FAMILY FEUD
PART TEN
"Though I have been unsuccessful in tracing Creel, I have discovered what the challenge is and who the Master of the Hellmouth is," Giles supplied.

"We have a master?"

"Ermmm," the watcher stalled.

Buffy, irked by his timidity, instructed, "Give me the low-down on the challenge and tell me whom the big bad is."

"The challenge is a vampire rite. If a childe wants to usurp as master of their line, they extend a challenge. The challenge being a fight to the death. A duel."

"Doesn't sound too terrible. Why don't we let them squabble amongst themselves? Do each other in for us?"

At her nonchalance, Giles said, "While vampires fighting amongst themselves does not commonly affect us, we cannot ignore this challenge. Buffy... the thing is... the Master of the Hellmouth... it is... er..."

"You're wigging me out here."

He exhaled heavily. "Spike. Spike's the Master of the Hellmouth."

She stifled a snigger. "Huh? You've gotta be joking. How'd Spike get the job? I can picture his resume... former occupation - slayer killer... present employment - baby-sitter of the Key."

Giles paid no heed to the sarcasm. "It would seem he inherited it. He is the elder of his line."

"Elder? No, he isn't. Angel and Dru are older than Spike."

"Yes, they are," he concurred. "However, Angel has a soul and Dru is mentally unstable. The privilege is now Spike's"

"And this doesn't bode well..."

"Because," Giles filled in, "the Hellmouth appears to be Aurelius territory. When you moved to Sunnydale, you had to contend with the Master frequently trying to eliminate you. After him was the Anointed One. Then Spike. Then Angelus. Until Spike's chip, the majority of Sunnydale's threats were contrived by the Master of the Hellmouth and his unified vampires. Could you imagine an unchipped Spike running amok, trying to eliminate you, while you had to tackle the likes of Adam and Glory?"

"Question: The Anointed One was a kid. How did he become master? Shouldn't that have been Spike?"

"No," he disputed. "The Anointed One was of the Master while Spike was of Drusilla. That, in itself, placed him ahead of Spike in the Order of Aurelius. Vampire monarchy isn't our concern though... our concern is keeping Spike alive and well. Good God, did I really say that?"

"With Spike as Master of the Hellmouth, the threats against me aren't as large."

"Precisely. All vampires inhabiting Sunnydale are under his rule, so to speak. They are as loyal as vampires can be besides the select few who only look out for only themselves, such as Spike; recall that he eliminated the Anointed One. Generally, if the Master of the Hellmouth directs them to kill the slayer, they will try to do his bidding. Spike will keep you safe from strategic vampire attacks. The local vampires will remain disconnected from one another, wanting to avoid you... on the defensive rather than offensive. With a new master, they would be united and you would have a constant bounty on your head. Not to mention renewed efforts to open the Hellmouth. "

She cringed at the possibility. "Why the challenge? If Spike offed the Anointed brat, why doesn't Creel just do the same to Spike?"

"My belief is that he will, Buffy," he advised. "And, with Spike having been assisting us, other vampires have probably banned with this new master to assassinate him. They would never contest him alone, even after the chip, but with a leader they might."

This was not good. "What should I do, Giles?"

"I recommend you reach Spike, see what he can tell you about Creel and watch each other's backs."

Easier said than done, Buffy dejectedly thought. He was still missing.

"Okay. I'm on it."

She wondered if this mess had something to do with his disappearance. She was starting to become concerned. This threat to Spike bothered her more than she cared to admit... and it was not just because of the danger awaiting her at his possible demise.

PART ELEVEN
The frail human tried to evade the menacing grasp to no avail. Lifted up, his legs dangled and fear lit his eyes. "I swear. I don't know anything."

"Willy, I'm a man not known for my patience..." Spike threatened. "Just ask gel-boy here. I suggest you spill your guts before we spill them for you."

There was a tick in Angel's jaw at being referred to as 'gel-boy', but he remained silent and added another mark to his mental list of Reasons to Kill Spike. Number 2,368,453. He was smart enough to know that one of the main reasons he was so feared by his fiendish peers was his calm demeanor in grim situations. One of the few traits he shared with his alter ego was cold and cunning ruthlessness when necessary. It had saved his and many others lives on more than one occasion. It had also caused many innocent and not-so-innocent deaths.

The bar owner gasped at the intimidation tactic. Spike having him by the throat was bad. Spike working with Angel was even worse. This was beyond play-acting bad cop and badder cop. These two could and would do serious damage if they did not get what they wanted.

There were still horror stories whispered about Angelus ruling Sunnydale, the mouth of Hell, a couple of years ago. There was no one more adept to be Satan's right hand than he.

And Spike... the Slayer of Slayers. He was impetuous where Angel(us) was cautious. He was loud where Angel(us) was quiet. He never played by the rules. An example being when he joined up with the slayer to take down his own sires before the entire Acathla plot could prevail. It went completely against his vampire heritage. He had earned his reputation as the ultimate Big Bad.

Even worse, he was now following in Angel's footsteps. Aiding and abetting the slayer in demolishing evil spawned from the Hellmouth. When bad vamps go good... it was disgusting. Especially when it costs him customers.

Creel had to be nuts. There was no other explanation in taking these two on.

Willy did what any lucid person would do under similar circumstances - he told everything he knew and was prepared to beg for his life if need be. "All I heard was that a challenge had been issued. Huge to-do. All the vamp bigwigs in the area are going to be there. A few are even flying in on cargo planes. It's tomorrow night."

"And?" Spike prompted. "I knew that much 'cause I've got a special invite."

"N-n-nothing else, I swear. Creel has been in hiding since he arrived. It's been all cloak and dagger from day one."

"If I find out you're lyin' to me... well, I won't do a helluva lot, seein' as I have a chip and all. But Angel..." The warning hung there for a moment. "Or the slayer... well, they'll be none too pleased. Get my drift?"

Willy's eyes widened. The slayer. The one girl in all the world... blah blah blah. A 5'2", blonde-haired, doe-eyed, heel-wearing menace to demonic societies everywhere. She was rumored to be unstoppable. She had defeated numerous enemies - the Master, the Anointed One, the Order of Taraka, a rogue slayer, diverted an ascension, the Initiative and Adam. Even Angelus. She had also taken down a hell god and rose from her own grave to tell the tale. Plus, she owned the hearts of two of the most feared vampires in existence. Indomitable and beautiful, a deadly combination.

"The slayer! I love the slayer! I wouldn't lie to you guys or her. You're my best friends in this town! You all know that," he rasped.

Spike dropped the sniveling coward with a thud. "We'd better be."

Like the predators they were, the two master vampires exited the bar without a backward glance, stalking off into the night. An audible sigh of relief could be heard from every patron that had not fled upon their arrival. Tonight was a good night. They had looked into the faces of death and survived.

PART TWELVE
After hanging up with Giles, Buffy had been inexplicably drawn back to Spike's crypt. A thorough search of the premises produced a tattered blanket. He had left it behind. She retrieved the worn coverlet and hugged it close. She could smell him on it. Clasping it to her chest, she continued to survey the deserted mausoleum, hunting for a clue as to where he could be.

Zip. Zilch. Nada.

Comprehending that it would be of little benefit to sit around and mope, she began pulling herself together. Someone, somewhere, had to know his whereabouts.

Her deliberation was disrupted by a scream. A scream of pain to be exact. Slayer instincts kicking into overdrive, she sped from the ramshackle tomb to the sound. What she encountered froze her in place.

Spike and Angel were amidst a good fifteen vampires battling for their lives. Dust piles revealed that five or six had already been taken out.

She observed them fighting back to back. Their years together showed in instances such as this. They played well off each other, able to read moves and communicate by a simple look or word. So different and so similar, they were. It was eerie.

Buffy released the blanket and hastily leapt into the fray, agilely navigating herself through the mayhem. She extracted two stakes, slashing left and right. One of the attackers screamed, "Slayer!" and scurried away. The others stayed, foolish enough to believe they would prevail.

Their enemies did not stand a chance.

"Don't kill the last one," Angel bade as Buffy sunk the wood into the final vampire's heart.

"Oopsie," she said, contrite.

"Splendid, slayer," Spike goaded. "You killed our only lead."

Snapping out of her apologetic state, she reminisced over the previous seventy-two hours of anxiety and shot daggers at her lovers, past and present. "Lead, huh? To ummm... Creel?" At their sheepish comports, she demanded, "What do you two have to say for yourselves?"

Spike gave her a weak smile. "Hi, honey. I'm home."

He did not see the approaching punch and, before he knew it, lay sprawled.
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