CHAPTER 6

The flight might as well have been called The Vampire Special. Not that there were others of the undead persuasion on the plane, but the timing meant the entire flight was spent in darkness. Leaving London at 8 p.m., it landed in Sunnydale just after 11:30 the same night.

Spike’s window seat gave him a wonderful view. He’d flown before, of course, but only short-haul flights, usually on the ticket of whichever passenger he’d just bitten. He’d made a game of it for Dru – a twisted version of the perennial mystery flight – but they’d never left the United States that way. Lack of ID could make airports hard even for vampires, although they’d fed on their fair share of border guards and customs officers at regular border crossings.

Giles had fixed that now: either the Watchers’ Council had useful connections, or the shady characters Spike had suspected lay in the Watcher’s past had paid up in spades.

He had it all, now. Passport, a British driver’s licence, even a Green Card. He didn’t know how they’d managed to come by that one, and suspected he didn’t want to. He had a shiny new identity to match, almost. Anya had suggested he adopt the name Randy Giles; fortunately, Giles had been as revolted by that idea as Spike. “Mr. William Carmichael Spike” might not be the most creative name they could have come up with, but at least he’d have no trouble remembering it, and the tie to Nancy and the kids reminded him that he was part of a family again. He even had a checking account with a healthy balance. Now that was a definite first.

The flight attendants clearly knew what he was. He’d refused a meal, instead taking a long draught from his silver hip flask. Must remember to fill it with whisky before the plane lands so I have one less thing to explain to customs, he reminded himself.

He’d stood up to stretch his legs a little, and had been amused – and somewhat impressed – by the attendants’ immediate reaction. A couple had just looked like rabbits caught in a spotlight, but the others had moved quickly and smoothly into position, two shadowing him and others moving to isolate the toilet areas. He knew from experience that a body could go undiscovered there until after landing if you locked the door neatly behind you.

“Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” his mother had maintained. The habit of cleanliness had stood him well throughout his rather dramatically un-godlike years, however much Angelus and the others had mocked him for it. There were times when you wanted to leave a conspicuous message … and there were times when you wanted to return quickly and quietly to your seat before some young flight attendant got creative with the piece of wood he was oh-so-casually flipping from hand to hand.

Spike sat, took another swig from his flask, and began once again to leaf through the oh-so-boring in-flight magazine. At least the killing had made the long flights less boring.

***

There was no one to meet him at the airport, of course. He’d known there wouldn’t be, but something inside him had kept hoping, regardless. Perhaps it was the tearful reunions all around him that made weary travellers long for their own.

He didn’t have much luggage, although he’d brought presents for all of them. For Anya, a history of currency and a rather gaudy bracelet of Victorian gold sovereigns. Fudge Toffees for Clem, with a selection of other British snack items to appease the demon’s insatiable appetite for strange new foods. A duty-free MP3 player for Dawn. (What did you give a teenager anyway? He’d picked up a top from The Gap just in case.) For Xander, he’d bought a Union Jack t-shirt and a snow globe showing Buckingham Palace, wondering why he bothered.

Finding the right gift for Buffy had been hard. In the end, he’d settled on the obvious: a giant pair of fluffy slippers shaped like the Tower of London, and an antique dagger he’d picked up at Bermondsey market early one morning. A delicate ruby and diamond pendant and a pair of matching heart-shaped earrings were buried at the bottom of his bag. Best just to forget about them, he told himself.

He hired a car at the airport, although all that legitimacy was nearly enough to send him out to steal a car from the parking lot instead. Funny how hard it was to drive on the right, after only five months away. He passed the familiar landmarks – the Docks, the road to the dam, the out-of-town crematorium, before reaching the “Welcome to Sunnydale” sign. Here, the temptation proved too much for him. He turned the car around and drove back, parking beside the sign. Stepping out of the car, he stood and stared at the gaudy welcome message, before delivering a swift, sharp kick that left the sign hanging limply by one corner.

“It’s tradition,” he announced to no-one in particular, then returned to the car and drove uneventfully to the Magic Box.

***

The basement apartment was as cosy as Giles had said it would be; smaller even than his crypt. It made up for it in amenities, though, and Giles had installed cable, as promised.

When he’d arrived in England, Spike had scoffed at the “luxuries” – power that didn’t go out in a strong wind, running water, a proper telly signal. Maybe he was going soft, but he was glad not to have to go back to doing without.

First thing he’d need was some furniture; it was a good thing the Sunnydale mall opened nights. He wondered idly which idiot was responsible for that particularly smart decision, in a town crawling with vampires and other nasties. He’d made use of it himself; it was like one of those posh restaurants where you could choose your lobster while it crawled around the tank.

***

He slept for most of the day, catching up briefly with Anya, who agreed to return his rental car the next day. The Magic Box was much the same, with the addition of the small apartment and some securely locked heavy-duty cages around some of the ‘upstairs’ bookcases.

His trip to the mall left him considerably poorer, as the new owner of a comfy lounge suite, fancy telly and VCR, a coffee table, a queen-sized sleighbed, bedclothes and a huge framed photograph of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Sometimes you just need to have a touch of class, he figured. He arranged for next-day delivery to the Magic Box, then set off for the cemetery.

Clem was surprised and pleased to see him. He was even happier when Spike told him he could stay on in the crypt.

“I see Buffy a bit,” he volunteered. “She’s stopped asking when you’ll be back though.”

Spike shrugged, ignoring how much that piece of news hurt him.

“Probably found herself another bloke,” he commented, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” replied Clem anxiously. “I don’t think she’d have time, for one thing. The Hellmouth’s been pretty busy lately. There’s a group of Grshnit demons that have moved into some of the discarded containers near the Docks. I’m not sure what they’re up to, but there’s certainly more of us around than there used to be.”

The demon’s sweeping gesture clearly included Spike as “one of us.”

Spike frowned. He’d have to check that out.

***

He felt her before he saw her, on the way back to the Magic Box. She’d surprised a couple of vampires feasting on a homeless man, and had taken longer than she used to to dispatch them. Had she felt something too, he’d wondered; she’d certainly looked around once, briefly, almost letting the vampires get the jump on her. He’d have to tell her – but no, he wasn’t ready to face her just yet. Not unless she needed him, that was.

Once she was safely home, he hurried back to the Magic Box and dragged out the old typewriter he’d found in the basement. Inserting a clean piece of paper, he typed:

SLAYER -- ALWAYS REMEMBER WHERE YOUR OPPONENTS ARE. ONE OF THOSE VAMPS TONIGHT NEARLY GOT YOU BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T CONCENTRATE. NEVER FORGET THAT YOU ARE ONE AND THEY ARE MANY.

Here was one way he could help her without having to see her. He did a quick sweep of the streets and pushed the note under her door before heading back to his apartment for a quick nap on a training mat he’d ‘borrowed’ from the back room.

***

The following day passed quickly. Spike worked at the Magic Box all afternoon and took delivery of his furniture. After a quick stop by Willy’s bar that evening (“Tell no-one you’ve seen me”), he had a new piece of the information he needed.

He was in an alley looking at a patch of bluish-green slime when he felt her approaching. He just had time to run up a fire escape and hide in a doorway before she entered the alley. She paused, and looked around, a hopeful, tentative look on her face.

“Spike?” she called. “Is that you?”

The wind blew some discarded chocolate wrappers down the alley and she sighed, shaking her head. Hunching her shoulders into her jacket, she turned away and wandered slowly home.

***

There was another note waiting for her the next morning; typed, like the first one.

Y’GRAVI DEMONS TYPICALLY INHABIT SMALL, DARK PLACES. THEY ARE HIGHLY DANGEROUS AROUND THEIR MATING SEASON, WHEN THEY EXUDE POOLS OF SLIMY BLUISH-GREEN MUCOUS. THIS IS TOXIC TO HUMANS AND, IN SUFFICIENT QUANTITIES, CAN ALSO DISSOLVE CONCRETE.

THERE IS A SMALL NEST BEHIND THE BANK ON THE CORNER OF HOWE AND POWER STREETS. YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO TAKE THEM OUT, PROVIDED YOU REMEMBER THAT THEY CAN REGENERATE UNLESS THEY ARE DECAPITATED. AS THEY ARE DIURNAL, AND RETRACT THEIR HEADS INTO THEIR SHELLS WHEN SLEEPING, THEY CAN ONLY BE KILLED IN DAYLIGHT.

He’d wondered about using the word diurnal. Silly bint would probably think it meant they pissed twice a day or something similarly stupid, so he had taped the letter to a gift-wrapped Concise Oxford Dictionary.

***

Spike was in the basement sorting supplies when she came into the Magic Box. One of the many times he’d been grateful for the enhanced hearing that came with the fangs and lumpies.

“Hello, Buffy,” said Anya, a little too brightly and loudly.

“There’s something weird going on,” said Buffy, apparently oblivious to the tone in Anya’s voice. “You’re still a vengeance demon, right?”

“Well, obviously,” Anya replied.

“So you would be able to tell if someone you knew was in town, right? I mean, say, Spike wouldn’t be able to sneak back into town without your knowing about it?”

“That’s right,” came the wary reply.

Buffy sighed. “It’s just – I’ve been getting these weird anonymous messages. Today’s was a tip-off about a nest of Y’gravi demons. They could have gotten really nasty, and I just didn’t know what to look for. And yesterday there was a report on my fighting prowess. I know I’m not fighting as well as I did when I had someone to train with, but I am trying. It’s been nearly a year since Giles gave me any pointers, and I feel like I’m not working as well by myself as I should be.”

Anya made what were clearly meant to be sympathetic noises.

Buffy sighed. “And – I know this is going to sound weird – but it feels like Spike is here. It’s like I have this itch that I can’t quite reach; something’s just a little bit off.” She frowned. “I made some really stupid decisions, Anya, and now I don’t know how to reach him and tell him those things.”

Spike knew how hard it must have been for Anya to keep his secret, and could almost hear her fidgeting in the silence before Buffy continued in a determinedly bright voice.

“I’ve asked Dawn to come here after school today. I hope that’s okay; I know it isn’t her usual day, but I have some things I need to do.”

***

Spike rang Giles that night, after hiding out in his apartment during Dawn’s visit. He would have liked to go out and see her, to ask her how she was doing at school, and of course how her sister was. He was afraid, though, of what she might say to him; Anya had warned him that Xander had told them all about his assaulting Buffy. Of course, Xander hadn’t explained how he’d felt about it afterwards, either. Maybe, one day, he’d get the chance to try to make things right.

Giles was well, and making plans to accompany Willow to Sunnydale. He’d stay for a week or so, as an “official” presence, then return to England, relying on Spike’s reports to monitor Willow’s progress from that point. Three weeks after that, he planned to return to Sunnydale to accompany her back to Devon.

He was pleased to hear that Spike was settling in and that Anya and the Magic Box were both doing well. The Grshnit demons were another matter altogether, however; he promised to do some detailed research before leaving for Sunnydale.

***

Spike’s next note was brief and to the point, and possibly more of a giveaway than he’d originally intended:

SLAYER – IF YOU KEEP WONDERING WHERE I AM, YOU’LL GET YOURSELF KILLED. STOP LOOKING AROUND FOR IMAGINARY MONSTERS AND FOCUS ON THE ONES YOU HAVE TO FIGHT.