A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. It was the work week from heck. Actually, the work month from heck. But as much as I don't love having to work extra on the weekends these last few weeks, I’m really very grateful to be gainfully employed.
No, really. Honest.
Okay, let’s see…when last we looked in on our intrepid heroes, Spike was MIA, Willow and Giles were trapped in the ladies’ room, Xander and Anya were still waiting outside the museum, and Buffy was chained to the mock alter about to be on the receiving end of a sacrificial dagger…
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Chapter Eight
Buffy braced herself. For an eon, time stilled, suspended in a bubble where sound and sensation no longer existed. Then the moment was gone, and the deadly blade came swooping towards her.
An unearthly roar shattered the silence as the dagger vanished and a big blur went hurtling across the room, crashing into the far wall. The blur resolved itself, falling apart, separating into two distinct forms, and Buffy’s heart stopped. Was it really…
“Spike!”
Bouncing to his feet, Spike nodded in response to her call but didn’t take his eyes off the other demon, who had also regained his footing. “Present and accounted for, Slayer. No thanks to some,” he added, staring grimly at the shapeshifter. “Word of advice, mate. Next time you kill a bloke, you might want to make sure he’s not already dead.”
Ardun froze, then slowly nodded. “Vampire?”
Spike shook his head, growling low in his throat. “Pissed-off vampire,” he corrected. Then with a furious roar, he charged again.
This time, the momentum sent them careening into the granite obelisk. Ardun hit hard, his head slamming against the stone surface. Spike followed up the advantage with two powerhouse punches and a knee to the gut, but Ardun recovered quickly, his hand shooting out to latch onto Spike’s throat. Buffy remembered that vise-like grip all too well, and as strong as Spike was, Ardun was stronger. Buffy wasn’t sure she could take him on her own, even without the element of surprise on his side.
If she didn’t find a way to free herself, and fast, Spike could become a genuine casualty this time. And she wouldn’t be far behind.
Wrapping her hand around the chain that restrained her right arm, she again focused all her strength on it, straining with desperate determination. For the merest fraction of a second, she felt something – a change, a subtle shift, as if it might not be as secure as it had been a moment ago. Suppressing a small thrill of triumph, she pulled even harder. This time, there was a definite shift.
Her eyes darted back to the fight, if you could call it that. Still preoccupied with his opponent, Ardun seemed unaware of what she was doing. As she watched, he lifted Spike off the floor, just as he had done to her in the utility closet. But instead of trying to strangle him, which would have been pointless with a vampire, Ardun gave a massive heave that sent Spike sailing across the room. The crash landing demolished a nearby exhibit, burying him beneath a pile of debris.
Ardun’s head whipped around and his cold gaze locked with hers. The chains snapped taut, undoing the tiny bit of headway Buffy had made. Her eyes widened.
His mind! He was holding the chains in place with his mind.
Ardun moved toward her, his face a cold, hard mask. But for the second time, he had seriously underestimated Spike. No sooner had the vampire landed than he was up again, debris flying as he came roaring back for more. He slammed into the shapeshifter from behind, carrying him closer to the slab where Buffy lay, as his arm wrapped around Ardun’s neck like a steel band. His knee jabbed viciously into the small of the demon’s back, bending him so far backwards Buffy expected to hear the audible crack of Ardun’s spine.
But the shapeshifter was no lightweight either, as he had already proven. In an eye-blink, Spike found himself holding an armful of Buffy. Or so he must have thought. The real Buffy watched as he jerked in surprise, loosening his hold enough for the Not-Buffy to break free. Growling, he recovered quickly, ducking what would have been a powerful blow as he spun out of reach.
Then the two were back at each other, trading staggering punches and kicks like a brutally choreographed dance. It gave Buffy an odd tickling of déjà vu as she realized this was very much the way she and Spike must have looked during their mortal-enemy days.
But there was no time to dwell on the strangeness of it all. The Not-Buffy still had the upper hand, though Spike was gamely plugging away, standing up to stiff punishment and taking his shots where he could. With each blow or kick he landed, the chains seemed to loosen a bit more until finally, with one last Herculean effort, she was free.
In a flash, Buffy was off the slab and stumbling toward the combatants, the cumbersome ankle chains dragging and clanging along behind her. As she ran, she grasped the chain that dangled from her right arm and twirled it above her head, cold metal whipping the air with a deadly swishing noise.
Spike was on the floor now, and Ardun, back in his original form, was leaning over him. Just beyond them lay the remains of a splintered table that had been part of the destroyed exhibit. A chill seized Buffy’s heart as she spotted the sharp fragment of wood clutched in the shapeshifter’s hand. With a wordless yell she released the chain, letting it fly toward its mark. The chain struck, the forward momentum wrapping it around Ardun’s throat like a snake curled around a branch.
Grabbing her end of the chain, Buffy jerked the demon backwards, away from Spike, sending the makeshift stake clattering to the floor. But her victory was short-lived as he turned and landed a powerful blow on the side of her head. It would have sent her reeling, if not for the chain connecting them. Stunned, she barely managed to duck a second punch, this one grazing off her cheek instead. Then his fists were flying almost faster than Buffy could see, raining blows that beat her down to her knees.
But Ardun hadn’t counted on Slayer resilience. As he leaned down, intent on finishing her off, Buffy sent the chain on her left arm lashing upward, striking him hard across the face. The force of the blow sent him staggering back, pulling her to her feet. Before he could recover, she spun him around, leaping onto his back and gripping his sides with her knees as she looped the last length of chain around his neck. Then she held on tight, hoping to choke the life out of him.
Not her most shining moment, but right now she didn’t care. Whatever it took to get the job done.
Unfortunately, the job seemed determined to stay un-done.
“You think that will stop me?” he wheezed, hands reaching up and back to grab her shoulders in a bruising grip. “Nothing you do can—”
“Slayer!”
Something flashed through the air and Buffy instinctively reached out to catch it, her palm connecting with the hilt of the ceremonial dagger Ardun had dropped. She shifted her grip and raised her arm, ready to drive it into his heart, but a second yell stopped her.
“No! The hair! It’s got to be the hair!”
Bewildered, she looked over at Spike, leaning heavily against the alter a few feet away. Blood was running down the side of his face from a nasty gash on his forehead and his leg was twisted at an odd angle. He was breathing heavily, all his attention focused on her.
“Huh?”
“His power is in his hair, Slayer! You have to cut it off!”
She gaped at him for an instant before Ardun’s hands abruptly left her shoulders and fastened around her throat, strong thumbs threatening to crush her windpipe. Sending up a quick prayer that Spike was right, she wedged the dagger in between his skull and the hair band and began to saw.
Just as her vision started to dim, Buffy felt the resistance against the dagger give way. Ardun howled in anguish as the base of the pony tail separated from his head, only the chain preventing it from dropping to the floor. Simultaneously, the pressure on her throat eased, his grip losing the power to hold her. Buffy jumped off his back, spinning him around to face her. Staring into black eyes that burned with an unholy rage, she pressed the dagger point-first against his chest…
…and almost dropped it as her mother’s face gazed back at her.
“Buffy, you don’t want to do this, baby,” the Not-Joyce pleaded. “I’m helpless now. You’re not a killer. I know that. You do what you have to do, but you don’t have to do this anymore. You can rest. You can be with me again. We’ll be together, safe and at peace. Forever.”
Spike’s voice reached her, jolting her out of the heart-stricken daze she’d fallen into.
“Buffy! Don’t listen to it! It’s not your mum!”
“I know,” she said steadily.
And she did. But it was still hard. Swallowing, she closed her eyes and pressed the dagger in a little harder.
Then her eyes flew open again at the sound of her sister’s voice, her stomach clenching in a tight knot. “Buffy, what are you doing?” The wide eyes of the Not-Dawn begged her. “Please…you’re hurting me.”
For the second time in as many minutes, Spike’s voice freed her.
“Son of a bitch! You pissy little bastard! Stop hidin’ behind a little girl! You come back, or I’ll rip out your heart with my bare hands and shove it down your throat!”
For one insane moment it seemed as if the shapeshifter might return to his true form, but instead, the Not-Dawn vanished and the Not-Spike took her place.
“C’mon, now, love,” he coaxed, his voice low and infinitely seductive. “Don’t listen to him. I know what you want, don’t I? I’m the one can give it to you. It doesn’t have to end here. I can make it good, just like I did before. Only more. We can walk out of here. No one has to know…just you and me. Our little secret.” He leaned in closer, apparently oblivious to the prick of the dagger against his chest. “All you have to do is get rid of the vamp—”
Buffy drove the blade home hard.
The Not-Spike’s eyes widened in shocked surprise. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. As she released the dagger, he fell backwards, sprawling onto the floor. She landed beside him, the chain pulling her down along with him. When she turned her head, he was Ardun once more, lifeless eyes staring straight through her.
“Buffy?”
Spike limped over, his gaze soft and concerned. He knelt beside her, favoring his still-healing leg. “Here now. Let’s get you untangled.”
Making short work of the chain, he rose and offered her a hand up. Buffy ignored it, climbing stiffly to her feet, then stared down at the demon’s body as she pretended not to notice the wounded look that flashed in Spike’s eyes.
She should be thanking him. She knew that. But Ardun’s desperate transformation act had left her badly shaken. On top of that, his final words had brought those moments in the utility closet, when she’d thought Ardun was Spike, rushing back with a vivid clarity that left her breathless and trembling, her body on fire as she stood next to the real Spike.
Sucking in a deep breath, Buffy closed her eyes. No. Absolutely not. That way lay madness and other deliciously dangerous things she couldn’t deal with right now. It would be easier to pick a fight. So she did.
“Care to explain what just happened?” she demanded, hands on hips as she whirled to face the surprised vampire.
“Come again?”
He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind, and maybe she had.
“You said his power was in his hair! I cut it off and he still changed!”
“Well, you didn’t cut it all off, now did you?” he asked, like a grown-up reasoning with a two-year-old. “Long as he had some hair, he still had a few tricks left in him.”
Buffy stared at him, incredulous. “Do you know how stupid that is? I mean, come on! His hair?”
Temptation receded, replaced with the flames of antagonism, and she almost laughed in relief. Instead, she folded her arms and glared at Spike, whose expression was fluctuating between total bewilderment and outright indignation.
Indignation won out. His jaw snapped shut, a tiny muscle pulsing as he gritted his teeth. “Not my fault if some buggerin’ demon species has a Samson complex, is it now?” he demanded. “It’s not like I make the rules…I only tell you how to slay ’em. They could carry their power in a box of Crackerjacks, an’ it’s all the same to me!”
He’d started to pace as he warmed to his subject, and Buffy felt a twinge of guilt. But before she could try to make amends, he stopped and whirled, pointing a triumphant finger at her.
“You want to talk about stupid…what about slayers, eh? One girl in all the world? What the bloody hell good does that do? You think every demon in the world is gonna come knockin’ on your door begging you to take him out? Make more sense to have a slayer in every country. Better yet, every city! But, no…instead you’ve got—”
“Spike!”
Halting mid-rant, he cocked his head and focused on her, curious and expectant, as if he’d just been remarking on something as innocuous as the weather. “Yeah?”
Buffy stared at him solemnly. “What happened earlier? He said he’d killed you.” The abrupt change in subject was her way of apologizing, only without the actual words. It wasn’t enough, but it was as close as she could get.
Maybe he understood. As he looked at her, a strange stillness settled over him. “That right?” His tone was dry but his gaze hinted at other emotions. “All broken up about it, were you?”
She folded her arms, face carefully devoid of emotion, and waited.
Spike huffed out a sigh. “He came in lookin’ like you, all right? Told me there’d been a change in plans. Thought something was off, but you…he…insisted we go meet with Giles. Next thing I know, I’m wakin’ up in the men’s room with a knife in my back stickin’ straight through the heart. Had to let it heal up enough to come looking for you. I thought something had crept up on us without my seein’ it. Didn’t know it was him pretendin’ to be you till he went and changed on me during the fight. That’s when I realized what he was.”
“Guess it’s lucky for us you’ve seen this thing before.”
He shook his head. “Haven’t. I’ve only heard of them. Never actually run into one till now. Far as I know, anyway. They’re very rare. Some demons swear they don’t really exist. Think they’re some kind of myth, like unicorns or fire-breathing dragons.” He snorted. “Which there are plenty of, by the way, if you know where to look. Just shy, is all.”
“Spike.”
“Yeah?”
“The demon thingie?”
“Right. Sorry.” He took a deep breath. “Our friend here was a Jezz ’raha demon. It’s pretty easy for them to blend with humans, ’cause they look like you even when they’re not takin’ on someone else’s form. They’re so normal-looking they tend to blend into the woodwork. No one ever notices them.” He shrugged. “Pretty harmless for the most part. Seem to like keepin’ their distance and all. But sometimes they find someone they like, a life they want to live, so they get rid of that person, and they take over. If they’re good at it, most people never realize anything has changed. If they’re not…” He shrugged again. “Could be a lot of happy marriages have crashed and burned that way.”
Glancing over at the body, Spike snorted. “Personally, I think this one was off his nut. Wantin’ to rule the world. Sounds great and all, but it’s a bloody pain in the ass.”
Buffy blinked. “And you would know this how? Did I fall asleep and miss the part where you actually ruled the world?”
“Uh, no,” he said, offering what might have been a sheepish smile. Except that it was Spike, of course, and he didn’t do sheepish. “It was before you were born, Slayer…and it was only for a day or two. One of those alternate universe gigs. A present from Dru to celebrate our anniversary. Things…didn’t go exactly as planned.”
Buffy stared at him, openmouthed.
“Don’t ask.”
Recovering, she eyed him warily. “I won’t, since we don’t have time. But you are so gonna spill later on. In the meantime, we’d better check on everyone. Ardun said he used a binding spell to trap Willow and Giles in the bathroom, but I don’t know about the museum guards. And then there’s this little problem.” She smiled wryly, glancing down at the chains hanging from her wrists and trailing behind her feet. “They really don’t go with anything in my closet. Think Willow can magic them off for me?”
Spike cocked his head. “Maybe she won’t have to. Hang on.” He knelt beside the shapeshifter’s body, rifling through his pockets until he finally produced a key. Still kneeling, he spun around and curled his fingers around Buffy’s lower calf, coaxing her bare foot onto his thigh.
A faint fluttering tickled her stomach. “Your leg,” she protested faintly.
“Is fine.” His voice was firm as he unlocked the iron cuff. “Vampire healing. All better. Now let’s have the other one.”
Surprising herself as much as Spike, Buffy silently offered her other foot, all the while fighting the urge to curl her toes into his hard-muscled thigh. The second shackle fell away and he stood, lifting her hand to reach the lock on the wrist cuff – first one, then the other. Buffy couldn’t stop staring at him as he worked, his head bowed perilously close to hers. He seemed unfazed by their close contact until a tiny muscle twitch in his jaw gave him away.
After the last shackle came off, they stood staring at each other, as if unsure what came next.
“So…Red and Rupert,” Spike finally said. “I s’pose…” He trailed off, lifting one eyebrow.
“Right. We should go check. Make sure they’re okay,” Buffy agreed quickly, then glanced down, frowning at her bare feet. “And finding my boots would be good, too.”
Spike jerked his head toward the alter. “Over there.” He waited for her to retrieve them before following her to the door. “What about the spell?”
“I’m thinking that shouldn’t be a problem much longer. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen a spell that was a match for Willow.” She didn’t find the thought as reassuring as it once was but summoned a faint smile as she added, “Not much is these days.”
“Yeah, kinda noticed that myself,” he said gravely as he followed her into the corridor.
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TBC in Part 9
A/N: Just one more chapter to go…
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