8: South America, Somewhere East of Brasilia
The stench of stale beer, old blood and demons awakened Spike from pleasant dreams of violently putting the Slayer in her proper place. Bright moonlight beamed into his bloodshot eyes as his lids cracked open. Squinting, he raised an arm to block out the light instantly bashing his head with the forgotten beer bottle clutched in his hand.
“What the—,” a curse followed as it hit his aching head, splashing warm Skolacross his black t-shirt. Growling in confusion Spike lay sprawled across a hard surface, thoughts wading through the dullness that seemed to fill his head. “Where the deuce am I?”
Getting up seemed like a good way to find out. He willed his reluctant body to move. A slow roll onto his side took him an inch too far.
Spike took a nasty drop off the Desoto’s hood crashing down to the ground with a thud. The bottle shattered, cutting his hand, blood mixing with the warm liquid as it soaked into the dirt.
“Bloody hell.”
When he opened his eyes, the lace-trimmed edge of Drusilla’s gown billowed softly in front of him. Spike scrambled to his feet, completely uncoordinated, but sobering a bit when he managed to recall why he’d set himself up to get drunk.
She had left him.
Drusilla had actually abandoned him and run off with a Chaos demon. It had not been that hard to find them considering this little watering hole was the only legitimate demon hangout east of Brasilia.
Spotting them at the park next to the cantina, Spike decided to plan his revenge over a few dozen beers. It sounded like a good idea at the time, but now the dull ache was evolving into a thundering jackhammer. He plastered a smile on his face, and hid his bleeding hand behind his back.
“Hello, luv,” Spike leaned forward and then leaned back, wavering in his attempt to hold onto his balance. “Come to kiss and make up now, have we? Gonna tell me you were daft for running off with that sticky-faced idiot?”
Dru looked skyward staring at the moon, an eager smile spreading across her blood red lips. Clasping Spike’s jaw in her slender hand, she held him steady. A dark light shone in her eyes. She spoke with a surety Spike had grown to trust over the years and the false warmth provided by the alcohol faded suddenly as her words chilled him to the bone.
“Daddy’s home.”
He jerked within her grasp. Angelus was supposed to be dust. “World’s still here,” he drunkenly swept his uninjured hand in a wide arc. “Slayer got him. Your Daddy dearest is dust now. Just dust in the wind.”
Clucking her tongue, Drusilla corrected knowingly, “My Angel went to hell. He went and came back again.”
Searching inside himself for some sense that she was right proved nothing. The House of Aurelius and its bloodline were broken now, and the only one he could sense was Drusilla. His muddled senses barely even allowed him that faint twinge acknowledging that a link exited between them.
“He is weak, but grows stronger.”
Whether she truly sensed him or the preternatural visions had granted her a glimpse of her sire, Spike knew that Dru would not give up the idea. The visions always held a measure of truth, even if they often came mixed up in madness.
Spike did not want to believe it. He was perfectly happy with a world that did not include Angelus.
Shaking his head only caused him to growl at the wave of nausea that hit. His alcohol-soaked brain provided a more reasonable conclusion. “Maybe the world did end. This is hell. That’s why you left me.”
Dru pouted looking forlorn for an instant and then her dark eyes glittered coldly. “Not so. You left me first.”
He was about to protest that he’d done no bloody such thing when Dru grazed her fingertips across his forehead, “Here in your thoughts,” she spoke softly, “and here,” flattening her palm over his unbeating heart.
Even drunk, Spike knew precisely what she meant. Dru’s touch was cold, but her words burned. “It’s the Slayer who fills your thoughts and stirs your lust. I have to get my pleasures somewhere.”
Glancing behind her at the broad-shouldered Chaos demon, Spike did not see how she could compare that thing to him. He was in no shape to fight or to defend his confused interest in the Slayer. “So you came over here to jab the stake a little deeper. If you’re planning on introducing me to lover boy, you can save it.”
The Chaos demon actually had the nerve to step closer, a sappy smile on an even sappier face, antlers dripping with treacle. Spike wobbled into an aggressive stance and glared at the beast. He planned to impale the Dru-stealing demon on its own antlers just as soon as he could figure out which one of the swimming faces was real.
In the meantime, he had to complain, “These days a bloke can’t even fantasize about a girl without her poofy ex coming back from the dead and getting in the middle of it.”
The rant was wasted on Drusilla, who was dancing around him, her skirt twirling. Her suitor appeared alarmed by Spike’s sudden show of fangs rushing to explain that he had no idea Dru already had a boyfriend. Spike had a few choice words to say about that.
“I wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout me,” Spike growled his clarification to the horned demon. “I was talkin’ ‘bout Angelus and his bleedin’ heart soul.”
Spinning to a stop, Dru lifted Spike’s injured hand, running her tongue along the bloody trail across his palm. “Take me to him.”
The rush of pleasure at her touch gave him pause, but Spike pulled his hand away. “It’s not my bloody business. Gonna forget Sunnyhell and everyone in it. Plan to stay here and stay drunk until you realize that you’re mine— mine.”
Enfolding him in her arms, Drusilla held his head against her chest, running her fingers through his soft blond hair and cooing his name. “Do you want me to be happy again, my Spike?”
“Yes,” he sniveled drunkenly into her shoulder.
“Then we must find Daddy before he is lost to us forever,” Dru explained gently as if talking to a small child. “One will guide him, but I must point the way.”
Raising his head, Spike wiped at his face with his sleeve. “The Slayer? The only place she’ll be guiding Angelus is back to hell. Unless he got himself trussed up with another soul and then she’ll just shag it back out again.”
“Another,” Dru told him and went right on talking. “I will tell her how to please him.”
“Slayer already knows that little secret.” That brought another scowl to his face. Thinking about Angel and Buffy made him want to drink or hurl, possibly both.
A little trill of laughter sounded as Dru corrected him. “Not the pesky Slayer, you naughty boy.” She tweaked his nose, which drew a chuckle from the Chaos demon still watching them. “The one like me.”
It was impossible to think clearly. Spike had no idea what she was talking about. “There’s no one like you my goddess of the night, my pet, my black beauty, my ripe wicked pl—”
Interrupting, Dru sounded a deadly promise, “Blood will spill. Death shall bind us.”
Spike tried to concentrate. His head was clearing a bit. It sounded like somebody other than the Slayer was warming Angel’s bed. That cheered him considerably even though he did not want to think about why. “The chit dies?”
Holding his hand, Drusilla dug her fingertip into the slashed skin that was already half healed. It bled. She swirled the red blood over his pale flesh, staring into it, her dark eyes focused far away, looking inward. Repeating her words, “Blood will spill and the darkness will come for her.”
“Don’t think I care,” Spike shrugged and then lifted Dru’s bloodied finger to his mouth to lick it clean. “Last time Angelus got properly shagged he went off his bloody rocker.”
Drusilla pressed her finger across his lips to shush him. “We want our Angel happy, don’t we, my Spike?”
Depended on just how happy she meant. His lips pursed under the gentle pressure of her finger, and though his eyes shone with defiance, he realized this was one of those arguments Drusilla had already won.
“Let us leave this place,” Drusilla’s tone turned soft and pleading. “Come with me. I need you.”
Like he always did when he was with her, Spike felt like he would stand in blazing sunshine if she asked for it. Quite sure of it, he nodded, “Anything for you.”
Behind them, the Chaos demon looked a bit forlorn, “Drusilla?” instantly bringing a smug smile to Spike’s face.
He added, “As long as your friend isn’t planning to tag along. There’s no room in the Desoto for those antlers.”
The Chaos demon blew Drusilla a parting kiss that she caught and held to her heart. Waving her slender fingers at him in return, she called out a goodbye. Spike groaned disgustedly. Ushering her into the passenger seat, he rounded the car, hopped in and turned on the ignition.
“Let’s go then.” Screeching tires and a billowing cloud of dust followed in their wake.
