I want you
The truth can't hurt you it's just
like the dark
It scares you witless
But in time you see things clear
Elvis Costello, "I Want
She sat on her throne in the center of hell and kept very, very,
still. She did not scream, and she did not move. Not when the blood
spurted like a fountain from the throat of the fat bastard who was
the leader. Not when the other two men were forced to crawl on hands
and knees and beg her pardon. She did not acknowledge them, no matter
how they begged. She didn't forgive them. Even if it would have
helped them, she wouldn't say it. She sat silent until Spike tired
of the game and released the minions upon the men. Even when their
warm blood spattered her ankle she never moved.
Spike came to her, blood painting the lower half of
his face, yellow demon eyes gleaming with bloodlust. He kissed her,
and smeared blood into her mouth. Someone else's blood. She ignored
him. He grabbed her face in his bloody hands and searched her eyes.
She felt a trickle of blood run down her cheek where his talon scratched
her. He laughed, and pulled her to her feet.
"Deirdre!" He snapped. A thin female vampire
with blue streaks in her blond hair pulled her mouth away from her
dinner's hairy wrist and hurried over, wiping her mouth. She stood
waiting at the foot of the dais, waiting for Spike to speak. Spike
was pleased, Deirdre was one of the brightest of the minions, one
of the older ones as well. He knew he could trust her to follow
orders, which was why he had chosen her.
"Take her to my room. Get her cleaned up and
ready. Stay with her, I don't want her left alone." He noticed
the flicker of discontent in her eyes before Deirdre nodded, and
stepped up to grab Joyce's hand. She pulled at her and Joyce stumbled
down the steps, off-balance, almost falling. Spike growled softly,
and Deirdre flinched.
"Sorry," she said, to Spike. "Come
on," she wheedled. She had to fight to keep her disgust at
being appointed the human's babysitter out of her voice. "We'll
get you all cleaned up. That'll be nice, right?" Joyce looked
at her but made no response. Experimentally, Deirdre tugged at her
again and to her relief the human did not resist. Deirdre was aware
of Spike watching them as they left the room.
Deirdre led her charge to Spike's quarters, and took
her into the bathroom where she stripped off the passive human's
clothes and pushed her *very gently* into the shower. She turned
on the water *not too hot*. She stood watching as the water sluiced
down over the woman's head, streaming over her slack face.
When it became obvious that the woman was not going
to scrub herself, Deirdre sighed, stripped off her clothes and stepped
into the shower. It took all the control she'd learned in 30-odd
years of un-life to not simply snap the neck of Spike's new toy
as she carefully scrubbed the blood and dirt off. She hated humans,
the dirt, the warmth, the frailty of them. Except for their blood,
she'd never have anything to do with them. Find, feed, and finish.
The idea of fucking her food was enough to turn her stomach. Sex
was for equals, for hard cold flesh on hard cold flesh. What could
Spike see in this feeble, smelly, *old* piece of meat? It was sick,
She was wet and someone was trying to scrub her skin
off. Joyce shoved away the offending sponge and the hand holding
it. The hand was attached to a naked female vampire who snarled
at her, yellow-eyed.
"Get out," Joyce snarled back and snatched
the sponge from the vamp's hand. Deirdre hissed, and showed her
fangs. Joyce realized that at one time she would probably have found
this scary. Joyce looked her in the eye, and smiled. "Get the
fuck out!" she snapped.
Deirdre trembled with rage, one quick wrench and this
mouthy human bitch would be dead. And maybe she could get away before
Spike found out. Maybe. And maybe she could run far and fast enough
that he never caught her. Because if she didn't... Deirdre looked
into the human's glittering eyes and got out of the shower. She
picked up her clothes and left the bathroom, to wait.
Buffy lay alone in the too-quiet house, staring at her bedroom
ceiling. She was tired of watching the shifting leaf shadows cast
by the spotlight moon. She couldn't sleep. She wanted to be out
there, searching for her mother but Giles had sent her home.
"You're no good to anyone in this condition,"
he said. "Go home, get some rest."
So she'd come home, but she couldn't sleep. How the
hell could she sleep? Her mother was lost, alone in the dark at
the nonexistent mercy of Spike. Every time she thought about what
her mother had gone through, was probably going through right now...
"Buffy," said a voice, soft and familiar.
Buffy froze. Turned towards the window.
"Buffy, dear, I'm home. Let me in." Perched
on the branch of the tree, her mother smiled in at her. "Let
me in dear, it's cold out here," the shadows around her eyes
were gone, the lines around her eyes erased. She looked ten years
younger, she looked like Buffy's childhood memories of her mother,
when she had the prettiest mommy in the world.
"Mom?" her voice trembled as she stared
through the glass into her mother's face, her mother's eyes looking
for the demon she knew was hiding behind them. But the mask never
"Buffy, what's the matter?" she asked, a
little line of worry creased her forehead. A perfect imitation.
How far would the demon take the charade once she let it in? Would
it cry? Would it hold her, tell her everything was alright now,
and tuck her safely into bed before ripping out her throat?
Could she stand to kill it before it did?
"AAAAAAGRH! Let me go! You bastards! Let me go!"
Buffy's eyes snapped open and she jumped to her feet
ready to fight. She experienced a moment of sickening disorientation
before reality snapped into focus and she remembered where she was.
Sunnydale Emergency. She watched three orderly's struggle to subdue
the biker whose screams had jerked her out of her doze. They were
having a tough time and Buffy's instincts urged her to go over and
help them out, but she forced herself to sit back down and stay
out of it. With the help of a security guard they finally managed
to get the patient strapped down on the gurney and wheeled him away.
She'd fallen asleep sitting in the molded plastic
chair where she'd been waiting since-- she checked the clock, 9:30
p.m. She'd gotten to the motel a little after 6, to find the door
shattered and ajar. Giles was lying quietly bleeding into the carpet.
She'd checked his pulse, then ran into the bedroom. No Mom. She
dialed 911 and screamed for help, the paramedics had arrived less
than 5 minutes later, and the police. She'd watched the ambulance
take Giles away into the dark as the police closed in with their
questions. It didn't take long; Sunnydale's finest (motto: "Did
you see anything? Nope, I didn't see anything.") didn't seem
to suspect her of anything, and were ready and willing to accept
her claim of ignorance and chalk it up to "armed intruders".
They'd even given her a ride to the hospital when they were done.
Giles was still in surgery when she arrived. The admit
clerk sent her the waiting room where she waited for more than an
hour until a Doctor Nguyen came to tell her that her 'father was
out of surgery, and in recovery, doing fine. She could see him as
soon as he was moved to a regular room.
More waiting, her thoughts chasing themselves in vicious
circles. Miss Callender, Kendra, Mom, and now Giles, she was the
Slayer, her fate was to die young. But it was the people around
her that kept getting hurt. Mom. She was probably dead by now, or
worse. Buffy had killed more vampires in the past week than in the
past year. She'd barely slept, ate only when Giles or someone reminded
her to. And she'd still failed. She had to cling to the hope that
the dream hadn't felt like prophecy. Just a logical projection.
No, he wouldn't kill her, not yet. If he'd wanted to kill her he'd
had more than enough chances. She had to keep believing that even
though Mom had attacked him, had run from him, he still wouldn't
kill her before she could get to her.
"Buffy?" She looked up to see Willow, Oz
and Xander coming through the automatic glass doors. Willow ran
to her and wrapped her arms around her. The two friends stood for
a moment, giving and taking comfort.
"Oh God, Buffy, what happened? I went to the
motel and there were police, and yellow tape, and no-one would tell
us anything except that someone had been shot..."
"Spike." Xander said quietly. Buffy nodded.
"Oh god. Your mom...."
"Gone," Buffy confirmed.
" Oh no. Oh, Giles, is he..." Willow's voice
trailed off fearfully. Oz took her hand.
"The doctor came out to talk to me about an hour
ago," she lowered her voice a little. "I told them I was
his daughter. The doctor says he should be fine." Buffy checked
the clock and "He should be out by now, I'll find out what
room he's in."
"Excuse me," Buffy said, a little bit louder
than she'd meant to be. The desk clerk, a hard looking bleached
blond who looked like she should have been standing behind the bar
at the Dew Drop Inn instead of an admitting desk looked up from
the keyboard. "Yes?" She said a little impatiently at
first. Then she recognized the tired looking girl who'd come in
with the gunshot victim.
"Can I help you hon?" she asked sympathetically.
"My father, Rupert Giles came out of surgery
an hour ago. Can I go see him now?" The nurse nodded.
"Just a moment, I'll find out," she said.
She quickly entered the information into the terminal, studied the
"He's in room 410. He's doing fine, they have
him on standard care." She lowered her voice and leaned towards
Buffy. "It's not strictly visiting hours, but if you're quiet,
I'm sure there won't be any problem. Take the elevator up to the
4th floor, follow the yellow line."
"Thank you," Buffy said sincerely.
Buffy went back to her friends and they all headed
for the elevators. They walked past the empty 4th floor desk trying
to look as though they were supposed to be there and quickly ducked
into room 410.
The room was dim, and very quiet. The monitor by the
bed showed a reassuringly steady pattern. Giles lay on his back,
his eyes closed, still out of it. Willow made a little sound and
looked ready to cry. Xander's eyes were dark and angry.
"Giles," Buffy said softly, going over to
the bed. Without his glasses, his tweedy librarian's clothes, he
looked fragile, and years older than when she'd seen him that morning.
There was a bandage coring his shoulder "not too bad,"
Dr. Nguyen had said. "He'll probably recover full use of the
arm." She kissed him on the forehead and came away.
Out in the hallway, they stood looking at each other.
Willow clinging to Oz, stared in shock as Buffy sat down on the
floor and started to cry. Xander immediately slid down beside her
and hugged her tight.
"Buffy -- we'll find her," Xander said grimly.
Buffy shook her head.
"How? We've turned this town upside down for
a week looking for Spike, and haven't found him. He's got her, he's
not going to stick around waiting for me to find him, he's won."
"No, not yet. Buffy, I can find him," Willow
"More hacking?" Buffy asked doubtfully.
"No, magic. A finding spell. I'll need some of
your mom's hair, and some of yours, and some other stuff."
Buffy sighed. "O.K." she said. "Could
you have found Spike this way?" Willow shook her head quickly.
"No, it only works on people. Human people."
"You think it will work?"
"Uh-huh. As long as..." Willow slammed her
mouth shut on the rest of the sentence. Buffy looked at her, "As
long as Mom's still alive." she finished for her. Willow nodded
"Yes," she whispered unhappily.
"It's OK. At least I'll know one way or the other.
Let's do it."
"Someone should stay here, in case Giles wakes
up," Xander pointed out.
"I'll stay," Oz volunteered. They looked
at him in surprise. "It's too close to the full moon. Not good
for me to be around magic. Sorry." he explained.
"Thanks, call us if there's any change?"
Buffy said. Oz nodded and gave Willow a last encouraging squeeze
before watching them walk away.
"The bells of hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling for you but not
for me," Spike sang happily as the blood went swirling down
the drain. He wondered idly just how and when the Master had managed
to have modern plumbing installed. "And the little devils how
they sing-a-ling-a-ling, For you but not for me." He dried
himself off and walked over to the lone chair with tonight's ensemble
draped over the back. "O death where is thy sting-a-ling-a-ling,
O grave thy victoreeee?" He was going with all black tonight,
white silk shirt, black leather pants. Tonight was special. "The
bells of hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling, for you but not for me."
Times like this he really missed having a reflection.
Joyce stared at herself in the mirror feeling utterly
detached from what she saw there. Who was this woman crammed and
cinched into a white leather bodice that had very little front and
even less back? A white satin skirt was full and hung to her ankle
but it was slit on both sides, for easy access she supposed. Then
there were the shoes. They made her five inches taller and made
her feel like she was on stilts. She'd laughed when she'd come out
of the bathroom and seen the outfit laid out on the bed. "Where
the hell did he find this? Frederick's of Transylvania?" she'd
said. The comment seemed to offend the bitch who'd been assigned
to baby-sit her.
"He wants you to wear it," she stated flatly.
Joyce raised an eyebrow and picked up the garter belt...no, it was
crotchless panties. It was just all too weird. How was she supposed
to take this seriously? Playing dress-up. This room, with the table,
set for one but with two chairs, candles, roses. Dracula's Bride
'99. She was tired of playing games.
In the end in a combination of numbness and bloody-mindedness,
she allowed herself to be dressed. Stood passively while her hair
was combed, her face painted by Deirdre; she could feel the vampire
itching to rip out her throat through every minute of it, damn her
to hell for being too cowardly to do it. She turned away from the
grotesque in the mirror meaning to sit down when the door opened
and Spike came in.
Perfect. She was perfect. Her skin glowed with life
against the white leather, and his demon roared to life inside him,
crazy to touch her, to tear at the white breasts spilling over the
top of the leather bodice. As he came closer the smell of her blood,
the familiar beat of her pulse pulled at him. He wanted to throw
her down on the floor, rip her open and take her all into him in
one great gulp. He wanted to throw her onto the bed and bury himself
in her. Only the knowledge that he had her, that she was *his* gave
him the control to settle for one deep kiss.
He certainly looked happy to see her, a big pumpkin
grin nearly splitting his head in half. He was all dressed up as
well. Very pretty. He looked at her like she was made of chocolate,
hunger and lust warring in his eyes. She knew he could hear her
heart speeding up, her muscles tensing, wanting to run even as she
withstood his long probing kiss. She managed not to gag at the taste
it left in her mouth.
"Cor, you look tasty in that," he said,
letting her go. She looked at him, something odd in her gaze.
"You picked it," she said.
He led her to the table, pulled the chair out for
her. She shivered as his cool fingers slid down her bare back all
the way down to her ass. He sat down opposite her and snapped his
fingers. She stared as another minion came in with a wheeled cart
and brought in her dinner: steak, potato, vegetables, a roll, and
a bottle of wine. He placed it carefully in front of her and at
a nod from Spike, went away. She winced at the blood that had pooled
under the very rare steak, at her sudden urge to lick it off the
"Eat up Luv, you need to keep your strength up,"
Spike purred picking up the wine and a corkscrew.
His eyes never left her. She remembered Hank looking
at her like that, back when dinosaurs ruled the earth, fascinated,
as though if he blinked she might slip away. She'd craved that look
again, imagined she'd found it with Ted, and for a brief moment,
with Rupert. She wished Spike would stop looking at her.
Despite his unnerving surveillance, she was ravenous
so she ate. She figured she might as well enjoy her last meal. She
managed half the steak, some of the potato, and most of the vegetables.
"Just want to say one thing, luv." Spike
said as he refilled her glass. She looked up. He reached over and
captured her hand, holding it gently, eyes intent. "I don't
blame you for tryin' it. But it's over. You're mine. Understand?"
He kissed her wrist, and she felt a fang press against the vein,
a promise of pain...
"Yes," she said. He let her hand go.
"Dessert?" he asked.
Dessert was 'death by chocolate' and she ate every
bite, making it last. But eventually it was gone, and the wine.
Spike drained the half-glass of wine he'd been fiddling with while
she ate and stood up. He offered his hand and she let herself be
pulled up into his enveloping embrace. "Mine," he murmured
before into her ear. He picked her up and carried her over to the
She watched with a kind of sick fascination as he
undressed. Though he knew her body intimately, inside and out; and
she had felt that hard, perfect body against her, she'd never seen
him naked before. He was beautiful, like a statue in ancient Greece,
carved of white marble, with polychrome details of yellow hair,
dark eyes, red mouth. He saw her watching and grinned. Nestled in
the dark curls beneath his flat stomach his large, uncut cock stirred
under her gaze. She looked away, her body clenching on the memory
He could smell the fear rising in her, intoxicating
and dangerous. He bent down to kiss her breasts and plucked at the
laces, releasing them into his hands. They were so warm, so soft.
So easy, so tempting, to make them bleed. She had turned her face
away from him, and wouldn't look at him; but he was determined to
be patient, determined to have all of her. They had time. Eternity.
He rolled her nipples between his fingers, deliberately gentle,
felt them stiffen. Ahh. He buried his face between them, losing
himself in the smell of her, her living heat. His, forever.
Her fingers were slippery with sweat, she tightened
her grip and drove the steak knife into Spike with all of her strength.
Spike roared and knocked her away, and the next thing she knew she
was lying against the wall on the other side of the bed. She tried
to sit up and a shadow fell over her. She looked up expecting the
demon and was surprised to find Spike's face still human, his expression
only mildly annoyed.
"That fucking hurt," Spike said pulling
the knife out, "don't do it again." He dropped the knife.
"Now, where were we?" He reached out to help her up but
she shook her head.
"Don't touch me!" she spat, evading his
hand and reaching out for the wall's support.
"What?" He looked puzzled.
"Don't. Touch. Me. Goddammit, Spike you're pathetic.
You really can't take a hint can you?" Joyce snapped. She watched
his face become expressionless as the words hit him.
"You don't have a choice. I decide. You're mine.
Forever." He said petulantly. Joyce shook her head in denial
as she got to her feet.
"I'm not yours, and I never will be, even if
I go as bugfuck as Drusilla. Hell, even she wasn't crazy enough
to want you!" His mouth had thinned and eyes were beginning
"I think you need to shut up now Pet. You're
startin' to make me angry!"
"The only reason she ever stayed with you was
because she was sick. Soon as she was better, she left you. Dumped
you. And if you turn me, I'll dump you just as quick."
"I said shut up!" Spike growled grabbing
"I don't want you! *No one* fucking wants you,
you creep," she hissed.
"I would have made you my queen." he said
softly, leaning closer. He let his true face surface and licked
her cheek, savoring the fear he tasted on her skin. "But have
it your own way," he said his voice as cold as the black ice
he felt enveloping his heart.
Joyce fought him as he dragged her up onto the bed
and threw her down on it. All it accomplished was to enraged He
let go of her throat and ripped white satin, delicate silk, aside,
forced her legs apart and shoved his cock inside her with a grunt
of satisfaction. She screamed in pain and rage, tried to push him
off. He grabbed her throat, paused for a moment to savor the terror
in her eyes then wrenched her head back, exposing the white throat,
the pulsing vein he'd denied himself all these weeks. She was wrong,
either she was his, or nothing at all. This wasn't the way he'd
wanted it, but he'd have her all the same. He came down on her slowly,
wanting to prolong it, letting his fangs ease slowly into the unmarked
skin, so slowly, the blood oozing into his mouth, excruciating ecstasy.
Her sweet blood. He groaned and began to thrust, slowly, he wanted
to last until the last drop of her rolled down his throat, until
she was entirely gone, entirely his.
She'd stopped fighting he realized. Was simply lying
there, limp, accepting as he pulled out her life. That was wrong.
He knew it hurt. He remembered the pain, the feeling of being stretched
thin and agonizingly unraveled into nothingness. Dying with his
face pressed into a wet stone wall in a stinking alley with Angelus'
cock up his ass and his teeth in his throat. Angelus had chuckled
quietly the whole time and never missed a stroke. William had fought
until there was nothing left to fight with. Angelus had turned him
on a whim, dripping the blood into his slack mouth, almost too late.
Her wonderful rich blood flowed down his throat, so
good. Always so good. He might not miss her, vicious bitch, but
he would miss her blood. He could feel her heart starting to flutter,
as it struggled to cope with the falling volume of blood. She wouldn't
last much longer. He began to speed up his thrusts, even as he slowed
his drinking. He would come and she would go...
Spike stopped. Withdrew his teeth, pulled away from
her, to look into her face. She was white, cheeks sunken but something
gleamed in her half-lidded eyes. Triumph.
"No," he whispered, realizing. This was
what she had wanted. To die. To leave him. She smiled and closed
her eyes. "NO!" he shouted.
The sickle moon hung overhead in the black sky, casting
its faint cold light. Buffy shivered, as much time as she spent
under the moon, she'd never learned to like it much. She shivered
again, it was chilly out on the old Sunnydale high school track,
especially when you were naked, or 'sky-clad' as Willow insisted
on calling it.
"Uh, Willow, is this absolutely necessary?"
Buffy had asked when Willow got to that part of the ceremony.
"Yeah, you have to come before the Goddess as
she made you. As much as possible anyway. Caps and uh contact lenses
are O.K. I think. But clothes are a big no-no."
"Cough" They both turned to look at Xander,
who had turned bright red. "Just call me open-minded,"
he said cheerfully.
"Sorry Xan, you're not invited. It's a girls
only kind of thing,"
"Oh," Buffy watched with amusement as the
dream faded from his eyes. "So what do I do?"
Xander was on guard at the gate against the unlikely
chance that someone would come by the ruined high school. He was
on his honor not to peek. Buffy gave it 50-50 but Xander catching
a glimpse of the promised land wasn't something she had time to
worry about right now.
Willow took a deep breath and reverently raised the
polished stone bowl to the sliver of moon overhead. A full moon
would have been better, she'd explained, but they didn't have time
to wait. A few more days and they'd have been entirely out of luck.
"Hail Selene, Moon goddess, mother of us all,
this child beseeches you, reunite this daughter" she gestured
for Buffy to come into the circle "with the one that bore her.
She brings you this gift and this sign. Willow lowered the bowl
nodded and Buffy stepped forward and carefully placed the two twists
of hair - her own, and her mother's rescued from her hairbrush -
into the bowl.
"Uh, Hail Selene, Goddess grant me this boon,"
Buffy said uneasily, feeling foolish. "Show me she who bore
me, she who shares my heart, Hey!" she jumped back, almost
leaving the circle as a blue flame shot out of the bowl. The smell
of burnt hair tickled her nose, then a familiar smell of Halston,
her mother's perfume, the smell of her earliest safety.
"Mom," Buffy whispered. Willow carefully
offered the bowl to her again. In the bowl where there should have
been ashes, or nothing at all, a pool of clear water reflected first
the moon, the stars and then another place. A entirely too familiar
"Oh no," Willow whispered.
"The Master's lair," Buffy said flatly as
the image rippled and was gone.
Oz's nostrils flared as the smell of blood reached his nose. He
growled and Xander jumped, banging the nozzle of the flame-thrower
against his belt. Buffy looked back at both of them. After dressing
and explaining things to Xander they had picked up Oz at the hospital,
leaving Willow to stay with Giles and explain to him what was going
"We're close," Oz said. Buffy nodded grimly
and picked up the pace. Too soon, they were there. She stood in
the tunnel, at the entrance to the Master's lair. "Deja vu
all over again," she thought her heart pounding in her ears.
She slid the katana, Kiro-san her new best friend, out of its sheath.
Against vampires, stakes were good, but a nice sharp sword was way
better. Even if she didn't decapitate them right away, losing an
arm or a leg tended to take the vamp out of the fight. She took
a deep breath, and centered herself, then turned to look at Oz and
Xander. Xander, in his fatigues, looked scared but resolute. Oz
looked pretty much like Oz always did, but his fingers were tight
on the sawed-off. Same principle as the sword -- might not dust,
would definitely slow them down.
"One, two, three...Go!"
They rushed into the cavernous room. Water dripped
from the ceiling, and the torches flickered. There were corpses
in one corner. Buffy checked them out, three men, who she didn't
recognize. Very, very, dead. No, vampires, no Mom.
"Oz?" Buffy asked. The werewolf flared his
nostrils, went directly to the roughly hewn stone chair in the middle
of the floor. Sniffed loudly.
"She was here," he said, Buffy watched as
he shut his eyes and let the wolf's nose lead him out of the main
room. Buffy and Xander followed him, weapons at the ready but no-one
molested them as he led the way to a drier and considerably more
comfortable room. Buffy's stomach clenched when Oz went directly
to the bed. He stood there, shivered and opened his eyes and looked
at her. Shook his head.
He left the bed and walked in widening circles around
the room. Stopped.
Oz lowered the shotgun, "Sorry. She was here,
but I can't track them. Too many people." Buffy wilted.
"Can you tell, if..." her voice trailed
off. Oz shook his head again.
They searched the lair but found nothing. Oz thought
he caught Joyce's scent in one of the tunnels leading outside, but
he couldn't be sure. Exhausted they trailed back into the throne
"What do we do now?"
Someone cleared their throat behind them. They spun
around to find a woman with blue streaked hair peeking out from
behind a pillar, her hands raised in appeasement. Kiro-san hissed
as Buffy pulled it free. Changing her mind the vamp and tried to
duck back and run, but Buffy had her by the collar, and slammed
her face first into the damp stone before she'd made two feet.
"Hiya," Buffy said. She spun her around,
slammed the vampire her into the pillar again and placed the katana's
point just under her jaw. "Where's the party?"
"If you kill me, I can't tell you anything,"
she whined, trying levitate away from the sharp point.
"True. Better talk fast then," Buffy suggested.
"Let me go, and I'll tell you where they went."
"And I would believe you because?" Buffy
asked, letting the sword slip upwards a little.
"I was waiting for you," she hissed. "Just
so I could tell you where he took the bitch!" She yelped as
Buffy deliberately jabbed her again.
"Language. So, why so helpful? Do I know you?"
"No," the vampire ground out. Buffy stared
"Personal problem huh?" she said. She heard
Xander make a small sound of protest as she let the vamp go and
stepped back, lowering the sword. The vampire stood rubbing her
throat, not speaking.
"So where is he?" Buffy asked.
"Sunnydale Airport. They left an hour ago. He
said they were getting out of Sunnydale, for good."
"Thanks. Maybe you should try somewhere else."
The vamp nodded, turned and ran into the darkness. Buffy let her
shoulders sag for a moment. The airport. Oh god. "He has at
least an hour's lead on us. He could be anywhere." Buffy moaned.
"Buffy, it's Sunnydale Airport. Not LAX. No scheduled
flights after 10 p.m." Xander said coming up behind her.
"What? You sure?"
"It was in the paper. Settlement between the
neighbors and the airport. No scheduled flights after 10. If they
left here an hour ago, they still can't have made the last flight."
"We've got a chance then," Buffy said.
"Always," Oz said.
END Part 9