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Author's Chapter Notes:
CHAPTER PAIRING: Willow/Tara, Spike & Other

DISCLAIMERS: All BtVS characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions.
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"Ugh. We must be cursed," Willow groaned. This was the second traffic jam they were stuck in on their way out of New York City.

The woman sitting next to Willow on the Greyhound bus ignored her, because that's just what you did. But Tara still flushed with embarrassment. "Inside voice, hon," she telepathically reminded Willow. "Let's not draw more attention to ourselves than necessary."

"Oh! Sorry!" Willow smiled shyly at her ghostly lover who was seated on...err, in...her lap. So far no one on the bus seemed to notice. "You look extra spectrally today, so I think we're good. Are you good?"

Tara nodded. "Just trying to build up my energy again. I'm kinda guessing I'll need it once we hit the Hellmouth."



"How do I always end up like this?"

"I'm tellin' ya, Spike—it's legit. We can make some good money on a Hellmouth this way."

Stan was trying his hardest to get the vampire to help him with his new business venture as an exterminator of sorts.

"I thought you got Ryk for that," Spike spat.

Stan's cheeks flushed for a moment. "Uh, yeah... that was until he ate my last client."

Spike groaned. Suckered into something daft, yet again. "Fine. Let's get on with it before I change my mind."



A few minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of Madame Polina. A neon sign on her porch advertised palm and tarot readings.

"Oh! I knew you'd be here early!" the woman exclaimed dramatically, as if to provide some kind of proof of her services.

Spike stifled another groan as he felt his eyes roll. I'm a master vampire, for fuck's sake...

As he and Stan approached, however, her false demeanor dropped. Spike could tell she was reading something off them.

Stan, of course, didn't notice. "So, you say something scared you in the basement?" He flipped open a pad of paper and started scribbling notes.

"Oh, it didn't scare me," she corrected, her eyes on Spike although she was talking to Stan. "It ate my dog."

Stan stopped writing suddenly, in deference. "Ah, uh... yes, I can see how that would be a problem."

"Right, then." Spike wasn't liking how this woman was eyeing him. "Let's get to it."

Stan smiled brightly, covering for Spike's crassness.

Madame Polina led them to the basement door, chatting along the way. "Thank you for coming so late at night; I didn't think anyone worked this late."

"Well, that's when all the critters are about, innit?" Spike replied with a touch of irritation.

Stan jabbed him. "We do the night shift. It's our specialty." He beamed, hoping Spike's sour attitude didn't just cost him a customer.

Neither of them caught Madame Polina's sly smile.



It was a garden-variety beastie, all fur and fangs and grrrr and arrrgh, though it put up quite a nice fight.

Stan cowered on the upper steps of the staircase as Spike dove in, hungry for a spot of violence. His dreams this past morning were more of the "we're coming for you" theme, so he was completely on-edge. If there was one thing Spike hated feeling, it was helplessness. So, he held that feeling at bay the only way he knew how—with a good fight.

This little creature was deceptive. It was no larger than a border collie, but its mouth was overflowing with jagged, razor-like teeth. Madame Polina's poodle wouldn't have had a chance.

Spike went a few rounds with the creature, eliciting gasps and shrieks from Stan. The little bugger was frighteningly quick, darting around and baring its fangs with every move Spike made. It sliced up Spike's hand after a charge, but the pain only served to give Spike focus. The vampire finally dropped the little beast with a well-aimed barbecue skewer.

"Bloody hell," Spike panted. "Hope you pay by the injury and not by the hour."

Stan smiled uneasily, still shaking. "Sure, uh, anything you want, Spike, ol' buddy..."



"Have they found you?" Madame Polina asked Spike as she wrapped his wounded hand in gauze.

"You know?" He thought he had been smarter than to fall for the phony psychic routine.

"Can feel the magic coming off you."

He growled, looking at the patched hand. "So, I am cursed then."

"Cursed?" Madame Polina repeated with a slight chuckle. She pulled back the curtain separating her kitchy gypsy parlor from... a room that looked like The Magic Box. This was no palm reader. "Oh, that's no curse." She reached for an old apothecary jar filled with a fine-grained powder. "Feels like a locator spell."

"But, who...?"

Madame Polina warmed a pinch of the silver powder in her hands, whispering a chant in a language that sounded unfamiliar to Spike. A quick second later, she blew the powder towards him.

"Hey!" Spike raised his arm to cover his face.

The powder sparkled red before disappearing in thin air as it fell to the floor.

"Well, that's interesting."

Spike opened one eye to peer at her.

"The one who seeks you is already dead."





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