White Magic

The clock on the wall of the Hyperion read 2:15am.

The lobby of the old hotel was a flurry of activity, as Angel and his crew worked as hard as they could to try to come up with some sort of answer to the problem of the mark on Spike's thigh.

Dawn and Fred had joined Angel and Wesley on book detail, searching for a ritual that sounded like that one that Buffy had performed, and Gunn had been sent for a list of mystical supplies that Tara had given him, things that would be necessary for your basic protection and anti-magic spells.

She wasn't quite sure that such basic spells would do any good -- and would have no way of knowing, until they discovered exactly what the ritual was that Buffy had performed. Once they did, she expected to be the one to cast the counter-spells, though until then, she was pretty much leaving it up to the others. They already had four people searching through Angel's impressive library of magical sources, and besides -- she was needed elsewhere at the moment.

On the circular sofa where he had been for the past hour -- Spike was swiftly and visibly falling apart.

"It's okay," she reassured him softly, one hand gently cupping the back of his head, and pulling his face down against her shoulder.

Gratefully he accepted the gesture, trembling hands clinging to her waist as he closed his eyes and leaned against her, his face buried in her blouse, his unneeded breath coming fast and shallow as he fought off his own rising panic.

He no longer wanted to know what time it was -- how much time he had left before he was once again a victim of Buffy's cruel rage.

"Tara," he whispered, a note of desperation in his trembling voice. "Tara, what am I...she's gonna..."

"Shhh," she whispered, running her fingers through his hair soothingly. "It's gonna be all right. We're gonna find an answer, Sweetheart. I promise, she is never going to touch you again."

Tara's voice was soft, her eyes damp with tears, and yet blazing with fury as she glared at the wall over Spike's shoulder. It was frustrating not to know what to do, not to be sure if she really could deliver on the promises she was pouring out, in her desperate attempt to calm her terrified friend.

*And why shouldn't he be?* she wondered bitterly. *He's been raped and tortured and abused for months -- and now he's four hundred miles away from the person who did it, and she can *still* get to him...I'll kill her...I'll kill her if she touches him again...*

The front door of the hotel suddenly opened, and Spike nearly leapt out of Tara's arms, his head shooting up as his body jerked backward away from the door, regardless of the fact that logic should have told him, that Buffy was only just now probably discovering his absence, and could not possibly have made her way to L.A. yet.

It was Gunn, returning from one of L.A.'s several all night magic shops with the supplies that Tara had sent him to get.

"Calm down," she softly soothed the vampire as the black man made his way to the circular sofa, shooting the nervous vampire a look of suspicious alarm as he sat down on Tara's other side, placing the bags in his arms on the floor at her feet. "It's okay, Spike...she couldn't get here that fast, anyway...it's okay..."

"He seems, uh...a little jumpy," Gunn remarked dubiously, speaking to Tara, but with his dark eyes fastened warily on Spike, whose troubled blue eyes were wide, downcast, focused in shame at his own fearful reaction, on the floor at the black man's feet..

Tara felt her temper rising, though in all fairness, she knew it was not Gunn that she was really angry with. Still, she snapped sharply, "Um -- yeah. I wonder why. Did you get everything on the list?"

Gunn seemed reluctantly chagrined by her words, but his eyes smoldered with resentment at her severe tone. "Yeah. It's all there." He glanced up at the clock. "Though you ain't got much time, now. Better hurry."

"Planning to," Tara replied shortly, shifting slightly as she turned toward Spike, wanting to free herself so that she could do the warding spells, but aware that Spike needed her comfort right now more than ever.

Before she could say another word, the blond vampire drew in a sharp, agonized breath, his entire body shaking convulsively as he clutched at her desperately, blinding seeking something to hold onto. His face was slipping in and out of its vampiric guise, as an anguished moan of agony left his trembling lips.

It was clear in an instant -- Buffy knew.

And she was not pleased.

**********************************

Buffy smiled coldly as she felt the success of her efforts through the bond that connected her to her vampire slave. She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of his terror, his suffering, across the miles, relishing the feeling of power, as she reassured herself that he had not really escaped her.

He was still easily within her grasp.

Her smile faded, her expression becoming dark and serious, as she picked up the small, sharp blade from the table in front of her, whispering dark Latin words as she plunged the razor edge through the soft flesh of her arm, across the lines of the mark on her own wrist. The cuts she created healed almost as quickly as she made them, but she knew that the real damage they were doing was happening somewhere else, somewhere far away from her...

She focused her mind, and sent dark, terrifying words across the bond to Spike, reminding him that he was hers, he could not escape her, reminding him of the things she could still do to him, and *would* do to him, once she inevitably got him back in her physical hands.

***********************************

Tara bit back a cry of pain as Spike's scrabbling fingers accidentally pinched her flesh, and she struggled to get a grip on the clearly suffering vampire, needing to somehow calm him in spite of the agony he was experiencing, needing to get him under control so that they could do something to help him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gunn, reacting simply to her cry of pain and Spike's vampiric features, reaching into his jacket for a stake, which he held up cautiously, his eyes darting back and forth as he searched for a moment to attack, to defend the blonde woman on the couch. To him, it was very simple -- the vampire was hurting the woman, was out of control, and therefore had to be dusted.

Tara had other ideas entirely.

Her eyes flashed with a silver light as she turned her fierce gaze on Gunn, who froze at the sheer power in her eyes. She managed to free one hand, casting it out toward the wall over his shoulder -- and instantly the wooden stake in his hand was torn from his grasp, spinning end over end at lightning speed to bury itself in the wall behind him.

"Don't," she stated, her voice low and commanding, her eyes blazing with power and fury.

And Gunn didn't.

Feeling the magic that was her heritage from her mother flowing through her veins -- a sort of natural magic that was beyond the shallow grasping at power that seemed to characterize most of Willow's attempts -- Tara turned her full focus on Spike, who was still shaking violently, moaning in agony as he thoughtlessly struggled in her firm, gentle hands, made stronger by the power of her magic, his fists now clenching and unclenching harmlessly in the loose fabric of her blouse.

By now, everyone in the room was watching them, intent on what was happening in their little corner -- everyone but Wesley, who was still frantically paging through the book in front of him. He had looked up at the first sounds of the commotion, but then had simply looked back down again, his lips set in a tight, thin line as he focused his attention more fully on his goal, more urgent now than ever.

Dawn and Angel moved at the same time, hurrying anxiously toward the suffering vampire.

"Stay back," Tara ordered sharply, though not unkindly, and something about her tone stopped them both in their tracks. She knew that they cared, and only wanted to help, but she also knew that the last thing Spike needed was to be surrounded so closely. He needed space, not the pressure of everyone's anxiety and panicked good intentions.

"Spike," she whispered. "Spike -- look at me...look at *me*..."

He struggled to obey, the conditioned response of obedience stronger than the agony he was experiencing, and his blue eyes were bright and panicked with his pain.

"Tara -- I think I found something..." Wesley called from across the room, a cautious excitement in his slightly trembling voice.

"Come over here!" she called out loudly, without taking her eyes from Spike's. As she heard the ex-Watcher hurrying toward her, she spoke softly but firmly to Spike. "You have to calm down, Sweetheart. You have to calm down so we can do the blocking spells and *stop her*..."

Spike blinked at her a few times, his eyes blank and barely comprehending, before she saw a vague understanding in his pain-filled eyes. "Tara... it...it h-hurts," he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks as his eyes squinted shut, his entire body shaking against her hands, caught in a violent spasm of pain.

"I know...I know, Sweetie...and I'm gonna try to make it hurt less, but you have to calm down...okay?"

Spike nodded almost frantically, nearly hyperventilating by now, but forcing himself to stay as still as possible in spite of the pain. He lowered his head toward her shoulder, and she allowed it, cradling him close in her arms, holding him firmly against her in an embrace that was both comforting and restraining.

"Good...that's good, Sweetheart..." Tara soothed him. "Just like that, you're doing good, Spike..."

She turned her head slightly toward Wesley, who was crouched down in front of the two of them, watching anxiously and waiting to see what the young witch -- who was much more experienced with magic than he was, after all -- to tell him what it was that she needed.

"Have you found anything?" she asked him quietly, her eyes boring into his intently.

"I believe I've found the ritual Buffy used," he informed her, focusing his attention on her, rather than the trembling, keening vampire in her arms. "It's a rather dark binding spell , which in effect creates a sort of -- connection between Buffy and Spike, through which she can pass -- knowledge, feelings, perhaps even communication -- and while it's very powerful magic, and I'm not sure if I can block it completely -- I should at least be able to -- to weaken the signal, so to speak?" He grimaced slightly at the slightly crude workding of his explanation. "I should at least be able to make it hurt him less...perhaps keep her from finding him...with a few basic warding spells."

"Put the wards in place around the building," Tara told him softly. "To block location spells, and to block magic in general...I found some spells that should work in that book right there..." As she spoke she nodded toward an old volume she had placed on the floor next to the couch. "You need to do the spells, Wesley -- I can't leave him right now..."

Wesley nodded, his blue eyes solemn and piercing as he reached down to pick up the book.

"You need to do them on the hotel in general, not on Spike. I don't want the magic I'm going to be doing on him to interfere with what you're doing. Okay?"

"All right," Wesley agreed. "I'll work as quickly as possible, Tara."

She nodded gratefully. "Thank you."

As Wesley moved away, book in hand, he called quietly, "Angel, Cordelia, Dawn -- could you help me, please?"

Tara was vaguely aware of -- and impressed with -- the fact that Wesley had deliberately chosen Angel and Dawn to assist him in the spells, to distract them from Spike's alarming condition, and to give Tara the space and privacy she needed to work. She focused her attention back on Spike, who was shuddering in her arms, choking back sobs of agony by now.

"Come on, Spike," she whispered. "I need you to listen to me, Sweetheart. I need you to get up -- can you do that?"

After a long moment he nodded, stumbling blindly toward his feet, aided by her steadying arms as she rose with him. "We need to go upstairs," she told him. "Find a quiet, empty room where I can try something -- something that might help you, while the others are putting the spells in place to stop Buffy...okay?"

Spike again hesitated, as if he wasn't quite hearing her, before nodding shakily. "A-all right, love," he whispered hoarsely. "Please -- please let's hurry..."

Tears sprang up in her eyes at the pleading note in his voice, as she led him carefully out of the lobby and toward the stairs, hoping against hope that she and the others could work their magic, before the damage done by Buffy's bond was more than Spike was capable of recovering from.