Ashes & Sparks--A Spike & Fred story
Ashes and Sparks
Disclaimer: No, I am not Joss Whedon, et.al. Not for profit, just for fun.
Rating: PG-13 for naughty British vampires & violence
Prologue:
Alone. Always alone.
Shorn of her immeasurable power, and forced into the weak form of a once-human vessel, the god-king was tormented by a dim spark that seared and burned within her breast. This cannot continue. A solution must be found.
The spark dimmed, retreating further within, but coalescing more minute fragments around itself. Growing ever stronger, more able to touch the world.
Illyria followed a delicate thread, a wound in the world, passing through time and space.
A solution must be found.
The thread would appear, then disappear without warning, leading Illyria forward even as all the time the spark smoldered and ate away at the edges of her dominance.
Lines in the earth:
Ley lines, the spark said, ley lines have power.
Forward, ever searching through the blood that had been shed for thousands of years, a teaspoon of time to a god.
Illyria pushed further still searching and found a familiar scent.
I require this one: this vampire will give me aid for the sake of the Shell. It will serve.
Chapter One: Splendor Lost
Music: Patsy Cline, Walkin’ After Midnight
Spike liked Porto Gordo and he liked his bar.
It was just the right kind of a place for a vampire who was looking for the calm after the recent storm. There had been no use hanging around Los Angeles, nothing for him there. No point in running to Europe, either. He’d done that once before and what had it gotten him-yet another humiliating return to the bane of his existence.
He’d liberated a hefty chunk of change from Angelus along with the Viper, and lit out of LA like hellhounds were on his tail. The Viper was too easily recognized, though, and disappeared in Tijuana, replaced by an aging truck kitted out with UV-protected glass and a hot V-8 engine.
Porto Gordo was a quiet backwater on the tail end of the Yucatan, nothing but the locals and an occasional snowbird wandering by in the winter for the deep-sea fishing. A sleepy town with its open-air mercado, a full-service carniceria, a pulqueria, and a few friendly demons made for a comfortable residence.
He’d ended up here almost by accident: impassable inland roads, a run-in with some demon bikers and then run out of gas in the middle of this dusty Gulf town. He’d clumped angrily into a café and was immediately served mescal & sangrita by a smiling old fellow in a white guayabera. A mariachi band played softly somewhere nearby and his temper began to cool. A plate of chiles en nogada appeared as if by magic at his hand and after a single bite, he fell in love with everything about this little place.
He reckoned he could spend some time here with no worries and get away from everything. Too many bad memories. It’d be a cold day in hell (and he should know) before he ever went near Hell-A again.
Spike had settled comfortably into Porto Gordo. He renovated a decrepit bar built on the site of an old Spanish fort, named it The Mermaid and hired old Pepe & his wife to run it during the day. He ate well in Porto Gordo. Nell made him chocolate atole and fresh tacos with salsa verde and Pepe kept the refrigerator stocked with good beer and a gallon of fresh blood every day.
If I don’t watch it, I’ll be gettin’ as podgy as Peaches.
He liked the limestone caves that ran beneath the fort, too. It took very little effort to make them vampire-friendly and to make sure there were plenty of emergency exits.
You just never knew what might come looking for you.
He’d moved down below into in the bar’s apartments and had recently acquired a particularly fine motor-yacht once owned by a late and not-particularly-lamented drug lord. He looked out at the dock and smiled.
She’s a sleek little thing, he thought, pretty mahogany and brass fittings and that smooth teak deck. Not to mention the very deluxe cabins down below, perfect for the more flammable amongst us.
She needs a pretty name. The Queen of the Seas? Heart’s Folly?
He downed another gulp of beer, Typical, Spike. At least I know I’m a fool… The Surprise? La Paloma?
Random bits of poetry flitted through his head and he shook it to clear away the groan that threatened to escape his suddenly tight throat.
Don’t think about her, Spike. It’s over and done with. Yeah, probably ought to call her Foolish Heart and be done with it.
Old Angelus would have a conniption fit at this latest purchase. He could almost hear him moaning about throwing his money away.
Then again, you never knew when you might need to make a quick dash out of the country. Better safe than sorry.
Spike wasn’t an idiot, no matter what some people might think.
___________________________________________________________
He smirked at the other players at the poker table “Aces and eights, mi amigos. Read ‘em and weep.” The other players threw in their cards and Spike raked in the tidy pot then passed it over the bar to his partner.
“Set ‘em up, Pepe. This round’s on the house.” The others filed to the bar, smiling.
Spike was a generous host and popular with his regulars, but preferred his solitude. He strolled out onto the patio through the shuttered doors and stared out at the dark water and the glittering stars. The wind whipped a wisp of sand into his eyes, but he ignored it and continued watching the night sky.
Something big broke the surface far out beyond the sandbar. The sharks came in close of an evening sometimes and a few other things not so easily identifiable. Old Pepe’s eyes lit up and he gave his boss a manic grin and drew out a long butcher’s knife. Blood thirsty old bugger, Pepe was, but a damn fine chef.
Why not? Night fishing sounded like a bit of fun.
He grinned at Pepe and signaled “later.”
Spike breathed deeply of the salty air and turned back to the bar to grab a bottle of Modelo Negro and a shot of mezcal. He took it back to the corner booth, the genial host no more.
Most nights, his solitude was broken only by a bar fight (at least once a night) and the demon killing (at least every other night). And if he spent most other evenings snarling at the paying customers and (not) brooding over his beer, well, he liked it that way. Or so he told himself.
He’d changed a lot about himself, letting his hair grow long and curling and trading in his signature blacks for a worn-out pair of blue jeans and a faded denim shirt. Nothing could disguise the sadness in his eyes, though.
Tio Pepe flogged a damp towel down the bar and gave him a sympathetic look. The bar was full tonight and Patsy Cline was crying on the jukebox. Spike thought about going over and giving it a good hard kick, but dammit, he’d paid a lot to have that old Wurlitzer repaired. Patsy gave way to Johnny Cash’s groaning and he felt worse. Tonight would be a good night to kill something particularly nasty. Forget all about that sodding year from hell and the year before that, matter o’ fact…think about something pleasant, Spike, he told himself. But just whatinthehell would that be, I’d like to know? He stared at his beer as though there might be an answer in the foamy depths.
I don’t miss any of them, especially the Big Giant Forehead. Don’t miss Wolfram & Hart, especially. Maybe the boy, he is family, after all. Coulda asked old Gunn to come along, but he’s got other stuff going on now. Too bad about the Watcher. He purposely left Fred for last. Fred, though, her. Oh Fred, I…damn Illyria. Why’d she hafta take her away? She was a fine lady, my Fred.
He downed the last gulp of beer and signaled Pepe to bring him another one.
“Ah, Senor Spike, you’re thinking about your lady again,” Pepe shook his head sagely, “you should go find her. Sing her a love song, tell her you love her.”
“Too late for that, Tio. Long past time for…”
His head whipped around and his mouth dropped open. A vision stood in the wide-open veranda doors. A slim young woman in a flowing white dress, her dark hair curling around a smiling face and bright brown eyes. Fred.
He was dumfounded, “How’d you…how’d you find me.”
She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head in unconscious mimicry of his querulous look.
“Spike! You’re here-oh my goodness, it’s so good to see you, sweetie!”
“F...Fred? It’s really you?”
“It sure is, Spike. It’s mighty good to see a familiar face.” A brilliant smile creased her face and she wiggled her fingers at him coyly.
He rushed to her side and tentatively grasped her hands. Only his sensitive nose told him that although she might appear in the guise of Fred, it was Illyria wearing her form again.
He dropped her fingers and ground out harshly.
“What do you want, Blue? You might as well drop the act, ‘cause I know it’s you.”
“Now, now Spike,” she drawled, “why would you think I wanted something from you?”
“That’s what you do, Blue. C’mon, let’s not scare off the paying customers. I’ve just got them coming back after that Glossialla demon incident,” he grumbled. He dragged her out and down the steps to the beach.
“What is it?”
She shimmered and returned to her Illyria form. “Very well, vampire. Does it pain you to see the shell’s reflection?” She asked curiously, “I could take on another form if you prefer,” and Wesley Wyndam-Price stood before him.
“Just…just be Illyria, please,” he snarled. “For god’s sake, let him rest in peace at least.”
She cocked her head again and resumed her Illyria shape.
“Very well. I have need of information and I suspect you can aid me in acquiring it.”
“What kind of help?”
“I wish to leave this plane. I wish to be shed of this shell and all the misery it entails.”
“You want to die? Is that what you’re sayin’?”
“You are such a simple creature, vampire. I do not wish to make an end of myself. I wish to pass through a gateway.”
“What kind of gateway,” he asked suspiciously, “You talkin’ about openin’ a hellmouth? ’Coz last time I checked, that’s not such a great idea.”
“I have followed the scent of this place across the face of this forsaken planet. There was a doorway left ajar. I wish to locate and utilize its energy, ”she demanded.
“Don’t know what you’re on about, Blue. What kind of a place?”
“I shall instruct you, then.”
Illyria leapt at Spike, grasping him in her powerful arms, invading his skull brutally with her mind. Her hair wrapped around his head and became unbreakable coils. Imperceptible tendrils tightened, piercing him through despite his struggles, and the flood of information followed.
The God-King Illyria stalked through the darkness of the eerily silent jungle. Days had passed in this way, beyond counting since she had left the confines of Los Angeles. Illyria had traced ley lines, earth energy leading to this place, but it was hidden, even beyond her senses. The earth had changed so over the millennia, shifting and disguising the dark places.
Somewhere in this place led a way to the Dark Way, but the path was confused. Younger magic had covered over the Older ways and the ancient blood-soaked earth kept her senses for finding the way. Feathered serpents and stranger gods forbade her entrance.
The information mined from the memory of the Shell had given her the stimulus to locate a possible escape from this small and damned dimension. There is something familiar in the landscape, changed as it has been over the millennia. Dark caverns in the porous limestone littered the landscape-her shell-memory named them cenotes. She dropped down into another one and her eyes widened with pleasure.
Something familiar. Her unblinking stare examined the dark grotto. A deep pool, filled with murky water and numberless small creatures. An altar, carved from the living stone, drenched in ancient blood spoke to her of power. On the walls, pictograms, and painted figures showed a huge creature towering over the cringing people. . .
Yes, this I recall.
She leapt from the belly of the cenote and stalked in the direction of the beach.
My pet feels for the Burkle-he shall show me how to open the way.
He is not as worthy as my previous Qwa ‘ha X’ahn, but he is clever for an under-being.
She jammed this recollection into his brain like an iron fist and then as suddenly dropped him to the earth.
But even as she did, the spark shuddered and flickered with a dazzling vitality. Bright motes of thought touched the vampire: soft and feminine, begging for his attention.
Spike fell to the ground, shaking with fury.
“You ever do that again, you blue-arsed bitch, and I’ll kill you.”
“I require your aid. It was more efficient…”
“Next time, just tell me. Don’t need your Vulcan mind-meld pryin’ in my skull.”
“What is that place? I require information.”
His hands were drawn into tight fists, but finally loosened and he took a deep breath. Even as his brow drew down in anger, he looked into Illyria’s eyes and saw…something else looking out at him from within those dead blue eyes.
The spark leapt in joy. He had felt her!
“Don’t know. I ain’t from around here, am I.” He paused and sniffed, assessing her cautiously, “Tell you what though, I might have an idea who can find out for you.” He was thinking fast, “Have a feelin’ there’s a sight more of Fred hangin’ about than you let on back in Hell-A, Blue. Ain’t that right?”
She nodded at his words and he continued with a slight smile, “Tell ya what, you let Fred out all by herself tomorrow, and maybe she can suss it out faster. Clever, my girl is.”
“It is possible. I needs must husband my energies and the troublesome Burkle will allow me respite.” Illyria considered the proposition, her head cocked to the side. “I wish to know everything about this place. Without delay.”
“Don’t know that we can do that in one day. Need some time and maybe a computer, yeah? Seems to me, Fred ought to be able to stay out in the daytime, too. To help you, like. She don’t put people off like you do, Blue.”
“You are astute, my Qwa’ha X’ahn. The spark troubles me with her presence. It is this specter I wish to purge.” Illyria considered the proposition, her head cocked to the side. Very well, I shall grant the Burkle sovereignty from sunup to sundown until we acquire this knowledge. You shall serve me by tending to the Burkle.”
“Ain’t no problem there, your majesty. Just need to make a run up to Campeche tonight and get a computer for Fred, though. Why don’t ya let her out so’s she can pick out the kind she likes?”
Her unblinking eyes glared, and a chill ran down his spine. Had he gone too far? But then, in an instant, Fred, his Fred stood before him. Her eyes met his and then she crumpled to the ground.
He carried her out toward the water and as he walked with her, her eyes fluttered open again, “Spike? Am I …am I alive?”
Disclaimer: No, I am not Joss Whedon, et.al. Not for profit, just for fun.
Rating: PG-13 for naughty British vampires & violence
Prologue:
Alone. Always alone.
Shorn of her immeasurable power, and forced into the weak form of a once-human vessel, the god-king was tormented by a dim spark that seared and burned within her breast. This cannot continue. A solution must be found.
The spark dimmed, retreating further within, but coalescing more minute fragments around itself. Growing ever stronger, more able to touch the world.
Illyria followed a delicate thread, a wound in the world, passing through time and space.
A solution must be found.
The thread would appear, then disappear without warning, leading Illyria forward even as all the time the spark smoldered and ate away at the edges of her dominance.
Lines in the earth:
Ley lines, the spark said, ley lines have power.
Forward, ever searching through the blood that had been shed for thousands of years, a teaspoon of time to a god.
Illyria pushed further still searching and found a familiar scent.
I require this one: this vampire will give me aid for the sake of the Shell. It will serve.
Chapter One: Splendor Lost
Music: Patsy Cline, Walkin’ After Midnight
Spike liked Porto Gordo and he liked his bar.
It was just the right kind of a place for a vampire who was looking for the calm after the recent storm. There had been no use hanging around Los Angeles, nothing for him there. No point in running to Europe, either. He’d done that once before and what had it gotten him-yet another humiliating return to the bane of his existence.
He’d liberated a hefty chunk of change from Angelus along with the Viper, and lit out of LA like hellhounds were on his tail. The Viper was too easily recognized, though, and disappeared in Tijuana, replaced by an aging truck kitted out with UV-protected glass and a hot V-8 engine.
Porto Gordo was a quiet backwater on the tail end of the Yucatan, nothing but the locals and an occasional snowbird wandering by in the winter for the deep-sea fishing. A sleepy town with its open-air mercado, a full-service carniceria, a pulqueria, and a few friendly demons made for a comfortable residence.
He’d ended up here almost by accident: impassable inland roads, a run-in with some demon bikers and then run out of gas in the middle of this dusty Gulf town. He’d clumped angrily into a café and was immediately served mescal & sangrita by a smiling old fellow in a white guayabera. A mariachi band played softly somewhere nearby and his temper began to cool. A plate of chiles en nogada appeared as if by magic at his hand and after a single bite, he fell in love with everything about this little place.
He reckoned he could spend some time here with no worries and get away from everything. Too many bad memories. It’d be a cold day in hell (and he should know) before he ever went near Hell-A again.
Spike had settled comfortably into Porto Gordo. He renovated a decrepit bar built on the site of an old Spanish fort, named it The Mermaid and hired old Pepe & his wife to run it during the day. He ate well in Porto Gordo. Nell made him chocolate atole and fresh tacos with salsa verde and Pepe kept the refrigerator stocked with good beer and a gallon of fresh blood every day.
If I don’t watch it, I’ll be gettin’ as podgy as Peaches.
He liked the limestone caves that ran beneath the fort, too. It took very little effort to make them vampire-friendly and to make sure there were plenty of emergency exits.
You just never knew what might come looking for you.
He’d moved down below into in the bar’s apartments and had recently acquired a particularly fine motor-yacht once owned by a late and not-particularly-lamented drug lord. He looked out at the dock and smiled.
She’s a sleek little thing, he thought, pretty mahogany and brass fittings and that smooth teak deck. Not to mention the very deluxe cabins down below, perfect for the more flammable amongst us.
She needs a pretty name. The Queen of the Seas? Heart’s Folly?
He downed another gulp of beer, Typical, Spike. At least I know I’m a fool… The Surprise? La Paloma?
Random bits of poetry flitted through his head and he shook it to clear away the groan that threatened to escape his suddenly tight throat.
Don’t think about her, Spike. It’s over and done with. Yeah, probably ought to call her Foolish Heart and be done with it.
Old Angelus would have a conniption fit at this latest purchase. He could almost hear him moaning about throwing his money away.
Then again, you never knew when you might need to make a quick dash out of the country. Better safe than sorry.
Spike wasn’t an idiot, no matter what some people might think.
___________________________________________________________
He smirked at the other players at the poker table “Aces and eights, mi amigos. Read ‘em and weep.” The other players threw in their cards and Spike raked in the tidy pot then passed it over the bar to his partner.
“Set ‘em up, Pepe. This round’s on the house.” The others filed to the bar, smiling.
Spike was a generous host and popular with his regulars, but preferred his solitude. He strolled out onto the patio through the shuttered doors and stared out at the dark water and the glittering stars. The wind whipped a wisp of sand into his eyes, but he ignored it and continued watching the night sky.
Something big broke the surface far out beyond the sandbar. The sharks came in close of an evening sometimes and a few other things not so easily identifiable. Old Pepe’s eyes lit up and he gave his boss a manic grin and drew out a long butcher’s knife. Blood thirsty old bugger, Pepe was, but a damn fine chef.
Why not? Night fishing sounded like a bit of fun.
He grinned at Pepe and signaled “later.”
Spike breathed deeply of the salty air and turned back to the bar to grab a bottle of Modelo Negro and a shot of mezcal. He took it back to the corner booth, the genial host no more.
Most nights, his solitude was broken only by a bar fight (at least once a night) and the demon killing (at least every other night). And if he spent most other evenings snarling at the paying customers and (not) brooding over his beer, well, he liked it that way. Or so he told himself.
He’d changed a lot about himself, letting his hair grow long and curling and trading in his signature blacks for a worn-out pair of blue jeans and a faded denim shirt. Nothing could disguise the sadness in his eyes, though.
Tio Pepe flogged a damp towel down the bar and gave him a sympathetic look. The bar was full tonight and Patsy Cline was crying on the jukebox. Spike thought about going over and giving it a good hard kick, but dammit, he’d paid a lot to have that old Wurlitzer repaired. Patsy gave way to Johnny Cash’s groaning and he felt worse. Tonight would be a good night to kill something particularly nasty. Forget all about that sodding year from hell and the year before that, matter o’ fact…think about something pleasant, Spike, he told himself. But just whatinthehell would that be, I’d like to know? He stared at his beer as though there might be an answer in the foamy depths.
I don’t miss any of them, especially the Big Giant Forehead. Don’t miss Wolfram & Hart, especially. Maybe the boy, he is family, after all. Coulda asked old Gunn to come along, but he’s got other stuff going on now. Too bad about the Watcher. He purposely left Fred for last. Fred, though, her. Oh Fred, I…damn Illyria. Why’d she hafta take her away? She was a fine lady, my Fred.
He downed the last gulp of beer and signaled Pepe to bring him another one.
“Ah, Senor Spike, you’re thinking about your lady again,” Pepe shook his head sagely, “you should go find her. Sing her a love song, tell her you love her.”
“Too late for that, Tio. Long past time for…”
His head whipped around and his mouth dropped open. A vision stood in the wide-open veranda doors. A slim young woman in a flowing white dress, her dark hair curling around a smiling face and bright brown eyes. Fred.
He was dumfounded, “How’d you…how’d you find me.”
She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head in unconscious mimicry of his querulous look.
“Spike! You’re here-oh my goodness, it’s so good to see you, sweetie!”
“F...Fred? It’s really you?”
“It sure is, Spike. It’s mighty good to see a familiar face.” A brilliant smile creased her face and she wiggled her fingers at him coyly.
He rushed to her side and tentatively grasped her hands. Only his sensitive nose told him that although she might appear in the guise of Fred, it was Illyria wearing her form again.
He dropped her fingers and ground out harshly.
“What do you want, Blue? You might as well drop the act, ‘cause I know it’s you.”
“Now, now Spike,” she drawled, “why would you think I wanted something from you?”
“That’s what you do, Blue. C’mon, let’s not scare off the paying customers. I’ve just got them coming back after that Glossialla demon incident,” he grumbled. He dragged her out and down the steps to the beach.
“What is it?”
She shimmered and returned to her Illyria form. “Very well, vampire. Does it pain you to see the shell’s reflection?” She asked curiously, “I could take on another form if you prefer,” and Wesley Wyndam-Price stood before him.
“Just…just be Illyria, please,” he snarled. “For god’s sake, let him rest in peace at least.”
She cocked her head again and resumed her Illyria shape.
“Very well. I have need of information and I suspect you can aid me in acquiring it.”
“What kind of help?”
“I wish to leave this plane. I wish to be shed of this shell and all the misery it entails.”
“You want to die? Is that what you’re sayin’?”
“You are such a simple creature, vampire. I do not wish to make an end of myself. I wish to pass through a gateway.”
“What kind of gateway,” he asked suspiciously, “You talkin’ about openin’ a hellmouth? ’Coz last time I checked, that’s not such a great idea.”
“I have followed the scent of this place across the face of this forsaken planet. There was a doorway left ajar. I wish to locate and utilize its energy, ”she demanded.
“Don’t know what you’re on about, Blue. What kind of a place?”
“I shall instruct you, then.”
Illyria leapt at Spike, grasping him in her powerful arms, invading his skull brutally with her mind. Her hair wrapped around his head and became unbreakable coils. Imperceptible tendrils tightened, piercing him through despite his struggles, and the flood of information followed.
The God-King Illyria stalked through the darkness of the eerily silent jungle. Days had passed in this way, beyond counting since she had left the confines of Los Angeles. Illyria had traced ley lines, earth energy leading to this place, but it was hidden, even beyond her senses. The earth had changed so over the millennia, shifting and disguising the dark places.
Somewhere in this place led a way to the Dark Way, but the path was confused. Younger magic had covered over the Older ways and the ancient blood-soaked earth kept her senses for finding the way. Feathered serpents and stranger gods forbade her entrance.
The information mined from the memory of the Shell had given her the stimulus to locate a possible escape from this small and damned dimension. There is something familiar in the landscape, changed as it has been over the millennia. Dark caverns in the porous limestone littered the landscape-her shell-memory named them cenotes. She dropped down into another one and her eyes widened with pleasure.
Something familiar. Her unblinking stare examined the dark grotto. A deep pool, filled with murky water and numberless small creatures. An altar, carved from the living stone, drenched in ancient blood spoke to her of power. On the walls, pictograms, and painted figures showed a huge creature towering over the cringing people. . .
Yes, this I recall.
She leapt from the belly of the cenote and stalked in the direction of the beach.
My pet feels for the Burkle-he shall show me how to open the way.
He is not as worthy as my previous Qwa ‘ha X’ahn, but he is clever for an under-being.
She jammed this recollection into his brain like an iron fist and then as suddenly dropped him to the earth.
But even as she did, the spark shuddered and flickered with a dazzling vitality. Bright motes of thought touched the vampire: soft and feminine, begging for his attention.
Spike fell to the ground, shaking with fury.
“You ever do that again, you blue-arsed bitch, and I’ll kill you.”
“I require your aid. It was more efficient…”
“Next time, just tell me. Don’t need your Vulcan mind-meld pryin’ in my skull.”
“What is that place? I require information.”
His hands were drawn into tight fists, but finally loosened and he took a deep breath. Even as his brow drew down in anger, he looked into Illyria’s eyes and saw…something else looking out at him from within those dead blue eyes.
The spark leapt in joy. He had felt her!
“Don’t know. I ain’t from around here, am I.” He paused and sniffed, assessing her cautiously, “Tell you what though, I might have an idea who can find out for you.” He was thinking fast, “Have a feelin’ there’s a sight more of Fred hangin’ about than you let on back in Hell-A, Blue. Ain’t that right?”
She nodded at his words and he continued with a slight smile, “Tell ya what, you let Fred out all by herself tomorrow, and maybe she can suss it out faster. Clever, my girl is.”
“It is possible. I needs must husband my energies and the troublesome Burkle will allow me respite.” Illyria considered the proposition, her head cocked to the side. “I wish to know everything about this place. Without delay.”
“Don’t know that we can do that in one day. Need some time and maybe a computer, yeah? Seems to me, Fred ought to be able to stay out in the daytime, too. To help you, like. She don’t put people off like you do, Blue.”
“You are astute, my Qwa’ha X’ahn. The spark troubles me with her presence. It is this specter I wish to purge.” Illyria considered the proposition, her head cocked to the side. Very well, I shall grant the Burkle sovereignty from sunup to sundown until we acquire this knowledge. You shall serve me by tending to the Burkle.”
“Ain’t no problem there, your majesty. Just need to make a run up to Campeche tonight and get a computer for Fred, though. Why don’t ya let her out so’s she can pick out the kind she likes?”
Her unblinking eyes glared, and a chill ran down his spine. Had he gone too far? But then, in an instant, Fred, his Fred stood before him. Her eyes met his and then she crumpled to the ground.
He carried her out toward the water and as he walked with her, her eyes fluttered open again, “Spike? Am I …am I alive?”