All Goes Onward and Outward (6/7)
Title: All Goes Onward and Outward
Chapter: 6. This Was No Dream
Author: whichclothes
Fandom: BtVS/AtS
Pairing (if any): Spike/Angel
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: This was based on the following prompt from maharet83, a lyric from Leonard Cohen's song, The Law:
Now the deal has been dirty
Since dirty began
I'm not asking for mercy
Not from the man
You just don't ask for mercy
While you're still on the stand
There's a Law, there's an Arm, there's a Hand
I don't claim to be guilty
Guilty's too grand
Thank you to faketoysoldierfor the wonderful banners! Previous chapters here.
I always really appreciate feedback. :-)
I'll be posting the final 3 chapters today.
Chapter Six
This Was No Dream
And not till he saw the angel had left him,
alone and free to resume
the ecstatic, dangerous, wearisome roads of
what he had still to do,
not till then did he recognize
this was no dream. More frightening
than arrest, than being chained to his warders:
he could hear his own footsteps suddenly.
Had the angel's feet
made any sound? He could not recall.
No one had missed him, no one was in pursuit.
He himself must be
the key, now, to the next door,
the next terrors of freedom and joy.
--Denise Levertov, St. Peter and the Angel
It was a dream that pulled him back to civilization. Or, more accurately, several dreams, all the same.
His nightmares had become better when he was freed of the soul. None of his victims visited him in his sleep anymore, and that was a true relief. He still replayed the losses of his loved ones-his mum, Dru, Buffy, even Fred-and now he dreamt especially often of Angel. He hoped he hadn’t died alone. Perhaps he’d at least had a guard or nurse at his side as he slipped away. Spike hoped Angel had realized how much Spike cared for him. And his most fervent wish was that Angel had finally found the peace he’d so sought after, that somehow he’d finally been redeemed.
And then one day he dreamt of a city with tall, shiny buildings, a city bound in the tangled fetters of old highways and caught between the mountains and the sea. A city teeming with ghosts and phantom memories. Something evil was in this city.
He woke up shortly before sunset and shook away the tatters of sleep. He stood and stretched and caressed his rumbly belly, and he forgot about the dream before he’d even stepped over the cabin’s threshold.
In the morning he came back and collapsed back onto his sleeping platform. His muscles were pleasantly tired and his stomach was rounded and taut, full of warm, fresh blood. Leaves and bits of twigs were tangled in his wild hair. He fell asleep almost immediately, and as soon as he did, the dream returned.
It returned the day after as well, and the day after, until he was seeing those gleaming towers and feeling that sense of quiet malevolence even when he was awake and running though the trees. Until finally he stood one evening on the creaking floorboards of his cabin and looked outside into the darkening night. “All right,” he said. It was the first time he’d spoken in a very long time. “Time to get this sorted.” And he set out for Los Angeles.
He had to nick some clothes on the way, and even dressed, he knew he still looked feral. So he picked a man’s pocket on a crowded street in Modesto, and he used some of the credits to rent a hotel room. After some sleep on a mattress that felt too soft, he soaked for hours in the big bath, refilling it whenever the water cooled. He’d bought a scissors as well, and he used it to trim his hair to a more respectable length. Then, for the first time in many, many decades, he bleached his hair platinum and gelled it back. It made him feel like himself, somehow.
At sundown he walked to the transport station. The next train to LA came along in less than thirty minutes. He enjoyed the brief journey, watching out the windows as the flat farmland whizzed by.
He had no idea where to begin looking in LA, or even if there was truly anything to look for. And if he found it, he had no idea what he was going to do about it. But lack of a plan was really nothing new for him, and if the dreams really were some sort of message sent by…somebody…then he expected that perhaps eventually that somebody might give him some guidance.
For a time he was satisfied with simply wandering around the city, taking in the sights and sounds and smells he’d missed during the years of his confinement and exile. He had just enough credits left to rent a cheap room for a week, and to stock up on some blood from a butcher’s, and to get blissfully, roaringly drunk. When he was flat broke and out of blood and liquor, he looked for another source of income. He could have easily stolen more, of course, but if the guard had been telling the truth and the Watchers really were, well, watching, he’d be better off on the right side of the law for now. He got into a nice fight with a Tklag’hoch at a rough and tumble demon bar called Mike’s one night after the huge creature tried to bully him. It ended up getting carted away by its friends, still alive but more or less in pieces, while Spike was only a bit bruised and scraped. Mike offered to take him on as security in exchange for blood bank rejects and enough dosh to cover his rent and a bit. Spike accepted.
A demon bar was as good a place as any to keep an ear open for nastiness. For weeks, Spike leaned against a wall, a glass of something in his hand, listening in on the patrons’ conversations. He learned quite a bit of what was going on, but it all seemed just run of the mill malice. No sign of a Big Bad.
His basement flat was just a few block from Mike’s. When the daylight trapped him inside, he sat on the lumpy brown sofa, watching the holo and wishing cigarettes were still available. Sometimes it occurred to him to wonder why he should care if the evil thing from his dream truly lurked here. He was evil himself, wasn’t he? Now that his soul was gone for good. Except he didn’t feel particularly wicked. Not even naughty, really. The human blood Mike gave him was lovely after so many years of feeding on animals, but he had no particular desire to go out and sink his fangs directly into the source. What he felt was tired and lonely and a bit lost. Perhaps it was a sense of purpose he needed, and these dreams had given him one.
It was April and it was raining, and everyone in southern California seemed to take it personally. Both humans and demons were short-tempered and growly, and Spike had already had to break up several fights tonight. Off in the corner, what he was fairly sure was a female of some sort with greenish scales and a trio of red horns on her head was crying all three of her eyes out while a similar-looking demon patted her on the back. So he hadn’t paid much mind to the pair of humans chatting quietly in one of the worn, red booths. Although Mike’s clientele was mostly demon, humans were common as well, and there was nothing remarkable about these two.
He did take notice, though, when a M’Fashnik sauntered in and, after glancing around the gloom for a moment, approached the humans. The tall, pretty woman in the smart suit scooted over so the demon could sit next to her. The three of them bent their heads close together. Curious, Spike sidled closer, perching himself on a stool that was close enough for him to overhear. He pretended to contemplate the amber depths of his tumbler of whiskey.
“-guarantee that it’ll be done right the first time.” That was the other human speaking, an Asian-looking bloke in a suit nearly as expensive as the bird’s.
“I always do good work!” snarled the demon. “Check my references.”
“We already have, or we wouldn’t be talking now. But I need to emphasize how important this matter is to our superiors.”
“Yeah, yeah. You pay me the credits, I off the guy, no problems at all.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Spike could see the humans look at each other for a moment. Then the woman nodded and the man reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a white envelope. He set it in front of the demon.
“Here. This contains the specifics on our target, and one thousand credits,” the man said.
“My fee is fifteen hundred!”
“You get the job done right and quickly, and we’ll have another grand waiting for you in a week, right here.”
The M’Fashnik was silent for a bit. “All right,” he said, stuffing the envelope in his own pocket. “Same time, next Tuesday, then. You’d better be here with the rest.”
The woman smiled broadly. “You can count on it.”
The demon stood up and walked quickly to the door. Spike would have liked to follow him, but it would have been obvious, and besides, he was still supposed to be working. So instead he listened as the humans finished their drinks. The woman complained about her wine while the man frowned worriedly at her. “If this gets screwed up-“
“We both know the stakes, Gavin. Calm down. This guy’s the best.”
“I’d be a lot more comfortable if we did it ourselves.”
“Our boss was clear on this. He doesn’t want us involved that directly. Besides, you’re still having problems maintaining solidity when you’re stressed.”
Gavin sighed heavily.
They left shortly after, and Spike stared thoughtfully at the empty table until a couple of Frovalox started to squabble loudly with each other and he had to go quiet them down.
Homicides had become rare in any case, but the murder of the city’s mayor was big, big news. The holo was filled with reports on the crime, even though nobody seemed to know much. Mayor Usmani had failed to come home from her evening jog. Police found her a half mile away, sprawled beneath some bushes, her throat sliced wide open. Vice-Mayor Marek expressed his deep sorrow to Usmani’s family and, before taking the oath of office, promised to continue the excellent work his predecessor had begun.
On Tuesday, the humans were back at Mike’s, and so was the M’Fashnik, who looked mighty pleased with the envelope they handed him. Again, the humans stayed a while after the demon left, and Spike eavesdropped.
“See? I told you. Piece of cake.”
“Yeah, okay. But that was just the first step, you know. If Marek doesn’t-“
“Marek’s going to do exactly what he’s told. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it, Gavin.”
“Yeah, I’d like my pretty little head to stay attached to my body.”
“Why? It’s not like it couldn’t be stuck back on anyway,” she laughed. And she twisted her head a bit and Spike saw a pale scar running the width of her neck.
“I’ve died once, Lilah. That was enough for me.”
“Oh, Gavin. We both know death isn’t the scariest thing that can happen to us.”
“Exactly. That’s why I want this thing to go smoothly.”
She laughed again and drained her glass. “You’d think they’d have stopped making crappy wine over the last couple centuries,” she muttered. “Look. Everything’s going to be fine. Marek’s fully on-board. A year from now, that’ll be you sitting in his office, right?”
“While you’re in Sacramento.”
She swept her hair back behind her shoulders. “What can I say? The partners think Governor Morgan’s got a better shot for the presidency than Governor Park.”
When the duo left this time, Spike mumbled something to Mike about how he’d be right back, and followed them out the door. But by the time he got outside there was no sign of the pair. He couldn’t even catch their scent. Frustrated, he went back inside.
He knew now, of course, what this was. Well, not the details of the scheme. But he knew who was behind it. Talk of partners, people rising from the dead. Besides, he recognized the bint’s name from the tales that Angel had told him in their cell. She was the one who gave Angel the amulet that Spike had worn to stop the Turok-Han. After all these years of reeling from the blow Spike had dealt them, it looked like those bloody lawyers were at it again.
All right, then. Here he went again.
Last time he’d gone up against Wolfram and Hart, he’d had allies. The Watchers Council had worked with him, along with several of their Slayers. He’d had witches and mages on his side, and men and women who could research circles even around Rupert Giles. In the end, it had been nearly enough. The LA branch was destroyed, the senior partners were crippled, and all of their business dealings were thrown into a disarray that had taken decades to untangle.
But he hadn’t quite been able to destroy them.
And now, he was all alone.
Oh, perhaps he could contact the Council again. But after they’d left him to rot in prison, only bothering to contact him when they wanted the last of himself he could give, he was even less inclined than ever to trust them.
So that left him, alone, as had been the case for most of the past many years. He’d simply have to give it his best.
He was hardly surprised when Mayor Marek appointed an attorney called Lilah Morgan as his Vice-Mayor. The official story was that she’d spent her career in public service, working behind the scenes for a small human rights agency that nobody seemed to have heard of before. Spike snorted when he heard this. Human rights. Brilliant.
The woman began showing up on the holo quite a lot, smiling at people as she attended various functions. She appeared quite popular.
And then, only a few weeks later, Mayor Marek announced that he was seriously ill, and would have to resign at once. Mayor Morgan appointed Gavin Park as her Vice-Mayor. The next gubernatorial election was in five months, and it seemed that Lilah intended to win it. It wasn’t clear how, however, when she was still relatively unknown and hadn’t even declared her candidacy yet.
Spike dug around as best as he could, trying to gather information. But there was precious little to be gathered. Unlike the former mayor, Lilah kept herself surrounded by security teams at all times, and Spike couldn’t get anywhere near her offices or home. If anyone else knew of Wolfram and Hart’s scheme, they were keeping quiet about it.
He was getting nowhere-and feeling bloody frustrated about it-when another human customer in a fancy suit showed up at the bar. This one was older and completely bald, with a pair of heavy black-rimmed glasses. He sat alone, drinking scotch and tapping his fingers impatiently on the grimy table, until he was joined by a skinny, rabbity-looking demon of some sort that Spike didn’t recognize. The demon sat across from him and set a small wooden box on the table.
“Here it is,” the demon announced in a squeaky voice.
“I see that.” The human sounded amused.
“Ten thousand.”
“Yes, that’s what we agreed on.”
“And you won’t activate it until-“
“Not for another week. We’d like it to coincide with the Green Party convention.”
“Fine. Just wanna make sure I have time to get me and mine outta here.”
The human slid a plastic card across the table. The demon scanned it with his e.a. and grinned. Then it stood. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with ya.”
After the demon left, the man sipped slowly at his drink. Then, very softly, he said, “Did you hear enough, vampire?”
Spike stiffened. Bugger.
“C’mon. I’ve been around long enough to know when someone’s listening in. Why don’t you come over here and we can have a little chat?”
Spike considered this for a moment, then shrugged and threw back the rest of his own whiskey. He sauntered over and threw himself in the seat the demon had just vacated.
“Planning a bit of a do, are you?” he asked.
“Something like that. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. Nathan Reed.” He stuck out his hand.
Spike smirked and didn’t offer his own. “Spike.” He had the satisfaction of seeing the man gape at him in horror and astonishment.
“Spike?! The Spike? William the Bloody?”
“One and the same.”
“You-you-“
“Kicked your arses right and proper?”
Reed sputtered for a minute more, and then calmed and narrowed his eyes. “You won’t stop us this time. I’ll call the Mayor, and the police will be here in seconds. You’ll never see the outside of prison again.”
“Yeah. I’ve heard that tale before, haven’t I? Besides, who said I want to stop you?”
“You certainly tried to before!”
“That was then. Things have changed.”
“What’s changed?”
Spike allowed his eyes to flash gold. “While I was locked up, they took my soul. Don’t have that sodding thing weighing me down any more.”
“So…you’re evil again?”
Spike smirked. “Call it what you will. I’ve spent centuries leashed with chips and souls, and now I’d like to get my own a bit, right? But those tossers the Watchers are spying on me, and I haven’t been able to do much.”
“And what is it you’d like to do, Spike?” The man’s voice was calmer now and calculating.
“Something big. Something that’ll send a message. They kept me in that cell for years, and I want them to regret every minute of it!” Again, he permitted just the faintest hint of amber eyes, just the briefest flash of sharpened teeth.
Reed frowned at him for several minutes. “Just a minute,” he said. He typed into his e.a. for a bit while Spike feigned indifference. Bloody hell! He wished he had a cigarette right now.
Finally, Reed looked up and smiled toothily. “How about you come with me, Spike? I have an idea.”
Spike pretended to think about it. Then he nodded. “All right.”
He told Mike that something had come up and he had to leave. Not that he’d likely survive tonight to return to his position, but he didn’t want to burn his bridges. Mike didn’t mind too much. It was a slow night anyway.
Spike followed Reed out into the night. Reed was carrying the wooden box. A car was waiting for them just down the block, and Reed ushered Spike in before him. They sat silently beside each other as the car hovered quickly through the streets.
They slowed in front of a large house, which Spike knew from his previous attempts to get close to Lilah was hers. The car slid into the garage, where two large men in dark suits waited. Spike sneered. They were humans-he could have swiftly dispatched them both, had he wanted to. But instead he followed them to the door, where Reed formally invited him inside, and then up some stairs, with Reed forming the tail end of their little parade.
Lilah was waiting for them in a large living room with sweeping views of the city. She was wearing a pair of black, silky trousers and a white sleeveless shirt. Her hair was up in a sloppy ponytail and she wasn’t wearing makeup.
“Well,” she said. “If I’d only known. I thought you were just a sexy guy in a bar, with a taste for retro fashion.”
Spike grinned wolfishly at her. “Oh, you weren’t mistaken, love.”
She nodded at one of the big blokes and he clomped away. Then she sat on one of the big, cream-colored sofas and gestured to the cushion next to her. “Please. Have a seat.” He did, and Reed sat on the sofa across from them, first placing the box on a side table. The other man hovered at the edge of the room, likely trying for unobtrusive, but not quite succeeding.
“You’ve given my firm a little trouble in the past, haven’t you, Spike?”
“I did.”
“And now, Nathan tells me, you’ve shaken off that nasty old soul and seen the error of your ways.”
He laughed. “Not quite. Soul’s gone, all right, but if you think I care what happens to your lot, you’re barmy.”
“But?”
“But I know you’ve got something big up your sleeves, and my hands are a trifle tied now. So I’m willing to give your scheme a go.”
Lilah looked over his shoulder and he glanced back, too. The other guard had returned carrying a drinks tray. The tray contained a glass of white wine, two tumblers of what looked like scotch, and a small metal cup of something that smelled nasty. Lilah tilted her head and the man put the tray down on the table in front of her. She reached for the wineglass and cupped it in one hand.
“I’m sure we’re all going to be the very bestest of friends, Spike. But you wouldn’t mind, oh, just a tiny little verification of your story, would you?”
He frowned at her. “What kind of verification?”
“That cup contains a potion that makes anything with a soul glow bright red for a moment. See?” She picked the cup up in her free hand and took a small sip. Almost immediately, a pale pink light emanated from her. She giggled. “I don’t get the whole light show because my soul pretty much belongs to the firm. But it’s still there, see?”
He nodded.
She held the cup out to him. “Have a drink.”
He took it and hesitated a moment. It likely wasn’t poisoned, unless it was with something that the woman was immune to. He supposed it could contain holy water, which wouldn’t hurt her a bit but would be, at a minimum, excruciatingly painful to him. He smiled. “Bottoms up,” he said, and downed the stuff in one draught.
It tasted awful, but it didn’t burn him or make him ill. In fact, it didn’t do anything but coat his tongue with the flavor of rotting, burnt skunk.
Lilah’s lips stretched into a broad smile. “No pretty colors. No soul. Go ahead and have a chaser to get rid of the taste.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, and he grabbed one of the tumblers and took a big sip, swishing the liquid around in his mouth before swallowing.
“So you really think you want to work with us?”
He leaned back against the cushion and sprawled his legs. “Depends what you have in mind.”
Lilah looked at Reed, who nodded. “See that little box over there?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“It contains a monster.”
“Can’t be much of one, unless your scheme is to terrorize insects.”
She giggled as if she found him unbearably cute. “You have to activate it. It’s kind of a big deal, with spells and sacrifices and stuff. But when you’re done, you get a nice, giant-sized monster, the kind that eats thirty people for breakfast and then wants seconds. It’s called the Ahriek.”
“Okay, so you make this Ahriek-whatsit grow, it has a nice nosh. What’s in it for you?”
“We’re gonna let it loose long enough to do a whole lot of damage. But then, before all is lost, the wonderful mayor is going to direct her emergency forces just right so that they destroy the thing. And then, as the battered city grieves, she’s going to be there, valiantly helping it rebuild.”
“Make yourself a hero, yeah?”
Her smile was toothy as a crocodile’s, and just as sincere. “Yep. And people will be so grateful, they’ll demand I run for governor, and I’ll be elected by a landslide.”
“And then?”
“And then California will have its own share of disasters-some wildfires, a couple floods, urban rioting, maybe a dandy earthquake-there are so many choices here, aren’t there? And I’ll be well-prepared for them, too. Four years from now, I’ll be President.”
Spike whistled appreciatively. “That’s a pretty scheme.”
“I think so. Kinda subtle, really.”
Spike swallowed the last of his scotch and then set the glass down. He leaned back again with his hands laced behind his head. “And my part in this little play?”
Reed leaned forward in his chair. “I have the perfect part for you. Fall guy. Or, uh, fall vampire, as it were.”
Spike quirked a single eyebrow.
“We let it look like you’re the one who activated the Ahriek. It’s believable. Unsoulled vamp with a grudge.”
“No.” Spike shook his head. “Watchers think I did this, I’ll be back in prison, soon as you please.”
Lilah placed a hand on his arm. He could feel the heat of her even through the fabric of his jacket. “We’ll help you lie low afterwards.”
“So I’d have to scuttle about like a rat?”
“Only for a little while. Only until we get in power. And then the possibilities are endless. There’s a lot of room for…growth…in our firm, for the right man.” She smiled at him suggestively. “What’s a few years to you anyway? Aren’t you over three hundred years old?”
“I am. But-“
“I’ll personally make sure you’re very comfortable.” And she stroked his arm a bit.
“I’m sure you will, love,” he replied, leering back at her. “But why would you go to all this trouble? You don’t really need me for this to work.”
“No, we don’t. But it’ll be better with you. Besides-and I think I speak for the entire firm here-there’s a lot of personal satisfaction in knowing Angel’s descendent and former sidekick helped us finally win.”
“Oi! Wasn’t that pillock’s sidekick!”
“No, no, of course not,” she purred.
“Look, Spike,” Reed said. “You don’t have much choice here. You can join us, or the mayor here can call the police and tell them how you’re up to your old, wicked ways. We’ll make sure you’re locked up too tight to tell anyone about our plans. Or maybe you’ll put up a fight when they take you into custody, and they’ll have to stake you in self-defense.”
Spike snorted. “Save the threats. You didn’t scare me before, you don’t now.” This was a boldfaced lie on both accounts. But he was a soulless demon-he was supposed to tell untruths.
Spike looked at his fingernails, which he’d been painting black again lately, and chewed his lip as if he were thinking hard. When he expected he’d drawn it out long enough, he looked at them both and nodded. “Let’s give it a go,” he said.
It was certainly the nicest prison he’d been in.
It wasn’t a proper prison at all, of course, just a suite in Lilah’s spacious house. But it was loads better than his dingy little flat. The bed was huge and comfortable. There was a holo screen that he could watch from bed or from a big chair. There was a small bar area with a fridge for his blood-he had human delivered twice daily-and a flash heater so he could drink it warm, and a satisfying collection of liquor. The loo was nearly as big as his flat, with a Jacuzzi and a shower that sported complicated controls by which he could precisely adjust the temperature, angle, and pressure of the water.
The best part of all, though, were the windows, which Lilah had necrotinted. It had been a very long time indeed since he saw anything but tantalizing glimpses of daylight, and he spent hours every day simply gazing outside, watching the sun sparkle off the distant ocean.
He was not free to leave. A pair of goons was permanently stationed just outside his door, armed with shock-sticks and sharpened wood. He didn’t much care. He hadn’t anywhere to go anyway.
Each evening a fair young thing was delivered to him. Some female, some male, but all quite limber and willing. It had been ages since Spike had got a leg over, so, even though he was fairly certain that cameras were watching his every move, he took advantage of the offered flesh. He wondered if he was meant to feed off these pressies as well, and it occurred to him that Wolfram and Hart might very well be taking steps to ensure none of these pretties blabbed about the vampire in the mayor’s home. He fretted over it a while until he remembered that he was an unscrupulous demon. Then he simply did his best to ensure that what might have been these humans’ last night of life was, at least, diverting.
A week later, late at night, Lilah appeared at his door.
“Ready, tiger?”
He slipped on his boots. “Yeah. What do I have to do?”
“Nothing. Just stand there. Nathan’s going to do the deed. Naturally, I can’t be anywhere nearby.”
“And then after?”
There was a quick, subtle shifting in her eyes. “We’ve got a nice, cozy spot to tuck you away in.” He suppressed a snort. Yeah. Nice, cozy spot in hell.
Lilah walked with him and two of the guards as far as the garage. Then she stopped. She was taller than he was, even in flat shoes, and it bothered him a bit that he had to look slightly up at her. She patted his shoulder. “Have fun,” she said, and walked away.
They drove for about twenty minutes and then pulled to a halt. As soon as he got out, he recognized where they were: Griffith Park. They were in a dark, bare spot in a canyon. Spike wordlessly followed the men in suits down a winding dirt path, until they came to a bit of a flat clearing.
Reed was there, grinning at him. The wooden box was open at his feet, and he had a piece of paper in one hand and a bunch of what looked like dried weeds in his other. A half-dozen tall, muscular men in suits stood a short distance away, and Spike had to struggle to maintain a poker face at what he saw next. Huddled on his or her knees in front of each of these men was one of the sweet things he’d shagged over the past week. They were naked and bound hand and foot and gagged, and most of them had tearstained faces. The goons held knives to their throats and Spike could just catch the scent of spilled blood.
“Ah! You made it!” Reed said, as if there had been any doubt. He gestured to Spike to approach, and Spike did, until he was standing next to the man. The guards who’d driven him here stood slightly back, flanking him.
“Before we begin, we’ll need a holo of you near the box, Spike. Maybe you could wave your arms and chant some bullshit, make it look like you’re conjuring something.”
“All right.”
Reed stuffed the paper in his pocket and pulled out his e.a., and the guards stepped slightly away so they’d be out of camera shot. Reed pointed the e.a. expectantly at Spike, who thought for a moment, then smiled. He’d wager that Reed and his lot weren’t overly familiar with the Latin poets. Holding his hands up dramatically, he began to recite:
Furi et Aureli comites Catulli,
sive in extremos penetrabit Indos,
litus ut longe resonante Eoa
tunditur unda,
sive in Hyrcanos Arabesue molles,
seu Sagas sagittiferosue Parthos,
sive quae septemgeminus colorat
aequora Nilus,
sive trans altas gradietur Alpes,
Caesaris visens monimenta magni,
Gallicum Rhenum horribile aequor ulti-
mosque Britannos,
omnia haec, quaecumque feret voluntas
caelitum, temptare simul parati,
pauca nuntiate meae puellae
non bona dicta.
cum suis vivat valeatque moechis,
quos simul complexa tenet trecentos,
nullum amans vere, sed identidem omnium
ilia rumpens;
nec meum respectet, ut ante, amorem,
qui illius culpa cecidit uelut prati
ultimi flos, praetereunte postquam
tactus aratro est. [1]
Reed smiled and nodded and captured the whole performance. “Wonderful!” he said when Spike was finished. “What was that you said?”
“Oh, just some Latin nonsense.”
“It was perfect. Okay,” he said, stepping beside Spike again. “We’re ready for the real deal. Tony, make sure you get Spike on your e.a., make it look like he’s the only one standing by the box when I activate the Ahriek.”
“Sure, boss,” replied one of the men, pulling his gadget out of his pocket.
“Just a mo,” Spike said. “Don’t want to be too close to the nasty when it pops up.” Actually, he needed to be very close to the thing, but it was no good letting Reed know that.
“Oh, don’t worry. Since I’m waking it, I control it.”
“All right,” Spike said, injecting a heavy dose of doubt into his voice.
“Gentlemen?” Reed said. Nearly in unison, the six guards sliced deeply into the necks of the captives. Spike held back a shudder as the victims sank silently to the ground, their blood gurgling thickly into the dry soil. Some of them were still twitching when Reed held up his piece of paper and began to chant.
Spike didn’t recognize the sibilant language. It wasn’t human, he’d wager. Within a minute or two, the box began to thrum and rattle. All of the guards took several steps back. Reed paused, stuck the paper in his mouth, and pulled a silver-colored lighter from his pocket. He used it to set the plants in his other hand on fire, and then he tossed the burning bundle next to the box. He resumed his recitation.
There was an ear-splitting crack, so loud Spike nearly howled with the pain of it, and, as the smell of ozone permeated the air, the box flew apart into thousands of tiny shards. Something stood in its place, an object only the size of a mouse.
But as Reed continued the spell, the thing swelled rapidly, until it was as big as a young child and Spike could make out its details. It was hideous. It had far too many limbs and slavering jaws and looked a cross between a spider and an armadillo. It had dozens of eyes, each one spinning with mindless ferocity. It smelled of carrion.
Reed’s voice got louder and the Ahriek grew bigger still until it was the size of a grown man. It shivered and waved its legs about and uttered a high-pitched screeching noise that set Spike’s teeth on edge.
Spike took a deep breath and vamped out.
With a roar of his own, he flung himself onto the monster.
Dimly, he heard the humans shouting behind him, but that was of little matter to him right now. There wasn’t much they could do to harm him, without risking destroying their beast. Instead, Spike concentrated on the sharp, claw-like appendages that were tearing at his clothes and skin, on the needle-like teeth that glistened with what he’d wager was poison, on the reddish eyes staring at him with sheer malevolence.
The Ahriek was strong, and Spike wasn’t at all certain how to kill it. But he’d got to it as it was still expanding, still in flux, and he’d taken it by surprise. And in his experience, very few creatures managed well without their head attached.
Spike could feel the Ahriek digging into his belly and ripping the flesh from his chest. One lucky swipe got him across the face, blinding his left eye. But instead of jumping away, he moved in closer, where the Ahriek’s articulated legs had trouble reaching, until its face was inches from his own. It spat at him, splattering him with venom, but either he was immune or it was slow-acting, because it didn’t seem to cause him any harm.
He snarled at the beast and seized its head in his hands. It felt bristly and chitinous. It screeched again and he bellowed at it and, with all his strength, he wrenched its neck. It emitted a mewling howl and collapsed in front of him.
He didn’t even have time to take a breath. Gunfire erupted and he felt the bullets flying into him, flying through him. But he only turned and launched himself at Reed, who was still standing with the paper in his hand, yelling. Spike stopped the noise by ripping out the man’s throat.
He thought perhaps some of the guards ran away at that point, but he wasn’t certain. He was too busy kicking and hitting and biting, feeling tissue rend beneath his touch and bones break.
He fought, he thought, forever.
And then all was still.
He was on his back on the ground, the corpse of a man pinning him down. With nearly the last of his strength, he heaved the mass off of him and rolled onto his belly. Slowly he pushed up on his elbows and looked about.
The area around him was littered with still bodies. Nathan Reed gawped sightlessly into the dirt. The nude sacrifices lay exactly where they’d been killed, still bound. He tried to count the dead guards, but the vision in his single good eye was wavering and gray. He could see, however, the Ahriek, shriveled in on itself and unmoving.
It appeared that he’d won.
He laughed hoarsely and then coughed. Nothing in his body felt right. Nothing was working very well. There was pain, of course, but it merely buzzed around him like a swarm of midges, annoying but unimportant.
His arms gave out and he collapsed on his face.
And then, with tremendous effort, he rolled back around, until his face was turned upward at the lightening sky.
Chapter Seven
[1] Carmen 11, by Catullus. English translation available here: http://rudy.negenborn.net/catullus/text2/e11.htm
Chapter: 6. This Was No Dream
Author: whichclothes
Fandom: BtVS/AtS
Pairing (if any): Spike/Angel
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: This was based on the following prompt from maharet83, a lyric from Leonard Cohen's song, The Law:
Now the deal has been dirty
Since dirty began
I'm not asking for mercy
Not from the man
You just don't ask for mercy
While you're still on the stand
There's a Law, there's an Arm, there's a Hand
I don't claim to be guilty
Guilty's too grand
Thank you to faketoysoldierfor the wonderful banners! Previous chapters here.
I always really appreciate feedback. :-)
I'll be posting the final 3 chapters today.
Chapter Six
This Was No Dream
And not till he saw the angel had left him,
alone and free to resume
the ecstatic, dangerous, wearisome roads of
what he had still to do,
not till then did he recognize
this was no dream. More frightening
than arrest, than being chained to his warders:
he could hear his own footsteps suddenly.
Had the angel's feet
made any sound? He could not recall.
No one had missed him, no one was in pursuit.
He himself must be
the key, now, to the next door,
the next terrors of freedom and joy.
--Denise Levertov, St. Peter and the Angel
It was a dream that pulled him back to civilization. Or, more accurately, several dreams, all the same.
His nightmares had become better when he was freed of the soul. None of his victims visited him in his sleep anymore, and that was a true relief. He still replayed the losses of his loved ones-his mum, Dru, Buffy, even Fred-and now he dreamt especially often of Angel. He hoped he hadn’t died alone. Perhaps he’d at least had a guard or nurse at his side as he slipped away. Spike hoped Angel had realized how much Spike cared for him. And his most fervent wish was that Angel had finally found the peace he’d so sought after, that somehow he’d finally been redeemed.
And then one day he dreamt of a city with tall, shiny buildings, a city bound in the tangled fetters of old highways and caught between the mountains and the sea. A city teeming with ghosts and phantom memories. Something evil was in this city.
He woke up shortly before sunset and shook away the tatters of sleep. He stood and stretched and caressed his rumbly belly, and he forgot about the dream before he’d even stepped over the cabin’s threshold.
In the morning he came back and collapsed back onto his sleeping platform. His muscles were pleasantly tired and his stomach was rounded and taut, full of warm, fresh blood. Leaves and bits of twigs were tangled in his wild hair. He fell asleep almost immediately, and as soon as he did, the dream returned.
It returned the day after as well, and the day after, until he was seeing those gleaming towers and feeling that sense of quiet malevolence even when he was awake and running though the trees. Until finally he stood one evening on the creaking floorboards of his cabin and looked outside into the darkening night. “All right,” he said. It was the first time he’d spoken in a very long time. “Time to get this sorted.” And he set out for Los Angeles.
He had to nick some clothes on the way, and even dressed, he knew he still looked feral. So he picked a man’s pocket on a crowded street in Modesto, and he used some of the credits to rent a hotel room. After some sleep on a mattress that felt too soft, he soaked for hours in the big bath, refilling it whenever the water cooled. He’d bought a scissors as well, and he used it to trim his hair to a more respectable length. Then, for the first time in many, many decades, he bleached his hair platinum and gelled it back. It made him feel like himself, somehow.
At sundown he walked to the transport station. The next train to LA came along in less than thirty minutes. He enjoyed the brief journey, watching out the windows as the flat farmland whizzed by.
He had no idea where to begin looking in LA, or even if there was truly anything to look for. And if he found it, he had no idea what he was going to do about it. But lack of a plan was really nothing new for him, and if the dreams really were some sort of message sent by…somebody…then he expected that perhaps eventually that somebody might give him some guidance.
For a time he was satisfied with simply wandering around the city, taking in the sights and sounds and smells he’d missed during the years of his confinement and exile. He had just enough credits left to rent a cheap room for a week, and to stock up on some blood from a butcher’s, and to get blissfully, roaringly drunk. When he was flat broke and out of blood and liquor, he looked for another source of income. He could have easily stolen more, of course, but if the guard had been telling the truth and the Watchers really were, well, watching, he’d be better off on the right side of the law for now. He got into a nice fight with a Tklag’hoch at a rough and tumble demon bar called Mike’s one night after the huge creature tried to bully him. It ended up getting carted away by its friends, still alive but more or less in pieces, while Spike was only a bit bruised and scraped. Mike offered to take him on as security in exchange for blood bank rejects and enough dosh to cover his rent and a bit. Spike accepted.
A demon bar was as good a place as any to keep an ear open for nastiness. For weeks, Spike leaned against a wall, a glass of something in his hand, listening in on the patrons’ conversations. He learned quite a bit of what was going on, but it all seemed just run of the mill malice. No sign of a Big Bad.
His basement flat was just a few block from Mike’s. When the daylight trapped him inside, he sat on the lumpy brown sofa, watching the holo and wishing cigarettes were still available. Sometimes it occurred to him to wonder why he should care if the evil thing from his dream truly lurked here. He was evil himself, wasn’t he? Now that his soul was gone for good. Except he didn’t feel particularly wicked. Not even naughty, really. The human blood Mike gave him was lovely after so many years of feeding on animals, but he had no particular desire to go out and sink his fangs directly into the source. What he felt was tired and lonely and a bit lost. Perhaps it was a sense of purpose he needed, and these dreams had given him one.
It was April and it was raining, and everyone in southern California seemed to take it personally. Both humans and demons were short-tempered and growly, and Spike had already had to break up several fights tonight. Off in the corner, what he was fairly sure was a female of some sort with greenish scales and a trio of red horns on her head was crying all three of her eyes out while a similar-looking demon patted her on the back. So he hadn’t paid much mind to the pair of humans chatting quietly in one of the worn, red booths. Although Mike’s clientele was mostly demon, humans were common as well, and there was nothing remarkable about these two.
He did take notice, though, when a M’Fashnik sauntered in and, after glancing around the gloom for a moment, approached the humans. The tall, pretty woman in the smart suit scooted over so the demon could sit next to her. The three of them bent their heads close together. Curious, Spike sidled closer, perching himself on a stool that was close enough for him to overhear. He pretended to contemplate the amber depths of his tumbler of whiskey.
“-guarantee that it’ll be done right the first time.” That was the other human speaking, an Asian-looking bloke in a suit nearly as expensive as the bird’s.
“I always do good work!” snarled the demon. “Check my references.”
“We already have, or we wouldn’t be talking now. But I need to emphasize how important this matter is to our superiors.”
“Yeah, yeah. You pay me the credits, I off the guy, no problems at all.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Spike could see the humans look at each other for a moment. Then the woman nodded and the man reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a white envelope. He set it in front of the demon.
“Here. This contains the specifics on our target, and one thousand credits,” the man said.
“My fee is fifteen hundred!”
“You get the job done right and quickly, and we’ll have another grand waiting for you in a week, right here.”
The M’Fashnik was silent for a bit. “All right,” he said, stuffing the envelope in his own pocket. “Same time, next Tuesday, then. You’d better be here with the rest.”
The woman smiled broadly. “You can count on it.”
The demon stood up and walked quickly to the door. Spike would have liked to follow him, but it would have been obvious, and besides, he was still supposed to be working. So instead he listened as the humans finished their drinks. The woman complained about her wine while the man frowned worriedly at her. “If this gets screwed up-“
“We both know the stakes, Gavin. Calm down. This guy’s the best.”
“I’d be a lot more comfortable if we did it ourselves.”
“Our boss was clear on this. He doesn’t want us involved that directly. Besides, you’re still having problems maintaining solidity when you’re stressed.”
Gavin sighed heavily.
They left shortly after, and Spike stared thoughtfully at the empty table until a couple of Frovalox started to squabble loudly with each other and he had to go quiet them down.
Homicides had become rare in any case, but the murder of the city’s mayor was big, big news. The holo was filled with reports on the crime, even though nobody seemed to know much. Mayor Usmani had failed to come home from her evening jog. Police found her a half mile away, sprawled beneath some bushes, her throat sliced wide open. Vice-Mayor Marek expressed his deep sorrow to Usmani’s family and, before taking the oath of office, promised to continue the excellent work his predecessor had begun.
On Tuesday, the humans were back at Mike’s, and so was the M’Fashnik, who looked mighty pleased with the envelope they handed him. Again, the humans stayed a while after the demon left, and Spike eavesdropped.
“See? I told you. Piece of cake.”
“Yeah, okay. But that was just the first step, you know. If Marek doesn’t-“
“Marek’s going to do exactly what he’s told. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it, Gavin.”
“Yeah, I’d like my pretty little head to stay attached to my body.”
“Why? It’s not like it couldn’t be stuck back on anyway,” she laughed. And she twisted her head a bit and Spike saw a pale scar running the width of her neck.
“I’ve died once, Lilah. That was enough for me.”
“Oh, Gavin. We both know death isn’t the scariest thing that can happen to us.”
“Exactly. That’s why I want this thing to go smoothly.”
She laughed again and drained her glass. “You’d think they’d have stopped making crappy wine over the last couple centuries,” she muttered. “Look. Everything’s going to be fine. Marek’s fully on-board. A year from now, that’ll be you sitting in his office, right?”
“While you’re in Sacramento.”
She swept her hair back behind her shoulders. “What can I say? The partners think Governor Morgan’s got a better shot for the presidency than Governor Park.”
When the duo left this time, Spike mumbled something to Mike about how he’d be right back, and followed them out the door. But by the time he got outside there was no sign of the pair. He couldn’t even catch their scent. Frustrated, he went back inside.
He knew now, of course, what this was. Well, not the details of the scheme. But he knew who was behind it. Talk of partners, people rising from the dead. Besides, he recognized the bint’s name from the tales that Angel had told him in their cell. She was the one who gave Angel the amulet that Spike had worn to stop the Turok-Han. After all these years of reeling from the blow Spike had dealt them, it looked like those bloody lawyers were at it again.
All right, then. Here he went again.
Last time he’d gone up against Wolfram and Hart, he’d had allies. The Watchers Council had worked with him, along with several of their Slayers. He’d had witches and mages on his side, and men and women who could research circles even around Rupert Giles. In the end, it had been nearly enough. The LA branch was destroyed, the senior partners were crippled, and all of their business dealings were thrown into a disarray that had taken decades to untangle.
But he hadn’t quite been able to destroy them.
And now, he was all alone.
Oh, perhaps he could contact the Council again. But after they’d left him to rot in prison, only bothering to contact him when they wanted the last of himself he could give, he was even less inclined than ever to trust them.
So that left him, alone, as had been the case for most of the past many years. He’d simply have to give it his best.
He was hardly surprised when Mayor Marek appointed an attorney called Lilah Morgan as his Vice-Mayor. The official story was that she’d spent her career in public service, working behind the scenes for a small human rights agency that nobody seemed to have heard of before. Spike snorted when he heard this. Human rights. Brilliant.
The woman began showing up on the holo quite a lot, smiling at people as she attended various functions. She appeared quite popular.
And then, only a few weeks later, Mayor Marek announced that he was seriously ill, and would have to resign at once. Mayor Morgan appointed Gavin Park as her Vice-Mayor. The next gubernatorial election was in five months, and it seemed that Lilah intended to win it. It wasn’t clear how, however, when she was still relatively unknown and hadn’t even declared her candidacy yet.
Spike dug around as best as he could, trying to gather information. But there was precious little to be gathered. Unlike the former mayor, Lilah kept herself surrounded by security teams at all times, and Spike couldn’t get anywhere near her offices or home. If anyone else knew of Wolfram and Hart’s scheme, they were keeping quiet about it.
He was getting nowhere-and feeling bloody frustrated about it-when another human customer in a fancy suit showed up at the bar. This one was older and completely bald, with a pair of heavy black-rimmed glasses. He sat alone, drinking scotch and tapping his fingers impatiently on the grimy table, until he was joined by a skinny, rabbity-looking demon of some sort that Spike didn’t recognize. The demon sat across from him and set a small wooden box on the table.
“Here it is,” the demon announced in a squeaky voice.
“I see that.” The human sounded amused.
“Ten thousand.”
“Yes, that’s what we agreed on.”
“And you won’t activate it until-“
“Not for another week. We’d like it to coincide with the Green Party convention.”
“Fine. Just wanna make sure I have time to get me and mine outta here.”
The human slid a plastic card across the table. The demon scanned it with his e.a. and grinned. Then it stood. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with ya.”
After the demon left, the man sipped slowly at his drink. Then, very softly, he said, “Did you hear enough, vampire?”
Spike stiffened. Bugger.
“C’mon. I’ve been around long enough to know when someone’s listening in. Why don’t you come over here and we can have a little chat?”
Spike considered this for a moment, then shrugged and threw back the rest of his own whiskey. He sauntered over and threw himself in the seat the demon had just vacated.
“Planning a bit of a do, are you?” he asked.
“Something like that. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. Nathan Reed.” He stuck out his hand.
Spike smirked and didn’t offer his own. “Spike.” He had the satisfaction of seeing the man gape at him in horror and astonishment.
“Spike?! The Spike? William the Bloody?”
“One and the same.”
“You-you-“
“Kicked your arses right and proper?”
Reed sputtered for a minute more, and then calmed and narrowed his eyes. “You won’t stop us this time. I’ll call the Mayor, and the police will be here in seconds. You’ll never see the outside of prison again.”
“Yeah. I’ve heard that tale before, haven’t I? Besides, who said I want to stop you?”
“You certainly tried to before!”
“That was then. Things have changed.”
“What’s changed?”
Spike allowed his eyes to flash gold. “While I was locked up, they took my soul. Don’t have that sodding thing weighing me down any more.”
“So…you’re evil again?”
Spike smirked. “Call it what you will. I’ve spent centuries leashed with chips and souls, and now I’d like to get my own a bit, right? But those tossers the Watchers are spying on me, and I haven’t been able to do much.”
“And what is it you’d like to do, Spike?” The man’s voice was calmer now and calculating.
“Something big. Something that’ll send a message. They kept me in that cell for years, and I want them to regret every minute of it!” Again, he permitted just the faintest hint of amber eyes, just the briefest flash of sharpened teeth.
Reed frowned at him for several minutes. “Just a minute,” he said. He typed into his e.a. for a bit while Spike feigned indifference. Bloody hell! He wished he had a cigarette right now.
Finally, Reed looked up and smiled toothily. “How about you come with me, Spike? I have an idea.”
Spike pretended to think about it. Then he nodded. “All right.”
He told Mike that something had come up and he had to leave. Not that he’d likely survive tonight to return to his position, but he didn’t want to burn his bridges. Mike didn’t mind too much. It was a slow night anyway.
Spike followed Reed out into the night. Reed was carrying the wooden box. A car was waiting for them just down the block, and Reed ushered Spike in before him. They sat silently beside each other as the car hovered quickly through the streets.
They slowed in front of a large house, which Spike knew from his previous attempts to get close to Lilah was hers. The car slid into the garage, where two large men in dark suits waited. Spike sneered. They were humans-he could have swiftly dispatched them both, had he wanted to. But instead he followed them to the door, where Reed formally invited him inside, and then up some stairs, with Reed forming the tail end of their little parade.
Lilah was waiting for them in a large living room with sweeping views of the city. She was wearing a pair of black, silky trousers and a white sleeveless shirt. Her hair was up in a sloppy ponytail and she wasn’t wearing makeup.
“Well,” she said. “If I’d only known. I thought you were just a sexy guy in a bar, with a taste for retro fashion.”
Spike grinned wolfishly at her. “Oh, you weren’t mistaken, love.”
She nodded at one of the big blokes and he clomped away. Then she sat on one of the big, cream-colored sofas and gestured to the cushion next to her. “Please. Have a seat.” He did, and Reed sat on the sofa across from them, first placing the box on a side table. The other man hovered at the edge of the room, likely trying for unobtrusive, but not quite succeeding.
“You’ve given my firm a little trouble in the past, haven’t you, Spike?”
“I did.”
“And now, Nathan tells me, you’ve shaken off that nasty old soul and seen the error of your ways.”
He laughed. “Not quite. Soul’s gone, all right, but if you think I care what happens to your lot, you’re barmy.”
“But?”
“But I know you’ve got something big up your sleeves, and my hands are a trifle tied now. So I’m willing to give your scheme a go.”
Lilah looked over his shoulder and he glanced back, too. The other guard had returned carrying a drinks tray. The tray contained a glass of white wine, two tumblers of what looked like scotch, and a small metal cup of something that smelled nasty. Lilah tilted her head and the man put the tray down on the table in front of her. She reached for the wineglass and cupped it in one hand.
“I’m sure we’re all going to be the very bestest of friends, Spike. But you wouldn’t mind, oh, just a tiny little verification of your story, would you?”
He frowned at her. “What kind of verification?”
“That cup contains a potion that makes anything with a soul glow bright red for a moment. See?” She picked the cup up in her free hand and took a small sip. Almost immediately, a pale pink light emanated from her. She giggled. “I don’t get the whole light show because my soul pretty much belongs to the firm. But it’s still there, see?”
He nodded.
She held the cup out to him. “Have a drink.”
He took it and hesitated a moment. It likely wasn’t poisoned, unless it was with something that the woman was immune to. He supposed it could contain holy water, which wouldn’t hurt her a bit but would be, at a minimum, excruciatingly painful to him. He smiled. “Bottoms up,” he said, and downed the stuff in one draught.
It tasted awful, but it didn’t burn him or make him ill. In fact, it didn’t do anything but coat his tongue with the flavor of rotting, burnt skunk.
Lilah’s lips stretched into a broad smile. “No pretty colors. No soul. Go ahead and have a chaser to get rid of the taste.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, and he grabbed one of the tumblers and took a big sip, swishing the liquid around in his mouth before swallowing.
“So you really think you want to work with us?”
He leaned back against the cushion and sprawled his legs. “Depends what you have in mind.”
Lilah looked at Reed, who nodded. “See that little box over there?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“It contains a monster.”
“Can’t be much of one, unless your scheme is to terrorize insects.”
She giggled as if she found him unbearably cute. “You have to activate it. It’s kind of a big deal, with spells and sacrifices and stuff. But when you’re done, you get a nice, giant-sized monster, the kind that eats thirty people for breakfast and then wants seconds. It’s called the Ahriek.”
“Okay, so you make this Ahriek-whatsit grow, it has a nice nosh. What’s in it for you?”
“We’re gonna let it loose long enough to do a whole lot of damage. But then, before all is lost, the wonderful mayor is going to direct her emergency forces just right so that they destroy the thing. And then, as the battered city grieves, she’s going to be there, valiantly helping it rebuild.”
“Make yourself a hero, yeah?”
Her smile was toothy as a crocodile’s, and just as sincere. “Yep. And people will be so grateful, they’ll demand I run for governor, and I’ll be elected by a landslide.”
“And then?”
“And then California will have its own share of disasters-some wildfires, a couple floods, urban rioting, maybe a dandy earthquake-there are so many choices here, aren’t there? And I’ll be well-prepared for them, too. Four years from now, I’ll be President.”
Spike whistled appreciatively. “That’s a pretty scheme.”
“I think so. Kinda subtle, really.”
Spike swallowed the last of his scotch and then set the glass down. He leaned back again with his hands laced behind his head. “And my part in this little play?”
Reed leaned forward in his chair. “I have the perfect part for you. Fall guy. Or, uh, fall vampire, as it were.”
Spike quirked a single eyebrow.
“We let it look like you’re the one who activated the Ahriek. It’s believable. Unsoulled vamp with a grudge.”
“No.” Spike shook his head. “Watchers think I did this, I’ll be back in prison, soon as you please.”
Lilah placed a hand on his arm. He could feel the heat of her even through the fabric of his jacket. “We’ll help you lie low afterwards.”
“So I’d have to scuttle about like a rat?”
“Only for a little while. Only until we get in power. And then the possibilities are endless. There’s a lot of room for…growth…in our firm, for the right man.” She smiled at him suggestively. “What’s a few years to you anyway? Aren’t you over three hundred years old?”
“I am. But-“
“I’ll personally make sure you’re very comfortable.” And she stroked his arm a bit.
“I’m sure you will, love,” he replied, leering back at her. “But why would you go to all this trouble? You don’t really need me for this to work.”
“No, we don’t. But it’ll be better with you. Besides-and I think I speak for the entire firm here-there’s a lot of personal satisfaction in knowing Angel’s descendent and former sidekick helped us finally win.”
“Oi! Wasn’t that pillock’s sidekick!”
“No, no, of course not,” she purred.
“Look, Spike,” Reed said. “You don’t have much choice here. You can join us, or the mayor here can call the police and tell them how you’re up to your old, wicked ways. We’ll make sure you’re locked up too tight to tell anyone about our plans. Or maybe you’ll put up a fight when they take you into custody, and they’ll have to stake you in self-defense.”
Spike snorted. “Save the threats. You didn’t scare me before, you don’t now.” This was a boldfaced lie on both accounts. But he was a soulless demon-he was supposed to tell untruths.
Spike looked at his fingernails, which he’d been painting black again lately, and chewed his lip as if he were thinking hard. When he expected he’d drawn it out long enough, he looked at them both and nodded. “Let’s give it a go,” he said.
It was certainly the nicest prison he’d been in.
It wasn’t a proper prison at all, of course, just a suite in Lilah’s spacious house. But it was loads better than his dingy little flat. The bed was huge and comfortable. There was a holo screen that he could watch from bed or from a big chair. There was a small bar area with a fridge for his blood-he had human delivered twice daily-and a flash heater so he could drink it warm, and a satisfying collection of liquor. The loo was nearly as big as his flat, with a Jacuzzi and a shower that sported complicated controls by which he could precisely adjust the temperature, angle, and pressure of the water.
The best part of all, though, were the windows, which Lilah had necrotinted. It had been a very long time indeed since he saw anything but tantalizing glimpses of daylight, and he spent hours every day simply gazing outside, watching the sun sparkle off the distant ocean.
He was not free to leave. A pair of goons was permanently stationed just outside his door, armed with shock-sticks and sharpened wood. He didn’t much care. He hadn’t anywhere to go anyway.
Each evening a fair young thing was delivered to him. Some female, some male, but all quite limber and willing. It had been ages since Spike had got a leg over, so, even though he was fairly certain that cameras were watching his every move, he took advantage of the offered flesh. He wondered if he was meant to feed off these pressies as well, and it occurred to him that Wolfram and Hart might very well be taking steps to ensure none of these pretties blabbed about the vampire in the mayor’s home. He fretted over it a while until he remembered that he was an unscrupulous demon. Then he simply did his best to ensure that what might have been these humans’ last night of life was, at least, diverting.
A week later, late at night, Lilah appeared at his door.
“Ready, tiger?”
He slipped on his boots. “Yeah. What do I have to do?”
“Nothing. Just stand there. Nathan’s going to do the deed. Naturally, I can’t be anywhere nearby.”
“And then after?”
There was a quick, subtle shifting in her eyes. “We’ve got a nice, cozy spot to tuck you away in.” He suppressed a snort. Yeah. Nice, cozy spot in hell.
Lilah walked with him and two of the guards as far as the garage. Then she stopped. She was taller than he was, even in flat shoes, and it bothered him a bit that he had to look slightly up at her. She patted his shoulder. “Have fun,” she said, and walked away.
They drove for about twenty minutes and then pulled to a halt. As soon as he got out, he recognized where they were: Griffith Park. They were in a dark, bare spot in a canyon. Spike wordlessly followed the men in suits down a winding dirt path, until they came to a bit of a flat clearing.
Reed was there, grinning at him. The wooden box was open at his feet, and he had a piece of paper in one hand and a bunch of what looked like dried weeds in his other. A half-dozen tall, muscular men in suits stood a short distance away, and Spike had to struggle to maintain a poker face at what he saw next. Huddled on his or her knees in front of each of these men was one of the sweet things he’d shagged over the past week. They were naked and bound hand and foot and gagged, and most of them had tearstained faces. The goons held knives to their throats and Spike could just catch the scent of spilled blood.
“Ah! You made it!” Reed said, as if there had been any doubt. He gestured to Spike to approach, and Spike did, until he was standing next to the man. The guards who’d driven him here stood slightly back, flanking him.
“Before we begin, we’ll need a holo of you near the box, Spike. Maybe you could wave your arms and chant some bullshit, make it look like you’re conjuring something.”
“All right.”
Reed stuffed the paper in his pocket and pulled out his e.a., and the guards stepped slightly away so they’d be out of camera shot. Reed pointed the e.a. expectantly at Spike, who thought for a moment, then smiled. He’d wager that Reed and his lot weren’t overly familiar with the Latin poets. Holding his hands up dramatically, he began to recite:
Furi et Aureli comites Catulli,
sive in extremos penetrabit Indos,
litus ut longe resonante Eoa
tunditur unda,
sive in Hyrcanos Arabesue molles,
seu Sagas sagittiferosue Parthos,
sive quae septemgeminus colorat
aequora Nilus,
sive trans altas gradietur Alpes,
Caesaris visens monimenta magni,
Gallicum Rhenum horribile aequor ulti-
mosque Britannos,
omnia haec, quaecumque feret voluntas
caelitum, temptare simul parati,
pauca nuntiate meae puellae
non bona dicta.
cum suis vivat valeatque moechis,
quos simul complexa tenet trecentos,
nullum amans vere, sed identidem omnium
ilia rumpens;
nec meum respectet, ut ante, amorem,
qui illius culpa cecidit uelut prati
ultimi flos, praetereunte postquam
tactus aratro est. [1]
Reed smiled and nodded and captured the whole performance. “Wonderful!” he said when Spike was finished. “What was that you said?”
“Oh, just some Latin nonsense.”
“It was perfect. Okay,” he said, stepping beside Spike again. “We’re ready for the real deal. Tony, make sure you get Spike on your e.a., make it look like he’s the only one standing by the box when I activate the Ahriek.”
“Sure, boss,” replied one of the men, pulling his gadget out of his pocket.
“Just a mo,” Spike said. “Don’t want to be too close to the nasty when it pops up.” Actually, he needed to be very close to the thing, but it was no good letting Reed know that.
“Oh, don’t worry. Since I’m waking it, I control it.”
“All right,” Spike said, injecting a heavy dose of doubt into his voice.
“Gentlemen?” Reed said. Nearly in unison, the six guards sliced deeply into the necks of the captives. Spike held back a shudder as the victims sank silently to the ground, their blood gurgling thickly into the dry soil. Some of them were still twitching when Reed held up his piece of paper and began to chant.
Spike didn’t recognize the sibilant language. It wasn’t human, he’d wager. Within a minute or two, the box began to thrum and rattle. All of the guards took several steps back. Reed paused, stuck the paper in his mouth, and pulled a silver-colored lighter from his pocket. He used it to set the plants in his other hand on fire, and then he tossed the burning bundle next to the box. He resumed his recitation.
There was an ear-splitting crack, so loud Spike nearly howled with the pain of it, and, as the smell of ozone permeated the air, the box flew apart into thousands of tiny shards. Something stood in its place, an object only the size of a mouse.
But as Reed continued the spell, the thing swelled rapidly, until it was as big as a young child and Spike could make out its details. It was hideous. It had far too many limbs and slavering jaws and looked a cross between a spider and an armadillo. It had dozens of eyes, each one spinning with mindless ferocity. It smelled of carrion.
Reed’s voice got louder and the Ahriek grew bigger still until it was the size of a grown man. It shivered and waved its legs about and uttered a high-pitched screeching noise that set Spike’s teeth on edge.
Spike took a deep breath and vamped out.
With a roar of his own, he flung himself onto the monster.
Dimly, he heard the humans shouting behind him, but that was of little matter to him right now. There wasn’t much they could do to harm him, without risking destroying their beast. Instead, Spike concentrated on the sharp, claw-like appendages that were tearing at his clothes and skin, on the needle-like teeth that glistened with what he’d wager was poison, on the reddish eyes staring at him with sheer malevolence.
The Ahriek was strong, and Spike wasn’t at all certain how to kill it. But he’d got to it as it was still expanding, still in flux, and he’d taken it by surprise. And in his experience, very few creatures managed well without their head attached.
Spike could feel the Ahriek digging into his belly and ripping the flesh from his chest. One lucky swipe got him across the face, blinding his left eye. But instead of jumping away, he moved in closer, where the Ahriek’s articulated legs had trouble reaching, until its face was inches from his own. It spat at him, splattering him with venom, but either he was immune or it was slow-acting, because it didn’t seem to cause him any harm.
He snarled at the beast and seized its head in his hands. It felt bristly and chitinous. It screeched again and he bellowed at it and, with all his strength, he wrenched its neck. It emitted a mewling howl and collapsed in front of him.
He didn’t even have time to take a breath. Gunfire erupted and he felt the bullets flying into him, flying through him. But he only turned and launched himself at Reed, who was still standing with the paper in his hand, yelling. Spike stopped the noise by ripping out the man’s throat.
He thought perhaps some of the guards ran away at that point, but he wasn’t certain. He was too busy kicking and hitting and biting, feeling tissue rend beneath his touch and bones break.
He fought, he thought, forever.
And then all was still.
He was on his back on the ground, the corpse of a man pinning him down. With nearly the last of his strength, he heaved the mass off of him and rolled onto his belly. Slowly he pushed up on his elbows and looked about.
The area around him was littered with still bodies. Nathan Reed gawped sightlessly into the dirt. The nude sacrifices lay exactly where they’d been killed, still bound. He tried to count the dead guards, but the vision in his single good eye was wavering and gray. He could see, however, the Ahriek, shriveled in on itself and unmoving.
It appeared that he’d won.
He laughed hoarsely and then coughed. Nothing in his body felt right. Nothing was working very well. There was pain, of course, but it merely buzzed around him like a swarm of midges, annoying but unimportant.
His arms gave out and he collapsed on his face.
And then, with tremendous effort, he rolled back around, until his face was turned upward at the lightening sky.
Chapter Seven
[1] Carmen 11, by Catullus. English translation available here: http://rudy.negenborn.net/catullus/text2/e11.htm