Abandoned by Jennifer Campbell

Chapter 4
"I know I will find you"

Music vibrated through the Bronze, accompanied by the ever-present clatter of glasses and din of voices. The night's band pumped it on stage, to the cheers and applause of kids on the dance floor. Loud. Deafening. The roar attacked Spike from all sides so that he could hardly think, and he pressed his hands to his ears.

Yet above it all, he could sense something else, something tiny and gentle, and in a moment he knew what it was: the patter of rain on the roof. As he walked farther inside, he latched onto that sound, and everything else hushed to a whisper. He could smell it, the fresh, clean aroma, overpowering the nightclub stink of smoke and sweat. He could taste its purity, though he hadn't drunk a drop.

Spike dared to lower his hands and look around. He had no idea how he had gotten here, but he vaguely remembered falling asleep in the back seat of the deSoto, the blackened windows rolled up to protect him from daylight. Now he walked through the Bronze, the world turning in slow motion around him, the music thrumming through his body. The rhythm of rain on the roof. He weaved among patrons who seemed little more substantial than ghosts, like one strong wind might blow them all away.

Across the room, he saw the first solid person here, a familiar face, so he walked to her. Dawn sat at a small, round table, poring over a thick, leather-bound book. Her hair covered most of her face as she leaned over the yellowed pages and muttered aloud what she read. Spike didn't understand the words. Her hand passed over the pages, and for a moment, the book glowed in emerald green. Spike blinked. The glow had vanished, and he wondered whether he had imagined it.

"What are you doing here, Lil' Bit?" he asked. "You're too young to get in here. Does big sis know about this?"

She looked up at him, and as her hair fell to the side, he could see her eyes glowing in the same bright green -- irises, pupils and whites. She looked alien, powerful. A lazy smile crossed her lips.

"I knew I would find you," she said smugly. "You can't hide from me Spike, so don't even try."

Her gaze unnerved him, so he moved on, walking past her table and toward the dance floor. As he reached its edge, the crowd parted and he saw her, his Slayer, moving to the slow rhythms, arms rising above her head. A patchwork of shadow and light played over her hair and skin. An insubstantial Willow and Xander danced beside her, but it was Buffy who held him in rapture.

Now he remembered of what this reminded him: the first night he had seen her, soon after he and Dru had arrived in Sunnydale. He had found Buffy at the Bronze, hanging with her friends, smiling and laughing. She had looked so free that night, not bound by the chains of her calling. The song, the atmosphere, her abandon, it was all the same, except this Buffy looked older, as she had on the night they made love. Her hair fell in waves, and the sundress slid smooth against her skin. Spike wanted to go to her, but he couldn't move.

Then she saw him and smiled. As Buffy excused herself from her friends and approached, rain started to leak through the roof, creating a light mist that made everything shine. For a moment, Spike worried that the rain would ruin Dawn's book, but then Buffy stood before him and he could think of nothing but her.

She took his hands and guided him to the dance floor. The music changed, became slower, more seductive. Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her body against him and started to dance. He held her close, his arms easily reaching around her tiny waist. She smelled of lilacs. The rain became heavier, soaking everyone and pooling on the floor, but no one cared.

She smiled up at him, her hair now limp and plastered to her cheeks. Her makeup began to run, but still she was stunning. "I can't forgive you for leaving me, Spike. Not ever. But I will give you something else you want."

She stepped back from his embrace and reached under the hem of her soaking sundress, which clung to her in interesting ways. For a moment, Spike half-hoped, half-feared she would undress right here in the Bronze, but her hand emerged a moment later, clutching something tightly. He couldn't see it clearly with rainwater in his eyes, so he blinked a few times, then gasped. She held a stake.

Spike bolted upright with a yell, arms outstretched, and bumped his head on the roof of the deSoto. He looked all around, panic still clutching at his insides, before he realized he was alone. No Bronze, rainstorm, Dawn, Buffy or anything else. Certainly the stake had vanished, for which he whispered silent thanks.

Bloody hell, he thought, rubbing his forehead where he had collided with the roof. What was that?

That made three times this week he had dreamed about Buffy, but no dream before had featured her trying to kill him. I will give you something else you want. She had said that every time, but with different results. The first time had ended much like their real-life encounter, naked in each other's arms. The second, she had started to pummel him, and Spike learned that, strangely enough, he could hit her back.

This third dream, though, had new elements. Dawn with the book and green eyes, the rainstorm, and Buffy with a stake. Also unlike previous dreams, this one had felt real. So real that Spike could recall every detail, every scent and sound. He was half-convinced if he hadn't woken up when he did, he might have turned to dust right there in the car.

He forced himself to relax back and close his eyes -- the sun wouldn't set for several more hours and he needed his sleep. He would reach New York City tomorrow and then catch a Concorde nighttime flight across the Atlantic. He had to be well-rested when he arrived in London.

After dark, the streets of Sunnydale typically emptied of residents. If anyone had to be out, they finished their business quickly, for dangerous, unexplainable things often happened at night in this small California town. Tonight, though, was more lonely than normal, Buffy noted as she wandered. Not that she minded. Solitude had become a trusted friend these days, especially in the week since Spike had split the scene. Willow had offered to join her on patrol -- almost begged, in fact -- but Buffy had refused as politely as she could. Willow only wanted to probe for information on Spike, ask her if she was OK, and as much as Buffy loved her friend, the questions grated. Buffy needed her escape.

Besides, Willow had to walk Dawn home from the magic shop later, as Buffy would likely not finish patrolling until late. No way would she allow her precocious little sister to explore the streets on her own. Last time, Dawn had ended up making out with a teenage vampire and had almost gotten herself killed or, even worse, turned. Maybe it had something to do with her supernatural origins, but the girl couldn't stay out of trouble.

Buffy had crossed an empty street bordering the cemetery before she realized where her feet were taking her. Not again, she thought. Tonight, just this once, I won't go there. Despite her inward protests, she knew she would end up at Spike's crypt, based on the glimmer of hope that he might have returned.

She strolled among the shadowy tombstones, gloved hands buried in her coat pockets, with an eye out for vampires and fantasies playing through her mind. Spike kicked back in his recliner, one leg hoisted over the arm rest, maybe reapplying his black nail polish or watching TV. Perhaps he would still be in bed, or eating his liquid breakfast. Didn't matter, because no matter what she wished for, the scenarios would never come true. He's gone. For good this time. I have to accept it.

Rustling from behind snapped her to reality. She pulled out a stake and crouched behind a tombstone to wait. A tall, slender figure slunk toward her, silhouetted in darkness. He looked confident, strong and unaware of the death that awaited him. Then the charade broke as he stumbled over a rock and pitched forward face-first into the grass.

She knew the voice. Buffy poked her head over the tombstone for a better look. "Xander? Is that you?"

"Gee, how could you tell?" he asked as he scrambled to his feet and wiped dead grass off his jeans. "Could it maybe be my graceful acrobatics?"

Great. Just what she needed -- someone to ruin her rare private time. She stomped to him and hissed, "What are you doing here?"

"Nope. I'm fine." Maybe if she smiled convincingly enough, he would go away. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his concern. Most nights she would welcome his company, but she just didn't have the energy tonight to keep up the happy-face facade.

Xander's eyes narrowed. "I'm not buying it. Something's up, Buffy, and it's not going to go away unless you --" He broke off and pointed frantically behind her. "Vampires!"

Buffy spun around, barely in time to ram her stake into her first victim of the evening. She blinked against the dust of his passing, then ducked as another vampire swung both fists where her face had been moments before. She effortlessly dusted him as well, then glanced back at Xander, who had pulled a stake and cross from his pockets and was watching their attackers warily. Satisfied he would hold his own, or at least not get himself killed, Buffy focused on the three other vamps rushing toward them. Pigs to the slaughter, she thought grimly.

Two vamps came straight at her, while the third hung back. She dispatched one of them in seconds, then punched the other in the face. He sneered and swung back, but Buffy avoided his fist by dropping to the side. In one fluid motion, she came up behind him and buried her stake in his back. Four down, one to go. It all seemed too easy. She exchanged a dark glare with the remaining vampire, before he turned and ran.

"Hey, come back here!" she yelled, knowing full well the vamp wouldn't listen. She groaned, then set off after him.

They raced through the cemetery, dodging freshly dug graves and hurdling stone markers. It quickly became apparent, from the way the vampire kept slowing down to gauge his location, that he wasn't fleeing in a random direction; he had a specific destination in mind. So, playing on a hunch, Buffy allowed herself to ease up a bit and let him keep his lead. She wanted to know where this would end.

She followed him to the far end of the cemetery, to one of the older and larger crypts, its walls crumbled away in places to reveal light within. Before its front door slammed shut behind the vampire, Buffy made out at least one other figure inside. So it could be only two more vamps, but also could be a nest. She had to play this one carefully.

Xander came stumbling up behind her and collapsed into the grass, his breath coming in gasps. "Remind me to get into better shape, OK? Like get into an aerobics program or that one where they make everyone ride stationary bikes until they pass out from exhaustion."

"All right then, what do you do? While I cower in the grass and hope they don't see me."

She rolled her eyes, partly at his obvious question and partly at his self-deprecating humor. "Review handbook. See: Job description, Vampire Slayer."

Xander took a moment to process that. "So, um, does that mean you're going to kill them?"

For an answer, Buffy waved him down and stalked toward the crypt. She peered through a gap where the wall had crumbled away. It left her with a limited view, but enough to make out the doings inside. The escaped vampire raced around the crypt, stuffing supplies into a bag, while a second vamp rolled up a large sheet of paper that was laying on a sarcophagus. They acted like the last survivors of a war, preparing for a hasty retreat. Buffy had to take them out now, before the chance was lost. She heard them arguing as she eased open the crypt door.

"You idiot," the second one spat. "What were you thinking, running back here with the Slayer on your tail?"

"I'm telling you I lost her," the first one said. "She just couldn't keep up --"

"I wouldn't count on that," Buffy said smugly from the doorway, then widened her eyes in feigned innocence as they turned their angry glares on her. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I interrupting something important?"

"Good call. Now I want you two boys to stop arguing and hand all your toys over to me, OK?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Can't you vamps come up with anything more original than 'get her'?" She dusted the first one. "I mean, use some originality because that line is so over-done." Her stake found the heart of the second, and she sighed at the empty room before her. "That's the problem with slaying. When you've done your job right, there's no audience left to appreciate it."

Buffy grinned. Maybe it wasn't so bad he had followed her, after all. "Thanks. Think we should take a look at what Heckle and Jeckle were packing up?"

The bag held the normal stuff: knives, guns, a couple of Walkie- Talkies and a cell phone. Why the vampires hadn't used the weapons on her, she couldn't guess, except that maybe they were even more stupid than she had initially surmised. She tossed that loot aside and turned her attention to the paper still lying on the sarcophagus. It looked like a map. A blue map, with lines and numbers etched in white.

He leaned over for a look as she laid it flat. "It's a blueprint. See here, these are measurements for the walls. But what would a couple of vamps want with blueprints?"

Buffy shrugged. "I guess that depends on what building it is." She examined it more closely, and something caught her eye: A small red dot, drawn in by marker in a large room on the building's north side. She pointed at it and said, "What's that for?"

"I'm not sure, but --" He stopped short and sudden understanding lit in his eyes. "Oh, wait. I know this building. This is the old-burned out high school. Look, there's the cafeteria, and that's the gym, and the broiler room."

The library. She traced her fingers over the spot, where there used to stand their fortress against all dark things. Looking down at it, she could almost smell the musty books, feel the energy that vibrated there. That room had been their sanctuary and home for three years, but it also had a greater significance, buried deep under the piles of charred rubble, dormant but never gone.

"So it's over now, right?" Anya asked hopefully, while counting money from the cash register. "I mean, you killed them all, so no more opening the Hellmouth, right?"

"I guess so," Buffy said, sliding into a chair at the table. "They could have been alone, but I don't really know."

The blueprints of the high school laid on the table, held down at the corners with heavy spell books -- "At least they're getting some use," Willow had said of the volumes -- and Willow, Xander and Buffy had circled around to examine the map for any other clues. Dawn was off counting inventory on the upper level, and Anya was behind the counter, doing her joyous dance of capitalistic superiority.

"What do you think, Wil?" Buffy asked her friend, who was chewing her lower lip in thought.

"I don't know. You're sure that you searched the crypt thoroughly, and there were no spell books or charms or anything like that? Just the blueprint?"

Xander said, "That, and the stuff in the bag. We found a couple other knives, but that was it."

"Then my guess is that these guys weren't working alone," Willow said. "I mean, without a spell book or something, all they could do is stand in a big circle around the crater and sing campfire songs, which would be pretty silly. But it might be kinda interesting to watch." She ran her fingertips over the red dot. "I'm guessing they're an advance party. You know, scouting the area, gathering information before reporting back to some big boss."

"Do I look like I'm all-knowing?" Willow asked. "Besides, it's just a theory, and probably not a very good one."

"Right now, it's the only theory we have." Buffy stood to stretch her arms overhead. "Well, I think we've done all we can for tonight. We should all keep an extra close eye out for any unusual stuff, or stuff that's more unusual than usual." She looked up toward the second level and raised her voice, "Dawn?"

Dawn nodded and crawled back to the bottom shelf she had been examining, mumbling to herself the whole time, "Don't be long, Buffy says. It's late, and you're just a child and heaven forbid you stay up past your bedtime." She reached for a leather-bound book. "Don't go looking in spell books, Dawny, because you're too young and impressionable. Like anyone remembers I'm a mystical key that's older than all of them put together."

She flipped open to the title page, which read, "Transmutation and Animal Magics for the Advanced Level." That wouldn't help unless she wanted to rat herself up like fuzzy Amy, and it certainly would be of no use in locating Spike. She set the book back on the shelf.

She grabbed another volume, this one thinner and with a majestic purple cover. "Self-levitation for Beginners," it said. That might prove fun for later, maybe learning how to fly to school instead of walking every day. Still, not what she needed. Dawn had a nasty suspicion that the spell she wanted didn't exist, no matter what Willow had said.

She wouldn't stop looking, though. Not ever. Buffy wasn't the only one who felt the pain of Spike's absence. He had been the only one to really understand Dawn, to treat her like a person instead of a child. As much as she loved her sister and Willow, both of them had been too wrapped up in their own problems to pay her much attention. Buffy had sunk herself into Slayer mode, in an effort to forget the loss of Spike and Giles. Willow pined after Tara and obsessed over not doing magic. No one had time to wonder whether maybe Dawn was hurting, too, but she at least was going to do something about her problems instead of just brooding. She would locate Spike, go find him and convince him to come back.

"All right, all right!" She pulled a random book off the shelf and stuffed it in her backpack before climbing down the ladder. "Geez, keep your pants on, OK?"

Buffy, Willow and Dawn said their goodnights to Xander and Anya and headed out for the long trek home. Normally, Dawn hated having to walk and wished with every step that her sister would buy a car, but tonight she enjoyed it. She tuned out Buffy and Willow's conversation -- like she cared about some vamps who had colored in the old school library on a map - - and instead thought about when she would see Spike again. In her fantasy, he was so happy to see her and they hopped a plane for Sunnydale and arrived on Christmas morning. What a present that would be for Buffy: Spike beneath the Christmas tree.

I know I will find you, she thought, the words circling over and over in her mind. You can't hide from me, Spike, so don't even try.

Spike aimed for an unobtrusive entrance, as the demons of London were notorious for their suspicion of strangers, and rightly so. He should have known, though, that any unfamiliar demon sauntering into the pub would draw attention. All faces turned toward him as he walked through the door, and he promptly froze. Yellow eyes regarded him, belonging to vampires and other things, demons he had never seen in his 120-odd years. Conversations dwindled, then died, and over the silence he heard the commentary of a football game from a TV over the bar.

Come on, you ninny, he thought. Get a hold of yourself. They're your own kind. But were they really? A small voice questioned whether he belonged to this company of monsters and killers anymore, when he had come here to spy for their worst enemy. At least they wouldn't recognize him, despite the tales that had crossed the globe of the turncoat vampire. Before leaving New York, he had dyed his hair to dark brown, and this evening he had left his duster at the hotel room. The two trademarks of Spike, set aside. At least for now.

He smirked for his audience, then sauntered inside, up to the bar and the only empty stool. A few demons looked away, returned to their drinks and conversations. Spike took advantage of the respite to scan the room more closely. About half the patrons of the crowded room were vampires, so the famed Carlos could be any one of them, or none. This lead could prove as useless as every other one he had followed this week.

He nodded to the bartender, a stocky bloke with skin that molted from a healthy red to ghostly white, depending on his mood. Now the little demon was a pale pink. The stranger in their midst had unsettled him somewhat.

"Welcome. We don't get many new faces in here," the barkeep said as he rubbed obsessively at the counter with a dirty rag. "We're all keeping a low profile. So you'll have to forgive the boys if they're a little nervous."

He could see, from the corner of his eye, the demons nearest to him visibly relax. He wondered why, then realized this was the first he had spoken since entering, revealing himself as an Englishman, one of them. Of course they would feel more certain of a fellow countryman than of a foreigner, because they all depended on each other here, to stay alive, to keep safe from the dreaded Council.

Until he had arrived here, Spike hadn't had a clue as to what the Watchers Council did nowadays, since one of the Slayers had brushed them off and the other sat in jail. Now they kept busy with purging Britain of the pestilence of demons, starting with its crown jewel of London. Spike had had a couple of close calls himself and had almost taken the next flight back to the States -- until he had remembered those vamps in California who had talked so casually about killing Buffy. As for this place, if the Council found out about it, they'd put it out of business before sunrise, probably with a well-placed bomb. The Council liked bombs.

Upon hearing Spike's accent, the bartender also relaxed, and his skin returned to its normal fire-red hue. "What can I get for you, then? We had a good shipment of A-positive come in this morning. Nice and fresh."

The bartender gulped. "You're in the wrong place, then. We just serve drinks here."

Spike had encountered this same fear at other places, and by now he had practice in how to handle it: Small, careful steps. He thickened his accent as he said, "Oh, I think I'm in exactly the right place. See, I'm looking for a bloke named Carlos, and word is that he comes here a lot. I don't mean him any harm. I just want to talk."

A three-eyed demon a couple seats down shook his finger at Spike. "We don't know any Carlos, and maybe it would be best for you to leave. We don't want trouble."

So much for civility. Paranoia ran too deep for anyone to believe a stranger might have decent intentions. Time to try another approach. Spike shifted into vamp face as he casually reached across the counter, grabbed the bartender's shirt and yanked him closer. He growled, "You're going to tell me where he is."

The barkeep's skin molted white, and he trembled. "Or what? You gonna kill me? The boys here would rip you apart in a second if you tried."

Another vampire, clean-cut and nicely dressed, stood up in the corner, away from the bar and half-hidden in shadows. He held up his hand and said, "Enough. We don't want any trouble here. I am Carlos." He nodded as Spike looked his way. "That's right. You've found me. Now let him go."

Finally, some luck comes my way, Spike thought as he pushed the bartender back and made his way across the room, the crowd parting before him. Behind him, he could hear the barkeep muttering about short-tempered vampires.

Spike stopped directly in front of the man who called himself Carlos. He looked too neat, like an accountant or a librarian, certainly not anyone's connection to a demon Mafia. Yet his pale skin marked him as a vampire. Perhaps this pansy was the one Spike needed to talk to, after all.

After a few tense seconds, Spike extended his hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm William."

Tension eased throughout the pub, and Spike guessed at why: If Carlos thought well enough of the stranger to invite him to his table, then he must be all right. The demons turned away in earnest this time, going back to their drinks and gossip with nervous laughter, granting the two vampires some privacy.

"So," Carlos said as they sat down, "what can I do for you, William? It must be rather important, that you would risk such a confrontation to find me."

"I find that's the best way to gain trust," Spike said in all honesty. Creating trust early meant he could lie later and be believed. "The Big Man has something going down soon in America. At least, that's word on the street. I want in on the action."

This time, Spike gave him a half-truth. "He's a means to an end. I don't care much about whatever he has planned, only if it means I get a crack at the Slayer."

"Ah," Carlos said, smiling again. "Well, William, you're a little late. The Big Man has already left for California. In fact, he might be there already. But," he added, as Spike's face fell, "I've been directed to send new recruits to meet him in Sunnydale. The more vampires there, the more powerful the spell."

"She'll show. You'll get your chance at her." Carlos took a sip of blood from his mug without spilling a drop on his well-tailored suit. "I like you, William. You remind me of my younger days, when I too had that passion for killing. So I'm going to do you a favor and, as you say, let you in on the action. You want to meet the Big Man? All you need is the password."

Carlos looked around them, making certain they had no eavesdroppers, then whispered, "du Lac."

Spike was taken back, as that name resurrected memories of an earlier time, of curing Drusilla after they had first arrived in Sunnydale. It seemed lifetimes ago. "As in Josephus du Lac? Wasn't he into some powerful magics? Dark spells. Vampire restoration and such?"

"You know your history," Carlos said, nodding in respect. "But some of his spells are much more powerful, and dangerous, as you will soon learn." He rose from his seat and straightened his blazer. "Now, unless there's something else I can do for you ..."

Spike nodded in farewell and swept from the pub, all eyes once again on him, and he strained to hold back a grin. Not only had the poof given him the key to infiltrating the Big Man's gang, but he also had granted Spike an excuse to return to Sunnydale. Maybe he would see Buffy and Dawn again ... just a glimpse of them, anyway. He suddenly felt in such a good mood that he hummed Ramones tunes all the way back to his hotel.

Spike wasn't the least bit surprised to find a guest waiting in his room. Whistler came and went indiscriminately, sometimes vanishing for days before making another appearance. Now he lounged on Spike's bed, munching on chips and watching TV. He licked the crumbs off his fingers and grinned as Spike entered.

"I'm no hero," Spike snorted, "and I don't want to be. That's the Slayer's gig, and she can keep it."

"It's your bloody fault that I'm here in the first place," Spike muttered as he crashed on the bed beside Whistler. He pulled his cigarettes from his back pocket and lit one up. "I would've never left except for you turning my life on its head."

"News flash: You're dead, so it's kinda hard for you to have a life, per se. Besides, you're the one who chose to leave Sunnydale. All I did was supply you with information."

"Oh, yeah, there's a choice. Stay, and you're gonna get the woman you love killed." He took a soothing puff at his cig, and rolled over to regard the demon. "What are you doing here, anyway? You never come by just to chat."

Whistler sat up and pressed the remote button to turn off the TV. "I'm serious here. I know what you're thinkin, and you can't go back to Sunnydale. It will end badly. Remember all those dreams you've been having? The Powers are sendin them to you for a reason."

"Hello. Connection to the Powers." He leaned forward intently. "Look, nothin is written in the stars. There is no such thing as an unavoidable fate. But this one is as close as they come. I'm telling you, if you go back, either you or your Slayer is going to end up dead."

"If I don't go back, there are no maybes -- she will end up dead," Spike retorted. "I have information she needs about a plot that could kill her and her little sis. This is what you asked me to do, stop the bad guys before they can get to her. It just so happens that to do that, I have to go back to the source."

"Fine," Whistler said as he slid off the bed and headed to the door. "But when you end up dead or cryin over her grave, don't say I didn't warn ya."

Whistler left, and Spike laid out on the bed, thinking. His cigarette smoldered to ashes in his hand without his notice. What if Whistler was right, and this could only end in death? Then he would just have to make sure that Buffy survived, no matter the consequences. At least he would see her one last time before he went. Bloody hell, I'm whipped for sure. Caring more for her life than my own.

He snuffed out the cigarette, rolled off the bed and started packing his few belongings into his duffel. The sun would rise soon, so he could do nothing else tonight, but he planned to be checked out at sunset and back in the States before another 24 hours had passed.

If Dawn could express her excitement without drawing unneeded attention, she would have. Climb to the roof of the Magic Box, jump up and down and yell out for everyone to hear: She had found the spell. That elusive locator spell really did exist, in the back of a thick book she had found stuffed behind jars of sage and chicken feet in the magic shop basement. She felt certain that Willow had personally hidden the book there, knowing Dawn wanted the spell and didn't like going into the spooky basement. She might never have stumbled onto it except that Anya had asked her to restock the salamander eyes.

Now, all she needed were supplies. She ran one fingertip down the short list: a map (she had a U.S. map at home and that should be plenty big enough), a few stinky chemicals she could snitch from stock in the basement, and a Charm of Atlas. She didn't have that one, but the book handily provided a color sketch in actual size. It looked like a necklace pendant, shaped like a sword with a small blue jewel in the hilt. Dawn was half-certain Willow had one, which would make sense as she had done the spell before.

The magic itself seemed simple enough -- certainly easier than her attempt to bring back her mother. She should be able to work it, assuming she could get her hands on Willow's charm and wheedle some time away from her over-attentive guardians. Shouldn't be too difficult, as she had been left with Anya every night for the past week while Buffy, Willow and Xander went out on group patrol. The three friends were so distracted by the influx of vampires coming into town that they hardly had time to notice little Dawny.

"Dawn!" Anya's voice drifted downstairs. "Have you found those eyes yet? There's a customer up here who would like them now."

Oops. In her excitement, she had forgotten her original reason for being down here. "Yeah, I've got 'em! I'm coming up."

With the ingredient list committed to memory, she slipped the book back behind the jars of chicken feet -- no sense in taking it until she had everything she needed -- grabbed the bottle of salamander eyes and raced upstairs.

Buffy knelt in the winter-browned grass, in front of an expectant Xander and Willow, who were blowing into their chapped hands. The crypt loomed behind them. Buffy whispered, "It's definitely another nest. There are maybe six or seven vamps inside, plus some guy chained to the wall."

Buffy sighed and looked over her shoulder at the crypt. She really really didn't want to do this, to clean out another nest. This would make the third one in as many nights. She hadn't seen so many vampires in Sunnydale in months; most had arrived in town recently, judging from the makeshift set-up of their hideouts, but for what, she couldn't guess. It probably was related to the blueprints, which meant it had something to do with the Hellmouth, which equaled bad in the worst sense of the word.

As she studied the crypt, one of the cemetery's larger ones and also the site of the previous night's staking fest, Buffy began to feel like she was stomping ants: Kill a few, knock over their hill, and suddenly you're bombarded by the little suckers. In the past week, it seemed for every vampire she dusted, five more took its place. She had to keep stomping, though, however futile her actions seemed.

"We'll do it pretty much like the past couple of nights," Buffy said. "I go in first and get their attention. You two follow, do just enough to push them off balance and get the human out."

"Gotcha," Xander said, then started ticking items off on his fingers. "Surprise vampires, free helpless human guy, run like hell. Sounds like a good plan."

"Glad to hear it," Buffy said. She took a couple of deep breaths to gather her nerve. "Let's do it."

They slunk toward the crypt, Buffy in the lead. A glance back confirmed that Xander and Willow had their weapons in hand: crossbows, and holy water in tiny, fragile glass vials. Buffy carried only her stake. She cracked open the crypt door and peered inside. One vampire was feeding on the deathly pale human, whose wrists were chained above his head, and the other vamps had crowded in a circle nearby to pass around a bottle of alcohol. Drunk, Buffy thought with relief. That should make this a bit easier.

She nodded the go-ahead to her friends, then kicked open the door and marched inside. The stink of cigarette smoke and blood assailed her senses, and she coughed. Couldn't demons at least learn some basic sanitation? The vampires, all male, scrambled unsteadily to their feet as Buffy smirked at them from the top of a short staircase. The feeding vampire wrenched away from his prey, blood trickling down his chin, and his victim groaned weakly. At least the guy was still alive.

"You're having a party, and you didn't invite me?" Buffy asked, pouting. "I'm hurt, really. I hope you don't mind that I'm crashing."

One of the vampires smashed the alcohol bottle against the wall, splintering glass everywhere and leaving a jagged weapon in his hand. "It's the Slayer," he growled. "Get her!"

They vamped out and rushed at her. Buffy knew she couldn't take them all at once, so she focused on the one with the broken bottle, who appeared to be the leader. She dove off the staircase, right at him, and they crashed to the floor. The others closed around, then she heard the sound of breaking glass vials and the vampires started smoking and running. Willow and Xander had arrived with the holy water.

Meanwhile, Buffy's opponent had rolled them over, with him on top and the broken bottle inches from her neck. She pushed him off, and they both jumped to their feet. She punched his face, then aimed a roundhouse kick for his weapon. The bottle went flying. Buffy kicked him again, and he stumbled back against the wall, where she staked him.

She turned and frantically looked for her friends, who had backed into the crypt's opposite corner. They seemed to be out of holy water and crossbow bolts, but they must have dusted a vamp or two because only four were left, all of whom were closing in around them. In the few precious seconds it would take Buffy to cross the crypt, Xander and Willow might already be dead.

"Hey! Over here!" Buffy yelled, but the vampires didn't take the bait, choosing to focus on the easier targets. "I killed your leader you morons, so come and get me!"

Still, the vamps closed in on Xander and Willow, who huddled together. Buffy ran toward them. She had made it only halfway across the crypt when the biggest vampire grabbed Xander by the throat and lifted him. Xander's eyes widened in disbelief as his toes dangled inches off the ground, and he made strangling noises.

Buffy had made it three-quarters of the way there when Willow yelled in Latin, pushed out with her palms and all four vampires flew across the room. Buffy dove for the floor and felt cold air whoosh across her back a vamp sailed overhead, crashed against a wall and slid down, unconscious. A dense cloud of dust erupted from where Willow stood and pushed outward, making it difficult for Buffy to see anything, let alone fight.

Xander fell to the floor at Willow's feet, and he rubbed at his neck. Willow, blacked-out eyes drooping, slumped into the corner and slid downward. It didn't matter because three remaining vampires were fighting each other to get out the door. The unconscious one looked like he would be out for a while.

Buffy ran to her friends. "Oh my god, Xander! Willow! Are you guys OK? I mean, when I saw that vampire lift you off the ground I thought ... I mean ... oh my god."

Xander waved her off and hauled himself to his feet. "It's all right. We're all right, Buffy. But if Willow hadn't done her magic thing there ... I don't know, but I think that vamp was about to rip my head off. Literally."

"Magic. Oh god." Buffy knelt by Willow and shook her shoulder. No reaction. She felt at Willow's neck for a pulse and relaxed a little as she found it, steady and strong. "She's just passed out."

"But why? I mean, Willow is, like, a witch extraordinaire. One spell shouldn't have affected her like that."

"I don't know." Buffy stood and pushed back a few strands of hair that escaped her ponytail. "Maybe it's because she hasn't done any magic at all for the past few weeks. Maybe it's like athletic training, that if you stop, you get out of shape and it's hard to get back into it right away."

"Maybe. Oh, look, her nose is bleeding." Xander pulled a tissue from his coat pocket and knelt down to wipe her face. At his touch, Willow stirred and moaned weakly. "Hey, I think she's coming around."

She hurried over to the man, who was unconscious and slumping against his chains. Bite marks covered his neck and bare chest, and his wrists were raw and bloody from where he had pulled against the handcuffs. Buffy ran her fingertips lightly over him, assessing damage, then pressed her hand flat against his chest. She could hardly feel his heartbeat.

"He's alive, but only barely. We need to get him to a hospital." She yanked on the chains, but they held secure to the wall. "Is there a, um, a key or something? A way to get these handcuffs off him?"

Xander pointed. "There's something shiny over there, on top of the sarcophagus. Yep," he said, holding it up. "It's a key."

He brought it over and unlocked the cuffs. Buffy caught the man as he fell forward, then eased him to the floor. Willow joined them, although it looked like her legs might give out at any moment.

She looked at them both. "All right, then. Take a couple more minutes, then get this guy out of here and to the nearest house. Call 9-1-1 or something. Just get him to a hospital."

"You can handle it." Buffy looked at their other unconscious patient, the vampire crumpled against the wall. "I have something else I need to take care of."

After Xander and Willow had left, leaning on each other as much as carrying that man, Buffy chained the vampire to the wall and slapped him across the face until he revived. He looked dazed for a moment, then, catching on to his situation, growled and yanked at the chains. Buffy stood just out of reach, arms crossed and a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

"Doesn't feel too good, does it?" she asked smugly. "Chained up. Helpless. Unable to run or fight. It's downright scary."

"Oh, I don't think so." She trailed the key down the vampire's collarbone. "You see, you're the first vampire we've managed to capture. So before anything else happens, you're going to answer some questions for me."

"Now that wasn't very nice," Buffy said, wiping off her face. She punched him, and his head snapped back. "Who sent you here? Who do you work for?"

"A vampire with loyalty. Huh." She pulled a stake from her coat pocket and tossed it between her hands. "That's pretty surprising, since most vampires are more interested in saving their own skin than in protecting someone else's. It's part of the whole demon-soulless thing, I think."

"I'm talking about killing you. As in, if you talk, you walk. If you don't talk ..." She rammed the stake into his shoulder, and the vampire whimpered. "Then, we're gonna be here for a while. Until I get tired of hurting you, and then I'm going to kill you."

The vampire slumped forward and shook his head. "I can't talk. I'm dead if I do."

Buffy yanked the stake out of his shoulder and pressed it over his heart. "You're dead if you don't. At least if you talk and I let you go, you have a running start on whoever might be after you."

"You don't understand," the vampire said, flinching away from the stake, then wincing as the movement aggravated the wound in his shoulder. "You don't know the Big Man. He'll find me. He has ways ..."

The vampire's eyes widened in horror, as he realized he had revealed too much. He started trembling with a force to snap bones and, in a move that took Buffy by complete surprise, lurched forward onto the stake. It sunk into his heart, and Buffy found herself holding her weapon steady against a cloud of dust. The empty chains clattered against the wall. She stared at them in dumb amazement.

"He staked himself," she muttered. "He would rather stake himself than face his boss. That's just ... weird."

She tucked away her stake, did one last scan of the crypt to make sure she hadn't missed anything and, satisfied that nothing was there, went outside. After all the dust floating about the crypt, the cool winter air felt like balm for her lungs, and she breathed in and out a few times just to see the little clouds puffing from her mouth. Cold and crisp. A perfect winter night.

Yet something was missing from this scene. Oh, yes. Now would be about the time he would come strutting around, her neutered vampire in black leather. He always showed up at the most annoying times, catching her alone, after a fight, when her adrenaline was pumping and her skin felt searing hot. It was at those times she was most vulnerable to his sultry charisma, like she would melt if he touched her. If he kissed her...

No, no, no, she thought firmly. No kissing. No Spike. He left me, and he's not coming back. Just like Angel, and Riley ...

Buffy pushed those brooding thoughts aside as she tucked her hands in her pockets and hurried toward the magic shop. She would do fine on her own, without any man in her life, because men equaled trouble. Much more important to focus on other things, like taking Dawn home and assuring Anya that her husband-to-be had survived another night of patrol. Plus, she needed to call the hospital to make sure Xander and Willow had arrived without incident.

Most important of all, she had to find out what was going on with the undead convention. So as she walked, she replayed her conversation with the vampire. The Big Man. That's what the vamp had said. Sounded like the bad guy in some cheesy Mafia movie, the head honcho who petted a fluffy white cat and whose face you never saw. Or was that from James Bond films? Didn't matter. The important thing was that they now had a little more information. Buffy hoped it was the key to unlock this mystery, because she had a suspicion that time was running out.

Dawn shut and locked the door, quietly, to avoid drawing attention. Buffy was out on patrol. Again. Seemed that was all she did in the weeks since Spike's disappearance. Xander, Anya and Willow, though, had stayed at the house to work on research, which meant Dawn needed to use more stealth then she had originally planned. She left them downstairs, saying she had a mountain of homework, and retreated to her bedroom to do exactly what they all absolutely forbade her to do.

She spread the supplies on the floor behind her bed, hidden from view should someone come knocking. The U.S. map she laid out flat, and from her jewelry box she retrieved the sword-shaped Charm of Atlas, hanging off a silver chain. Willow hadn't noticed the pendant missing from her room yet, and, with any luck, Dawn would return it without anyone the wiser. Last, she pulled several plastic baggies of herbs from her backpack, and the spell book.

"OK, now time to get started," she muttered as she flipped the book open. She read the spell's instructions aloud. "Sprinkle herbs evenly over map, dangle charm over map and say the required words while focusing thoughts and energy on the person and/or object you wish to find. The charm will point to the location of the person/object in question. ... Geez, it reads like a textbook. But it sounds easy enough. OK, then... sprinkling stinky herbs..."

From each baggie, she took pinches of powder and spread them, until the map seemed to be coated in a fine layer of dust. She looped the chain over her fingers and let the pendant swing freely over the East Coast.

"Hope this works," she said, and closed her eyes to picture Spike. She visualized him the cemetery, black duster falling about his combat boots, a mischievous glint in his eyes. With the image firmly in mind, she turned to the book and read. "Arabia, goddess of the lost, I invoke thy name, to light a path, to lay bare what is hidden ..."

As she spoke, the small jewel in the pendant's hilt glowed a brilliant green and the herbs began to swirl like a light mist. Dawn's heart pounded harder, and it took all her self-control not to drop the pendant.

The mist became a tiny whirlwind, focused directly under the pendant, which began to swing like a metronome. The jewel glowed like a vicious eye. Spike. Think about Spike, she reminded herself. With a trembling voice, she finished the spell. "In the eye of the storm, reveal what is lost!"

The pendant went shooting across the map, jerking Dawn's hand behind it. It halted just as abruptly, the tip of the tiny sword poking at a specific place on the map. She was able to read the city name before the herb whirlwind exploded outward in a rank cloud. Catching a lungful, she started coughing and dropped the pendant, which went dark as it fell from her hand.

Someone pounded on her door, and Dawn yelped. Whoever it was fiddled with the locked knob, then pounded again. "Dawn! Are you OK?" It was Willow's voice. "Dawn, answer me!"

"I'm coming." She stuffed all the supplies under her bed, then opened a window to blow out the cloud of herbs. Still, her room smelled of rotten eggs. Willow kept pounding on the door.

"Dawn, what are you doing up here?" she asked urgently as Dawn let her in. "There was this loud rumbling noise, and all the electricity shorted out for a second and ... why is it so dusty in here ..." Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, and she sniffed the air. "I know that smell ... you've been doing a spell."

"No -- no, I haven't," Dawn answered hastily. She picked up a textbook off the bed. "See, math. No big."

"What was it, Dawn? Were you trying to find Spike? After I specifically told you not to?"

"All right, all right." Dawn slumped her shoulders in defeat. She detested getting caught. "So, I was trying to find Spike. What's the harm? Buffy misses him, and I miss him, and he could be a big help in stopping whatever is going on with all the vampires. We need him here."

"But at what cost?" Willow sat on the bed, and Dawn sat beside her. "You used the invocation of Arabia, right? That is a very advanced spell, conjuring forces that are way beyond your control. Even I never did that spell alone. Without the proper focus, you could have hurt yourself or let loose something terrible..."

"But I didn't," Dawn assured her. "It worked just fine. The pendant did that little glowy thing, and it pointed at the map, and --"

Willow grabbed her shoulders and shook lightly with every word. "Don't. Do. It. Again. Do you understand me? It's too dangerous."

Dawn pulled away, sulking. "Fine. But aren't you the least bit curious where Spike is?"

Willow's parental attitude melted away at that, and she gaped. As she leaned in closer and whispered, she looked for all the world like a teenager catching up on the juiciest gossip. "Are you sure about that? Spike is here?"

Dawn nodded. She took a strange satisfaction from her guardian's reaction. "Yep. The tiny sword pointed right at Sunnydale. No doubt about it."

"Oh my god, do you know what this means?" Willow broke into a grin. "We have to page Buffy. Right now."

To find the Big Man, Spike needed only to follow his footsteps home. Not to the crypt, of course. Not yet. He did want to retrieve some belongings he had forgotten when hightailing it out of town, but going to the crypt meant entering the cemetery, which would increase his chances of running into Buffy. As much as he ached to see her -- his jeans felt uncomfortably tight every time he thought of their last night together -- this wasn't the right time. He had tasks to accomplish first.

Even with the cemetery off limits, though, Spike knew of a few other likely prospects for vampire central. Sunnydale had only so many places where an army of the undead could set up base and not attract undue notice. After stopping by a butcher's shop for dinner, he drove to the burned-out factory, but its only occupants were rats, snakes and several of Drusilla's worn dolls. With his one-time lover in mind, Spike tore the heads off a couple of the pale, brown-haired variety before moving on.

Next stop, the mansion. This time, instead of just busting in, he opted for a more careful approach. He crouched behind some nearby bushes and watched for signs of activity. He didn't have to wait long. Two vampires soon came strolling up the driveway, not even bothering to act stealthy, and went inside. A different vamp came out a few minutes later for a smoke.

The direct approach always seemed best, so Spike emerged from his hiding place, straightened his clothes, and marched up to the front door. The weaker, human part of him wished he had worn his duster -- the closest thing he had to a security blanket -- but he knew that would give away his identity too quickly. Just as the platinum blond hair would. Without either of his trademarks, Spike felt less like himself, almost naked. But I'm still me, he thought fiercely. William the Bloody. A bad- ass vampire who takes crap from no one. Well, except maybe from Buffy... and Dawn... and that annoying Whistler bloke. But everyone else, look out...

"Password," said a tired-looking vamp at the door, the one Spike had seen smoking.

Spike had never liked the mansion, he mused as he entered the crowded foyer. It resurrected days of being confined to a wheelchair and losing Drusilla to their poof of a sire. How many nights had he spent rolling around the lower level, struggling to regain his strength and plotting against Angel and the Slayer? He had lost count. Too many, at any rate. No doubt about it, this place he would rather forget.

Yet here he was, playing double-agent, risking his hide, all for the sake of a woman who probably never loved him in the first place, no matter she had made his dreams come alive for one mind-blowing night. The things I do for that girl ...

Spike started his search for the inner sanctum, the place mostly likely used as offices for the Big Man. Everywhere he went, vampires scurried around like so many worker ants, going about their assigned tasks with hunched shoulders and downcast eyes. No one spoke. Their fear was almost tangible, and Spike wondered what could spark such powerful emotions in the ranks of the soulless.

He wandered into the main common room and suddenly found himself away from the bustle. The only occupants here were a council of vampires relaxed in a half-circle of easy chairs around the fireplace, which burned mostly for show as the undead had no need for heat. The vamps talked quietly among themselves and failed to notice as Spike approached. He didn't know how he knew, but Spike felt certain he had found the generals of this operation.

"Well, now, this is something you don't see every day," he said, arrogant and swaggering. The vampires looked up at him, startled. "I mean, this place is great. You have it spruced up so tidy, and all those vamps at your beckon call. It is quite a sweet set-up."

One of the vampires leaned over his arm rest and regarded Spike. He looked hardly older than 10, with the frail body of a child, but his eyes told a different story. "Who are you?" he asked quietly, his voice tinged with a British accent.

As Spike laughed at his own joke, the boy's eyes narrowed angrily and he waved his hand. Suddenly, Spike found himself floating several inches off the floor. The boy held out his open palm, then slowly closed it into a fist. Invisible hands clutched at Spike's throat, choking him even though he had no breath. He grabbed at them, trying to pull them off, but encountered nothing but air. Strangled noises escaped his throat and the world went black around the edges.

The hands released him, and he crashed to the floor in a heap. Bloody hell! What was that? A warlock vampire? A powerful one, at that, to make a creature choke who had no need of breath. No wonder all the demons around here were scared out of their knickers, if they got that kind of treatment. He glared daggers at the boy as he hefted himself to his feet.

"Correct," the boy said, nodding. "Now answer another question for me. Why would Carlos send me such a brash, arrogant vampire?"

Spike shrugged and barely held back a grin. Brash and arrogant. He liked the sound of that. "I told 'im I could care less about opening the bloody Hellmouth. I just want a shot at the Slayer. I can, of course, take her out before she has a chance to muck up your plans. What I won't do is be one of the scared-shitless slaves you have running around this place."

"So, tell me, since you're the head honcho around here, whether you'll let me at her. Give me a not-so-pathetic group of vamps to order around. I'd be oh so grateful and help you destroy the world."

"I'll have to think on it. Until then, you'll stay here with us." He snapped his fingers, and a meek vampire girl came running in. "Show William to one of the guest quarters. Make sure he has everything he needs."

The girl bowed and led Spike from the room. Although he would never admit it, he felt a wash of relief to get away from that eerie child-who- wasn't. Reminded him too much of the Anointed One, except the Big Man obviously had more power. Spike knew he would have to watch his step around here.

Willow sat on the living room floor with Dawn, helping her with math homework, and Xander and Anya were cuddling on the couch with a pile of bridal magazines, when Buffy slammed open the front door and stormed inside. Her hair flew askew, and her clothes were dusty from fighting.

"Is something wrong? Is Dawn OK?" she asked breathlessly, then saw the lack of panic on her friends' faces and backtracked. "...You all look OK. Unless you're struggling with an evil homework demon."

"Yep, we're good as gold," Anya said. Then, with a little grin, she added, "I always liked gold."

"Then what's with the page?" Buffy held up her beeper. "I was kind of thinking emergency, but ... obviously not."

Willow gave Dawn a sidelong glance and said, "Well, a couple of things, actually."

After the spell, Willow and Dawn had agreed not to say anything about Spike, at least not until Buffy arrived. Xander especially hadn't been heartbroken about the vampire's disappearance -- he had suggested, when Buffy wasn't listening, that they have a party -- and he wouldn't be throwing streamers to know Spike had returned. In fact, he'd probably find a perfectly logical reason as to why they should say nothing at all to Buffy. So, Dawn and Willow had come down to the living room, grinning like idiots, and had kept their mouths shut.

Now, as Dawn watched Buffy stuff her pager into her pocket and fold her arms, that emotionless look on her face, she remembered why they needed Spike here, no matter the cost. Buffy had been withdrawn, different, since her resurrection, but after the whole song-and-dance thing, that had changed. She had smiled more, joked around; she even once got into a tickling match with Dawn, the two of them rolling around on the floor and giggling until tears streamed down their faces. Dawn had felt like her sister had finally returned to her.

Then Spike had vanished, and everything fell apart. When Dawn looked at her sister now, she didn't see Buffy Summers. She saw the Slayer. She was stronger, more self-reliant, but hardly anything remained of her passionate spirit. It was all slay, slay, slay. Kill, kill, kill. Sacred duty and such. But no fun. No jokes or smiles or tickle monsters.

Spike could change that. Dawn knew, deep in her gut, that he could bring out the Buffy in her sister.

"I'm waiting," Buffy said flatly. "What was so important that you took me away from patrol?"

Willow cleared her throat, nervous under that stony glare. "First off, I found some information on this Big Man guy, and I thought you'd like to know. Just in case, maybe, you ran into him or something."

"Oh, it was," Willow said. "That's why I got on my laptop, to see what kinda stuff I could find. And, lo and behold, the Big Man has a Web page."

"Yep, it's all right there on the Net. Oh, there aren't any pictures or great stashes of information or anything. But there was an open invitation to all vampires to come to Sunnydale and open the Hellmouth."

"No. Sorry. Just some vague reference to the 'Night of All-Comers.'" She grinned. "Sounds like some weird party, huh? Where all the vamps get together and have boxing matches?"

Xander sighed. "It's times like this I wish Giles was still here. He knew where to look to get the good info."

"And I wish Spike was here," Dawn said longingly. "He could help Buffy beat up on the bad guys."

"I don't need anyone's help," Buffy snapped. "Not Spike. Not Angel, or anyone else."

"Dawny," Buffy said, softer this time. "Spike is gone, and he isn't coming back. And, frankly, I think it's better that way." She returned her attention to Willow. "So, is that it? No other big breakthroughs in research?"

"All right then. I'm going back out on patrol. Lots of vamps to kill." She started toward the door, then looked back. "Um, you did say there were a couple of things you wanted to talk about. What was the other?"

The front door shut, and Buffy was gone. Willow ducked her head and refused to meet Dawn's eyes, instead becoming engrossed in checking over a math problem. She looked guilty as hell, and, Dawn thought, she had every reason to.

"You didn't tell her?" Dawn asked, amazed. "Why didn't you tell her? It's what we paged her for in the first place."

"I know, I know." Willow dropped the textbook and finally met Dawn's hurt, bewildered stare. "But, Dawny, didn't you hear what she said, about it being better this way? I just couldn't say anything after that ..."

"Um, not to intrude," Xander said, raising his hand. "But what are you two talking about?"

"Oh, give me a break," Dawn said, rolling her eyes. "Spike is back. He's in Sunnydale. "

Dawn shrugged. "Don't know. But Buffy really really needs to know about this."

"No, she doesn't," Xander said curtly. "We should just let fang-boy do whatever it is he's here to do, then let him leave again. And good riddance to him."

"Spike is nothing but trouble." Xander disengaged himself from Anya and started pacing, his long legs carrying him across the living room in only a few strides. "Am I the only one who remembers all those times he tried to kill us? How about when he kidnaped me and Willow to make her do that love spell? Or when he teamed up with Adam and tried to set us against each other?"

Dawn was on her feet now, fists clenched at her sides. "And how about how he helped you guys patrol all summer, after Buffy died? He stayed with me when you were having your secret Scooby meetings. He kept me safe when those crazy motorcycle demons came roaring into town."

Xander stopped pacing, right in front of her. He wrapped his hands around her shoulders and looked earnestly into her eyes. "Spike is a soulless demon. If he stayed here, he would soon get bored with being one of the good guys and go back to his evil ways. It's better to just let him go."

"I don't believe you!" Dawn ripped away from his grasp, tears threatening to fall. "Spike is good, and he's my friend, and he's the only one of us who can make Buffy like she used to be. Can't you all see that? She's been lost without him, and now that he's come back, I'm not letting him get away again!"

She sobbed, ran up the stairs to her bedroom and slammed the door. Xander stood stunned, staring at the place where she had been standing. He looked at Willow, who returned his gaze with pity, then at his fiancée, and up the stairs. At a loss of what else to do, he sank to the floor and held his head in his hands. Willow patted his shoulder in consolation.

"Me, too," Anya said. At Xander's wounded look, she hastily added, "He's not really so bad, you know. Spike, I mean. He took me to a party once."

Xander sighed. It always happened like this when it came to vampires. First Angel, and now Spike. He just had to accept that these were battles he would never win.