Chapter Eleven

They spent the day together.

It was completely by accident, of course; the way things worked out. The speech lasted until half past noon and everyone, save Anya who had no interest in automobiles, retreated on the same foot to service the car. The former demon was said to have retired to their room for a nap, evidently having forgone the comfort of sleep by complaining about the lack of acquired orgasms all night.

Needless to say, the redhead was seriously reconsidering the sleeping arrangements yet again.

However, before things could get underway, Buffy and Spike were gone.

So was the Winnebago, which made Giles less than happy when he finally awoke.

The day was spent in moderation. A more thorough familiarization of the town after dumping a sufficient amount of that black paint that Spike kept caked on the Desoto’s windshield. The drive to the nearest Wal-Mart had been a tale in itself; the vampire vowed tacitly never to question the Slayer’s reluctance to maneuver a vehicle again.

There wasn’t much to Natchez outside the economy-driven emphasis on tourism. People from all over traveled to the small town just to tour aging homes. If Buffy had to hear another story about how the settlement had once been one of the most prosperous in the Union, she was going to start slaying on the presumption that the same story told verbatim from twelve different mouths was definitely a demonic trait.

She could see why history buffs would be attracted, though. Why Giles thought the town was charming in a rustic sense. There was a feel about it. A something. An impression of the stereotypical Southern way of life that she couldn’t quite shake. And if that was so, the citizens did more than their part of living up to the image. Rather than resenting it as she would have—given the connotations and what Donna had told her the day before—they indulged it. Reveled in it. Profited in it.

The largest downside to traveling with a vampire in Natchez was the notable lack of indoor accommodations. They couldn’t do much in the main bulk of the town until the sun started sinking out of the sky. Thus, they ended up spending an obscene amount of time scouring the mall, the visitor’s center, and outlet stores: all of which produced no results.

It was a waste but not. At least they knew where not to look.

“Y’know,” Spike said as they stepped out of the visitor’s center for the fourth time. “I think we might be lookin’ over the larger picture, here.”

Not exactly the revelation of the day, but the way he said it inspired her mouth to forgo a smile. She had pretty much figured that when Maggie, the kind lady behind one of the kiosk desks, invited them to her daughter’s birthday party the next day. “Oh, really?”

There was no way he couldn’t have caught it. He flashed her a smirk and shook his head as he dug out his cigarettes. “We’ve spent all our time lookin’ an’ lookin’ again in places your rogue bird wouldn’t be caught dead at. The bloody mall, Slayer? She’s here as a fugitive; not to pick out shoes.”

He made with logic admirably. And while, yes, they had been trading the same sentiment back and forth all day; she couldn’t say she was displeased with the way things had turned out. Spending time with Spike was surprisingly enjoyable. Very surprisingly. While she had been making eyes at him for the past couple days, she hadn’t fully allowed herself to acknowledge that there might be something substantial beyond the physical attraction. But there was. Oh, there was. It was amazing how human he could be when treated like one.

He was fun. He joked, he laughed, he talked, he shared, he listened.

And she was in more trouble than she could afford if things continued like this.

“So…what do you suggest?”

Spike sighed and stuffed his hands in the pockets of duster, tilting his head upward as he indulged a long drag off his cigarette. “Most of the town ‘s houses, kitten. ‘F she wants to blend in, which I think our non-productivity has proven, I’d start there.”

She just looked at him. “You wanna tour the houses?”

“No, ‘m jus’ sayin’…’f we wanna find her—”

“It’s not that I don’t see your point. I do. It’s all there with the logic. But…” Buffy glanced down, pouting a little. “It’s boring.”

The vampire’s eyes sized her up, dancing with shades of amusement. “Watch it, pet,” he advised lowly. “You’re reachin’ back to my time.”

“Well, your time was boring.”

“I resent that.”

“You so do not.”

Spike cocked a brow. “Plenty ‘f things happened in the nineteenth century,” he argued. “Days of duels or what all. An’ the bloody kids back then had a lot more respect.”

“Watch it, buddy. Your age is showing.”

He smiled. “Well, ‘f anythin’ else, it’ll be a trip down memory lane.” A pause. “’Course, I din’t come to America till after I was dead, an’ even then, the popular hype in the ‘60s—that’s 1860s, luv, ‘f you’re followin’ me…the popular hype had already—”

“Spike?”

“Ramblin’?”

She grinned. He was borderline cute. “Little bit.”

Spike rolled on his heels and gave himself a slight bounce. “Come on, kitten,” he urged. “Let’s go. Jus’ to one. Indulge me.”

There was no harm, she supposed. And again with him actually having a point.

“Okay…any ideas?”

A wide grin spread across his lips and he reached into his back pocket to retrieve a brochure that she had seen him swipe inside. Spike had swiped a brochure. While she had had her suspicions, seeing it made it all the more worthwhile.

“Well, since you’re humorin’ me, you tell me ‘f any of these look interestin’.”

Buffy cocked a brow. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “’m curious, s’all. We din’t share too much in common with the colonies when it came to politics, but the styles were damn near universal. ‘S strange to think of things that I remember as bein’ on tour.” There was a brief pause and he shook his head. “Don’ think that’ll ever go away, no matter how old I get.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about your past.” Well, of course she hadn’t. She hadn’t been interested before. “Angel never did much, either.”

The vampire’s demeanor darkened slightly on mention of her former. She could have sworn a flicker of ripened jealously flashed across his eyes. “Peaches din’t ‘cause it takes away precious time that could be spent mopin’ ‘bout things he knows damn well he can’t change,” he barked. “I don’ talk ‘bout it ‘cause no one asks. What a sodding waste.”

“Okay, Mr. Defensive.”

He calmed down slightly and flashed an apologetic look in her direction. “Don’ fancy bein’ compared with the Great Poof,” he murmured.

“So I gathered.” Buffy licked her lips. “Well, don’t worry. ‘Cause you and Angel? Nothing alike.”

If anything, that seemed to offend him even more. Lousy temperamental vampires. It only lasted a second, though, before he consigned to seemingly depressed acceptance. “Yeh,” he agreed softly. “Bloody relief, that is.”

“You’re telling me. One brooding vamp per lifetime is already more than I can take.” She smiled when he looked up in surprise, eyes sparkling with both wonder and gratitude. “So…these houses? Just the one, right?”

Spike nodded and handed her the brochure. “Trust me, luv. I might be curious, but I don’ fancy standin’ around all day while girlies in hoop skirts tell me things that I already know. ’S gonna be hard enough not to correct them when they bollocks somethin’ up.” He didn’t meet her eyes, as though shy about his firsthand knowledge. “’S better this way. ‘F Natchez is anythin’ like the pissant towns that Dru an’ I toured in the ‘50s, talkin’ to one staff’ll get the word out.”

She suddenly knew why he didn’t like her talking about Angel. “So,” she said, clearing her throat and redirecting her attention to the pamphlet. “Any of these strike your fancy?”

“’S your choice, pet.”

“I don’t know what to choose!”

Spike rolled his eyes and snatched the brochure back again. “Okay…what ‘bout this one?”

“What one?”

He edged closer so that she could follow his indication. Edged closer so that she was pressed up next to him, so that his scent tickled her senses with refinement she didn’t know he possessed. “Linden.”

“That one?”

“Why not?”

“It’s not pretty.”

Spike released a sigh of exasperation. “Well, for cryin’ out loud, Slayer, whaddya want from me?”

Many, many things.

She opted in the end to not answer. “How about this one?”

“Dunleith?”

“Yeah.”

“An’ ‘s prettier than the other one?”

Buffy bit her lip. “Well, it’s not so much that yours wasn’t pretty, per se…it’s just…this one is all with the big columns and whatnot. It’s…it’s pretty.”

There was a brief pause at that; the vampire’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Ah,” he cooed. “So size does matter to the Slayer.”

“Shut up.”

“Dunleith’s no good, though.”

She pouted. “Why not?”

“Tour’s only good for the ground floor.”

“And we care, why?”

He shrugged. “Well, ‘f you’re payin’ full price to get in—”

“If I’m paying?”

A smile spread across his lips. “So you caught that, did you?”

“Bah. You suck.” Her eyes snapped back to his and she caught the glimmer of the impending retort before it could think to touch his tongue. With the way things were going, it was infinitely better to stop him before the words touched the air. “And shut up. What about Stanton Hall?”

He offered a cheeky grin. “That one big enough for you, pet?”

“Spike, I swear to God…”

“Jus’ wanna make sure. The last thing I need on my hands is a Slayer with a size complexion.”

“I’m counting to three, then I’m getting out my stake.”

“Hope it’s big one.”

That did it. “One…”

Spike just chuckled and turned his eyes back to the pamphlet. “Stanton Hall, eh?” he mused. “Think that’s one of the locations for that bloody horrible series from the ‘80s.”

“What series?”

“I forget the name. Only Dru was bloody nuts over Patrick Swayze an’ wouldn’t stop watchin’ the soddin’ thing no matter what I…” He broke off when he caught her gaze. Yeah, it definitely wasn’t kosher talking about ex-loves all of a sudden. And they accepted it without mention. Such was safer until they had sussed out why things were different between them.

“Doesn’t it say which miniseries it was in the thing?” Buffy asked, desperate to break the awkward silence.

“No. I jus’ remember Stanton Hall.” At her look, he glanced down and started kicking at the concrete. The tacit rule of before flew out the window just as rapidly as it had been conceived. Spike looked uncomfortable for a long minute before shaking his head. There were certain truths about their respected pasts that could not go ignored. “We had a fledglin’ for a while that Dru made…went out an’ got her blood when I couldn’t. ‘S name was Stanley Small. After the series aired, she’d—”

“Yeah.” The Slayer took a pensive moment and released a long sigh. A moment, then sucked it up and asked the inevitable question. “Do you miss Dru?”

Spike gave her another long look, careful, trying to gage her mood. “Sometimes,” he replied, honest as he could. “Though I don’ know anymore ‘f it’s Dru I miss or jus’…I don’ miss her mood swings, or the wonky visions, or her dolls, or her tendency to speak in riddles or…any of it, really.” A breath shuddered across his shoulders. “I do miss not bein’ alone. A hundred years or so an’ you get used to the company, even ‘f she is a daft loony.” The comment earned a soft smile. He returned it best he could before glancing down again. “I jus’ miss not bein’ alone. Bein’ with someone who understands me an’…”

The words struck closer to home than she would have liked. Buffy worried a lip between her teeth. “I understand you, Spike.”

He froze and regarded her calmly. “Do you?”

“Yeah. I might…I don’t agree with a lot of…well, obviously. Slayer and all. But I get you.”

At that, his eyes softened and an ironic smile crossed his mouth. “That you do, kitten,” he murmured. “That you do.” Another pause. “Do you miss Peaches?”

The Slayer went quiet for a minute. So strange. Had anyone asked her just a few short weeks ago; the answer would have been an emphatic yes. Somewhere, she had faced herself and known what it was to grow up. To put those adolescent teenage dreams behind her. Missing Angel was more complicated than all that. There wasn’t a word, a sentence, to describe her state of nonfeeling. Trying alone was difficult enough. “I don’t know,” she replied. “I think…really toward the end, we weren’t as close as it seemed we were. He left for reasons that were…but I see it now. And it was for the better.”

“You think so?”

“Well, yeah. The same reason Oz left Willow. There were things there that…but she took his leaving harder than I did Angel’s. And…I think it was because she was still in love with him.” Buffy held up a hand. “To clarify, I loved Angel. I still do. I just don’t think…I don’t think I was in love with him then. Especially after everything that had happened—”

Spike nodded.

She smiled and flushed. “But…yeah. Will’s getting better, though. And she’s started looking around again.”

“She has?”

“Sam.” Buffy paused. “Well, I don’t know if she’s serious about that…we really haven’t talked. But there’s definite sparkage.”

The vampire chuckled at that. “Caught between evils, is she?” he mused. “A werewolf an’ a politician. Red sure knows how to pick ‘em.”

“Yeah. But I’m not really one to talk.” She shrugged. “All my men have been vampires.”

She didn’t realize what she had said until she heard Spike’s breath catch. And then there was nothing. Just nothing. It was as though the world stopped. The words left her lips, and the world came to a big old-fashioned halt. Traffic froze, temperatures soared, and everything in between fell from view. The burn behind his eyes was enough to get any woman into trouble. Smoldering and astonished all within the same breath. He had always been unpredictable, but this was the first time she had felt the strain of her heart encouraging him.

She had no way of knowing how he had taken it. It was too late to retract. To pretend it didn’t happen. To anything.

The Freudian slip of the year.

When nothing happened, Buffy flushed and snatched the brochure back, purposefully avoiding his gaze. “Ummm…” she said, ever aware of the tremble in her voice. “So…Dunleith all right?”

There was nothing for a minute. He was still staring at her.

“Spike?”

A second more and he shook himself back to the present, blinking and offering a short smile. “Dunleith,” he agreed. “Right.”

No need to tell her twice. The second his accordance touched the air, she was sprinting across the parking lot for the Winnebago as though all of hell followed.

Spike stood still for another minute, his nerve endings tingling from what had just passed. What had been revealed. How far into herself she was letting him see.

How much.

It didn’t last long. He turned to follow her the next minute, the smile itching his face refusing to stand down.

He would never admit it, but he was beginning to love this town.

*~*~*

There was a note waiting for her when they got back to the townhouse that night.

Buffy,

Donna has a book that lists King’s Tavern as a haunted place in Natchez. A bunch of us are gonna go try it out for laughs. Not Giles…I think he and Mr. Ziegler are doing the drinking thing again. (He’s worried he said too much last night. Something about a microwave) And Anya wants to use the lack of people for ‘eww’ time with Xander. Anyway, come on down if you get this in time.

- Willow

PS. Tell Spike to put the car back together!
PPS. Giles is pissed about not having the Winnebago. Says you owe us cab money.
PPPS. Where WERE you all day?

A smile quirked the Slayer’s mouth and she glanced up to Spike as he closed the door behind them. “You haven’t helped with the car yet?”

He shrugged. “Why should I? Lot of self-righteous wankers.”

“It’s the nice thing to do.”

“Well, ‘m not a nice bloke.” He perked a brow as though daring her to disagree with him. “Where is everyone, anyway?”

Buffy held up the note for his inspection. “Went to a place called King’s Tavern. Any idea where that is?”

“Yeh, because I know this pissant town so well.”

“Well…do you wanna go?”

He took a minute and just looked at her. Today was the day for all sorts of broken rules. While he had enjoyed the excuse to just be with her—flirt with her and have the utter ecstasy of her returned attentions in that regard, he never would have imagined to be allowed this much. Dunleith, now King’s Tavern.

He wanted to throw caution to the wind and ask if it was a date. Get it on the table. Try to bring some clarity to the different relationship they were beginning to enjoy.

Pride, however, refused him from doing so.

Pride, and he didn’t know what he would do if she said no. If she laughed him out of the room. If he let the frighteningly-potent feelings that were growing ever more so assume center light. While she might be content to unmask her attraction, there was no way that she could ever return the more basic elements of his esteem.

At least he had thought so. Now he wasn’t sure.

And bugger all if he would muck things up by ruining a good thing as it was. He wanted something more with Buffy and he knew that now; he wasn’t about to scare her off by making that knowledge known.

Not until he knew how she felt.

The fact that he knew that he wanted something more in itself was revolutionary. How he had come so far in just a couple days was beyond him. The more time he spent with her, the more in awe of her he became.

Little by little, Buffy Summers was becoming someone he could not live without.

The Slayer.

“Well,” she continued when he didn’t reply. “I wanna go. So, if you’re coming, let’s hit it.” Her features softened. “And if you don’t wanna, no big. I did drag you around a lot today.”

He kept waiting patiently for the other shoe to drop. There was no way that this kindness could last.

But then, they had discussed that. They were both at a loss.

Better to do things this way.

Thus, Spike met her gaze and smiled, sliding the keys from the table before moving to open the door for her. Another act of gentlemanly consideration that he performed without thinking.

And remarkably, she didn’t comment. As though they did this every day.

As though they had always done this.

“An’ leave you to drive by yourself, pet?” he retorted teasingly. “Don’ think so. That hunka junk might be on the register for scrap-metal, but someone has to take care of the wheels. Wouldn’t wanna end up like a certain band of travelin’ stragglers.”

“Yeah.” Buffy grinned, turning as he made sure the door was locked. “You owe them cab money, by the way.”

“Oh I do, do I?”

“It was your idea to lift the Winnebago.”

Spike snickered. “I was under orders!”

“Likely story.”

“Big scary Slayer told me to do it.” A smile broke across his face at the look she shot in his direction. “What’s the name of the joint again?”

“King’s Tavern.”

“Well, hop on in, kitten.” He nodded. “Time’s a wastin’.”

*~*~*

The atmosphere of King’s Tavern, regardless of prior knowledge of its alleged status as a haunted establishment, certainly permeated the air of being a place of such mystique. The building itself was old—built likely in the 1700s and stood superficially as a brown blemish in a town full of supremacy and old Southern beauty. However, like the rest of Natchez, it commanded its own form of history that was respectable and among the elite in the town. The look was rustic and aged; the interior dark and lit with candles and low-lamps. There was a fireplace and several old hunting utensils aligned on the walls.

They had each been handed a photocopy of an article based on a journalist’s visit to the tavern. It was very obviously from a trash magazine, but seemingly solidified the old sense of fun that tingled with the promise of old-world hauntings.

And toward the very back of the restaurant, near the bar, Josh, Donna, Willow, Sam, and Wesley dined. Accommodations were severe; they had to push several tables together to fit them all. Discussion was sporadic but fun; though Josh at several intervals looked ready to either strangle his assistant or crawl under the table in means of ulterior escape.

Now was one such time.

“I think the chain moved.”

Josh released a long breath. “The chain did not move, Donna.”

“I could’ve sworn I just saw the chain move.” She turned to the others for verification, eyes wide. “Didn’t any of you see the chain move?”

Sam shrugged apologetically. “Sorry.”

“First the cat,” the Deputy Chief of Staff mused with a wistful sigh. “Now this.”

Willow blinked with a frown. “Cat?”

“Oh no.”

Donna nodded. “There’s a cat that haunts the Capitol Building in DC.”

“There is not,” Josh refuted.

“You’re kidding!” Willow exclaimed excitedly.

“Oh, I wish.”

Sam smothered a grin.

The blonde woman nodded, ignoring Josh and taking a sip of water. “Yeah. Evidently, its appearance is supposed to be a warning that a national tragedy will occur.” At her boss’s snicker, she rolled her eyes and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Don’t mind Josh. He’s a non-believer.”

“It’s funny how my definition of sensible overlaps Donna’s interpretation of non-believers,” he snickered in turn.

“I believe I had read something up on that,” Wesley commented. “It was actually an area of concern for the Watc—ow!” He shot the redhead an apologetic, befuddled look, then turned to the others again. “Sorry…stubbed my toe.”

“Well, come on, Josh.” Donna rolled her eyes. “The cat was spotted and we got stuck in Natchez.”

“With as much of an inconvenience as it was, I hardly say that calls for a national tragedy,” Sam replied reasonably.

“I wouldn’t be so hasty,” the Deputy Chief of Staff murmured.

Willow bit her lip. “Is it really bad…you guys being here?”

“The President was talking about a battle that anyone who took eighth grade history would know about,” Josh retorted. “At a time when the Chief of Staff has come public with a former addiction to Valium and our approval ratings are reaching an all-time low. You do the math.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh yeah! I’ve been meaning to ask you about Mr. McGarry. Is he—”

“Stop,” Sam advised softly. “Leo’s a soft-spot with all of us. It’s better just to stop.”

“Well, I don’t think he should be…I don’t think this should be a big thing, really.” Willow shrugged. “I mean, we don’t have all the info, right? Besides…you guys seem nice.”

“Leo’s like their father,” Donna explained. “They get antsy whenever it’s mentioned. And that chain just swung again.”

“He’s like your father, too,” Josh retorted. “And no it did not.”

“More like a favorite uncle. And it did, so.”

“The President’s approval ratings are at an all-time low?” Wesley asked softly, brow marring as a frown commanded his lips. “How odd. I was always rather fond of him.”

“Me too,” Willow agreed.

Josh leaned forward with interest. “Did you vote for us?”

“Well…I had just turned eighteen and I wasn’t really able to vote and…” She made an apologetic face. “I will next time, though. That was my birthday present to myself. I went to register to vote.”

Sam grinned. “That’s adorable.”

“You heard her, didn’t you?” The other man cocked a brow. “She had just turned eighteen.”

The Deputy Communications Director flushed. “So?” he said. “It can’t be adorable?”

Willow was turning redder than usual as well, and looked very eager for a change in subject. “A ghost cat, huh?” she asked, nodding at Donna. “Interesting. Anything else?”

“Don’t get her started.”

“Oh yeah,” the blonde replied, happily ignoring her boss’s protestations. “There were tons—stories from cultures all over, really. Some really creepy, but you wouldn’t want to hear about those. I—”

“I don’t mind the creep-factor. I’m kinda used to the oogly booglies.”

Sam tilted his head. “You believe in ghosts?”

Wesley coughed a little.

“Well…I didn’t always.” An ironic smile crossed her lips. “Let’s just say living in Sunnydale broadens one’s horizons.”

“Sunnydale?” He blinked. “From California?”

The former Watcher and the Witch paused with suspended disbelief.

“You know Sunnydale?”

“Well, I’ve never been there, myself, but I did hear things growing up.” He smiled. “I’m from Orange County, originally.”

“That and he’s Sam,” Josh pointed out. “If you asked him, he could probably tell you the best route to take on the way back.”

The man flushed again. “I would not…though, if you are open to suggestions, I would get back onto 65 and take it up to—”

“Don’t.” Donna’s eyes went wide. “He’s the one that got us south of Natchez while trying to find Vicksburg.”

“I believe that Josh was driving.”

The Deputy Chief of Staff snickered. “I believe that Josh was under orders from Leo McGarry.”

Willow raised her hand, smiling shyly. “I believe that I want to know what Sam has heard about Sunnydale.” At the look she received, she shrugged and took a bite of her shrimp salad. “I’m just curious…I never get to hear what others hear about where I come from.”

There was a chuckle at that. “Pretty radical stuff,” Sam replied. “When I was little, my friends and I would tell each other Sunnydale ghost stories at camp and sleepovers.”

Josh snickered incredulously. “There are ghost stories about a town called Sunnydale?”

“Some intense ones,” his friend verified with a nod.

Willow and Wesley exchanged an uncomfortable glance.

“I don’t remember seeing anything about it in my book,” Donna offered thoughtfully. “When we get back, I’ll look it up and—”

All was left at natural reflex. On the same beat, the redhead and the former Watcher leapt to their feet on a note of shared panic, their shrill octaves touching the air with measured objection. “NO!”

Three blank gazes followed their distress along with half the restaurant.

“’Kay…” Josh said slowly.

“I—uhhh—I mean…” Willow had turned the shade of a beet. “What did you—uhh…there’s…ohh. Ohh!” Her eyes widened with relief and she pointed with eagerness that did not know her. “Buffy!”

The attention of the table shifted accordingly.

“Great,” Josh murmured. “Just what we need.”

“Hey.” Donna thwapped his arm with a scold. “Buffy’s really nice.”

“Yeah, but she brought Psycho with her.”

The blonde pair stopped at the table; Spike’s brow arching at the lukewarm greeting he received. “Psycho heard that,” he replied before turning to Donna and offering a brilliant grin. “Evenin’, pet.”

While his intentions were very obviously to stir Josh’s temper, Willow frowned as Buffy went fleetingly rigid. Weird.

“Hi,” the assistant replied welcomingly.

“Sam,” the Deputy Communications Director said, waving a little.

“I remember you, mate.” The vampire turned and motioned for the nearest of the help to bring over two chairs. And the redhead watched with utter fascination as the bane of her best friend’s existence held her seat out for her and waited until she was comfortable before assuming the space beside her. It looked so routine, she would have thought they had done that forever if she didn’t know better.

That plus Buffy’s strange behavior yesterday at the Magnolia Grill plus the both of them disappearing for the entire day? And now here they were, acting as though they were best friends.

Not to quote Disney, but there was something there that wasn’t there before.

Not a bad something, but something.

Of course, Willow considered herself fairly open-minded. If this did turn out to be serious, it would be an entirely different matter with the others.

“So…Buffy, Spike,” Donna was saying as the waiting staff departed with the two newcomer’s orders. “What did you guys do today?”

The two exchanged a look.

“Looked for Faith,” the Slayer replied.

“All over the sodding place.”

Sam frowned. “Faith is that hard to find…in a small southern town? How disheartening.”

“She’s a person,” Willow reminded him.

“No leads, then?” Wesley asked, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

Buffy shook her head. “Notta one.”

“Though the blokes at Dunleith are gonna spread the word,” the vampire concluded. “An’ Maggie’s gonna be extra careful tomorrow at li’l Sue’s birthday.”

“Dunleith?”

“The house?” Donna replied, perking considerably. “The name sounds like one of the houses that’s in the book I got in the—”

Josh groaned. “For God’s sake, no more books!”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Every party has a pooper,” he chimed. “That’s why we invited you.”

“Actually, Billy, I was here first.”

“Oh dear,” Sam murmured.

Donna licked her lips and finished off the last of her ribs, meeting Buffy’s eyes with an air of apology. “The chain just swung again,” she said.

The Slayer nodded as though she understood. With Spike and Josh engaging in another verbal charge, it didn’t seem to matter in any regard.

“You’re telling me.”