Bloody. Fucking. Hell! How in God’s name had this happened? Niblet was gone, nobody knew where or how, just gone, vanished! And now his Buffy, his precious love?
All afternoon, he’d been frantically tearing around the fucking countryside, trying to track Bit down. He and the Watcher had been besides themselves; first in anger that the little madam had obviously spirited herself off for the afternoon, pulled a sickie to get out of class, gone off with some mate, worse still with some bleeding little tosser, keen to get his end away with his girl; then in ever increasing fear, as each of their leads had come to a dead end.
They’d left Rupert’s car at the school and spent hours, simply hours just driving, the old man checking in with Xander every half hour to see if she’d turned up home. The school hadn’t been much bloody help either, refused to give out names or numbers or even say whether or not any other students had done a bunk. Police were no better, spouting some shit about how a person has to be missing for 24 hours before they could act, how teenagers go walk about all the time and turn up perfectly fine.
They’d headed back for home at about 7 o’clock, not given up, just regrouping, gettin’ the witches on board, gettin’ some food into Rupert before he fell down. Knew Buffy must be beside herself by then, was probably tearing the place down in frustration and worry.
Was about half a mile from Ashdown he’d felt it, the bond between him and Buffy sliding away, dissipating just like that. He was already so distraught, so wrung out that he didn’t know what to make of it, other than the stress somehow sending it wonky. Didn’t seem right, but nothing seemed right with Dawn missing. And all he wanted to do was get home, wrap himself around Buffy, give and receive the strength they both needed to get back out there and find her.
Crossed his mind briefly, terrifyingly, that Buffy might have checked out again, like she did that time that Glory took Bit. He wondered if that might bugger up their connection; unravel it from her end, if she was somewhat unravelled herself. But before he’d had time to ponder it much he was home, pulling into his car park, with Rupert right behind him.
It hadn’t taken more than a minute or two to realize she was nowhere in sight, not in their unit nor in the lounge where the others were all gathered, Scooby Central, gearing up for the crisis. But it wasn’t until he asked the question that all hell broke loose, spewing out confusion, denial, and fear with it. It was that one question that did it, anxiety tossing it out there before anyone even had a chance to ask about the latest on the hunt for Dawn.
“Where’s Buffy?”
It wasn’t said calmly, in an everyday voice. It was said urgently, panic crinkling up the edges of the syllables.
There was a moment of silence, of stillness; eyes and mouths gaping incomprehensibly. During that moment, there was still hope; there was still possibility. And then Xander stood up, pushed back his chair, shook his head, uttered the words he was dreading.
“I, I thought she was with you!”
Voices rose and fell, people leapt up and dashed wildly about, opening doors and calling her name. Chaos reigned. And all the while, Spike sat, slumped in a nearby chair, terror flooding his mind and immobilizing his body. Giles and Xander stood at the room’s centre, their quiet conversation tracking back through the day, to the point where it must have happened, where they’d lost track of his precious girl, lost her and their child both.
The Scoobies started throwing out all sorts of fanciful theories, about how maybe she’d gone for a walk and gotten lost, how maybe she’d set off to look for Dawn herself, how maybe she had an appointment she’d not told anyone about, and then her tyre had gone flat, and her phone.
Spike, sunk deep into a pit of despair, listened silently to their desperate speculation. He instantly discarded each suggestion, but was forced to spectate the torturous process of back and forth until they eventually arrived at the same conclusion. Time after time, through each implausible scenario, until they’d finally worked their way laboriously through denial and towards alarm, fear. And still they didn’t know the full story.
“Right,” Red offered, “I’ll go and get set up for a locator spell. We’ll track her down in no time.”
“Won’t do no good.” Spike said, finally stirred himself out of his stupor. “She’s gone, lost. May, maybe even,” he began stuttering between huge gasps of air, “maybe even …” He couldn’t go on, couldn’t utter the word that was resonating through his mind, obliterating any other thought. Anguished and terrified, Spike did something he’d rarely done in front of the Scoobies en masse before, he broke down and wept, fat tears wending their way silently down his cheeks.
The others were shocked, so caught up in their concern and confusion that they’d failed to notice how quiet and detached Spike had been. They knew that Buffy’s disappearance, Dawn’s too, would be affecting him even more than it did them, each and everyone of them accepting at last of the vampire’s very real love and devotion for both girls.
Giles and Xander did an admirable job of squashing the initial feelings of annoyance and denial they’d felt at Spike’s misery, their kneejerk reactions no more than that now, a worthless and mean spirited habit born out of years of conflict and distrust. They both knew Spike was different now, that what he and Buffy had was real. And Important. And more than that, they’d each of them, in his own way, come to quite like the vampire that had once been such a deadly nemesis. Their fears for Buffy and Dawn were very real, but their concern for Spike was almost as strong. And neither of them was afraid to show it anymore.
While the girls were fussing and cooing over him, warming up some blood, making coffee, grabbing tissues, the two men moved in synchrony, Xander heading to the sideboard to pour Spike a glass of neat scotch and Giles to lay a steadying hand on his shoulder, before pulling up a couple of chairs on either side of him. The Watcher took his seat, and Xander, after going back to swipe another two glasses and the decanter, followed tack.
“Shit, man, I’m sorry. We’ll get this sorted; get them both back safe and sound. We’re,” Xander paused, a wave of emotion sweeping over him, “We’re here for you man.”
This heartfelt assurance, from the most unlikely of allies, broke through Spike’s anguish, and after taking a huge slug of his whiskey, he raised his red eyes and looked at each of the men in turn. “Thanks guys. Appreciate this, really.”
“We’re family Spike,” Giles said sincerely, “It’s what we’re here for. And we are going to get through this. Now, tell me, why are you so sure that Buffy is lost as you put it?”
“Felt the connection snap didn’t I, just before I turned into the driveway. Couldn’t work it out at the time, but knew what it meant the minute I walked through that door and couldn’t sense her presence. Someone’s taken her, just like that dream of hers, and I think they must’ve, they must’ve just ended it, ended … her.” The final word had lurched brokenly from between Spike’s lips, said so quietly, but heard so clearly by all of them. It seemed to resound around the silent room.
Rowan stepped forward from the cluster that she, Oz and the other three women had made. She walked gently towards Spike, kneeling down before him when she got to his chair.
“Spike,” she began softly, waiting until he’d lifted his gaze to hers, “I think there’s a few things you’ve forgotten. Firstly, according to the dream, its seems likely that whoever took Buffy wants the child, and it’s way too early to attempt that yet, so I’m thinking they’ll have Buffy stowed away somewhere. Secondly, in the dream her connection with you was severed, it was a huge part of what freaked her out, but she was still alive, just cut off from you somehow. Finally, I know she’s not indestructible, but the protection spell will keep her, and the baby, safe from most harm. You’ve got to have faith in that.”
A slight glimmer of hope lit Spike’s dazed mien, and Rowan saw him nod almost imperceptibly, but nod nevertheless. She lifted herself up onto Xander’s lap, making herself comfortable for the rest of the telling. “There’s something else Spike, that you may not have thought of.” Rowan continued, her voice gaining in strength as her confidence in her belief grew. “Buffy and I have spoken about this a number of times, both when we first met and more recently. When you were off getting all enlightened, it’s probably fair to say that you were in another dimension, right?”
Spike frowned to himself, then nodded, the curious, expectant look on his face lighting some sort of blaze within him. “Go on pet, got some more thoughts on the matter I see.”
“Well, Buffy couldn’t sense you at all after you’d been sucked into the amulet. She felt you were still alive, or at least not dead-dead, but just somewhere else. But that was mainly because of the dreams. But as soon as you began pouring yourself out of the amulet, before you’d even fully reformed, and well before you’d regained your corporeal state, she could sense you once more.”
Rowan paused, checking that Spike was keeping up with her. He just nodded, signifying that she should go on. The others had drawn closer as well, bringing with them a definite sense of anticipation.
“Now, I know that your connection has grown deeper, stronger since the bite you shared in L.A.” No one even blinked at that, so she pressed on. “Yet even with that strengthened connection, there have been two times, momentary though they might be, when your connection has been disrupted.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Spike said, “When she stepped into the Bit’s portal. Was like she wasn’t on this plane for a fraction of a second, neither here nor there. The portal’s a little like Lewis’ ‘Wood between the Worlds’ I reckon.”
“Hmm, possibly,” Giles added, surprised only momentarily that a notorious vampire would be so familiar with The Chronicles of Narnia. “But I think the point that Rowan is trying to make is that when you step through a portal, for just a fraction of a moment you are not in our dimension, not on our plane of existence, and when that happened to Buffy, your connection could not remain intact.”
“Bloody hell,” Spike surged to his feet, gaping at Giles and Rowan in wonder and excitement. “You think that’s what’s happened to Buffy? She’s somewhere other?”
“I think it’s certainly worth careful consideration,” Giles answered cautiously.
“And I’m going to go out on a limb and say I’m certain of it,” Rowan said firmly. “Spike, even when you were in the Fire Realm, and Buffy couldn’t sense you, I could. Somehow I was able to feel your existence in a way that let me know you were definitely still alive, even if I wasn’t sure where you were. And Spike, I don’t know where Buffy is now, I really don’t. But she’s still alive! I can feel it, faintly but inimitably so. You just have to find her.”
Spike snatched Rowan up and pulled her into a wild embrace, jiggling her up and down as he leapt about. The hope that had deserted him so utterly came flooding back with the force of a tsunami, washing away all of his helplessness and inertia. He was gonna find Buffy and their baby and bring them home, even if he had to search to the ends of the earth.
Finally he let the young witch go. “Thanks pet,” he said humbly, “I owe you more than you could ever know.” He flicked his gaze to a rather bemused Xander, “Fine woman you’ve got here whelp. She’s a keeper for sure.”
“Right people, time to get to work,” he said, stepping back enough to address the whole group. “We’ve got two Summers women to find and a lot of ground to cover. We need to get cracking.”
Getting cracking involved getting some food and blood into the searchers, drawing up a schedule for the next day and organizing themselves into two separate teams. Spike had Giles, Xander, Rowan and Tara on the Buffy team, while Willow, Oz and Andrew, who was turning up in the morning to help with the search, were on Team Dawn. Cat was going to base herself at the Lodge, coordinating communication and resources between the two teams, and organizing slayer backup should either team need it. They all hoped like hell it wouldn’t be needed.
Once that was settled, they sent the pregnant Mums off to bed, knowing that they needed their sleep. Tara went too, Spike sending her a wink as she left the room, and Guardian or no, the darling girl blushed as sweet as ever at his speculative look. That left just the four menfolk to go back over the day’s events, sort out what they did and didn’t know.
The first thing they did was agree that the two sisters had undoubtedly been abducted, more likely by demonic forces than human ones. Whether they’d been taken together, by the same group, or by different agents, it was unclear. They’d not received any communications, no threats or ransom notes, so it was difficult to make any guess on that front.
Whatever the case, they were going to need more manpower than they presently had access to. The baby slayers could supply brute force if and when it was needed, but what they really needed was more experienced researchers and problem solvers. Giles suggested some of the Watchers based at Bromley, Cecil Davis and Gareth Robson, as well as the Academy Principal Anthony Collins. These men seemed perfectly adequate for the more general research required, but they all wanted people who knew them, who were more like family.
Spike suggested Faith right off. She and Buffy had got much closer out in L.A. and he was pretty sure that the dark haired slayer would want to be involved in the hunt for her sister slayer. Willow added Wesley’s name. Spike didn’t know him well, but had heard often enough how the ex Watcher had helped them hunt down the Amulet. Bloke seemed decent enough and would be a good addition to the team looking for Dawn. Willow also wondered about Fred, some scientist bird that worked for Angel, and everyone acquiesced to her knowledge.
No one suggested the big poof himself. Spike knew that Peaches would do anything to find Buffy once he knew she was missing, pull strings and share resources. But bringing him into the mix, having him on one of the teams, it just didn’t seem like a good idea. Besides, he’d undoubtedly blame Spike for her loss, although no more than he was doing so himself right now.
Once it had been decided, Giles put the call through to Angel. Spike hung round to listen in on the conversation. Seemed like the old boy had just got back from some mission involving the demon warlock that owned the amulet. Sounded like the sorcerer was up to his old tricks, pulling Angel’s strings in some way. Anyway, upshot was that both Wes and Faith were there with him and had agreed to come and yes he’d get Fred sorted, get them all on one of Wolfram and Hart’s private jets. They’d be at Gatwick by morning.
That having been organised, Giles and Oz bade he and Xander goodnight and headed off to their women. He’d managed to talk the boy into coming with him, driving the two of them back to the corner of Coleman’s Hatch where he’d dropped Buffy that afternoon, then shadowing him back in the car as Spike walked the route his girl would have taken, trying to pick up any clues that might hint at what had happened.
He brought up his vamp senses and walked slowly, steadily, his nose catching the delicious scent she’d strewn along the road from the moment he stepped out of the car, its bouquet in steady attendance as he followed the path she’d set ten hours previous.
Tears pricked the back of his eyeballs at such a visceral reminder of her presence; that she’d been here, so close to home. But he didn’t allow the moisture to gather; he needed to focus, to use the preternatural eyesight that allowed him to see the landscape in such stark detail, that threw the stones and blades of grass and fallen leaves and cigarette butts and nodding daisies into such clear relief in defiance of the midnight shadows that blanketed them. When even the smallest of objects might provide an all-important clue to Buffy’s whereabouts, Spike couldn’t afford to let sentimentality blur his vision.
He meandered along the road, care and concentration tempering his speed. The perfume of her led him on so that he could almost feel her presence beside him, that if he tipped his head just a little, she’d be there next to him, skipping along in the moonlight, smiling that enigmatic little smile of hers. Exceptin’ of course, the connection was down, that special link that told him more than anything else that his girl was in the world, that she was his.
He wondered at that moment whether he should have strengthened the bond at some stage, claimed Buffy and had her claim him back. He knew they both wanted it, were ready for and desirous of that deeper connection. The pregnancy had held him back, concern over the effects the claim might have on the child cooling his ardor, his yearning for the level of union and commitment the act would bring.
But now he wondered if staying his hand, or his fangs, as the case might be wasn’t the wrong decision. Surely, with a claiming bond in place, he’d have been able to track her, maybe even communicate with her in some way. He’d heard all sorts of freaky shit about the type of benefits a claim could bring, half of it undoubtedly vampire hyperbole or one-upmanship from someone who knew someone who’d claimed someone. Or worse yet, just a bunch of romantic twaddle promulgated by some pathetic, misguided starry-eyed wannabes.
Whatever the advantages might be, it was too late to ponder them now. He’d not gone there – just another black mark in ‘Spike’s Ledger of Regrets and Fuckups’. Still, sitting around marinatin’ in his misgivings wasn’t gonna do a lick of shit in getting’ his girl back. Or Dawn. Action was what was required now, action and a clear head.
The sudden cessation of Buffy’s scent jolted him out of his introspection, bought him back to the here and now. Spike retraced his steps, a half dozen back to where the Slayer’s signature became muddied, tangled with the scent of one, no two others. Males, by the smell of the pheromones, and human ones at that.
Woven in and out of the people scents were a couple of others, the slowly dissipating stench of magic, and a sweet, cloying smell that led Spike to a balled up square of discarded lint cloth. He picked it up and inhaled. The sweet smell was definitely an ether of some sort, and the faint hint of ozone alluded to fluorine. Probably one of the halogenated ethers that they used for anesthesia these days. They’d obviously knocked the slayer out chemically, which considering the alternative wasn’t a bad thing.
Just to be sure, Spike checked scrupulously for any signs of blood, slayer or otherwise. Not a drop could he find, and neither did the site yield up any other physical clues.
Xander had parked the car about twenty yards further up the road, which made the final task somewhat challenging. Spike dropped down onto his hands and knees, drawing in deep wafts of air, trying to sort through the manifold layers of mechanical lubricants and automotive fuels and byproducts, in order to find the most recent. The pungent odors of petrol, engine oil, hydraulic fluid, coolant, carbon monoxide, hydrocarbons and sulfur mingled together in a toxic miasma, hovering above the grass. He was grateful that the hazardous effects of such fuels and emissions had no impact on his vampire physiology beyond the obnoxious experience provided by his overly responsive olfactory senses.
Finally, he found what he was looking for. A small patch of diesel fuel, the scent strong enough to tell him it had leaked onto the kerb within the last twelve hours. Diesel. A van then, most likely. After one last inspection of the site, Spike jogged up to Xander’s car and jumped in the front seat.
“Any luck?” the boy asked as he put the car into gear and set off for home.
“Yeah,” Spike grunted. “Bastards had a van. There were two of them, human mind. They used magic and a good old dose of ether to take her down. Doesn’t look like there was any sort of altercation. Pretty sure she and the babe would have been right as rain when they tossed her in the back, just in the land of nod.”
“Is there any way you can track the vehicle from here?” Xander asked.
“Na, there’ve too many cars up and down that road since then. Track gets jumbled up with a bunch of others within a few feet. Only reason I could pick out what I did was cause they’d pulled off to the side.”
They were both quiet as Xander pulled the car into his parking space and they hopped out. Too many of their thoughts were dark ones, better left unsaid.
The lounge was dark and silent as Spike pushed the door open. It was well after midnight and the others, even Giles, had all gone to bed. Xander paused just inside the doorway, hovering there as he worried for his friend. Spike was busying himself, heating up some blood, pouring out a scotch.
“Go to bed man,” he growled, “That bird of yours will have it warmed up and cozy by now.”
“Are you sure? I could stay up with you for a while if you like.”
“Don’t be daft you berk, get out of here,” Spike snapped. He paused as Xander shrugged and turned back wearily for the door. “Harris,” he said, his voice cracking with repressed emotion, “Thanks yeah, for tonight, for the company and, I don’t know, that never give up attitude of yours. It’s worth something, don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”
Xander stopped, his hand on the doorknob, and looked Spike directly in the eye. “No worries Spike, that’s what friends are for.” He held the vampire’s gaze for a minute longer, nodded then slipped out, pulling the door shut behind him.
Spike let out the breath he was holding. Shit these humans were starting to dig in deep. Who’d’ve believed, even six months ago, that he and the whelp would end up being friends? But that’s what was happenin’ here, Spike’s regard for the boy having shifted beyond tolerance, which initially was mostly for Buffy’s sake, and into the simple affection of friendship. Mutual too, by the lay of it. The timing of it was a fine thing; he’d certainly need the resilience and emotional support that this group lent one another if he was to make it through the next few days. Cos wasn’t it just like the fates to wait until his life was happy beyond his imagining before sticking it to him.
‘Fuck!’ Spike sighed, and tumbled back into one of the room’s plush velvet La-Z-Boy chairs. He knocked back his scotch in one gulp and poured himself another. Damn, he wished he had some fags left. He thought about going back to his and Buffy’s unit, rummaging through the drawers in case he still had a half empty packet stashed away somewhere.
Likely not; the Slayer had been pretty adamant about his givin’ up, her bein’ in the family way an’ all. Supposed to be bad for the baby. Spike didn’t know how given the way pregnant mums used to puff away like chimneys for as far back as he could recall. Not much left to chance these days he reckoned, humans liked to order and control things, take all the risks out of life. Whatever, his smokes were likely long gone.
He didn’t want to go back to their unit anyway, couldn’t stand being in the room surrounded by her scent and her stuff and the instant replays of all their little moments together. My God this life they had was a fine one, their time together at Ashdown the most sublime and perfect of his many years on this earth. At the thought of what he’d lost, part of him wanted to sink into a mire of depression and bleak hopelessness, wallow in his own despair. Be easy to, just slump down into despair, the way he was slumped down into the chair, so deep that none of the Scoobies could drag him out.
But he’d made a promise, to himself in regards to Buffy and their bairn, and to herself in regards to the bit. To the ends of the earth, both of them. And he wasn’t a welcher. But the thought of where they could be, what might be happening to them hollowed him out inside. Now that he was alone, the others all tucked up safe and sound in their beds, he let down his stoic façade. After all, it was one thing to hear the little witch saying Buffy was still alive, somewhere, but quite another to try and cope with this sense of empty, cut off bereavement. His psyche, echoing with the aching absence and intense aloneness of the severed link, was unable to tell death from disconnection.
Anger would have been better, anger and denial. Would’ve flooded his body with adrenaline, sent him scurrying out into the night ready to deal death and violence to whoever had anything to do with Buffy’s abduction. But grief only brought fatigue and inertia, unworthy companions for the road ahead. It was hard to breath with such a heavy weight on his chest. ‘God, such a fucking pounce’ he thought as tears tracked down his cheeks again.
Spike closed his eyes. Images of the two of them together danced through his mind, a whole medley of scenes from their times together, some of them violent, some of them passionate, some of them pathetic and some of them blissful. There was no pattern to the different settings and events. Some he recognized right away, some took a little longer. He sunk deeper and deeper into the sights and sounds and emotions, laughing or crying or grimacing as the various scenes played out on the screen.
Suddenly the setting changed again. He wasn’t immediately familiar with the cold, damp, dark cave, but it did seem to strike some chord in him. As far as he could tell, it wasn’t Harmony’s lair, nor Adam’s, and it didn’t look like the cavern above the Hellmouth either. As Spike struggled to recall any other caves he’d visited over the past five years, Buffy came into view, almost as if she’d walked onto a sound stage from the left wing. Okay, this seemed more familiar; she was in black leggings, track shoes and that gorgeous turquoise jumper he loved. When had she last worn that outfit?
Spike’s slow-beating heart seized as he realised when. It was this morning. Or this afternoon to be exact. These were the clothes she was wearing when she went missing. What the fuck? Now that he looked more closely, he could see the swell of her belly in her profile, and a set of cuffs on her hands. What was this?
Another figure came into view behind her, a man, brandishing a loosely held sword as he strolled behind her. She didn’t look to be injured, but by the droop of her shoulders and the shuffling of her footsteps, Spike thought she seemed exhausted. The man drove her on, grunting at her if she slowed down too much. Finally, after stumbling over a rock and falling to her knees, he let her sit down on a rock and rest. He left her there and wandered off, returning after a time with a backpack.
The bag contained food and water, which he dolled out between the two of them. For once the Slayer was sensible enough to just shut up and eat and drink. Maybe she was just too shot to argue, or maybe she was thinking about her little one, but either way, after finishing off her rations, she curled up on a rocky shelf and dozed off. Her captor grunted again, and pulled one of those aluminium thermal blankets out of the bag and draped it over her slumbering form. Then he sat down on a nearby rock, pulled out a whetstone, and began to hone his steel sword.
Suddenly someone was calling his name. Spike looked around the cave, waiting to see if he’d been spotted. Huh? Now he was in the cave? Okay, if he could get rid of the guard, he’d be able to rescue Buffy. Damn, he could hear his name again, louder this time. If whoever was doing that didn’t shut up, the guard would be tipped off and the game would be up. He’d probably threaten Buffy or even…
“Spike, Spike,” the voice was right in his ear now. “Wake up, the back up’s arrived.”
Spike leapt up, heart pounding, the sights and sounds and smells of the Lodge lounge room sweeping away his view of the cave. He froze, his equilibrium momentarily out of kilter thanks to the abrupt switch. Finally, his brain caught up with his eyes and ears. A dream, okay, but what sort of dream was that?
Bloody hell that was wacky. He’d slept, ensconced in his armchair, while a bloody circus was going on around him. Xander, undoubtedly the dream-slayer, was standing next to him, Tara, Rowan and Cat were busy setting the table and making tea and toast, Oz was carrying in a big covered dish from the kitchens, full of bacon and eggs by the aroma of it and Giles was at the front door, ushering Faith, Wes, some skinny chick, probably that Fred girl and a young lad, inside. Pandefuckingmonium, and he’d slept right through it. Great predator instincts all right!
Giles called them altogether to greet the guests and introduce the unknowns to one another. Cat knew Faith, but was getting to meet the rest on Angel’s lot for the first time. Likewise, apart from Willow, who was currently missing, none of them had met Winifred Burkle, or Fred as she preferred to be called. Finally, the whelp, a surprise addition to the team, name of Connor Reilly. No one bothered to volunteer his standing within the group, but Spike was puzzled by the vaguely familiar scent he could sense off the boy.
Faith had pulled Spike in for a bone cruncher of a hug, a real slayer special if ever there was one, and whispered in his ear, “We’ll find them Spike, all three, safe and sound. But not before we give their kidnappers a good, old fashioned smack down.” Wes had given him handshake/backslap combination that’s as close as some blocks get to a hug. Fred had greeted him with a blush, a stutter, a giggle and another blush. Charming, but a scientist? He couldn’t picture it. The boy was out of his depth, covered in confusion and angst. But under it all, Spike could sense a warrior, and still that scintillatingly familiar scent.
They’d all managed to settle themselves down at the long table, everyone having helped themselves to the breakfast fare so that they could eat and strategize at the same time, when Willow burst through the back door, closely followed by Dana and the little slayer from one of the independent, formerly Russian states, Georgia or Armenia. Khatia the girl was called, if he remembered rightly. The witch had her babble on, which she was apt to do when over excited.
“So it seems that more than two dozen of our girls had the same slayer dream last night. Mainly the older girls, which I’m not sure why, maybe the dreams can only stretch so far before they get too diluted. Or maybe Sineya feels the younger girls aren’t up for them yet. I wonder if there’s a bottom age limit for slayer dreams?”
Spike could see Tara and Oz grinning at one another, and quietly the wolf got up behind Red and put his hand on her back. This seemed to calm her instantly, and she took a deep breath and started again.
“Ok, so the dream itself seemed to be set in a cave; dark, damp, cold looking.”
Spike’s mouth popped open at this point, while Faith, sitting beside him, was nodding earnestly.
“Yeah, and next thing you know,” Faith interrupted, “B’s being led in by the point of a sword.”
“Oh my, yes,” Willow squeed, “You too huh Faith?”
“And then,” there was stunned silence as Spike shared the next act, “The guard brought in a backpack and hauled out food and water which they both ate, and one of those shiny blankets which he put over Buffy to keep her warm.”
“Oh my Lord!” Giles uttered, looking to Willow and Faith, both of whom were nodding at him. “Spike, you had a slayer dream.”
“Is that what that was? Thought it was pretty weird. Still not gonna do much good. Harris woke me before I got much further. Don’t know what happened after the guard finished sharpening his sword.” Spike slumped and shook his head. “And even if I did, have no idea where this cave is anyway.”
“Well, that’s where Khatia comes in.” Willow said, beaming.
“Yes, I know cave, have been to entrance.” Khatia said in her heavily accented English. “Have never been down shaft like in dream scene, but have I seen many, many photos.”
“Bloody hell girl, where?” Spike leapt up. “Where’s the damn cave?”
“ Is called Krubera cave, deepest known cave in world. If she is still alive, then Buffy is, in Georgia, deep down in the bowels of Krubera.”