Chapter 23
She staggered to her feet and away from the stranger kneeling on the ground. Sickly sweet smoke was filling her lungs and she was coughing, knocking over a thick candle in her haste. The wax spilled to the floor, locking the grains of sand in its thickening mass.
Her back crashed into a dresser she hadn’t noticed, the unexpected jolt of pain in her vertebrae loosening her tongue. “What did you do to me?”
The stranger sat back on his haunches, his gaze sliding from the circle of sand to her face and when his eyes met hers all she could do was drown in them. “Who are you?” The question slipped off her numb tongue as she pressed her palms to her pounding temples.
“I don’t know.”
*******
Eight Hours Earlier, 10:00 am
So far, her birthday sucked.
She’d slept through the alarm clock and had to forego a morning shower, and what was even worse—her daily cup of coffee which was the only thing that managed to carry her through the first classes of the morning. So now her brain was fuzzy, demanding the bitter caffeine intake to fully function.
During the first class, the teacher had called on her while she was dozing off and reprimanded her on her lack of attention. But apparently, it wasn’t nearly enough excitement for the day. Between the first two classes, Parker had found it amusing to try to pour glue on her hair, but luckily, she’d spun around just in time to notice. Then she’d proceeded to yank the glue out of his hand, slide her fingers behind the band of his jeans and underpants and squeeze a generous amount of the glue right inside before he’d even blinked.
Good luck getting the glue out, she thought with a grin. But hey, at least he wouldn’t have to pay for waxing.
All would be nice and dandy if it hadn’t been for the stuck-up math teacher catching her in the act and sending her to the principal’s office. Mr. Wood had only sighed upon seeing her again and issued her a week’s detention in the library.
So that’s why she was currently slaving her lunch break and next free period away by helping the school librarian sort books alphabetically. Who cared anyway? Nobody ever came in here as far as she knew. Personally, Buffy thought they should replace it with an IT center. Her and books? Not very mixy.
“Psst,” came from the other side of the bookcase. Buffy frowned and pulled a thick War and Peace out of the shelf. Giddy brown eyes stared back at her.
“Anya?”
“I heard you glued Parker’s balls,” she said with an appreciative smile. “Good job.”
Buffy flicked a glance over her shoulder to see what the librarian was up to. He was nowhere to be seen, probably off somewhere brewing tea. As bored as she’d been, she counted that he cleared his throat in a show of self-importance exactly 35 times and drank six cups of tea in the last hour and a half.
“He deserved it,” Buffy commented on the Parker debacle. “Besides, he started it.”
“Did you know it was super glue?” Anya chuckled. “He had to go home for the rest of the day to get rid of the stuff.”
Buffy pushed the book back into its rightful place and rounded the stack to get to Anya who was now making herself comfortable on the floor.
“Karma is a bitch,” Buffy said and sat down next to her.
“And I’m proud to say, so are you.”
She took it for the compliment it was intended to be and rested her elbows on her bent knees. “So, what’s up with Xander?”
The corners of Anya’s mouth dropped just the tiniest bit and even though she shrugged, Buffy could tell something had happened that affected her deeply.
“He’s umm… he told me he was in love with me,” Anya said finally.
She gave her a puzzled glance. “I assume that’s bad?”
“Of course it’s bad,” Anya whispered urgently. “I eat men like him for breakfast! And then he just looks at me with those sad puppy eyes and it actually bothers me that I didn’t say the words back.”
“It feels weird that I’m the one saying this, but you have issues with men.”
Anya shifted and dropped her hands in her lap, inspecting them rather than looking at her. “Buffy? Can I tell you something personal?”
The tone of her friend’s voice was so somber, her gaze so serious when she finally lifted it to meets hers that Buffy turned on her side to face her fully. “Of course.”
“I’m a vengeance demon.”
Her brain was curiously blank right before the words wheedled themselves past the initial shock and Buffy let out a startled laugh. Although by the look of Anya’s face, she realised it wasn’t a joke. That she’d actually meant it.
“Is that some kind of euphemism?”
Anya rolled her eyes. “No. I’m a demon. As in, not fully human. My gig is to punish men. I don’t fall in love with them, I rip off their balls and make accessories out of their intestines. Literally. I even had a poster of Kali above my bed but I was much younger then.”
Silence.
“Buffy?” Anya waved her fingers in front of her face and Buffy irrationally noticed that Anya had re-painted her nails from pink to red. “You heard me, didn’t you? Because I could repea—”
“Please don’t!” She blinked several times and gave her a dubious glance. “Kali?”
“A goddess from Indian lore, all with the dismemberment of men. She’s my idol. ”
“You’re joking, right?” Buffy shook her head. “I mean, about the whole… demon thing.”
“I’m not joking.” Her eyes lit up. “I’ve got pictures. I could show them to you.”
Oh God. What if Anya was some kind of deluded serial killer and now she wanted to show her the evidence? It was the only explanation! That or Anya had gone insane.
“Forget the pictures, I can show you what I really look like instead.”
Buffy’s heart almost tore out of her chest when Anya’s face rippled and shifted. The skinless flesh, the sharp incisors, the darkness huddled within her gaze. Buffy’s fingers went numb as she tried to grab something to hold onto as the increasing blood pressure filled her ears with a loud buzz. The last thing she saw before she fainted was Anya reaching out to her.
*******
When she woke up, the round friendly face of the school nurse was peering down at her, her fingers putting a slight pressure on Buffy’s wrist as she monitored her pulse.
“Your friend brought you in. She was very worried about you,” the nurse said and helped Buffy sit up then handed her a glass of water. “She’s a rather strange girl, isn’t she?”
Somehow, Buffy thought that ‘strange’ wasn’t a strong enough word.
The next few minutes passed in a sluggish drawl as she took a sip to wash the dryness out of her mouth. The nurse said she was going to be fine but should go home to rest just in case. The more strange things happened to her, the more convinced she became that this couldn’t possibly be real. Perhaps she really was locked within her own mind, her greasy hair sprawled around her pale face as she remained stuck in a dream, a child driven by her own imagination.
When Hank came to pick her up, Anya was nowhere to be seen and for a wild moment Buffy considered screaming out so loud her own eardrums would hurt. Just so she’d see if anyone would hear and take notice that the world was spinning off its axis and the fabric of reality was ripping apart.
She grunted monosyllabic answers when Dad asked her questions, though after a few minutes he seemed to realise he wouldn’t get much else out of her and fell silent as he steered the car.
Her fingertips smeared the car window, the glass sleek and cold, and she wondered if she made that up as well. If the ghost of her touch was just that. Just a mirage.
By the time they drove into the garage, Buffy had stiffened her spine and tried to push it all into the back of her mind. Dad looped his arm around her shoulders and said he’d baked her a birthday cake, even if it was little lopsided.
She mustered up enough energy to give him a reassuring smile and whispered, “I’m fine.” After all that he’d done for her, being selfish left her feeling as though she’d crushed a newborn bird under her heel.
The day flew fast then, and soon it was four o’clock when she sat at the table in the kitchen and stared into the bright flames announcing she was eighteen. Mature. An adult.
Yet she’d never felt more lost.
“Make a wish,” Hank urged her with a rakish grin and licked his lips as he stared at the cake. She knew he couldn’t wait to get a piece—or three—and she refrained from saying he was supposed to be on a diet.
Buffy closed her eyes and wished that all of this was real.
Reality is what we choose to believe.
And she did want to believe this was real because what point was there to it if it weren’t? If all the pain and happiness and living was for nothing?
She filled her lungs with the air and blew the candles out.
*******
Half an hour later, Ellen came knocking with a neatly wrapped present and the smile of a Hollywood star.
“I considered giving you this cute scarf but I figured I’d get you something you’d actually like,” Ellen said and handed her the rectangular box while Hank took her coat with an infatuated look on his face.
“Thank you,” Buffy said because it was the polite thing to do though she suddenly felt like a third wheel.
She tore the wrapping paper more slowly than she normally would, just so she wouldn’t seem too eager. Within the narrow box, nestled in tissue paper, lay the shiniest, most intricate dagger she’d ever seen. The handle melded to her palm just so and the blade shimmered under the foyer light.
Lifting her gaze, she met Ellen’s warm brown eyes and said with a more heartfelt tone, “I love it.”
“Don’t mention it,” Ellen said with a wave of her hand, as though it was nothing. “It’s a bit of a relic as well. It’s from my ex-husband’s collection.”
Buffy didn’t miss the scowl on her father’s face at the mention of the ex and she couldn’t help the amused smile at his expense. He had it bad.
They sat down in the living room and she didn’t miss the exchanged glances and the casual touches between Hank and Ellen. It was as if for the first time in her life there was something in her dad’s life she wasn’t a part of. All those years it had been just the two of them and suddenly it was all changing and she was left stumbling in the dark without anyone to hold onto and almost feeling like she was… a burden.
Her gaze dropped to their interlaced hands.
“I think I’ll go out for a while,” she said and they both tore their gazes off each other to look at her as if only now realizing she was there.
Hank stood up and followed her out of the living room with a concerned frown. “You’re not leaving because of Ellen, are you? Because I could tell her you want it to be just the two of us.”
“No, Dad. It’s okay,” she said steadily and put on a smile. “I’m just being a bit nostalgic. Just feeling a bit old and stuff. Call it a pre-post-teenager crisis.”
Hank squeezed her shoulder then pinched her nose. “If you’re old then what am I supposed to be?”
“You’re pretty much a pensioner,” she said with a more convincing grin.
He gave her a quick hug and kissed her on the forehead. “Cheeky monkey. All right then, go. But don’t be late, got it? Or I’ll take out that shotgun and go looking for you.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “You don’t even know how to shoot.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised, pumpkin.” He followed her to the foyer and planted a hat on her head while she was lacing up her boots. “Take gloves too.”
“Yes, sir.”
With a wave, she walked out of the door and headed down the street. The wind whipped her cheeks and she wished there was snow so it would feel like a real winter rather than the imitation of one.
She didn’t feel any different, being eighteen and all. But growing up didn’t just happen, did it? One had to acknowledge the weight of it and start making decisions that weren’t always the easiest. She could do it. She could face her fear head on and trust. Put that fragile piece of her soul into Spike’s large hands.
All she had to do was believe he knew how to help her, that he’d help still the shifting ground beneath her feet.
*******
He didn’t know what to do.
Even working his frustrations out on the punching bag hanging from the ceiling failed to clear his mind as it usually did. His muscles bunched and burned, the sweat trickled down his spine, yet he was no closer to the solution.
The fucking Valley of the Sun was in ancient Latin. That wouldn’t be such an issue if the words didn’t remind him of a Dadaistic poem. All ramblings with zero substance and it gave him a headache just trying to translate some of it.
Spike punched the bag with enough force that the impact reverberated up his bare arms, and he wished it was the face of the pissant idiot that had written the book.
All he had to go on was a picture of the weapon that was probably the one capable of ridding the world of Angelus. If he’d got it right, the weapon was a thing of beauty. A sleek, sophisticated axe that had been forged by goblins to kill the invincible. That was Angelus all right.
The plonker was the only vampire rumored to walk in the sun. Only it wasn’t a rumor. Spike had seen it with his own two eyeballs and there was only one thing that could allow the undead to break the rules. The Gem of Amara.
With a roar that was barely audible through the Clash blasting from his notebook, Spike braced himself and gave the punching bag a powerful roundhouse kick. It swung back and forth like a pig in a slaughterhouse, the chain whining in protest.
There was supposed to be the gem’s opposite too. A gem that would derail its effect the same way an electromagnetic pulse disrupted all that fancy modern technology. Sadly, he’d never been able to find out more than its name. The Gem of Icarus.
It would be easier if there was a bloody picture of the thing, he thought with dismay and crossed the basement to snatch a bottle of beer from the mini fridge. But it didn’t matter now. He had found his plan B in the axe, if he hadn’t buggered up the translation, that was. His best bet would be to go pay old Rupert a visit. And Spike really didn’t want to. Not now. Not when he’d sworn to help Buffy.
He took a sip then pressed the chilled bottle to the fevered skin of his throat and hoped he’d figured it out. The only reason for her dreamscape forays was that her mind was stuck on the event he’d wiped from her mind. Perhaps they deviated from the original memory and that was why she got hurt. So all he had to do was reverse the forgetting spell and the problem would be fixed, right?
With his gauze wrapped hands, he put the bottle on the table and shut the music off only to find someone was rather insistently ringing the doorbell.
“Hold your bloody horses,” he muttered and climbed out of the basement to answer the door.
*******
“Buffy?”
Oh wow, her day just got a whole lot better. She opened her mouth to speak but the sight of that sweaty muscular chest distracted her. Right now, staring seemed crucial. Wait. Words. Sentences. She should be talking right now.
“Your T-shirt is not… on.” Well, that was genius.
“Do tell,” he said with a quirk of his eyebrow as he ushered her in. “With those observation skills, you should have been a cop.”
She stuttered out some half-assed insult but he didn’t seem to be paying her much mind because he was staring at her lips instead. He wouldn’t try to kiss her, would he? She wasn’t so sure she’d want to stop him if he did. It was unfair that even sweaty, he smelled so freaking good. Like a summer storm and rain soaked earth.
“Eaten something sweet, have you?”
“Huh?” Her eyes jerked up from his chest to his face.
Instead of answering, he stepped closer and brushed her bottom lip with his thumb. His fingertip was a bit rough, calloused and the contrast in texture made her tingle all the way down to her toes.
“Chocolate,” he said and she searched her mind for something that would give her a clue what he was talking about but then she finally caught on. Lips, finger, chocolate. Right. She was going to kill Hank for not telling her she had frosting on her mouth! He’d done it on purpose, she just knew it.
“It was a… umm… birthday cake. Right. Because it’s my birthday today, so… yeah. It was very chocolate-y,” she finished lamely and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand just to err on the side of caution.
Spike lowered his lashes and his long elegant fingers unwrapped her shawl and he let it drop to the floor before he cupped the back of her neck. And the sound he made. As if he’d finally found contentment upon touching her skin. She hated how weak he could make her with just one simple touch.
“I didn’t know,” he said in a low voice, almost apologetic. “I would have got you something.”
“You’re not wearing a shirt. That’s good enough for me,” slipped from her mouth and her eyes widened. Oh crap. She’d said that out loud, hadn’t she?
He laughed and that deep velvety sound that sank all the way to her marrow. Her eyes fluttered closed when he leaned his forehead against her temple.
“You’re fucking adorable,” he said and she wanted to be offended. She really did, because for the first time in her life she wanted to be called hot and irresistible. Not just adorable like a puppy or a baby otter.
“Besides,” he said. “Think I should go take a shower. I’m in a rather disgusting state at the moment.”
Well, that was a matter of opinion, wasn’t it? But this time she clamped her traitorous mouth shut and watched with a pang of regret as he leaned away and that lovely large hand that had been caressing her neck went with him.
“You know, I brought a piece of cake with me. I thought you might like it,” she admitted, feeling a bit awkward. Now her brain urged her to take the words back and she almost blurted out that it was no big deal and she hadn’t thought of him when she’d been wrapping it in tinfoil. That she hadn’t set a piece aside just for him when Dad wasn’t paying attention. Just for good measure she should say that she carried cakes around in her bag every day and that he wasn’t so special. But then his gaze searched her face with a boyish eagerness and she gave him a tentative smile instead.
What was it with this man and sweets?
“I love cake,” he said and licked his lips.
“I figured,” she said and suddenly felt she had a leverage to make him beg. Oh, she was bad. “But you’re not getting any until you shower.” She wanted to see his hair curl at the ends, to find if he’d still smell like summer rain. Not that she’d ever tell him that.
He disappeared faster than she thought possible and she had to restrain the urge to be jealous of a piece of cake.
*******
While Spike devoured the chocolate treat, Buffy gathered up the courage to say why she was really here.
“We should do the thing,” she said and he stopped mid-chew to look at her with wide gaze.
“What?”
“You know… the thing.” She raised her eyebrows.
“Now?” he asked and his eyes had pinned her with intensity that left her slightly breathless. “Are you sure?”
“Y-yes. I mean, you said you knew what to do. That I could… trust you.”
He sucked his fingers into his mouth, his cheekbones standing out even more as he licked the stray chocolate off. “Oh, I know what to do all right.”
Was it her or did that sound like an innuendo? Wait, it was Spike. Of course it was an innuendo. And that left her more than irritated. Didn’t he realise how hard it was for her to admit she trusted him? “Spike, I’m being serious.”
“So am I,” he said and suddenly she was drawn against his hard body, his arm banded around her waist.
His lips caressed the line of her jaw in a way that had her breath catching in her throat like a butterfly trapped in a glass. Whatever had gotten into him, she didn’t really mind because now his lips were slanting over hers achingly lightly. She really should ask him, but God, the sweet taste of him fogged her mind and she found herself gripping his still damp hair to pull him closer. To taste him deeper.
“Hmm,” he purred into her and nipped her upper lip with his teeth before he rested his brow against hers. “Want you.”
Now that she struggled to catch her breath it occurred to her that things had veered off a bit. “Spike? What are we doing?”
He frowned at her. “What do you mean what are we doing? You said you wanted to do the thing. You know… the nasty, sweaty, ecstatic—”
“No!” she jumped in to keep him from continuing that train of thought. “I meant… the helping with my wiggy night problem thing.”
He suddenly leaned away with a stunned expression. “Oh.”
“You thought I meant…” She fell silent, suddenly feeling awkward still sitting there within kissing distance of him. Apparently, that had a debilitating effect on her brain cells.
His arm fell away as he scratched the back of his neck, and wait… Was he blushing?
Spike had never felt like more of an idiot than he did right now. Of course she’d meant the bloody spell! Hell, he’d been thinking about it not too long ago himself. But the sugar rush combined with the infuriatingly distracting smell of wildflowers that seemed to follow her everywhere had driven common sense right out of his gourd.
“Well, this isn’t awkward at all,” he muttered and to his surprise, Buffy laughed.
“Just a bit.”
“Sorry about the whole… jumping you thing.” He seemed to do that a lot, didn’t he? He ought to reclaim some self-control around her.
“I didn’t exactly mind,” she said with a quick smile and he felt like groaning. Women with their mixed signals. They’d be sure to drive him completely bonkers one day.
“So,” he said a bit louder and clapped his hands. “Let’s get to it, shall we?”
*******
“You’re going to do a spell,” Buffy said skeptically after he’d asked her to plant her arse on the floor while he poured a circle of sand big enough to include them both.
“Yes.”
“A spell. As in, you’re a witch.” She gave him a look that let him know she thought this was an utter waste of time.
“I’m not a bloody witch,” he said irately and stepped within the circle to distribute five thick candles evenly so they would form a pentagram. “Just know a thing or two, and believe me, I’m not too happy about this scenario either.” Something was bound to explode in his face, though he hoped it wouldn’t be literally. “Besides, I wouldn’t be a witch, but a warlock.”
“Why are we doing this again?” She gave him a distrustful glance and slouched forward to rest her elbows on her knees as she sat Indian style. So elegant, this girl.
“The question is; why are you not freaking out on me?” He lit the candles and sat down, mirroring her position.
She gave a small shrug, the corner of her lips quirking briefly. “I don’t think anything can surprise me anymore.”
He seriously doubted that, but he was glad her attention was diverted and she wasn’t asking him why exactly he was doing this. The wise thing to do would probably be to prepare her by telling her that he was doing a reversal spell on the forgetting spell he’d cast the night he’d rescued her. Then again, he’d never been too wise and the possibility this might not work kept his tongue tied. And if it did work, he’d answer her questions then and save them an hour of pointless chatter.
“Ready?” he asked, and laid the incantation next to his leg.
“Yes, Glinda,” she said with a serious face and he resisted the urge to shake that blasé attitude right out of her. Or even better; snog it out of her.
With a withering glance in her direction, he picked up a small dagger and reached for her hand.
“What are you doing?”
He detected a hint of fear in her voice and despite being impatient to get this whole thing going, he gave her a reassuring look. “I just need a few drops. I’ll try not to hurt you much, I promise. Now give me your finger.”
She shook her head, as though arguing with herself on the wisdom of her decision before she put her hand in his palm. He loved her hands. So soft and feminine and he experienced a sudden urge to pull away, for his were stained with blood.
Before she could change her mind, he held her forefinger steady and flicked the blade over it. The blood welled up and he had to give her credit. She barely even flinched.
“You’re not going to wave a chicken foot at me now, are you?”
Three drops of blood dripped into the small coppery bowl as he put the dagger down. “Would you like me to?”
“Ew. Definitely not.” She stuck her bleeding finger into her mouth.
“Good, because there will be none. Now shut it, I need to concentrate.”
Buffy muttered something that sounded awfully close to ‘You’re not the boss of me,’ but luckily fell silent after that.
It took him a few minutes to empty his mind and when he felt the connection to nature suffuse his entire being, he started adding other ingredients into the bowl.
Ground leaves of angelica to help remove the original curse. Agrimony and curry plant to repel the nightmares, to create a barrier from their negative consequences. As the last natural ingredient Spike threw in calamus to bring the spell full circle, and then sliced his palm with the dagger. It was all about the blood. None of the other ingredients would have a meaning if it weren’t for a piece each of Buffy and himself to steer the magic in the right direction. To act as a sacrifice as well. With magic, there was always a price to be paid.
“Give me your hands,” he said and felt more than saw Buffy’s slightly trembling hands slide into his. He started to read the incantation.
They were one. An enclosed never-ending source of energy. He could feel it working as the pressure in the air thickened to the point his ears started to buzz. The flow of magic crackled and whipped around them within the circle. Inside their veins.
In his mind, he saw the web of the forgetting spell tangled around them both and he imagined the magic as a dagger that would sever the ties. His heart hammered as he pressed on, feeling as if the dagger was made of lead and his grip wouldn’t be strong enough to wield it. But he wasn’t giving up and the moment the reversal magic touched upon the original spell, he felt it cut through. His temples threatened to explode right before the pressure cumulated and swirled and he had to let go of Buffy’s hands to clutch at his ears.
He accidentally knocked over the bowl as he leaned forward to find purchase on the ground. To assure himself that he hadn’t been flung into space, suffocated by the nothingness.
The pressure finally eased then, and light slashed at his aching eyelids. When he finally opened his eyes, he found himself kneeling in the middle of a large living room with what smelled like burnt soup filling his nostrils.
The crashing noise made him lift his head up and he saw a young girl looking at him with large, accusing eyes. “What did you do to me?”
Do? What did he do? He sat back and ran a hand through his hair. How the hell was he supposed to know that when he didn’t even know his own name? Had no idea where he was or why it looked as if they’d been having a girly séance.
“Who are you?” she asked and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.
“I don’t know.”
TBC
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Author's Chapter Notes:
A new chapter is here!!! And I think you'll be quite pleased that it's twice its usual size. Wait... is it me or did that sound vaguely dirty!? Anyway, I hope you enjoy this long and 'substantial' chapter. ;) I have barely enough time to eat and sleep beside the uni work, but I'll do my best with replying to reviews.updating.
Awesome beta: All4SPike
Awesome beta: All4SPike
Chapter End Notes:
Any nice words that would decrease my current stress levels? I would really appreciate that.