chapter 17: stay – part I

It was about 7 a.m. and the alley shimmered with orange and yellow rays as the sunlight reflected off the wet concrete and the pools of water on the ground. The rain had stopped and the bad smells had disappeared, and the breeze now carried a new scent that reminded Anya of dried roses and fruit baskets. It was going to be a beautiful morning in New York City, she decided. Then, she looked at the hellish funnel circling Willow, the winged angel looming above them and she remembered her predicament.

She glared at the man standing next to her.

“What did the spell change about me?” She pulled on Luke's sleeve. “What did it do to me?”

Luke was looking at Willow and the cloud whirling around her. The witch was trapped inside the funnel, arms hanging at her sides, head tilted up and black eyes bulging. Flanking her, Jacob rocked on his heels, vamped out, his yellow eyes shifting from Willow to the morning sky and back. Anya didn't like to bet, but there was a better than even chance he was trying to figure out why he wasn't burnt toast.

Anya stepped in front of Luke and blocked his view as the windstorm buffeted her face. “Look at me!” she shouted. She punched him in the arm. He didn't move. He kept staring at Willow, Jacob and the giant angel.

Anya placed her hands on her hips and tugged nervously on her short skirt.

This was unsettling, she thought.

The funnel was spinning faster around Willow. Anya couldn't tell if the cloud was controlling Willow or if Willow was controlling the cloud. She heard Willow 's voice, strong and clear, from within the cloud—chanting in Italian. Anya wrinkled her brow. Was chanting in Italian the latest must-do for big time mojo? Romanian, Samarian, or some good old-fashioned Latin had worked for witches and sorcerers since—forever. But, Italian? Yes, very unsettling, thought Anya. Here she was listening to a witch screaming in Italian while watching a vampire standing in the daylight staring at a ten-foot tall angel. It had to be an angel. It had wings. Sure sign of a celestial being. Then again, it also had hoofs and scales all over its body and its hindquarters were bent and crippled-looking. Okay, maybe it was just part angel, with a beautiful face and a hideously deformed body. Or perhaps it was a hell-beast.

She grabbed Luke's sleeve again. “What is that?” She pointed and then she exhaled in frustration. He was ignoring her. “You'd better talk to me!” Anya shoved Luke in the chest.

Then, she felt her veins pushing from beneath her flesh, bulging throughout her body and her face. Her hands flew to her throat and swept over her cheeks and forehead.

"My God, I'm changing into a vengeance demon." She could barely catch her breath. "How?"

Anya glanced at Willow inside the cylinder of wind.

It had to be that stupid spell!

She couldn't just change into a demon just like that. Not without her pendant and she wasn't in vengeance mode.

She looked at Luke. He had staggered backward, puting some distance between the two of them. But he hadn't stopped his stare-a-thon.

“Talk to me—or else." She could feel the veins pulsing in her face and neck. “Talk to me now or you can forget all about this fucking muse business,” she shouted and quickly braced her body for his reaction.

He didn't answer or look at her.

Damn it! She wanted to escape. Get away from him. Get away from Willow. That's why she was becoming vengeance. Betrayal was all around her. Willow had betrayed her and all the Scoobies. Luke, the murdering ancient with no rationale purpose for his killings, had betrayed her by ignoring her. And she was his muse! Yeah, she had to escape. Get away from vampires standing in the daylight and angels from hell.

She'd run out of the alley right now if she could break free of Luke's thrall.

Anya turned and whispered in his ear. “I'll forget your memories, if you don't talk to me. I swear it."


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Luke backhanded Anya across the jaw and knocked the loud-mouthed girl to the ground. Her irritating body rolled over twice and stopped next to a dumpster, at last silent. He loathed women, but they were the only ones who could serve as his muse. How dare this one think she could threaten him? She had no right to keep him from his memories. They were his memories and she was nothing more than a vessel, easily broken and replaced. He'd thought he would enjoy this part of the game especially with Anya as his muse. She was an ancient like himself, therefore more accustomed to letting nature take its course. But she'd annoyed him.
He looked at the majestic creature filling the alley with its power. It was Shemhazi. Luke could practically touch him, if he dared. He inhaled deeply and savored the sudden scent of fresh roses, honey and cream. Luke had heard Shemhazi could make dreams come true.

Luke crept into a corner, beneath a jagged row of iron ladders hanging from the building like black candy canes. From here, he could watch and bask in the aura of Shemhazi and his witch.

Delightful. The first witch and Shemhazi together again. Finally, he smiled. He had prayed an eternity for this day.


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He was blocking the sun, making it impossible to see his eyes, and the sun had created a circle of light around his head. Spike was all shadows and halos—-a faceless angel with white hair. Buffy shook her head. Envisioning Spike as angelic was wrong, way wrong.

She winced as he squeezed her shoulders hard. He was strong. Very strong. And, he was hurting her. He'd never been able to do that, cause her pain just by holding her, even before the chip.

The chip! Spike was hurting her and wasn't clutching his head in agony. Oh, God.

“Spike, let me go,” she ordered. "I. Said. Let. Go."

He tilted his head and adjusted his grip, holding her firmly by the waist. Then he pulled her close and pressed his sex against her as he turned his head slowly from side to side, sizing her up. She could feel his breath on her face.

Her eyes widened as she screamed inside her head Jesus Christ! Spike was breathing.

“Buffy, what's up with Spike?” Dawn called from behind her. She sounded worried, thought Buffy, as she freaking well should be. This was a Spike she hadn't seen since he'd worn the Gem of Amara. Then again, maybe she hadn't seen him like this ever. He'd tried to kill Dawn and God help her; Buffy would sell her soul for a stake right about now.

“Goddamed, vampire. I told you to let me go!” Her voice was firm. “I'm warning you, you'll be dust if you don't let go.”

Buffy struggled in his arms.

“Spike, what's wrong?” It was Dawn.

“Not sure, pet.” He released a hand from Buffy's shoulder, raised it to her cheek and caressed her face slowly. “Daylight and vampires should be un-mixy things as your big sis likes to say.”

He lowered his head and looked into Buffy's eyes. "Guess that's no longer the bloody case. Huh, Slayer?”

"Guess not," she answered. But then Spike was talking to Dawn again.

“Where are we, Nibblet?” He still had a vice grip on Buffy's arm and held her in place.

Dawn stepped into her sight lines and out of the corner of her eye, Buffy could see Carlo standing next to her, looking pissed off. Guess the kid didn't know how to be afraid. With a bit of luck, Spike wasn't in the mood to teach him about fear just yet hoped Buffy.

"Asked you a sodding question," snapped Spike. But then his voice softened. "Where are we, sweetheart?"

"Don't really know..." Dawn said with a slight tremor in her voice. “Just know we had to get out of that alley. Way too much bad there, you know?”

“Eye of the beholder, love,” said Spike. Then he bent forward and whispered in her ear. “Gonna dust me if I let you go?”

“No guarantees.”

“That's a bloody fair answer, Slayer.” Spike took a step backward and released her. The sun no longer blocked his face.

Buffy took a deep breath. Spike looked unreal in the daylight. His skin was porcelain white and smoother than she ever thought possible. She'd often wondered if he ever shaved. She didn't really know why she even thought about Spike shaving. It was just one of those unexplainable Spike moments she had every now and then. But looking at him now, she realized it was unlikely he shaved. The skin on his face was flawless. His hair was almost white and curled wistfully around his face. But the most amazing thing about Spike in the sunshine were the tiny drops of perspiration on his upper lip. Vampires didn't perspire. Then again, they didn't stand in the daylight or breathe either.

Was he still the vampire she cared about? The vampire who had risked his life for her and her sister more than once. More than twice if she gave him credit. She didn't want to think about it, but she had to. If the Spike she knew no longer existed, she had to dust the vampire standing before her. She had to do it, the first chance she got. But could she really do it? Dust Spike? But she had to, didn't she? Buffy swallowed and looked around. There had to be another way. There had to be a better choice.

to be continued…