chapter 32, peace beyond passion, part II

From his perch atop a tall elm tree on the opposite side of the park, Jacob could easily hear Willow ranting at Spike, screaming at him to attack the slayer.

Jacob shook his head in disbelief; Willow made him want to laugh out loud. For such a powerful witch, she was clueless about the inner workings of vampires. She certainly had no idea that there was no way she could turn Spike against his precious slayer. Jacob had seen Spike with the girl. He would give up his world to save her without a second thought.

“Foolish vampire,” mumbled Jacob and then raising his head, he shouted across the lawn. “What. Is. Your. Problem?” Spike should have let the fucking slayer bleed to death in the alley as she was meant to do. But no! Instead, he’d jumped her into a safe world, forgetting he was a descendant of Aurelius. Damn fool! Spike was mucking the whole thing up.

Jacob swung up onto a higher branch in the tree. He wanted to get a better look at the drama playing itself out near the flowering bushes. He settled quickly into his new spot, legs swinging easily as he stared with bewilderment at Spike on the other side of the lawn.

Jacob rolled his eyes. In their early years, Darla and Angelus would have been the perfect candidates for the position of portal jumper. Surely, the Master had thought that very thing. Jacob could see the bat-faced demon, squatting on his hindquarters, palms pressed together beneath his chin, eyes glowing and mouth watering dreaming about his children killing forever in whatever dimension they chose. Darla and Angelus’ ascension to Luke’s throne would have made the Master the happiest fiend in the universe.

But fate had twisted the destiny of the Aurelius clan. The Master was dust. Darla was dust by her own hand, or so Jacob had heard. Supposedly, she’d been cursed. A freakish human life had grown inside her womb and she dusted herself to save it. Jacob dismissed the disgusting tale as urban legend. Darla didn’t have an ounce of sacrifice in her.

Of course, the bastard Angel was still around. But the vengeful Gypsies had tainted him long ago. Once souled, a vampire was of no use to the Portal Jumper. Same went with being a raving lunatic, which meant Dru wasn't even an afterthought. Spike on the other hand didn’t have a soul, but he did have a perverse (okay, maybe a little bit of insantiy in his bones, too) obsession with the Slayer. He'd gone from being a master at killing slayers to protecting one. His thing for her was so intense, it was almost as if he was in love with her, frowned Jacob. Certainly that was enough to take him out of the running for Luke’s long-term rewards.

Jacob swallowed, attempting to hold in his excitement, but the laughter filled his throat. With any luck and a wee bit of planning, that left him, the last untainted descendant of Aurelius heir to the portal jumper’s throne. He was the vampire who would be King. Jacob clapped his hands together gleefully. It was about time his lineage paid off.

After being shunned by his sire Darla, he’d been waiting for this kind of opportunity. For the past 100 years, his life in New York had been good, but not monumental. He deserved grandness and sucking the blood from the throats and groins of upper west side actors and businessmen lost its thrill after a while. He needed something better to do with his immortality than wander the streets of Manhattan for an eternity.

Jacob raised his chin and found Willow’s wild dark eyes gleaming so brightly with insanity that they shone over the length of the park like a beacon. He could feel her warped energy seeping into his bones. He’d have to contend with her to get what he wanted. She’d collected a shit load of power, perhaps making her indestructible. But, she couldn’t wipe out everybody. In the nature of things, it wouldn’t make sense. One entity having all of that power was too upsetting to the balance between good and evil.

Jacob took a head count. There were seven of them—Willow, her girlfriend, Spike, the Slayer, Luke, and the two teens.

He scooted around on the branch, debating. Sooner or later he was going to have join the battle, right? But who’s side should he join? If it ended the way he anticipated, it didn’t matter what choice he made, except he didn’t want to kill Spike. The world needed at least one Aurelian around to suffer at God’s hand.

Jacob laughed a full-throated sound of joy even to his own ears. Most likely, Spike and the witches had heard him, but he didn’t care. The idea of a suffering Spike made him happy. He wiped the tears from his eyes and adjusted his back against the trunk of the tree, forcing himself to be quiet as he returned his attention to Willow.

Not surprisingly, she was still going on and on about doing this or that to save the world. Her tone had the same high-pitched wail Drusilla used to make when Angelus broke one of her dolls.

Jacob tilted his head at the other witch, who was moving nervously at Willow’s side. Her hands hidden, she appeared to be working something around in her coat pocket. But why, he wondered, was she even wearing a coat? It was late afternoon and the sun was setting behind the horizon on the far side of the park, but it wasn’t cold enough for a coat. Jacob narrowed his eyes, examining her more closely. It was the same coat she’d had on the day she and the redhead had arrived at his apartment.

Jacob mumbled to himself. “She’s up to something.”

He focused all of his senses on Tara. She was pulling a scrap of paper from her pocket, reaching it out to Willow, but then she pulled it back, returning her quivering hand to her coat pocket. Rising, Jacob moved a patch of leafy branches out of his way and leaned forward.

Still, he couldn’t make out what she was doing.

Jumping from the tree branch, Jacob landed on the ground solidly on his two feet. Then taking off swiftly, he loped across the lawn.

“Mmmmm.” As he neared the group, he paused. Tara had pulled the paper out again and he could see it. She was holding a photograph, clutching it in her hands as she jerked her head from Willow’s face to Spike’s with such urgency he expected her head to fall from her shoulders.

Then she stopped the ping-pong head movements. Her large round eyes rested unwaveringly on Spike.

“She is eyeing him rather intently, now, isn’t she?” Jacob muttered as he crept forward another few yards, past the sandbox and the first set of swings, swaying empty in the warm breeze. Heel, toe, heel, toe. He covered the space between him and the group cautiously, an inch at a time. He didn’t need to reach them too soon. There was something churning around inside his head and he needed time to figure it out.

Jacob’s nostrils flared as he picked up the sudden strong aroma of roses, yellow and pink, wafting from the bushes. The scent was so powerful it drenched the atmosphere as if the morning sun was feeding it. He looked up at the sky; suddenly wanting to see the sun, make certain it was setting and not zigzagging about.

It was turning black.

He rubbed the back of his neck as a sharp pain settled at the conjuncture between his head and the curve of his spine. Holy shit, he cursed as the dread jettisoned up and down his back. He inhaled sharply and opened his eyes wide. The darkening sky wasn’t his only problem. There was something he ought to remember about the big-boned witch, but his head was filled with the scent of roses.

Jacob started running toward Spike, Luke and the witches.

It was time for him to get into the fray.

________________________________

“Are you insane?” Spike shouted at Willow, and then he paused considering his next words carefully. “Don’t bother to answer that. Yes, you are absolutely daft!”

“And what are you going to do about it?” challenged Willow. “Nothing, because you have no free will and will do as I command. ”

“Think you’ve made a mistake there, Red.” He didn’t feel the pull of her mind like the last time Willow had summoned him, when he’d been so filled with fear about hurting Dawn or Buffy that he’d run away. There in New York City in the alley, Willow had ruled him. But not here in Sunnydale, not now.

Spike slid to his left, his weight on the balls of his feet, gauging the distance between Willow’s outstretched arms and his neck. The free will line had made him angry but not stupid.

“Stay still!” demanded Willow as she grabbed Dawn around the throat. Then she moved so quickly, an instant later she was stringing the girl between two trees.

“No!” Buffy screamed, but she didn't move. She stayed next to Carlo. Spike sensed she was waiting for an opening, just like him.

But Willow kept moving fast.

She had tied Dawn to the tree branches, stretching her arms so painfully tight they looked ready to snap. And now, Dawn was chained to the Earth with some kind of magical rope floating up around her calves and back down to her ankles over and over again.

Spike glanced at Buffy, trying to catch her eye, but she was staring at Willow and Dawn. He looked at Luke. The Portal Jumper seemed to be comfortable watching, entertained by the sideshow before the main act. Spike figured he was going to let him and Buffy handle Willow. Then, he’d step in and snatch Dawn away at the last moment.

Not going to let that happen thought Spike, his eyes back on Willow.

Not much sodding time to consider the consequences, decided Spike as he whipped a thin steel garrote from his pocket. It had been hidden there for times like this. He whirled it above his head and then snapping it long, lassoed Tara around the shoulders. One firm tug and the witch was in his arms.

“What the hell are you doing, vampire!” Willow screamed.

He was holding Tara around the throat with one hand, his other hand wrapped around her waist, her back pulled against his chest. “I’ll snap Tara's neck if you don’t release Dawn.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then you’d be a bloody fool.”

____________________________________

Everything went black and Xander stumbled around for a few seconds before finding the lamp on Giles’ desk and switching it on. The soft glow of the bulb made a small dent in the darkness. He squinted in the direction of where he’d last seen Anya. She was still huddled on the floor, near the fireplace.

Silent.

“Xander?” Giles’ gravelly voice came from the opposite side of the room, near the counter dividing the dinette and the kitchen.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Is it over?”

Xander closed his eyes and listened to the sound of his heart stomping around inside his chest. “No,” His voice was hoarse. “It’s not done…not yet.”

“I wish it would end.” The despair in the Watcher ’s voice was all consuming.

“Giles?” Xander waited for the Watcher to look him in the eye. His mind had flashed on the answer to their dilemma as his heart pounded against his ribcage. “Reverse the thought spell.”

Giles’ face turned so white, it reminded Xander of cotton balls. Except for the dark blotches under his eyes, he was covered in puffy whiteness.

“You’ve tried everything else.” Xander stepped toward him. “It’s the only thing you haven’t mentioned. It’s too easy not to try.”

“Xander’s right, Giles. Reverse the spell,” said Anya, her voice soft, but firm, rose up from the corner behind him.

Xander turned toward Anya. A faint glimmer of her easy grin curled her lips and he returned her smile. When he looked back at Giles, the Watcher was removing his glasses from his face and rubbing the bridge of his nose. Xander had missed seeing the patented gesture and dropped his chin to his chest. He suddenly felt very tired; the exhaustion covering him like a two-ton moth.

“It can’t be that simple.” Giles’ voice sounded far away.

“Actually, you and Willow said it was a simple spell,” Xander started. “Or is this another consequence of our indulgent magic, not remembering that sometimes a spell is as easy to reverse as it is to cast.”

“We got lost, Giles,” said Anya. “Instead of trying to stop all of the monsters, we tried to beat them. We don’t have to win. We just have to stop what we started.”

“You think, it’s that easy. Really?” Giles’ eyes were bright and moist, with flecks of hope spattering his face, as he pushed himself away from the stool and stumbled toward Xander.

“I don’t know,” answered Xander, walking back and forth in front of the sofa, pulling his fingers through his hair. “But it’s the only thing we haven’t tried.”

As the steady cadence of Giles’ voice filled the room, Xander walked to the front door and opened it, wide. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the scent of winter flowers into his lungs. It was a familiar aroma, one he’d missed since Buffy and Dawn had left for New York. But now he remembered.

It smelled like home, like Sunnydale.

Leaning against the door, Xander watched the night birds in Giles’ courtyard fluttering and flapping above the tall trees and between the small bushes. He had no idea who would return from the battle in the park. But without the spell, he prayed Buffy, Dawn and Willow would find their way home.

As he felt the thought spell leaving his body, Xander shivered and then grimaced as a sudden weight on his chest pressed him backward into the door.

Fear and doubt, prejudice and hate rushed into him.

Their spell had turned him into a man who had no thoughts for anything that had to do with him, making him a conduit for guilt and suffering. Oddly enough, it had given him the power to summon the First Witch.

He’d saved Giles.

He’d even protected Anya from Luke, in his own way. But he’d never been perfect and as the thoughts slipped in and out of his mind, he realized he’d never wanted to be anything but Xander Harris.

He had no idea what that might mean. There was no way to predict how his life would change, or not.

But Willow would know the answers, and she’d explain it all when she returned from the park. She’d know if their debt to the universe had been paid. She been his best friend all of his life and he trusted her completely and he would do whatever she said.

What else could he do?

to be continued...