Willow had really done it this time. She could hear a commotion, but couldn't open her eyes. Her eyelids felt so heavy. Her limbs, too. Not in a bad way or anything, but this spell seemed to be lasting much longer than she had anticipated. She sensed that Tara was getting worried, and now that she thought about it, she couldn't break through her mind to talk to her lover. That's odd.
Somewhere, she heard barking, and she wished she could wake up. What the heck was going on out there?
Puddles was not pleased. He'd been happily munching away on forbidden snack foods when his weirdo caretaker got a strange phone call.
Suddenly, he found himself moving his little legs as quickly as possible to keep up. The two of them had taken to the streets and were in a rush to get somewhere. He huffed and panted and couldn't wait for this insanity to end.
But their arrival did not resolve that. Puddles had finally gotten used to his strange-looking neighbor, but this was too much.
In the middle of the room was a frightening monster—all muscles and spikes with mean eyes and a grumbly demeanor. Floating around behind him was a ghostly apparition. And there, sprawled across the sofa, was a girl who was most-likely dead (given who/what she was surrounded by). Puddles wanted out. He did the only thing he could think to do.
"Aww no. Shit no," Gar spat as Stan entered. "Get the fuck out."
Stan held up his hands. "Hey, hey, grouchy-pants. Just stopped to see Spike." He took a tentative step into the apartment, tugging a non-moving Puddles in with him.
The dog looked around and started barking. It was obvious he was scared. Just don't pee on Spike's carpet, Stan begged. He'd never be able to explain that one.
As Stan closed the door, he saw what Puddles had been looking at. Were they too late? Did Spike just kill someone?
God, I'd love to snap that wanker's neck, Spike thought as he watched some douchebag cut in between two girls so he could dance with one or the other of them. Spike had already thrown out one rowdy bloke, and his shift had barely begun. He peered through the smoky air for signs of non-humans. None so far, but it was early days yet. He hoped that Gar had settled down by now; he didn't want to come home to a wreck. And Glinda wasn't very keen on being left in the Kailiff's care, which gave his unbeating heart a sharp pang for a moment. But it couldn't be helped. Unless she wanted him to go out and mug someone, he needed this bloody job.
Spike hoped that Tara was using this time to figure out a "cure" for Willow. He had no idea what he'd do with Sleeping Beauty. It was a bit too much of a liability for a wanted Big Bad like him. And if Red got eaten, he'd never have a chance to win the Slayer's heart back.
There was no way Tara could concentrate on Willow right now. Gar was so full of demonic energy that any movement he made set her off. She knew he was Spike's friend, but damn. This other demon seemed benign, and he looked like an Empath even though he radiated no empathic energies. Strange. But his eyes were kind, and he had a goofiness that reminded her of that saggy-skinned demon Clem back in Sunnydale. And, then, omg—doggie! Except, she realized that dogs were sensitive to ghosts, and so she retreated back to Willow's side, hoping he'd stop barking soon.
"So, hey, I'm babysitting tonight, too!" Stan noticed aloud nervously, hoping to calm himself and the dog. He slid into a chair, patting his lap for Puddles to join him.
Gar growled, leveling eerie yellow eyes at him. "I'm a bodyguard, not a fucking babysitter."
Stan nudged his head towards the witches. "Kinda late, huh? I mean, unless she's more valuable dead." Her ghost was hovering above her body. Were all Kailiffs this dumb?
"Bitch ain't dead!" Gar shot back. "She's cursed!"
Tara cringed at Gar's word choice.
Spike's sharp hearing caught an odd conversation on the other side of the club. He'd spent years traveling around the world, infiltrating the underbelly of society in all its forms, so he knew what he was hearing. It was a voodoo curse.
He sniffed the air quickly and picked up the scent of the bokor. When his sight caught up with his sense of smell and hearing, he paused. The bokor was gorgeous. Luscious ebony skin, curves cascading down her body, long braids dripping over them.
She had only just started, and he knew the process would take some time. Judging from her languid chant and her comfortable stance, it looked like she'd be here a while.
He was gonna play with this one.
Spike craned his neck and leaned over the DJ booth to make a request.
"Sure thing, Spike," the DJ replied, reaching for some vinyl. He'd have gone all-digital already if it weren't for that damn bouncer. Always wanting the old shit. He held his clove cigarette with his teeth as he slipped the record out of its sleeve and slid it onto the turntable.
After the previous song finished, the crackle from the needle snapped through the club, and a sultry voice intoned:
She's your little voodoo dolly
And she's gonna make you lazy
It worked, just as he knew it would. The bokor snapped her head over to the DJ, and Spike smiled at her. His bright white grin grew until it twisted into something menacing.
Like the little drum in your ear
Transfixes you to your fear
The bokor caught the look just like she caught the song. It was a trap. She grabbed her bag and darted out of the club.
Spike smelled her take the back exit and shifted. He was faster.
"Didn't fancy meetin' a bloke like me here, eh, Dolly?"
He held her shoulders in his hands in the darkness of the back alley.
She was stiff in his grasp, but he could feel that she was trying to hide her fear. Her heartbeat was erratic, like someone calming herself. That made him smile again, revealing his fangs.
"Vampire," she hissed. "I have no business with your kind."
He loosened his grip on her, taking one hand off her skin to brush a few thin braids back. "This is my town, luv. Any business you have here is my business."
Her lips moved into a slight frown, and as he was savoring the next move something flashed.
She had thrown a strange concoction into the air or let loose a spell or something.
He coughed with breath he never needed, letting go of her completely to bat away at the powder or whatever it was that had gone to his eyes and nose.
In the seconds that took, she was gone.
When he had regained his composure, he sniffed and peered, a hunter with his prey.
Bloody hell.
The only words that came to Tara's mind were "Bloody hell!" And in Spike's voice, definitely.
This was hopeless.
Every spell she could think of to get through to Willow had failed. If she could slump onto the couch in defeat, she would. Instead, she floated above, pouting.
The Empath was now snoring away in the chair he sat in while the dog was chewing on Spike's rug. If she could stop him somehow, she would. He had already nudged through the garbage, licking at discarded blood bags in the kitchen. The Kailiff had been texting non-stop since the other demon fell asleep, and he had ignored the witches.
Tara wanted to go to Spike but didn't dare leave Willow's side.
.