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Something to Sing About by Lilachigh
 
Chp 6 Hotel California
 
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Something to Sing About by Lilachigh

Chp 6 Hotel California


The gloomy bulk of the Hotel California where Ben had made his headquarters lay hidden behind a tangle of trees and bushes at the far end of a winding driveway. Only half a mile away, the small Sunnydale airport stood silent and deserted, the only sign of life a skinny prowling cat.

An hour ago, as Buffy had watched the shambling things that had once been humans pass the place where she and Spike were hiding, she’d known she had no choice. Any one of these could have been Willow or Xander or any of her friends. Whatever it took, she had to stop Ben in this world, just as she had stopped Glory in the other.

Whoever was having the baby whose blood Ben needed so badly to open his hell dimension, she and Spike would be there to protect her and the infant.

Her decision to investigate the hotel where Ben had his headquarters had got Spike’s full approval, apart from moaning that it was a long way to walk. They’d started out across town, cutting through back alleyways and empty yards. Spike had been desperate to use a motorbike he found abandoned in a garage, but Buffy had insisted that their first approach be made with a little more stealth than bravado.

“We’re not going to accomplish much spying if we roar up to the front door on a bike!”

Spike reluctantly agreed, but he had an expression on his face like a small boy who’d been deprived of his Christmas presents and Buffy had the strong sensation that given half a chance, he’d go back for the metal monster as he kept muttering “but it was a Harley!” under his breath.

Now they were silently stalking through the undergrowth. The gates across the drive had been locked shut, but there were no guards and it had only taken them seconds to vault over the top.

“Can you sense any of those same ugly creatures Glory had around her?” Buffy whispered, peering through the dead, twisted branches to where faint lights glimmered inside the hotel.

Spike tilted his head and scented the air. “There’s one standing over there – by that flight of steps. Stay here, pet. Leave him to me.”

“No noise!”

“Oh don’t worry, sweetheart. I can do the bloody James Bond bit as well as anyone.”

She strained her ears as he vanished from her side and suddenly there was a slight, violent rustle and a sound that could have been a croak or a neck breaking.

Then just as silently, he was back at her side, shimmering out of game face, wiping blood off his mouth. She stared at him in horror. She’d forgotten that in this world Spike wasn’t chipped. He didn’t kill because he had his demon under control in a way she didn’t understand, but he could kill and eat and did when he had to.

“What?”

“Nothing – it’s just – I’d forgotten you kill and eat in this world.”

“Only demons or monsters, pet. You know that.” She could hear the hurt in his voice. “Would you rather I was chipped, like back home?”

She hesitated, glad that the dark hid her expression, then realised that with his vampire vision he could see her quite clearly. “No, of course I wouldn’t want you chipped! I need you able to fight, not be on a leash.”

“You don’t seem to mind in our other world.”

Buffy bit her lip. There it was again – the other world making a difference to how they acted in this one. “Things are – different there.”

“Well, let’s see, you’ve just come back from the dead, you’ve got a kid sister who is green energy that opens a hell universe, we’re not married and you say you don’t love me – so yes, top marks, Slayer. Things are very different. I wonder if I didn’t have the chip back home, would you trust me like you do here?”

She winced at the pain in his voice. “Spike – ” she paused. There was too much to say and too little time to say it. “We so can’t get into this now. We’ve got to find out what Ben‘s doing. What he’s planning. Our problems will just have to wait. Please.”

In the darkness, a cool hand found her face and cupped her cheek. Lips hovered over hers, brushing them with a feather kiss that sent ripples of desire through her body. She could taste demon blood and shuddered, her stomach curling in sudden sickness.

“OK, Slayer. You win — for now. We’ll go sort out another soddin’ hell god, save this Sunnydale and everyone in it, hand out pizza and chocolate shakes and probably discover Elvis is still alive and kicking in this Gracelands, because that’s what we do. Perhaps then we’ll have some time for ourselves!”

She squeezed his hand, then turned and crept up to the hotel entrance.

“Welcome to the Hotel California,” Spike hummed the Eagles hit under his breath. “No lights on the ground floor,” he muttered. “Plenty higher up. Looks like they’ve cornered the candle market.”

Buffy gazed at the wall in front of her. It was covered with the dead tendrils of what had once been some type of creeper. A few feet to one side of its trunk, the balcony to a wide-open window beckoned invitingly.

Without words, Spike bent, took one of her feet in both hands and with one smooth thrust, sent her soaring into the air. He watched as she clung to the vine, then swung to the side, hand hands just catching the bottom edge of the balcony.

His own leap took him almost as high and with a sweep of her arm, their hands met, gripped and she swung him up beside her.

“Bleedin’ hell, pet, perhaps we should give up the slaying lark and join a circus,” he muttered in her ear. “You’d look great in one of those little bra and shorts efforts, all tight satin and sequins.”

Buffy glared at him, then found her lips twitching. She had a sudden picture of Spike standing on a trapeze, wearing nothing but tight white Lycra trousers. Hey, she could live with that. Perhaps his idea wasn’t as crazy as it seemed!

She pulled the window open a little more and peered inside. The room was empty. A candle stood flickering on a table, but she could hear talking nearby and the door into the corridor stood wide open.

With Spike at her shoulder, she sidled silently across the room and padded down the passageway. There was chanting now, lots of voices in a mad cacophony of sound. The passage turned a corner and Buffy stopped abruptly, hearing Spike hiss as he cannoned into her.

“Sorry!” She beckoned him forward. They were standing behind a heavy purple velvet curtain that covered the end of the passage. One side had broken away from the hooks holding it up and she could see they had come out onto a railed gallery that ran round a vast hall.

Obviously at some time in the past this had been the hotel’s ballroom. The walls were lined with mirrors and they reflected endlessly the highly polished floor and the hundreds of candles that were blazing in holders everywhere Buffy looked.

She felt Spike’s hand close tightly over hers as they gazed down at the centre of the room. Fifty or sixty brown robed, hooded demons were standing, chanting, holding out their arms in supplication to a figure sitting in a throne in the middle of the circle.

Buffy had no difficulty in recognising him. He was wearing a richly patterned, blue and red robe; there were gold chains around his neck and a diamond stud in one ear. But the face, the hair, the air of innocent good humour. All were the same. It was Ben.

“Too many to fight, pet.” Spike’s words were a whispered whisper and she knew he was right. She was certain that they could account for a lot of them, but if Ben were like Glory in this world, then she would need a lot more firepower.

“What’s all the chanting for? she muttered. “Don’t remember Glory‘s boys doing a whole lot of umming and omming.”

“Some weird L.A. new-age bonding thing, perhaps?” Spike said sarcastically. “Pity we sent Cordelia packing last time we were here. She’d have been the girl to know about this load of shite.”

“No sign of a baby anyway, so that’s all for the good.” Buffy gazed down at Ben. He looked so innocuous; it was almost impossible to believe what he was, what he was capable of doing. She had never discovered how Ben had died – because, hey, too busy dying herself. She know Ben had been Glory and Glory was Ben, and someone had killed him, but who -?

Suddenly, the chanting stopped and Buffy froze, her hand holding the curtain almost closed in front of them. She could just see Ben standing up, holding up his hand and then his voice rang out - “My time is nearly here. The day I return to my kingdom is almost upon us. You have all been patient but soon you will reap your rewards, as I promised. The Key is here. The Key has arrived in this world.”

Buffy choked back a gasp and felt Spike shimmer into game face. The baby was in Sunnydale. Oh god, she had to find it, save it from Ben. But how?

One of the robed demons stepped forward and timidly asked, “If a grovelling fool such as I dare ask such a omnipotent personage as the Great Ben, where is the Key, Sire? When did it arrive? Is it safely kept? Who has the baby? Who owns your Key?”

Ben threw back his head and laughed. “Oh the key is being very well kept. In fact, it couldn’t have a better protector. The Slayer herself is carrying The Key! And when I rip it from her body, it’s blood will open every gate to hell I desire.”


To be continued



 
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