His Childe

Chapter 2 - His Gifts

Tears filling her eyes, Willow read the letter again before handing it to Giles. Dawn had brought it to her, coming back from the hospital alone in the middle of the night. Without a word, she had given her the letter and gone to bed. On the envelope, Willow Rosenberg was written in an elegant cursive. The letter inside was from the same hand. It wasn’t signed, but the first word had told her who its author was.

“Red, I give you a day to get the soul curse ready. If you can alter it to remove the happiness clause, I’m sure the Slayer will be grateful. If not, she’ll learn to deal with it. I’ll call to tell you when to cast the spell. Don’t lose time trying to find us. You won’t, or at least not in time. The best you can do is to make sure she gets her soul back as soon as possible. Don’t lose time either plotting my undeath. I have no doubt she’ll dust me as soon as she’s strong enough. But then she’ll be back, and that’s all that matters. Get ready and wait for my call.”

Willow heard Giles mutter a string of curses, and a part of her mind was shocked that he knew such words, let alone would say them out loud. The Englishman had returned two weeks before, when Buffy’s headaches had turned out to be something serious. He hadn’t slept much since. None of them had. She looked at him, her eyes squarely in his, and braced herself.

“We need an orb of Thesulah” she said flatly.

She expected him to protest, to demand that they hunt the two blondes down before it was too late, to tell her she couldn’t do any magic. Instead, he nodded. “We should have a couple of them in stock at the store. Do you think you can alter the curse?”

She relaxed, ever so slightly. Of course, he didn’t know she was not supposed to do any magic. No one had told him. There had been more dire matters to think of since his return.

“I can try. I know much more now than I knew when I last did the spell. And I’m stronger too. Everything will be fine.”

‘Except for the part where Buffy dies,’ she added mentally.

Before morning, Spike was parking the stolen car in front of the hotel he had picked. As he carried Buffy inside, he was tempted to do it right then. She was so weak, he wasn’t sure she’d last until night. But there was one last gift he wanted to offer her before he took her life.

She slept most of the day and he just watched her, wondering how much drugs the sodding doctors had put in her system. Finally, as evening came, she woke and called his name.

“Spike…”

So faint, that voice. So feeble. As if life had deserted it already.

“Yes pet?”

“Where are we? Why did you bring me here?”

“I can’t let you die, Buffy. Not again.”

Her eyes widened a little.

“What… What do you mean?”

He smiled at her, a gentle smile, not his usual smirk. A smile that said she knew what he meant, and he knew she knew.

“I want to show you something,” he said as he rose from his chair. Coming to the french window, he pulled the curtain away, careful to stay out of the light that poured inside. The hotel had many rooms, some of them better than this one, but none with a better view. Sunlight bathed Buffy, and her lips formed a perfect ‘O’ as she looked through the glass.