“You killed your own mother right before my eyes, didn’t even give me a taste,” Dru said as she placed the shattered doll’s head in the basket. Then she muttered, sneering softly, “Take her with us to lay waste to Europe.”
“Will you never let me forget it?” The memory of his mother always evoked an unbridled anger, but Spike immediately regretted the outburst. Drusilla only mentioned it when she was extraordinarily vexed, as she was now. “You should have a mother. It’s the least I can do.”
“Yes, you’ve been neglecting me lately,” Dru said. “I deserve a special treat.”
“The mall probably has a lovely selection.” Spike wanted to grant her wish, but he balked at sending the Slayer an invitation to come after him before Dru was restored.
“I’ll have the Slayer’s mum.” Dru fixed him with her dark gaze, not imploring or demanding but set. Her mind was made up. Peace and quiet at the factory would end for the foreseeable future unless he gave in.
He gave in.
Appeased and happy, Dru set about cleaning up the sawdust, evidence of Miss Martha’s untimely destruction.
Spike had no trouble finding Buffy’s house. Sunny-dale vampires made a point of knowing the location so they could avoid the Slayer’s neighborhood. The modest two-story home sat midblock on a tree-lined residential street. A front walk paralleled a narrow driveway and led up to a wide porch. A house-shaped mailbox stood by the curb.
“Summers.” Spike read the wood-burned sign attached to the mailbox post and glanced at the house. A car was in the drive, but no one was visible in the lighted front windows. He opened the mailbox and withdrew two bills waiting for pickup tomorrow. According to the return address, Buffy’s mother’s name was Joyce.
“May she rest in peace,” Spike muttered, replacing the mail and closing the box.
He made a quick circle of the property, trying to determine if Buffy was home and taking in details that might be useful when he finally put his mind and energies to killing her. The layout was similar to a hundred other houses he had cased since coming to America: living room, kitchen, and dining room on the ground floor, bedrooms and bath on the top, and a full basement. He leaned over to look in the small window at ground level and rubbed dirt away with his coat sleeve. The area under the house was unfinished, held the usual washer and dryer, and served as a storage dump.
Spike didn’t have much taste for the task at hand and just wanted to get it done. He hated being manipulated, even by Dru, but domestic tranquility was essential if he wanted to function in top form.
As Spike passed by the back door, he heard the phone ring. He moved closer to the door as Joyce picked up in the kitchen.
“Where are you, Buffy?” Joyce asked, and then stiffened with surprise. “With Cordelia? Cordelia Chase?”
The evil social director of Sunnydale High, Spike thought with a grimace. His opinion of the Slayer dropped a few notches. She hadn’t struck him as an in-crowd wannabe. She hung out with Willow and Xander.
“What kind of school project?” Joyce listened, then nodded. “Well, you are a junior. I guess it is time to start looking into colleges. Try not to be too late.”
When Joyce went into the living room, Spike returned to the front of the house. Since Buffy wasn’t home, he considered knocking on the door, but there wasn’t much chance a slayer’s mum would invite a stranger in or step outside. Joyce probably didn’t know her teenage daughter moonlighted as a demon killer, but she would know that Sunnydale was full of unsavory elements. He found a secluded spot at the corner of the porch and settled in to wait. He had no intention of waiting all night, however. There was still the unsolved riddle of the monk-boys.
Spike knew a little something about young men, and sophisticated collegians didn’t dress up as monks to impress sorority girls. They would only don such trappings to worship something, and only something evil would make it worth their while. Sunnydale was demon Disneyland, and the world had no shortage of fools who thought they could strike bargains with evil and win. According to the fraternity’s rejects, Delta Zeta Kappa had a lock on good fortune. If the monk-boys were in league with a demonic Big Bad for profit, the gravy train would last awhile, but it wouldn’t last forever.
And if Joyce didn’t leave the house by nine so he could leave and confirm his theory, he’d have to go home to Dru empty-handed.
“Not looking forward to that,” Spike mumbled with a sigh. He was anxiously awaiting the day when Dru would be able to hunt with wild abandon again. “Then she can kill her own bloody mothers.”
Spike tensed at the sound of the front door opening and closing. He heard the jingle of car keys and the tap of heels on the paved walk. He would not be able to sweet-talk a sensible older woman into going with him. He’d have to knock Joyce out and carry her back to the factory, but at least the mommy debt Dru felt was owed her would be paid in full.
With interest, Spike thought when Joyce Summers moved into view beyond the hedge. She was attractive. Her posture was perfect without being stiff, and she carried herself with a quiet confidence that left no doubt where Buffy’s faith in her own judgment and ability had come from. She held two DVD cases and was probably on her way to return them to the rental shop.
As Joyce inserted her key to unlock the car door, Spike poised to attack. When she opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat, he was still poised to attack. He relaxed when she slammed the door closed and started the engine.
Even demons had lines they wouldn’t cross. Spike had just never confronted his subconscious, self-imposed limit before. He had killed women who had children, including the second slayer, Nikki. He had killed her because she was the Slayer.
Dru wanted Joyce Summers because she was the Slayer’s mother. She meant for Buffy to suffer the same horrendous anguish Angelus had caused her. This time, however, Spike had to deny Dru’s malicious desire to feed and inflict pain.
Joyce deserved to live for taking a whack at him with an axe, defending her young.
Spike shrugged as Joyce backed her car out of the driveway. A mother’s unconditional love was one of the most powerful forces on Earth. His mother had been the only one to love and accept him for who he was before Dru changed him. He had no doubt that Buffy’s mother loved her just as fiercely and completely. Mums were like that.
Invigorated and itching for a real fight, Spike headed toward Crestwood College. As he walked through the cemetery, his high spirits were dampened by a recollection of the previous night. He still hadn’t digested the nauseating fact that Angel and Buffy were on a romantic fast track spring-loaded with physical and emotional tension. His only consolation regarding Angelus’s plummet from black grace was that a relationship between a vampire and a slayer would come to no good end—eventually. In the meantime he had to get rid of the vile taste the whole sordid scene had left in his mouth.
Blood was the only remedy.
Spike scaled the college’s southern wall and dropped into the woods that bordered the Delta Zeta Kappa fraternity house. No guards prowled the grounds, and he crossed the open lawn in seconds. However, a man had been posted on the veranda outside the front door. Rather than announce his intentions with a dead doorman, Spike scouted the outside of the building. An arched window off the kitchen was open, and his first question was answered the instant he climbed through. The frat house was a demon lair: no invitation necessary.
A cursory scan of the large kitchen on his left confirmed his party hypothesis too. The counters were stacked with champagne flutes, cocktail glasses, napkins, crackers, toothpicks for canapés, and serving trays. Tubs of ice filled with bottled beer sat on the floor.
A delivery invoice was tacked to the message board on the wall. Tom Warner had purchased and signed for the shipment of imported beer and champagne.
“But where are the bloody brats?” Spike peered over the counter in front of the window. The interior décor was a combination of New World Spanish and silver and black bachelor chic. Framed pr
ints and photographs shared wall space with wooden Spanish-style sconces. The furniture was heavy and sparse. Nothing outstanding caught Spike’s eye. Then he heard the muffled sound of chanting through the door on his right. He cracked it open.
“I pledge my life and my death to the Delta Zeta Kappas and to Machida, whom we serve.”
Machida? Spike blinked. He recognized the oath of loyalty, except that the last time he’d heard someone take the vow, it had been to Machida and the von Hardt family.
Spike eased the door open wider. The flickering light of lanterns created a pattern of light and dark on the walls of carved stone, and the air stank with the pungent odor of something foul or dead. A stone staircase led down into the damp grotto where a gathering of robed boys tempted fate in order to reap the rewards of a mediocre demonic power.
What were they keeping on ice in the red cooler? Spike wondered. The insulated box on the landing was completely out of place in the medieval underground setting.
“On my oath, before my assembled brethren,” another man said.
The first voice repeated the words. “On my oath, before my assembled brethren.”
The fraternity was deep into an induction ritual that had probably lasted most of the day. Spike knew the drill. The man being inducted was naked to the waist with his hands clasped behind his back.
Machida’s servant pressed the tip of a sword into the pledge’s chest. “I promise to keep our secret from this day until my death.”
“I promise to keep our secret from this day until my death.” The pledge dutifully repeated the words.
“In blood I was baptized, and in blood I shall reign, in his name.”
Spike muffled a snort of contempt as the pledge echoed back the words. Machida hadn’t lost his flair for the melodramatic, but compared to a vampire, the overgrown reptile was as bloodthirsty as a bunny.
“You are now one of us,” Machida’s man said.
“In his name!” the pledge shouted.
“In his name!” several voices repeated.
“Brewski time!” the man in charge announced.
“Party!” someone else yelled.
Rock music blared, and a Machida monk raced up to the red cooler. Spike closed the door and ducked back out the window. He had no doubt now as to the fate of the girl they had captured last night. It was time for Machida’s annual meal of luscious young ladies.
And what perfect timing it is, Spike thought with a grin as he sped into the woods and back over the wall. The demonic event was even better cover for his hungry horde than he had dared hope. No matter how many students the vampires killed in the vicinity of the Delta Zeta Kappa house, Machida’s cult of fraternity boys would take the blame. He certainly didn’t owe the lazy snake-fiend anything. Quite the opposite was true.
Atlantic Ocean
1943
Spike kept one eye on the eastern horizon behind him as he swam for the New England shore. Angelus had put him and Ensign Sam Lawson off the German submarine twenty miles off the coast, with eight hours of darkness. He had lost track of time. The sky was still pitch-black, but dawn was imminent, and he had no idea how close he was to making landfall.
He and Lawson, the new vampire Angelus had sired to save the ship, had parted company after five minutes together in the water. Spike had bid him good riddance. It wasn’t Spike’s fault the ensign and his American crew had been stranded four hundred feet down with three vampires, dead engines, and four German destroyers dropping depth charges. It was the Americans’ fault for stealing the prototype sub from the Germans, and the Germans’ fault for wanting to destroy the boat before the Americans learned its secrets.
It was also the Germans’ fault that he and two other vampires had been on board.
Spike should have taken the cruise ship back to New York with Drusilla the year before, but he had stayed behind to pack and store the priceless treasures she had accumulated from desperate people fleeing Hitler’s followers. Word had it that the Allies would overrun Europe in a year. He had thought that he had plenty of time to finish his business before returning to New York and Dru. No one had suspected the Nazis would begin rounding up demons and hauling them off to places unknown. He had almost been caught in a sweep of the Hamburg docks. . . .
Germany
1942
Spike frantically burrowed into the small cave. The drizzling rain that soaked the countryside during the night had cleared. He had a fighting chance against the Waffen-SS if they caught him. He had no chance if he was caught out in the morning sun.
Pebbles cut into Spike’s knees as he wedged his body into the hillside and drew in his feet. If his boots caught fire, he wouldn’t be able to move to extinguish the flames. At least he didn’t have to breathe. His body blocked the flow of air into the cramped space.
But the two bullet holes in his leg hurt like hell.
Resting for the first time in hours, Spike assessed his unexpected reversal of fortune. He had heard rumors about demons, especially vampires, disappearing with no trace. He hadn’t given the stories any credence until the SS soldier with the dog had found him feeding on a young merchant marine. The SS soldier had been inspecting ships, looking for one bound out of German-occupied territory.
Spike had run, leaving most of his bankroll and the key to Dru’s vault behind. Losing the money made leaving the country more difficult, but he wouldn’t miss the cumbersome loot. One of the many reasons he and Dru had survived for so long was their freedom from material baggage. It had taken a while to convince her that Angelus’s and Darla’s desire for luxurious surroundings endangered them. After he promised to replace everything she had to abandon when they moved, she had accepted the wisdom of traveling light. That was one rule he wouldn’t break again, no matter how long she pouted.
A deep voice spoke German words.
Spike recognized the voice of the SS Colonel Jürgen Koch, who was in charge of the hunting party searching the docks. The man’s every word was uttered with crisp authority and obeyed without hesitation or question. Spike didn’t speak German, but he understood enough words to get the gist of most conversations. Colonel Koch wanted to know where he was. Another man replied.
If Spike’s sketchy translation was correct, the dogs had lost his scent and the SS officers thought he had burned up in the sun.
Spike smiled in spite of the deadly situation. The Nazis had pursued him throughout the night. The fresh bullet wounds had slowed him down and helped the dogs follow his scent in spite of the intermittent downpours. He had mustered a burst of speed half an hour ago and moved from puddle to puddle to hide his scent. Now, covered in dirt, with the bullet holes already starting to heal, he hoped the dogs would not be able to pick up his trail.
The Colonel’s voice faded as he moved away.
His pursuers had given up, Spike realized. He prided himself on his irreverent arrogance and took some satisfaction in knowing the SS colonel thought he was smarter than other vampires. However, luck as much as cunning had saved him this time. He just hoped his luck held out. Since the SS had the ports covered, escaping the Third Reich by boat wasn’t possible.
At sunset, Spike headed south toward Switzerland.
Chapter Eight
Bavaria
1943
The journey to Bavaria took months. Spike avoided cities and towns and the Nazi forces that had slithered into every segment of German society. He hid in the forests, fed on farmers, stole clothing and tools, and eluded Colonel Jürgen Koch and the Waffen-SS unit that had been tasked to hunt down and capture his kind.
Spike’s luck had held, but only enough to keep him free. He was tired of running, of being dirty, and of eating men who were too old to fight in der Führer’s army and women who were too old or too ugly for a German soldier to love. He wanted a hot bath, a soft bed, a radio, and a safe haven for more than one night. He wanted fresh, young blood.
The Bavarian mountains north of the Swiss border were rugged and riddled with caves,
and Spike staked out a suitable daytime stopover before he went hunting. Since human fare was often scarce, he had grown grudgingly accustomed to deer, rabbit, and rodent blood out of necessity. He hadn’t had a decent meal in over a week, and hunger was taxing his strength. He snared the first rabbit to cross his path with a lightning-fast hand. Then, fortified by the small animal’s blood, he set out to find more substantial sustenance.
Spike abandoned the deer he was hunting when he stumbled upon the tracks of a sheep herd. Where there were sheep, there were bound to be shepherds. Staying hidden behind trees and boulders, he moved cautiously downhill to a ridge overlooking a long, narrow valley. A village and farms dotted the green meadows below, and an ancient castle stood in grim majesty on the cliff across the chasm. Then he realized his exploration had taken too long, and he was surveying the terrain in the gray light before dawn.
In danger of being caught out in the sun, Spike raced along the rimrock, looking for a cleft or cave. Desperate, as the edge of the fiery orb cleared the eastern mountain peaks, he jumped off the ridge. He landed in a hillside pasture strewn with large rocks, and rolled under an overhanging rock shelf just as the death rays touched his skin. His dark hair was singed and his ears sunburned when he settled into the nook of earth and stone to sleep.
Awakened by the sound of a girl’s voice, Spike crawled to the edge of the rock shelter and peered out. The sun was slowly sinking behind the western range.
A girl speaking German was coming toward him up the mountain, chasing a goat. Long golden braids tied with red ribbons bounced as she ran, and her laugh was like Christmas bells, pure and musical.
Spike looked downhill for a shepherd tending a herd, but no one else was in sight. He pinched his arm to be sure he wasn’t dreaming. It had been too long since he had fed on the sweet blood of youth.
A hint of irritation marred the girl’s sweet voice as she stumbled over a rock in the deepening twilight.
Spike’s hunger burned, a fever in his veins.
The goat paused just out of the girl’s reach and began to graze.
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