Lakhai Toh




She sat down slowly on the second step of the stairs, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of her. Spike could see the shock like a black mist circling her head, coloring her eyes darker. He got why, he had felt what that pack of mortals meant to her, but this wasn’t the time to sit and stare into space.

“We need the list,” he said.

“What?” she asked, looking like she really hadn’t heard him.

“The list. That you and Willow made. Of places.”

She seemed uncomprehending for another short second, and then she got a hold of herself, nodding as she stood and came up to him. Taking in the mess they were the center of, she looked utterly despairing for a short second, but then she lit up and reached down by his foot, grabbing hold of the notepad’s corner, which was sticking out from under the couch. Freeing it she straightened up, reading what was written.

“We went to many of these places in my head, too,” she said, handing him the pad. “I have to call home,” she added, walking up to the phone hanging on the kitchen wall.

She dialed with trembling fingers, her mind screaming Glory’s behind this, Glory’s behind this! When Joyce answered she felt like a block of granite had been tossed off her shoulders and she exhaled slowly.

“Mom,” she said.

“Hi, honey. You’ll be home in time for dinner, right?”

“Where’s Dawn?”

“At Janice’s,” Joyce replied, a note of wondering coming into her voice.

“You need to go there. Make up some excuse to tell Mrs. Richards and don’t leave there until I call you.”

“What’s going on? Does it have something to do with Glory?”

“I hope to God it doesn’t.”

“I’ll go right away. Be careful.”

Buffy hung up and came back out into the living room, where Spike was setting some of the furniture straight again. She stopped in the doorway, observing him.

“Doesn’t seem like her style, does it?” he asked.

“No, I guess not,” Buffy agreed. “Glory’s more hands on. But why would our poet take them and not kill me? Us?”

“We’ll get our chance to ask him,” Spike replied.

“You figured it out? Where he is?”

“No,” he answered, smiling a little. “But there can only be so many of these spots, right? And you just called home, so...”

“Right. We’ll start at the Bronze.”

He nodded his agreement, seeing the underlying fright in the otherwise brave face she was keeping.

“We’ll find them,” he assured gently.

She felt like hugging him, but merely nodded and got herself moving, walking through the splintered door, and into the evening air. The sky was almost black, and the moon was a crescent slice of light within it. They walked in silence, she wanted to think it was because they were so absorbed in their own thoughts, but truth was she was dangling in the air while a billion impressions hit her over and over. Impressions created by his memories and her own, and they couldn’t interlock. They were too different.

Spike’s thoughts were trailing somewhere around there, but even more on the sensation of still tasting her, and though he could do nothing but wonder if it was the true flavor of her blood, or if it had been sweetened even more by her mind, he knew it didn’t matter. It had to be taken for what it was: a hidden longing which she had allowed herself to act on in a moment when neither of them had been really thinking straight. The way she had kissed him, however, had been something else. He needed to talk to her, but she looked far away, and he didn’t know how to broach the subject.

They reached the club. It was too early for it to have opened, which seemed to fit perfectly for there to be something shady going on inside its walls. They walked around to the back and Buffy paused as Spike continued up to the door situated there.

“This is where we met,” she said and the unexpected sound of her voice, as well as the words, made him stop and turn to her.

“So it is,” he agreed with a trying smile.

She returned it.

“First time you threatened me to death, too,” she said and his smile turned to a smirk.

“All out of deepest respect, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” she said, then she laughed. “The good old days, is what we’ll have to call them. Who’d’ve thunk?”

They turned somber, Buffy looking at the ground.

Beneath me.

The words echoed through her head and she closed her eyes at the shock of pain which shot through her at the memory she now shared with him. She had caused him a lot of hurt, and she wasn’t sure she could ever stop. What was the use of his feeling the way he did, when she couldn’t... She couldn’t reciprocate his emotions. Yes, losing herself in him had been a dangerous and in ways stupid thing to do, letting him inside her, letting him know her. But she didn’t love him.

“It’s locked,” he now said with a wave to the door. “A well-aimed kick’ll do it.”

She smirked, coming up to stand beside him.

“On three?”

He gave a nod.

“One,” she began.

“Two,” he filled in.

The door opened and a surprised bartender stopped mid-step, staring at the two of them, legs just about ready to deliver a kick each. Buffy lowered hers with a friendly smile, pushing Spike’s leg down as well, as he didn’t seemed inclined to make the movement himself.

“We didn’t think anyone was here,” she said.

“Wanted to get an early start. Letters to Cleo are playing tonight. There’ll be a crowd,” the bartender replied with a shrug, walking out between them and up to the dumpster opposite the door, throwing some bags of trash in.

“We’re looking for some people. Seen any of those around?” Buffy wondered, the bartender coming back the way he had gone, stopping in the doorway again.

“No,” he answered. “No people yet. It’s just me.”

“You sure there’s no one else in there?” Spike asked. “It’s a pretty big place.”

“I’m positive,” he replied, looking from one to the other and suddenly beginning to grow clearly apprehensive. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

With that he closed the door. They could hear the lock click heavily and Buffy turned her head to Spike. They smiled at the same time.

“I thought we were perfectly nice,” she said as they started out of the alley.

“And we look the part too,” he agreed, glancing at her leather pants and his leather coat.

“Yes, don’t we?”

They proceeded down the street, taking them toward the centre of town.

“Guess it’s the cemetery, then?” he said after a while.

“Guess so. Figures,” she murmured. “I did say so, but did anyone listen to me? No.”

“Better not ‘ve trashed my crypt,” he muttered.

She smirked.

Everything was quiet once they reached their destination. They walked the path taking them to Spike’s home, both on their guard. They reached the crypt. The door was whole. Spike pushed it open, stepping inside and Buffy followed. The humble space was empty.

“And downstairs?” she asked.

He climbed down to check, coming up again shaking his head. She sighed, heading their leave out the door.

“Alright,” she said. “What now? It’s not exactly the smallest cemetery in Sunnydale.”

“We do a sweep. Do you remember where we fought No Face?”

“No...”

But then her face lit up and just like that she began to run. He stared after her, then got himself moving.

Damn, she’s fast, he thought, jumping over a tombstone as she disappeared from sight behind a group of pine trees. He rounded it and almost collided with her where she was standing, looking up at the crypt before her. It was one of the smaller ones, but the name on it was clear as day.

Alpert.

“This is where we were gonna take our wedding pictures,” he stated and she glanced at him. “Well, now that’s ruined,” he added matter-of-factly and she had to smile.

“On three?”

They kicked the door in quite easily, walking up to the opening, which revealed a set of stairs leading into darkness.

“And where’s our creepy background music?” Buffy muttered.

They shared a look, and then she started the descent.

Spike brought out his lighter and she gave him an appreciative smile. He shrugged, handing it to her. She held it up.

“This little light of mine,” he sang softly.

She smirked.

“Well, now you’re just trying to scare me,” she commented, making him smirk as well.

They reached the bottom step and Spike took a hold of one of Buffy’s arms as she was about to run forward.

On the other side of the rectangular room – in a chair each – sat Willow, Xander and Giles. The chairs were wooden and square and had leather straps binding their prisoners’ hands and ankles. They were all unconscious.

Buffy tried to get loose, but in this instance Spike’s driving force was stronger as he couldn’t let her walk into a so clearly set trap.

“Clever, Mr. Kingsley,” a raspy voice said and there was a squeaky noise right before a being which looked very old and very scrawny came into their line of sight.

He was bald, wrinkled, pale and sitting in an old fashioned wheelchair. He was wearing a charcoal suit and his eyes were so light blue they were almost white. He was smiling, his teeth unnaturally unspoiled for his age.

“Then again, you always were the clever one.”

“Sykes,” Spike grumbled and Buffy stared at the man.

“Sykes?” she asked. “Why is there no bells ringing?”

“Because you’ve only ever met my henchmen, Ms. Summers,” Sykes replied. “But this time I am here for a very particular reason and thought it best to deal with matters myself.”

“And you know him?” she asked Spike.

“Mr. Kingsley’s been selling me information from time to time,” Sykes smiled.

Her eyes hardened.

“Haven’t seen your boys around in a while,” Spike said, keeping from looking at the Slayer as he could feel her gaze bearing into him.

“I’ve been busy with other obligations. I am here for selfish reasons, though,” Sykes stated. “You have something I want.”

Buffy turned her disbelieving rage from the vampire and onto the incapacitated demon.

“And what is that?”

“It’s a memory,” Sykes replied. “But since I couldn’t get to it inside you I had to take these drastic measures to secure my procuring it,” he added, signing to the tied up Scoobies.

“A memory?”

“Yes.”

He brought something out which had been lying to the side of one leg. It glinted maliciously in the dim light.

The dagger.

Spike took a step past Buffy and it was her time to grab him.

Sykes raised his eyebrows, smiling in the most superior manner. Buffy felt a dangerous hatred fill her at the sight of it. Her hold on the leather of Spike’s duster hardened, the fabric creaking in protest. Spike turned his eyes on her, and seeing the set expression on her face he understood that it wouldn’t take much to push her over the edge.

“So take it,” she then said, gaze still on Sykes. Spike wanted to protest, but couldn’t. “Take it, be done with it, and let them go.”

“It’ll be something damaging to you,” he warned, her gaze going to his. “Be careful with this one.”

“Don’t give me advice how to deal with your...”

“’S not like that,” he stopped her.

But she felt the betrayal cut through her, and she didn’t like what power he had suddenly gained to cause her this sort of damage. Because it hurt her, though his actions and mingling with the loathsome character before her was something which had happened long before this day, and with no connection to it, she was sure of it.

“What memory do you need?” she asked.

Sykes smirked.

“Caution usually comes before action,” he remarked. “It is one you would not willingly give up. One of some importance to you.”

“And?”

“It deals with your inheritance,” he said. “I need it.”

She stared at him.

“For what?”

“For me. The fact that it would effectively strip you of your Slayer mantle is a tremendous perk,” he said and this time both Slayer and vampire moved forward.

Sykes was, however, in that moment, joined by a dozen large vampires, all in black and so obviously bodyguards they might as well have had the word stitched across their muscular torsos. They stepped out of niches in the walls, and the two defenders found themselves surrounded.

“Right, because they’ll stop us,” Buffy scoffed.

Sykes tilted his head to the side; then raised the hand not holding the dagger. It had something in its palm, and suddenly the people in the chairs jerked. There was no doubt as to the electric current running through them.

“Stop!” Buffy exclaimed.

Sykes complied and her friends went limp.

She felt like she would tear the room apart, and then there was nothing but overwhelming defeat.

“Fine,” she said.

The demon smiled his victory.

“Come here then, vampire slayer.”

She gave a nod before she turned to Spike, who had an objection painted on his features that he seemed to know was useless. She smiled reassuringly, stepping into him and wrapping her arms around him. He tentatively held her to him, wondering what she was up to.

“Get ready.”

The words were less than a whisper in his ear, her cheek stroking his as she pulled back again. His fingertips touched her jaw line as she stepped away.

She approached the other demon. He was still smiling, still looking as though he had hit the jackpot. He seemed to have no idea the amount of pain she was getting ready to inflict on him. She stopped before him.

He held up the dagger.

“So it was you? In my head?” she asked.

“Yes. See, the wonderful thing about ones mind is that through its eye you can see yourself the way you want to be.”

“I try to see myself the way I am.”

“No one is introspected enough to see themselves just as they are. Come now, your journey into yourself didn’t reveal hidden paths to unknown territories? Dark and haunting they lay in the back of your mind. You should be both happy, and terrified, that you got to explore them.”

“So you planned to take my friends hostage all along. There was no anonymous vic?”

“Had I managed to take the memory from you while in your mind I wouldn’t have had to take your friends hostage,” he simply replied.

“And Spike? What part did he play in all this?”

Sykes’ smile broadened.

“You tell me,” he said and she narrowed her eyes. “He was the link,” he explained, glancing over at the vampire. “Without him I wouldn’t have been able to enter your head. Having met the both of us he acted as a bridge for me to tread.”

Spike felt anger flare in his own chest, but it was mostly directed at himself.

“Where do you want me?” Buffy demanded.

“A little closer,” Sykes accepted her advancing of the proceedings. “Lean forward and I’ll place the tip of this,” he waved the dagger slightly, “against your eye, which is the very portal to all our memories. It will only take a few seconds, I assure you.”

She didn’t trust him for a moment, but closer sounded good. So she did as he asked. She had to get to the trigger in his hand. She had to get the dagger away from him. If she had to kill him to do it, she would. Spike would fight off the posse and give her all the time she needed. It was the plan. She just hoped he’d gotten it.

She wondered how old this demon actually was. He looked like he was decomposing. She wrinkled her nose, putting her hands on her knees as her face came to a hovering position not far from his. He seemed to grow extremely concentrated, the hand holding the trigger letting it go as it was brought up to her chin, holding her face steadily.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed.

She did so, taking the chance to go over the details. The trigger was to her left, the dagger to her right. She didn’t hesitate as she shot one arm out and grabbed a crushing hold of his throat. A hold for a hold. Opening her eyes she rested them in his, but there was no surprise there, no fear for his life. He looked calm and controlled.

A sudden flash appeared before her sight and she wondered if she had actually managed to miss the dagger connecting with her eye the few seconds she had had them closed. But by the second flash there was no doubt what it was. Him. And slowly, but surely, his gaze, so steady in hers, reached into her and pried her hand away. It fell down, and she almost lost her balance, but the hold he still had below her chin supported her.

Close your eyes.

She did.

“Buffy!”

Spike’s voice came from someplace distant.

“Buffy!” he repeated, moving forward, but being stopped by four vampires holding him back with brutal force. “Bloody hell! Slayer!”

She didn’t hear him anymore. She was anticipating the sting of the dagger. There was no sting, but a coolness as it came to rest against the corner of her eye to the right of her nose.

“Nasselah,” Sykes hissed softly, but this time another whisper accompanied the words.

Slayer, it said.

“Ih asi tesselah, Nasselah.”

You think you are powerful, Slayer.

“Mekh ih se nakh isa messai.”

But you stand before me, stripped of your protection.

“Isai lekh dai ylakei. Messaieh ih se isaieh.”

I will take it from you. And your only protection will be what I grant you.

“Ihnai elih isa nekh. Tah. Nasselah isai nakhai seh ikai.”

You do not trust me. Good. For I shall strip the Slayer bare of her legacy.

“Lakhai toh.”

Your fight is over.

She felt something pull itself from the base of her neck and through her head, as though tiny strands of hair were being tugged through her flesh, collecting themselves where the dagger was positioned. A twirl of memories attacked her. Glory’s face appeared, followed by Adam, by Angelus, Spike and Drusilla, by the Master, by the first vampire she ever dusted, by all the demons in between. Giles giving her his Into-Every-Generation speech, her protecting Willow, Xander, Dawn. Dawn. It began to melt away.

I’m losing myself, the Slayer thought as the essence of her strength disappeared into the blade of the dagger.