His words might as well have fallen on deaf ears. Alex and Rupert looked ready to argue about his claim, Dawn and Tara just looked scared, Willow and Anya interested, and Joan thoughtful.

Fortunately, or unfortunately as the case may have been, none of their reactions had a chance to come to fruition, because in that moment the front door flew open and robed figures came pouring into the shop. The group did what any sane people would have done with faced with such strange occurrences.

They screamed.

Then they ran.

Joan guarded their backs, watching over Dawn’s retreat in particular. Billy moved with her, aiming for a back door that he hoped lead to an exit. They had almost reached it when the first of the robed intruders launched itself at Joan. Billy grabbed the first thing in reach, a solid metal statue of a multi-armed goddess and hit the figure over the head as hard as he could just as Joan’s fist sank into its gut. Much to their surprise, their attacker immediately sank to the floor, cowl falling back to expose a pale, featureless head. Joan’s shocked face met Billy’s and he shrugged before grabbing her arm and dragging her through the threshold.

The door did not lead outside, but to what looked like a private gym stocked with all kinds of weapons. While Joan braced herself against the door, Billy grabbed any piece of furniture he could and drug it over to make a barricade. Joan helped him pile the benches and desks high. Heavy blows kept falling on the other side of the door, but their hasty fortifications seemed to be holding. Joan and Billy staggered back and glanced at the others.

They were met with slack-jawed amazement.

“What?” asked Joan.

Willow spoke first, “How did you two move that stuff? We tried moving the big desk, but you just tossed it around like it didn’t weigh a thing.”

“That was so cool!” squealed Dawn. “You guys are crazy strong. I bet you’re like super heroes or something!”

Billy scratched the back of his neck and looked at Joan. She looked equally confused. He had been running on pure instinct, acting without questioning, and it felt so right, like he had done exactly the same thing a hundred times before. He had not noticed the size and weight of the furniture he and Joan had moved with ease, he had simply done what he thought needed doing. From her expression, it had been the same for Joan.

Billy looked at his hands. They were covered with scars and what looked like recently healed burns. The knuckles were rough and had long since been worked flat with harsh treatment and calluses. These were the hands of a fighter.

Joan seemed more willing to accept this strange role. “Are there any other doors?”

“Yes,” said Alex, appearing from the back of the room, “but it’s locked and looks pretty solid. I heard something on the other side, so there might be more of those guys out back. I think we’re safe for now.”

“What do you think they want?” asked the girl, Dawn.

Joan and Billy traded a look. “I don’t know, but they aren’t human,” Billy finally said.

The older Englishman scowled a little. “Not human? But that’s…” he faltered and looked at Billy again.

“Impossible?” Joan asked with a perky sweetness that made Billy want to snicker. Joan shrugged. “I don’t know about the rest of you guys, but when those things manage to get through, I want something large and preferably sharp in my hands.” She suited her words by walking over to a wide array of blades that were hanging on the wall. She pulled one down and gave it a few test swings.

Billy walked over to her and picked up a long staff with steel capped ends that was leaning against the wall. It simply felt right in his hands and he knew that while he was not sure how skilled he was with such a weapon, his body would remember when the time came. The others were rummaging around the room, whispering nervously and arming themselves as best they could. Even little Dawn had picked out a slender mace, which she wielded with something less than expertise. Billy met Joan’s eyes and smiled ruefully.

“We should take the front. Their hearts are in the right place, but if you’re half as skilled with that blade as you look, we have a better chance of actually winning,” he told her in a soft undertone.

Joan nodded her agreement. “How about you, can you use that staff?” When Billy nodded, she continued. “It’s funny, I can’t remember ever using a sword, but it feels like a part of me, like arms or toes. I wonder who we really are,” her voice tapered off and her eyes lost their focus. Her distant expression was soon replaced with a teasing look. “If we are super heroes, I bet you’re the sidekick!”

“Me? Sidekick? I may not have a reflection missy, but if you look in the mirror, I think you’ll agree that you’d be better at damselling than I!” The teasing felt as natural as everything else. It was so easy to trust Joan, to fall into easy banter. He wondered what they meant to each other when they still had their memories.

“Maybe we’re like the Wonder Twins,” she amended with a wide grin.

“Won’t work, different accents. Maybe Wonder Pen Pals,” he was grinning along with her now. She was so beautiful when she smiled, like she was lit from within.

A particularly heavy blow to the door snapped both of them out of their flirtations. Joan called everyone around.

“OK, Billy and I will be in the front. We seem to have some experience and we’re both pretty strong. You guys try to back us up. You, um, Rupert, do you know how to use that?” she indicated the crossbow in his hands.

“I believe so,” he responded, but his tone did not instill much confidence.

“Only shoot if you have a really clear shot, okay?” she continued without waiting for his answer. “Everybody take your positions. That door won’t hold for much longer.”

She moved to stand on Billy’s right, sword hand away from him. Billy propped himself up with the staff and leaned in close. “So, General Joan, am I the only one who seems to be having a little more fun with this than is probably normal?” he whispered softly enough that the others, milling behind them, could not hear.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, “No.”

“Just checking,” he straightened again with a lopsided grin.

They waited, weapons at the ready, for the door to give way. The hooded figures on the other side did not disappoint. Barely a minutes later, the hastily piled furniture came crashing down and the door lurched open wide enough to allow a few of their attackers through. Joan and Billy dispatched them with ease, but while they were fighting, others streamed into the room.

The hooded figures were eerily silent, no battle cries or grunts of pain when a blow landed, and they were all armed with smooth wooden clubs. The size of the room limited their fighting ability, but the figures must have numbered well over a dozen. The defenders were hard pressed to keep them all at bay.

Rupert stayed in the back, taking the shots he could and attempting to shout out warnings when he could not. He was actually fairly good with the crossbow, but simply too many people were fighting in too small a space to allow him to use it much without endangering friend and foe alike.

Surprisingly, Anya turned out to be one of the better fighters. She wielded her club, if not with skill, then with exuberance. She and Alex, who had picked up an axe, stood in front of Rupert and tried to keep the attackers from reaching the older man.

Willow and Tara had closed ranks around Dawn and tried to shield the younger girl from harm. None of them showed much skill with their weapons, but thankfully, all of their opponents only made it to them after passing through the deadly combination of Joan and Billy.

Billy fought back to back with Joan. Every move she made, he shifted to guard her blind spots, and she did the same for him. It was strange, like an inverted dance, but it came to them both like instinct. Billy’s staff spun in wide arcs, bludgeoning and jabbing at hooded figures as they swirled around them, and Joan’s sword sliced through flesh, sinew, and bone, incapacitating any who came within her reach. It had a terrible beauty. It was exhilarating.

It was hot as hell.

Best keep that thought to myself.

A loud scream drew Billy’s attention. He glanced back just in time to see two of their attackers bear down on Dawn. Without thinking, he stretched back and hurled the staff like a spear towards the taller of the hooded pair. The metal tip sank into the figure’s back and it fell, which distracted its partner enough to let Willow get in a solid blow to the thing’s head.

Unarmed and vulnerable to attack, Billy dipped low and scooped up one of the downed attacker’s clubs. He rose with a hard thrust to the face of the thing facing him. It dropped like a stone and he turned to find the next threat. Fortunately, there were only a few hooded figures still standing. He and Joan moved to help the others finish off the last of the attackers.

As the final blows fell, Willow slipped in a spreading pool of blood and landed heavily on the floor. Something small and dark fell from her pockets and Billy watched as it skidded across the floor. Not seeing the tiny object, Alex backed up to avoid stepping on one of the fallen figures and crushed it beneath his boot. Billy saw a brilliant flash and the world seemed to stop.

Memories flooded back.

My name is Spike.

He almost laughed with relief.

Vampire, I’m a vampire.

Once his head cleared enough to think straight, Spike looked around. Xander, Anya, Dawn, and Giles seemed to have emerged fairly unscathed by their experiences, if a little confused. The other people in the room were not faring so well. Buffy stood listlessly, the hilt of her sword barely held in her limp grasp. Whatever progress she had made coming to terms with her death and resurrection had taken a serious hit. Her posture and silence reminded Spike of that first night on the staircase.

He slipped the sword from her nerveless grasp and took her limp hand in his own. He searched her face when she did not react to his touch and met the slayer’s blank, teary eyes. For the moment, she seemed lost in her own pain. As much as Buffy’s condition worried Spike, he was soon overwhelmed by his swelling anger. His emotions were worsened by the grief and terror he could feel from Meret, wherever the little serpent was hiding.

Dawn joined him at Buffy’s side. Seeing his slayer in good hands, the vampire turned to confront the others, but the tableau in front of him trapped the angry words in his throat.

Willow still sat on the floor where she had fallen. Tara, who had started to offer a hand up before the spell had been broken, was standing over her girlfriend with tears streaming down her face.

“Tara, baby?” pleaded Willow.

Tara backed away and shook her head. “No,” she whispered. Spike could not tell if she was answering some unvoiced question or simply fending off Willow. “No,” she repeated more firmly. She turned and fled the room, slipping out of the slightly open door and disappearing. Spike could hear faint sobs as she left the building.

Spike’s hard eyes turned back to Willow.

“Could someone please tell me exactly what just occurred?” asked Giles, wearily.

Anya and Xander shuffled their feet and avoided the watcher’s questioning gaze. Dawn looked around in confusion, and Buffy remained unresponsive. Willow, for her part, looked equal parts stricken and defiant. Since no one else seemed willing to breach the subject, Spike saw no reason to sugar-coat the truth.

“Red here’s been clippin’ out bits of Glinda’s memories, playin’ her like a puppet. Looks like she graduated to toyin’ with the rest of us,” his words were harsh, angry.

Willow’s jerked his head towards him. “How did you… I mean, that’s not true!” her eyes blazed as she spoke.

“Isn’t it?” interrupted the watcher. He slashed his hand in a cutting gesture when Willow opened her mouth to object. His eyes came to rest on his slayer, who had started to pull herself together, but had yet to loose her lost, broken demeanor. “I think it would be best to get Buffy home right now. We can discuss this, at length, later.” His voice promised that the redhead’s latest antics would not be forgotten, or forgiven, lightly.

The witch remained silent, but her anger and embarrassment were plain for all to see. She stood up, dusted herself off, and walked through the front door, back into the public part of the Magic Box.

Giles watched her retreat with a worried expression. Spike thought he could smell the faintest thread of fear coming from the watcher. “Anya, Dawn, could you walk Buffy home? Xander and I will be along after we clean up this… mess.” The ex-demon, uncharacteristically quiet, awkwardly patted one of Buffy’s arms and started leading the slayer towards the door with Dawn close behind. On their way out, Spike met Dawn’s worried eyes and nodded slightly. He would drop by the Summers’ house later that night.

The watcher observed him with veiled eyes. “Spike, your help would be much appreciated.” When the vampire did not immediately scoff at the suggestion, Giles sighed and started removing his torn and bloodstained coat.

Xander wrinkled his nose at the number of dead bodies that were strewn around the room, but moved quickly to unlock the back door to the ally, which turned out to be abandoned, and seek out a mop and bucket from the supply closet.

“Rupes?” Spike started. When the watcher looked up from rolling up his shirtsleeve, the vampire continued. “These are the same blighters who attacked me last week.”

Giles grunted his understanding before turning his attention to his other sleeve. Spike could see a small tattoo on the inside of the watcher’s forearm. He wondered how many other scars from the watcher’s days as Ripper remained hidden under the layers of starched cotton and tweed.

Tough old git.

Spike retreated to the main room of the Magic Box and called for Meret. It took a few tries and as much projected reassurance as the frayed vampire could muster, but the little serpent soon emerged from the darkest corner of the store’s book-filled loft. She curled tightly around his neck again, seeking comfort in his touch.

He shuffled through the books and papers still scattered on the study table and soon found the heavy golden cross. The robed figures had apparently ignored it.

Guess this answers that question.

Seeing that Willow had forgotten her book bag, Spike dumped out its contents into the floor and nudged the cross into the bag with a textbook. He almost wished that the redhead would figure out who had nicked her satchel. That would give him all the excuse he needed to tell her exactly what he felt about her recent behavior. He stashed the bag behind the counter and sauntered back to the workout area, not desperate to return to the bloody disaster area that waited there.

“Cross is safe, guess they didn’t want it after all,” he commented casually as he walked through the door. He froze in place, having caught the watcher and Xander talking to each other conspiratorially and eyeing the door warily. “What now?” he asked with more than a little irritation.

The watcher cleared his throat. “I believe that Willow’s spell has had another, unforeseen side-effect.”

“Cut to the chase Ripper. ’S been a long night,” snapped Spike.

Xander and Giles traded looks. Finally the watcher spoke, “It seems that the spell has had some kind of effect on the bond you have with your coatl.”

“Can hear her jus’ fine,” was the vampire’s terse reply.

“Yes, but so can we,” was the watcher’s.