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CHAPTER NINE: One Hellmouth of a Snowstorm

Spike and Buffy trained hard for a couple of weeks before Buffy would allow any of the slayers to work with her. She trained at night, with Spike, the two of them in the training room while the rest of the slayers slept or patrolled. She fought him and he tested her, pushing her limits until she redefined them and until she regained the strength and confidence that she’d had that night she’d faced the Turok-Hans and the First.

But she still didn’t step outside the house.

Spike stared out the window as a late winter snow storm blowing in off Lake Erie piled the snow against the house in thigh deep drifts.

“No wonder she doesn’t want to leave,” he muttered to himself, glaring outside. “This is bloody ridiculous.”

“What’s that?” Dawn asked. She looked up from her laptop and smiled at him. Each time she saw him, she was filled with gladness. It was so good to have him back, have him around with his usual dry and sarcastic wit, his barbs and his nicknames. It was good to see her sister smile again. Spike had done that.

He turned from the window, letting the heavy velvet curtain fall back, shutting out the windswept night and the cold. “This snow! It’s been snowing for two days!”

“Welcome to Buffalo,” she replied.

“You girls couldn’t find a warmer place?” He’d asked the question at least a hundred times since coming back. He hadn’t warmed to Buffalo, but considering the temperature hadn’t yet reached twenty-five degrees and it was early March, that was not surprising. There was something in the air, something out in the night that was causing a spiral of unease to travel up and down his spine. While Spike didn’t have a spidey sense, he did have his own good old vampire senses, and they were tingling.

Willow walked in, a preoccupied look on her face that Spike picked up on immediately.

“Red, what’s wrong? Where’s Buffy?”

“Showering,” she replied and he knew then that it wasn’t the slayer causing her worry for once.

“Then what’s wrong?”

She looked over at him, appraising him. “You can sense it,” she stated.

He nodded abruptly. “The girls, they didn’t go out did they?”

She shook her head. “No, all in and accounted for. No one’s going out in this weather.”

“There’s more going on than the weather,” he murmured, stepping back to the window and pulling the curtain aside. There was a strange cast to the light that he had blamed on the reflecting snow. But the night seemed to glow as the snow fell in white torrents from a swollen, orange sky.

Willow stood next to him, frowning. “I’m afraid the weather is a front.”

Dawn piped up. “A front? As in a cold front?”

Willow shook her head. “No, as in a cover up. There’s magic going on and someone has called up this storm to camouflage it.”

“How do you know?” Dawn asked.

Willow held up her hands. “I can feel it, in the tips of my fingers and toes. And I just got an email from Page over at the coven headquarters. There have been some signs and several communications from various members reporting strange sensations and activities.” She glanced over at Spike. “How can you tell?”

He nodded outside. “I don’t know much about snow, but the sky and light don’t look right. And then there is just a sense I get. There’s a big bad brewing in Buffalo tonight.”

“Good alliteration, Spike,” Dawn said.

He grinned. “Thanks, Niblet.”

“I’m worried,” Willow said softly.

“About?” Dawn asked.

“If it’s as bad as it feels, I’m not sure we can handle it,” Willow replied.

“Handle what?” Buffy asked as she stepped in the room.

Spike turned, his soul lightening at the sight and smell of her. He couldn’t stand being away from her for long periods of time and as soon as they were back in the same room, he gravitated towards her, like a plant to morning light. He left the window and joined her, sitting on the loveseat that Dawn had abandoned.

“It seems the PTB weren’t wrong in their predictions. There’s something wicked brewing out there.”

She shivered. “Yeah, like the hellmouth of all snowstorms!”

It disturbed him that she couldn’t sense it. Her slayer senses should have been shivering in unease, like his vamp senses and the witch’s intuition. But Buffy wasn’t back up to her full power and Spike knew where Willow’s unease stemmed.

He shook his head and took Buffy’s hand in his. She stiffened slightly at his touch and then relaxed. Spike breathed in deeply, calming down, and focusing. He kept hold of her hand. “Not the storm, that’s a cover up for the bad mojo going down.”

A look of fear and unease crossed her face.

“Just how bad is this?”

“Real bad, pet,” he murmured. “I can feel it deep in here.” He pressed his fist to his chest. “When it’s deep in my bones, then I know it’s deep, dark mojo.”

“So what do we do?” she asked, looking at Dawn and Willow hopefully.

“Research mode,” they both chimed up.

Spike grimaced. “Some things haven’t changed.” He looked around the library. “I’m assuming the secrets to the universe are found somewhere in these tomes? Where’s good old Rupert when you need him?”

“We might just need to call him,” Willow said, sitting down behind the desk and staring at the computer screen. “And not everything is in these books. The Council has been working hard to rebuild its codex of documents and archives. Before he –“ she looked up at Spike. “Before Wesley died, he sent everything from Wolfram & Hart to Giles. So we have an incredible amount of information at our fingertips.” She pointed to the books. “Spike and Buffy, you start there. Dawn and I will start with the archives and codex.”

Spike glanced around at the hundreds of books. “And what exactly are we looking for?”

“Any demon that can control the weather for its own purposes,” she said.

***

Spike rubbed his eyes and glanced over at the slayer. She was slumped over the book, her fingers trailing over the words, her eyes heavy as she tried to read them. Dawn had gone up for a nap and Red was in her room, on the phone with Giles. The sun was supposed to have been up an hour ago, but there had been no change in the light outside. It was an unnatural dusk at the hour when it should have been dawn. And it would have spelled danger for all humans if the vampires had been able to crawl out of their crypts to feed on them. But with the snow piled up to the eaves of houses, Spike knew the vamps were the least of their problems.

A demon who could not only control the weather, but who could delay the sunrise was not going to be easy to deal with. This realization had prompted Willow to call Giles. And now he and the Xander were trying to drive from Boston to Buffalo seeing as all the flights along the eastern seaboard were cancelled due to the weather.

Spike watched as Buffy’s eyes slowly drifted shut. He knew that she was relieved that Giles and Xander were coming. More support. Less for her to do. It had been what Giles had feared all those years ago; that it would get to the point where his slayer wouldn’t be able to pick up her sword and fight because she’d grown too dependant on those around her. He doubted Giles had ever imagined the scope of her dependency, just as he wouldn’t have imagined that there’d be hundreds of slayers to pick up what she dropped.

Spike stood up and going over to her, he lifted her in his arms and carried her upstairs. He paused at Willow’s office. “I’m putting her to bed. She’s done.”

Will’s eyes were bloodshot and Spike knew that the witch was in need of sleep just as much as the slayer. He was the only one who didn’t need to sleep. “Go get some rest,” he urged softly.

Her eyes widened in surprise at his concern.

“I can’t,” she whispered. She gestured to the computer. “We still don’t know...”

He shook his head. “You’re done in, Red. Go and take a power nap. I’m putting her to bed and then I’m taking the two African queens on recon.”

She shook her head. “Not Maia and Asia, they don’t deal well with the cold. Take Chantal and Sam – they’re more suited to this weather.”

He nodded, it made sense, the Canadian and the farm girl. “We’ll just go and do some scouting, see if there’s any news out there.”

She nodded tiredly.

“Go sleep,” he said, this time not so kindly. “You won’t be any good to any of us if you can’t think, witch.”

She stood up, weaving on her feet. “Thanks,” she said dryly.

“You’re welcome.”

He turned and carried Buffy down the hall to her bedroom where he laid her down on the bed. He tucked all the blankets right up to her chin and then, to try and fight the chill in the room, he lit the fire in the fireplace and pulled the heavy curtains across the windows.

“Spike?” she mumbled.

He hurried to her side. “Slayer?”

“Where’re you going?” Her eyes fluttered open.

“Patrolling. I’m taking two of the girls and we’re going to see if we can find anything out there.”

She felt a pang of jealousy. He was going without her. Two of the young, strong and beautiful slayers were going with him. She wished she were going and that was saying something.

“Be careful,” she whispered.

Any sign of concern from her was a good sign. A great sign would have been if she’d bounced out bed and declared she was going with him.

“I will,” he whispered. He bent down and kissed her, happy that she didn’t flinch. “Sleep well.”

She mumbled something and he left, going to fetch the two lucky girls who were joining him.

***

Sam looked over at him and grinned. “I have to say, Spike, you don’t look half as sexy without the leather coat. That get up doesn’t do a thing for you.”

He stopped in the middle of the street and peered through the whirling snow. While he certainly didn’t feel the cold as much as a human, the wind was bitter and bit past his vampire defenses. Looking down at the snow pants, heavy parka, scarf and gloves Dawn had made him to wear, he was reminded of the last time he’d had to borrow Xander’s clothes.

“Sam – shut your trap,” he growled then gasped as a blast of icy wind blindsided them.

“Fuck,” Chantal muttered. She wiped her ski mask off and glanced around. “Where the hell are we?”

“Pine St.” Sam said.

Chantal’s shoulders fell in exhaustion. “That’s it? It feels farther than that.”

Spike glanced around again. “We’re only a couple of blocks from the demon bar. Let’s go, girls. At the most we’ll warm up and get some information. At the least, we’ll warm up and have a drink.”

Without waiting to see if they were following, Spike began trudging through the thigh high drifts towards the bar.

There was no one out and about. Even though the businesses should have been open, buses running and cars carrying people to work, everyone had stayed home that morning. He guessed it was about noon and there wasn’t a soul or demon to be found out on the streets. Street lights were still on, glowing through the flakes of falling snow and he could see lights on inside houses and apartment buildings. Every now and then, a pale face would peer out, catch sight of them and shake their heads at their foolishness. Spike could only hope that Mickey lived above the bar and had decided to be optimistic and opened for business.

It took them another hour to get to the bar and Spike wasn’t about to let the girls know, but he was worried. He didn’t think they could make it back to the house. His sense of direction was messed up and if he was suffering from the effects of the cold and snow, the girls would be worse off.

They found the bar and stumbled in, letting in a blast of freezing air and snow.

“Hurry and close the door!” someone yelled.

Spike slumped against the wall in relief. Mickey was the opportunistic bastard he’d expected.