"Concentrate," Tara gently scolded.
Willow looked up at her ghostly lover. "Did I hurt him?"
Tara said nothing.
"Well, at least we know it's him, and he really is out there somewhere."
Tara frowned and conjured some corrections to the spell Willow had written down.
Willow's eyes questioned her sadly before she added: "I'm sorry."
"Shhh..." Tara reached out, her hands disappearing in Willow's cheek and hair. "Just thought I'd add a little something else to the mix. Help him get through til we find him."
The expression on Willow's face showed horror. "Is he...?" Oh Goddess, what did I do to him?
Tara shook her head. "Not like that." She patted her heart.
Willow understood then. This next attempt would work.
The first thing Spike did when he got back to his apartment was take a shower. A nice, long, scalding hot shower. He placed his hands against the cold tile and stood there for ten minutes, just letting the water rain over him. Let's see how quickly he'd combust if he was wet.
Don't be such a ponce. You combusted from the inside; water couldn't stop that.
He wasted another ten minutes' worth of plumbing before he finally dried himself off and headed to bed, a bottle of Jameson in his hand.
Near the Maya Mountains, secreted away in the ruins of Cahal Pech, Willow prepared herself.
Her first attempt at locating Spike took place a couple days ago in her apartment. Once Tara explained what was necessary (and what would happen), Willow realized that Argentina just wasn't going to do. She needed to be somewhere sacred, full of latent power (and blood sacrifice, added Tara).
It took her a day's worth of research to determine which sites were best, and, then, of them, which were unoccupied for the moment. She couldn't risk a team of archaeologist or tourists interrupting her spell.
Spike set the Roxy Music cd on repeat as he settled back into his bed. This one always reminded him of Buffy. Probably because this album was one of the few things that survived after the daft bint threw a grenade into his crypt. Damn, that was a first-pressing, older than her! He shook the thought away. It wasn't just the record. It was this song...
All love and glory
It's a pantomime
If you're looking for love
In a looking-glass world
It's pretty hard to find
Oh, mother of pearl
I wouldn't trade you
For another girl...
God, look at him. Might as well call himself Angel and start buggering the Powers-That-Be.
He took a hefty swig of whiskey and sang til his voice faded away...
I've always wanted
But was never mine
But now I've seen that something
Just out of reach—glowing—
Very holy grail
Oh, mother of pearl
Lustrous lady
Of a sacred world...
The warmth of Tara's spirit kept Willow from rushing. She was nervous, but Tara kept whispering encouragement. It occurred to her now that maybe she had failed these previous attempts because she was scared to let go, scared to join with Tara's power, as she thought maybe this would send her back to a place she couldn't return from. Once an addict, always an addict, right?
The problem with this locator spell was that it had to be so specific, yet so far-reaching. They had no idea where on earth Spike could be, but since they had nothing of his, they needed to find a way to narrow down the field. It would be pointless (and a drain of energy) to do the type of locator spell they'd done before because it would give them too many false leads.
Willow had tried at first to focus on root systems. She had gotten good at that from practice. But, it just wasn't working in this case. Tara suggested it was because Spike was undead—and perhaps also because of his surprising return to the world—that he no longer had "roots" in the earth. Neither of them knew for sure, but that made sense to them.
It was Tara who thought of the soul. She had suggested it even before Willow told her that Spike had gotten his back in that last year in Sunnydale. Somehow, Tara had known. Willow shouldn't have been surprised.
The combined efforts of Tara and Willow produced a locator spell that would (hopefully) narrow the targets to souled vampires. As far as they knew, there were only two of those: Angel and Spike.
Tara's power would seek out the soul. She had done so already in the previous attempt, so Willow knew that was working. It was Willow's part that only got them so far. This spell they created took blood. And, of the two of them, only Willow had it. She couldn't substitute animal blood for this. It had to be human, and it had to be powerful. That left her.
Willow hesitated at the bloodletting. Only the darkest of spells called for it. But they were trying to locate a vampire, and blood made all the difference. It took chanting and meditation and blessings from Tara to get her calm enough to do this.
But the previous attempts either didn't yield enough to make it work or just weren't sent forth with the proper amount of power. Willow could tell that they only got as far as they did because Tara tried to compensate—spending every available spark to reach out to him. That last attempt took so much effort from Tara that she was unable to reappear for almost a day.
Willow's research during that day of solitude led her to this spot right now, high above the Macal River. She laid out the makeshift map she created, blessed by Tara through the ether. Before it on the stone floor of the temple ruins she set out piles of herbs. In her lap she held a small artifact stolen from that site's dig. It was an offering bowl—or what was left of it, at least. She was unable (cringe) and unskilled to follow the traditional bloodletting of the Mayan elite, but Tara instructed her on a modified version that she thought would be acceptable.
Tara readied herself for what was to come. She asked Willow to add fenugreek to the spell toward the end. If this worked, it would be her gift to Spike.
Willow looked out over the ancient Mayan ball court and took a deep breath. It was now or never. She hummed lowly, gathering the elements to her. Slowly and carefully, she sprinkled some herbs into a singular pile, in a particular order, lighting them. As she absorbed their scent, she reached for the porcupine spike she had kept hidden. Eyes closed, she quickly pierced her tongue. She leaned over the offering bowl, letting blood droplets fall in. The ancient Mayans knew just what to do for their bloodletting ceremonies, and she thanked them, as this way produced an incredible amount of blood in a short amount of time. Of course, their version was a bit more painful and ceremonial, but Tara believed this would do for the spell.
Willow dabbed at her tongue with some strips of cloth before dropping them gently into the offering bowl. She then lit the offering, adding the rest of the herbs to it. Chanting again, she focused on the blood sacrifice, channeling the ancient power within her as she sat connected to the temple. When the flames dissipated, she sprinkled the fenugreek on top and prayed that Tara had strength to finish the rest.
Oh, Mother of Pearl...
Spike drifted off to sleep, the feeling inside him warm and burning. The Jameson was good, and his Slayer was in mind and his long-dead heart, so he was ready. Go ahead, he dared the Powers-That-Be, she's in me so deep nothing you do will change that.
Just when he thought he'd incinerate again, his soul fluttered back down into its home, and his body was overcome by a sensation that he had long since forgotten...
"Mother?"
"My sweet William," The apparition in his dream reached out to him.
He hadn't dreamt of his mother in, well...forever. That thing with Wood was a reminder of the past, but it wasn't a dream. His unlife had been plagued by nightmares of the demon his mother had become, but never of her like this.
So, this was the new way the Powers-That-Be were going to fuck with him, eh?
Not a chance.
"Oh, sod off. You bastards think this will break me? Haven't you been paying attention?"
His hands struck out half-heartedly at the ghost, The First, whatever the hell they were teasing him with. Only, when he did so, flesh hit flesh, and he recoiled at her gasp.
"What the...?"
"My child, my everything..." Spike's mother moved closer to him, her fingers touching his face, his hair.
He stood there, shivering. Her touch was real. Her scent, like the violet water she used to dab on her veil-like skin. "Mum," he whispered, so softly that only God could hear him.
It was then that she held him, cradled him close so that all he could sense was her, as she was. The love and pride she had had for him danced across his skin, seeping into his pores.
He couldn't help it now. He clutched her tightly, sobbing into her long hair. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Mummy, I'm so sorry..."
"Shhh... shhh now," his mother whispered, rocking him.
"I only ever wanted to save you."
His mother's hands smoothed his hair as he cried, the way she always did when he was a wee child. "You did, my dearheart..."
Spike felt so small then, so innocent, so much like the little boy his mother doted over. His hold on her did not change, even when her countenance did. Beneath him, he felt the swell of her body, felt her frail frame take on the shape of someone younger, someone strong with magic.
Someone he knew would not hurt him.
"...You saved us all."
All around him fluttered gossamer cloth. He was curled on her lap, clutching at what still draped one shoulder and her lower body. Her long blonde hair shimmered in the half-light. Even through tears he knew who that was. He thought he'd never lay eyes on her again.
"But, my mother..."
Tara ran her fingertip over his eyelashes, catching a tear. "I brought her here for you."
"How did you...?"
Tara's finger moved to Spike's lips. "Not sure how much longer I can keep you. We haven't forgotten, Spike. We haven't forgotten you..."
His tears fell again, but Tara held him close. She cradled him against her breast, concentrating. Slowly, his sobbing subsided, replaced by the hope and reverence he was suckling from her.
Tara hoped this would help him hang on til she and Willow could send Buffy to him. This poor, long-suffering hero.
In his dream, he watched themselves slip gently under the surface of a pool of mother's milk, neither one letting go of the other.
When Spike finally woke, he wiped the still-wet tears from his eyes and felt better than he had in years.