Chapter 06

‘strap hanging gunshot sound
doors slamming on the overground’
- “lions” by dire straits


Buffy had forgotten about the hooded figure in the hall not ten feet away from them. Upon the almost guttural sound Spike had made, its head had whipped around, staring directly in their direction.

Then, it threw its head back and let out the most ear-piercing shriek of alarm Buffy had ever heard.

Spike’s hand withdrew from her mouth, and they both made a feeble attempt to shield their ears from the horrible sound. It echoed off the walls, vibrating in Buffy’s head, making her teeth ache.

Voices rose from down the hall, the direction the light had come from. A clatter, when someone knocked something over; footsteps on concrete. Buffy heard the door barge open, banging hard against the wall behind it. Someone called out to the hooded figure and it finally fell silent.

Buffy’s ears were still ringing with the sudden silence when Spike was yanked away from her and into the darkness. Her eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the lack of light, and so he simply vanished from her sight. She heard him curse violently, then a shuffle of feet followed by the sound of fists connecting with flesh.

“Spike?” she called out to him, getting into a fighting stance.

“Vampires,” Spike growled from somewhere in the darkness, his voice strangled. “Three or four.”

“Might want to make use of that gun now,” Buffy shot in his general direction when strong hands closed around her collar, yanking her off her feet. In her fall, she managed to kick at her attacker’s legs, connecting hard with his knees.

The vampire staggered to one side, giving the Slayer time to stand up again. “God, I hate playing hide and stake.” She pulled her stake from its loop on her belt, readying herself for the fight.

Somewhere to her left, she heard Spike’s weapon bark twice. The vampire he’d been fighting let out a surprised yelp before he exploded into a cloud of dust.

“One down,” his voice sounded almost happy. “Three to go.”

Buffy didn’t have time to be happy with him. Her attacker made an attempt to go for her throat again. She slapped his arms away, jabbing him in the stomach. He doubled over, leaving his back open for her stake.

“Two to go,” she informed her companion when she plunged the stake through the vampire’s heart.

“One,” Spike called back to her. She heard him shuffling around in the darkness. “Where’s the other one?”

“You sure it was four?”

“Yeah.”

“Another question, where’s Darth Shrieker?” Buffy backed away from the remains of her attacker until she bumped into Spike.

“Good question.” She felt him shrug against her shoulder.

Although she could still hardly see anything, she made out a shadow rushing toward them.

“Spike,” she tried to warn him but it was too late. The hooded figure that had almost busted her eardrums crashed into her, driving her to the ground, air escaping her lungs at the impact. She sucked in a breath and with it the smell of the thing’s foul breath. Her stomach pivoted inside her and a wave of nausea flooded her already hampered senses.

“Buffy?” The weight of the creature was taken off her.

“I’m okay,” she managed. Spike’s hand took hold of her arm and pulled her to her feet again. “What is that?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.”

And then, the creature was on them again, tackling them to the floor. Its hooded cloak shrouded Buffy’s head somehow, taking away the rest of her vision, filling her nose with that foul stench again.

She tried to struggle her way out of the heavy cloth, legs kicking and arms flailing. Fingers closed around her throat, claw-like fingernails digging into her neck, nearly crushing her windpipe.

Buffy tried to choke out Spike’s name but failed miserably. Her vision started to blur with the lack of oxygen, even darker spots dancing in front of her eyes.

She lunged out with one arm, stake in hand, trying to fight off unconsciousness. The wood pierced through something soft, and Spike all but howled in pain. In their tangle of vampire, Slayer, creature and dark cloak, she had hit him right in the soft spot beneath his collarbone.

The Slayer gasped for air when the hand let her free again. From the corner of her eyes, she saw shadows struggling nearby. At least she was able to make out Spike’s pale skin to see that he had the upper hand.

The vampire kept pummeling away at the thing, his wound not seeming to bother him all that much. Or maybe the pain spurred his anger. One never knew with vampires, especially not with this one.

Somewhere between the hits, he managed to pull his gun again, releasing two bullets into the thing’s head. Although smoke curled from the wound, the thing didn’t stop fighting back.

“Buffy, can you hear me?” he growled, his demon clawing its way to the surface, morphing his face into a hideous mask.

Buffy barely managed a reply, regaining her senses slowly.

Voices from the door at his back drew Spike’s attention away from the creature. Something howled beyond the door. Not like the ear piercing shriek but a wolfish howl filled with nothing but rage.

“Buffy, whatever this is, it’s got back up. We’ve got to get out of here.”

Finally, she was able to get up again.

Only to be knocked off her feet again when the entire building shook with a violent tremour. The wolfish howl faded away beneath the high-pitched screams of female voices. They weren’t painful screams, they almost sounded like screams of pleasure. (And Buffy knew those all too well.) They howled and mewled and moaned.

The Fates.

It came to Buffy as clear as day. The Secte Noir had awakened the Fates.

“Spike, let’s vamoose.” She struggled to her feet, trying to make out the vampire in the darkness.

“Good plan.” Once more, he reached for her arm and dragged her in the direction they had come from earlier.

They stumbled over the debris, and it was close to a miracle that Buffy didn’t fall. She was the first at the end of the corridor, and pushed the door open. She was already out on the sidewalk, when Spike was yanked back, crashing down to the floor.

Something had taken a hold of his foot, pulling him back inside the building. Since Buffy had staked him in the shoulder, he could only use his right hand to reach for the doorframe, holding on to it as best as he could.

Buffy saw a taloned hand clutching around Spike’s ankle, digging right through the leather of his boot.

The vampire growled, trying to struggle free. “Buffy, the gun.” He twisted and turned to pull his foot out of the thing’s grip.

The Slayer rushed down to him, reaching underneath his jacket for the second weapon. She fumbled a little with it, having no real affection for firearms. Then, she aimed into the darkness, pulling the trigger three times.

Something howled in agony, and the hand withdrew from Spike’s foot. He thudded to the floor, letting out a strangled groan. Then he propped himself up on his good arm and foot, scuttling away from the door.

When Buffy had pushed the door shut again, he sank down on his back, letting out an exhausted breath. “You could’ve hurried. I am quite fond of that foot, you know.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, exhausted anger boiling up inside her. She reached for the communication device clipped to her belt, popping the earpiece into her ear, pushing a button. “HQ, this is Buffy. We need a pick up at the factory. Spike’s wounded.”

“I’m not wounded. It’s just a scrape,” he protested, sitting up.

“You can’t possibly drive that motorcycle. Now shut up.” She listened to the voice in her ear. “Yeah, pick us up ASAP. Thanks. And bring a van.”

Spike tried to get to his feet but his right foot failed him completely. He winced in pain and plopped down on his butt again.

This time, it was Buffy who reached for his arm, pulling him to his feet. She pulled his right arm around her shoulders, helping him hobble back to the motorcycle.

For whatever weird reason, nobody followed them. From what she’d heard inside that building, the Secte Noir had already awakened the Fates. And whatever that hooded creature was, it was certainly up to no good. There was still a vampire unaccounted for, given that Spike really had seen four of them.

Buffy sat him down on the curb, squatting down next to him. “How bad is it?”

“Told you, just a scrape.” Spike brushed her hands away as she tried to get a closer look at the stab wound she’d given him. “As long as my foot is attached to my body, it’s all good.”

Buffy glanced down to where the talons on that thing’s hand had ripped right through the boot. Blood pooled on the sidewalk, pink flesh shining through the tears in the leather.

“Two feet accounted for. Sorry that I staked you.”

Spike shrugged but winced again when he moved his injured shoulder. “Had to happen eventually.” He pressed a hand over the oozing wound. “What the hell was going on in there?”

“My guess? The Fates.”

“Wouldn’t the entire place be shot to hell then? And how come nobody is following us out? Seemed like we barged into something pretty important in there.”

“I have no idea. Don’t even know if I should be happy about it or not.”

Tires screeched somewhere nearby, and a van rounded the corner, skidding a little. It came to a halt not two feet away from Buffy. A young man poked his head out, green eyes gleaming in the light of the streetlamp.

“Someone told me, you needed a ride?” He drawled in a heavy Southern accent.

“Mike,” Buffy beamed at him. “For the first time, I’m actually glad to see you. Care to give us a hand?”

The young man hopped out of the van. He was entirely too well muscled, his dark hair standing off in different directions. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and sauntered over to them.

“You must be Spike.” Mike grinned a toothy grin and held out a hand to the vampire.

Spike peered up at the guy, then over to Buffy. He ignored his hand and pushed himself up to his feet. “Nice meeting you, mate,” he all but growled, then limped towards the van. He had his right hand clamped over the hole in his shoulder, trying to keep his weight off his almost shredded foot.

“If you make a dent in the bike, I’m gonna kill you,” the vampire snapped at the larger man when he pushed the motorcycle towards the van.

“Not with that soul o’ yours.” Spike’s hardness rolled off Mike like water off a duck. The young man pulled a rail from the back of the van, then pushed the bike up and into the van with so much ease it looked as if he’d never done anything else. “Now, all abroad.”

They got into the van and Mike took them back to headquarters. Once he had pulled into the parking garage, Spike pushed the back door open, limping out of the van. “Got someone with a first aid kit around here?”

“First floor, to the right. Ask for Anna.” Buffy’s voice sounded flat; once more her thoughts were flooded with confusion.

She watched Spike hobbling awkwardly on one and a half feet to the stairwell. What had happened in the last fifteen minutes? Since Mike had arrived to pick them up, he’d suddenly acted even weirder than before.

During the fight, things had almost gone back to normal. Well, as normal as her life was anyway. It had been like in the old days. She and Spike, side by side, having each other’s backs. With all the weirdness of the last thirty-six hours, it had almost been a welcome distraction. And now…

“What’s with him?” Mike came up beside her after he’d pulled the motorcycle out of the van. “He’s the guy who brought down the other Hellmouth, right?”

“The one and only,” Buffy muttered under her breath. “Thanks for picking us up, Mike.” She shot him a wary smile over her shoulder before she headed for the stairs as well.


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