Chapter Thirty-Three
By the time Buffy had gathered whatever it was that she needed to gather, the town was on fire. A slow burn that had traffic backed up for miles on roads that usually knew no traffic. The taciturn acceptance that had once settled over Natchez was gone in fifteen minutes. And as what commonly happened in a crisis, panic had commandeered apathy with a surprising comeback.
Buffy and Spike found the Scoobies and the Senior Staffers on the back porch facing the townhouse—a sort of grim seeing off party who neglected to greet them, neglected to even look in their direction. Rather, their attention was captured unanimously by the impressive lightshow coming from the highway. An impromptu Fourth of July celebration placed in the last days before Christmas.
“What happened?” the Slayer murmured to Willow, crossbow slung over her shoulder.
The only thing, evidently, that could distract a man’s attention from shiny lights was the sight of an impressive weapon. Josh did not disappoint; his eyes immediately fastened on the collection of weaponry the Slayer and the vampire were toting, glistening with appreciation. “Where did you guys get those?”
Buffy smiled grimly, trading a bemused glance with Spike. “Never go anywhere unprepared,” she replied, shrugging.
“It just started,” Willow said, ignoring the smaller trade. “There was nothing and then everyone in town just started freaking out.”
“Yeah,” Xander agreed, nodding. His eyes were fixed on something in the distance, and pointed demonstratively. “And it seems to be coming from over there.”
Buffy followed his point and nearly dropped her crossbow. “Oh God.”
“Yeah,” Willow mused in agreement. “That’s pretty much been the sentiment out here.”
“Gonna go out on a limb,” Spike ventured, “an’ say that’s where we’re headed.”
“Very good limb,” Donna agreed.
The relative terrain of the Natchez area was mostly elevated—a series of hills and bluffs. This, naturally, assumed the impression of distance when distance was not at its greatest. It came as no surprise when cars passing the Wensel House began to slow as passengers grew wary in fear and bowed to the more dangerous whims of curiosity.
“I never got that,” the vampire murmured, distracting the group’s attention from the light show in the distance. “Somethin’ bloody bizarre’s goin’ off an’ you soddin’ pulsers think it a brilliant time to stop an’ take a long gander.”
Buffy met his eyes with amusement before turning to nudge the Witch from her absorption. “What do you think?”
“It’s not as far away as it looks,” the redhead murmured after a few seconds. “The water tower’s that way…” She gestured distractedly in the opposing direction, frowning in thought. “And from what Giles suggested…if Quirinias has decided to make his move now, he would need altitude. A place to perform the ceremony…and…” She drifted off for a few more seconds before her eyes widened in realization. “Oh God. I know where it is.”
Sam touched her shoulder. “Willow?”
“It’s Longwood. It has to be. It’d be vacated and has a high altitude…not to mention, seclusion and it’s on that side of town.” She turned violently to the Slayer, eyes flaring. “You were there. Remember? That dome? It’s perfect for utilizing that kind of energy, especially since Quirinias is incorporeal. All the circumstantial…and if that light show is any indication, he’s already got a good head start.”
Spike nodded shortly. “We gotta get goin’.”
“What are we supposed to do?” Josh demanded. “Sit here and twiddle our thumbs.”
“I think you’re underestimating the virtues of a good thumb-twiddling,” Xander observed. “Unless, of course, you want to be out where the likelihood of becoming extremely dead is at an all-time high.”
The vampire’s eyes darkened, reaching for Buffy’s hand and squeezing his reassurance. “No one’s becomin’ dead on my watch.”
“You’re going to have to go on foot,” Giles observed, nodding at the traffic. “The citizens of Natchez have selected the most inopportune time to become startlingly aware of the happenings in their town. Right then…” His eyes focused on Buffy. “You know how to get to this place?”
“I know. Will and I were there once before.”
“Be careful.”
“’ve got her back,” Spike growled. “’F she’s anythin’ but, it’ll be because I’m dead.”
“And what a tragedy that would be,” Xander murmured, frowning when Donna elbowed him.
“Bring Faith back to the drawing room,” Giles said. “Wesley and I will do what we can to eradicate whatever damages have been done before we decide what is to be done with her.”
Buffy nodded and tugged on Spike’s hand. “Come on,” she said. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we get to go home.”
He nodded in turn, though the look in his eyes was much too distant to trust anything so remote. The feeling that had been surmounting all day—all through their revelations and trades, lovemaking, confessions, and now this. He had known it was coming, and still with everything else, it was still much too soon.
So soon.
Dread would not stop him, though. Nothing could.
To the end of the world and back. Whatever it took.
They had come this far. He would not lose her now.
*~*~*
The path that led up to the old house was off a smaller road and wound into a thicket of woods that seemingly guided them out of the town altogether. It was strange going from an urbanized setting to virtually the middle of nowhere, and still acknowledge that Natchez existed around them.
It was at the gateway where they would, on an ordinary day, stop and purchase tickets that Buffy finally slowed from the fast-paced sprint to a sudden halt, hunching over. The distance between the Wensel House and Longwood was considerable—though not as the light show would have suggested, still a monumentally longer run than she was accustomed to in Sunnydale.
Especially with a considerably heavy crossbow slung over her back.
Spike’s eyes widened when he saw her buckle, diving forward from where he had previously been lagging behind to catch her before she tumbled completely. Her arms immediately latched around his throat, and she clung to him, gasping as her heart thundered against his unanswering chest.
He held her for a few moments while she caught her breath, running a soothing hand through her hair. “Don’ go losin’ your energy on me now, luv,” he whispered, brushing a kiss across her temple. “Not when we gotta god to fight.”
“I’ll be fine,” she gasped. “Just…haven’t run that fast since track senior year.”
“Noticed. Think you broke a few records.”
Buffy didn’t reply, merely clung to him, breathing deeply as she gathered herself. And Spike didn’t mind that at all; as long as she was here, pressed against him, she wasn’t in danger. She was with him. Her hair curled through his fingers, her body against his. He would hold her as long as she needed. Forever if she needed.
“Thank you,” she murmured. He wondered if he had spoken that last bit aloud.
“For what, sweetling?” he replied, whispering a kiss against her forehead.
“Coming with me. I know you—”
He pulled back, eyes wide as saucers. “Wouldn’t’ve been able to stop me ‘f you tried,” he swore ardently. “Told you, luv, I got your back. ‘m not lettin’ you go without a fight.”
“I know. And I know…I…” She broke and shook her head, pulling away slightly in subtle recognition that the time for heartfelt trades and emotional confessions was indefinitely reserved for the post-battle bliss. There were just some things that needed to be said now, regardless of suitability. “I’ve never fought a god before,” she said.
“Well, ‘f all goes well tonight, you won’t be.” He offered a lopsided grin and tugged at her hand. “Come on, luv. This apocalypse isn’t gonna stop itself.”
Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have to call it that?”
“Jus’ tryin’ to implement some sense of urgency.”
“Trust me, I got that memo loud and more than clear.” She turned her eyes to the grove of trees that guarded Longwood, the house itself a display of lights that shot far higher than the tallest branches. “Okay. Willow suggested that this guy would need altitude to get this thing done. I’ve been in the house just once…the basement level’s the only place inhabitable. The rest is all boards and paint cans and tools. It’s open air—a cylinder type thing on the inside that leads directly to the dome.”
“The book you gave me had some diagrams,” Spike acknowledged with a nod. “These blokes really like to show off their grandeur, right? ‘S jus’ a big octagon.”
“Yeah, and it’s completely hollow on the inside.”
“You jus’ said as much.”
“Well, when we get in…assuming there are no tricks…” Buffy expelled a deep breath. “She’ll likely be up high. Whatever he’s doing’s going to be pretty well connected with this lightshow, and since the verdict is he’s incorporeal, it might be hard to see where he’s coming from. We’ll just have to remain focused and get her the hell down before whatever’s supposed to go down goes down.”
Spike studied her with an arched brow. “Feel better now that you got that off your chest?”
“I’m a whole new woman.”
His eyes raked her body appreciatively at that. “Hopefully not, luv,” he said. “I was rather fond of the woman I spent the afternoon with.”
Buffy flushed but didn’t respond. “I just need a picture of what’s going to happen. Makes it easier for the in/out thing.”
“Right.” That made sense enough.
“And…be careful once we get inside.”
Spike arched a brow. Her flush deepened.
“I’m mentioning it because above the basement’s pretty much every vampire’s nightmare.” She sent him a long, meaningful look as they set off down the path once more. “I just wanna make sure that you’re gonna be okay.”
Spike just looked at her, smiling gently. “Tryin’ to scare me off?”
“No. I just don’t want you to get overly-zealous and…” She trailed off sheepishly and returned his grin, squeezing his hand with more affection than even she was aware of. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I know that trying to talk you out of this is impossible, but—”
“Damn straight.”
“Just be careful, okay? If you get…hurt, I’m not…” Buffy pursed her lips, her eyes fogging; her breath stopped in her throat. The wealth of emotion that crossed her features alone touched the vampire deeper than any one action ever had before. There were words there that had yet to be said. Words that would feel too much like a goodbye if she said them now. “I can’t…”
“Shhh, sweetheart.” He whispered another kiss into her hair, squeezing her tighter to them as they neared the last bend that shielded the house from the main road. “I know. We’ll take care of each other, right?”
The uncertainty in her eyes nearly killed him, but he well understood her fear. It was too much their karma to obtain something pure and perfect before life—before the Powers decided to rip it from them. And now that he had this, walking toward an uncertain fate with the weight of the world and the promise of something he had waited forever to have—there was just so much to lose.
And then, just as the house was coming into view—the glow of the lights nearly blinding them both—Spike couldn’t stop himself. He had to say it again. Just this one more time. Just in case.
“Buffy.” He stopped abruptly, tugging her back to him. The softness in her eyes was more than enough to attest what he needed to say. That radiance. That kind understanding. That fluster of feeling she had yet to name. It was all there. All waiting behind her eyes. “Buffy,” he said again, smoldering. “I love you.”
Her cheeks flushed and her eyes warmed. It had only been a day. They had enjoyed a night together, spent a glorious day basking in the novelty of budding emotions that they were still hesitant to name.
If they were going out, now would be the time. When they were both so blissfully happy.
Instead, Buffy shook her head and nodded. “I know,” she said, brushing an ardent kiss against his lips. “Spike, I—”
He pulled away rapidly, though likewise with reluctance. “No.”
“No?”
“Not now.” He nodded to the house. “After. All right?”
“What?”
“After. We’ll save this for after, right?” He studied her a minute longer, then shrugged with a sheepish, uncertain smile. “Jus’ have somethin’ to look forward to. Give us reason to get it done quick. Sound good?”
She looked at him a moment longer, eyes unreadable.
Then, slowly, she smiled.
“Sounds perfect.”
His smile broadened and he neared and kissed her again. Right. Perfect.
Now they just had to survive whatever this Quirinias had in store. Survive it and get a Slayer out in the process.
A Slayer that was already a bona fide psychotic.
Right. Piece of cake.
*~*~*
The inside of Longwood was, at first take, deceptively serene. The sort of deathly silence that preludes a terrible collusion. Driving forward slowly into unknown territory. Such to the point that when Buffy kicked the front door open, the splintering crack that echoed through the vacant halls resonated for eerie seconds and hummed to a still when finished, unwilling to fully expire.
“’S this a bad time to mention that I have a bad feelin’ about this?” Spike whispered, hands steady at her waist. The inside was exactly as she had described; a large shell with markings of plans on the walls—instructions a hundred years plus in the making. “Right. So…creepy.”
Buffy snickered, eyes tracing the walls. Every step they took sounded through endless and empty corridors; a sure forewarning to anyone who might be listening. “Creeping out the vampire,” she murmured. “That’s reassuring.”
“Oi.”
“Just saying.” They didn’t get very far in—whatever was there was definitely disembodied, but at the same time, not lacking in power. The outer hall of the house, supported by pillars that would have held statues in small alcoves had the home been completed, parted at the entrance and led to the focal point of the ground floor. A small boxed window embedded in the center of the room—the same that illuminated the furnished basement through a series of paned windows and careful strategy.
The light was blinding. Shooting directly from bottom to top.
And levels upward where no man had traveled in years, Faith was tied between boards; her body outstretched. Made an offering of the gods.
“We don’t have much time,” Buffy said. “Come on.”
“That’s well an’ good. Whaddya have in mind?”
The Slayer didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes were fixated on the captive brunette, large with calculation. She was a symphony of light. A showcase of the worst kind. “He’s going to go through the beam,” she said slowly. “The show’s not for us…not even for her. It’s for him.”
“Huh’s that?”
“The ritual they were talking about…Faith’s here. That’s it. The ritual prepares him, not her.” Her gaze widened with understanding. “I’ve got to get up there.”
“Buffy—”
It was no use. She had projected herself a good ten feet in the air the next minute, landing haphazardly on the floorboards of an unfinished veranda. And he didn’t think. Didn’t take a beat to second guess himself before following. All he knew was if she ran, he ran with her. He wasn’t letting her out of his sight.
Even when she acted without thought.
“Buffy—” he began again to little avail. “Wait! We have to—”
“I’ve got it!” she yelled back, eyes already scoping the length of her next leap. The waver of the wooden planks beneath their feet was doing everything possible to invigorate his heart out of its century-long retirement. The fall they would both survive, but she was human and that made her fallible.
Something he wondered that she didn’t forget every now and then.
The beams shooting from the lower levels were growing more intense. The Slayer was a flight above him. And from nowhere, the ground had started humming a low, intoxicating growl that touched every corner of the unfinished manor.
Spike’s eyes widened. They were running out of time.
Already.
“Buffy!” He glanced downward into the focus of the beam, flinching away in surprise when his skin didn’t evaporate into dust. “’S gonna come through the—”
“Spike!”
She was a blur of motion, but for the rumble quaking the floorboards, he knew then—in that instant—that she would not be fast enough. There were certain things that a Slayer could not outrun.
A Slayer. Not a demon.
“Buffy!”
Fire flashed out the dirtied window panes. Blazes of orange and red. Spike was moving without realizing it; his feet carrying him blindly in the only direction he knew. It was a question of time now. He had lost interest in saving Faith. Right now, it was a matter of grabbing Buffy and getting the hell out.
Faith was beyond saving. For however fast they were, the god would have her first.
And then there would be nothing to do but run.
The rumble escalated to climax, and in a second, it was over. The lower floors diminished with a roar, dissolving into a blur of rising glory. Spike’s eyes widened, fixated on his Slayer. Suspended in midair, a half-leap made to the other side of the veranda. It tore through her body as though she was made of nothing—pierced an inhuman scream through the air as her skin spread with the rage of a sudden inferno.
The blaze stopped with her and the roar was over before he could react. And then, just as quickly, the wisps of power softened into the welcoming embrace of her vulnerable skin, ignoring Faith entirely.
It all happened within seconds. A few horrible seconds. Spike wasn’t aware that he was screaming until his voice bounced with impact. He had leapt across the veranda to catch her before she could fall, landing harshly on the other side of the dome.
He didn’t pause to think for himself. Buffy was in his arms, and she wasn’t moving.
“Buffy!” He clutched at her with desperation, brushing locks of hair from her face. Their surroundings forgotten—he didn’t care about the rest. Didn’t care that the rumble had died and the beams of light were extinguished. Didn’t care to acknowledge what that meant. His mind was racing, his unbeating heart ached to pound. “Buffy! Talk to me, baby. Say somethin’. God, please!”
There was nothing.
No life. No light. Faith was screaming for help, but he ignored her.
The light had gone into Buffy.
No. No, he refused to acknowledge what that meant.
He shook her gently, ignoring the sudden flood of tears washing down his face. “Come on, pet,” he murmured, brushing a desperate kiss across her forehead. “You can’t do this to me. We were gonna talk, remember? We were gonna get out an’ talk. You can’t—”
A groan cut through his pleas.
Spike brought her to his chest and rocked her back and forth. “Oh thank God,” he gasped, not truly believing the words. Needing to hear something hopeful, even in a voice laced with doubt. “Thank God. Sweetheart, I—”
The air pierced with a shriek that would make angels weep sliced through his falsetto relief with a calamitous outburst. Buffy’s head lurched back and her body trembled into a fit of convulsions.
Her eyes were made of gold.
Spike felt the largest part of him crash. Holding her to him, sobbing into her hair.
Clinging to Buffy in the shattered remains of his father’s home.
His goddess that was to become a god.
TBC