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Chapter 19
 
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With the vampire gone, the man decided to find Jenoff. When he eventually found the demon, he was high above the casino floor on a fixture somewhere between a balcony and a pulpit. A woman was kneeling at his feet, his index and middle fingers resting over her eyes. It looked like she was receiving absolution – until Jenoff started sucking out her soul.
 
He shuddered. How is this going unnoticed?
 
Jenoff rolled his head back in ecstasy. As the woman slumped at his feet, he blinked his eyes open sleepily and smiled, licking his lips. He shoved her out of his way with one foot – expending so little energy and attention, it couldn't even be called a kick – to lean his elbows on the railing, looking out over his domain of desperation and greed.
 
The man slipped into the crowd, feeling sick. Watching a soul being eaten … he felt soiled knowing he’d done nothing to stop it.
 
He followed Jenoff from a distance as he did the rounds of his pit bosses. The soul sucker seemed to be able to sense hopelessness – always knew when someone was cheating or losing more than they could afford – and he was ready, waving in one of his men with a timely offer. Or punishment.
 
After many interventions orchestrated from the sidelines, Jenoff finally stepped over to speak personally to an acutely distraught man who appeared to have lost everything at blackjack.
 
The man watching them was too far away to hear their conversation, but he could see everything perfectly. Jenoff pulled a piece of paper out of his breast pocket and handed it to his soon-to-be victim, then twisted a ring around on his finger, before shaking his hand. The victim let out a squeal of pain, cringing away from Jenoff, who pressed his now-bleeding hand against the paper. The paper flashed white before Jenoff placed it back in his pocket.
 
Jenoff nodded to the dealer, who gave the relieved victim a very large pile of chips.
 
So. There are contracts. And a magic ring.
 
The job must be to retrieve a contract. How ... honourable.
 
 
 
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Willow and Tara woke up at the first scream.
 
They ran out into the hallway, where the next scream led them to Buffy’s room.
 
They burst through the door – fully expecting demons – and froze in shock when the overhead light revealed Buffy, alone, trapped in a nightmare and valiantly fighting against something only she could see.
 
Willow ran straight to her friend, but caught a kick to the gut that sent her flying into the wall.
 
“Willow!” Tara shouted, running to where Willow lay crumpled on the floor.
 
The bang on her wall woke Dawn, who stumbled blearily into the bedroom in time to see Tara helping a dazed Willow to her feet, and Buffy going suddenly rigid with pain, arching up off the bed and letting out a third scream, louder and longer than the others.
 
It was agonising to watch.
 
“Buffy!” Dawn shrieked.
 
That woke Giles up, but did nothing to break the nightmare’s grip on Buffy.
 
“What’s wrong with her?” Dawn whimpered more quietly.
 
“I think nightmares,” Willow said, miserably. She’s probably fighting her way out of the coffin….
 
Satisfied Willow was okay, Tara walked around to the other side of the bed, trying to reach Buffy from the back, but she kept twisting and turning on the bed, and Tara only just managed to avoid being punched.
 
Then Giles arrived, panting, at the bedroom door.
 
Buffy screamed a fourth time, but it tapered off and collapsed into shuddering sobs, her arms flopping and fluttering instead of punching. They watched her curl into a ball, weeping.
 
Willow ran to her again. “Buffy, please, you’ve gotta wake up!” She gently shook her shoulder, until Buffy’s tear-swollen eyes finally blinked open.
 
“Whatcha doing in my room, Wills?” she asked hoarsely, remnants of her nightmare still flashing around the periphery of her vision.
 
“You were having a nightmare,” Willow said.
 
Buffy struggled up into a sitting position, balking when she realised how many people were in the room, all of them staring at her. Despite her pyjamas, she felt naked and exposed. “Was I … loud?” she asked nervously, curling up against her headboard.
 
“Little bit,” Tara said, wincing in sympathy.
 
Buffy huddled around herself, shivering. Dawn dragged the bedcovers up off the floor, and passed them to her sister. Buffy hid herself in them, pulling the edges up to her chin so only her face and fingertips were visible. She looked gratefully at Dawn. “Thanks.”
 
Dawn shrugged nonchalantly, and Buffy sagged back against the bed.
 
“I – I think I wanna try to get back to sleep now, guys. Could you, um, go? Please?” Her voice was still hoarse and shaky, but the words came out determinedly. Getting so much better at pretending.
 
“Of course,” Giles said, still a little breathless. “If you need anything….”
 
“I’ll call. Promise.” Buffy shut her eyes and waited until she heard the door close. Then she scrunched herself down as small as she could, shoved her fist in her mouth, and let the tears come.
 
 
 
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By the time Jenoff and his sidekick came through the door, Spike was ready to climb the walls from boredom.
 
“’Bout bloody time you showed up!” he griped. “Don’t you lot take your burglar alarms serious-like?”
 
Mini-Sunglasses flinched. Jenoff laughed. “I don’t recognise you,” he said. Looking at the faint outline of the bespelled box on the desk, he added, “I presume you’re here on behalf of someone else?”
 
Spike raised one eyebrow.
 
Jenoff scented the air, then smiled. “Well! I am intrigued. What’s a vampire doing trying to save a soul?”
 
“Gettin’ paid, you pillock.” Spike said scornfully.
 
“Ah.” Jenoff stared at him intently. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as one whose … needs … could be met by mere money.”
 
Spike rolled his eyes. “Leave off the sales pitch, yeah?” He pointed at his chest. “No shiny soul for you to suck here.”
 
Jenoff looked surprised for the first time. “You’re not the souled vampire?”
 
“Just once in my fuckin’ life….” Spike muttered angrily.
 
Jenoff didn’t react, just kept looking at Spike speculatively. “No real vampire would touch this sort of do-gooder work. And you positively reek of need.” He snapped his fingers. “You must be that crazy chipped one I’ve heard tell about.”
 
Spike groaned. “Soddin’ demon rumour mill! ‘S worse’n a bunch of old women.”
 
Jenoff laughed again. “But it’s such a catchy tune!” He put on a sad, sympathetic expression. “Is it true you’re literally impotent – not just, you know?” Jenoff bared his teeth, then snapped them shut, eyes dancing.
 
Spike went into game face, grinning menacingly. “Chip only works on humans, you stupid git. Or did the old biddies forget to mention that?”
 
“You can’t hurt me,” Jenoff scoffed.
 
“Wanna bet?” Spike leapt over the desk, sword out, and in one fluid movement took Jenoff’s head clean off.
 
 
 
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“Poor Buffy,” Willow said quietly as the door shut behind them.
 
“Hey, where’s Spike?” Tara said, frowning. “Wasn’t he supposed to be home early tonight?”
 
“Buffy kicked him out,” Dawn said bitterly.
 
“What?” Tara asked, puzzled. “When?”
 
“Did he do something to her?” Giles asked.
 
“He did nothing!” Dawn shrieked. “God! Why do you always think it’s his fault? I’m going to bed.” She flounced off in a huff, slamming the door behind her.
 
“Um, guys? Maybe we should take this conversation out of the hallway? So Buffy can sleep?” Willow said hesitantly.
 
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Giles said softly.
 
They trooped down to the kitchen. Giles put on the kettle, while Tara started mixing herbs together for tea. Willow sank into a chair at the breakfast bar.
 
“Buffy was in pieces when I got back tonight,” Giles said, finally. “And now screaming nightmares for the first time? Will one of you please tell me what on earth happened today?”
 
There was a heavy silence.
 
“Angel came,” Willow said finally.
 
“How did he know, Will?” Tara asked, her voice calm and even, intent on putting herbs into mugs.

Looking carefully at her lap and picking lint off of her pyjamas, Willow said quietly, “Um…. I mighta sorta … called him?”
 
Why?” Giles asked. “Surely even you must have recognised the potential for disaster in such an action?” She’s so fragile, so unlike herself right now.
 
Willow straightened, looking at Tara and Giles. “He loves her! I thought … I thought she should have people around who love her. I thought it would help!”
 
“And damn the consequences….” Giles muttered to himself, throwing a tea bag into a mug.
 
“No, Willow,” Tara said firmly. “I d-don’t believe that’s why you c-c-called him.” She hated confrontations, and it was late and she was exhausted, but she just couldn’t let this slide. What she suspected Willow had done was awful … and she had to know.
 
Willow flinched. “I – I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she said, trying for indignant, but she knew she hadn’t quite brought it off.
 
“She thought she and B-Buffy would b-b-bond again, didn’t you Willow? ‘Best-friend-time’?” Tara felt sick, watching Willow’s face, reading in it that she was right. “B-Buffy was broken when Angel left – physically and emotionally. And Willow had ice cream, ready and waitingso she c-could swoop in to p-p-pick up the pieces.”
 
Willow bust into tears. She was already agonising about how hurt Buffy had been after Angel left. She already blamed herself for the nightmares, for Buffy coming back trapped in her coffin. And now – they were all looking at her like she was some kind of monster. “I’m sorry!” she wailed. “I thought it would help! I only ever wanted to help.”
 
“I don’t know who you are anymore,” Giles said very softly. And I’m not sure I want to. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going downstairs. I … I don’t trust myself to deal with this appropriately right now.”
 
 
 
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Mini-Sunglasses sucked air in through his teeth. “Oughtn’t’ve done that, mate.”
 
“Oh no?” Spike sneered.
 
“Nah,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “You’ve only gone an’ brassed ‘im off now.”
 
With horror, Spike watched a new head sprouting out of Jenoff’s neck. It was white and rubbery and horrible and it was screaming so loudly Spike thought his eardrums might burst.
 
“What are you?”
 
“I am a Soul Sucker,” Jenoff said hoarsely, his head now almost fully restored. “And you are about to be very sorry that you crossed me.”
 
Buggering fuck.
 
Dazed by the screaming and the shock of Jenoff re-growing his head, Spike let Mini-Sunglasses and a few of his friends haul him out of the office.
 
The restaurant had been cleared of punters, and filled with what looked like Jenoff’s entire staff – many of them armed, and all of them large and threatening. But all Spike could smell was demon, so even though he was outnumbered by more than he could be bothered to count, he wasn’t tooworried.
 
He managed to decapitate six and seriously maim at least another ten before his sword was finally knocked out of his hand. He spared a moment to tut that Jenoff’s minions didn’t know how to fight as a group – Big Bads just can’t get the help these days – but it was just so much fun playing them against each other! He was laughing and taunting as he ducked and weaved, watching them take each other out instead of him.
 
He was just beginning to really enjoy himself with the brawling when he caught his first whiff of human sweat and suddenly his fist was connecting with a face that didn’t belong to a demon.
 
There was no time for him to pull the punch. As he heard the telltale crunch of a spine snapping from the impact, his chip flared violently. His vision whited out for a few seconds, and blood started streaming out of his nose and ears.
 
Not stopped workin’ completely – jus’ Buffy. ‘S okay. Can still do this….
 
Then, somewhere way back in the part of his brain not completely consumed by the pain or the need to keep fighting, he noticed the sound of the lift pinging, and a much stronger scent of human.
 
Bugger.
 
The fight didn’t last long after that.
 
“Do we dust ’im?” Mini-Sunglasses asked, kicking Spike’s unconscious form along the floor towards his boss.
 
“Not yet,” Jenoff said. “I want to make an example of him – something public. Have to make sure everyone understands the rules.”
 
Mini-Sunglasses grinned. “Sounds like fun.”
 
“No one gets out of my contracts. No one.”
 
 
 
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After flouncing into her bedroom, Dawn had only waited until the stairs stopped creaking before creeping back out to listen to the conversation going on in the kitchen.
 
She might be angry, but that didn’t mean she was willing to pass up on knowing what was going on.
 
Dawn was genuinely surprised by what she heard. And, if she was honest, more than a little bit scared. For all the times Dawn had felt uncomfortable around Willow in the weeks after Buffy died, she had never doubted for a second that she was Buffy’s best friend. That Willow could plan something to hurt Buffy, just so that she could comfort her afterwards…. It was scary. Best friends just weren’t supposed to do things like that.
 
When Dawn heard Giles shut the basement door, she crept back upstairs and into her bedroom. She listened to Tara and Willow come up the stairs. Willow was still crying and the complete and total absence of comforting words from Tara was deafening in its judgement. Muffled shouting and crying continued from their room for a good hour afterwards.
 
That was scary, too. Willow and Tara’s relationship had always made Dawn feel so safe. She had never seen a relationship like theirs before. They never fought – not really. When there were problems, they’d just talk, and then it was always fine again. Dawn couldn’t remember a time when her parents had been civil to each other, let alone loving. And Buffy’s boyfriends? High angst rollercoasters of half-truths and omissions, every last one of them.
 
Dawn had been so sure that it would all be alright. Coming home from the ice cream place with Tara, she’d started feeling … hopeful.
 
But now Spike was gone. Because of stupid Buffy and her stupid Angel issues.
 
Even Buffy was gone. Sort of. Strong Buffy – Slayer Buffy – had disappeared, and she’d left behind a girl Dawn didn’t recognise, one that stared off into space and who screamed out in fear in the middle of the night.
 
She’s still screaming.
 
Dawn got out of bed and ran into Buffy’s room for the second time that night.
 
“Buffy?” She stopped just inside in the doorway.
 
The overhead lights were still on, and Buffy was curled into a ball in the centre of the bed. Buffy blinked her eyes open. Not again. “Dawnie?” Her voice was barely there, cracked and wavering. Her eyes looked bruised, swollen from crying and circled by black shadows. Her face was lined, brackets of pain around her mouth, making her look years older. And she was still so thin.
 
“Are you okay?” Dawn asked before she could stop herself, hating the whine she could hear in her voice. God, what a dumb question. She walked further into the room, pulling the door closed behind her.
 
“No,” Buffy said. “Not really.”
 
Dawn sat down on the edge of the bed, looking down at her sister with pleading eyes. “It’s got to get better. Right?”
 
 
 
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When Spike finally flickered back to consciousness, he was hanging from a wall by his wrists.
 
Not dust. Thank fuck for that.
 
Refreshingly, his face was undamaged, so it was only chip-induced white spots interfering with his vision when he finally opened his eyes. He saw a bare cell, with small, high windows that thankfully still showed a pre-dawn sky.
 
A man was crouched on the other side of the bars, mostly in shadow, watching him. Spike could hear his heartbeat, slow and even. He could also smell gun oil and unscented soap.
 
“I believe you are trying to liberate a contract,” the soldier from the lift said, in careful English. “I would like to offer you my assistance.”
 
“Who are you?” Spike asked, groggily.
 
“My name is Bohdan Kosík,” he replied. “But that isn’t important. You permit?” He held up two thin strips of metal, and began to pick the lock of Spike’s cell.
 
“Why?” Spike asked.
 
“This is an evil place,” Bohdan said, almost absently, as he worked on the lock. When the cell door sprang open, he looked up again. “How bad are your injuries?”
 
Spike wrapped his fingers around the chains and pulled himself upright, slowly letting his legs take his weight again. One knee was a bit weak and his shoulders were stiff and aching, but it was his torso that seemed to have taken the worst of it. He’d definitely broken a few ribs – felt like one had nicked a lung, too. And judging by the pain and swelling, he reckoned he didn’t have much left intact in the way of internal organs. Just as he was thinking he’d got off relatively lightly, he lifted his head away from the wall. It felt like ice picks stabbing into his skull with even the slightest movement, and the world spun violently as soon as the support was gone. He laid his head back against the wall slowly and carefully. The spinning stopped, but the pain remained.
 
“Balance’s shot. Can walk. Pro’ly. Anything else? Useless ‘til I’ve had some blood.”
 
Bohdan nodded and started walking towards him.
 
Spike tried to laugh at the situation, but it rapidly turned into a wet cough as something caught in his lungs. The movement was too much for his head, and he passed out again for a few seconds.
 
When he blinked back to consciousness, Bohdan was standing in front of him, working on the wrist manacles. Spike stared, mesmerised, at the pulsing vein in front of his face. He could feel his whole body resonating in time with the heartbeat pounding in his ears. The bones in his face started to shift.
 
Bohdan slapped him. Hard. “You have control. Use it.”
 
The white-hot pain running through Spike’s skull at the movement was enough to shock him back to himself.
 
Bohdan freed Spike’s left hand from its manacle, quickly followed by his right. He stepped back and away, warily.
 
“You got a plan, Bohdan Kosík?” Spike asked.
 
Bohdan smiled. “I am not reckless, like you. I always have a plan.”
 
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