Chapter 19 - Shiftings

Buffy had the presence of mind after a few blocks to hail the next cab she saw. After all, who knew about all those other killer vampires out there?

The driver asked her where she wanted to go.

“Just drive.” Buffy sank against the seat.

Spike just killed someone.

And what did you think vampires do? another part of her mind asked. What did you think he was doing during all those ‘good years’ he talked about? And painting the town red? It was probably with actual blood. And what made you think he doesn’t do it now?

He had never said. She had never asked. There had always been something hanging in the air, and she had blissfully pretended it wasn’t there. Better to forget the question, than to wonder about the answers.

But suddenly all the little thoughts came rushing back to her, everything she had purposefully pushed aside.

“Your daddy’s payin’ me over a thousand bucks a day to keep you alive. I’m not gonna fuck that up by killin’ you myself.”

“If someone had paid you to kidnap me…? Kill me?” / “Done it before.”

“His business practices aside, I have no reason to think that Spike doesn’t still kill.”

Wesley.

Quickly digging through her purse, Buffy located the card that he had given her. She passed it to the driver.

“I need to go here.”

She wondered what the chances were of finding him actually there. It was sort of late, and a Saturday. But investigators kept weird hours, didn’t they? Surely supernatural investigators did. She could always go home if no one was there.

For some reason—probably nerves—it never occurred to Buffy that she could have called ahead until they were actually stopped in front of the building. But there was a light on inside, so she paid the cab fare, though she asked the driver to wait. Buffy knocked loudly on the glass door, and a moment later it was partially opened by Wesley. He looked surprised, and then his eyes narrowed slightly.

“Buffy.”

“Yeah, um, do you have a minute?”

“Of course. Come in.”

She waved off the taxi and walked in as Wesley opened the door wider for her. It wasn’t until she was inside that she noticed he had a crossbow in his other hand.

“You always answer the door with that?”

“Yes, well,” he said. “Can’t be too careful.”

He locked the door behind her. Buffy suddenly wondered exactly what she was going to say. She needed to say something to someone, and he was the only one who knew—

“What happened to your neck?” he asked without preamble.

Buffy brought her hand up to the two-inch thick, heavily beaded choker she was wearing. “No one else noticed.”

“Call it an occupational hazard.”

“I, uh, got bit.” She unfastened the choker.

Wesley frowned as she tilted her chin. “Well, it wasn’t a vampire.” He looked at her, looked down, and then casually put the crossbow back on the wall as he turned. “Please, come and sit down.” He gestured toward the chairs in the reception area.

Buffy entirely missed the subtext of what had happened. She took a seat opposite him. “It kind of was a vampire.”

“Kind of?”

“It was Spike. Things gotkindainvolved,” she rushed, looking down.

“What do you mean inv—oh,” he realized with embarrassment. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” She shuffled her feet.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “he wasn’t trying to kill you.”

It was Buffy’s turn to look embarrassed.

Wesley’s eyes expertly lingered on the concealer-covered bruise on her face. Too expertly—even Cordelia hadn’t noticed the spot on her cheekbone. “Did Spike also do that?” he asked neutrally.

“What? Oh, no!” Buffy exclaimed. “It was some vampire in an alley. Spike saved me.”

“I see.” He paused. “I don’t know what to say, other than I would advise you to stop seeing him. Besides the fact that I doubt the relationship will work out. He’s a vampire.”

“I saw him kill someone,” she blurted.

“When?”

“Kinda just now.” Buffy twisted her hands around.

“Did he know you were there?”

“No, not till—God, I’m such an idiot. You told me, he practically told me, but I just didn’t want to consider it. Like if I didn’t know it, or it wasn’t happening now, then it wasn’t real or something. I wanted to think—I thought what I wanted to think. But duh, Buffy, vampires kill people.”

Wesley studied her a moment. “Buffy,” he said carefully, “What do you think you are to Spike?”

“I don’t…what do you mean?”

“He only associates with humans for business. At any other time, he’s a predator.”

“So what’s with you hooking him up with the human guarding jobs?”

“It was business. Odd as it may sound, Spike honors agreements made. It’s against his skewed sense of fair play or what have you to harm those he’s worked for. Of course, once a job is complete, he doesn’t see the person again. He certainly doesn’t become involved.”

Buffy frowned. “What are you trying to say?”

“Despite the fact that you were business, as well as…other factors— There’s no guarantee with this, Buffy.”

“He won’t hurt me.”

Wesley looked at her, curiously blank.

“He won’t. But—it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to see him again.” She glanced down. “I can’t. Not now. Not after—that.”

No matter how Spike had been to her, there was no way she could be with him without thinking about what he had done. What he still did. Now if she could only stop replaying it in her head.

A moment passed.

“I shouldn’t have barged in here on you like this,” she said. “I just needed to— I should call a cab.”

“No need. I’ll drive you home.”

“But—”

“I was about to leave anyway. I insist.”

-----

Spike had stood at the exit of the alley, watching Buffy as she hurried away from him.

Nothing good would come of following her. He had stared after her until she disappeared from sight, and then he slowly started walking in the other direction.

Spike did not plan ahead. He took things as they came, and lived in the moment. If he’d had a plan, which he didn’t really, it would have been something along the lines of ‘keep Buffy separate,’ or ‘don’t ask, don’t tell.’

Buffy herself seemed to be operating under one of those, so he’d gone with the flow, so to speak.

But he’d told her himself that he’d kill for a job. And she’d heard what the Watcher had said. He knew she wasn’t so thick as to not even consider what being a vampire meant. However, if she chose not to confront him about it, he certainly wasn’t going to bring it up first.

Spike had admittedly glossed over the more mayhem and carnage filled sections of his life, somehow having an idea that she wouldn’t like to hear about it. And while he wouldn’t have denied it if she’d asked, he did feel something odd about the fact that she’d actually seen him making a kill.

The result of which had been her getting as far away from him as possible as quickly as possible. He didn’t know if she would come back, what she would—

His cell phone suddenly rang, and for one ridiculous moment he thought it might be Buffy, before he realized that she didn’t have his number.

“What?” he answered.

“I’ve got it,” a voice replied. “Meet you in twenty.”

-----

Spike walked into the bar and headed for the back, stopping before a booth tucked into the shadows.

“That was fast,” he commented.

“Forty-eight hours or less. You know my business is to please. Though this is almost a personal best, since you only called this morning.”

Spike sat down opposite the man/demon/whatever in the booth. He looked human, even had a human-like heartbeat. But he didn’t smell human, and he’d never changed in all the years Spike had gotten information from him. Not that Spike really cared or put too much thought into it.

“So talk,” he said.

“The Slayer hunters. Pretty hush-hush. They like to keep it that way.”

“And you found out cause…?”

“I’ve got one of those unassuming faces, people just keep talking when I’m around.” He smiled. “Demons, too. No one ever notices me.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “It’s a group of vampires, maybe one sorcerer or seer. Small operation. They go in and grab the girl before she’s called, then kill her as soon as she is. Drain the blood for a boost, and whatever other parts can be used.”

Spike frowned. “Even the Council wankers don’t know for sure who the next is gonna be.”

He shrugged. “Black magic’s always better than white magic. But you’re right, it’s tricky. They’re continually casting, and sometimes never find out—future keeps changing, Slayer lives to fight another day, the potentials shift, etc. Finding out who the next Slayer is depends on how long until the one now dies. It’s easier to predict the closer the event becomes; they pay for any tips about the current Slayer. Way I hear it, some dark magician passing through the Hellmouth dropped to them that she wasn’t long for this world. The hunters pumped up the casting, and they must have found something, because they’re in town.”

“They ever wrong?” Spike shifted, but kept his face expressionless.

“If they’re actually out, she’s the real deal.”

“Grab the girl before she’s called, huh?” he repeated.

“They try to. Sometimes they can’t. They don’t if it’s someone already being trained. It’d look too suspicious. It’s also good one round only.”

“What do you mean?”

“As soon as the girl’s called, they kill her. Hold her for more than a day, say to find the next Slayer and get her, too, the Council will start figuring it out. But no one notices a Slayer that only lives for a few hours. The Watchers find the girl who gets called next, and no one’s the wiser.”

“Never heard of these hunters. They ever take out actual Slayers?”

“No.” He shrugged. “They’re a select group, and they’re sneakers, not fighters. None of them have the guts to go after a Slayer, and anyone who does wouldn’t be joining them. Someone who can do Slayer themselves wouldn’t back down from fighting her outright, or want to share the blood.”

Spike smirked. “Right.”

“They get the job done, though. Every few years or so if they’re lucky, they all get a taste of Slayer.”

A pause.

“Doesn’t seem fun without the fight,” Spike said blankly.

“It’s all about the blood to them. Seems like a lot of trouble to me, but what do I know? Is Slayer blood really that big a deal?”

Spike stood. “It really is.”

He threw several hundreds on the table and walked out.

Fuck.