just hoped she’d survive the fall.
*******
“Well, would you look at that?” Spike mumbled and placed a present on his lap. It had to have been Buffy who had brought it in though he didn’t remember a thing. The downside of getting drunk, he figured.
Soon the big red bow lay crumpled on the floor as he tore the box open and peeked inside. All he could see were heaps of packing paper and as he delved inside and threw it all around him, his patience started to run its course.
Was this some kind of sick joke? There was nothing insid—
Wait a second. There was a note.
He squinted at it.
I have your book. You can get it now, sweet cheeks. But if you ring later than 4pm, I’ll singe your tight hide again. I have reruns to watch.
I better get some damned gratitude for this.
XOXO
Melissa Baum
“Sweet cheeks?” he said with a shake of his head and balled the note up in his fist.
The answer was within his reach. The answer he’d been searching for was up for the taking and yet… And yet he was still sitting here instead of rushing to put on his coat.
Getting the book meant he could finally leave this God forsaken town. So why did it feel as if someone had poured hot lead into his stomach?
*******
The Witch was wearing a festive poncho with snowmen on it, Spike noticed as she flung the door open and ushered him inside, never missing the chance to pinch his arse.
He sent her a glare over his shoulder. “So, about the book…”
“Yes, yes, I’ve got the damn book. Now go sit in the living room while I bring you eggnog,” she said with a creepy grin. “Christmas is just wonderful, isn’t it?”
“It’s a bloody wonder,” he said and sullenly perched on the flowery sofa.
Mrs. Baum flounced into the room with a tray and handed him an oversized mug full of eggnog. “Bottoms up.”
He gave the mug a dubious glance and covertly sniffed it. Just in case she’d slipped some roofies into it, he pretended to take a sip though he kept his lips tightly pressed together.
“Oh, please, young man. As if I needed to drug you.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Save it. I can sniff a lie from a hundred feet.” She sat down uncomfortably close to him and took a healthy gulp out of her own mug. “You know, I had a mind to keep the book all to myself after you tried to break my barriers. But I had a good laugh out of your silly attempts, so I figured I’d give it to you.”
“Hey! Those counter spells I found were bloody brilliant.”
She patted his head like she would a stray puppy. “You don’t have the juice to pull them off, honey. Words are only the focus of your energy, but it’s the energy itself that sets the spell in motion. It’s a lot like driving. Not everyone that has legs necessarily knows how to drive. My ex-husband couldn’t drive worth shit, Goddess bless his soul. Good thing he had other, big qualities,” she said with a leer.
Spike inched away and crossed his legs though it squished his balls together. Then again, better his legs squashing them than her hands. “Right. So… what about other spells? Memory spells for example. What consequences could they have? Theoretically speaking?” So yeah, he was too impatient to be subtle. Why waste time?
The Witch tilted her head and stared straight into his eyes in a way that made him want to glance away. She might as well put her hand up his arse for the sensation it stirred in his gut.
“You’re finally getting it, aren’t you? That magic has consequences.”
“I always knew that,” he said defensively.
“If you knew, really knew, you’d never have used it to begin with.” She suddenly stood up. “Come on, dance with me and I’ll give you all the answers you need. That, and the book.”
He flicked her a tortured glance before standing up and praying to whoever might listen to give him strength. For a second she closed her eyes and he felt the pressure in the air around them increase slightly before music started to pour out of no visible source. It was a bit slow but rhythmic, something that was probably composed in the thirties.
“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” he asked and put his hand on her waist, the other reaching to clasp hers.
“Because I’m going to tell you right now that using magic that involves anyone’s mind is a minefield not to be toyed with. It’s unpredictable, it’s volatile and… Oh my, your butt is really fit.”
With a roll of his eyes, Spike reached behind to put her wandering hand higher up on his back again.
“For someone so young, you’re not much fun.”
“I am too. I have fun spilling out of my orifices,” he said. “Now tell me more.”
“Fine,” she said with a put-upon sigh as they slowly moved to the beat of the music. “If you had the superior sight I do, you’d know magic leaves threads you can trace to the origin, meaning, to the one who cast the spell. And you, my dear boy, are tangled in it.”
“What?” he stopped moving but she urged him to resume his motion.
“I can tell it’s a spell you cast on someone a long time ago. On Hank’s daughter. What is her name again? Buffy? What a silly name. Anyway, it connects you to her. I knew the moment I first saw you.”
His mind reeled. So he’d been right after all. In some way, the spell had something to do with her drawings of him. Was it connected to the nightmares she had as well? “I used a forgetting spell on her years ago,” he admitted, because he needed answers and he wouldn’t get them by withholding the truth. “She’s been drawing my hands.”
“Hmm, that’s the thing about a memory spell. She probably subconsciously rejected the idea of forgetting, and that’s why the event still lives on, although buried in the layers of her mind.”
“She’s having these dreams too,” he said, his grip instinctively tightening at the memory of Buffy’s skin covered with blood. “Physical manifestation of abuse while she’s asleep, but it fades quickly. More quickly than a normal bruise would. Do you think it’s connected to the spell?”
Mrs. Baum frowned. “Does she remember the dreams?”
“No.”
“Then I’d say it’s connected,” she said. “Break the original spell and it should stop. I’ll give you a recipe for noobs like you.”
Did she just call him a noob?
She patted his chest and the music slowly faded into nothing. With a quiet murmur, a stack of papers materialised in her hands, as if quickly being constructed molecule by molecule. “Here’s the Valley of the Sun.”
Spike took it from her and stepped away. “It’s photocopied.”
She lifted one grey eyebrow and snorted. “You didn’t think I’d give you the original copy, did you?”
She laughed at his startled look and once again, he found himself in the middle of a street, fighting back the nausea.
The drawings. The dreams she couldn’t remember. The injuries she got while sleeping. It was all connected, and as soon as his head stopped pounding, he’d pull all the loose ends together.
TBC
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I've been back at uni for a week (my final year) and I'm already stressed and scared shitless of all the deadlines. I'll promise I'll do my best to update once a week, so let's hope I can balance it all out.
Thank you All4SPike for always being so swift in your editing!
Thank you All4SPike for always being so swift in your editing!
Chapter End Notes:
Your opinion means a lot, so if you want to, let me know if you're enjoying. :)