Spoilers: All of the Buffy series.
Dedicated: To the BLO girls (Candice, Jo, Ali, Trina, Crystal, and Lainey) and Andrew (spikyboy) – thanks for all the support and encouragement guys! You’ve been my biggest fans and some of the best friends I’ve been lucky enough to find. I love you all!
He awoke slowly, lazily several hours later. The sunlight poured in through the curtains, bathing his face and chest in a warm golden light. He stirred, rolling away from the light, his left arm thrown across his eyes. He wasn’t ready for the day. He dozed in and out of consciousness for a bit, strange shadows and patterns dancing across his closed eyelids as he shifted his arm in his sleep. Finally, unable to hold onto sleep any longer he rolled onto his back and stared up at the bright white of the ceiling. Morpheus could be so cruel sometimes, pulling the world of his dreams away without even a parting hint of what he had seen. He sighed and turned his head to the right, squinting at the alarm clock. It was nearly 9:30 a.m. That’s when he was acutely aware that he was alone.
Rolling over onto his left side he propped himself up and stared at her pillow. The indent of her head had all but vanished. Reaching out he touched it with his fingertips but it was cold. She’d been gone for awhile. But where?
As if on cue he heard the card key click in the lock and gently, quietly the door to the hotel room eased open. She tiptoed in before turning, and closing the door silently into place. Her shoulders hunched forward in a wince as the lock clicked into place. For a brief moment she stood with her back to him and the bed and he watched her quietly. She was dressed in gray zip-up hooded sweatshirt and black spandex running pants that accentuated the curves and muscles of her legs.
“Couldn’t sleep?” his voice made her jump slightly and she whirled to face him.
“Yeah,” she smiled, moving towards the bed. “I didn’t wake you did I?”
“No,” he replied sliding up in the bed watching her.
She dropped down on the edge of the bed and began to untie her shoes. “Needed some fresh air,” she added, her back to him. “Needed to do some thinking.”
“Buffy,” he started, but turning she crawled toward him across the sheets, silencing him with a shake of her head.
“I wasn’t thinking about last night’s little argument,” she replied reading the thoughts and concerns swirling in the blue eddies of his eyes. “I’m not worried and I know it’s just a matter of time before you realize that too.” He made to protest but she put up a hand and he decided it wasn’t worth it. “I was thinking about the attack itself. I think it might have something to do with the warning Whistler gave me after the Avatar.”
Spike frowned, pushing himself up into a sitting position, the sheets resting in a loose pile around his naked waist. “You think it might have been a set up?”
“Perhaps,” she shrugged, her teeth working over her lower lip. “I called Giles while I was out, and he agrees with me.”
“Care to let me in on your little pow-wow?” Spike raised an eyebrow.
“I think we need to do like Whistler suggested. We need to go to Salem and find this mystic or psychic or whatever she is, Sylviara.” She noticed the frown starting to work its way across his features. “It certainly couldn’t hurt.”
She had him there. “When do we leave?”
“Tonight at 5 pm,” she pulled two plane tickets out of the front pocket of her sweatshirt.
“You have had a busy morning.”
She smiled slightly. “Didn’t get much sleep last night,” she glanced away from him. “Woke up early feeling antsy.”
“Hey,” he whispered softly, reaching out a drawing her body to him. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” she whispered back, resting her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes. “I’m sorry too.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes before she stirred suddenly. Her face looked funny. “You alright, luv?”
She swallowed slowly, forcefully, deliberately, before glancing up at his concerned face. “Yeah,” she nodded. “Stomach is just not very happy with me right now. Bet I over did it on the run this morning.” Impulsively she kissed him on the cheek. “I just need to take a nice hot shower.” And before he could protest she had bounced off the bed and had the shower running.
Leaning back down into the folds of their downy mattress, Spike folded his arms behind his head and stared back up at the ceiling. So much for their honeymoon; within a few hours they would stepping off a plane into the crisp autumn air of New England. He just hoped the trip would prove fruitful.
It was well after midnight when they landed in Boston’s Logan airport and hailed a cab for the long drive to Salem. The night was crisp and clear, the frosty smell of autumn in full bloom accentuating the stars and golden crescent moon. In the back of the cab, Buffy snuggled closer against Spike for warmth, the sleeves of her leather coat pulled forward over her fingers. They rode in silence, listening to the soft chatter of the sports radio station that the driver had tuned into.
The abrupt stopping of the cab shook Spike from the doze he had begun to slip into. Reaching down he gently shook his sleeping wife’s shoulders until her eyes blinked and she smiled up at him. “We there yet?”
He nodded, reaching down and undoing his seat belt before joining the driver out on the curb. The sky was a blanket of stars shining so brightly Spike swore if he reached up he could touch them. Tearing his eyes away from the heavens above he settled the cab fair and helped the driver unload their two small carry on bags from the trunk. By the time he had finished Buffy had dragged herself from the warm refuge of the back seat and out into the brisk early morning air.
“After you,” Spike made a dramatic little bow and offered Buffy his hand.
“You can be so odd sometimes,” she teased, taking his hand and trotting toward the front doors of the Hawthorne Hotel. Halfway to the door she paused staring up at the statute of a large gilded eagle that stood, wings spread wide, over the top of the door. A dark shadow fell across its head, elongating its neck and twisting its eyes in long dark slits. She shivered her eyes holding the stone gaze of the bird.
“You’re shivering, pet,” Spike’s voice warm and deep beside her broke the bird’s haunting spell on her and obediently she allowed him to lead her into the warmth of the lobby.
The lobby of the hotel was in one word breathtaking. A thick evergreen carpet covered the floor, on top of which elegant red oriental carpets had been laid to soften the deep chocolates of the wooden furniture, large ferns, and plush armchairs that decorated the room. Large vases of freshly cut flowers all in soft oranges, reds, and yellows paid homage to the beauty of the New England autumn, setting the lobby ablaze in a fire of color. A slim man with a thick graying mustached greeted them from behind the large, thick mahogany concierge desk, “A room for two?”
As Spike handled the details of their stay, Buffy began to wander around the lobby. Old books with gilded bindings filled two large bookshelves in the corners and she paused for a moment running her eyes over the titles along the bindings.
“Many of those books are originals brought over hundreds of years ago from England,” an elderly gentleman called out to her. He sat in one of the large plush armchairs, a newspaper in his lap, a cane resting against the side of his chair.
“They’re beautiful,” she whispered, more to please the old man than out of any real love of the books. Books and Buffy had never been close friends.
“Where are you two from?” the old man leaned forward, his hand gesturing towards Spike. “You and your beau I mean.”
“California,” she smiled back. They must stick out so badly with Spike bleached blonde hair and her deep tan.
“Well let me tell you, you are in for a real treat. Came out to Salem at the right time, let me tell you, what with Halloween only 3 days away. You’ve never seen anything more beautiful than autumn in New England but you’ve never experienced Halloween until you’ve spent it in Salem Massachusetts. Ever hear of the Salem Witch Trials?”
She nodded. She could see Spike finishing up with the bill. “It was nice talking with you,” she smiled down at the old man as she prepared to leave but suddenly she felt his hand tight on her forearm. She spun around and was startled to find him leaning very close to her, his eyes shining with a feverish light.
“Be careful lass. Salem is a special place with a deep and dark history. There are secrets here that never sleep.” He glanced around quickly then leaned in so close his nose was nearly touching the side of her cheek. “Whatever you do, be sure to steer clear of the elevator after midnight. It’s haunted.” He hissed the last words out in an icy, spine tingling rush of air. For a moment Buffy stared back at him, her eyes huge, her body unable to move. Was he serious?
“Buffy,” Spike called. He was waving to her from the bottom of the staircase. Hurriedly she moved away from the old man and followed after Spike.
Their room was a vibrant mix of deep royal blues and golden yellows. A single high-posted queen-sized bed took up much of the room, with a deep red-brown carved bureau sitting along the opposite wall. Thick pale yellow curtains ran from ceiling to floor along the large picture window that took up most of the far wall, and a small electrically lit chandelier hung above the bed. Spike dropped their bags down on the foot of the bed before collapsing face down against the thick bedcovering. Buffy quickly busied herself unpacking and organizing things in their small bathroom. Within a half hour she was snuggling down under the thick flannel of the bed sheets, the lights off, and Spike’s warm body beside her.
“Buffy,” his voice called out to her through the darkness, low and husky. She could feel his arms wrapping around her small frame, pulling her against him.
“Hmm,” she replied softly, her eyes heavy with sleep. She could feel his lips moving along her neck down towards her shoulders, his hands kneading the skin along her sides causing her t-shirt to inch up over her hips. She knew what he was after, could taste it in the air, feel it in the quick pace of his heartbeat against her back. Gently she rolled onto her back, her head lolling against his side. The new position made him pause for a few moments, but soon enough his lips and hands were exploring.
“Not now,” she whispered back, her voice coming out harsher then she had intended.
She was tired. It had been a long flight and she still had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something in Salem didn’t sit right with her. She felt so far from desirable in that moment that sex was the furthest thing from her mind. She felt his body stiffen behind her, his hands dropping like leaden weights against the mattress in front of her stomach. A part of her wanted to assure him that everything was fine, that she was legitimately tired but her body was too exhausted to explain, to think, to form the words, so instead she remained silent as she drifted off into sleep.
He let his arms fall limply around her as he felt her body grow heavy as she faded into sleep. He wasn’t mad at her. He would never force her into doing anything she wasn’t up for. Beg her perhaps, bait her into it, but never push her. Yet still he laid there, desire warming his lower body and no release to be found. It wasn’t just the physical release he was after. After the other night he still felt guilty, felt like he owed her some physical form of an apology, some small measure of physical pleasure to show her just how much he loved her. At least she hadn’t given him the “I have a headache” line. That was a plus at least. So instead he lay there, holding her slumbering body, his eyes staring off into the blackness, until finally Morpheus came for him too and he drifted off into sleep.
He stood in a large stone room deep under ground. A long thick wooden table stood before him, surrounded by figures in black hooded shrouds. Candles flickered along the walls and the thick smell of mildew and incense filled the air, an acrid gray cloud hovering like a fog along the stones above. He felt damp, a bone chilling dampness and he shivered despite the heavy weight of his duster on his shoulders.
The figures were bent over the table, their voices soft, hushed, chanting. A tall black haired woman dressed in a long gothic purple gown moved among the figures, a fine trail of black lace whispering across the stones. She was the only one who glanced at him; her steely eyes the color of a gathering storm. She smiled at him with crimson lips, her hair piled high on her head. She reminded him of someone, someone from his past and he watched her move slowly, gracefully, erotically across the room. Suddenly it hit him! The girl was a spitting image of Dru, much younger, but Dru just the same.
He moved forward as if his feet had a mind of their own. He moved around the figures towards the young woman in purple, her eyes never leaving his, her lips parted in an inviting smile. Her gaze held him in a tight grip, dark shadows dancing in their corners, whispering things to him, promising dark dirty secrets. Finally he stopped a few feet from her, at the head of the table.
The figures in black began to move away then, as the young women’s arms moved upward into the air, almost as if she were parting their bodies like a sea. Electric shocks began to permeate the air as the young woman began to unleash her powers, unfurling them like a warm blanket. As the figures moved backwards the body of a young woman could be seen tied to the surface of the table.
“Buffy”, he caught himself whispering as he took in the soft sleeping figure of his wife, her arms bound at her side, her legs stretched out straight and tied together. She didn’t move, her eyes closed tight, her chest rising and falling in slow gentle waves.
He moved towards her, his body once again moving on its own. Reaching the side of the table he leaned forward to kiss her but the young woman, the other Dru was there beside him, her hand ever so gently touching his forearm stopping him. Without a word she placed a long curved knife in his hand and with a smile stepped back.
Suddenly his hands were clutching the knife above Buffy’s head, the air around him crackling with electricity and power. He felt his arms shaking as he fought the urge inside of him, the urge to plunge the knife down into her chest. The electricity pumped through him, burning his muscles, making his arms shake even more and his body to cry out in agony.
In a rush of fury he spun, flinging the knife at the feet of the young girl, his body shaking as he gasped for air. “I won’t do it!” he growled, his voice strong and steady.
She smiled back at him, that same dangerous sexual smirk. She moved towards him, her hand reaching out and resting against his chest. He stood still as stone as she moved her hands up and down his chest, her eyes never leaving his face. He stared back into her storm-gray eyes as her hands moved lower, pressing, testing, feeling. She began to bite her lower lip in a playful sensual way as her hands began to move in slow soft circles between his legs. He glanced sidelong at Buffy, his heart starting to race with fear. Turning back he found the girl’s smiling face inches from his own. With a slight smile she leaned forward and kissed him, chastely at first then harder her lips pressing so hard against his own he thought his teeth would shatter.
Finally she moved her lips away, instead stepping forward so her body pressed against his from legs to chest, pinning him between her and the table behind him. Her lips began to nibble at his ear and her voice whispered, “Just one little kiss is all it takes.”
He pushed her back staring into her eyes, and suddenly he was straddling Buffy’s sleeping form, his heart racing in his chest. He could feel the power of the young girl beating at his body like a scalding hurricane wind. His head moved forward toward Buffy’s neck, his lips gently nipping at her soft skin. Slowly the nips turned to sucking, deep purple bruises dusting her skin as he moved his lips up along the curve of her neck, stopping finally at the large pulsing vein hidden just beneath her skin. He sucked on it, feeling the electricity of her pulse in his mouth, rolling it around on his tongue.
Suddenly he reared his head upward, fangs growing forward long and curved from his lips. He hissed at the young woman whose eyes egged him on, her body arched in a curve of pleasure, her eyelids heavy with sex, and her knuckles white from gripping the edge of the table so tightly. With a roar Spike slammed his head forward sinking his teeth into the neck of the woman he loved.