Chapter 3


“Two of them!” exclaimed Willow and sat down abruptly on Buffy’s couch as if her legs had given way under her. Buffy knew exactly what she felt like, because Buffy was just as fazed. “Are you sure it’s not a...a figment of your imagination?”

“That figment slammed me into every tree on the west side of the Colosseum.” Buffy flexed her aching shoulders painfully. “He’s way too solid to be a ghost.”

“So he really is a vamp?”

“Oh, yeah. That wasn’t William the human, like we thought it might be. No heartbeat. Cold skin. Vamp vibe. Plus the fangs, gameface and super-strength. Peaceful scholar. Not! All demon.”

“The two sides,” Willow mused. “William doesn’t know who you are. Does this one?”

Buffy shook her head. “He knows what a Slayer is and he knows the others are newbies. All he wants is that notch on his belt. He was looking for me. To kill the Slayer.”

“Great. What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know!”

“You’ll have to dust him.”

“Willow, it’s Spike!”

“It isn’t Spike. It’s the demon and he’s trying to kill you.”

“He looks like Spike, acts like him, talks like him. Will, he’s more like Spike than William is!”

“You just want it to be Spike. It isn’t.”

“How do we know?”

“He’s a danger,” said Willow doggedly. “Not only to you, but to all of us. And he’ll be feeding. That means people are dying.”

“Willow, if Tara was a vamp, would you be able to dust her?”

Willow flinched. “No,” she whispered.

“I can’t kill him, Will! Not until we know what’s going on. Not until I’m sure he’s just the demon. God! Maybe not even then.”

Neither of them said anything for a while.

“We don’t know enough,” Buffy said at last. “We’ve got to find out more. I mean, say I dust him. Will William die too?”

“Oh wow! I never thought of that!”

“I didn’t either until just now.”

“But William’s human! I scanned him and I’m sure of that!”

“But there might be some kind of link.” Buffy rubbed her hands roughly across her face. “And if there is...William has a soul. You said he did. How can I be responsible for his death? He’s innocent. He hasn’t killed anyone or eaten anyone. He doesn’t even know such a thing as a vamp exists.”

“Oh boy,” sighed Willow. “This is getting more complicated by the minute.”

“And even if there’s no link, there are so many other ramifications. You’ve got to look into it, Willow. We’ve got to learn more.”

Willow nodded. “I will.” She let out a little breath of rueful laughter. “Xander’s so gonna freak.”

“Don’t tell Xander! Don’t tell anyone. Not yet. Not until we know what’s what. They’ll all start hunting demon-Spike with crossbows. Promise!”

“I promise.”

“I could strangle the PTB,” said Buffy violently. “I’m so sick of their games!”

Willow was with her when they ran into William on his way back from work that day. Like a lot of the older buildings in Rome, Buffy’s had no elevator. They met on the stairs, William coming up just as they were walking down.

“Tweeds!” said Willow, awed, under her breath when she caught sight of him one flight below.

And waistcoat, tie, button-down shirt, and briefcase. They both stared. For someone who looked like Spike to be wearing something so uptight and formal seemed truly weird.

“Maybe he’s channeling Giles instead,” muttered Willow, then squeaked as he reached them.

Buffy nearly did too. William’s hair was white.

“Uh, William,” said Buffy in disbelief. “Your hair...”

William flushed bright red. And that was weird to see as well, not only because vamps couldn’t blush, but because Spike, cocky and defiant, would never have blushed over anything in his unlife. Even when embarrassed, he just smirked and gleefully brazened it out.

“I went out for a few drinks with some friends last night,” William mumbled. “It must have been their idea of a joke because I woke up this way and I can’t remember having it done.”

“I like it,” said Buffy.

“Do you really?” He smiled with relief when they both nodded. “The faculty laughed, but no one really seemed to mind, not even the dean. I was wondering whether I should dye it back, but if you think it’s not unbecoming, I’ll just let it grow out on its own. Were you going somewhere?”

“Just over to the café to sit and watch the passersby. It looks like a nice evening to do that.”

“Well, uh, would you two ladies care to go out to dinner with me?” He gave them a shy, but hopeful smile. “I would love to have your company.”

“We’d like that,” nodded Buffy and his face lit up.

“Let me just dump this briefcase and I’ll be right back.”

“I think I’ll bow out now,” murmured Willow with a teasing sideways glance at Buffy as William ran up the stairs. “You probably want to be alone with him and I’m guessing he’d prefer it.”

“No!” Buffy grabbed at her. “Casual, casual. Gonna take this slow. No leaping into anything this time. And I don’t know him. I know Spike, but I don’t know William.”

“You’re nervous.”

“Yeah. Plus there are a few questions we have to ask him without letting him know why we’re asking and you’re better at that than I am.”

“Oh, right.”

William didn’t even notice he was being carefully probed over the aperitifs and the antipasto. No one minds being encouraged to talk about themselves and he happily answered all their questions with no hesitation or any suspicion that they might have other reasons for asking than just friendly interest. His parents were dead, he had no siblings and his passage through Oxford to his degrees and now his present position with St Mark’s University had been swift and smooth. His telling them of it was detailed and without gaps, not a hesitation or a blank spot apparent. Seamless.

“Do you think it’s his own history from before his turning or just something the PTB cooked up for him?” Willow murmured in Buffy’s ear.

“I don’t think it matters. Remember how all our memories got changed when the monks sent Dawn to us? And the monks are nothing to the PTB. I think it’s close enough to the real thing that William believes it and I’ll bet if you went back and checked for documentation, it would exist and everything he says would turn out to be hard fact.”

“We’re not going to find a way to get at the truth through William then.”

“Mm. But what is truth?”

“Whoa!” Willow slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Buffy, you’re turning into a philosopher.”

Buffy gave her a reproachful look. “What? I’m not allowed to have layers?”

“I think I remember Cordy saying something like that once.”

“Hey! You don’t have to be mean!”

They both snickered, then stopped hurriedly when William, discussing wines with the waiter, gave them a puzzled look.

William knew wines, was into Culture with a big C like Giles from what Buffy could make out of the conversation, had all sorts of degrees and fellowships and firsts. He really was a scholar. Buffy on the other hand most certainly wasn’t. His primary focus was mental, hers physical. That was the problem. Their interests and their lives—especially her life as a Slayer that she couldn’t tell him about—were so far apart that conversation was awkward. He got along better with Willow and Buffy found herself falling silent as the evening wore on, their talk whooshing right over the top of her head.

She couldn’t help watching him though. His sidelong glances at her under his lashes betrayed that he was aware of her attention, as any attracted male would be, and that he was both flattered and puzzled by it. No way to explain that her fascination was because he was and at the same time wasn’t Spike.

His features were Spike’s. His face was Spike’s and she had desperately wanted to see that again, couldn’t take her eyes away now or stop her glance from lingering. But the mind behind the face wasn’t Spike. His expressions were different, his gestures, even the way he held himself, his shoulders drawn in rather than spread out, having that faint scholarly stoop instead of the cocky swagger.

“I’d better get back to the College,” said Willow as they walked back from the restaurant. Her teasing glance at Buffy said she was giving them the opportunity to get together if they wanted. “Tomorrow’s a working day and I’ve got some things I need to do early.”

“It’s hardly ten,” said William, surprised, watching her walk swiftly away down the street. “She didn’t have to rush off like that.”

“She’s being tactful,” said Buffy and raised her face in an invitation that even an awkward William couldn’t miss.

His hands closed lightly on her upper arms, drawing her to him. ‘Yes!’ she thought as his face— Spike’s face!—filled her vision. She leaned into him, smiling, her mouth opening to him with triumph.

And was appalled to find that she felt nothing when he kissed her. Oh, it was pleasant, but she felt no desire, no connection at all. It wasn’t like having Spike back in her arms as she had hoped. Yes, the taste of his mouth was the same, and his scent, and the feel of his body against hers. But the way he kissed was different, and the tentative, diffident way he held her, and the warmth of that body that should have been cool, and the quickening thud of his heart against her where there shouldn’t have been a heart beat at all.

Of course William was human, so things would be different. And of course he wouldn’t have that wicked skill that came from a hundred and twenty years of practice. But physically he was Spike and she should have felt something. Where was the intensity, the passion and desire? Why wasn’t she feeling anything?

She could take him upstairs, make love to him. Shy as William was, he wouldn’t turn that down. Maybe she should. Maybe that would bring the feeling back. But it didn’t seem right to do that. It seemed somehow like another betrayal. Because even though he looked like Spike, William was not Spike.

He felt her withdrawal.

“Too soon,” he said ruefully, wanting more, but not surprised at being disappointed.

“I think...we need to get to know each other a little better.”

“Of course,” he said, unoffended and accepting his dismissal with grace since he could see that it wasn’t a complete brush-off, just a slight delay.

He was William and she didn’t know him well enough to love him. He didn’t love her either, was just intrigued by a pretty girl. He walked her up to her apartment where she smiled good night and closed the door on him, frowning.

Wasn’t this what she had wanted? For him to be human? And he was. But he wasn’t Spike and that was who she wanted.

It was just that all of this was so weird. She couldn’t adjust.

I can learn to adjust, she thought; I will. What am I doing, looking a gift horse in the mouth like this?

She was too restless and unsettled to go to bed yet. She went on patrol, which turned out to be completely uneventful that night, not a vamp to be seen, so she didn’t even get to work off her frustration. She came back home still too troubled to sleep, so fixed herself a drink and took it to the table outside on the terrace. The terrace was wide enough to be nearly a small room itself and overlooked the little garden at the back of the building. The surrounding buildings were all lower than hers, so her view was of trees and terracotta tiled roofs, very quiet and peaceful, with only a glow of light to betray the existence of the expressways and busy streets behind them.

She sat there, sipping desultorily at her drink and watching a cat prowl across one of the roofs. It was two a.m. and if she didn’t get some sleep now she would be useless tomorrow, but she knew that if she went to bed, she would only toss and turn. Better to sit here quietly and unwind.

Something dark flashed across the roofs.

A second later, hands caught the cement balustrade of the terrace and a form vaulted smoothly over. Moonlight gleamed on platinum hair. Buffy leaped to her feet, her hand flying to the stake in the small of her back.

“Truce, Slayer.” Fangs glinted in the light from the living room windows, then the gameface vanished and he grinned at her.

“I thought you said truces aren’t possible between vamps and Slayers,” she retorted.

“Rules are made to be broken.”

“And you’re just the one to break them.”

“Oh, yeah. But if you want to fight, I’d be happy to oblige, pet.” He glanced around. “No space here. How about that garden? That should do. Come on down. Or shall I just toss you over?”

She raised her stake. “Try.”

He laughed and hitched a hip on the balustrade, sat there comfortably swinging a leg. “Nah. Feel like talking tonight. I looked for you at the Colosseum, but you weren’t there. Played hooky, did you?”

“I was there. We must have missed each other. How did you find me?”

“Wasn’t hard. Word gets around. They say most of your Mini-Me’s doss down in that College of yours. But everyone knows where the Slayer lives. Buffy Summers. All I had to do was ask.”

“Great,” she muttered. “Now I have to worry about being swarmed.”

“Nah, the others won’t come within a mile of this place. Even the Master can’t get them to do it. You’ve got a rep, sweet. That’s what I like about you. You’re the subject of cold sweat and frightened whispers. You’re the Angel of Death, the way they tell it.”

“Perhaps you should listen.”

“I don’t scare easy, pet. Your rep may have the others peeing their pants, but it’s just a turn on for me.”

“‘There’s death, there’s glory and sod all else, right?’” Buffy murmured.

He smiled. “Yeah. You and me, we understand each other, don’t we, Slayer?”

“Maybe.”

“Drinking alone? You a closet alcoholic?” He grinned, then leaned forward, picked up her drink without so much as a by your leave and downed it in one swallow. His nose wrinkled in distaste. “Not much rum in that coke.”

“Well, I’m not much of a drinker.”

“Or very hospitable.” He got up and prowled restlessly around the terrace while she watched him warily, glanced in at the open door to her living room. “Nice place you got here. How about inviting me in for a proper drink, Slayer?”

“I’m not that dumb, vampire.”

He laughed and tapped mockingly at that invisible, impassable barrier that kept him from entering without her invitation.

“It was worth a try. Well, you could bring the drink out here, couldn’t you?”

“I’m supposed to be drinking buddies with a demon now?”

“Know thine enemy. Aren’t you curious, Slayer? I’m curious about you.”

She was more than curious. She was hypnotized. William was human. This was the demon. But so much about him—his speech and looks and mannerisms—was Spike. It was so unfair!

“I’ve got some JD,” she said reluctantly.

“Now you’re talking.”

She had to find out more, had to understand what exactly was happening here. She went in and collected a glass and the quarter-full bottle of Jack Daniels that stood with the rum and vodka and other assorted drinks she kept for visitors. Her own glass she refilled with plain coke, needing to keep her head and not take any chances. Not with this...creature that she had here.

“Won’t need the glass,” he remarked as she set everything down on the terrace table.

“Let’s try for a little class, shall we?”

He laughed, poured himself a shot, then saluted her mockingly with the glass before sipping at it.

“So. How do you come to be in Rome?” she asked carefully, settling herself against the edge of the table rather than sitting down in a chair, so that she would be ready and on her feet if he jumped her.

He shrugged, on the move again, quartering the terrace restlessly in that leopard prowl, looking every inch the predator that he was. “No idea.”

“You really mean that, don’t you? And you didn’t know your name before I said it.”

He looked around at her, the points of his fangs showing. “How did you know it? How do you know me?”

“I don’t. You just look like someone I used to know.”

He was watching her intently, his lids down and his eyes dark and dangerous behind them. “That’s an evasion.”

“Is it?”

“Oh, yeah. I can tell.”

“How?” she challenged. “You don’t know me.”

“I know you.”

“You just met me.”

“Doesn’t matter. I know you. You tell me how and why.”

“I’ve got no answers for you.”

“You’ve got answers. You’re just not sharing them.” He reached out, his fingers shaped into claws, and ran them through her hair strongly enough to pull her head back. “Pretty hair.”

She jerked away. “Threats don’t work on me, vampire.”

“Wasn’t a threat.” With that deliberate sensuality so familiar that it made her catch her breath, his tongue suddenly curled against the edge of his teeth. “Just an observation. Which might be worth following up.”

“Don’t even go there,” she said flatly and hurriedly, recognizing that glint in his eye.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Buffy exclaimed. “That’s not a challenge and don’t you take it as one! As if you need excuses to cause trouble,” she muttered, exasperated.

“Sounds like you know me.”

They eyed each other warily.

“Why don’t you just tell me?” he said. “Why all this pussyfooting around?”

“Because I don’t know anything.”

He gave her a justifiably disbelieving look. “Then speculate.”

“On what data? Tell me what you remember and maybe we can go from there.”

He frowned, thinking about it. “Nothing much. Woke up in the Colosseo district, is all. Vamps found me, knew I was a stranger to Rome, took me to the Master. SOP for an unaligned vamp passing through a Master’s territory. Either you leave or you become a minion or you duel to the death or you bargain for a pax.” He gave her a mocking smile. “That’s like a green card, yeah? I chose pax.”

“Anything before that?”

“Can’t remember.”

“Try.”

She could see him struggling against some block either traumatically induced or deliberately placed in his mind.

“Light. So bright. Like the heart of the sun. Flames. Burning. It hurt. Was I caught in the sun? It felt like the sun.” He shook his head. Creases had formed between the strongly marked brows. His hand lifted, fingertips pressing hard between his eyes. “Then...some place vibrating with power. Like standing in the middle of an electrical field. Some empty place all green and shining like an emerald.”

“The amulet?” she murmured almost to herself. “Were you caught in the amulet? That would make sense.”

He wasn’t listening. His gaze was turned inward. “Went right through me, those vibrations. Like hitting some giant tuning fork. You can feel it, hear it. Humming in your bones, in the cells of your body. All that power. Couldn’t see anything, feel anything but green fire. Singing fire shaking me apart...” He flung around suddenly, thrusting it all away with a slash of his hand. “I forget!”

“Spike...”

“Yes. Spike. That’s me. That’s what matters. Know that now. Don’ know why I thought different. The rest, all the ifs and whys and buts you humans worry about, they’re meaningless. Irrelevant.”

“Don’t you want to remember?”

“Why? What’s the point? The past doesn’t exist. It’s gone. The future doesn’t exist. It hasn’t come. Only the now exists.”

And that was the demon talking. Time was meaningless to an immortal being. In the endless flow of their burning, blood-splattered dream, it was always the present.

“I exist. I am!” he flung at her. “That’s what’s important. That’s all that matters.”

“Okay.”

They would have to look someplace else for answers. Neither William nor Spike knew what had happened or why. William didn’t know anything had happened at all. Spike didn’t care.

The tension in his face was gone now that he had decided that reasons why didn’t matter, his past relegated into oblivion behind him. He had come to terms with himself, that momentary impulse of half-remembered humanity thrust aside along with the unwanted memories. He was all vampire once more, all demon.

But that demon had been part of the Spike who had sacrificed himself in the Hellmouth. She couldn’t kill him.

Even though it was her duty. She should kill him. What Willow had said was true.

“You’re feeding.”

She hadn’t meant to say that aloud. He gave her a scornful glance.

“Yeah, sure. Don’t you? So I drink blood once a day and you eat three squares of meat and veg. What’s the diff? We all need sustenance. What’s a little blood between friends?”

“We’re not friends, demon. And people dying is not a little thing!”

“Who’s dying? Way I recall it, I haven’t killed anyone.”

“What?”

“Sure I feed. But they’re all still wandering around. A little weak from blood loss, yeah, but on their feet. They’ll be okay after a couple of days.”

Her jaw had dropped. He looked at her and laughed.

“You look cute with your mouth open like that, Slayer.”

“But...”

“We don’t have to kill, y’know.” He shrugged tolerantly. “Or maybe you don’t know. Don’t seem to need much. A pint, is all. They give that much to the Red Cross blood clinics, don’t they? I’m full after that.”

She was staring at him, her brain buzzing with two many contradictory ideas. He tilted his head to one side, crossed his eyes at her and let his mouth hang open in a deliberately idiotic expression. Then he dropped it and snickered.

“The way you look, Slayer! Why is it so surprising?”

“I’ve never heard of a vamp going without the kill!”

“Aah, humans are too easy. A kill like that’s no fun at all.” He grinned at her. “Now Slayers...”

“I thought we’d get to that.”

“Slayer blood. I wonder what that’s like.”

“You’re never going to find out.”

“Is that a challenge?” His gaze dropped to where the pulse beat in the hollow of her throat. “They say it’s an aphrodisiac.”

He was prowling around her and she turned to face him, not wanting him at her back. The demon was volatile and unpredictable, and he hadn’t said how long the truce would last. He could call it off any second. They circled each other, he amused and she wary. The beginning steps of the long dance that was new to him, but oh so familiar to her.

“This is hot, Slayer, dancing with you like this.” His eyelids dropped, the blue eyes darkening as his pupils widened and turned intent. “Makes me think of other things we could be doing. Other dances.”

“Hey!”

“Forbidden, is it? But that makes it all the more tempting.” His glance swept her lingeringly from head to toe, and she felt it like a touch, like a hand sliding sensuously down her from her lips to her feet. “You’re hot, Slayer. Not only the dance. You too. Golden girl. What would you be like in bed? Golden hair spread out on the pillow. Golden limbs spread for the taking. Heat instead of coolness. All that power and strength.”

Her breath shook in her mouth. “Demon...”

“Yeah. Demon. But haven’t you too wondered what that would be like? How a demon could pleasure you?”

Oh, but she knew. And she wanted it. So badly. But this wasn’t Spike. Hadn’t she learned with William? Neither he nor this creature tempting her was Spike.

“That’s enough!” she said and turned hurriedly towards the door to her apartment.

He caught her before she reached it, his vampire speed getting him past her to block her way before she could prevent it. She had forgotten how fast he could move.

“Just a taste?” he mocked and took her mouth with his.

Unlike William, no hesitancy, no gentle consideration. This was a thorough invasion, demanding pleasure and giving it at the same time. Her whole body flared involuntarily, yielded to the hard grip that crushed her to him and bent her back over the iron bar of his arm.

He was the demon. But it was Spike’s mouth insistent on hers, Spike’s tongue delving wickedly into every corner of her mouth, Spike’s chest and stomach and hips hard and imperative against hers. She had wanted it too long, needed so desperately to have him back in her arms again. She was on fire. She was burning.

Her whole body thrilled and sang and melted to his, under that lightning bolt of passion that turned her insides to molten lava. Her arms closed fiercely upon his back, nails digging into the leather of his duster. Her mouth twisted savagely upon his, eating him the same way he was eating her, meeting his violence with her own.

This was known, this was familiar, this violence and heat and ferocity. She drowned in it, clinging to him. Hadn’t they always ravaged each other this way, the lash of desire and conflict thrusting them far beyond gentleness? Her neck hurt from the pressure of his mouth driving her head back; their grips would have broken bones on a human; but all she was aware of was the taste of his mouth and the slide and thrust of his tongue and the feel of his body against hers. So desperately desired.

So familiar, the rawness and violence and intensity that she had always fought, this darkness she never been able to resist—dangerous, drugging, honey-sweet and so wrong. But the laughter was different, that wicked enjoyment so unlike Spike’s desperation. The blue eyes above her glittered with amusement and triumph.

“Yeah,” he whispered against her mouth. “Oh, yeah. I knew it. All fire, you are.”

“Oh, God!”

She came back to herself in horror, thrust at him with all her force. He laughed as he let himself be pushed away.

“You liked it.”

“You’re the demon!” How could she have forgotten that?

“So I am. Have to think about it, do you? Well, that makes sense. All these shoulds and shouldn’ts that we demons never have to worry about. But why do I get the feeling you’re not unfamiliar with the dark side?”

She was all too familiar with it.

“You’ve danced with darkness before, haven’t you, pet? And you’ve liked it.”

But that darkness had been her own. She had let herself fall into the dark. Spike on the other hand had been struggling upwards into the light.

“No more,” she said forcefully and he shrugged. His eyes were all blue light, very clear and intent.

“Later then. But we will dance, Slayer. One way or the other.”

He put one hand on the balustrade and vaulted over. She looked down and saw him land lightly on the grass, lift a hand in mocking salute, then flash away into the darkness.

‘Oh, God!’ she thought in horrified, long-delayed realization. ‘It’s the demon side that turns me on!’



TBC