A/N: I want to thank my wonderful betas for their speedy return of my chapters and their hard work and lovely comments about them. Slaymesoftly and Mabel Marsters have really been GREAT! Thank you, laides.
And then, the reviews have been so nice. Thank you for reading and reviewing. It really makes my day. : )

Soul Survivors
Chapter Thirteen: London Calling


With the door slowly closing behind him, Giles once again found himself outside in the damp London night. He gathered his wits about him and adjusted the strap of his bag before scanning the road for Aida. His cousin had begged out of calling on George Foster, and now that he’d experienced the man for himself, he couldn’t blame her.

The little black taxi pulled up and he quickly went down the steps and dropped into the seat beside her. Aida consulted her clipboard before giving the driver the address to their next destination.

“How did it go up there?” she asked Giles.

“Not as well as I would have liked, but I suspect you know that.”

Aida laughed full out in a rare show of emotion, and he fought the urge to smile back at her. Their fathers were brothers and while they were growing up together, Giles had always thought she was a goody-goody. They didn’t speak once he’d gone off into his rebellious stage. When he’d come back in to the fold, so to speak, she had been gracious and kind to him.

Giles stared out the window, watching his city going slowly by outside the moving car. He loved London and longed to be here the whole time he was in the States; but Aida was what he missed the most. She was family and belonging. Her dark brown hair was liberally peppered with gray now, but she wore it up in the same conservative style that she had adopted many years ago. With their identical eyes and glasses, they were often mistaken for twins.

Even though they were the same age, Aida had been two years ahead of him when he entered The Watchers’ Academy. They’d spent late nights together, studying to get him caught up. Like him, she’d dedicated her whole life to the Council and its noble cause.

“I’m so sorry you had to put up with him,” Aida said. “But it’s best to get him on our side.”

“Foster is a churlish git who’s reserving his judgment until after he meets Buffy.” He frowned as he polished his glasses once more. “He‘s agreed to stay quiet about my visit, because he claims to detest Travers even more than we do.”

Aida nodded. “George has made it perfectly clear, since he‘s been back from Africa, that he feels Quentin is incompetent and that it’s time for a change in leadership.”

Giles consulted his watch. “It’s now well past ten and I’m exhausted. This next stop will be our last.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~


Spike leaned against the wall at the entrance to Sugar Baker’s Court and banged his head against the hard stone in frustration. The alleyway was still deserted and now he knew why. The demon bar was no longer located at the other end.

With closed eyes, he took a long drag from his cigarette, trying to think. There’d been so many demon bars in so many countries that he’d never really taken the time to remember their names. If he could just remember it, he could find a vampire lurking about and get the new location. Even then, this whole search was a long shot.

The beginning of the last century was when he’d last seen Torch. Even if the orange-haired vampire had stuck to London for his feeding grounds for hundreds of years before that, it didn’t mean he hadn’t struck out for greener pastures since.

Spike stuck his hand into his jeans pocket and fingered the ring he had tucked away there along with a few rare coins. Buffy paced back and forth, pausing often to look up at the skyline. His disposition softened when he got a glimpse of the emerald pendant around her neck. He had known that she’d like the emeralds, and when the time was right, he’d give her the matching ring. It was burning a hole in his pocket and he itched to do it. Now wasn’t the time.

He glared at the leather bag that the tuxedo-clad employee had given Buffy before they left the white room. It contained some bloody awful poetry. Spike had tried to get her to put the pages back into the box before they left, but she insisted that she wanted to read them, to get to know William. Some of those poems had been written when he was a fledgling, and he wasn’t too keen on her getting to know that him.

They’d stopped on the way out of Wolfram and Hart so that he could withdrew a hefty sum of cash to take back to Sunnydale with them. He’d never had need of it in the past, he just took what he wanted; but all that was changed now. The last time he’d considered withdrawing the money was the night he first saw Buffy working at the Doublemeat Palace. She would never have accepted it at the time, so he’d just left it alone.

Once they were out on the street again, he’d brought up the idea of finding Torch. Spike had to mentally stamp down his jealousy when her eyes got big with excitement over the prospect of meeting this ancient vampire. He’d wanted to shake her and insist that look should be for him alone, but his reasonable side, the part over run with the goodness of a soul, told him that he was being ridiculous.

“There can’t be too many stupid names for demon bars,” Buffy told him as she stopped in front of him. “Evil this; Wicked that. How hard can it be to remember?”

“I’m sorry, love.” He dropped the cigarette and put it out. “Let’s take a walk and see if we can’t find someone who remembers it.”

They strolled through more open streets and had found their way back to the big glass building with the modern fountain before they saw another vampire. He was singing off key while balancing on the edge of the fountain on one leg. From the looks of it, he’d already fallen in more than once. His black hair was plastered to his face and his jeans and jacket were soaked.

“Hey, mate!” Spike said cheerfully. This one was young and if the friendly routine didn’t do the trick, he could always go master crazy on him.

“Whoa there! Nice night to be out, yeah?” The vampire practically shouted in a slurred and heavily accented voice.

Buffy tapped Spike on the shoulder. “What did he say? Is he speaking English?”

He shushed her and chuckled. “Yes, but best let me do the talking.” Spike took long strides, getting closer to the young one. He smelled like cheap beer. “I’m looking for an old bloke. Goes by the name of Torch.”

The young vamp’s eyes crossed and he stopped balancing to jump down. “Yeah, I know him. Foocking bastard.”

Spike smiled at him. “It’s a little early to be pissed yet.”

“Well, we gotta start sometime. Had me a nice wench for dinner and celebrated early.”

“So. Torch. You seen him lately?”

“Aye, just left him at Smiley’s.” He swayed a little and hiccupped. “Well, I didn’t talk ta him, ya know. Bloomin’ idiot thinks he’s the King of Scotland, ‘e does.”

Spike moved to give the fella room as he pushed past him. “And where might Smiley’s be?”

“I might only be ten and two along, but I’m no fledge. Fooking bastard.”

Spike’s patience was running out. He gripped the vamp’s shoulder and shook him a little. “Smiley’s; where is it?”

“Past St. Olave’s Church, don’t ya know?” He looked Spike over as if seeing him for the first time. “Haven’t seen you round these parts before.”

“Just passing through. Thanks for the information, mate.” Spike jogged back to Buffy and smiled triumphantly. “Shall we find Smiley’s?”

Buffy looked past him and grimaced. “I wish we had a stake, cuz, yuck.”

He didn’t know what he was looking for, that would give him an indication of where the bar might be. They had to stop for Buffy to read all the plaques on the church graveyard that were clearly for tourist, before they could get past St. Olave’s.

He didn’t think there’d be a big sign hanging up saying “Smiley’s”, but the closed sign with the yellow happy face was even more unexpected.

“Are we at Wal-Mart or a bar?” Buffy quipped.

If Spike didn’t know any better, he’d think he stepped into any pub off the street, but the lack of heartbeats all around told him other wise. A couple of blokes played pool off to the side. A big group sat around a table just past the pool tables. A few more sat at the bar and a couple of birds were talking by the old-fashioned jukebox.

He grabbed Buffy’s hand and sidled up to the bar. “Slow night?” he asked the beefy bartender.

The bartender stopped polishing the spot he’d been concentrating on and glanced up. He jerked his head towards Buffy who was looking around in awe. “What’s wrong with ‘er?”

“She’s American.”

“That explains it. I don’t have any Budweiser.”

Spike chuckled as he covered her mouth, before she could get out a quip. It wouldn’t do to upset the bartender. “We’re looking for Torch. Seen ‘im?”

He pointed a fat finger to a dark corner.

“Thanks, mate.” Spike pulled Buffy closer to him before pushing away from the counter.

“What are you having?” The bartender asked in a tone that brooked no argument.

Spike hesitated. He didn‘t like being forced to do anything and that included buying bad booze. He glanced at Buffy with her hopeful expression as she stared at the dark corner and made his decision. “A bottle of single malt whisky and two glasses.” He slapped a bill on the bar, handed the two glasses to Buffy and grabbed the bottle before the bartender could put it on the counter. “Keep the change.”

When a few more vamps entered the pub, Spike took a quick look, assessing the newcomers. They were no threat, so with Buffy following close behind, he kept going towards the booth in the back. The old vampire had his back to them. He was hunched over his glass, his bright orange hair unkempt and almost comical.

Spike glanced at Buffy, raised his eyebrows and grinned before he cleared his throat.

Without looking back at them, Torch said in a thick Scottish brogue, “Ach awa’ an’ bile yer hied.”

“Wha-what?” Buffy asked with a frown.

Spike grinned at her. “He basically just told us to piss off.”

He guided her to sit across from Torch and slid in after her. Spike stayed silent, sizing up the old vamp. His green silk shirt hung loosely over his rail thin body. He looked just as he had over a hundred years ago, except he dressed better now.

“You might remember me. We met at the top of the last century.” When Torch still kept his head down, he added, “Name’s Spike.”

Torch’s head snapped up and he glared at them. “I dinna recall the white hair.”

“Yeah, well.” Spike shrugged. “Got bored with the natural look.”

“Last time I saw you, you were a cocky young bastard. You bag any more slayers? Heard ya got one in New York.”

“No, but that’s why we’re here.” Spike glanced at his girl. “This is Buffy.”

“Bonnie lass, but stupid nickname. Mighta done better if you kept your human name.”

It took Buffy a moment to understand his heavily accented words, but when she did, her eyes widened. “That was my human name.”

Torch snorted and took a drink. “Get to your point so I can go bach ta ma drink.”

Buffy put her hand in Spike’s lap and he laced her fingers with his, giving her a gentle squeeze.

“Before I was turned, I was a slayer.”

It was as if he’d finally woken up. Torch sat up and really stared at her. “The hell you say?” Then he glared at Spike. “Thought you said you hadn’t got another slayer?”

“Didn’t. My sire got her.”

“It’s a long story and very boring.” Buffy said. “My watcher had some journals that I read. One was from Andra’s watcher.”

“Don’t want to talk about ‘im.” Torch said with a frown. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“When you awoke, did you feel bad for the humans?”

Buffy smiled at him. “Don’t you mean to ask if I have a soul?”

Torch reared back and let loose a string of curses. Spike went into defense mode, ready to protect Buffy.

“All this bloomin’ time.” Torch laughed. “I knew it.” He leaned in to the table and whispered, “It’s what happens to all slayers when they’re turned, right?”

Buffy nodded her head. “I’m sorry to bring up bad memories. I…I just read Andra’s watcher’s journal and it fascinated me.”

“What about it? That dry Englishman could no’ be entertaining.” Torch took a drink and then stared at Buffy sheepishly. “Does he mention in there how I once saved his unworthy life?”

Buffy and Spike exchanged an amused looked. “Yes, he did. Just a short note about it though.”

Torch groaned. “Can we no’ burn the book, then?”

“I’m sorry, but we need it.” Buffy hesitated. “Can you tell me about Andra?”

“What do you want to know?” Torch scratched behind an ear. “She was a slayer and I turned her.”

“Her watcher was under the impression that she was in love with you.” Buffy said.

“Aye, she was.”

The far off, nostalgic look that crept across his deceptively young face had Spike feeling nostalgic, too. He gazed at Buffy. She looked just as amazing in profile just as she did from the front.

“You were in love with her, too.” Buffy said confidently.

“And why would you think that? Soulless creatures din’na have the capacity to love.”

His hard stare did not deter her. “I know you loved her. You wouldn’t have saved her watcher and declared it was for Andra, if you didn’t.” Buffy leaned into Spike. “Besides I have personal experience with soulless creatures.”

Torch’s eyes widened as he grinned. “So that’s the way it is?” They didn’t say anything, so he said, “So you want to know about Andra?”

Buffy nodded. “I just feel this sisterly connection to her, you know. We’ve been through some of the same things.”

Torch laughed at that. “You have fallen in love with a demon, been turned and woke with souls, but you two are nothing alike.”

He settled back in his seat. “I was just six months a fledge when I bumped into her one night. My sire had warned me about slayers and I knew she was in our town, but I didn’t know it was her.” He waved his hand around his head. “I saw this lass with pretty red hair and got a bit homesick. I have never fed off another Scot in my entire existence. I was still trying to shake my humanity and I felt bad for the gal, walking all by herself at night. An easy meal. So I walked up to ‘er and warned her that she wasna safe out on the street at night.”

He chuckled and downed the last of his glass. Spike refilled it with the whiskey he’d paid for.

“That little spitfire pulled out a stake and thanked me for the warning. I almost didn’t see it coming because I was mesmerized by her beautiful blue eyes, but I managed to jump back and asked her if she could harm a fellow Scot.” His brown eyes lit up again in mirth. “Do you know what that chit said?” He altered his voice to make it high pitched. “That would depend on where in Scotland ye were born.”

Buffy smiled, not really getting the joke. “So she obviously didn’t stake you?”

“No. She din’na. I would meet her when she went on patrol to give her pointers while she did what she was bairn to do. I liked her. She was only fifteen and she developed a crush on me. At one point, she asked me not to kill my prey. I promised her I wouldna, but I lied to her.” He shrugged. “One day, she shows up and begs me to turn her. She’s all moon eyed. I tried to get her to see that she would be evil, that she would become what she was trained to kill. She didn’t care. She just wanted to be with me.”

He frowned and looked down into his glass. “I thought about it and didn’t see how I could lose. I could boast to being the youngest vampire to ever kill a slayer and I could have Andra by my side for all eternity.”

“But she woke up with a soul,” Spike said to encourage him to go on.

“Aye, that she did. And upset as could be over what she’d asked me to do.” Torch shook his head. “She took off and was gone for three days. When she came back, she told me that she’d gone to see her watcher and that he’d taken an oath to kill her if she was turned.”

Buffy put her hands on the edge of the table. “Wait! Did you say that you saw her after she went to her watcher?”

“Aye.”

Buffy looked at Spike. “Her watcher said she went out into the sun and killed herself. That he saw her pile of dust.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Andra came to you after she saw her watcher?”

“Aye. If he says she walked out into the sun, he’s either a liar or he’s mistaken.”

“How could she survive in the sun?” Buffy asked.

Torch shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her.”

Buffy gripped Spike’s arm. “Andra is still alive?”