Every Day I Write the Book - Part Seven
NOTES AND SUMMARY: Giles&Spikeverse madness continues. When last we saw our heroes, Giles and Spike were on the run from Lord Ternis; Dawn and Wesley were chatting with Willow; Buffy had been accosted by vamps and a Craz demon. This part: just a lot of running and kicking and punching.
Friday Evening, London/ Friday Afternoon, Sunnydale
Reginald Khan sat at the bar in the Criterion Brasserie, trying to avoid the stares of the servers. Damn that Quentin Travers. He said he'd be here, hadn't he?
It had been a trying day, dealing with William the Bloody; a vampire welcomed in the halls of the Council was surely a sign of the decline of a once-great institution. It was immaterial, Khan thought, that in fact William was not unintelligent and had offered important information and analysis. Vampire. Full stop, the end. He trusted that the end was indeed near for William.
Khan checked his watch again, then waved for another drink. He'd give Travers a half-hour or so before he left. And he checked his watch again.
He didn't see the shadowy figure in the corner of the room.
***
Lord Ternis tried to keep to the shadows, but a seven-foot demon dragging a tweed-covered man attracted attention even in Soho. He'd managed to shut Travers up with a well-placed claw threatening an artery--stupid human hadn't realized that the last thing Ternis wanted was the Watcher to bleed out before all the ingredients had been assembled. Still, Travers wasn't fully walking on his own, and the dragging wasn't going to work very well for long.
And there was no sign of that Spike, or the other Watcher, or even his own minions. "I need a drink," the demon mumbled.
"I-I was going to meet someone for a drink. At the bar in the Criterion. He's expecting me," Travers gasped.
"Yes, and I'm expecting important ingredients. Lots of disappointment all round, so far," Ternis snapped.
He pulled Travers into a darkened corner, out of the Friday-night noise and crowd, and bashed the Watcher against a wall. Travers dropped, unconscious. Ternis took a deep breath. "It's time to call the witch. She could help me."
***
"Are you sure you just want lunch, or is there some other way I could help?" Willow asked brightly.
Perched on the couch in Willow and Xander's living room, Dawn and Wesley exchanged glances. Oh help. "Help? Why would we need help?" Dawn asked.
Wesley added, "Just lunch. We were thinking of Mexican food. A nice taco--" He turned his mind from the flash of hurt at the association, then said more firmly, "Or whatever you'd like." Willow smiled at that, and yes, he thought, something was missing in that expression. Something real.
He had a terrible feeling that a) something was about to go horribly wrong, and b) he would need to know how to stop it. He couldn't accomplish the latter until he knew what the wrongness was, though, and he needed a damn translation of the scene. He recognized Willow's signs of distraction-- her looking at her watch, an arrogance in the way she passed her hand over the candle flames when she thought he and Dawn were otherwise occupied-- but he didn't know how to read the signs.
The silence went on for just a breath too long, and Dawn broke in. "So, really, Willow--"
The redhead gasped, then slithered to the floor. A raspy bass voice came from her body: "I need some location work done, witch. For our vengeance."
***
"What's the most important element in all good slayage, do you know?" Buffy asked, as she kicked one of the advancing vampires into a light- pole. She managed to flip over the second vamp, then kicked him from behind.
She reached inside her jacket and brought out a stake. Luckily she never left home without it. After a second to contemplate the serious lack of commercial endorsements in her life, she twirled the stake into position and slammed it through the light-pole vamp as he leapt toward her. "The answer is, of course, location, location, location."
Two vamps (whom she dubbed Blue Shirt and Bad Jacket) were left, along with the Craz demon. The latter was moving somewhat stealthily around her in an ever-smaller circle, and she remembered Spike's warning that the Craz would be going for her hair. Well, that was unacceptable. She'd just gotten it cut.
She avoided the Craz and went for Blue Shirt. He got a good shot in before she punched him in the eye, then spun-kicked him into the wall. Time for Bad Jacket; she moved in, kicked twice, then pursued him as he fled toward the road. Intercepting him, she dusted effortlessly.
Then her arms were pinioned from behind. What an elementary mistake she'd made. Never turn your back, as Giles often had said.
***
"Right. Do you want to keep going, or do you want to turn back?" Spike asked Giles. Rupert wasn't really answering, though. Poor bloke was puffing like a steam engine fed too much coal.
Spike looked around. They'd been looping around the area, up through Seven Dials then back down, until they had reached the Covent Garden Piazza. Shadows and bodies passed over the stones; sounds and smells of humans diverting themselves floated over the air. In the bad old days he'd have hunted here. Didn't care much for being hunted, he had to say.
He put his hand on Giles's back and patted. "You're worrying me, tosser."
"I jog every morning by the Embankment," Giles bit out between gasps. "I could run you into the ground, sonny."
"Uh-huh. We can race through Hyde Park later, I'll give you a bleeding head start." Spike stood, surveying the area for any of Ternis's fang patrol. "Okay, we've got two problems."
"Only two?"
"Your sarcasm's not good enough to waste your breath, wanker. First: Ternis needs something for this little Spigos-calling ritual, and it seems clear that we're involved in a fairly unpleasant way. Not to mention--" Spike broke off at a nasty thought. "Oh God, Buffy! The Craz demon at Heathrow who wanted her hair!"
"An alarming if likely conclusion." Giles's breathing was almost back to normal, and he managed to stand up. "I'll ring her on the mobile, then."
Spike couldn't believe what he'd heard. He tapped his ear a couple of times-- testing, testing. "Did you say that you have a sodding phone? So that, oh, we could have called someone fifteen minutes ago to help us? Or warned Buffy and Anya?"
Giles reached inside his leather jacket, growling, "Well, some stupid git started doing his imitation of a gazelle up street and down lane, and didn't stop long enough to let me think!"
"Right, right, make it about me. Rupes, you've lost your bloody mind."
Giles flipped open his phone with a certain restrained violence. "Shut it, Spike. What's the second--"
"There they are!" Rounding the corner of the marketplace came three of Ternis's goons. Spike didn't bother answering Giles's extraordinarily stupid question, since the unliving answer was charging them. He shook the stake from his jacket sleeve-- never leave home without it!-- and jumped toward the attackers.
Giles punched a number on the mobile, lifted it to his ear, then was flattened against the stone by one vampire's rush. The vamp stomped the phone under his boot, then kicked at Giles's side. He managed to roll away, but the vamp tackled him.'
Spike dusted a vamp with dispatch, then turned to the others-- just in time to see one lower his game-face to Giles's neck. "No you don't!" Spike bellowed. The remaining vamp tried to interfere, but Spike punched him across the piazza and into a railing.
Spike saw Giles struggle an arm free and elbow his attacker just as fangs scraped neck. The skin tore, but the vamp was jolted back enough so that he didn't bite down-- and far enough back for Spike to pluck the attacker up and throw him against a wall.
Spike hauled Giles to his feet, a professional eye scanning the blood trickling onto Rupert's shirt. Not too bad, but they couldn't stay here. He looked down James Street, and the Underground sign shone red like a beacon. "Let's go, Dad."
Half-carrying Giles, Spike ran down the street, avoiding strange looks and pedestrians as best he could. He could hear two steps of footsteps pounding behind him, getting closer, ever closer--
But they made it to the Covent Garden station entrance. Spike pushed Giles forward through the Oversized Luggage stile. Giles stumbled toward the elevator going to the platforms, and pressed the button. Spike turned to face the two vamps.
"Lord Ternis just wants to talk to you," the smaller, stupider vampire said. "Might as well come along quietly."
"I don't do anything quietly," Spike said, and he ripped a spoke from a turnstile and threw it at the stupid vampire's throat.
The force of the throw sent the vamp spinning into three drunken louts walking by. "Oy!" the burliest of the men said, his fists going up menacingly.
Oh bloody hell. Bystanders. Heroes had to protect them. Spike sighed, used his stake to get the larger vampire in passing, then jumped toward the group. "Mate, that's not a good idea," he called.
The smaller vamp stepped into a pool of light, revealing his game-face. The lout tripped back, saying, "What the--"
"Spike! The lift's here!" Giles called.
"Bugger." Spike spun the small vampire around, dusted him, then sprinted for the entrance. He vaulted over the turnstile, twisted, then fell into the lift just as the door closed.
"Cutting it a bit close, weren't you," Giles said disapprovingly, slumped against the steel wall.
***
"I'll love to cut this," the Craz demon said, winding a lock of Buffy's hair around his sharp-edged forefinger. He leaned his trench- coated weight against the wall between land and water, then pressed her backward, almost bending her in two. The wind gusted, leaving a foul odour to almost suffocate her.
Buffy couldn't believe how stupid she'd been. Gotten the two vamps, eluded the third then dusted him, just in time to be caught by this Craz thing: Spike would never stop razzing her for this, she thought. She brought her knee up, but the demon smacked her across the face with his free hand. "I wouldn't, miss. Or you'll lose more than your hair."
Just as the bladed finger started to slice, Buffy heard the clattering of high heels on pavement. A shrill voice shouted, "Wish! Wish!"
"I wish this creature would go to its hellish home," Buffy gritted out--then almost fell over the wall into the Thames when the demon vanished from in front of her.
Still in her vengeance-demon face, Anya caught Buffy's jacket and pulled her to her feet. "We've got to go," she said without preamble. "My friend Jez just called-- Giles and Spike are somewhere in the West End, being hunted by vampire goons and other bad guys. Some Rexos demon is trying to capture our men."
"Are you telling me that they went out tonight on precious 'Watcher business' without telling us it would be dangerous?" Buffy said. "Oh, boy. Oh, boy. He's in such trouble." And she wasn't talking about the Rexos demon.
***
"Oh, we're in trouble," Dawn whispered.
Willow rocked back and forth, eyes closed. "Ternis, I see. I see a moving train, going west. A red circle, barred. A-- garden?" Then her face twisted, and the bass voice said, "Good enough. I'll need you in a moment, stay close."
Wesley scrambled up and said, "Willow. Willow, look at me!"
Her eyes opened, and Dawn yelped. Willow's eyes were black, impenetrable. "Are you sure you want my attention, failure?" she said, then shot out her arms. Wesley felt the air gather around him, then he was slammed against the wall. A framed poster fell, its sharp edge ripping his forehead. The world went dark for a second.
"Wesley!" Dawn screamed, and Wesley struggled to open his eyes, to help her.
"Be quiet, Dawnie," Willow said casually, and she flicked her fingers. Dawn crumpled, her face working but no sound coming out.
Wesley's hand went toward his pocket.
***
"Phone in your pocket the whole time, but you only start to use it when the damn vampires are attacking. Remind me again why you're considered such an alpha-Watcher?" Spike scolded.
"Because I'm not dead, am I?" Giles checked the handkerchief that he'd been holding up to his neck.
Spike decided not to tell Rupert that he could smell the blood still oozing-- tact and all that. Instead he looked out of the moving train into the blackness. "Right, you're not dead because I saved your sorry arse. Again. But let's not dwell. Where should we get off the line? Are you thinking we should go to South Ken, say, or stop at Piccadilly? Or transfer at Green Park?"
"Well, I'd vote against Piccadilly. You always insist on busking there, and I foolishly left the guitar at home." Giles wrapped his handkerchief tighter and pressed it against his wound. "But we do need to call Anya and Buffy, don't we."
"Right, Buffy's a target. Gotta let her know. Otherwise, I'd be a bit nervous about the Slayer finding out we went prancing off without telling 'em where we were going. She tends to be a bit unreasonable about male enterprise."
"And she's positively vicious about lack of full disclosure," Giles agreed.
The tannoy announced the impending arrival at Piccadilly Circus, and Spike looked at Giles again. Old man was looking rather pale-- maybe he shouldn't move just at the moment. Then again, maybe staying put wouldn't help.
The train jolted to a stop, and Giles bit off a moan. He must be badly hurt, in pain. Spike put a hand on his shoulder and said, "What can I do for you, mate?"
"You could give me that hand," said Lord Ternis from the platform. The doors hissed open; Ternis reached in and hurled Spike out. Then he did the same to Giles.
Spike tried to get up, but a horned foot held him down. The Rexos demon's face twisted, then out came a familiar voice. The voice of the love of all his lives. "You've made a mistake, Spike. A terrible terrible mistake. And you'll have to pay."
Oh God.
***
"Oh God, oh God," Anya kept muttering, as she put the key in the Land- Rover's ignition. "I hate to drive this thing, Rupert hates me to drive this thing. Oh God."
Buffy slammed the passenger door shut. "Stop whining, Anya, and just drive. You can't do the transport-y thing to both of us, and we have to find them."
Anya started the car, and Buffy gripped her hands together tightly. It was almost as if she could feel Spike's distress, thrumming through her veins. She had to get to him. Her love, her secretive little bastard of a love.
First she'd save him. Then she'd kill him.