Business as Usual

Chapter 30 The Visitor


A quarter moon was glimmering just above the treetops as Agnes Pringle picked her way along he paths of the cemetery, heading for the furthest part where the woods reached almost to the graves themselves.

Dried leaves scuttered across the gravel walkway. It was odd how there were always dead leaves in graveyards. Agnes sometimes wondered if they were the souls of those departed, rushing around together, having fun.

She liked graveyards; she always had, even when she had been one of the great Unturned. Back home in England, the little church she’d attended on the outskirts of Winchester – sometimes going to the Cathedral itself had seemed a little overwhelming and she never had quite the right hat - had stood in the midst of a lovely graveyard. Her dear parents were buried there, both their names engraved on one stone.

Devoted Husband and Devoted Wife. Although Agnes was not entirely sure those words were completely accurate. Her mother had never done anything that her husband had asked her to do. Mrs Pringle had ruled the roost for as long as Agnes could recall.

It was sad to think she would never join them in their eternal rest, although she had paid for the space in advance and had even made sure there would be room for her name on the headstone when the time came. Agnes Kathleen Pringle, Devoted Daughter. That was what she had wanted because that was what she had been. She’d never had a chance to be “Much Loved Mother of…” or “Dearly Missed Grandmother”. But Devoted Daughter was still a good title to be remembered by.

A reluctant smile twitched across her solemn face. “Agnes Kathleen Pringle, Vampire of this Parish” wouldn’t have looked right at all.

She paused to catch her breath as the path sloped uphill, putting the bag she was carrying on the ground and stretching her shoulders.

Really, she was beginning to feel her age – not that she could age, of course, but her muscles didn’t seem as strong as they used to be.

Agnes spoke severely to herself. Just because life was a little easier now she had the teashop and no longer had to work in the garbage dump, that was no reason to “let herself go”. But long walks were not a possibility for someone in her position and although she’d heard recently that a very nice demon called Shane had opened a gymnasium on the far side of the tunnel maze under Sunnydale, she didn’t think she had quite the right body shape for those lycra shorts that the girl vampires wore while they cycled and what was the expression? – oh yes, “worked out”.

Of course there was nothing wrong with her arms. Recently she had lifted and stacked so many bags of flour and sugar that all he flabby skin had vanished.

Well, all this worrying about herself wasn’t going to get the baby bathed. She picked up her bag and walked on. Agnes knew the way well: she often came here, to the Slayer’s grave, to leave flowers. She wasn’t quite sure why. Was it for Spike’s sake? She was well aware that he never visited Buffy. Perhaps it was for Dawn? She knew how much the youngster missed her big sister, missed Buffy, not the Slayer.

If she was honest, she knew that neither answer was the true one. She came because, for a very short time, she had had a friend called Joyce Summers. And this was her daughter’s grave.

Joyce’s own burial plot was always kept clean and tidy, adorned with fresh wild flowers every week. Agnes knew that Dawn visited sometimes but most of the upkeep was done by Spike. For some reason, he could cope with Joyce’s grave, but not the Slayer’s.

As she reached the little path that lead from the main walkway up a slope to where Buffy’s grave stood, Agnes hesitated. There was someone standing next to the grave. Another vampire.

She felt a rush of excitement. Spike had finally decided to visit; Agnes was sure he would feel better for it. Perhaps just looking at the grave would help him to move on, to accept that she was never coming back.

Then, as her senses stretched a little more, she realised it wasn’t Spike. Although he was wearing a black leather coat, this man was taller, broad-shouldered – and older. Agnes wasn’t sure how she knew this, just that she sensed centuries of grief surrounding him, weighing him down with its misery.

She stepped gently to one side and took shelter behind a large stone cross. Suddenly, as his silhouette was outlined against the sky, she realised she had seen him before. This was the vampire whom she’d seen once in the Slayer’s company, when Joyce had died. This vampire had been comforting the girl Spike loved.

Agnes flared briefly into game face, then hurried her features back to normal. This was no time for dramatic gestures.

As she watched, the vampire picked up a huge sheath of flowers from where they’d been laying on the ground and placed them across the grave.

“She didn’t like lilies! And could you have bought anything more hideous or ostentatious than that monstrosity. So, come to pay your respects – at last? Bit late, she’s been dead over six weeks now, the woman you are supposed to love beyond anything else. But I expect you’ve been busy, busy - busy – detecting!”

Agnes almost jumped out of her highly polished brogues as Spike’s voice cut through the air.

“Spike! What the hell are you doing here?”

“Graveyard, night-time, come on, Liam, surely you haven’t forgotten how we live quite so easily. Or has all that city life softened you up?”

“You’ve no idea how I live or what I do.”

Agnes could hear the hurt bubbling under Spike’s reply. He thought it was covered by sarcasm, but she knew him too well to be fooled.

“Bloody right, I don’t. You’ve never bothered to let me know and I haven’t bothered finding out. Had enough of watching you being the big detective when I was trying to torture you to death.”

“And that ended well, didn’t it? You got yourself beaten up and sent packing. I’m only surprised Buffy didn’t stake you long ago –oh no, I forgot, you’re impotent now, aren’t you? Poor Spikey. What’s it like, not being able to get any – “?

Agnes heard the snarl, saw the thinner shape fly through the air, heard the crack of fist on flesh and then they were on the ground, growling, snapping, snarling, both in game face. Their boots tore up great lumps of grass and as they rolled, they smashed the bouquet of lilies under their bodies and the strong scent drifted into the air like some evil miasma.

Agnes was horrified: she couldn’t believe they were fighting on top of Buffy’s grave! Without thinking, she ran out from behind her stone shelter, scurried across the grass and began hitting the two vampires hard with the heavy shopping bag she was holding.

Whack! “Stop it, Spike.” Wham! “Stop it immediately. Both of you.” They took no notice, so she just hit harder, aiming at their heads/. “I’m ashamed of you. Both of you! Stop it! Do you hear me? Stop this at once.”

With a final swing, the bag crunched down just as they drew their heads apart for a second. It forced its way between their foreheads, smashing their noses and bursting open, scattering stale buns and slices of bread and apples in all directions.

The two men fell apart, panting. Spike had blood running from a cut lip and one of the big man’s – had she heard him called Liam? – eyes was shutting fast.

She stepped back as they rolled over and stood up, still glaring at each other. Agnes stepped between them, looking up into two pairs of furious vampire eyes. She felt a frizzon of fear run through her, knowing that it would only take one wrong word for them to launch themselves at each other again and she would be squished in the middle.

“If you want to fight, please go away and do it somewhere else,” she said, her voice trembling. “This is a graveyard. People are buried here. You are standing on the Slayer’s grave!” Agnes silently handed Spike a clean hanky from her coat pocket and said to the taller man, “You should find a nice piece of steak to put on that eye.”

For a long minute, no one moved. Then Spike shimmered back into human face and a wave of grief and shame flooded across him.

The bigger man’s face returned to normal and he stared down at Agnes, looking puzzled, as if a poodle had attacked a lion. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll go. I should never have come. She knows how I feel. How I’ve always felt. Flowers – well, flowers say nothing, really.” He stared at the younger vampire and for a second Agnes thought he was going to reach out to touch him. But he just muttered, “William,” turned and vanished into the woods.

Spike slumped back down away from the grave, his back against a stone angel. He stared at the broken flowers, the smashed buns and cake trodden into the trampled grass and the tears he had sworn never to shed again, burnt in his eyes like molten salt.

“I’ll clean it all up, Pet,” he said softly. “My fault. I should have just let Peaches have his moment and go.”

“Peaches? I thought his name was Liam?”

Spike flinched. He had almost forgotten his friend was standing there, holding the remains of the ridiculous bag in her hands. He dabbed at the blood trickling from his lip with a square of pink linen that was rapidly becoming scarlet, then licked his fingers. “Liam, Angel, Angelus – he has a lot of names, like we all do. He’s the same bloody ponce underneath, whatever he calls himself.”

“Have you known him a long time?”

Spike looked up and, for a second, the veil of grief and despair lifted and genuine amusement glinted in his eyes. “Yes, a few, Aggie. We’ve shared – ” He stopped and the amusement faded. “We’ve shared quite a lot.”

Agnes was confused. “But you’re enemies, not friends?”

Spike stood up and began to tidy the grave. “Enemies?” he said vaguely, reaching over to touch the words carved in the headstone. “Oh, yes, I suppose we are. But once – ” There was a long pause, then, “Bloody hell, Agnes. What the heck were you doing with all these buns and apples?”

The English vampire bit her lip. She knew she had funny little habits Spike laughed at sometimes and liked to keep them secret. She lifted her chin and said bravely, “I sit up here sometimes and when it’s very quiet, a little deer comes out of the wood and I feed it apples and buns. I know I shouldn’t. That wild animals shouldn’t be tamed, but it is so very sweet.” She sighed. “I’d love a little dog or a kitten. Yes, a kitty.”

Spike tried to hide his amusement. He felt the cut on his lip. Yes, laughing at Agnes Pringle might not be a sensible thing to do
“OK, Agnes, I’ll find you a kitten. That shouldn’t prove difficult at all.”


tbc