Thanks to Melissa, my wonderful beta.

CHAPTER 22

Nights came earlier, it seemed. And dawns. Maybe it was another consequence of that damned object they were using to tear reality apart. Sitting beside the window at Buffy’s house, Xander leapt on the sofa every time a rushing spark of bright light flashed in the streets. The thin barriers had grown wider and all types of creatures wandered in the shadows. Some of them walked in daylight too. Some people had gathered their belongings in the middle of the night and had fled without looking back. He wondered how far they could go before demons had taken over every city on earth. Thanks God Joyce had stayed in New York for another week. It gave them a good place to meet since everybody thought Buffy had been sent to a mad house and, frankly, he really hadn’t found a good excuse to tell Joyce about her daughter’s absence. His hope about Buffy’s success was fading quicker with every hour and now, even Oz seemed to have disappeared. Or worse. Maybe he’d crossed one of those bright thresholds to the realm of werewolves, if such thing existed.

The clattering sound of the mugs dangerously wavering on a tray brought his attention back to the living room. So Anya could make coffee after all her complains about that insignificant subject. And yet, that insignificant thing brought some hope to his heart. At least some new yarns to add to the tearing weave in his guts.

“I don’t want sugar.” Another thing he was more than flabbergasted about. Cordelia’s small voice still could fight an ex-demon. Pale and with the most tired features he had ever seen, even in Buffy’s worst nights, Cordelia still had some attitude.

“You must have some sugar. You look horrible and sugar is good for the body. At least that’s what they have told me. That and other things we don’t have time to experiment.” Anya was a real stubborn girl when she was at it. “Drink it. Tell her to drink it, Xander.”

“Do it.” He complied with a distant ring before sipping from his own mug. Coughing lightly after tasting the thick brew, he put the cup back on the table. That wasn’t coffee. Not human, at least. Hope receded a little. “So… I think this is going to be a one single man investigation committee.” He tried to sound cheerful. Nobody granted him a slight smile. “Maybe I’d get a badge and a big flashlight and called myself Mulder. Any of you want to be Scully?” Two pairs of dead eyes could have been more animated.

“I’m going with you.” Cordelia made a funny face after finishing her coffee. Her good hand was holding the mug so tightly that her knuckles were as white as the cup.

What had happened to the Cordelia he knew? This one couldn’t be her. He had expected her to shout insults and kick his butt for having let her face that horrid situation all by herself. He had even expected her to be picking up some colourful cast to replace the dull and boring white one that was wrapping her arm. But there she was. The most resolute expression in her face, her lips joined in a thin line. And Anya? She was grabbing her coat! So not alone then. He nearly sighed in relief. Two women weren’t the army of Hell but he’d have welcomed a Boy Scout platoon if they had appeared at the door.




Twelve o’clock. At least that was what his watch said. Where was the sun? Xander looked at the reddish sky through the car window as he avoided strange beings on the road to the City Hall. None of them had made any attempt against the car, though. They were running in the opposite direction, hiding in the houses porches or wherever they could. He was about to say something about it when a roar filled the air. A bright orange light blasted on the street at the car rear. Another bolt hit a kerb and a rain of debris hammered the roof.

“Holy fuck! What’s that?”

“Kro’hian.” Anya replied as casual as if she was talking about the weather.

“Thanks for the name but I meant WHAT is THAT.” Xander twisted the steering wheel to one side.

“Oh! Fire demons. They like bragging. Don’t worry. They are opening a path for their Queen. It’ll take a while.”

“Don’t worry! We’re going to become roasted steaks and she says don’t worry!” He turned to the left in one corner and the wheels shrieked angrily. The City Hall was only four blocks ahead. Xander stepped the accelerator pedal as if he’d make a hole in the floor. The car jumped forward, hit the kerb and stopped a few inches away from a tree.

“City Hall, ladies! Let’s get inside now!”

The front door was closed. It didn’t give way even after they kicked it for five whole minutes. A sudden shattered noise exploded round the corner. Windows. Good entrance as any other. Xander helped the girls to jump inside among dangerous slivers and followed them into an empty corridor.

“What now? Hope you’ve planned something ‘cause, frankly, I don’t want to be wandering around.”

“We planned it when you were at hospital. Not that brainless here.” Shaking his head he went upstairs looking for the Mayor’s office. Oz had that strange idea. If they couldn’t fight the sceptre or find the slightest clue about it in the Mayor’s office, at least they’d be able to find that Vessel Willow had talked him about. Destroying it would mean Angelus would be out of the equation and, under the circumstances, that mere fact would really be bliss.

“What the hell…?” The floor was so slippery that he nearly lost his balance. A strong grip on a doorknob saved his butt from a painful crash. “Mud? Mud in the hallways of the City Hall? Stinky mud?”

Cordelia’s nose was so wrinkled that it’d nearly disappeared into her face. A yellow lapel cupped Anya’s mouth. “It’s not mud. It’s shit. Sorry, but it is. Well, not like that of…”

“Anya!” The horrible smell was enough. He didn’t need a full image of whatever she may say.

“Like puppies shit. Tons of puppies. At least they aren’t rabbits…” She stated as if that fact could possibly ease the disgust and sickness from her two escorts. “It’d have been flesh. And that’s nasty.”

“I’m so not going to ask…” Xander ran after Cordelia when she turned to the left.

“Well, you should. ‘Cause that’s a thing I don’t want to see again. Least of all as a horrible, weak human. Sorry.” She quickly added with a grimace. “It’s not that I’d like to see these puppies too but…”

Whirling around suddenly, Xander forgot the smell to face the ex-demon. His heart was pounding so fast in his chest that he was sure it was going to explode within two seconds.

“They aren’t puppies, are they? Don’t want to know… Yes, I want to know. Tell me we should have brought a shotgun instead of two axes.”

Anya’s giggle was so out of place that he couldn’t but bounce on his feet as if she had shouted in his ears. “You’re really funny. All humans think they can erase everything with a gun? Strange notion…”

“Anya…” His blood was now boiling, torn between shaking that girl to her senses or forget her in the next corner. “You are human, too. And if they aren’t puppies they’re going to chomp your bones just like ours. Are you getting the point here?” He asked when her smile didn’t shrink one bit. “Forget it.”

“I think we should follow the trace.” With a roll of her eyes, Cordelia answered Xander’s bewildered expression. “Dogs are guardians, right? So I bet they’re guarding something.”




Against all the screaming voices of alert that were flashing inside his guts, Xander went downstairs in front of the ladies as the captain of a very reduced battalion. His knees had begun to hurt with every step he took. Rigid and stiffen as though they had been filled with plaster. Silence was a brick hanging above their heads. Till a muffled noise crept from the opposite side of the stairs. Voices. One too familiar. Three hands pushed him to the next landing and inside a room.

“We are so close, my dears!” There was such enthusiasm in the man’s tone. A baleful tone. Full of malignant implications. “Soon they will all be under my command. Ours.” He corrected himself with a chuckle. Xander shuddered. That was the Mayor. As arrogant as usual. He wished he’d had a remote control at hand. “That extraordinary detail of his head! You really amazed me, Faith! Pity I can’t keep my office anymore. It’d be such a great treasure.”

“So The Ascension is still…” That voice again. Distort by a rough ring that shouldn’t be there. Xander squeezed his eyes trying to place it. Something in his heart had twitched since the very first moment he’d heard it.

“Of course it is! I know, I know… You’re worried. You shouldn’t be. You’ll be given your own realms. And I’ll watch from above while you take care of me.” The voices were starting to fade away when they suddenly came to a halt. “Of course, my beloved sorcerer. Take your time. Have fun. We’ll wait you for dinner. There’s going to be ice-cream!”



Sorcerer… No. It couldn’t be. Xander shut out all the signals that told him he was right. He nearly slapped Cordelia when she whispered a name. His friend wasn’t capable of betraying them in such a way. She was sweet and pure and… No!

Three pairs of eyes were nailed to that door. In the gloomy room even silence had gone still. Waiting. The door looked back at them with a fixed, brown eye. Five minutes till it simply vanished leaving an opened hole. A dark, little figure, dressed in a black cassock appeared in the doorframe. Each of her small hands held the frames as if they could fell to the ground.

“You’ve always liked Snoopy, haven’t you Xander?” A sudden fire bolt crossed the sky and its sparks lit the office through a small window, outlining Willow’s shape in a red gleam. “Snoopy dogs should be with their kind, don’t you think?” She stepped back after snapping two fingers. Two horrible and oversized dogs stood at each of her sides.

A tiny shriek escaped from Cordelia’s mouth when Xander hit her arm trying to get closer. Anya glued to his side mumbling in a soft whisper. Were dogs supposed to have four eyes? It was dizzy. Not as finding out that the friend they’d thought dead was now working for the other side. Being stabbed by one of those long fangs wouldn’t have been that painful.

“What were you looking for?” Her smile curled her lips in a disturbing line when none of them answered. As if she had yearn for their silence. “Maybe this?” A flask shone between her fingers. “The Vessel? Bad boys…”

Wide gazes followed the glittering reddish arc the flask did across the room. Their feet jumped in sync to the shattering noise it made when it hit the opposite wall.

“Bye, bye, cruel world…” Willow sang and the red flake on her forehead shone with a hypnotizing glow. “Somebody knows the ritual? No? Poor Angel’s soul… Such bad luck you have…”

A wavering golden stream flowed from her opened palms never reaching its target. It leapt against an invisible wall and spread in a myriad of yellow sparks around Willow’s feet. Her features twisted with rage and surprise.

“What is this? You know magic now?” A crackling buzz rose from her stretched palms and a bolt of white light rushed from them. Same results. “Anya… Still powerful I see… Not for too long…” She promised slapping her hands.

The two hellish dogs jumped against the invisible barrier chomping at it as if they could really see it. Their growls echoed in the room as boiling magma rolling down the sides of a volcano. A sudden, ferocious howl stopped the dogs’ attack. Whining, they grovelled towards the tall, bent shape that towered at Willow’s back like a sinister steeple. One of its claws was holding the witch’s neck with such force that she had started to choke.

“It’s Oz…” Cordelia sputtered, forcing her knees to move. “Let’s get out of here. Now!”

“Oz? How can he…?” Xander couldn’t believe his eyes when the fur on the beast body flickered and showed a few patches of normal human skin. Even its height lowered only to grow again as shadows cast on the walls by a wavering flame. The long nails sank in ordinary fingers and lengthened in vicious claws capable of cutting steel bars.

“GO!!!” That order didn’t come from a human throat. It rumbled through the hallways and shook their guts with a sickened and revolting sway.

Anya was the first one to start running. She wasn’t going to stay longer just to check if that werewolf was able to control his transforming ritual. Full moon or not, she was going to seize the only chance she had to keep on breathing for another day. Only when they were all inside the car again, they dared to look at the building they had escaped from. Dogs weren’t at sight. The car squeaked as a crazy mouse all the way back to Xander’s house.



Was that a dream? Spike couldn’t tell. Dizzy by the nauseous, compressing bulk of energy that hummed and buzz all the time, his body couldn’t even tell night from day. As ensnared by some powerful drug, he was kept in a muddy pale swamp where he could only dream of his golden warrior. Of her sweet mouth on his body. On her warm, glossy skin under the candle lights. Her scent hit his memory every time he dozed out of that fucking place where a thin white sheet did nothing to lower the intensity of the dazzling lights.

But that had been… one, two, three? days ago. Now the only scent that hit his memory was that of her blood. Mouthfuls of blood tickling in his dry throat as his features revolted and changed sometimes so painfully that he woke up with a deep growl. Was it only yesterday when he had woke up gnawing at his own arm? It had scared him so much that he had spent hours sitting in one corner, the sheet dangling from his head, his arms firmly wrapped around his knees and his body swinging back and forth as a rocking chair abandoned in an attic. How long could it take for a vampire to drive mad for the lack of blood? Last snack had been Buffy’s ravishing breasts. His tongue licked his lips at the thought and a bolting shiver ran towards his groin.

Images of her had erased those of a man with glasses, dangerous in his own pseudo-polite way; of another man that had locked a pair of shackles around his wrists with a sad and determine gaze; of a woman smiling behind the steam that spun from a cup. Golden hair and golden limbs had replaced them all. Spread on a velvet surface, they waited for his eager fingers. Spread on a dirty white sheet. Under a window from which the faded sound of a soft rain came along with different scents. Vanilla, tea, lilies. A grey, poignant glow covered the walls of a small room. Moans and his groans. Torn underwear. And fire. None of which had ever happened. Yet, it was fixed in his brain, etched in black and white like a drawing on a metal surface. Kept him in a spiral of undeniable hunger for her. Hunger of her smooth curves, of her hot core, of her coppery and unique-flavoured blood. His cock hurt every time her shape assaulted him. His hand had proved to be a useless tool. Nothing compared to her touch, to the wicked flicks of her tongue, to the wise brush of her fingertips.

“Need help with that?” Another thing that had teased his memories. Like a hammer moulded in hell. The hatred voice of his grandsire. He seemed to be everywhere. Like a menacing icon with big eyes fastened forever on each of his grandson’s deeds.

Squeezing his eyes, Spike shut out the voice and focused desperately on his coming orgasm. Head-knocking? His skull hit savagely the bars of the cage while another hand twisted his own, firmly pressing his bursting cock.

“I’ve these dreams…” The grip was unbearable. A painful, fast pumping. A cold, icy breeze whispered in his ear. “More like memories… An itchy one of having chased you and a human along the luxurious mansions of London…”

This weakness of his… Brought back recollections of a well-forgotten past. And it was too late to break away from this psycho and from the outlandish orgasm that made him spurt in the wild hand that was clutching his balls.

Afterglow turned into aftermath. As those he had experienced when he had been taught to share. “Love us…” After hundreds of nights and raw lessons he had convinced himself he could do it. From then on, it only had been a matter of pushing stupid feelings aside and cling to basic instincts. Wasn’t he a demon after all? Wasn’t he supposed to act by pure impulse, rolling in a mishmash of evil funny deeds, not caring about the consequences? Of his own and of others. Till the sunshine broke into his unlife. His golden warrior.

A wobbly fist connected with Angelus’s temple and only kindled his rage. Daydreams had turned into faded reminiscences of something that shouldn’t have been there. When in his long existence a darn maggot had set him on fire? It had burnt his skin as if the flames had been actually there. Making him jolt from the bed in which he’d lay down for a quick nap. The fire and the scent. A mixture of borrowed powers. So familiar that his eyes had sleepily swept the room looking for his grandson. And his Slayer.

“Want to play rough, Willie? You know I like it…” His fingers seized Spike’s hair dragging him across the cage. It was like carrying a feather. “And while we’re at it, - he kicked Spike’s back sending him against the cot. Kneeling down, his knees pushed Spike’s thighs apart while he quickly pinned the skinny wrists on the thin mattress with only one hand. Something sharp opened a gash on his back. Felt like a sodding knife…, - why don’t you tell me where your whore is? Maybe you had a hidden card in your sleeve, boy?” His taut body bent over. An ineluctable prison. The metal blade circled Spike’s nipples as an icy tongue. “Maybe another witch we didn’t know anything about?” His fingers fumbled on the front of his leather pants. “Somebody powerful enough to open a portal?”

Spike’s brain was incapable of processing any of his questions. He could only hear a hotchpotch of rough sounds, too busy in focusing on wriggling out of the broad chest that had him painfully pressed against the edge of the cot. His face warped. Slowly. As if he’d forgotten how to vamp out. His fangs sank on the wrist that was clutching his, cutting flesh and maybe a tendon, ripping a feral roar away from his grandsire’s gullet. The thick liquid oozed from the wounds into the corners of his mouth and he couldn’t help but lapping it as a rescued castaway would have lapped a leaking tap.

“Fucking bastard! How you dare…?” Angelus squatted backwards, wresting his arm from the audacious fangs. His hand wrapped on Spike’s neck. So strongly that, if he moved, that claw was pretty capable to wring it. The wooden handle of the knife pressed his vertebrae with a vicious weight. “Why on earth do you never learn? What is inside you, boy, that I always have to whack you? I know you don’t like it.” One of his long fingers prodded at his grandson’s ass cheeks and slid inside. A muffled growl spiralled from the cot. “Just as you don’t like this either.” A second one. “Tell you what… - he added a third one. They danced to the cadence of his words, - if you tell me what I want to know I’ll probably let you be. Or give you something to eat…” The fingers were suddenly gone.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Faith grabbed Angelus’s from the hem of his shirt and pulled him to his feet. “Who the fuck told you could touch him?” Her face was a livid canvas. Before giving him time to react, her fists were on his face, on his midriff, on his ribs, trying fervently to break every bone in his body.

Spike heard the fight behind him but was incapable of moving one finger. Those few drops had left him even weaker. Perhaps it wasn’t even that. Perhaps he wasn’t trying hard enough and being there, half lying on a stinky mattress was the only way he had to let them kill each other for good. Being invisible had been a good exit sometimes. Roars echoed in the room and he couldn’t tell whom they belonged to. The rattling of the metal bars every time they hit them, gave him new hopes. Something was broken at his back. A clanking noise that resounded between his still parted legs and disappeared under the cot. The sound of the violent wrestling moved outside. Still, one of them had time to shut the door and the sound ricocheted in each and every bar of that cage as if he had been abandoned in a belfry.

A scream pierced the air. A shouted order the fighters obeyed at once. Sitting on the soles of his feet, Spike swallowed the queasy knot in his throat. So those memories of love and hate… She was alive. Somewhere in the past where… His hand patted the floor under the cot where he had heard the clattering sound. Shaking, his fingers clutched the thin, cold chain and raised it to his glazed eyes. A red blurring glow filled his yellow eyes. The key. The blood key. He never knew when he started to cry.

tbc...