Tara looked up from her book, startled, the noise and bustle of the coffee shop having kept her from noticing that someone had approached her. She couldn’t keep herself from stiffening when she recognized the speaker.
“It’s Amy,” the woman said, tapping herself on the chest. “You know. The rat?”
“I know who you are,” Tara said quietly and returned her gaze to her book.
She couldn’t bring herself to say anything more, anger robbing her of words as effectively as embarrassment. Dawn had told her about Rack under Tara's frantic questioning about the injury to her arm, and while Willow had led Dawn into danger, there was plenty of blame to go around. Willow wouldn’t have even known about Rack if not for Amy.
“Look,” Amy said softly. “I know you’re pissed, and I don’t blame you. I’ve been trying to get up the nerve to speak to you for a couple of weeks. I want to say I’m sorry about what happened.”
Tara shook her head without looking up. “I’m not the one you should apologize to. That would be Willow or Dawn.”
“I know, and I will, after a couple more weeks of courage-getting. But I...I wanted to talk to you about something else too.”
Amy’s hands were at Tara’s eye level, and she could see them twist together nervously. When she finally looked up, she saw that the other woman was chewing the inside of her cheek, and despite herself, she softened. “What is it?”
Cautiously, as if she were expecting to be dismissed any moment, Amy perched on the edge of the other chair at the two-person table. “I want to get away from Rack,” she said in a soft, urgent voice. “Before I got changed, I was really into him, but now, he’s just scary. And that stuff he does? It feels great at the time, but when I think about it and remember.... Ugh.” She shuddered.
“That’s good,” Tara said encouragingly. “He sounds like somebody everyone should stay away from.”
“Yeah, but see, it’s hard because of the magic and all? I start really wanting to go back to him. Plus, I think he’s doing something to me. It’s like I can hear him calling me in my dreams. Sometimes, I wake up and it’s like I’ve been sleepwalking, you know? Once, I woke up downtown! I think I was trying to go back to his place.”
“He’s summoning you,” Tara breathed. “Oh, God, that’s awful. I can show you some stuff, charms to put around your doors so that you’ll wake up if you go through.” She took a deep breath. “Or you can stay with me for awhile if you like.”
Amy reached across the table and took her hand. “That’s so great. I knew you were the one to talk to. Willow told me about you, how your magic was natural and tied to the earth and the light, not nasty stuff like Rack’s into. Because I need to stop wanting to go back to him too. Look, let me buy you a latte, all right? And we can talk some more?”
“I don’t need anything,” Tara protested.
“Actually, I’m kind of hungry, and I’d feel better if you had something too.”
With that, Amy bounced up and headed for the counter, while Tara watched her bemusedly. Her anger and resentment were strong, and the last thing she wanted was for the woman to share her tiny studio apartment, but if Amy were trying to escape Rack, she couldn’t refuse to help.
Besides, she didn’t drag Willow there the first time, and certainly not the second.
Her mouth tightened at the memory. Dawn was all right, and had even forgiven Willow at last, but Tara hadn’t. She wasn’t sure she could.
How could she? How could she betray Dawn like that?
She looked down at her hands. It would be simpler if she could stop loving Willow, simpler still if she could forget betraying the others a few years ago and the way she had been forgiven. It wasn’t the Wiccan way to hold a grudge, but she couldn’t seem to let this one go. Perhaps helping Amy would help her as well. Certainly, it was more positive than sitting around being angry.
“Here we go.” Amy set a steaming cup before her and took her own seat, placing a plate of cookies on the table between them.
“Thanks.” Tara forced a smile as she took a sip of the hot drink. “So,” she continued. “Normally, I’d suggest staying away from magic altogether for awhile, but you need to protect yourself from Rack. There are some very non-intrusive meditation techniques....”
“Wow,” Amy said half-an-hour later. “That is so incredibly helpful. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Sure,” Tara said. “Excuse me,” she added as she yawned hugely. “I don’t know why I’m so sleepy all of a sudden.”
“It’s been a busy day,” Amy said softly. “You need to rest. You’re very tired.”
Tara’s eyes locked on her cup then lifted to Amy’s smiling face. “What...What did...?”
“Shh. You’re much too tired to talk, or call for help, or anything but what I say.”
She stood and held out her hand, and Tara found herself climbing to her feet. “Amy,” she protested weakly. “Please.”
“So tired. Just enough energy to walk.” She put an arm around Tara’s shoulders and pulled her close, then half-steered, half-supported her out of the coffee shop. “Just enough energy,” she whispered in the dazed witch’s ear, “To make it to Rack’s.”
Spike sauntered along the dark streets of the seedier section of Sunnydale, smoking a cigarette and feeling fine. Somewhat frustrated, but fine nonetheless. The Slayer was coming along nicely. She had definitely reacted to him in the training room, her pheromones engaging to a level that could have been detected by humans.
And God, no one could look any hotter swinging a sword.
A shiver ran over him at the memory of her lithe body sheened with sweat; her hard, high breasts outlined by her damp shirt; the play of muscle in her arms and legs; the speed and grace of her movements. He’d wanted to throw her to the floor and take her right there but had kept to his plan, which was another reason for his current jaunty mood.
No more whipping boy for me, thanks. This is much more fun.
Of course, it would have been even more fun if she’d gone ahead and accepted his conditions. Lots and lots more fun. That vaulting horse appeared to be a very interesting height, for example. Still, he had time, and getting there was half of that fun so he’d heard, although now that he had a point of comparison, he had to say being there was a definite improvement.
Spike intended to leave her alone for the moment, let her fret and wonder and work herself up over their next encounter. Let her remember what had happened when she finally gave in.
Although really, it wasn’t so much giving in as climbing on. Not that I’m complaining.
She would come around eventually, admit she wanted him, and go into his arms. No more comments about mistakes or freak shows. Then, he would see what could be done about getting that sad look out of her eyes.
Spike frowned. Something had happened during the practice bout. Buffy had been fighting with her usual strength and skill, calling out every reserve he possessed even fashed from training, when her eyes had gotten that staring-into-hell look, and she’d ground to an abrupt halt. He’d had to pull up sharply to keep from cutting her. Naturally, she hadn’t told him what it was all about although he had a good idea she had suddenly recalled her final battle with Angelus. Nothing else, not even memories of her Mum’s death, could give her quite that white-faced pinched expression.
He didn’t care for his own memories of that particular fight. He couldn’t forget how small and despairing Buffy had looked, disarmed and backed against the wall, Angelus looming over her; couldn’t forget the way he had fled with Drusilla, abandoning the Slayer to her fate. She had triumphed, of course, but Spike couldn’t help wondering what would be between them, now, if he had obeyed his original inclination and gone to her aid that day. Without that first betrayal, would she have come to trust him with her heart as well as with her sister?
With a scowl, he cast away his cigarette.
I can’t undo what happened, so there’s no point in yammering about it. It isn’t as if she ever apologized for things she did to me or acknowledged how I helped her.
But that look in her eyes still troubled him, made him acutely aware of the pain she carried, some of which he had caused, all of which he intended to soothe as soon as she allowed it.
Got to get past this either/or deal first, Love, and realize I can comfort you much better if we’re curled up together and not wearing terribly much.
It was beginning to seem as if it would happen, and in the meantime, he had memories to keep him company, not to mention plots and schemes for upcoming encounters. For, despite his love for her, Spike had no intention of being something Buffy grabbed onto the next time it was...convenient. No, she had to admit she felt something too, and be willing to acknowledge him before they could go forward.
The sight of two women moving onto his block interrupted Spike’s train of thought. In the old days, they would have been a two-for-one special, and even without his Big Bad self to contend with, they would be lucky to get where they were going without becoming something’s snack.
Or perhaps not, given that one of them was Tara, who might not be as powerful as Willow, but a strong witch nonetheless. He raised an eyebrow at the chumminess the pair was exhibiting but shrugged to himself. It wasn't his problem if she’d found a new friend. He had his own romantic entanglement to sort through.
“Evening, ladies,” he said as he passed. The woman he didn’t know nodded briefly, but Tara made no sign, staring blindly at her companion.
A few yards farther down the sidewalk, Spike slowed to a stop. That really wasn’t like the witch, who generally went to elaborate lengths to avoid hurting anyone’s feelings. When he’d worked with the group over the summer, Tara had always been careful to say ‘good night’ or wave or some such at the end of patrol.
He looked back, mental alarms starting to sound. Was she snuggling up to the woman, or was the woman holding her up?
I don’t want to get involved.
But Tara had always been fairly nice to him, at least compared to the other Scoobies, and if he was going to prove to Buffy that he’d changed, he couldn’t go around letting her friends get killed.
“Everything all right?” he called.
The pair stopped and turned, and the alarm bells cranked up a few notches as he watched the woman drag Tara back around.
“We’re fine,” she said. “My friend had a little too much to drink.”
Yeah, sure.
Something was definitely off. From what he knew of the quiet witch, her idea of an evening’s drinking was an extra spoonful of chamomile in her tea. Of course, things did change, his recent experiences were proof of that, but this setup had wrong all over it.
“Good night, then,” he said cheerfully and with a wave, rounded the corner.
Then, he rounded a second corner so that he was paralleling them on the opposite side of the buildings and raced soundlessly up the block until he reached a cut-through alley that should be ahead of them. In full predator mode, Spike eased to the mouth and waited for them to pass. When they reached him, he would simply grab Tara and run. No fussing, no fighting, no reason for the chip to fire.
Two sets of footsteps approached, one brisk, one stumbling. He shrugged his shoulders, preparing for the snatch, unaccountably nervous over what should be a simple thing.
All the hair on the back of his neck stood up as the steps ceased. After a moment, he risked a glance around the corner of the alley and saw the air waver as Tara was pulled into nothing.
Bloody hell. She’s taking her to Rack.
It was like watching a kitten being handed into the jaws of a mastiff. Which didn’t usually bother him, but he was aware it was unpleasant for the kitten.
He knew nothing of magic other than it should be avoided, and Rack was into the heavy stuff. The smart thing would be to call Buffy and Willow and get some backup. Except Rack’s place moved around, and it might be hours before they could find it, and what would happen to Tara in the meantime? And why the hell did he care? He was just in this for Buffy, and she’d never know he’d walked away. That was all that mattered, wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it?
“I don’t believe this,” Spike muttered, but even as he said it, he was running forward, and he didn’t stop until the air wavered and parted before him.
He was in a dingy waiting room, various white-faced and shaking people collapsed across the old chairs and sofas. Tara and the other woman were standing in the center of the room.
“Rack!” the woman shouted. “Rack, I brought what you wanted!”
“We’re next, bitch,” one of the men snarled, fighting his way upright.
“Shut up,” she growled. “Rack!”
Spike saw the handle of a door on the opposite side of the room begin to turn and decided now was not the time for social niceties. One stride took him to the two women. He caught Tara around the waist, spun, and was sprinting for the exit even as the other woman screeched in fury.
The chip in his head felt like it exploded, the pain more intense than anything he’d ever experienced. Spike screamed and went to the floor, using the last of his strength to half-shove/half-throw Tara at the exit. Just before he blacked out, he saw her stagger through the door to the outside and disappear.
“I hate math,” Dawn sighed as she bent over her homework.
“Everybody hates math,” Buffy answered absently. “It’s the natural order of things.” She scowled at the pile of bills. “But math is useful. It tells you how long you’ve got before drowning in debt.”
The younger girl smiled. “Sounds like a good argument for that whole ‘Ignorance is bliss’ thing.”
“Until the creditors come and repossess the TV.”
“I like math,” Willow said diffidently from her position by the stove where she was stirring soup. “Maybe later I could help you, Dawnie. If you wanted me to.”
“Sure. Thanks.” Dawn said with a stiff smile.
Willow beamed and Buffy sighed in relief. Dawn was still tense but at least responding to Willow again. Willow hadn’t used any kind of magic. On a personal level, she hadn’t attacked Spike either sexually or otherwise. Maybe, just maybe, things were getting back to normal.
The phone rang, and Buffy sighed as she went to answer it, glaring at Dawn to keep her in place and struggling with Beginning Trig.
If Spike’s playing telephone seduction again, I’m going to beat him to death with the receiver.
“Hello,” she said in a stern don't-try-anything voice, squishing the tiny part of her that hoped to hear a teasing British accent on the other end of the line.
“B...Buffy?”
All thoughts of Spike flew straight out of her head as she recognized the owner of the quavering tones.
“Tara? What’s wrong? Are you ok?”
Willow dropped the spoon with a clatter, and Dawn abandoned all pretense of homework.
“Yes, I’m ok. I’m at a bar called Willie’s.”
“Willie’s?! How did you...? Never mind, I’ll be there in a few. Tell him I said if anything happens to you, I’ll take it out of his skin….”
“No.” The voice was stronger. “Buffy listen. Something happened. Amy...”
Her fury and fright grew steadily as Tara described what had happened. Buffy didn’t know what her expression looked like but Dawn’s eyes were growing larger by the second, and all the color was draining from Willow’s face.
“You will help Spike, won’t you?” Tara finished timidly. “Buffy, he didn’t have to come after me. And I didn’t mean to leave him. I thought he was right behind me, but when I could stop running, he wasn’t there. I went back, but the place moved or something. I couldn’t find it again.”
That was the question wasn’t it? Whether she would help Spike, one-time mortal enemy, and now something she couldn’t seem to quite pin down, or let him fall as he had been more than willing to let her fall in the past?
Her life would be simpler on a lot of levels if she didn’t. No more feelings that she was sure were wrong but that she couldn’t seem to banish no matter how hard she tried. No more teasing that sometimes bordered on the vicious. No one who knew she came back ‘wrong’.
But he had also worked with her, offered his help, watched over Dawn. Surely, it was the ultimate sign of coming back ‘wrong’ if she turned away. And then there was the part of her deep inside that she wanted to ignore, the part that was terrified she would never see Spike again, the part that wanted to run through the streets screaming his name.
Only part of her felt the fear. The rest of her was, cold, clear, and really, really focused. Buffy’s vision felt as if it had tunneled until there was only one thing she could see, but she could see that one thing with complete clarity.
Rack was going to die. Soon.
Really, it wasn’t a question at all.
“I’ll help,” she said quietly. “As soon as I hang up, call Xander. Tell him to pick you up at Willie’s, and meet us at the Magic Box. If I’m going to fight Rack, I’ve got a feeling I’ll need stuff I don’t have.”
There was an indescribable sound, and Buffy looked up to see that Willow’s hand was clamped over her mouth and her knees were buckling. “We’ll be there soon, Tara,” she said and hung up.
She crossed to the stove and took the red-head by the arms, shaking her slightly. “Don’t start this. There’s no time.”
“Tara was with Rack?” Willow gasped, trembling violently. “Oh, God, I didn’t even know. I was so angry when she left that I cut the bond between us. She’s my girl, and he’s so awful, and he could have killed her and…”
“Will.”
“This is all my fault. I’m so sorry.”
“WILLOW!” Buffy’s voice cracked like a whip and the witch snapped upright, staring at her wild-eyed. “Tara's ok, but Rack has Spike. I need you.”
Willow took a shaky breath. “I’m here,” she said in an almost steady voice. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”
“Me too,” Dawn whispered.
“Good,” Buffy said more gently. “That’s good. They’re meeting us at the Magic Box. Will, I need to know everything you can remember about Rack. Let’s go.” She swallowed. “There may not be much time.”
“I did what you wanted! It’s not my fault she got away!”
The high voice drilled and buzzed in Spike’s head as he tried to focus.
What’s going on?
“Come on, Rack. Please?”
Oh, yeah. Now I remember. I tried to be heroic. Damn.
“Quiet.”
The woman instantly fell silent which was a slight relief. Spike carefully kept his eyes shut and didn’t move. Maybe, just maybe, they’d go away.
“I know you’re awake, Spike.”
So much for that. Before Rack got any ideas about proving it, Spike opened his eyes.
The waiting room was empty except for himself, the woman, and Rack, who was looking down at him with an expression of calm interest that chilled him to the marrow. He did his best to cover his increasing panic with a smirk as he climbed to his feet.
“Evening, all,” he said as cheerily as possible, wondering if he could make it to the door.
“If you move,” Rack said mildly. “I’ll dissolve the bones in your skin.”
Spike went excruciatingly still. From all that he’d heard, the warlock was quite capable of such an action.
“Yeah,” the woman said, glaring. “You tell him.”
Rack smiled. “Do you want him for a toy, Amy? Make him pay for the fact that you’re not getting any magic from me tonight?”
“Not getting any....” Amy glared at Spike. A movement of her hand and there was a stinging sensation across his cheek and a line of blood ran down his face.
He managed not to react. This was going to be all kinds of bad unless he could figure a way out. “Look,” he said reasonably, improvising like mad. “The bird you had was someone I fancied. And anyway, the one you want’s Willow, right? The red-head who was her old lover?”
Amy started to gesture again, but Rack stopped her. “Let him go on.”
“Well, hell,” Spike said with an expansive gesture. “Who gives a damn about her? I’ll get her for you. No charge, bit of a favor between two Big Bads. No harm, no foul?”
“An interesting proposition,” Rack said musingly beginning to circle him, as Spike tried to give the impression of relaxed calm. “I might even take you up on it if you weren’t just buying time until you figured out a way to escape.”
He looked at Spike a moment, then began to laugh. “Or until the Slayer gets here? You think she’ll help you? You think she’ll care? A few kisses, a few fucks, and she’ll ride to your rescue?” He was directly behind Spike, now, and leaned to breathe in the vampire’s ear. “She hates you. You’ve been inside her. You know what’s there.”
“Sod off,” Spike snarled, turning to face his tormenter. “If she doesn’t come for me, she’ll come because you threatened the witch. You’ve gone for the Slayer’s friends, mate, and take it from me, that’s never a good idea.”
He hoped his response masked the pain the other’s words had caused as he realized that he wasn’t sure whether Buffy would help him or not. True, she hadn’t killed him at the suggestion of the First Slayer, but that was different than not interfering with someone else doing it for her. Her life would be simpler if he wasn’t around to disrupt her moral absolutes.
Anger was always a good antidote for sorrow, and Spike summoned it desperately. So what if Buffy didn’t come? Stuck-up bitch. He didn’t need rescuing anyway. He’d get himself out of this as he always had. She was nothing to him.
“Nothing?” Rack whispered. “Nothing at all?”
Still grinning, he held out his hand, palm up, and an image appeared, one of many from the night Spike and Buffy had shared. She was naked, astride him, his hands on her breasts, hers braced against his ribs, both of their heads arched back in ecstasy. “Pretty isn’t she?” he said to Amy, who laughed.
“That’s a show-stopper,” she said. “It would be great on the projectors down at the Bronze.”
With a slight flexing of Rack’s fingers, the image changed, and suddenly it was the warlock that Buffy rode.
“If she does try to help you,” he whispered. “Maybe I’ll make her do this. I can, you know. And you can watch.”
Spike’s fangs descended as he sprang. He didn’t know if Rack counted as human or not, and at that moment, he didn’t care. His speed let him slam into Rack before he was suspended in mid-air, every bone in his body feeling as if it were being broken. At least, the image was gone.
“I heard you loved her,” the warlock mused. “And I see it’s true. What kind of vampire would love a Slayer? Maybe I should take a look around, see what’s going on in there.”
He advanced smiling. Spike strained furiously against the spell that bound him but despite his strength, he couldn’t move. Suspended like a fly in amber, he was unable to do anything but watch Rack move inexorably forward.
“Bugger you, you bastard,” he growled.
“Don’t be afraid,” Rack crooned. “I won’t finish you. Not entirely. That wouldn’t be as much fun.”
Rage kept him focused, kept the fear at bay. He hadn’t cowered before Glory, and he wouldn’t do so now. No matter what happened, he was still the Big Bad, and he wouldn’t beg for life or mercy.
But the thought of Rack gaining control of Buffy swamped Spike’s anger with fear. He had spoken the truth before: she would come for Rack. The Slayer wouldn’t allow the attack on Tara to pass even if she didn’t care what happened to him.
Be careful, Love.
It was his last coherent thought before Rack’s hand lifted toward Spike’s forehead, and a flash of light turned everything white, then black.
The excruciatingly painful and horrifying results he’d anticipated from Rack’s ‘tour’, hadn’t included a nose full of sand, but that was what he had. Spike sat up cautiously and looked around.
Rocks, the aforementioned sand, bones. Sky bleached almost white by a sun that surprisingly didn’t seem to be frying him to a cinder. The First Slayer perched on a rock, regarding him expressionlessly.
“Bloody hell.”
“So,” Buffy summed up as the front door of the Magic Box came into view. “Rack can tell stuff about people just by looking at them; he’s got a necklace that lets him control you; he can shoot electricity between his hands; and he can do something I’m not clear on with other people’s power. Is that about right?”
“Yeah, basically that’s it,” Willow panted. “It’s hard to explain about the magic. He sort of...sucks yours out and puts something else back inside.”
And you went back to this guy a second time? And took Dawn?
Buffy bit her tongue to keep from voicing the thought. Willow was obviously miserable over what had happened. In fact, if she got any sorrier, she would collapse again, and there wasn’t time for that.
They were moving fast, Willow and Dawn at just under a run. Buffy’s nerves screamed with the desire to run ahead, but she wouldn’t leave them unprotected.
He’ll be fine. His rocks are back. Besides, he’s an evil thing, and I don’t care, and...Spike, damn it, you’d better be ok, or I’ll kick your ass.
Xander’s car was already parked in front of the shop, and he, Anya, and Tara were sitting at the research table, Tara feverishly thumbing through a stack of books, when Buffy and the others came through the front door.
Before anyone else could speak, Willow said in a small voice, “Tara? Did Rack hurt you?”
Tara looked at her silently for a moment, then answered quietly, “No. I never even saw him.”
Willow’s body jrked as if she wanted to go to her former lover, but she forced herself to stillness. “Good. I’m really glad you’re ok.”
She made an unconvincing attempt at a smile as she went to sit at the opposite end of the research table, her eyes so dark and haunted that Dawn touched her arm as she passed, and Buffy thought that Tara’s eyes softened.
“What have we got?” she asked, pulling everyone’s attention back to her. “How do I fight this guy? The only wizard-type I’ve gone up against has been Ethan, and all I had to do was slap him around. Rack sounds like he’ll be a little trickier.”
“Have you tried Giles?” Anya asked. “He used to be into magic.”
“Tried on the way down,” Buffy said grimly. “I couldn’t get him, and there isn’t time to wait. We’ve got to move fast.”
“Is it that big a deal?” Xander asked. “I mean, if he still had Tara, of course, we’d need to worry, but he’s got Spike, and it’s not like he’s got any dangerous information.”
Tara’s hand slapped down on the table. “Be quiet, Xander!” she snapped, startling them all. It was like having your favorite stuffed animal bite you. “Spike helped me when he didn’t have to, and if nobody else is willing to help him, I’ll do it alone!”
“Sorry,” Xander muttered, shrinking back into his chair.
Tara quieted and sat back as well. Color flooded her face to her hairline, but she didn't back down.
“I’m going after Rack,” Buffy said flatly, “He’s shown he’s a threat, trying to use Tara to bring Willow to him.”
It was true. She would have gone after Rack anyway. The fact that she wanted to go after him even more because he had Spike was nobody’s business.
“I’ll need somebody to help me find the place,” she continued aloud. “It needs magic or evil to track.”
“I could go with you,” Willow said. She swallowed but tried to sound nonchalant as she said. “If Rack wants me maybe I can serve as bait, make him careless.”
“No,” Tara and Buffy said together. Witch and Slayer looked at each other, then Buffy said, “I don’t want this to get into a magic duel, Will. And I’m not setting up some kind of situation where I trade you for Spike.”
And I can’t trust you all the way. Not yet.
“I can find Rack’s place,” Tara said.
Willow nodded, staring down at the table. “I understand.”
Despite her remaining anger over Willow’s misuse of magic and her worry over Spike, Buffy couldn’t stand it anymore. Willow had been among the first of her friends, the most loyal, even more than Xander. She had never blamed her for Angel or Parker or Reilly. She had always done everything she could to help.
Buffy knelt by her chair. “And I need you to do something for me,” she said. “This may be a trick to split us up. That’s happened before. I need you stay with Dawn and the others and be ready to use magic to protect them. Can you do that?”
Willow took a deep breath and looked at her, blinking back tears. “Yeah. I can do that. I’ll keep them safe.”
“I know you will.”
Apology and forgiveness flowed between them as they looked at each other. Something twisted in Buffy’s heart and her arms were suddenly around Willow, the witch’s head against her shoulder. A moment later, other hands touched them, and Buffy looked up to see that Dawn and Tara were on either side adding their embraces. Anya remained seated, her grip on Xander’s arm keeping him in place as well.
She wished the feeling could last forever, but there wasn’t time. “Ok,” Buffy said briskly. “Nice group hug, but I’ve got to arm up. You guys think about magic stuff I can use.”
The training room echoed with the memories of the last encounter between Spike and herself.
I want to do a hell of a lot more than kiss you, actually. What I really want to do is find new and interesting uses for every piece of equipment in this room.
She stood before the weapons cabinet staring blankly at the swords and axes and throwing stars. What would work against a mind-controlling wizard?
Who had Spike. Buffy set her jaw against rising panic.
Just hang on. I’m coming. And I’m going to give you a really hard time about having to rescue you.
She reached for her sword as the most familiar of her weapons and then jumped slightly as Xander’s reflection appeared in the mirrored door of the cabinet.
“I’m sorry about before,” he said awkwardly. “It’s kind of hard to get off the hate Spike bandwagon.”
“Tell me about it,” Buffy answered. “There was a lot of badness between us that isn’t easy to forget...or forgive.”
I’ve never hidden how I feel about you. Why would it be crawling to admit you feel something too?
Xander nodded. “Still, he stuck around and helped, uh, last summer, with Dawn and patrolling and stuff, so I should probably give him a break.” He squared his shoulders. “Do you need any help?”
“Why don’t you talk to Willow?” Buffy said. “I think she could use an old friend.”
“Yeah. I guess. Buffy?” He stared at his feet and said in a rush, “I’m sorry about dragging you out of heaven, and that you’re unhappy to be back,” before darting back out of the room.
Tonight seemed to be the night for confessions. It would be nice if she had more time to listen and respond. But maybe a time like this was when you said the important things, made the important choices. Sometimes you could only be honest when there wasn’t time to lie.
She slung the sword at her back, tucked stakes in her sleeves, jammed throwing stars in her pockets, thrust an ax though her belt. Hours from now, after she found Rack who had tortured and killed Spike because he got bored waiting while she wandered around looking for his hideout, he would have a selection of weapons to make her kill herself with using his mind-control magic. As plans went, this one lacked a certain something. Like the ability to work.
I’m the Slayer. I’m just supposed put pointy sticks in things. I’m not supposed to rescue vampires from wizards.
Buffy had read the occasional spell before, mostly to assist Willow, but the only time she had actually used magic had been through the enjoining spell. She turned the possibility over in her mind, but rejected it. The spell had caused the ones she had joined with to be in a trance and helpless. She wouldn’t risk her friends, not even to save one she…
So what else? Could I do a partial one? Just link with Tara?
But that would still leave her sniffing around for Rack’s. No, she needed something stronger than just witchcraft. Something as strong as what the enjoining spell had called up. Soemthing as strong as the essence of the Slayer.
You are the Slayer. That is all that you are. You had only to ask.
Power slid through her, like an electric current. She had felt something like it before when she faced Angelus in their last battle, but this was magnified a thousand times. When everything was taken away, she was all that was left. And maybe that was enough.
Buffy stared at her reflection in the mirror, watching her hair stir and lift in wind that carried the heat of the desert, the sting of sand. The face of the First Slayer appeared in the glass, eclipsing her own.
Words came to her, and she spoke them aloud. “I am the Slayer. I am the Chosen One. I am the daughter of Sineya. I claim the power.”
The answer whispered in her mind. “Slayer. What right do you have to this power?”
“The right of blood.”
“Again I ask. Chosen One. What right do you have to this power?”
“I face an evil that must be stopped.”
“And a last time. Daugher of Sineya. What right do you have to this power?”
Buffy blinked as the ritual vanished from her mind. She didn’t know what else to say, had no answer left to give. There was nothing. Nothing but the truth, the hardest thing to say of all, but the only thing that would serve. “I must save one that I love.”
The strong face smiled and Sineya held out her hand, a flame dancing above her palm. “Your love is brighter than the fire, blinding. Reach out your hand, daughter, and take your power.”
Slowly, Buffy reached toward the glass. The cool surface of the mirror wavered under her fingers and then the flame was in her hand, warm but not burning. Instinctively, she closed her fist around the flame, then gasped, throwing her head back as the fire swept up her arm and through her body. There was fire everywhere, in her skin and her eyes, in her heart and her soul. It was all she could see, all she could feel, all she could be.
It backed off or calmed down, or something, and she was Buffy again, feeling about as she always did except for being a lot more relaxed about the upcoming encounter.
The door to the training room burst open and Willow and Tara fell inside.
“Buffy!” Willow cried. “We could feel something happening, but we couldn’t open the door. Are you all r...”
Her voice died away as she stared at Buffy and the orange flames that danced in the Slayer’s eyes.