CHAPTER 11

Buffy was about to go into her house but chose the sewers instead. The house wasn’t safe anymore. First place they were going to look for her. She paddled in the fetid water wondering how many times Spike had done the same after long extenuating love marathons. It would have been so nice to sleep in his arms all night... His sturdy arms in which she felt like… “No, not now, please. I can’t now. I can’t.” She begged to her memories, to the quickening staccato of her heart. A sudden light beam from the street severed the long passage like a dirty, bright drape. She stopped under it, listening to the roar of the cars above her head. Crouching down she opened the book. Her finger trembled a little as she passed the pages carefully. Finally, her gaze stopped on a waving river of black ink. A rush of hope passed through her body as the bright tail of a comet. A flash.

“Lord Hanley Richard Carrington Giles. Lord Hanley for his acquaintances. Server of the Council from 1877 to 1880. Keeper of the Ordeal of Kamosis, Warden of the Hindu Gates, Guardian of the Hall of Stones. Master of the Forbidden Keys and Books. (See biographies for further information. Chapter 11, section 41)”

“Okay, really impressive but how did he die? And what happened to all those things he was supposed to keep?” Asking to a book maybe could have earned her another mark on the asylum road. The book answered silently with an elegant, slant handwriting.

“After a long journey to India, Lord Carrington Giles was expected to give a lecture at the annual general meeting of the Royal Hindu Society, after he attended the gala at the Royal Opera House. As he never arrived, an inquest was carried out by this Council. His friends claimed to have seen him at his box in the theatre and afterwards on the streets waiting for his brougham. Unfortunately, till this moment, neither the carriage nor the Jade Chest has been found. His fiancée, Lady Catherine Montour, is not to be blamed for this tragic incident as she is still at the Riviera. Memorial service will be on November 14th at St. Paul’s, 8.00. A.M. (For the complete inquest report see chapter 66, section 234, pages 78, 79, 80, 81. Any further evidence will be added in time.) B.P. Travers, C.H.I”

She couldn’t but bitterly laugh at the signature. Either that one was an ancestor or that lunatic bastard was immortal. Sinister thought… Nothing about the supposed treasures, though. Not a clue of what wonders, sort of speak, they could achieve with one of them. Maybe that Chest… What was there in it? Only Lord Hanley knew. And maybe Giles but he was as dead as his relative. Buffy sank to her feet. Didn’t give a damn about the puddle of stinking water that was soaking her butt. Didn’t even notice the rat that had come to test out who the intruder was. Her world had collapsed like a house of cards and the damned cards had slapped her face, had cut her flesh, had stabbed her bones and her heart. Without a hint about those objects she was lost. Completely out of the game.




The streets had a strange yellow glow, as if only candles were lightning his path. Or maybe it was Buffy’s hair. Golden and swaying in the cold night, sparkling like a mirror ball while she ran with a frightened pace.

“What are you doing?” He asked in such a casual way that it seemed somebody else had said it.

She whirled around and the tears in her eyes were as golden as amber drops. “I’m saving him!”

“Oh, that’s it then? You want him. This is all about him.” He shook his head and his neck made a slight cracking sound. “Okay, go ahead then.”

She resumed her race. Only ten steps before she stopped. She didn’t turn around this time. When she finally spoke it looked like she was talking to an invisible person who were standing in front of her. “Aren’t you coming?”

Spike only laughed. His eyes glided along Buffy’s body. Up her spine, down her legs.

“I have to save him.” It sounded like an apology. Her voice quavered a little.

“Oh, ‘cause all that human crap, ain’t it? Or is it that you love him?” A twinge of dejection in his guts. “I can’t stop you.”

Silence stretched like a rubber band. “Yes, you can.”

“Really? I don’t think you want me to. Unless you want this demon to have some fun as its last wish.” Twirling around, her watery eyes met his. He drowned in her green ponds. “I’m not stopping you.” He lit a cigarette and in that street it seemed more out of place than her jeans or the black nail polish that glimmered under the gas lamp.

“No. I have to stop you.” The stake appeared from nowhere. The pain was a mixture of sorrow and shock. Green eyes were his final sight.

Spike woke up, his hands flying to his chest. Oh, fuck! It had been a dream… The same ghastly dream that had haunted him for the last months. He had always wanted to ask. What’s this between you and me? Didn’t have the guts to ruin everything. After running away, he wasn’t going to spoil it again by asking. He wasn’t an analysing bloke, after all. Relax and enjoy. That was his mantra. Enjoy even if you can’t relax. They got that, whatever it was and he was extra happy about it. No further questions allowed. They had never mentioned the L-word again and, for now, it was okay with him. Sometimes, when he was enjoying the warmth of her breath on his face, the smoothness of her cheek on his stomach, the roundness of her breasts splashed against his chest, the words tingled inside his mouth, crashed against his teeth. He chewed them back knowing that one day they would jump out of his lips no matter his choices about the matter. His brain and mouth had never got on very well together… He had dreamt of telling her, have a decent, grown-up talking… Later, his heart had said. And now it was more than later, wasn’t it? Alive… That word seemed meaningless and void. Alive, how? Tortured? Abused? Alive only ‘cause her heart still beat and she could merely open her eyes?

With the blanket still on his head, he peeped at the other cot. Empty. A nasty lump fell to his stomach. Shit. Red… She wasn’t going to bear any torture those sick bastards could have planned. She was still fragile. In spite of the growing power boiling in her blood, she was still like a demon kid. Adjusting to the new powers with which it would destroy the universe but still a child. No more fluffy, pink sweaters for her. Those were for innocent girls. Untainted by the filthy and nasty deeds of the world.

If only that sodding Gil… Who? No, that wasn’t the name of the mighty Watcher… Glasses? British accent, snooty and a pain in the ass. Fangs on his neck… He shrugged. Maybe another dream. A pleasant one this time. Dark suits and a barbwire tying his wrists, digging in his flesh, blood seeping from the wounds as if he were a draining pipe. Long, cold corridors. Manchester United match on someone’s TV.

There was a whisker inside his head. Beating fast and hard all memories and cell brains. Spike touched one of his ears. His hand was clean. Good. Didn’t want it to be smeared by grey matter. If he had any. His other senses were a riot. He hadn’t even heard when they came for Willow… The sudden blast of the door being shut, that he heard. Jumping to his feet, he took a battle stand in spite of the blinding lights. A shape was crawling towards the cot. He rushed to it.

“Willow?” Oh, shit! Since when his voice had that uncertain tremor? “Are you there? I mean, are you okay?” Another teasing feeling. Impotence. As if his fangs had been ripped out from his mouth.

“Yes… I think so…” She sat on the cot, her hands tightly holding the edge of it. “You don’t have a pair of shades, do you?”

Sense of humour. Excellent! In doomed times, if you could find anything to laugh of, you weren’t that beaten. “No, but maybe you could move that nose of yours and get one for me too.” He sat but her side, holding back the need of putting an arm around her shoulder. “What happened?”

“Well, not too much… There was a room and something was glittering on a table. A stone. Red, with thousands of facets that waved on the walls… I think I fell asleep ‘cause I don’t remember anything else… I had a nightmare, I think. Really scary but…” There had been another feeling in that bad dream. One of extreme power, as if she had been raised into another state, one in which she was in command of everything around her. Death and life in her hands, to dispense at her entire will.

Spike released the air that he had been holding. That meant nobody had touched her. “And you… you… by any chance… have you seen Buffy?” The lack of sight and hearing couldn’t have turned him into a weeping boy, could it?

“No. Maybe she’s in another cell. I’m sure Gil…” She stopped, her frown wrinkled as an image of an unknown man crossed her mind.

“Who is this bloody Gil?” Nervously, he leapt to his feet. After furious quick steps, he couldn’t but sit down again. “I’ve got this… memory? Don’t trust my mind anymore, Red. What the fuck is that buzzing sound? All the time as a soddin’ invisible hive buggering up my noggin. I can’t bloody see! I can’t bloody hear! What kind of magic is this?” The cot squealed when he jiggled fretfully. “And please, spare me the bleeding mumbo jumbo. Not in the mood for long stories.”

“A very powerful one?” She couldn’t help teasing. “The sound is magic working at incredible haste. But I think they could control it if they wanted to do so…”

“You mean they’re using it to drive us nuts? It’s working, pet.” Spike spread the blanket on both their heads. Something was so soothing about it. As a cavern in which he could hide for external hazards. If he’d been a human, that was it. “My soddin’ eyes… I twig that. These bloody lights are going to melt them in their sockets. But not hearing? The magic tune is not that loud.”

“Have you tried the lock? I’m afraid if I cast a spell on it, the energy will rebound and knock me unconscious… What?” In their tight cave his snort had a crude resonance.

“I was thinking about poncey words. My blood is the locking key, he said. So I poured some drops on the lock. There’s this beam… It hit me so hard that I thought I’d lost my teeth. And my jaws. But you must try, Red. I’ve got to find Buffy!”

Some sort of outburst darted across the cell bars. One blue eye spied from under the blanket.

“Are you playing hide and seek? You’re grown up for that, aren’t you?”

Faith. Spike dashed to the door, his hands stretched out between the bars trying to seize the bitch’s neck.

“Chill out, vampire. You don’t want this nice, pointy bolt to stab that glorious chest, do you?” She pricked his hand with it. “Now, step back and be nice.”

Another strong sound as the door opened. Maybe the noise was an average one. Maybe his skull didn’t want to take any more shrilling clattering. Something hit his legs. Chains. If that soddin’ bitch believed he was going to chain himself up she was crazier than he thought.

“Come on, hottie. I don’t have all the time in the world, you know? Unless you don’t care about your life… Which it’d be such a pity. Perhaps the witch’s life then?” The bolt scratched his arm. Not sounds of Willow. Not even a muffled cry. “I know. Buffy…” Faith laughed as he secured the shackles around his wrists and ankles. “I knew we’re going to understand each other well…”




The Mayor closed the lid of a big, green chest. His hands rested on it, his thumb caressing the carved figures as if he was gently stroking a horse.

“You were right. She fell in some sort of trance. And then she spoke.” Angelus sipped from a black mug. “It won’t take too much time to drag her to our side. It’s inside her. I would have never…”

“That Stone is extraordinary. It’s said that it corrupts the soul but there must be something corruptible in you, don’t you think? And she has such power in her… You’re a sceptical one, my friend.”

“So I reckon is time to test the sceptre?” His dark eyes fixed on the stone surface of the box. After stealing it, he couldn’t restrain himself. He opened the lid to discover a long, gold staff with an immense onyx as the headpiece. Such powerful device wouldn’t have been that simple in style. He had expected something made of ivory or ebony, maybe set with dozens of the most precious stones.

“This treasure can’t be tested. It must be used.” Wilkins clutched the chest and there was something so possessive in his attitude that Angelus squinted his eyes. “But the time hasn’t come yet. If this little thing can control all worlds and make you the ruler of gods and beings, the barriers between them have to broken. And that’s not the case, yet. Patience, my vampire, is a virtue.”

Angelus didn’t reply. His gaze had only one spot. The Mayor’s fingers. His mind weighted the words. The ruler of gods and beings… One single sceptre meant one single ruler. For millions of realms. As much amusing as this whole thing was, he had to be alert. Not all the worlds he wanted, but at least he would make his stand for half of them. And if that tricky human planned otherwise, well, he would have to set things straight. Ruler… He leant back on his armchair savouring the word. Better than Acathla… Ruler… God…

tbc...