Buffy jerked and eeped, a loud crash and gruff curses startling her out of a deep sleep. She blinked and frowned, squinting at her surroundings through sleep swollen eyelids, then yawned and stretched as she recognised her lounge room and the gold velvet couch she was lying on. She could hear Spike swearing in the kitchen, something about ‘sodding slippery plates’ and ‘bloody stupid floor tiles’ and grinned affectionately. What did it say about her that the sound of English profanities seemed to wrap a blanket of safety and security around her happy little psyche? Weird!
She was sorely tempted to snuggle back down under the fluffy throw and grab a few more zzz’s, but the pale light filtering through the curtains signalled the approaching dusk. She and Spike had work to do tonight, so the extra sleep was going to have to wait. They were taking a group of six Slayers out on patrol, driving up to Dartford in the mini van to stake out three of the cemeteries there
The trip formed part of their official teaching duties at the Academy. Which still freaked Buffy out somewhat. A teacher! God, she hadn’t even completed her undergraduate degree and now she was responsible for shaping the hearts and minds (well mainly the bodies) of a generation of young women. Even Spike was more qualified than she was, what with his first class honours degree from Oxford, although that was probably past its use by date.
And at least she had some experience working with teenagers. She had been employed as the guidance councillor at Sunnydale High after all, although, to be honest, she had no idea how or why Robin had appointed her to such a worthy position. And of course she and Spike had worked with, or more accurately put up with, the potentials in Sunnydale. And then there was Dawn! Probably the less said about her pseudo parenting efforts the better! All in all, pretty meagre credentials Buffy had to admit, particularly as most of those experiences she would list on the negative side of the ledger. Whatever, she knew how to fight, she knew how to train, both for armed and hand to hand combat, the reality was, she and Spike were the most qualified for the job.
And so far, that job was going extremely well. Physical Education at Ashdown Academy was a little different than the subject offered to most teenagers. But it was custom designed for young slayers. They’d settled into a routine of sorts, well as much as you can when the roll continued to increase by at least 100 students per week. They were up over 500 now, and an extra 103 girls had arrived two days earlier, given a week to get settled into the very overcrowded dormitories before they started in with their studies.
The classes were big, around 32 girls per group, but behaviour was never a problem. The girls wanted to train, needed to. With 15 classes (and growing) to teach, coverage was a problem. They’d worked out a schedule where they saw each group once a week to go over their training schedules, introduce new techniques, and supervise combat. They also oversaw four other staff members, including field Watchers Armand and Greg, who oversaw the combat classes, and two local martial arts experts, who taught Aikido and Kendo classes. On top of that, each girl was expected to undertake daily independent fitness workouts including running, gym work, t’ai chi, and swimming.
They had contracted another two instructors to provide Capoeira and Fencing lessons starting mid term. But a huge issue at the moment was space, how to find enough room to take each class simultaneously. It was okay while the weather was warm enough to train outside, but it was getting colder and wetter all the time – soon they’d run out of places to squeeze the girls in.
Xander had been working on solutions to the housing and classroom shortages as fast as he could. He’d contracted a modular building company to build two accommodation blocks, two classroom blocks and a large hall/gymnasium/library/staffroom complex. Xander, Willow and Ashley had worked hard to select a range of plans and sites that would disrupt Ashdown’s unique environment as little as possible. Luckily, there were plenty of flat sites surrounding the main building that required little in the way of tree felling or site preparation.
One of the accommodation blocks was going up at the moment, on a patch of land across from the Lodge. The modules were built and outfitted off site and then trucked to Ashdown, where they were craned into position. Buffy wasn’t usually much of a constructiony sort of girl, but even she had to admit it was kind of fascinating, and uber fast. The first modules had been laid down the previous week, in a kind of L shape, and already they were setting the fourth storey modules in place. Two more floors, the roof and the exterior cladding would complete the outside. With just the plumbing and power to connect after that, the contractors were guaranteeing that it would be ready for action by the end of the following week. All of the fitted furnishings were already in place, so the bedrooms only needed mattresses and bedding to make them livable.
Each floor would house 100 girls in 50 share bedrooms, each fitted with an en-suite and a study space. The bottom floor had a large dining room, capable of catering for all 500 residents, an awesome gym that Buffy had helped outfit and a large lounge room/conference space. They’d decided that the block, nicknamed Xena Hall by the girls, would house the senior girls, giving them the opportunity to be a bit more independent and a little less squished. This would mean more room in the dorms for the younger girls that were constantly pouring in, a necessity given that the main house was starting to look like a much larger, but equally overcrowded version of Casa Summers 2003.
As soon as that project was ticked off, the company would start on the first of the three storey, 15 classroom, teaching blocks, again built in modules offsite and trucked in. That was going in on the large field next to the East Wing, a space big enough for another matching teaching block as well as another accommodation block. The construction company must be rubbing its hands in glee. Buffy hoped that Amazon’s pockets were deep enough to pay for all this work, although Willow had explained that the company itself, Wilmott something-or-other Construction, had signed on as Academy’s sponsor, and as such, was helping to fund the cost of the project.
At the same time, the large square base of the gymnasium and hall was going in directly opposite the main building. This project was more complex and so would be slower to complete, although once the base was finished, the modular units for the second storey library, staffroom and I.T. suites would go up pretty quickly. Soon, Ashdown was going to start looking like a real school, although an utterly single sex one.
Buffy was pretty sure that the shortage of males around the place was one of the many reasons that P.E. was so popular. Most of the instructors were guys, and they were all in fine condition. Despite being a vampire, or maybe that was an added extra, who knew, Spike had all the little girlies besotted. In fact, just as besotted as the hot Italian and Australian Watchers (damn, they didn’t make them like that in her day!) or the hunky Martial Arts dudes did. To the point that, she had to regularly blast the bolder girls with her super Slayer death glare, just to get them to back off her man.
Despite that, she loved her job. She got to work out, practice fight moves and kick butt on a daily basis. Not bad for an almost 5 months pregnant older chick. Since the protection spell had taken affect two and a half weeks previous, she’d been full out sparring. Although her centre of balance had shifted and she moved a little more slowly, she had an added advantage that the younger girls didn’t know about. She was practically invulnerable in a combat situation.
When she and Spike had awoken from their little protection ritual catnap, they’d both felt incredibly buzzy and glowy, full of energy and high on life. They’d both had the same thought at the same time, eyes connecting and communicating their need for one another. But, first they’d had to set their worried friends’ minds at rest, reassure them that the spell had been cast, and by none other than Atar and Sineya themselves. This had gone some way towards soothing the others, who’d had to nervously wait out quite a lengthy period of unplanned coma from the two warriors, unsure about whether things had gone wrong and if Buffy and Spike were in deadly peril or not.
Only Althanea had remained calm, insuring that everyone remain in their places in the circle, each focusing on their role, repeating their invocations, reassuring them that Buffy and Spike were fine, that undoubtedly the ritual was working more thoroughly than they had envisioned. The duo’s awakening had been sudden and startling in its level of excitement and animation, and the two certainly seemed well enough, if not a little frisky and energetic. So Giles had let them leave, on the understanding that they would meet the next day to get their baseline readings checked and test out the parameters of the spell’s efficacy.
Buffy and Spike had grinned and nodded before tearing out of the building like twin tornados. They’d raced one another back to their apartment, laughing and whooping the whole way. They’d begun peeling their clothes off even before the front door was shut and locked. Stumbling through to the bedroom had taken longer than necessary, impatient hands, lips and tongues seeking out the sizzling touch of flesh, the sleek stroke of muscle, the hardened knot of nipple. Finally they’d made their way to the bed, Spike succumbing to Buffy’s hunger, falling back onto the covers.
He’d lain there, propped up on one elbow as he lazily stroked himself, watching the gorgeous sexy vixen at the bottom of his bed as he drew his foreskin back and forth across his swollen glans. Buffy’s eyes were sparkling with lust, drinking in Spike’s arousal as she ran her hands over her swollen breasts, kneading the areola, so enlarged and darkened by pregnancy and sexual heat, plucking at her distended nipples. She’d roughly lifted one breast towards her mouth, extending her wicked tongue to flick over the teat, sucking it into her mouth, before releasing it with a pop. Her hands had drifted down, over her rounded bump, caressing it, revelling in the changes to her body that pregnancy had wrought. For such a petite girl, the growing curves and softness had been somewhat liberating, and she felt sexier than ever.
Buffy had really gotten off on the girl power thing that night and it had made Spike hot, to see her so aggressive, so in control, knowing exactly what she wanted and how to get it. Spike had seen that the slayer in Buffy was in the driver’s seat and he’d trembled as he’d recognised more than a touch of Sineya shimmering in his girl’s eyes, the arrogance, the cruelty. At a look and a flick of her head, Spike had drawn up his heels, knees bent and splayed. He was on display for her, cock, balls and arse spread out for her to see and approve of. Part of him got off on the vulnerability he was gifting her, lying there offering himself to her.
Buffy’s hands had drifted lower, gliding over the vibrant marking that shielded her from harm, heading further south where she sunk them into her overheated pussy. Slipping, sliding, flicking and thrusting, she brought herself to a shuddering release before drawing out the two nectar-coated fingers that had been buried deep inside her quim. She’d held them aloft, kneeling carefully onto the bed and shuffling towards Spike. He’d shivered as she’d looked down on him, then adjusted himself, opening himself up further by hooking his legs over each arm and laying back. He’d shivered again as he felt the slide of her slippery fingertips over his arsehole, partly in fear, but mostly in unbridled excitement. He’d felt the pressure and then the thrust as her fingers slipped past the trembling muscles and deep into his hot tunnel.
Unerringly her fingers had found his prostate, ramming against it repeatedly as she’d fucked him, no time for niceties or slow and easy, both of them consumed by a burning passion, desperate for connection, for release. It had taken very little, the first half dozen thrusts pumping pre-cum out of his untouched cock as he’d lain there twitching and moaning, clutching the bedcovers in anticipation. Another six and he’d cum, howling, spurting, four, five shots, spraying his face, his chest, each one burning its way up and out of his shaft as Buffy had kept on pummeling his arse, even as he’d clenched his cheeks tightly around her slick fingers.
Finally he’d collapsed and her fingers had slowed to a gentle slide, her soft stroking of his prostate reawakening his arousal. Buffy had been agitated, desperate for her own pleasure. The scent of her wet pussy perfumed the air and heat and energy seemed to radiate out of her like a sun burst as she slipped her fingers out and pulled Spike’s legs back together. She’d knelt up and straddled him, her glistening juices sparkling like dew on her labia. She’d grasped his rigid prick and dunked the head in her juices before using it like a vibrator, diddling it against her engorged clit, driving herself to a rapid orgasm.
Her cum had really revved his motor up again and he’d taken himself back in hand, steadying Buffy with one hand on her hip. Holding his erection Spike had lined himself up and pushed, moaning at the exquisite feeling of Buffy's pussy stretching, stretching and oozing over the crown, sliding down to the flared ridge.
“Oh God!” he’d moaned as the Slayer’s swollen pussy snapped over his crown, gripping him tightly, in its velvety smooth warmth. His cock had throbbed wildly, responding to the heat and excitement of penetrating her again. So good, so incredibly hot. He’d had to pause to collect his breath, calm himself; fight back the huge urge to thrust into her, bury himself in her sexy little pussy. But he needn’t have worried; Buffy was moaning wildly, more desperate for completion than he, and had slipped into high gear. Spike had shifted a little, bending his knees and bracing his feet flat against the bed. He’d reached up and grabbed her arms, angling his cock so that he could hit her g-spot, all the while anchoring her to him so that he could increase the level of friction and velocity. Then he’d held her tight as he began to thrust into her repeatedly, slamming their two bodies against each other.
She’d screamed long and loud, her sheath clutching him in agonising, amazing spasms as a hot clear liquid squirted out of her pussy and all over his groin. Spike had momentarily worried that it was something to do with the baby but his nose had told him that it was just sex, pure sex, and Buffy’s utter, utter enjoyment of their connection. Besides, they were safe now, their baby was safe, and there was something totally liberating in that knowledge, the type of unconditional security that maybe allowed them to let go in a way they’d never done so before.
At that thought, Spike had rolled her over, pounding into her overheated wetness as she’d keened and writhed beneath him. With a roar, his demon had come out to play, game face on and fangs out, while below his cock thickened and lengthened as it slid urgently within his Slayer’s wet cunt. He’d pulled himself down against her, sharp nails clutching her to him, as he’d run his roughened tongue along her neck. The sense of belonging and intimacy and union overwhelmed him and he growled before sinking his teeth into her flesh, the sharp, sweet, rich taste of her lifeblood flooding his senses with fire and love and life. One deep, nourishing swallow and one long, tender lave later and they’d both climaxed loudly and satisfyingly.
Later, they’d lain in one another’s arms, talking quietly about that astonishing experience and the connection between it and the protection ritual. Both had sensed the presence of their Divine Guardian.
“Do you think Atar and Sineya have ever gotten it on?” Buffy mused.
“I don’t know if they go in much for bodily acts,” Spike replied, “being Gods and all. But it’d be a sad mistake to miss out on the heavenly delight that comes from joining with your other half, just because you think yourself above such carry on.”
“Well, if we happen to meet up with them again, I’ll be sure to pass on your wise advice.” Buffy had giggled as she’d imagined their expressions. Despite their stern, aloof demeanours, something told her that Sineya and Atar each knew a thing or two about fiery passion. They’d both drifted off to sleep with smiles on their faces and light in their souls.
Giles had put them through a bank of tests the following day, using hands, fists, feet and knives. They could still hit one another, the punches and kicks were still right on target, but the impact felt somehow muffled, as if they were wearing lightweight armour or wrapped up in wadding, like walking around in that big old padded suit that Xander used to wear when he was role-playing punching bag for Buffy. Likewise, the impact from a fall, or even from being slammed against a hard surface, seemed dampened; a faint echo of the normal force. Knife injuries were shallow, only slicing through the top layer of the skin, and stabbing actions were unable to penetrate deeper than an eighth of an inch. Although they needed to see if the results would be consistent under genuine battle conditions, it seemed likely they were both safe from harm.
Buffy’s main post-protection spell worry now involved what would happen if she needed a C-section to deliver her baby. Maybe Cat wouldn’t be able to cut through her uterus, or even her skin. Although, Buffy giggled to herself, remembering the way his fangs had slid effortlessly into her flesh the night of the spell, maybe Spike could nibble his way through. Ew, shades of Caligula! All the more reason to hope she could deliver naturally.
As if sensing her focus, her little lodger started tap dancing on her abdominal wall. Buffy placed her palm on her abdomen, still exhilarated by the recent development of being able to feel the baby’s kicks. Just then Spike walked into the room, carefully balancing a tray laden with cups, a teapot, a plate stacked high with toast and a pot of jam and a jar of peanut butter.
“Evening luv. You’re up I see. Little bit wake you with his moves did he? Like as not the lad knows his Mum and Da are off for a bit of action tonight and is readying himself to join in.”
He set the tray down on the coffee table and perched on the edge of the couch, pressing his hand against Buffy’s bump, a delighted grin gracing his face as the child’s spins and kicks vibrated through his palm.
“Got an awesome left foot on him doesn’t he? Gonna be a great little fighter I’d wager, and no doubt handy with a football and all?”
“Spike, he might be a she and you’re gonna give her a complex with all this talk of gender. Our kid’ll be great with fighting and soccer no matter whether a boy or a girl. And anyway, if you weren’t being so stubborn, we’d know for sure what we were having tomorrow.”
Buffy was due for her twenty week scan the following day, and Cat had offered them the opportunity to find out the baby’s gender. Buffy was keen to know, but Spike was weirdly offended by modern technology’s ability to provide a sneak preview of their family’s make up.
“Now pet, you know that’s like cheating, and probably bad luck and all. And it doesn’t really matter ‘cos we’ll love the nipper whether pink or blue. And anyway, I already know we’re having a boy, so why bother.”
“You know Spike,” Buffy said as she sat up and reached for a piece of toast, slathering it with plum jam before cramming a large bite into her mouth, “that set of arguments is totally contradictory and doesn’t even make sense. I think the real reason is because you’re so ancient that can’t deal with stuff that’s not traditional, meaning more modern than the 19th century. You’re gonna have to get with the updated programme if you wanna be a new age Dad.”
“Who says I wanna be a sodding poofy, new age wuss. Evil Big Bad here if you’ve forgotten.” He bristled under Buffy’s criticisms no matter how in jest. “And while I’m at it, next time I go to use that tray, remind me to set a cloth on it first. It’s as slippery as a frog’s bollocks without one,” he growled.
Buffy’s tinkling laugh filled the room and she snuggled up to her grumpy vampire as they drank tea and ate their supper. It was a quick bite to eat, then they grabbed jackets and weapons and wandered over to the car park to meet the girls. All six girls were seniors, and completing their final year of studies. They all piled into the van and Spike drove out of the Estate, turned the van right onto Coleman’s Hatch, and headed north east for the M25. Not that Buffy knew what that was. She hadn’t got behind the wheel of a car since she’d arrived in England, a fact that she knew everyone, including secretly, herself, was highly relieved about.
Quite apart from not knowing where anything was, the whole driving on the wrong side of the road freaked her out. She had enough trouble staying on the right side of the road as it was without the right side being the wrong side. Or the left side. Whatever! Anyway, who needed to drive when you had a built in chauffeur, right? She just sat back and relaxed, letting the chatter and laughter of the girls wash over her.
One of the girls in this group, Khatia, was from Georgia, which, Buffy was surprised to hear, was a small, mountainous country between Russia and Turkey and not just a state in the U.S. Who knew? As the girls began to share pre Ashdown slay-tales, bragging about various big bad smack downs, most of which seemed to amount to little more than having been able to outrun various things of a supernatural nature, the little Georgian began to explain, in her halting English, some of the strange occurrences that had been taking place before Shannon and Andrew’s Recruitment Team had rolled into her neck of the woods.
Khatia came from the small port city of Poti, on the Eastern Shores of the Black Sea. The political situation in Georgia was pretty tense, but Buffy zoned out during most of the young Slayer’s explanation of the background to that. Politics wasn’t really her thing. Or history. Or geography. When it came down to it, slaying was more her thing. So she didn’t take too much more notice until Khatia began talking about the weird goings-on that had begun taking place in a mountain range in the state of Abkhazia, goings-on that were being described by media as somehow linked to a resurgence of civil espionage, but which were, according to the Georgian slayer more mystical than political.
Small parties of men had been spotted travelling up into the mountains and then just disappearing altogether. Then without explanation, a different group of men would appear, coming down from the high plateaux as if they had appeared out of nowhere. In each instance, these men were armed, and kitted out in camo gear, hence the suspicion of military involvement.
But Khatia suspected a more supernatural connection. A friend of her family was one of the small, exclusive group of mountain guides, and they’d had compared notes; the trips were apparently one way, and there seemed to be no logical or earthly explanation for the phenomenon. One or two of the braver guides had ventured a polite query or two, but they had been rebuffed. The suspects had definitely appeared human, but with a cold, almost malevolent air about them that ‘felt’ wicked. Demonic.
The occupants of the van were quiet, all eight of them, as they pondered what sort of trick could cause grown men to simply vanish or appear at will. But at that moment Spike pulled into a parking area next to a set of wrought iron gates, so their musings were abandoned. The sign in front of them, lit up by the van headlights, read ‘Watling Street Cemetery”.
“Right ladies,” Spike said as he killed the ignition and the lights, and swivelled in his seat, “we’re in Dartford. Been a few suspicious deaths in these parts of late. Which is right stupid if you ask me, given how close Dartford is to the newly established Slayer Central. Either we’re doing a better job than I would have suspected of staying under cover, or otherwise these blokes are a bunch of right gits.” Buffy grinned and gave him an encouraging wink, but the little girls in the back just stared and nodded.
“Okay, so this is a lawn cemetery, plain flat layout, headstones laid out in boring little rows, no flair, no beauty; nothing like one of the Magnificent Seven.” The girls frowned and shrugged. “Ah you philistines, I’ll have to squeeze one into next Term’s schedule, maybe Highgate or Kensal Green. Those places are glorious, more like a cross between a museum and a nature reserve than a boneyard, full of gloriously Gothic tombs and vaults, fancy tombstones and mausoleums, all set in acres of woodlands. Mind you, you won’t get any fledglings at those places, burial space ran out years ago. But lots of vamps like to hang out there with all the rich and famous. Good place for a hunt when you’re a bit more experienced.”
“So just newbies tonight Spike?” Buffy asked so as to clarify things for the girls.
“All I’m expecting, less the boss man himself turns up. Not that that’s likely. Should be fairly straightforward. Nowhere much to hide in here, ‘cept behind a tree or two. Right, stakes everyone and out you get. Lets hop to.”
They jumped out and Spike locked the van, and the small party walked along the street, passed the locked gates until they came to the little low fence that separated the cemetery grounds from the footpath. Checking that the street was clear, they stepped over the fence and into the cemetery itself. Spike led the way, while Buffy brought up the rear, the entire party silent and serious as they entered the hallowed grounds.
Night had fallen by this stage, drawing its dark curtain across the sky, but the half moon, sitting low on the horizon, threw its pale, watery beams upon the various headstones and memorials, draping the lonely sentinels in its soft glow, and granting the hunting party just enough light to navigate by.
The grounds were large and they had no idea where the new interments were situated, so they began to wander up and down the numerous rows, carefully seeking out freshly turned sods. Eventually, in a large section about two thirds of the way towards the back, they came across two new plots, side by side and one other four rows over. All three plots looked like they’d been covered over just that day, the rich peaty soil used to backfill the gaps between the blocks of carefully re-laid turf standing out like a dark grid in the moonlight.
As they drew near, the baby slayers became agitated, their senses picking up on something untoward, something wacky. They knew that the creepy, tingly sensation was code for ‘vampires present, ones that aren’t Spike!’ but they assumed incorrectly that the vamps in question were those lying restlessly beneath the earth, waiting impatiently to be rebirthed, ready to burst forth from their womblike caskets when they were least expected. The girls readied themselves, a nervous host of midwives, eagerly anticipating their first deliveries.
While the interns got themselves into position, spreading out into circles, four girls surrounding the double plot and other two staking out the single, Buffy caught Spike’s eye and nodded. The two veterans moved slowly towards the small stand of trees that separated this section of the cemetery from the main area, his easy-going gait and her relaxed mien broadcasting an air of calm insouciance to the casual observer. Or the evil, bloodsucking, undead observer. Whichever.
But, as they say, appearances are only skin-deep. Beneath Buffy’s golden tan and Spike’s flawless dermis, muscles were tense, blood was pumping and adrenaline was surging. The two warriors were ready for action, no matter what direction it might come from.
And when it finally came, it did so suddenly, a half dozen vamps exploding out of the copse like shrapnel from a booby trap. Two apiece engaged Buffy and Spike, the other two heading for the larger group of baby slayers. It had been months since Buffy had had any real action, the battle against Cyvus the Creepy her last real combat. For Spike it had been even longer, the Hellmouth Battle had been four and a half months ago. Sure they were both still fit and fight worthy, their daily training sessions keeping them in peak form, but it wasn’t the same as the down and dirty of a genuine vamp attack.
There was of course no time to for Buffy to examine her reactions, to wonder whether her jangling nerves were singing with fear or excitement, or a combination of the two. She simply swung into action, her left arm blocking the Preppy Vamp who was attempting to throw a well-controlled right hook at her, while she delivered a solid kick to the chin of the Stoner Vamp who had launched himself at her in an enthusiastic but sloppy dive. The short fight continued in much the same vein, Buffy joyfully fending off most of the vamps’ inexperienced moves as her kicks and quips hit home. Very few of their blows hit the mark, and those that did seemed ineffectual, painless. A flurry of punches, a couple of spinning kicks and a deadly accurate thrust later and Stoner was dust, while Preppy was fighting for his dapper undead hide.
Being able to fight, without the restraints she had to place on herself during training, flooded her body with purpose and delight. This was what she was made for, and she was finally ready to admit how much she loved the hunt, the fight, the kill. A glance in Spike’s direction told a similar tale, his shouts of glee and graceful, deadly moves clearly communicating his enjoyment. But the noise and chaotic melee that came from the direction of the double plot painted a more desperate picture. One of the girls was down; a vamp crouched over her while he fended off the slayer who was trying to drag him away from her friend. The other vamp was trading blows with a third girl, while Khatia was struggling with two other vamps, the newborns Buffy realised, a middle aged couple with a ravenous look in their eyes. Behind her, the final girls were fending off their own baby vamp, a teenage girl.
Realising it was time to stop playing and get over to help the others she threw a quick left jab into Preppy’s gut, then a right handed uppercut into the side of his jaw as he bent over. The move spun him around and knocked him off balance, and onto his hands and knees. Buffy leapt nimbly astride him and drove her stake down through his Burberry clad back and straight into his heart. She leapt up and was already half a dozen steps away before his dust sifted down onto the ground.
Things became a little chaotic after that. She and Spike could have taken on and despatched the six plus the three newborns in the blink of an eye had they been alone, but having the baby slayers along complicated matters. Buffy was torn between wading in and taking over and giving them the chance to fight, to prove themselves. She took a few seconds to evaluate the situation.
One girl, Meg possibly, Buffy thought, was still down, bleeding heavily from a gash on her forehead. But the vamp who’d been hovering over her was up and fighting for his life, one on one with the Scottish girl, Rowena, while the second vamp and Genevieve were going head to head. Khatia in the meantime was holding her own against the hungry but disorientated Mr and Mrs Undead. The girls were doing well, but the scent of Slayer blood had the vamps in a frenzy and they were circling the young slayers like a pack of sharks.
Just as Buffy threw herself into the fray, all hell broke lose. Genevieve managed to drive her stake into her opponent’s chest, missing the heart but causing him to scream in pain and fall, writhing, to the ground. Taking advantage of the minor distraction, Khatia leapt on the vamp husband and thrust her stake home, accurately as it turned out, and he disappeared in a puff of dust. As she scrambled to her knees, coughing up the mouthful of ash she’d inhaled, Mrs Vamp began a high pitched wailing, which was immediately echoed by an anguished scream of “Daddy” coming from the nearby trees.
A pretty, blonde Essex girl came dashing out of the shadows, tearing herself away from a shadowy figure that hung back. The girl sped across the cemetery and pounced on Khatia’s back, the two of them rolling around on the ground as they hit and scratched and landed the odd glancing punch, a challenge at such close quarters.
In the meantime, Spike had helped the other two girls dispose of their newbie, and all three of them ran over to join the main action. The girls immediately checked on Meg, dragging her towards the edge of the fight circle once they established she was breathing but out cold. Spike on the other hand leapt in boots and all, kicking Rowena’s vamp in the pants so that he lost his balance and stumbled forward, directly onto the little girl’s stake. He whooped in delight and stepped forward to high five the stunned little Scot on her first real slay. Meanwhile, Genevieve had managed to re-stake her vampire, cleanly this time, putting him out of his misery.
Khatia and the leggy blonde vampire were still battling it out, both upright now and throwing wild punches, Khatia’s from exhaustion, the vamp’s from excess emotion, tears streaming down her face as she screamed and berated the Slayer who’d dusted her father. Indifferent to the messed up family reunion that was playing out, Buffy hadn’t hesitated, dispassionately staking the confused looking vampire who had just lost her husband. The blonde wailed again, and leapt at Buffy.
“You bitch! You killed my mother, you fucking bitch,” she screamed as she traded punches with the slayer. “I can’t believe you did that, killing my Mummy in front of my very eyes. How could you? And you about to become a mother yourself!” she ranted, indicating Buffy’s swollen abdomen. “How could you be so heartless?”
“I hate to break it too you Blondie,” Buffy said, “but we didn’t off your folks. Somebody got to them before we did. They were already dead you stupid bint. We just reminded them, just like I’m about to remind you.” The Slayer had grabbed hold of the girl’s shirt and dragged her closer, readying her stake arm for the final thrust, when she heard a whoosh from behind her and suddenly, strong arms and sharp nails yanked her back, away from the blonde and hard up against a solid chest.
“Drop the stake Slayer,” a masculine voice rasped in her ear, the slight lisp indicating his fangs were out and he meant business. The tingles running up and down her neck played a deep seated, discordant tattoo against her spine. This guy was no fledgling, he was old, experienced and very wily. Buffy let the stake loose, and it dropped to the ground. She could feel the vampire relax marginally, but his hands were like steel bands across her arms and chest and the slight scrape of fang on neck declared his unwillingness to back down.
“Right folks, so this is what’s going to happen. Mandy and I are going to walk out of here and you’re going to let us. Our passport is this tasty little morsel here,” he growled, shaking Buffy lightly, “and I’m sure you wouldn’t want anything to happen to her or her young’un,” he said, running his left hand down over her belly.
Spike was growling, his body vibrating with rage, but the vamp-napper seemed oblivious, or at least indifferent to the master vamp’s status or wrath.
“Right now, come here baby. Randy will make it all better.” The blonde, still snivelling and hiccupping tottered towards her partner, while Buffy caught Spike’s eye, the two of them shaking and spluttering with barely suppressed humour. Spike tried, but he couldn’t hold it in.
“Mandy and Randy? Mandy and Randy! You’ve got to be fucking kidding mate!”
Randy roared his displeasure and tightening his hold on Buffy, began backing up slowly, dragging the amused Slayer along with him. She was still chuckling and shaking her head in disbelief as she stumbled along. Mandy brought up the rear, which was a definite strategic oversight that Randy had failed to consider until too late. A swift, fatal whistle of displaced air was the only warning they had before Mandy disintegrated into a sprinkling of dust, the stake Spike had thrown with such deadly accuracy passing through the Mandy-shaped cloud and bouncing harmlessly off Buffy’s chest.
“You, fucking, fucking, traitorous bastard,” Randy screamed. “You’ll pay for that. See how you like it.”
With that proclamation, he wrenched Buffy’s neck to the side and sunk his fangs deep into her flesh, readying himself to rip and tear and drown his sorrows in the rich, heady elixir of Slayer blood. But something was wrong; she felt like rubber, tasted like fire and smelt like doom. Distracted by such a puzzling, disquieting quandary, Randy neither saw nor heard Spike slip behind him or and he uttered no more than a sad, gentle sigh as the wood slid smoothly into his back, between his ribs and pierced his long dormant heart.
“Ew,” Buffy screeched as Randy’s ashes sprinkled down over her back, shoulder and neck, with some even ending up in her cleavage. “Oh my God,” she shuddered, “that is so wrong. Get him off me Spike, now. Couldn’t you have pulled him away from me first before you dusted him?” And she began leaping about, brushing and flapping her clothes and shaking herself like a wet dog.
“Was a bit too busy worrying about the state of your neck, what with him gnawing at it and all. By the looks of things, I shouldn’t have bothered.”
Sure enough, Buffy’s neck was blemish free, no sign at all that a set of sharp and pointies had been anywhere near her.
“Weird,” she shrugged. “Guess the protection spell really does work huh?”
“Hmm. Just like full-body armour I guess, and just as tasty judging by the look on that vamp’s face. Priceless.”
“And he was called Randy,” she chortled. “Come on baby, take me home, I really need a shower. Then maybe you can show your little Joan what Randy marque one had hiding under all that tweed.” She winked and sashayed towards the girls, congratulating them on their moves and the slays they’d made, and checking on a groaning but conscious Meg as the others filled her in on the action she’d missed.
Spike shook his head in bemusement. Throughout the whole ordeal, Buffy had barely fluttered an eyelash, confident in their ability to overcome any threat. He hadn’t been so sure, the dude running his hand over her belly and sinking his fangs into her throat had been enough to almost stop his newly beating heart. But she was right, the spell had kept her safe, utterly free from harm, and it was certainly a great test drive of the shield’s limits and magnitude. It was fairly effective, he had to admit. Interesting, that it allowed his bite, but repelled one delivered with harmful intent. No doubt Rupert would find that titbit fascinating, if and when he did the show and tell.
Sighing, he made his way over to the noisy revellers, each proudly relating her accomplishments to the others. It would be a raucous journey back to Ashdown no doubt, but they deserved their moment of glory, each girl had acquitted herself well, and they’d achieved their objective and some. Time to get his baby home. Time to show her once again how much he loved her, worshipped her and came alive in her glow. Time to celebrate once again the life they had, the life they made. Whistling as he led his troop towards the van, he decided that all in all, tonight had been a pretty damn good night.