Thanks to a bunch of lucky breaks – Spike being Mr. Let’s-Make-A-Deal at the shelter, the Genthner pup finding her way back to hell unassisted – we’re standing outside the ruin of the high school with hours to go before sunrise.

And we’re standing far too close to each other.

“You’ll be needing to report this episode to your Watcher then?” he asks, his voice neutral.

I shrug. “It can wait. Giles likes his eight hours.”

He nods. We’re standing there, knowing that we ought to go in our opposite directions. But somehow … somehow my feet are stuck to the asphalt of the abandoned high school parking lot.

“Or maybe I should patrol.”

“Hop in.”

I do, even though there’s really no need. I’ve trekked from school to the graveyards a million times. But lately … lately Spike’s company feels comfortable. And even though there’s probably nothing out there, I don’t mind a little back up.

Part of me thinks this is good Slayer thinking, and part of me casts about desperately for a distraction.

Because as we hit the open road – a shortcut looping the long way towards St. Mary’s Cemetery on the edge of town - and the night air spills in the windows, this feels good. Too good, and I can’t tell if I’m scared of going so fast in this antique, or if I’m worried about just feeling good in general.

I notice Spike’s hands on the steering wheel, and something Clem said comes back to me.

“So when did you steal this boat?”

“You’re so certain I stole it?” He quirks an eyebrow.

I remember Spike’s bribe at the shelter, and I’m not so sure.

Then he’s reaching across – one of those weird, super-quick vampire reaches – and opening the glove compartment. Along with napkins from In-N-Out Burger and empty cigarette packs, there’s a slip of official looking paper.

It’s an owner’s card, dated 1961, indicating that Mr. William Pratt IV purchased the DeSoto fair and square.

“Oh,” I say stupidly.

“Had a 1929 Faeton before this. Won that one in a poker game.”

“They had cars in 1929?”

He smiles at me. “Yeah. Had electric lights and running water, too.”

“Whatever,” I respond. But I’m really curious now. I mean, here I am trying to stay alive long enough to graduate from college and Spike’s been around since the birth of the automobile.

“Still have it, stashed in a garage in Arizona. Doesn’t run anymore. Tough to get parts for it.”

I nod.

“Had a bunch of others, over the years. Won ‘em in races. And yeah, stole a few. But this one? This one’s my baby. Been all over the continent with her.”

We’re back at the garage. As we park the car, then fall into step next to each other, Spike looks sheepish.

This is a funny look for a wolf.

“Didn’t mean to jaw on ‘bout my cars, Slayer.”

“It’s okay. Kind of good to know that you’ve got a hobby besides killing Slayers.”

“Ah, but Slayers are my first love.”

We’re not quite at the gates to Restfield. “Maybe you’ll tell me about it sometime.”

“Maybe.”

***

We do kill things.

Couple of vampires and a scaly, overgrown lizard demon.

It isn’t much of a fight, not with an extra set of fists.

I’m waling on the last vamp – a scrawny thing with a mop of unruly curls – while Spike lights up a cigarette and watches.

“Nicely managed, pet,” he tells me as the dust settles.

I frown, but I guess I don’t really mind. There’s not a lot of applause in my line of work. Maybe I’m used to being unsung, but tonight, I kind of like the praise.

Just as the silence borders on the uncomfortable, a newbie vamp built like a linebacker drops from the rooftop of the Hannon crypt. I’m wriggling free as Spike is prying the big guy from my back.

It takes forever – just when I straddle the vamp in killing position, he bucks me off. A minute later, Spike narrowly misses his shot and goes flying into a tree trunk. Somehow, we’ve both burned through our stake supply.

“Gonna be the hard way then.” He winks at me and lashes out for another attack.

Finally, I’m twisting Biggie’s neck while Spike pins the vamp’s arms back. Too many vampire dustings have become routine. This one felt like a victory.

“Think he brought the rest of the defensive line?”

I look around. Nothing is stirring, not even a bulky, pulse-deprived former varsity athlete. “Nah. Not tonight anyway.”

“Well, then, something to look forward to for tomorrow.”

We fall into step together. It’s close to sunrise now. Close enough that the flammable members of our party really ought to seek shelter.

“Are you walking me back to campus?” I ask. “Cause, really, I’m good.”

“I know, pet. And I’m just walkin. Don’t see it’s your concern how I wear out my shoe leather.”

I stop.

“Spike.”

He stops, too.

“You’re a vampire. And a … a … car thief.”

“Not exactly news, Slayer.”

“You help me. And I … I like that you help me. But we can’t be friends.”

He looks hurt for a millisecond. “Never said I wanted your friendship, Slayer.”

And then we’re close to each other, very close.

I know what comes next, what’s been building since the Genthner leapt out of the car, maybe since his first threat back in the alley years ago.

His lips are on mine, just a brush, and then he’s increasing the pressure.

I close what little space remains between us and part my lips.

The kiss takes my breath away, breaks down my resistance, whispers things to me. And even as I know this is a mistake, a bad idea, something that I’ll regret for however long I manage to live, I can’t push away.

My blood is rushing, adrenaline pumping, like I’m back in the DeSoto on the open highway again. Only this time I’m not afraid.

I can’t wait to feel what comes next, what he’ll ask of me. What he’ll do.

Except that he doesn’t.

Instead he breaks our kiss, gives me a look I don’t understand and walks away.

I watch his back, the leather duster flaring out behind him like a cape.

And the words that form on my well-kissed lips?

“Like you stole it.”

~ Finis ~