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Chapter 20
 
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“Would’ve been fine, you know. Eventually,” Spike mumbled around the second glass of blood Bohdan had brought him from the casino restaurant. He was now sprawled on the floor of the cell, his head resting between two corners of the wall to keep it immobile.
 
“Of course,” Bohdan said soothingly, leaning against the open cell door, his face entirely bland and expressionless. “Just biding your time?”
 
“Righ’,” Spike said firmly, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Thanks an’ all that, though, yeah?” He raised his glass towards Bohdan in a lazy half-salute, shifting his shoulders to allow arm movement while keeping his head perfectly still. He had been careful not to move it any more than absolutely necessary.
 
Bohdan twitched his lips into a smile. “How bad are your injuries?”
 
It still hurt. Everywhere. But Spike could see now – well enough to function, anyway. He leaned forward gingerly, testing out his head for the first time. The worst of the dizziness was gone, but he could see afterimages whenever he moved. The pain was … not so bad as it had been, but still pretty bad. He pulled his flask out of his pocket and poured whiskey into his mouth, keeping his head perfectly level.
 
“Could fight. If I had to.”
 
Bohdan gave him a sceptical look, then threw a punch at Spike’s head. Spike jerked out of the way, but the effort was visible when it really shouldn’t have been.
 
Spike blinked the stars out of his vision and tried – unsuccessfully – not to groan.
 
“You’re still weak.”
 
They looked into each other’s eyes, evaluating.
 
“We gonna dance when this is done, Bohdan Kosík?”
 
Bohdan gave Spike a long look. “No,” he sighed. “Can you use a gun?”
 
“’Course,” Spike sniffed.
 
Bohdan looked sceptical. “Truly?”
 
“Don’ like ‘em, as a rule. Too much like cheatin’.” Spike grinned. “But for all that, know my way ‘round a shotgun. Can hit what I’m aiming at with a crossbow. Anything else … should be able to wing it.”
 
Bohdan breathed heavily out his nose, almost snorting, then reluctantly pulled out his gun, holding it towards Spike. “Take her until I return.” He didn’t think he’d be allowed to get close to Jenoff with a gun, and frankly the vampire needed the help.
 
He still didn’t like being apart from her – he felt naked now.
 
Spike reached for the gun. It looked like a machine gun made for midgets, or children.
 
Bohdan pulled it back. “It can be made semi- or fully automatic – here.” Bohdan gestured to the switch. “Second cartridge, at the front.” He demonstrated dropping one cartridge out and replacing it with the other. “Whatever you do, don’t let it be taken from you – you will truly die if one of these bullets pierces your heart.”
 
Spike raised both eyebrows. “What now?”
 
“They are my own design: lead with copper jacket, tipped with lignum vitae to work like a stake.” Bohdan grinned, wolfishly. “I find I need to cheat sometimes.” He let his face fall back to its usual grim seriousness, and pushed his gun back into Spike’s hands. “Now, tell me about where Jenoff stores the contracts.”
 
 
 
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Jenoff was back up in his pulpit when Bohdan found him.
 
Mini-Sunglasses materialised in front of the stairs before Bohdan could take a step.
 
“I have a business proposition,” Bohdan said.
 
“You packin’?”
 
“No.”
 
Mini-Sunglasses patted him down. “Honest, are you? Rare breed.” He jerked his head towards the stairs. “Off you go, then.”
 
Jenoff watched Bohdan approach, Mini-Sunglasses one step behind him. “I don’t know you,” Jenoff said.
 
“No,” Bohdan said.
 
“I don’t often come across humans I don’t recognise. You are human, aren’t you?”
 
Bohdan nodded.
 
“Name?”
 
“Bohdan Kosík.”
 
Jenoff looked past him to Mini-Sunglasses. “Check it.” The other demon nodded, and went back down the stairs. “You understand, no deal can be made until I am satisfied you are a … good investment.”
 
“Of course.” Bohdan inclined his head.
 
“Good. So. What can I do for you, Mr Kosík?”
 
“There is something I want.”
 
“I don’t traffic in wants.” Jenoff smiled, with the barest hint of warmth. It was one of his favourite lines.
 
“Something I need, if you prefer.” Bohdan smiled back, although it never reached his eyes.
 
“I might be able to assist with that,” Jenoff said.
 
They waited for several minutes, pretending to watch the crowd on the ground, but mostly watching each other.
 
Mini-Sunglasses reappeared below the pulpit. He shook his head from side to side, and pulled down twice on one earlobe.
 
It was obvious from Jenoff’s reaction that it was a sign: he cocked his head, staring at Bohdan with surprise. “Unfortunately, it appears you have nothing I want or need.” He smiled again, barely polite and entirely dismissive.
 
Bohdan’s brow creased in confusion. “I do not understand.”
 
“Your soul is spoken for,” Jenoff said, clearly annoyed.
 
Bohdan started swearing in his head. He had intended to keep his face implacable, bland, but something must have shown through the mask.
 
“You didn’t know, did you?” Jenoff laughed. “Well. That is unusual. She must be something else, whoever she is, for you to have given her your soul without even realising it.” Jenoff watched him continue trying to hide his anger, then, laughing again, clapped his hand around Bohdan’s shoulder. “Congratulations, by the way. I hear true love’s pretty special.”
 
“I am sorry we could not do business,” Bohdan said, carefully manoeuvring Jenoff’s hand from his shoulder and into a handshake. “I must find another way to meet my needs.”
 
Bohdan was grateful Jenoff had been so amused by his pain.
 
It provided an easy explanation for his adrenal responses while he was palming Jenoff’s ring.
 
 
 
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“You were right. Ring’s the key,” Spike said, opening the lid of the invisible box.
 
They had managed to get back into the office – Bohdan going ahead to scout while Spike used his vampire speed and stillness to stay nearly invisible.
 
Both were thoroughly contemptuous of Jenoff’s lax security. It should never have been this easy.
 
The interior of the box was entirely visible but it was almost depressing in its dullness. No velvet lining or mystical mustiness. The contracts weren’t even rolled up like scrolls. It looked like the interior of any bog-standard office file box: there were colour-codes, everything was alphabetised, and although the contracts were on thick, expensive paper, it was the kind you could buy in any stationary store.
 
Spike flipped through quickly, looking for the name Anya had given him. “’S not here,” he said, after a few seconds.
 
“What?” Bohdan asked.
 
“Name the client gave. ‘S not here.”
 
“What was it?” Bohdan asked, moving in to look himself.
 
“Nicholas Doe.”
 
Bohdan flipped through the D’s for a few seconds, before he stopped, hands dropping to his sides. “Nikdo?” he said, realisation dawning. “For fuck’s sake. You know what this means in my language?”
 
Nobody. “Bugger,” Spike breathed. “This was a set-up.”
 
“Fuck!” yelled Bohdan, kicking at the desk. “This smells of Michal’s tricks. Even from beyond the grave….” He took several deep breaths, then turned to Spike. “Your client, did he ever communicate in person?”
 
“Don’ speak to clients. Who the buggerin’ fuck is Michael?”
 
“Later, I promise.” Bohdan looked around the office. “Is there anything left in your flask?”
 
Spike passed it over, still staring at Bohdan.
 
“Lighter?”
 
Spike passed him that, too.
 
Bohdan poured the contents of the flask over the contracts, then lifted a single one and lit it with the lighter. “This will not be for nothing.”
 
As they watched the contracts catch light, the acrid smoke of burnt plastic began to fill the room.
 
The box started pulsing again with its burglar alarm.
 
“Getting out alive was more’n enough for me, ta very much,” Spike grumbled. “An’ you’d best have a bloody good explanation when we’re through.”
 
Bohdan laughed, still staring at the fire. “It will change your life, what I have to say.”
 
Spike rolled his eyes. “Constant hinting and no detail make for a very frustrated vampire.”
 
Bohdan frowned at him. “Do you take anything seriously?”
 
“Not so’s you’d notice, no,” Spike said, pulling his knife out of the floor, where it was keeping the office door wedged open. “Can we get the fuck out of here now?”
 
Bohdan got out his gun. As soon as they walked through the office door, they became visible to the waiting throng of demons and humans. Bohdan dusted or killed at least twenty in seconds with his first volley of gunfire. The rest fled or ran for cover.
 
Bohdan and Spike were able to walk straight into the lift without further difficulty. Although Spike had to admit the speed and power were impressive – not to mention the results – he could never really get into a fight if there was no blood involved. It just felt wrong.
 
Unfortunately, leaving survivors also meant allowing calls upstairs, so by the time the lift doors re-opened, Jenoff’s people had had time to prepare. The demons waiting for them either had tougher skin – impervious to Bohdan’s special bullets – or needed more than just a stake to be killed.
 
Spike moved to the fore now, armed with a knife in each hand and his superior strength.
 
At least that was the theory.
 
In practice, he was still weak, and punches that should have been debilitating were merely painful. But his decades of fighting experience had given him a certain creativity in convincing his opponents that they didn’t really want to fight him.
 
Bohdan was blown away by what he saw Spike doing. It was clear he had a near-encyclopaedic knowledge of every demon species they faced – or at least, of their anatomies. He knew not only what their weakest points were, but how to best exploit them in a fight. The vain ones lost marks of beauty like noses and lips; the ones with accessible genitals lost those; tendons were cut with a surgeon’s precision. He even disembowelled a few with nothing more than a flick of the wrist – and never in the obvious places. Spike invariably did whatever would hurt most, with the minimum of effort on his part.
 
He had made research into a martial art.
 
The gamblers still in the casino shared Bohdan’s awe, and those not involved in the fighting started crowding around the edges, running book on how many Spike would take out before he died.
 
Bohdan remained mostly uninjured – he was human, so no physical threat on his own, and his gun had been neutralised by the changes in species. He knew he was now an irritant at best. So he melted back into the sidelines with the non-combatants as soon as he could, and took surreptitious pot shots where he thought he might be able to help.
 
Bohdan had no doubt that he would have died in seconds had anyone actually wanted him dead.
 
Spike made it to about ten feet from the exit relatively quickly – even though it felt like hours. By this time, all but the most hardened of fighters had either died or faded back into the crowd, and the bookies had started taking bets on Spike surviving.
 
But the reduced numbers actually made things harder: spare attackers could no longer be used as shields or distractions. And a nearly-spent Spike was now going up against fresh, skilled fighters.
 
Spike was visibly fading. His vision had been getting steadily worse, which meant his aim was starting to suffer. Every wound from the first fight had been reopened – his weakened knee was even weaker and he knew one more kick would likely take it out completely. His hands and arms were slick with noxious demon blood, some of which was slowly burning through his skin.
 
Spike could pinpoint the moment when he lost higher brain function and started running on instinct alone. A particularly nasty M’Fashnik was pounding away at his already pulverised kidneys, while he was trying to use his forehead to break off the tusks of something roaring and hairy that he would have said was an Argethoth, had it not been for the truly awful halitosis.
 
He had stopped remembering what it was like to exist without the pain, and his world had narrowed down to reaching the exit.
 
The M’Fashnik pressed back into the crowd far enough for Bohdan to shoot him through the eye just as Spike finally ripped out the not-an-Argethoth’s tusks, leaving it screaming in pain on the floor. They made a last mad dash for the door.
 
To their mutual shock, no one stopped them, and they were able to run straight out into … the sunrise.
 
“Fuck!” screamed Spike as his face burst into flames.
 
Bohdan shook off his coat and threw it over Spike’s head. Half-supporting the vampire frantically batting at his head to put out the flames, Bohdan ran for his car.
 
As the watching demons realised Spike had somehow escaped being dusted by the sunlight, the ones that could ran after them.
 
Bohdan pulled out his shotgun and started shooting as he climbed into the driver’s seat. The shells were large enough to be threatening. He kept shooting out the window as he reversed out of the parking lot.
 
Spike huddled across the back seat under Bohdan’s coat. It sounded to Bohdan as if he were – “Are you giggling?”
 
“Either that or cry like a baby,” Spike groaned hoarsely. He wondered whether his lips had burned off. “Gonna pass out in a minute.”
 
Bohdan shuddered. The giggling continued for a few more seconds, and then, thankfully, Spike did pass out. Bohdan did not even want to imagine how much pain he must be in right now.
 
 
 
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As Spike and Bohdan were speeding along the freeway back to Sunnydale, Dawn woke up, lying on the edge of her sister’s bed. She shifted around, shivering in her pyjamas, looking for Buffy.
 
“Hey,” Buffy said. She looked greyer in daylight. She was wide awake, sitting up against the headboard with her knees to her chest, swathed in covers.
 
“Didn’t sleep, huh?” Dawn mumbled.
 
“Not really,” Buffy said. I didn’t want to risk hurting you, is what she wanted to say. When I look at you, I remember holding a knife to your throat. I remember smothering you with a pillow over and over and over again. And I’m not sure which memories are real. You’re innocent and you don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve meBut the words stuck in her throat, despite them growing steadily louder inside her head.
 
Dawn must have sensed something was wrong, because she made a move to hug her. Buffy found herself flinching away – again – from her sister’s touch. It hurt, just the idea of physical contact with another person.
 
Didn’t hurt with Spike, a bitchy-sounding inner voice said. Spike’s not a person, Buffy shot back.
 
“Fine,” Dawn grumbled, slouching out of the bed, shoulders hunched in. “Be that way.”
 
Their family had never been a demonstrative one, and Dawn had never wanted or needed this kind of reassurance before. Buffy didn’t know how to deal with needy Dawn, tactile Dawn. Buffy suddenly remembered that heady time – before she’d jumped – when she was terrified that being the Slayer meant she’d lost the ability to love. It was almost funny to think of it, now. Just connecting with another person seemed so far beyond her capabilities. Her heart might beat, but she was dead inside.
 
Buffy the Vampire Slayer is nothing but a reanimated corpse. Just like a vampire.
 
Buffy swallowed a laugh.
 
Dawn turned, staring at her. “Are you … laughing?” she asked.
 
Buffy’s stifled laugh became a stifled sob. It’s not your fault, Dawn. None of this is your fault. I’m all wrong inside. I came back wrong. Everything Buffy wanted to say just lay there inside her, writhing, the words etching themselves into her brain like acid. She wanted so desperately to show Dawn some affection. Something. But she didn’t know how. It was like she was locked inside her body, and no matter what she knew she should do, she couldn’t make it happen.
 
Dawn stared into Buffy’s flat, responseless eyes, until she could feel tears pricking at her own. “I’m gonna get dressed and then … I’m going out. Probably all day.” If she doesn’t ask where I’m going, I don’t have to tell her. Bet she won’t even care enough to ask.
 
Buffy nodded, her relief all too obvious that Dawn wasn’t going to stay. “Make sure you’re home before dark.”
 
“Fine,” Dawn huffed, slipping out the door, too sad to slam it behind her.
 
Buffy considered trying to sleep again, but the prospect of waking the house up with her nightmares – again – held her back. She may have lost pieces of her memory and her sense of self, but she still had her pride.
 
 
 
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Dawn was asleep in Spike’s chair, under one of his leather coats when she heard noises coming from the lower level.
 
”Spike?” she called out.
 
When she received no answer, she opened the trap door, and started climbing down the ladder.
 
She saw Bohdan putting Spike down on the bed. Not recognising him, Dawn grabbed for the crossbow she knew lived behind the ladder, and pointed it at the intruder. “Let me see your hands. I have a crossbow aimed at your heart,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady.
 
Bohdan raised his hands above his head, and slowly turned towards her.
 
“Who are you?” Dawn asked coldly.
 
“I am a friend, helping out on a job.”
 
Dawn snorted. “Some help you were. Why isn’t he the one carrying you around?”
 
Bohdan shrugged. “I am human, and he’s a much better fighter.”
 
“How did you get in here?”
 
“He told me how.”
 
Dawn chanced a glance at Spike. He looked truly awful. “Spike!” she shouted. “Wake up! Is he telling the truth?”
 
Spike whimpered.
 
Dawn had been worried and anxious before, but now she was terrified. She’d never heard him make a noise that … feeble … before.
 
“Spike!” she shrieked. “Say something!”
 
“’S fine, Bit,” he croaked out. “Safe.”
 
Dawn dropped the crossbow and ran to the bed. Her knees gave out beneath her when she saw his burned and blistered face. Tears started streaming down her face.
 
“He needs blood, painkillers, and something for the burns,” Bohdan said. “Do you have those here?”
 
“Blood’s upstairs in the fridge,” Dawn said, her eyes locked on Spike’s face as her hands fluttered over his body, looking for a part of him that was safe to touch. “Dunno about the rest, but if he has it here, they’ll be in the first aid box under the sink.”
 
Bohdan left them and climbed up the ladder.
 
“It’s okay, Spike,” Dawn said, grasping his bloody hand in hers. “Everything’s okay now. I’m gonna take care of you.” He’s not dust. That’s the important thing. Vampires can heal anything so long as they’re not dust.
 
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