Chapter 24

No Looking Back


Agnes Pringle snapped shut her shabby black handbag and took a last look round the little room that had been her home for so long. Small and cramped it might be – and the noise from the drinkers in Willy’s Bar was a distinct disadvantage – but she had been happy here.

“Now Agnes, no looking back!” she told herself firmly. “Dear Richard has made it possible for you to continue your journey elsewhere. He wouldn’t want you to be downcast about leaving Sunnydale and going back to England.”

She bent down to check under her bed, wondering whom Willy would find to live here when she had gone. She had paid him an additional three months rent because you never knew what the future held in store. Agnes was quite certain that the cottage in the New Forest area of Hampshire would be lovely. She could see it in her mind’s eye, thatched with blue paint on the window frames and a yellow rose rambling across the front porch.

She sighed and clambered to her feet. Yes, the cottage would be wonderful and she’d been assured that it was set in deep woods, which would make it shaded and dark inside. Absolutely perfect.

But – Agnes had no intention of burning all her bridges until she had settled herself back in England. It had been some considerable time since she’d been there. She was sure life would have moved on and although she was not and never would be American, she had come to enjoy a much freer way of life over here in California. She was worried about fitting into her local vampire community. Did they have a lot of rules and regulations? There was sure to be all sorts of local by-laws that she would have to learn. English village life could be very confusing to an outsider, and by that Agnes meant anyone who hadn’t lived in the village for the past three hundred years.

And then there was the fact that she would be leaving her friends here. All her customers whose likes and dislikes she now knew so well: the demons who couldn’t eat nuts, the ones who enjoyed steak and kidney pudding as long as the steak and kidney were fresh that day and not cooked and the vampires who loved the blood she added to her iced fancies.

Admittedly she didn’t have too many lady friends. That was odd, she mused, as she combed her hair and pinned her hat firmly onto her fluffy curls. Joyce Summers had sadly died, of course, and she’d been a human anyway. The Unturned were difficult at the best of times – you never knew how they were going to react - although Joyce had seemed extremely unprejudiced.

No, most of her friends were men. There was dear Clement who dropped in for tea and chocolate biscuits most evenings on his way to his poker match. Agnes sighed. She had done her best to wean Clement away from the devil cards, but to no avail. Still, and she brightened at the thought, he assured her they didn’t play for money, so it wasn’t like real gambling at all.

A thunderous hammering outside drew Agnes to the window. She peered out into the early evening sky. In the distance she could see the vast wooden tower that was being built in the middle of Sunnydale. She shuddered. The oddest individuals were busy constructing this ramshackle affair. It looked as if a good gust of wind would send it crashing to the ground and an air of malevolence hung over the whole area. She would be glad to be out of Sunnydale when whatever was going to happen started.

She wondered how Richard had known the time would come when it would be better to be out of town. She had loved him so very much, but – in her heart of hearts she had known he wasn’t for her. She recalled the day he had asked her to marry him. It had been so romantic – a dark little restaurant, run by two sweet demons called Jason and Marcus. Her blood had been served at room temperature in a silver goblet and she hadn’t had to cook any of the meal!

Richard had held her hand, explained that two people in their middle years could give each other comfort and companionship. He would take care of her – always – and she played a mean game of Scrabble, which would help pass the long evenings.

So why hadn’t she said yes? Agnes stared out at the darkening sky, the great black clouds shutting out the stars. Most people would say she was a silly little woman, throwing away a man like Richard Wilkins III. But – she sighed heavily – all her life she had wanted to come first with someone, to be loved completely and utterly before everyone else. In the romances she read so avidly there was always a dark stranger who rescued the heroine from some dreadful plight. Usually he was rich and she was poor and he whisked her away to life of untold luxury.

Of course these were stories for Unturned people but she could still remember that in all of them, the love they shared had never been shared before. The heroine was the only person the hero ever wanted and it was that love that Agnes longed for.

Oh, it was a silly, girlish dream, but Agnes knew she had come second at best and usually third, in all her friendships in life and now she was dead, she didn’t want to repeat the pattern. Richard had loved his wife to distraction right up to her death; Agnes sensed he didn’t love her in the same way. Once again she would be settling for second-best and suddenly, it wasn’t enough.

And – she had to admit – there was something about Richard Wilkins that made her uneasy. He was a powerful man, a demon destined for great things, she was sure. So why was it that when he held her hand, his fingers felt colder than her own dead skin?

So she had said no. Politely, because there was no need to throw a demon’s proposal back in his face. He hadn’t understood, of course. He had been – well, annoyed wasn’t a strong enough word. Disbelieving, furious, then horribly friendly and calm. Agnes had preferred him when he was angry.

He had bombarded her with gifts, refusing to accept her decision and then, just when she’d thought she would have to leave Los Angeles, Richard had moved away himself and become Mayor of Sunnydale. She had lost touch with him for a year or two, then received an invitation, pleading with her to attend a ceremony he was holding at the high school.

He wanted her to meet someone very dear to him, someone who needed an older woman’s guidance: a girl called Faith. Agnes had been flattered and although she had misgivings, there was nothing in the letter recalling his wild obsession so she’d decided to go. It had been a difficult journey; she had to catch a train that arrived after dark and by the time she reached the school it lay in smoking ruins and Richard had gone.

Was he dead? Her mind told her yes, but deep inside she wasn’t entirely sure.

She came back to the present with a jump. The tower was nearly finished, although what it was to be used for was beyond her. But the demon population of Sunnydale were getting very excited about it.

Agnes had sold a great many packed picnics to those who were vying for good seats around its base to enjoy the show. She felt a little guilty about that – it struck her that it was a bit like feeding the women who’d sat knitting, watching the Guillotine blade fall.

But money was money and even though she knew Richard had arranged for a considerable sum to be paid to her, Agnes didn’t feel that in all honesty she should use that. The cottage and the plane ticket home – well, those she would accept – but not the money. She had always earned her own living and would continue to do so. The money could sit in the bank for the time being. She was sure she would find a worthy use for it sometime in the future. Perhaps she would come across his Faith at some time and be able to help her.

Agnes turned away from the window and glanced at the clock on the wall – the only fixture that Willy provided. The car would be arriving soon to take her to the airport and she still hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to Spike.

He just hadn’t been around. His involvement with Buffy Summers and her sister was growing daily. Agnes couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Sunnydale without speaking to the person she considered her best friend but there was no way she could intrude into that little gang of friends just to tell him she was moving to England. Would he care? She didn’t want to know the answer to that question, although she knew he would miss her gingerbread men – he liked biting off the heads.

She sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, clutching her bag on her knees, waiting for the knock on the door that would herald the beginning of her great new adventure. The problem was, of course, that although Spike was her best friend, she wasn’t his. She was far down the list where he was concerned.

Opening her bag, she took out an envelope. She had written Spike a little note. Nothing effusive, of course, just a jolly, upbeat letter, wishing him all the best and saying she would send him her new address when she was settled and that he was, of course, welcome to stay if he ever came to England.

Agnes read the PS she had added. “Take Care of Yourself”. She wondered if that was a silly thing to say to a vampire like Spike but it was too late to tear up this letter and start again.

A crack of thunder from outside almost drowned the knocking on her door. “Miss Pringle? Your car, Madam. For the airport.” A tall, distinguished demon picked up her suitcases and stowed them inside the long, black limousine.

Agnes followed, gazing around in a last goodbye. Then the door was shut behind her and she sank back into soft grey leather, amazed to find a little shelf in front of her with a television set and a glass full of champagne sitting there.

The driver pushed back the glass screen that separated him from Agnes and said, “Looks as though you are leaving just in time, Miss Pringle.”

He pointed through the window and Agnes peered out and up to where a small figure in blue was perched on the very top of the tower. Even from this distance she could see it was Spike’s little friend, Dawn Summers. So, Glory had found the Key. Oh dear, that was very sad, but only to be expected. She scanned the crowd for Spike but couldn’t see him. She did hope that Dawn’s death wouldn’t upset him too much. At least he would survive the apocalypse.

The limousine crawled slowly through the crowds as the heavens shook, thunder rolled and the very fabric of the world began to tear to let through demons who would never fancy any of Agnes’ cakes and buns.

Suddenly, just as the car was through the crowds and out onto the road, Agnes heard a scream. She spun round and stared out of the back window, in time to see a small shape plunge from the top of the tower. But this wasn’t Dawn. The figure falling was blonde. It was Buffy Summers!

The rolling thunder faded away, the clouds vanished and the stars appeared again.

“Will you stop the car, please?” Agnes said swiftly.

“You’ll miss your flight, Miss Pringle!”

“Never mind. Just stop the car.”

She jumped out and pushed her way through the crowds of vampires and demons who were heading in the opposite direction, muttering in discontent that their fun had been spoilt. At the bottom of the tower, the tragedy was being played out to its close. Agnes didn’t look at the body; all she could see was Spike, crouched in a heap and – crying!

The other humans were gathering around the body on the ground, ignoring the vampire. Agnes eased her way forward and held out her hand to the man whose distress touched her so deeply. “Stand up, Spike!” she whispered. “Stand up and come with me.”

“Agnes! She’s…she’s…Buffy…”

“I know. Come. Quickly. They won’t want you here.”

“But we’re all on the same side. Oh God, Dawn! I’ve got to get to Dawnie.”

Agnes glanced over her shoulder. The young girl was being helped away by the redheaded girl and a boy who was blubbing unashamedly. None of them were looking for the vampire and she knew instinctively that they certainly did not consider him to be on their side. “Later, Spike. You’re going to need all your strength later.”

The vampire stood up, swaying with grief. Leaning on Agnes’s shoulder, he walked with her to the car, then stopped, puzzlement cutting through his misery. “Are you going somewhere, Agnes?”

She helped him into the limo and told the demon driver to take them back to Willy’s Bar. “Me? Going somewhere?” She sighed. She might never be first with him, but he was first with her and she had the oddest feeling that Richard Wilkins would have approved of what she intended to do. He understood loyalty. “No, Spike, I’m not going anywhere.”

tbc