"Pet," Spike said as he tried to look at his companion around an armload of boxes and bags. "You seem to be in a good mood tonight."
"I am?" Drusilla drifted up to the counter display of a jewelry store at the mall. She was regarding the rows and rows of gold bracelets, necklaces, rings, and other baubles with softly gleaming eyes. Spike was used to his paramour's attraction to glitter, but she usually saved this kind of predatory intentness for the objects of her dinner.
"Let me see that one," Drusilla said to the salesgirl. She leaned over the glass counter and tapped the glass with one exquisitely honed fingernail.
"That's really pretty," the salesgirl -- a tasty young thing in a tight burgundy dress -- smiled perkily at Dru and bent to unlock the case. "It'll look so cool with that outfit too."
"Oh please," said Dru, "this dress is so not gold accessorizable. I know what will go with it though."
Spike eased the packages onto the glass top of the counter and leaned an elbow onto the counter, his chin propped up against his fist.
"Is this supposed to be fourteen karat?" Drusilla said as the salesgirl fastened the necklace about her neck. "I don't think so."
"Let me see." The salesgirl twisted the tag around to read it. "Oh, you're right. It's gold plate."
"Well duh then. What's the point?"
"Look at these ones." The girl pulled a tray out from under the counter. "We just got this shipment in."
Spike had seen Drusilla in some strange moods, but tonight's expedition of consumer greed was a first. He took the opportunity to light up a cigarette, as he pondered how to jolly her out of it. The salesgirl had a long and lovely neck, a warm blush along her cheeks hinted at the blood pulsing just beneath the surface of her delicate skin. But oddly enough, tonight Drusilla seemed more interested in the gold chain necklace that looped about the girl's neck.
"Yeah, my chain is from here," the salesgirl was saying proudly as she fingered her necklace. "I'll only buy the good stuff. Now --" she leaned close to Drusilla to fasten one of the new necklaces. Spike stared at the area of the girl's neck below the ear. The pulse of her carotid was touched by a single mahogany curl of hair. His mouth watered.
But Drusilla only drew back and fluffed her hair.
"You can tell the quality by the way it feels against your skin, can't you?" the salesgirl said. "Would you like to see how you look?" She pulled a small mirror out from behind the counter.
"Um, no thanks." Drusilla looked at Spike and tipped the mirror face down. "I'll take it. Spike?"
Spike straightened and pulled his Visa card from his coat pocket. He flipped it to the counter for the tenth -- or was it the twentieth? -- time that night. "Dru, aren't you getting peckish yet?"
"Peckish? Oh. Gee Spike, I ate just before -- I mean just after dark. Besides we haven't hit the leather store yet. Can't we go there first? Please?"
Spike could never resist her when she said 'please' and fluttered those dark eyelashes at him.
"Eight hundred sixty-three dollars and seventy two cents," the salesgirl said, handing Spike charge slip and pen and smiling at him pertly.
Spike growled low down in his throat, aching to get his fangs into that smile. But the mall was swarming with people. He hated shopping malls -- they were always too crowded. Maybe he could get Dru to go into the bookstore with him. There wouldn't be nearly as many people there; he could catch a quick bite in the poetry aisle. He picked up the pen and signed the slip. "Can we go now, pet?"
"Yes, Spike." Drusilla was pondering a case of designer watches now.
"Dru, I bought you a watch at the other jewelry store. A bloody expensive one." Spike looped an arm around her waist and nibbled at the back of her neck.
His Dark Queen shivered and turned away from the display. "All right. Get the packages?"
Spike frowned at her. Something was bothering him -- beyond Drusilla's admittedly bizarre behavior. Bouts of atypical behavior were typical for her from time to time. But she seemed almost alien to him now, as if she'd changed in some fundamental way since she'd left him.
That's it, Spike thought. We've been a pair for so long, I'd forgotten what it was like to be with her for the first time.
Dru took his elbow and leaned against him as they walked back out into the mall. "It's been a nice evening," she said hesitantly.
"Yeah," said Spike, "any night I can spend with you, pet. The surroundings are a bit much though. What's say you and I go out on the town for a bit of a tear now?"
She let go of his arm. "What about the Slayer?"
"Slayer's scarpered." Spike looked at her again. "You know that. Unless --"
Drusilla glanced over at him with something like panic in her eyes. "Yes but --!"
Spike dropped the packages on a convenient bench. "What have you seen, Dru?"
"Seen?" Drusilla squeaked. "Oh! I see . . ." She shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "She's come back, Spike! I see her now! She's -- she's got a really bad haircut."
"Fuck," growled Spike.
"But she won't look for us here." Dru sidled up to him again and toyed with the lapels of his duster. "We can have all night together here -- or at least until the mall closes."
Spike grabbed her by the hips and kissed her violently. She made a sound low down in her throat and threw her arms around his neck to return the kiss.
Something abruptly shifted. At first Spike thought an earth tremor had passed under their feet -- bloody fine with him, he could do with a bit of panic and mayhem. Then he realized that Drusilla's body had flushed with an inexplicable heat.
"Baby?" he said in alarm, and thrust her at arm's length so he could examine her. "What the fuck?!"
"Oh shit," the girl in his grasp exclaimed. She jumped back out of his grip. "I knew I shouldn't have let you get all touchy-feely."
"Now hold on," Spike snarled. He grabbed onto her with a no longer loving passion. "You're one of the Slayer's toadies."
"Ow!" she yelped. "I'm not a toady. I just hang out with them sometimes. You're stretching my sweater. You'd better let go right now, or I'm going to scream."
"Right," Spike said in disgust. "Bring one of the mall coppers to your rescue. I'll have him for dessert. Right after I've made a snack out of you." He grabbed her hair and forced her back against the bench.
"Spike, we're being stared at."
"Where's Dru?" he growled at her, giving her a teeth- rattling shake for good measure.
"I don't know! Gods, you think I asked for you to kidnap me from the front of the high school? Let go of me!"
Spike grinned suddenly, wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her again. "I've got a better idea, luv," he said when he pulled back. "Let's you and I go out and have a look round for Drusilla. She's taken a fancy to that tweedy Watcher of yours and given what I've seen of him when he drops the nice guy act, you don't want to have to deal with what Dru's likely to make of him."
The girl shoved him away, but not terribly hard. "Giles is at home tonight. She's out of luck."
"Let's go have a talk with him then, luv." He pulled her close to his side. "I'll collect Dru and you lot can go back to living whatever's left of your pathetic lives."
"Hey," she said, "at least I can get a decent tan. Stop! Get my packages."
Spike laughed. "You're not in any position to give me orders, pet."
She elbowed him hard in the ribs -- she packed a wallop for a mortal. "Those are my compensation for being scared to death tonight. Get them, Spike. You owe me. Besides, we already paid for them."
"You listen here --" he growled
"You want to stand and scream at me, go ahead. If you want to get out of here and look for your girlfriend before Giles dusts her, then get my packages."
"Huh," Spike said derisively. "Dru can take that Slayerless Watcher any day of the week."
"Oh yeah? Who do you think gave me this spell to look like her? Giles is a Master of the Black Arts. All he has to do is conjure a spell to make himself look like you and get within smooching distance of her with a pointed stick."
He glared at her. "You're lying, girl. If he had that kind of power, he would have done a number on Angelus long before that final blow-out."
"Believe what you want," she said airily. "I had you fooled."
Spike scowled, then gathered up the packages. "You're pushing it, girl," he muttered. "You've lucked out that I need your help. Otherwise --"
"Yadda yadda," she said, grabbing a bag as it toppled off the top. "Be careful! That's the perfume. And my name's Cordelia."
Giles walked towards the front door to the mansion. He tried to focus on an image of Xander watching his back from just down the street, rather than on the looming medieval planes of the mansion ahead of him. But his sense of aloneness was growing. He stopped before he reached the door to take several deep centering breaths. He had to get his hammering heartbeat under control. He was going into a vampire's den. Any palpable fear on his part would only trigger her blood lust.
He shut his eyes and attempted to find some reassuring sense of Willow inside, but their emotional bond had died again. Probably it was gone for good now -- unless they ever had reason to spell cast together again.
"Let there at least be that potential," he thought with sadness and an incipient desperation.
He slipped his right hand into his pocket and ran his fingers over the cross -- the one weapon, besides the doll, that he'd brought with him. He'd taken it more for Xander's peace of mind than his own.
Giles moved to the entrance and tried the doorknob. The door opened silently. He stepped inside, leaving the door open behind him. This was a calculated risk. He might have done better in knocking and forcing Drusilla to come up front where he could confront her face on. But he was still uncertain as to who she might have with her. This interval of potentially unsupervised passage might offer him some small element of surprise.
Standing in the front passageway, he was momentarily trapped in his memories, first of the mansion in Buffy's nightmare and then back to his own all too real eternal night imprisoned here.
This isn't then, Giles tried to convince himself. I have some control now. He focused again on the image of Xander not far behind him, and moved on in. Drusilla would be in the courtyard with Acathla, or somewhere nearby. He hoped Willow would be with her. He needed to know where she was before he could do anything else; he wasn't certain exactly how the spell, once triggered, would play itself out.
He became aware of a low murmur in the background.
The sound froze in his bloodstream, stilling his breath and bringing him to a halt. In the night quiet he could make out the strains of the song. "Bloodletting" by Concrete Blonde. The CD had been in Jenny's personal collection, part of her legacy to him after she died. Giles smiled, in spite of himself. Unlike Jenny Calendar, vampires tended to be very predictable in their aesthetic tastes. Jenny would, no doubt, have been highly amused.
He reached the doors to the courtyard, hesitated, then pushed them open. They swung silently inwards.
A fire had been lit, but it only enhanced the feeling of coldness inside. Acathla still stood at the center of the cavernous room, his grimace seeming to shift in the dim wavering firelight. The Watcher stared at the demon, transfixed for a moment. He shook himself out of it. Any moment of distraction now was dangerous. He stepped inside, again leaving the door open. He'd instructed Xander to stay outside, but he knew the boy well enough to know that he'd be following him in at some point.
Giles carefully examined the numerous shadowed spaces and corners, alert for any sense of movement within. A small noise to one side attracted his attention, and he shifted, taking care to keep half an eye on the open doorway behind him.
"Willow," he said softly, and quelled a strong urge to rush to her. She sat on a heap of cushions piled on the floor near Acathla. She'd been bound and gagged, her cheek was bruised, and she watched him with immense and frightened eyes, but otherwise she seemed unharmed.
Giles stepped to one side and examined the room again. It appeared to hold just the two of them. Finally, he allowed himself to go to Willow. He knelt before her and pulled the gag from her mouth.
"Giles, you shouldn't have come," she gasped. Her face was tear-streaked, but she seemed calm now.
"Shh," he said and checked on her bound hands. He pulled a pen-knife from his pocket, hesitated, then slipped the cross out and pushed it up into her face.
"What are you doing?" Willow whispered, shrinking back at the motion. She looked at the cross and relaxed. "Oh. Right. But I'm Jewish. Would it even work on me?"
"Yes." Giles hesitated again, then moved a hand up the side of her neck along the pulseline. He pulled her towards him and kissed her deeply, his tongue slipping inside her mouth to touch her tongue.
"Whoa," said Willow, gasping for breath when they finally pulled apart.
Giles bent to saw at her bonds. "Where's Drusilla?"
"I don't know," she said desperately. "She knew you you'd arrived. She went somewhere. She said she'd be back."
The ropes were tough. Giles gave up on her wrists and checked her feet. They were tied with the same thick rope with similarly tight knots. "Damn this," he said, and picked her up in his arms and stood. He staggered a moment as her weight stressed his injured ribs, then bit his lip against the pain and settled her against his chest. "Is anybody else here in the house?" he gasped.
"I don't think so. She was complaining about not knowing where Spike is. Giles, she -- she's sort of not quite right."
Giles rolled his eyes and shifted her weight so he could keep the cross in front of them. "Maybe she's forgotten about us." He turned and faltered to a stop.
"That is so romantic," Drusilla said, watching them from the doorway, her head cocked. "Except you look like you're about to drop her."
"You're right," Giles said, and let Willow slip from his arms onto the floor, easing her fall with a hand under her arm. He used his other hand to bring the cross up.
Drusilla frowned and looked away from it, but otherwise didn't seem unduly intimidated. "That wasn't very gallant of you." She looked down at the disheveled Willow. "Are you all right, dear?"
"Yes, fine," Willow said in a small voice.
"I brought something for you to wear," Drusilla declared. She held up a long silky black garment. "It's a party gown. But you aren't dressed at all." She pondered Giles for a moment. "Maybe there's something in Angel's wardrobe. Black leather . . ."
He shuddered. "I'm quite comfortable in what I'm wearing, thank you."
"We all need to be properly dressed to celebrate," Drusilla continued. "Do you like my hat?"
Giles glanced at the flowery, wide-brimmed sun hat. "It's very becoming. What are we celebrating?"
"Lots of things," Dru said coyly.
"Could you cut me loose?" Willow prompted from the floor. "So I can get dressed?"
Drusilla smiled at Giles. "Later, dearie," she said. "Rupert and I want a dance first."
He looked into her eyes, saw his death there, and abruptly tore his gaze away again. "Very well," he said, and slipped the cross into his pocket.
Drusilla smiled and slinked forward, dropping the black dress next to Willow. She pulled the hat from her head to drop on top of the dress, then offered her hands to Giles.
He stepped towards her, sliding his left hand into his jacket pocket while he reached out to her with his right.
Dru's hand closed around his throat while she latched onto his left wrist. "You wouldn't spoil my party, lovely?" She smiled at him dangerously.
"Not at all," he managed to choke out. "You left something in my office. I thought you might want it back."
Her grip on his wrist and throat loosened marginally. She leaned forward, staring into his eyes. Giles tried to tear his gaze from hers, but she held him in a hazy thrall.
Drusilla caught his lips in a soft kiss, then she pulled slightly back. "You've been talking to the moonlight again tonight," she whispered. "I can taste it on you. You're all glittery with it. What did it tell you?"
Giles pulled himself raggedly out of an incapacitating sense of her. "We had tea," he told her. "We talked of daylight."
Drusilla frowned and he eased his hand from his pocket. He held the doll up and offered it to her. "Here. This is yours, I believe."
"Miss Edith has been drinking tea with the moon too," Drusilla said as she stared at the doll. "She's all shimmery, like you."
Giles smiled at her and reached over to tilt her face towards him. "Shall I tell you a secret that I shouldn't tell you, my dear?"
"Oh yes." Drusilla grinned at him.
"Miss Edith and I kissed. Like this." He pulled her face towards his and kissed her even as he pressed the doll into her hand. He pulled back. "Would you like me to do that again?"
"Yes?" she said with an almost shy smile. He kissed her again, hard, then stepped back from her. Drusilla clutched the doll to her chest with one hand.
"Shall we dance then?" Giles said.
She looked up at him and nodded.
"Say 'yes'," he prompted her gently.
"Let's dance. Yes," Drusilla said. Her eyes widened in terror. She staggered back, then fell.