| Part Eight : Out of the Labyrinth There is a silver river Flowing in my heart to you A patient river torn by stone Ravaged by the thousand foot fall Ice swept, tree borne Steady down the mountain You are the end of gravity for me |
| * * * * * Bertram sat on the patio of a small restaurant just outside of Santa Clara. He watched as Ernest consumed a whole side of roast beef, bones and all. “Must you crunch so loudly?” Bertram complained while giving the small demon a disgusted look. “Sorry sir, but bones are the best part.” Ernest continued crunching enthusiastically. Bertram sighed heavily. “Well at least they’ll be off my back for a while, that is, until they find out about Richard. Got their damned bloodline going again, didn’t I? Did you give Margaret the instructions I left?” Ernest choked and started to cough violently. “That woman! She’s an evil demon!” Bertram gave a small laugh. “High praise coming from you. Well, did you?” “She wanted more money. Says it’s highly inconvenient for her to be traipsing around butcher shops buying blood, and says the house gives her the creeps. Oh, and she asked about Mr. Spike.” “Spike? What did she want to know about him?” Bertram asked a bit worriedly. “Well seems she quite enjoyed her little bit part and was wondering if she might get called back for another episode. Or get his phone number.” “I knew she was trouble…that bitch. You just can’t trust humans.” He picked up an opened letter that was lying next to his plate and read it again. He realized that he’d walked into a serious hornet’s nest when he’d found out about the prophecy of the Dragon. He cursed his sire, Fourier, again. “I would have been home free, if he hadn’t meddled, the old fool. All I needed to do was get them a nice Sinclair baby and now look at the mess I’m stuck in a middle of. Just wanted to retire happily in the south of France, spend my days sipping wine and ogling the young women.” He put the letter back into the crumpled envelope. He stared at a small golden bumblebee that was embossed on the edge of the envelope. “Damn the whole Sinclair family and their insane obsession. Worse than demons.” He took a small blue bottle out of the inner pocket of his jacket and poured several drops into the glass of whiskey sitting on the table in front of him. He drank the whole glass in one swallow and closed his eyes. He felt the potion swirling down through his veins and seeping into his lungs and skin. It cloaked his demon, and gave him just enough life force to allow him to move freely in the sunlight. He slightly regretted leaving so much of the potion back at the house for Spike. “Not that he’ll need it for very long, once they have their way with him.” He felt a small twinge of remorse for the blond vampire. He’d actually enjoyed his conversations with him over the past weeks, and he admitted to himself, he liked playing the good guy for once. He thought of how desperate his life had been after he’d killed his slayer’s lover and then when he lost her child. Spike’s face rose before him in his mind. Spike had inherited the eyes of his mother, full of a deep stubbornness coupled with an almost childlike vulnerability. Love for a slayer had made Spike vulnerable, just as it had made his father before him vulnerable. He gave a bitter laugh. Two women who’d destroyed the vampires who loved them... destroyed them with love. Strange fate, but there it was. Though, this 21st century slayer hadn’t destroyed her vampire lover, that is, not yet. He thought about Margaret again. The woman was going to be trouble, but perhaps, just perhaps, he could use her to his own ends. He was interrupted in his reverie by a loud belching sound from Ernest. “My god! You’re not fit to be taken out in public!” he exclaimed. Ernest’s face turned a strange greenish brown color which was his version of a blush. “Beg pardon, sir. Got a bit o’ bone stuck in me throat.” Bertram threw some cash down on the table and stood up. “Well, come on man, we’re running late. We’ve work to do before we see our little French villa.” Two hours later, the old silver Mercedes was pulled over on the side of Route 5 by three highway patrolmen. “Are you aware you were going 140 mph?” The red faced motorcycle cop yelled at Ernest. “His dear mother is dying!” Ernest gestured towards the back seat to where Bertram was hiding his face behind a large handkerchief and making snuffling sounds. “Well why didn’t you say so? We’ll give you an escort. How far south are you going?” “Just to Sunnydale,” Ernest replied. * * * * * “Magic?” Spike asked. “Yes. It must be quite a powerful sealing spell to prevent the slayer from opening the door. Now the question is who cast the spell and just what is inside there. I confess I have a very bad feeling about this whole thing.” “Well, it must be Bert’s doing. By the way I found a business card with the name of the woman who…er…played the part of the slayer in Bert’s little re-enactment of my father’s death. Margaret, I think, yes Margaret Sinclair.” Giles swerved the car, sending a box in the back set sliding against Spike’s head. “Ow! Steady on…you need me to drive mate?” “No…no…what did you say her name was?” “Margaret Sinclair.” “Do you still have the card?” “No way mate. The slayer took it right off me when she realized whose it was. Had a hard time convincing her not to tear it up.” He smiled a bit at the memory of her fierce jealousy. “Ah she loves me…,” he kissed the top of her blonde head which was lying peacefully against his chest. “So did you have a chance to look at the book on the Sinclair family that Bert left for you?” Giles asked. Spike didn’t answer immediately. He felt a surge of anger mixed with despair. Why should he care? He’d been abandoned long ago...abandoned to the world, and finally abandoned by humanity. Why should he care about or even be curious about his ancestors? “Couldn’t really give a damn about them,” he said bitterly, thinking of his father’s family. He looked back into the past and saw only darkness, and the destruction and terror his father had probably reigned down on the world. He felt a little more curious about his mother. Her situation and history was closer to his heart. She’d loved a vampire and sacrificed everything for him, and had to survive after he’d been destroyed. He wondered what had happened to her after she’d relinquished her child to Bertram. She had probably died destitute in some London slum. He shuddered to think what would happen to Buffy if he abandoned her now. She’d given him her trust. She was carrying his children. He knew she had no real idea of what the consequences of that act would be. He didn’t either, he admitted. He felt his excruciating vulnerability; he didn’t really know his own future. How could he protect her? He felt a very uncomfortable, uneasy, and strange feeling. He finally realized that what he felt was fear. He hadn’t really felt true fear is such a long time. He’d always been the vicious, invincible, well relatively invincible vampire. Loving her had made him vulnerable. And the price of love was this terrible fear which rose unrestrained in his heart. “Well, I think you need to know, whether you want to or not. It might mean the difference between life and death for Buffy. It doesn’t hurt to understand the game in which you’ve been thrust.” “Ok watcher, we’ve got a few more hours here. Enlighten me. Not too interested in dad, but my mum, that’s another thing. Know what happened to her by any chance?” “Let me explain, Spike. You need to face your past, however uncomfortable it makes you. Do it for Buffy and for your unborn child.” “Children.” “Pardon?” “It’s twins. Two. Children.” “Oh my god! How…?” Giles said in a shocked voice. “You don’t really want to know watcher. Let’s just say I’m sure. Ok…so spill the story.” Giles fell silent for a few minutes gathering his thoughts. What he was about to tell Spike was so strange and fantastic, he felt a little embarrassed to speak it out loud. He thought it might be better to take the “long way” round to the point he needed to make. “Your father, Richard Sinclair, was a twin. He was the eldest child being the first born. He was born in 1750, in Midlothian, Scotland of an ancient Norman family. His ancestor, William Sinclair, the 1st Lord of Roslyn, first came to England with William the Conqueror and settled in Scotland. The Sinclair family has a long and unusual history which I won’t relate to you now. You can read it in the book if you care to. The point is that they have a long standing connection with the Knights Templar, having giving many of them refuge during the killing times. It is said that they’ve protected a great secret over the centuries and are extremely fanatical about the preservation of their bloodline through key family members. When your father was ‘turned’, it caused a great break in the family line especially with him being the eldest son of the direct line. They may have been involved in setting up the relationship between your father and Bert’s slayer…attempting to restore what they’d lost. Perhaps the potion that Bertram gave you has its origin in their attempts to assure that their ‘lost son’ Richard would have a child.” “I know that Bertram told you that getting Buffy with child would assure her life. But I think there’s perhaps a more sinister side to this. I think that Bertram’s been hounded through the years by the Sinclairs in their desperate attempt to restore what was lost. I really don’t think you and Buffy are safe at all from Bertram…I’m not really sure what the Sinclairs want from you.” Spike shivered a bit and tightened his arms around Buffy as she lay in his lap. “And Spike, don’t forget the basement,” Giles said in a low voice. “Let me tell you how I feel about Bert in one word…‘mixed.’ I mean, if it weren’t for him, Buffy and me wouldn’t be together; I wouldn’t be sort of alive again, and able to give her children. He gave me a life—a life for what it’s worth and for however long it lasts. And I’ll always be grateful to him for that. Knew things weren’t completely above board. What do you expect from a vampire? If Bert’s gotten himself out of a scrape by letting me live, well then, I say good for him and Demons and Sinclairs be damned.” “But I have to admit I’m a little concerned about the basement myself. Thought once I got Buffy all tucked in safely at home, I’d take a quick trip back and do some reconnaissance. What do you think?” “Not sure you should leave her alone right now,” Giles said thoughtfully, “Perhaps I can go.” “Not to be rude, Ripper, but I don’t think you’re up to it. I suspect something quite evil and vampirish.” “You don’t think I can handle the odd vampire or two?” Giles said ruefully. “What do you think Bertram’s lawyers were? All vampires. Well educated and eminently charming, but vampires nonetheless. And by the way your inheritance from Bertram was just a drop in the bucket compared with what he gave to the ‘Sinclair foundation for Aged Beings’. Really don’t think we’ve seen the last of Bertram and his little schemes.” “Well mate, I have no idea what to do at this point. Guess we’ll just have to get to Sunnydale and see what unfolds. Bloody tired of thinking and worrying.” Giles sped up on the deserted freeway. “Is Buffy still asleep?” “Yeah, and I’m finding it little hard to breathe back here,” Spike complained. Giles cracked the window and a rush of cold air filled the car. Spike watched the dark forms of the mountain ranges flicker by in the darkness of the night. It was past midnight and they still had about two more hours of travel. He thought about what Giles had told him. He thought about Buffy, about Bert, about his mother and father. And he thought that, in a way, things never change. It was always the same dance, the same melodies of desire, fear, joy and despair, playing over and over again, tangling the beings they touched with threads of drama, obsession, murder and love…over and over again…on a wheel endlessly turning. He’d stepped back onto the wheel when he fell in love with Buffy. He’d just have to accept the roll of the die and play the game, but keep his eyes open, always. * * * * * They arrived at Sunnydale around 5 a.m. in the morning. Willow and Dawn were asleep on the couch after having tried to stay up to welcome them home. “Do you think we should we wake them?” Buffy whispered as they walked quietly into the house. A sudden screeching meow, followed by a loud angry hissing sound, solved the problem for them. Giles had accidentally stepped on Demon’s tail. “Damn cat,” Giles swore loudly. “Buffy!” Dawn sat up and rushed over and threw her arms around her sister. “Buffy! You’re back at last!” Spike picked up the angry cat off the floor and tried to soothe her feelings. He sat down on the couch and smiled as he watched the reunion between the two sisters. “Hey Red,” he greeted Willow who was still trying to wake from a very deep sleep. “Spike.” Willow sat up and gave Spike an odd, penetrating look. She unconsciously stretched out her hand to touch his bare forearm. “Spike…Spike?” “Yeah, it’s me Red…well me and William.” Spike gave her a wry grin. “You’re all warm and breathing!” Willow exclaimed. Dawn turned from Buffy and stared at Spike. Grasping Buffy’s hand, she slowly walked over and stood before Spike as he sat on the couch. “William,” she said softly and held out her other hand toward him. He took her hand and stood up. The three of them stood silently, hands clasped and a rush of energy pulsed between them, flowing from hand to hand. Dawn closed her eyes and whispered, “Buffy and William and…” Tears began to flow down her cheeks. Spike and Buffy pulled Dawn into a protective, parental embrace. They weren’t sure whether her tears were sorrow or relief or joy, but they knew she needed them and they were here for her now. “Thought you’d never come back,” she sobbed. They sat down on the couch with Dawn between them and let her finish crying. Giles flung himself tiredly into the armchair. “Well you two,” he said looking at Spike and Buffy, “Guess you’d better give everyone the news. Don’t think anyone’s going to be able to get any sleep until you tell the full story.” * * * * * Buffy and Spike lay side by side in her bed. After they’d finished relating the events of the past few weeks to Dawn and Willow, they’d grabbed a bit to eat and then took a long hot shower. Spike had crawled into bed and was barely able to keep his eyes open. Buffy, who’d slept through most of the trip from San Francisco, was not really sleepy, but was reluctant to leave Spike alone in bed. She curled next to him and idly caressed the smooth skin of his chest, tracing the firm curves of his muscles with her fingertips. “What’s going to happen next?” she asked him in a soft voice. “Next?” he said sleepily, “Next we just live our life, love. Together.” He gave her cheek a soft kiss and fell promptly into a deep sleep. Buffy stared at the ceiling. She felt anxious. She looked over at Spike’s sleeping form. He looked so vulnerable. She worried about him now that they were back at the Hellmouth. Her demon Spike, her bad, raucous vampire Spike could handle all that the Hellmouth could throw at him. But what about William? For the first time she considered the implications of a living, breathing William trying to fight off demons and vampires. Her William… being vulnerable to death. “He could die,” she thought anxiously and then realized that she could never, ever, share this fear with him. * * * * * The next morning, they decided that they’d all go out to the house that Bertram had left Spike in his will. Buffy and Willow packed up a large lunch and some other supplies they thought they might need at the house. “There’s bound to be plenty of room to unload the things we brought back from San Francisco, and besides, the moving truck should be showing up there later this afternoon with the rest of the boxes,” Giles said. Spike and Giles drove the Cadillac and Willow, Buffy and Dawn followed in Tara’s car which Willow had borrowed for the day. Dawn cradled Demon in her arms. “We can’t leave her alone!” she’d protested as they were leaving. The house was actually not far outside of town. It was hidden in a small valley, surrounded by wooded hills. As Giles and Spike drove down the small single lane paved road toward the house, Spike gazed around at the scenery in wonder and thought to himself, “I’ve been here before.” The house was a small two story white house, gabled and trimmed with intricate lattice work and surrounded by a deep porch—it was just as Spike had seen in his dream. The house was encircled with a gray stone wall with an unpainted wooden gate in the front. They got out of car and walked up to the gate. A wild, climbing rose was planted next to the gate. It was covered with tiny, fragrant, white roses with deep yellow centers and had climbed over most of the stone wall to the right of the gate. The gate was locked with a large padlock. Giles rummaged in his pocket for the keys and found one that fit the lock. He unlocked the padlock and placed his hand on the wooded gate to swing it open. He paused for a moment and then bent down to closely examine the gate’s wooden slats. “Ah…if I’m not mistaken, this gate is made out of hawthorn wood.” He gave Spike a quick look. The path to the house was covered with small, pebble sized gravel of the same soft gray color as the stone walls. Their feet made loud crunching noises as they walked up the path to the front porch. They stood at the bottom of the stairs staring at the house. There was a large wicker couch next to the front door and there was a small gold lettered sign to the left of the front door which read “Rose Lynn”. “It’s beautiful,” Dawn exclaimed as she ran up the front steps. She traced her fingers over a small silver horseshoe doorknocker that was placed at the center of the heavy oak front door. “Isn’t this upside down?” She turned and saw Spike and Buffy exchanging a smile. Giles unlocked the front door and they entered the house. The house had a warm, sleepy feeling to it. The air inside was thick with a subtle, almost living energy. It was a peaceful, comfortable energy, and as each of them entered, they had their own moment of remembrance as the atmosphere of the house invoked strange but pleasant memories from their individual pasts. Giles had a memory of his mother baking bread and talking with him late into the night. He saw her strong hands covered with flour, kneading the dough, laughing and chatting with him as she’d done so many nights before she died. Willow saw herself with Tara, at exactly that moment when they first realized their love for each other. Buffy remembered standing in the lake under the moonlight with a curious sense of falling into the stars and moon as she called for Spike…and her profound joy when he finally splashed through the water and caught her up into his arms. Spike felt a strange sadness, as if he was hearing the last chapter of an ancient story or a tale that was nearing its end, not quite turning out as one had hoped, but having the right and proper ending just the same. Dawn, however, stood frozen with her whole body taut with concentration. “There’s some very deep magic in this house,” she spoke out loud and everyone broke out of their reveries with a collective sigh. Demon jumped out of Dawn’s arms and scampered up the stairs. * * * * * While Spike and Giles unpacked the car, Buffy, Dawn and Willow explored the house. “Strange that it’s so clean...no dust,” Buffy commented as she ran her hand down the banister of the small staircase. She had a sudden unpleasant, memory of another house and running her hand down a very dusty, dirty banister. “Yes, it’s like someone’s been here and cleaned and tidied everything up.” Willow stood in the living room and pressed her face against one of the sheer white curtains that hung in the windows. “This smells freshly washed, smells like lavender.” They discovered that the downstairs part of the house was divided into four rooms: a living room and dining room at the front of the house, in the back there was a large kitchen and another large room paneled in a dark wood and covered from floor to ceiling with shelves. “This must be a library,” Buffy mused, “Good thing, ‘cause we’ve got a ton of books coming.” Upstairs they found a large master bedroom with a small porch overlooking the back garden. A small door, in the wall at one end of the room, opened into a large master bath. The walls were painted a soft yellow and there was a large canopied bed covered with a tapestry bedspread. There was a large, ancient looking, carved dresser next to the bed. Besides the master bedroom, there were four other rooms, each furnished with small beds and wardrobes. There was another small bath, and at the end of the hallway, a tiny staircase which wound up through a small opening in the ceiling. Dawn was drawn toward the staircase and quickly scrambled up the small stairs, “Watch your head,” she warned Willow and Buffy as the clambered up after her. They stood a bit awe struck in the large attic. It had been finished off as a room and appeared to stretch the full length and breadth of the house. Unlike the other rooms, it was completely unfurnished. The walls were painted the palest, translucent, egg shell blue, and the oak flooring was polished and worn to an almost creamy white color. At each end of the room, just under the eaves, were beautiful stained glass windows which pulled in the sunlight and scattered it like jewels across the slanted walls, and soft oak floor boards. Demon was lying peacefully in sunlight under one of the windows, purring. “What is this place?” Willow wondered out loud. “Sanctuary,” Dawn said in a hushed voice. * * * * * The three women silently climbed back downstairs to the living room. They heard Spike and Giles arguing good naturedly outside on the pathway. “Let me carry that, old man,” Spike argued. “You’re looking a bit chuffed.” “Not an old man, thank you very much.” Giles puffed up the front stairs carrying a large box of books and set them down heavily just inside the front door. “I swear this was much lighter when I packed it,” he gasped. Spike came in, lightly carrying another large box and set in down in the middle of the floor. Buffy bent down to pick up Giles’ box. “Don’t,” Spike said quickly. “Don’t?” Buffy stood up suddenly. “Don’t lift these heavy boxes, ok?” Spike said firmly, “Need to take care, you know, in your condition.” “So I have a ‘condition’ now,” she complained, and then quickly went to his side when she saw the look of concern on his face. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll be good.” She threw her arms around him and gave him a kiss. “We’re home, aren’t we?” “Yes, love,” he said, “We’re home.” * * * * * Bertram sat hidden atop a small hill which overlooked the small white house. He had an old pair of binoculars and was staring intently at the house below. Ernest was lying on the grass next to him looking completely exhausted and ready to fall asleep. “Well, looks like they’ve arrived safely. Hope they appreciate all your hard work, Ernest.” Ernest just waved his hand weakly and started snoring loudly. Bertram sat watching the activity at the house for a few hours until he saw a large moving truck arrive. “Well, that’s it for today.” He nudged Ernest with his foot, “Wake up man, I need to get back into town and make a phone call.” Ernest groaned and crawled slowly into a standing position. “Dead tired, sir. Won’t be much good for another 24,” he complained. “Twenty-four what?” Bertram asked. “Twenty-four days, sir.” Ernest swayed on his feet. “That’s too bad, because I’m afraid we just can’t spare ‘twenty-four’ days. I have a feeling I need to send you back to San Francisco to check on Margaret and you know who.” He snagged Ernest by the collar and dragged him back to their car which was hidden off the road behind some bushes. They drove back into town and parked in front of a small house in a run down part of Sunnydale. Bertram got out of the car and looked around distastefully at his surroundings. “Couldn’t you have found a little more elegant domicile?” He looked accusingly at Ernest. Ernest shrugged his shoulders, “Beggars can’t be choosers.” “We’re hardly that. Not yet at least,” Bertram grimaced. They went into the small house and soon Bertram was dialing Margaret’s number. He let the phone ring until an answering machine picked up. He quickly hung up the phone without leaving a message. He sat down in the dark living room and began to worry. * * * * * Margaret parked her black jaguar in front of the old mansion and turned off the engine. God she hated this place. What had she been thinking when she took that first job from that old mountebank Bertram? The first job he’d given her had been straightforward enough and had paid extremely well. And, yes, money was a good thing, a very good thing. A girl had expenses and it cost a bloody damn bit of cash to live in the States and especially in San Francisco. This last job though…She sat back into the soft leather seat and let the memory of that strange night wash over her. God he was hot. So hot. She felt like she’d been possessed by him, consumed by him, both physically and mentally. No one had ever made her scream that loud before and she needed more. Had to have him again. She’d broken up with her boyfriend the night she’d come back from that last job. Couldn’t ever let another being touch her. Not after having him. Had to have him again. Damn Bertram. Just up and disappearing like that, leaving her with this bizarre task as blood broker and only that little green weasel Ernie left for her to try to pry information out of. She was sick of vampires – both the living and the undead. Her family had warned her when she came to San Francisco. “It’s a vampire town, darling” her aunt had told her, with that infuriating slight rise of her eye brows with which she dismissed all things distasteful and beneath her. Her parents were dead and Aunt Liz and her brother were the only family she had. But Liz was always acted a bit too upper class for her own good. And her brother was lost in a drunken literary haze. Margaret was wild, well probably beyond wild. Margaret was bad. Liked bad. Liked dark. Liked demonish things. Liked vampires. Hmm…Liked to do vampires. Thought it was a hoot to get her first job in the states from one. Bertram hadn’t fooled her. Knew what he was the moment she heard his voice over the phone. And now? She was pinned like a fox at the end of a long bloody hunt. Only the hound had disappeared. And she was bloody desperate to find him. Needed him to rip her to pieces and eat her up. She shivered. Had to shag him, else she’d…she’d what? Die? She gave a bitter laugh. She’d had a thousand men. None of them had left her feeling like this. She relived that moment with him in the garden ten thousand times since that night. Left her damn cards all over the house, hoping he might stumble on to one of them and make the connection. But everything since that night had been one huge gaping hole of silence. Only hard ugly silence since that night when a wild and passionate blond god had brutally fucked her cynicism into submission. She was desperately, desperately in love. Shit! But he loved someone else… the skinny blonde girl with the strange eyes. She really wished that the thwack Ernest had given the blonde on the head that night had been fatal. She’d helped Ernest arrange the unconscious bodies—her demon lover’s and the small blonde’s, in the meadow, before he’d dismissed her with a curt nod. She hated the sight of them lying next to each other. As if they belonged. As if they belonged together. “We’ll see, we’ll just see who he really needs, really wants.” She burned inside with jealousy. The only connection she had with him now was this tenuous thread of a job...this crumb of a job that Bertram had thrown to her a few days ago. She pulled his letter out of her pocket and re-read it again. * * * * * Dear Miss Sinclair, Thank you again for so generously agreeing to take this small assignment. Payment will follow per our regular arrangements. You know whom to contact. I’ve left all the legal details to them and they will have your cheque. Just a brief warning, well gentle reminder, perhaps. If you do not follow to the letter the contractually stated requirements of this assignment, you will be paid a small fee and your services will no longer be required. Please do not try to contact me. If you need further clarification on any of your assigned tasks, Mr. Ernest will be at your disposal. Your instructions are as follows: 1. Every night at precisely 9 pm, you are to arrive at the mansion in Pacific Heights. The door will be unlocked. 2. Bring the supply of pig’s blood – 6 liters exactly. 3. In the basement beneath the stairs, you will find a small wooden door. It is barred from the outside. You will not be able to open it. You must say the following words “Rise, Reveal, Revenge, Release” and it will open of its own accord. 4. Place the blood in the glass bowl hanging from the ceiling. Make sure the tube attached to the bowl is threaded into the hole at the head of the casket. 5. Repeat the word “Now” three times and then leave the room immediately. 6. I repeat ‘leave immediately’. 7. Do not attempt to enter the house at any other time or for any other purpose. Sincerely, Bertram Sinclair, Esq. * * * * * Bloody old fool. Well she’d had enough. She reached over to the driver’s seat and pulled a large black bag over onto her lap. She opened the car door and struggled out dragging the heavy bag. She looked at her watch…8:45 pm…she was early. The heavy bag made a large clanking sound as she dropped it to the ground. She fumbled in the pocket of her long black leather coat and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. She lit one up and took a long satisfying drag. Just one step closer, she thought, one step closer to paradise. * * * * * Bertram hung up the phone. He glanced at the small clock hanging on the living room wall. Eleven o’clock. She should’ve been back by now. Where the hell was she? He went upstairs and woke Ernest out of a deep sleep. “Get dressed. You’re going to fly back to San Francisco.” * * * * * At precisely 9 p.m. that evening, Miss Margaret Sinclair had opened the front door of Bertram’s house and gone down the stairs to meet her fate. * * * * * As they sat around the kitchen table eating lunch, Giles mentioned the strange memory that flooded him when he first stepped into the house that morning. “It was of my mother, baking bread,” he explained, a wistful smile upon his face. “And it made me feel,” he paused. “Well, it was as if the sum of all things past, things lost, beautiful memories, farewell to childhood, the aching feeling that you’ve grown beyond what you once loved, what once could bring you comfort, flowed through me. And the sadness, you know, that life is taking you down or has taken you down pathways that are completely uncharted and so far from the things you loved.” “Ah I love him,” Buffy thought as she watched Spike’s face as Giles spoke. He was so beautiful, listening intently to Giles. Listening without interrupting, without a sarcastic remark, his face hungry, seeming to be longing for, yearning for something he’d never had. He eyes were so deep blue, so endlessly blue and still. What has he seen? What are his memories? Morose, moody, the conscience of William awakening inside him, must be torture to remember what he’d done as Spike. * * * * * They were interrupted by the arrival of the moving van. The next three hours were spent unloading boxes, sorting and carrying them to different rooms for unpacking. Buffy and Dawn began unpacking the dishes. They washed and placed them in the large side board in the dining room. “It kind of looks like this was made for these dishes,” Dawn exclaimed. “Look at the carvings on the drawer handles.” “Yes” Buffy replied. “What is with all these dragonflies and bumble bees? They’re everywhere.” * * * * * Spike carried the box containing the silver chest up to the master bedroom and unpacked it. He placed the chest on top of the large dresser. He opened the top dresser drawer and found a small silver key, just as Giles’ note had indicated. He paused for a moment and listened for the others, they all seemed to be occupied downstairs. He took the key and fit it into the padlock and then removed the lock from the latch. He opened the lid and peered inside. The first thing he saw was a worn, red wool blanket. He took it out of the chest and carefully unfolded it. It was embroidered in one corner with the same crest that he had seen on Bertram’s dishes. Was this the blanket that he’d been wrapped in as a baby when Bertram had found him on the doorstep so long ago? He was sure that it was. He held the blanket up to his face and inhaled its musty scents. Even after all these years, he could detect a strange lily like fragrance. His mother? He felt a sudden tightness in his chest and quickly put the blanket down on the bed. He then carefully examined the other contents of the chest. The next thing he found was a small piece of oilcloth carefully folded into a small packet. He unwrapped it carefully. It contained two locks of hair, each tied with a piece of faded red ribbon. One lock of hair was pure white blond, the other was dark red. Very strange. He wrapped them back up in the cloth and placed them on top of the blanket. He took out a small black lacquer box with the image of a dragon inlaid in gold on the top. He opened the box and inside, on a cushion of red velvet, was a small red glass bottle. Just like the red bottle Giles had shown to him and Buffy in the kitchen at Bertram’s house. Except this bottle had no label. He picked it up and examined it closely. The bottom of the bottle was engraved with a five pointed star placed in the center of what looked like a flame or a fire. The bottle that Giles’ had shown him had been labeled ‘For Emergencies’ and he wondered if this bottle contained the same substance. Underneath the black lacquer box, he saw something flat and round wrapped in a piece of black velvet cloth. He picked it up and removed the cloth. It was an old Victorian oval frame with a very detailed etching. He dropped the picture onto the bed and stood in shock. He’d recognized his mother immediately, from the oil painting. She was holding, not one, but two babies in her arms. The room began to spin about him. He felt a sudden oppression of the atmosphere as if a storm were about to break; he felt a strange buzzing in his head and the next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor staring up at the ceiling. “What the bloody hell was that?” he growled to himself as he climbed back to his feet. He rubbed the back of his head which was quite tender from his fall onto the hard wood floor. Just then he heard Buffy’s voice calling him as she came up the stairs. He quickly stuffed everything back inside the silver chest and locked it. He slipped the key into his pant’s pocket. Buffy entered the room and came up behind him and put her arms around his waist. “What are you doing up here alone? Slacking off from all the hard work?” she teased. He grasped her wrists and bound her arms around him in a tight embrace. “Just making sure this bed is up to snuff, love. I have some serious plans for it later.” “Like what? Serious snoring?” “Don’t joke, pet, about what I have in mind…” “It’s the silver chest!” Buffy interrupted. She pulled her hands away and went over to the chest. She opened the top drawer of the dresser and looked futilely for the key. “Wasn’t the key supposed to be in this drawer?” “Yeah. Isn’t it there?” He avoided her gaze. “No! It’s very strange. Do you suppose someone took it?” “Don’t think so pet. Maybe Bertram was a little confused.” “You want me to try to open it?” “No!” he exclaimed a bit more heatedly then he intended. He needed to buy some time here. Didn’t know what this all meant. And he didn’t want her to worry needlessly. Yet , something inside of him was screaming for him to tell her the truth. Tell her what he’d found. And he had the very odd sensation that the being inside of him who was screaming for him to be honest with her was not William, but Spike. “Let’s go downstairs and see what Giles is up to,” he said, pushing her toward the door. “Don’t you want to test the bed a bit?” She was suddenly aroused. She sensed some underlying fierceness in his demeanor, and she had a sudden urge for him to stretch and caress her. She turned and rubbed her hands up his chest, kneading and caressing his hard muscles. “Want you,” she whispered, kissing his neck softly. He moaned and pushed her back gently, “Slayer you’re going to kill me. Can you wait? Can’t you wait ‘til tonight love?” he said abruptly. She pulled away in frustration and walked out the door. “I might not be interested tonight.” He followed her downstairs. They found Giles and Willow in the library where the two had been unpacking the boxes of books. Giles had nestled into one of the soft leather armchairs and Willow was lying on her back on the oval rag rug in front of the library desk. Willow was reading out loud to Giles who wasn’t actually listening to her as he was absorbed in a book of his own. “Hard at work here I see.” Spike laughed. “Well I think we need some more food because some people are getting all grouchy.” He punched Buffy in the arm. She gave him a dirty look and walked out of the library. * * * * * Willow suggested that she drive back into town and pick up Tara and bring back some dinner. Buffy asked if she could come along. “Some people around here think they’re the boss of me and I need a break!” She stomped out to the car without saying goodbye to Spike. As they drove back to town, Willow listened to Buffy complain about Spike. “He thinks he knows what I should and shouldn’t do. Always has to be in control. Buffy do this; don’t do this. Not now Buffy! I can’t stand it. He’s not even my husband or anything. It’s not like we’re married and I doubt if he has any intentions that way. I’m just easy sex Buffy to him! Put up with his damn moods. You know I just…” “Er… Buffy?” Willow interrupted her tirade. “Do you think that hormones may be playing a role here?” “Yes. He has far too many and I’m tired!” She burst into tears. “Wasn’t thinking of Spike. Was thinking of you. You know, pregnant and all.” “Are you accusing me of being emotional?” Buffy sobbed. “Traitor!” “Look, Buffy, you’ve had a very long day. Why don’t I drop you off at your house and you can take a nice hot bath, get some clean clothes on, take a little nap. Meanwhile I’ll go get Tara and pick up some take out dinner and then will stop by and pick you up before we go back out to the Rose Lyn.” “Sounds nice,” Buffy sniffed. “Yeah, a hot bath. Alone.” Willow dropped Buffy off at the house and told her she’d be back to pick her up in about an hour or so. * * * * * Margaret stood against the wall inside the dark room. She was breathing heavily with the exertion of attempting to pry the lid off the lead coffin with a crowbar. It wouldn’t budge. “I know he’s in there,” she said to herself desperately. A surge of adrenaline flooded her body and she picked up the crowbar, stuck it into the small crack just below the lid and pushed down with all her strength and passion. “Open, damn you! Open! Now! Now! Now!” she screamed. The lid suddenly rose up and slid silently to the side. She fell back against the wall, weakened from her struggle. The room was eerily silent. He placed his hands on the rim of the coffin and slowly pulled himself into a sitting position. His eyes were closed. But he knew the woman was there. He jumped out of the coffin and with a swift movement swung himself out and flung himself against the woman, pinning her to wall. She moaned and threw her arms around him in an embrace. Not exactly what he’d expected. He thought a bit of a scream or perhaps a faint would have been more appropriate. But this woman was moving her hand down, down inside… “Stop that!” he yelled and pulled her hand out of his pants. “Damn whore!” he pushed her away. “Richard! I knew it! I knew it was you!” She clasped her arms around his waist, and gave him a passionate kiss. He pulled back from her embrace and flung her down to the floor. “Who are you?” He demanded. “How do you know my name?” She slowly crept to her feet and tentatively reached out her hand to him. “It’s me, Margaret. Don’t you remember? That night…in the meadow…Bertram’s game.” “Ah yes Bertram…the helpless old geezer and where is his partner Fourier?” “Fourier? Never heard of him. But Bertram…he’s not helpless. He’s a vampire. You know, the vampire who owns this house.” He moved closer to her, looking carefully into her eyes. He placed his hand on her cheek and ran it slowly down her neck, her shoulder, her waist, and finally rested it on her hip. She wasn’t lying. He leant over and placed a soft kiss on her neck and breathed in the scent of her extreme arousal. “Why do you want me?” he murmured. “Don’t you remember making love to me?” she whispered hoarsely, “In the moonlight…just a week ago.” He pulled back and laughed bitterly, “Love. I’ve been imprisoned in this coffin for six months now.” * * * * * Ernie stood in the middle of Margaret’s apartment looking at the destruction around him. At least there wasn’t any blood, he thought with relief. He went into the bedroom. Either her bed had been the scene of a violent lovemaking session or a vicious battle. He thought he caught the scent of sex. What had happened here? He found her phone and called Bertram. “They’re gone.” Ernie’s voice sounded desperate. “What do you mean, they’re gone!” Bertram exclaimed. “The coffin’s empty…there was blood everywhere in basement. I’m at her apartment now…It looks like a hurricane hit it.” “Did you find the potion I left in my pantry?” Bertram asked worriedly. “Nope, cleaned out.” “Listen to me carefully. When Margaret was asking you about Spike, what exactly did she say? Did she ask for William, or for Spike? “She didn’t use either of those names, she asked about ‘Richard’. I thought that you’d given her the gory details of the scene you’d asked her to re-create that night. Just assumed she meant ‘Spike’. “Dear God. Well get back here fast. Meet me at the house. If I’m not there, go out to Rose Lyn. If something happens to Buffy, I’m dust.” * * * * * Buffy lay in the tub and thought about her fight with Spike. It couldn’t actually be classified as a fight because he hadn’t really fought back. He just hadn’t wanted her. Just hadn’t responded the way she’d expected and had come to expect. She was so used to him always wanting her, responding to her every whim sexually, that it had shocked her, frightened her when he pushed her away. It reminded her of that night he’d thrown her out of his crypt when she’d come to him all free and invisible. Was there something she still wasn’t getting here? She thought they’d worked through all that and that he knew she loved him. Was everything just too much for him? The house, the will, the money, being William, having her and the babies? Did he just wish he could be wild and free again? She remembered the look on Spike’s face when Giles was speaking about his memories of his mother. Spike had no memories of his real mother...such yearning and remorse in his face. Would he leave her again? Would he be strong enough to face all this pain that the revival of William was bringing him? Would he leave her again? She couldn’t bear to think of it. Even now, being apart from him for such a short while, she felt the pain of separation. She regretted her childishness…stomping out without saying goodbye. He probably thought she didn’t really love him that she could turn so cold so quickly. And, she admitted to herself, how in the world would he know how to deal with the wild emotions of a pregnant woman? Yet why did he push her away? She started replaying the scene in her mind. “The box,” she thought. “He got all weird and jumpy when I started asking about the box. What’s he keeping from me?” She wished he were here now so they could talk this whole thing out. She shouldn’t have run away. She sunk down into the hot water and sighed. A few minutes later she heard a door slam shut. “Who’s there?” she called. No one answered. “Willow?” she called. The door to the bathroom opened and she saw Spike’s silhouette through the steam. “It’s me love,” he said. “Spike! God you scared me. Come m’ere love, I’m so…” She stopped as he moved to stand over the tub. “Who are you?” she cried and struggled to get out of the tub. He covered her face with a chloroform soaked cloth and she passed out. * * * * * When she woke up, she was lying naked on a bed of straw covered with a blue velvet cloak. Her hair was still a little damp from her bath so she determined that he hadn’t taken her too far away. She sat up and stretched her limbs. She was unharmed, except for a bit of a groggy head from the drugs. She stood up to look out of the narrow, barred window and saw that she was in some sort of tower on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. It must be an hour or so north she thought, for the coastline appeared to be desolated and the tower was the only structure within her range of vision. She ripped one of the bars out of the window and leaned out. She could hear the crashing of the waves far below and the cry of seagulls. She looked down and saw that the tower in which she was imprisoned was made of roughly hewn stone. The room she was in was about two hundred feet from the ground. Too far for her to jump, but the sides of the tower were rough and cracked and she thought she might be able to climb down. She just needed to find some kind of clothes to wear. She looked around the room and saw what looked like a pile of rags next to the door. She heard someone climbing up the stairs and she placed the bar back into the window and lay back down on the bed of straw. The door opened and in strode Spike…or at least the man who resembled Spike, the man who’d drugged and imprisoned her here. She tried to cover herself with the blue cloak but he tore it off of her and stood over here as she lay on the bed. “Who are you?” she asked angrily. “Don’t you know me?” he laughed. “No, I don’t know you,” she said “Sure you know me. I’m William.” He gave her an innocent smile. “Your hair...eyes…” Buffy pointed to his shoulder length hair and green eyes. She sat up and pulled the cloak back, wrapping it tightly around her. “So who are you goldilocks? You’re not William. You’re not Spike. I don’t know who you are or why you look like Spike’s twin. Are you a Sinclair? What do you want from me?” “Ah yes, well I’m the real thing. I’m William’s brother, Richard.” He raised his hand to his long, naturally blond hair. “My older brother’s just a shadow of me, so I hear. And yes, I’m a Sinclair just like your Spike, your shadow man. Your vampire…hah! But I’m real, love, a real man, and I want what’s mine, what’s been taken from me. My children. And now I’m very interested to find out what William’s been up to and ah…inside of, I should say.” He gave her a lascivious look, knelt down beside and placed his hand on her stomach. “Lovely babies,” he whispered She jerked away from his hand. “If you touch me, he will kill you,” she said in a low voice, “that is, unless I kill you first.” “You? Kill me?” He laughed again and stood up raising his hands in mock surrender. “No fighting here love. You must remember our babies.” “I’m not your love and these are not your babies,” she cried, suddenly very frightened because she realized this being before might be completely mad. He grabbed her legs and pressed himself down on top of her. She struggled but she was still a little weak from the drugs he’d given her. Soon he had her fully pinned with his body, against the bed. He pressed his face up against hers. “He is nothing. I am everything. You were supposed to be mine,” he spoke in a low harsh voice. “They robbed me, imprisoned me, and thought they’d find their own useful puppet that they could manipulate. They can’t control me.” “I’m thinking, gee why didn’t they just kill you?” she said, trying desperately to find some way to free herself from his grasp. “Shut-up,” he kissed her violently. She felt his erection pressing hard against the inside of her thigh. He started to fumble with his pants and as he slightly lessened his grip on her arm, she elbowed him hard in the stomach and twisted out from under him. She jumped to her feet and ran over to the wall and stood in a fighting stance. “I’ll kill you,” she cried as he rose from the bed and started walking toward her. “Richard! Where are you?” They both froze at the sound of Margaret’s voice from outside the door. “That voice…It’s that woman!” Buffy thought. “Wait love, I’ll be right out.” Richard called to Margaret. He gave Buffy a secretive smile and left the room. * * * * * When the door closed behind him, Buffy moved into action. “I’ve got to get out of here, no matter what.” She searched the pile of rags and found an old pair of shorts. But there was nothing that would suffice as a shirt. She ripped a strip of cloth from the blue cloak and bound it about her chest. “Should I wait until it’s dark?” she thought. “No, better not take a chance. No telling what they have planned for me.” She heard Margaret laughing from the room below, and Richard’s low voice which sounded a bit angry. Soon both voices were raised in anger and she heard Margaret cry out ‘god damned dragon’ and then she heard the sound of someone running down the stairs. Shortly after, she heard the sound of a car engine starting and then heard the sound of the car driving away from the tower. She waited for about a half hour. The tower was silent. She went over to the window and removed the bars. She held one in her hand thoughtfully and then ripped another thin strip of cloth from the cloak and tied the bar to her waist. She pulled herself up onto the window ledge, turned her body and swung her legs backward out the window. She took a deep breath and slowly began the tortuous descent. Her hands and knees were soon bloodied and torn by the wall’s rough surface. When she had climbed down about a hundred feet she glanced over her shoulder and realized her mistake. The part of the wall down which she was climbing, descended, without break, right into the cliff’s inward curving edge. There was no place for her to land. If she kept going this way, she’d fall right down onto the rocks or into the angry surf below the cliff. She needed to climb sideways, toward the inland side of the tower, to find a safe place to land. She started crawling sideways. After about climbing about five feet to the left, she heard Richard’s voice below her. “Little bird trying to fly away? Get down, come this way,” he demanded. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.” He was holding a long length of rope with a vicious looking hook attached to the end. He started to climb up after her. Very fast and agile for a human, she thought, as he moved quickly up the wall toward her. “Vampire,” she thought, “He’s a vampire. Another damn daylight vampire…like Bert.” The look in his eyes was absolutely demonic. Buffy looked desperately around for an escape. “Just get down here!” he yelled and swung the rope and hook toward her legs. It just missed her. She suddenly felt as if she were moving in slow motion. The pain in her hands and feet disappeared. She had a vision of Spike gazing at her with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, so sorry Spike,” she whispered. She pulled the iron bar from the band around her waist and threw it down toward Richard and then with all her strength she pushed off the wall and fell down toward the ocean and rocks beneath her. She heard Richard scream and then she fell into the icy turbulence of the waves, her mouth and lungs filling with salty water. A strong wave picked her up and dashed her against a rock, and then sucked her out into the deep dark green water and then, she felt nothing. Out of the Labyrinth Continued Back to Dragonfly Home Back to Dark Dreams |