Chapter Four

ROME – Wolfram e Hart

Spike eased into the chair Ilona led him to but remained tense. Why did he feel like a puppet whose every move was being orchestrated? How the hell did they seem to know every move he was going to make?

“How the hell did you know who I was?” he blurted.

The Immortal chuckled. “Young William,” Spike growled at this git calling him young, but compared to the suave looking man, he was but an infant. “Let us not mince words. You are a marked vampire, no?”

Spike nodded. “London?” he simply asked.

“Such a brave vampire, bello, taking on an established Master among his lieutenants and minions,” Ilona purred. “Surely you must know that many have taken an interest in you. It will be difficult to maintain anonymity in this part of the world.”

“Bloody hell,” Spike grunted, leaning back and squeezing the bridge of his nose.

“And between my holdings and Wolfram e Hart, we have ears everywhere in this city,” the Immortal added. “You have been asking about the blonde slayer who was here briefly.”

“Buffy?” he sat up, alert once more. “What do you know of her?”

“Dear William, it is unusual for me to concede defeat, but this is one time you have actually chosen wisely.” Spike rose to his feet, fists clenched, but the Immortal gestured for him to sit again. “I only mean that your Buffy is exactly that. Yours. Few women have resisted my charms over the centuries but you left a hole in her heart that will not soon be filled.”

Spike returned to his seat, numbness spreading through his limbs. Could she really have loved him that much? “You’d better not be lying you ageless ponce or I’ll be the one to finally grant you mortality.”

The other man laughed, no guile written in his features. “I assure you, William, that she rejected me quite handily before she was called away to the states.”

Now they were getting somewhere. “She’s in America?”

“Back at the Hellmouth,” Ilona remarked, shuffling some papers in her hand. “Apparently it is still quite active.”

Spike let that sink it, and felt his anger and rage at Angel grow. Surely that bastard had to know something about this, since LA was only a few hours from the former town of Sunnydale. How could he have not known the Hellmouth wasn’t completely closed? And did he know that slayers would be sent there? Spike was torn between going after his hated grand-sire and sticking with his mission. His reverie was broken by the Immortal’s voice.

“Whatever you need in Rome, my good boy, you only have to ask. But I’m guessing you will be leaving soon? To find your beloved?”

“Can’t leave soon enough,” he grumbled. The soul prodded him, and he stopped on his way out the door. “But thanks. To both of you.” The Immortal did not stand, but inclined his head, and Ilona rose from the perch on her desk to accompany him. She led him to her assistant’s desk and leaned towards him conspiratorially.

“Your aching heart has taken root in my chest and I must help you fly,” she said. Spike looked at said chest in amazement for a moment before shaking himself out.

“Huh?” he replied glibly, internally smacking himself for loss of his oral functions.

“I am aware of your circumstances at our office in the City of Angels. To be a ghost with one foot in hell…” she shuddered, her dress barely able to contain her breasts, which caught Spike’s attention once more. “But now you are here, and searching the world for your true love, obstacles at every turn.” She pinched his cheeks and kissed him on the tip of his nose. “I want to help, handsome Spike, and I have the means to do so. We have a private plane, necro-tempered glass on the windows and supersonic. It will get you back to LA in 5 hours.”

Spike looked at her suspiciously. “Why would you do that for me?”

“Amore, I tell you.”

“You’re the CEO of a branch of Wolfram & Hart. Try again.”

“William, you wound me with your suspicious words.”

“I haunted the place for months; I know what you all get up to.”

“Well, yes, there is that, but you are so handsome and earnest…” she stopped when he growled at her. “Screwing Angel. Okay?” At his puzzled look, she continued. “He is making it difficult for the rest of us to conduct business as usual. And I know of his history with the slayer. You end up with her, he is pissed, and it is a small victory for the rest of us. You and me, both, no?”

“What’s to say I won’t be ejected over the ocean or something?”

“I have no quarrel with you, Spike. The affair in London does not affect us here, but the faster you leave the Rome, the less likely it is trouble will find you here. Capiche?”

“Yeah, I ‘capiche,’” he sighed.

“Piero,” she gestured to her assistant, “Call the airfield and have them prepare the jet for Mr. Spike. Have them also provide the identity kit.” The assistant picked up his phone and Ilona ushered Spike to the elevator.

“A car will be waiting to take you to the plane. Once on board, you will find items in the restroom with which you may change your appearance. You may also take the clothes you find in the back room.” She bussed his cheeks once more and looked at him seriously.

“You may be proud of your appearance, Spike, but it might be best to change for a while, no?”

He got what she was saying, and nodded, stepping into the lift which had just arrived. He hesitated as he crossed the threshold, effectively stopping the doors, and shrugged out of his duster.

“Luv, you’ve been very kind to me, and I haven’t gotten much of that lately.” He handed her his beloved coat. “Will you please keep this safe for me? I’ll call when I’m ready for you to send it back.”

“Of course, bello.” She patted the lapels and folded it gently over her arm. “I give it back when you ready to be Spike again, okay?”

Spike then stepped all the way into the lift and nodded farewell. He hoped that his instincts about Ilona were correct and she wasn’t sending him to his doom or worse.

^^^^^^^^

LOS ANGELES – Wolfram & Hart

Angel nearly broke the handset as he slammed the phone onto his desk. Some idiot at the Wolfram & Hart branch office in Rome had sent Spike back to the states on their private jet. And he knew those things were fast. Now he had to call Rupert again and make sure he and the girls were on their way out of the country. Spike and Buffy on the same continent were just too close for comfort.

^^^^^^^^

SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN

Spike looked longingly at the mini-bar on the way to the bathroom at the rear of the aircraft. He wanted nothing more than to break open several of the little bottles and drown his sorrows, but Illona’s hint that he should change his appearance took priority.

In the bathroom cabin he found hair dyes, scissors, and clippers under the sink. He nearly had a heart attack when he saw his reflection in the mirror. Tiny words in the bottom corner had declared this mirror to be enchanted allowing demons with reflection issues the ability to see themselves.

He then spent several minutes checking himself out with a critical eye. His roots were showing and he looked haggard. He could do nothing about the fatigue; he was barely eating and sleeping enough to keep going, but he grabbed the clippers and gave himself a buzz cut. The peroxide and curls fell into the small sink and soon he was running his hand over the fuzzy brown stubble. Just that act alone made a dramatic change in his looks, but he trudged onward and moved to the back room to look at the clothing.

It was atrocious. Some gaudy, multi-colored short leather coat dominated the wardrobe; it looked like something an Italian race car driver would wear. Slacks in dark hues and many fabrics were available, with no denim in sight. The shirts were silk or cotton button-downs, with a few colorful ties and a couple of sport coats. Grimacing, he changed into a pair of dark blue wool trousers and blood red silk shirt and slid his arms into the awful jacket. He shook his head at the price he was about to pay for anonymity. But if it bought him time, or brought him closer to Buffy, it would be worth it.

A selection of shoes was on the floor of the wardrobe, from black sneakers to wingtips. He chose a pair of natty black oxfords and found a garment bag into which he stuffed his old clothes, several of the new outfits, and a couple pairs of shoes.

He then searched for a tool kit. He had noticed the fixtures in the bathroom were gold, and there were several other things of value he could remove from the plane and sell. Finding what he needed, he proceeded to unscrew, pry off, and lift anything a fence could sell for him. Once the bag was filled he let himself sit for a while and started in on the tiny bottles of booze. His soul ached a bit at the thought of cannibalizing the plane, but hoped Ilona would understand. Besides, it’s not like the damn lawyers couldn’t afford to replace anything.

TBC