Buffy stopped crying, but the tears were still wet on her face. With a strange sense of calm, she considered the man before her--beaten, bloodied, full of hope.

Slowly, she rose from the floor. "Take it, Spike." She offered him the stake.

With trembling hand, Spike took the piece of sharpened wood from his Slayer. "Pet, is it true? What Angel said?"

Buffy stared at him with blank eyes. Her voiced choked and hitched as she struggled for control. "Dawn, let's go."

"Buffy?" Dawn put a comforting arm around her sister. "Don't you think . . ."

"Please, Dawn. Let's go."

Dawn heard it in her sister's voice--the barely suppressed hysteria. "OK, Buffy." She put on her best menacing face. "Angel, are you coming too?"

Angel suddenly seemed very old. He raised his head and twisted his mouth in what he supposed was an approximation of a smile. "You go ahead."

Dawn's face registered fear. Buffy's face remained impassive.

"Dawn, don't worry," Angel whispered. "I won't kill him, not now."

Silently, Buffy and Dawn left the crypt.

Spike grasped the stake in his hand until his knuckles grew white. Angel simply stared through the open crypt door at the two figures fading into the darkness.

For Angel, it was over. It felt like something inside him had died.

Well, it had. The dream that he and Buffy would be together someday. It was the only thing that had sustained him. And now his big romantic dream had become a sick farce.

Angel's gaze met Spike's. The younger vampire flinched in anticipation of the pain he expected his grandsire to inflict. But no blows came. Angel appeared to be keeping his word. Angel's mouth opened, and for a moment it seemed as if he were incapable of speech. But then the words came. Bitter words.

"You should go after her, Spike. Talk. That's what lovers do."

Spike’s grimaced. "Angel, I didn't mean for this to happen. It wasn't my life's ambition to become a defanged, fluffy puppy mooning over the Slayer--the Slayer of all people!" He paused, and his tone grew serious. "I do love her, you know. I'd die for her, I'd do anything."

"Then go after her."

Spike got up from his chair and carefully wiped his still oozing bottom lip. Unsteadily, he made his way to the door. "Angel?"

"What?"

"Thank you."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Willow lit another candle and continued to fume. Well, it was part fuming and part guilt and part something else--fear maybe. What if Tara never came back? What if she was so angry that she decided she was done with her?

Willow scanned the pages of Darkest Magic and absentmindedly caressed her cat, Miss Kitty Fantastico. "Auntie Tara is wrong, Kitty! Just because she went all loopy and psycho and used this book to raise zombie-mom from the dead doesn't mean that I'll go loopy and psycho--does it?"

Miss Kitty purred in response. She liked having her ears scratched.

"See, of course not! No loopy-ness or psychosis for me! Only sanity and cool spells. Speaking of which . . ."

Chapter 12: Mind Manipulation.

Willow felt a very large pang of guilt. This was definitely not of the good. But what if Tara was so angry that she never came back? What if she could make her forget why she hated the book Darkest Magic?

It was awfully tempting.

Henbane, mandrake, bat's wing, eye of newt--hey, she had all this stuff!

Maybe she'd try it, just this once.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Lena Petrovich, room 518 please."

"Hello." Lena Petrovich sat up groggily in her bed. "Who is this?"

"Lena, it's Doctor Black."

"Um-hmm. What time is it?"

"Late, I'm afraid, very late."

"Why are you calling me at this hour, Doctor?"

"I have some unfortunate news."

"Oh?"

"Things did not go as planned. Your little problem--well--I'm afraid he wasn't eliminated."

"William the Bloody still lives? I thought you told me that the situation would resolve itself?"

"I thought it would . . ." There was a burst of static. " . . . free will."

"Pardon me?" Lena adjusted the volume on her phone.

"Perhaps we should discuss an alternate solution to your problem. I know of some interesting photographic evidence, evidence of William's continued misdeeds, that might prove to be particularly persuasive to a certain young construction worker."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Did you deal with your vampire problem, Ms. Summers?"

"No." Buffy's empty eyes met Dr. Higginbottom's. "I didn't."

"Why's that?" Lydia's face filled with something like concern. "Did he harm you?"

"No. Apparently, I love him." Buffy shot Lydia a confrontational look, daring her to react.

Lydia cleared her throat. "I--see. Um, well, this--this--makes it even more urgent, what I have to tell you. You, see, this all--well not all--but most of this has happened before. It was during the Restoration."

Buffy's voice acquired a caustic edge. "The only Restoration I know is Restoration Hardware."

Lydia shuffled her notes nervously and shot a sideways glance at Dawn, who held her sister's hand. "Um, Ms. Summers, what I'm going to tell you might not be suitable for your sister's ears."

"Dawn's heard too much already. Especially tonight. I doubt a lesson in Slayer history will really hurt her."

Dawn smiled defiantly at Dr. Higginbottom and squeezed Buffy's hand.

"I'll start from the very beginning. The Restoration was a period in English history beginning with the restoration of the Stuart king, Charles II, to the English throne in 1660. Oliver Cromwell had taken power after the Civil War and . . ."

Buffy groaned. "Cut to the chase. Once upon a time in England. That's all I need to know."

Lydia sighed and pushed a pile of papers forward. "Very well. Here. Read these. They're the journal entries. I suspect you might find them applicable to your current situation."

Buffy read. Blah, blah, blah. A stuffy Watcher. Obviously hot for his Slayer but way repressed. Slayer kicks major butt with her crossbow. Stuffy Watcher guy scoping out a potential date for his Slayer. How weird is that? Thank God, Giles never tried it, although maybe I wouldn't be in this mess today if . . . Wait a minute. Reggio's a vampire. Slayer drinks his blood. Watcher freaks. Slayer goes psycho. Tries to kill Watcher. Watcher kills Slayer. Watcher kills himself. End of story.

Buffy laughed bitterly. "So, let me get this straight. Because I drank Spike's blood--and don't forget Dracula--nummy vampire goodness there--you think I'm going to go all evil and kill my Watcher? Newsflash, honey! He's not even in the same country."

"Ms. Summers--Buffy," Lydia's face filled with concern. "Believe it or not, I like you. And as you probably have ascertained, I like William quite a bit. I've always had a soft spot for rogues. But it's very obvious his heart is taken by another." Lydia blushed slightly, but continued. "According to what I've been taught by the Council, your William should be incapable of feeling anything human. Animalistic lust, yes. Love, no. But I researched him for years. And I could find nothing to support the standard thesis. He seems to be an exception to the rule. Perhaps he can transcend his nature. And perhaps you can transcend whatever unfortunate side effects ingesting his blood might have upon you. After all, we all have choices. We can choose to--succumb to our basest instincts, or we may rise above them." Lydia began to pick nervously at her cuticles. "For example, part of me hoped the news that William's feeding again would hurt you. But another part wanted to help you. I admire you, you see. That's why I'm sharing this information about what happened in the past."

"Does the Council know you're here, telling us all this? Do they know about Spike?" Dawn's eyes slitted with suspicion.

Lydia shook her head. "No, I've come here of my own accord. And I haven't told them anything about William--Spike's--feeding activities. In fact, Quentin Travers would put my head on a pike if he knew what I was up to."

Buffy smiled weakly. "If what you are telling me is true, thank you. But I'll have to talk to Giles. He has--sources--that might be able to back up your story. I wonder," Buffy shuffled through the papers before her, "did the girl, the Slayer, keep a diary?"

Lydia shrugged. "I don't know. It's standard practice for the Slayer to keep a record of her life, but for some reason her journal was never published."

"Maybe it's hanging out in the archives somewhere." Buffy sighed. "I need to call Giles."

Slowly, Buffy scooted her kitchen chair back, hearing it scrape unpleasantly against the linoleum tile. "Dr. Higginbottom--Lydia--thank you." Buffy extended her hand.

Lydia grasped it, pleased. "My pleasure. Let me know what you find. If I can be of further assistance . . ."

Buffy nodded. "Yes, I will. But now it's time for sleep." She bit her lip. "It's been another very long night."

Dawn opened the door for Lydia.

Then the three women saw him. Rushing up the sidewalk, a determined look in his eye.

Spike.

End Part Eighteen

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