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chapter 5: ecclesiastes - free my heart

Spike's head snapped backwards as Jacob's fist sliced a gash across his left cheek, spraying blood over the faces of both vampires. Reeling, he tried to duck under the next blow, but misjudged it. Strong meaty fingers closed around his throat and Jacob's other hand latched onto a clump of Spike's hair. Then he was dragged across the basement floor. An instant later, he was dangling in the air like a rag doll while being pulled closer to Jacob's leering full lips and dripping fangs.

That's when Spike saw his opening. Spinning quickly, he dislodged Jacob's grip on his throat and hair by twisting his torso sharply to the right, throwing the other vampire off balance. Spike had reversed their positions and now stood behind Jacob. He wrapped a forearm tightly around the vampire's throat, and leaning forward sunk his fangs into Jacob's esophagus. Then Spike turned his head from side to side, ripping the wound open.

“Blast you, William,” cried Jacob, his voice raspy as the blood spurted from his neck. “You win, you sodding Aurelian bastard.”

“The name is Spike,” he corrected him as he withdrew his fangs from the vampire's throat. “Told you that a hundred years ago, at least a thousand times.”

“Certainly, but I was just a fledging and your slave, master,” Jacob chuckled.

“Not my slave,” Spike pointed out. “You were Darla's and Angelus' servant – never mine.”

“Mmmm…true enough, brother,” agreed Jacob, adjusting his bloody and rumbled designer shirt as he eased himself from Spike's grasp. “What brings you to New York?” He asked, licking his lips in apparent appreciation of the taste of the blood he'd found there.

“A Slayer,” Spike answered, matter-of-factly, wiping the blood from his own mouth with the back of his hand.

“So you're here for the little girl in the Bronx.”

“You know about her?” Spike kept his voice level.

“Everybody does. We haven't had a slayer in town since 1977, thanks to you,” he bowed his head slightly as his demon eyes brightened to a reddish yellow hue. “This new girl's been the talk of the town since she showed up a few months back.”

Jacob began to stroll idly around the basement. “But she stays out of Harlem, and I don't give a fuck how many fledglings she dusts over in the Bronx."

“I'm surprised. I thought you enjoyed playing cat and mouse with Slayers, Jacob,” said Spike, turning slightly to keep the other vampire positioned in front of him. “What changed?”

“Only did that to humor you, dear Spike,” he emphasized the pronunciation of his name. “Slayers were always your thing, you know?”

“Well, true enough,” he replied.

"Besides, something nastier than a vampire wants that bitch's blood,” he said, sucking his teeth. “And I say, let the devil have her and her bratty little sister, too.”

"What's the nasty's name?"

"Come on, Spike," chastised Jacob. "Don't you feel it? Don't you sense it?"

Spike kept his expression blank and didn't respond. He waited for Jacob to continue.

"Damn, you're a bloody fool not to believe." Jacob shook his head. "It's the essence of what we are, man."

"I don't sense a sodding thing.”

"You sure about that?" The vampire said removing a rubber band from his wrist and pulling his shoulder length black locks into a ponytail behind his head. "Made any pilgrimages, lately?”

"It's a myth," said Spike, his eyebrows drawing together as he blatantly ignored the question.

"Well, you'd better not get in between this myth and its prey," warned Jacob. "Your ass will be in a dusty sling if you do."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

"Who sent you to see me, Spike?” Jacob snorted, appearing suddenly bored. “This ain't no visit from an old friend. You're here to pump me.”

Spike frowned.

“Pump me for information,” Jacob continued.

“A Slayer's Watcher suggested I visit you.” Spike offered.

“I don't know any Watchers.”

“He said you'd know him by his…well,” Spike paused, and tilted his head. “By the name the demons call him most often…”

“What's that?”

“Ripper.”

Jacob huffed. “Oh, that right bastard still alive? And now he's a Watcher. That group of fools in London must be hard pressed to allow that crazy Brit to join ‘em.”

“No matter,” said Spike, dismissing the topic with a wave of his hand. “Tell me more about this myth. How do you know so much?”

“The Bible, man." he stated. "Book of James tells you everything you ever wanted to know about the portal jumper."

“You believe then.”

“Every 700 years, it returns to cancel its debts and reward his debtors.”

“Yeah, I've heard that blimey shit before,” said Spike.

“You do know who the debtors are?” asked Jacob, incredulous.

“Who?”

“You and me,” said Jacob. “Vampires.”


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“Here's how this is going to work,” Buffy began as she circled the young man opposite her in the boxing ring. “You show up, we work out, you go home.”

“Come on, Buff.” Carlo bounced up and down on the balls of his feet while moving his head from side to side eyeing her. She knew he was looking for an opportunity to get in a good blow and the chatter was his way of distracting her – or so he thought. “Dawn is like magic, man…and I just want to spend some time with her.” He swung suddenly but Buffy was ready and easily sidestepped the punch.

“Unless you're available, sweetheart?” he smiled, recovering quickly and returning back into his fighting stance. “Dawn's the only piece of a…I mean girl, I've ever wanted to check out…I mean, date, you know?”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean,” said Buffy, raising an eyebrow.

Consciously, she pulled her next punch to avoid connecting with Carlo's nose. He must've noticed and started doing some kind of shuffle with his feet. He then began throwing jabs in quick succession: left, left, left and then an upper cut from his right that nearly caught Buffy on the side of her face. She suddenly remembered why she enjoyed sparing with southpaws and smiled. “Almost got you,” he laughed.

“Okay, time out,” she held up both her hands in mock surrender. “And by the way, Dawn's too young to date.”

“Come on Buffy, she's only a year younger than me.”

“You look older. Besides, we're California girls and not used to being out in this big bad city,” Buffy said, trying for a joke, but Carlo's expression became serious.

“Why'd y'all move cross country anyways?” he asked.

Why, New York? Buffy sighed. Well, that was a good question she couldn't answer, at least not honestly. No way could she tell Carlo that Dawn had been or still was a mystical key and that a portal jumping Monster was trying to kill her. How about explaining the whole vampire slaying, Chosen One deal? Or, the thing about Buffy's Watcher insisting that she and Dawn move to New York. She sighed again.

Giles had said it was the only place in the United States where, outside of Sunnydale, a fully commissioned Watcher resided. This out-of-work Watcher didn't have a Slayer but he was a chap that could be trusted, according to Giles. He was not the usual breed from the Watcher's Council, Giles assured her. “He won't muck it up, Buffy. He's an excellent researcher and will help out with Dawn in case something goes wrong with the spell,” Giles had promised. “But most importantly, you don't know him and the Monster can't use him to find you or Dawn.”

Buffy met Bertram Ross her first day in New York. Immediately, she found herself liking the rumpled old man. He was extravagantly British – even more so than Giles – a stiff upper lipped kind of guy, and such a pompous know-it-all. During the drive from the airport he gave Buffy and Dawn a case of the giggles with his thirty-syllable words, well-worn soiled tweed jacket and extra bushy clenched eyebrows. Dawn had even whispered to Buffy that she liked the way he smelled. All cigarettes and whiskey, just like Spike. Buffy hadn't made that connection, though. She just figured she liked him because he reminded her of an older, stuffier, cigarette-smoking, periodically drunken Giles.

Within a week, Bertram Ross had secured an apartment for them, enrolled Dawn in a nearby high school and arranged a job for Buffy at the gym. Buffy's only question had been to ask him why they had to stay in the Bronx instead of in the upper West Side of Manhattan where he lived. “More vamps and demons for you to kill in your part of the Bronx, dear,” he'd said.

Carlo's voice interrupted her musings.

“Just a question, girl…didn't mean to stop your world or anything,” he shrugged. “You and your sister love the secrets, man.”

“No, it's not that,” Buffy started. “Just a lot of things we'd like to forget about, that's all.”

“Okay then, I'm good with that. Forget I asked, okay?” said Carlo. “I'd rather talk about Dawn anyways.” He had that big smile going again, noticed Buffy. It had to be one of the reasons teenage girls were attracted to him. Okay, there was also his huge dark eyes, tightly muscled body, and eyelashes that reached down past the tip of the nose. “You know with my skills. No sane creature in the Bronx would dare touch your little sis if she's with me.” He was raising his shoulders up around his neck and had brought his fists together in front of him, giving Buffy the classic boxer pose.

“You'd be surprised, Carlo,” Buffy mumbled.

“What?” He dropped his hands, a broad grin on his face. “Did you say I can take Dawn out Saturday night?”

“Nope. Didn't say that.” Buffy strolled over to her corner of the ring, grabbed her duffle bag and placed her workout gloves, towel and extra sweat shirt into the oversized bag. “Enough for tonight, I've got to go and pick up Dawn.”

“Okay, then. We'll talk tomorrow. But right now, you'd better put your butt in over-drive, girl. Dawn don't wait for nobody once she gets off work.” Carlo was already heading toward the exit sign. “Hey, sorry about the Q and A. Didn't mean to bring up bad memories,” he said over his shoulder as he walked out of the gym.

“You don't know the half of it, Carlo,” whispered Buffy to the empty room. Then as she lifted her bag, she started thinking about the last time she'd seen Bertram Ross.

A week after getting settled in the new apartment, Buffy had gone to visit Ross. She wanted him to make a phone call to Sunnydale. Giles had made her swear not to call anyone in Sunnydale directly. At least not for a while, and Buffy had agreed. But after seeing Ross that afternoon, she knew she'd have a hard time keeping that promise.

She'd found Bertram Ross, or rather his head, sitting on the sofa in the living room of his apartment. Large and square with short-cropped gray hair and terror-filled brown eyes, Buffy saw him as soon as she walked through the unlocked door. After taking a few deep breaths to compose herself, she'd searched the apartment for any signs of what had killed the Watcher. He'd definitely died in the living room. The walls were covered in blood. That sight was enough to cancel out vampires as the culprits. They didn't waste blood. She'd dipped her fingers in a nearby pool of the dark red liquid. It was still warm.

It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon and a bright, sunny, and too hot to be true November day, in New York City. Ross lived on the 42nd floor of the high rise, and even with the best underground sewer system in the world, most vamps or even demons would choose to skip a meal that lived in this apartment. Too high and way too many windows, observed Buffy, glancing once more around the room. There was nothing else for her to do there. So she'd made an anonymous phone call to the police and grabbed an armful of the Watcher's books before heading out of the apartment. She stepped into the elevator unnoticed and while traveling the 42 flights down to the lobby, she decided not to call Giles or anyone in Sunnydale. A bodiless Watcher simply wasn't a good sign that she and Dawn were safe.

Buffy didn't tell Dawn about Bertram, either. She explained the missing Watcher as having been called back to London by the Watcher's Council because of an emergency.

Poor Carlo, thought Buffy suddenly. “No way are you ever taking Dawn anywhere. Not in this city.” Buffy walked out of the gym onto the crowded street, threw the duffle bag over her shoulder and began to run to Mom's Restaurant.


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Spike watched Buffy dust six fledglings in about five minutes from his perch on the ledge of the rooftop overlooking the alley behind Mom's Restaurant. It hadn't taken him long to find her after his visit with Jacob. Giles had been right. The vampire was the best source of information in New York.

Sure, Spike knew the city, but he hadn't been back since 1977 when he'd broken Nikki the Vampire Slayer's neck just before dawn on a subway traveling uptown from lower Manhattan. They'd been on the Lexington Avenue train, which she took home to Harlem on Friday and Saturday nights. That had been one of Nikki's biggest faults. Or perhaps, it was part of her death wish, mused Spike. But either way, she'd been too predictable. Always the same train, the same time, heading in the same direction. Buffy, on the other hand, never did the same thing twice. Never dusted a vampire the same way. Always distinctive. That was his girl. Routine was just not her way.

He'd only seen Buffy a couple of agonizing times since she'd been brought back to life. Now she was less than a hundred yards away from him and she looked more beautiful than he'd ever seen her. She was grace in motion. Flying kicks, rotating flips and deadly strikes to the heart with her wooden stakes. She wasted nothing. Not time, not energy. He could smell her strength, vitality and fearlessness from where he sat.

“Oh, God,” he whispered. “She's so alive.”

After his encounter with Anya and his chat with Giles back in Sunnydale, he hadn't allowed himself to consider what he might find in New York. Giles said the spell had taken one thought away from each of them. He'd also said that the spell had gone horribly wrong. But as he watched Buffy, Spike couldn't sense anything wrong about her.

Still he had to let her know what Jacob had said about the portal jumper. He'd also made a promise to Rupert.

“Hope she doesn't stake me on sight," he muttered.

Spike swallowed hard and let out a long sigh. Then he jumped down onto a ledge a few feet from where the slayer stood.

to be continued…





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