His father had told him that there was a reason his Grandmother Rachel had defied the conventional wisdom of the Council. He had spent years trying to discover the family secret, but his father would never divulge the information. He would only say that Rachel Giles was of the opinion that a demon might be influenced by the vital force of the person it inhabited. She was convinced, some said obsessed, that, somehow, in taking a body’s life force within, that force, the intangible thing that made a person what he was, could hold sway with the demon.

It was a heretical thought. And, as he grew to follow in her footsteps, as did his father, he saw her as a foolish old woman.

Now though, it seemed that he had indeed stumbled upon the very secret his family had kept. Faced with the amazing force that was known as “William the Bloody,” and a scattering of memories that were now becoming brilliantly sharp and relevant, he wondered if he was the fool.
************************************************

15 JANUARY, 1990- HIGHGATE CEMETERY- LONDON-

He knew being here, long after the gates had closed for the night, was a risk. But he had to keep her gravesite from being gawked at or desecrated. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Henrietta Mills had died in a tragic accident. But, as her Watcher, he knew the truth, and he knew that soon enough the demon world would learn of her death. She was the Slayer, and she had given her life in the service of the Council. So now, he would do his, and protect her memory from those that would subject it to mocking and ridicule.

As Rupert Giles stood in front of the headstone, he fought back tears. He knew that this was how all Watcher assignments ended, with the death of the Slayer and the rising of a new. But knowing that did nothing to ease the pain.

That pain prevented him from noticing the companion that had slipped silently beside him, until he spoke, “Shame,” the voice was barely a whisper. In fact, it could have been mistaken for the wind that blew fiercely around the cemetery grounds, “she was so young.”

Startled, Rupert looked for the source of the voice. What he found was incongruous with the cultured tones that were spoken.

The person standing beside him now, looked like he belonged more in the bowries of London than in a cemetery. The voice was cultured and soft, but the appearance was very menacing. The unnaturally bleached blonde hair was enough to make anyone give this man a wide berth. Everything about this man screamed danger, yet he felt strangely comforted by his presence. Rupert ‘s eyes narrowed, as he acknowledged him, “What are you doing here? The cemetery closed hours ago.”

A hiss of air could be heard, “Yeah,” he whispered, “I was visiting one of my dearly departed and I lost track of time,” the face was all sharp angles and almost ghostly, “I lost track of the hour,” the leather coat that the man was wearing billowed around him as the winter winds continued to blow, “ I’m ashamed to admit it but, I was just about to go over the wall when- I noticed you standing here. I thought perhaps you might be in the same predicament; or that you might know of a way out. Perhaps the key to the gate?”

The young Watcher shook his head, “No,” he breathed.

The man eyed the tombstone in front of them, “Eighteen years isn’t a long life,” he mused, “ But, it is more than some are privileged to have. I’m sure she lived a rich, full life.”

“She shouldn’t have died.”

“If we could choose, it would all be different. Wouldn’t it?”

The question puzzled him, and he looked at his companion’s face; trying to decipher his meaning. The man’s face was almost as opaque as the black winter night that surrounded them both.

He turned away from the man for a moment, trying to gather his thought, and when he turned back, the man was gone.
************************************************************************

Even as he heard her speak the words, he knew he was in danger. This was the kind of thing that would kill him; and that wasn’t metaphor. Those words were deadlier to him than sunlight.

He knew what lurked just out of reach, waiting for him to weaken. It was ageless and ruthless, and stronger than he. But he didn’t care.

I’d die for those words. I have before. Bleed me dry, you faceless * coward *! You’re not taking this from me!

He wanted this. He wanted to get lost in her. Let it take over, but he knew that he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to keep her safe.

Spike stared at her in disbelieving silence.

Her eyes were so honest and true, so giving, that he could not help but be drawn to her. He fell against her, weeping as the storm of emotions swirled in him, “Oh Buffy! Oh, Buffy…Buffy…Buffy…Buffy…” he murmured, placing light kisses on her face and neck, “please tell me…”

“Tell you what, Spike? Anything!” she promised, “I swear, Spike. Anything!”

As he felt the truth of her words bubble up from deep within him, he felt the monster getting stronger. As he tasted the salt of her tears on her skin and the sweet tang of her sweat, he could feel the last of his defenses weakening. He groaned as he tried to keep from drowning in the tide he knew would kill her.

With his last, he would save her, like he hadn’t before. With his last bit of strength, he would do the one thing that might save all those he held dear, as well as himself.

There was no other way. He could feel the spark dying inside of him. The monster was too strong now.

Oh, Love! I’m so sorry. I know. I do. But… this is the only way! Please!
*************************************************************

Willow felt the thing roll over her like black tar, sticky and hot and suffocating. She shuddered from the power of it, gasping, “Giles, we have to get up there,” her voice was a tense whisper, “I’ll get Althenea…she’s the strongest here,” she said, as she made her way to the main part of the house, where she had last seen Althenea.

“What is it, Willow,” he asked in a hushed, tight voice, as he slowly followed Willow, his face showing his alarm.

Willow tried to keep the tears out of her voice, “I don’t think we’re dealing with Spike anymore,” she shook her head in despair.

“You mean…?”

Willow nodded, “Giles, if he’s there…he’s so far under that he can’t get out on his own.”
**********************************************************

Buffy felt his body stiffen in her loose embrace, and a cold fear came over her. By the time she felt his fangs pierce her flesh, it was too late to escape.

A force more powerful than any other she had faced, a force that felt kindred to her, whispered in his voice- his last wish, “Lie to me.”