White Magic

Spike was barely aware of Tara's supportive arms around him, as she led him stumbling up the stairs, to a different level of the old hotel, and some much-needed privacy. He knew that she was speaking quietly to him, heard the gentle encouragement and comfort in her voice, but could not quite make out the words, through the combination of his own physical suffering -- and a much deeper, emotional agony of which Tara could not have been aware.

Another voice was speaking to him, a cold, cruel voice that spoke right in his mind, effortlessly drowning out anyone else who might have tried to soothe him.

*See how easy it is for me to get to you, Spike?* her voice whispered maliciously in his mind. *You're mine, and you always will be. I'm going to find you, Spike -- and I'm going to kill you. And I'm going to kill *her*, too. Everyone who stands in my way is going to *die*, Baby. And it's all going to be your fault...*

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

Spike seemed to be swiftly fading, and Tara was painfully relieved that he was so much lighter than usual, as by the time they reached the top of the flight of stairs leading to the second floor, she was nearly carrying him, supporting almost all of his weight.

He was weak with pain, and gasping for breath in a mixture of terror and agony, whimpering weakly beside her, shaking his head in denial, presumably of what was happening.

"It's okay, Sweetheart," she reassured him, though her own voice was taut with fear. "It's going to be all right. We're gonna stop her, you just have to hold on a little bit longer..." 

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

In Sunnydale, Buffy felt a cruel sense of satisfaction, clearly able to feel Spike's anguish of body and spirit through the bond that connected them. She focused on the darkest of her feelings and desires, sending waves of her rage and menace through the mark on her own wrist to the mark she had placed on Spike.

She was furious that he had managed to subvert her power over him -- even temporarily -- and was intent on making him suffer for it. When she got him back here, where he belonged, the long-distance pain she was causing him through the bond would be nothing compared to what she would do to him -- but for now, it would have to do.

In a few minutes, she would perform another ritual, a location ritual centered around their connected marks, that would show her where he was trying to hide from her, and lead her right to him. But now that she had him at least partially within her reach, her vindictive wrath could not stand to wait.

She would prove to her vampire that no matter how far he went, there was no way that he could escape her.

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

Dawn's hands were trembling violently.

As she took up the position Wesley indicated in her corner of the square now formed by Dawn, Wesley, Angel, and Cordelia, ready to say the words that the former Watcher had written down for her on a piece of paper, for her portion of the spell, she was incredibly nervous, terrified that she would say something wrong, do some little thing to mess up the spell, and leave Spike as vulnerable to her sister's attacks as before they performed it.

"Oh, my God," she groaned as a frightening thought occurred to her. She looked at Wesley with wide, troubled eyes, as she whispered, "What if I shouldn't be doing this? What if the fact that I'm Buffy's sister messes up the spell? What if it ends up helping her find him or something awful like that? Oh, my God, what are we gonna..."

"That won't be a problem, my dear," Wesley assured her calmly, a reassuring look in his eyes, though he appeared a bit nervous himself. "These are rather generic protection spells, meant to block attempts at magic from getting through the walls of this building, either for the purposes of location, or of causing harm. We merely represent the four walls. If it was a spell specifically aimed at your sister, well, then it might be an issue, but for what we're doing...it should not be a problem."

Dawn felt a little better, until she glanced uncertainly up at Angel, seeking further reassurance in his strength. She had not always liked the dark vampire -- in fact, she *never* had -- but he always seemed to have an air of calm about him, control, and in this case, it was something she needed to see.

Except that she *didn't* see it.

Angel's hands were trembling, too.

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

Spike felt his knees buckle, just as he and Tara stepped through a doorway into an empty room, as a fresh onslaught of fierce, dark agony flowed over him, and he choked back a strangled sob of pain and pleading, pleading for a mercy that he knew would never come, even if Buffy could somehow sense his pleas through the bond.

And she probably could.

And she probably took pleasure in denying them.

Tara was leading him toward a large bed in the center of the room, but  as he reached it, his knees gave out, and he collapsed, clutching desperately at the blankets in an attempt to keep himself from falling, though it was too late by then.

He murmured an apology weakly, struggling to focus on Tara's gentle orders as she wrapped her arms around him, struggling herself to pull him back up. He felt a sense of humiliation as she lifted him up into her arms with an effort, and barely managed to maneuver his pain-racked body onto the soft mattress.

*Nobody can help you, Spike,* Buffy told him in his mind, her cruel confidence tearing into his fragile, barely birthed hope. *They can try -- but in the end, I'm going to win. No one's ever really beaten me, Spike, and no one ever will. Certainly not you, you pathetic little whore. You're mine -- and I'm going to find you...*

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

"Come on, Sweetie," Tara murmured, though she wasn't sure if Spike was even hearing her at this point. "Try and help me a little here..." As she spoke, she struggled to get him onto the bed. Even as comparatively light as he was right now, he was still about as heavy as she was, and it was difficult to maneuver him onto the mattress.

"S-sorry," Spike mumbled pitifully, his voice slurred and distant, and Tara felt a growing sense of alarm at how disoriented he seemed.

He kept shaking his head, mumbling pleading words under his breath, trembling and flinching with fear.

"Spike," Tara spoke gently to him, reaching to take his hand once he was laid out on the bed, a worried frown creasing her brow as she tried to catch his unfocused gaze. "Spike, Sweetie...where does it hurt, Honey? Where is she hurting you?"

"W-what...?" he mumbled, leaning slightly toward her as if he was having trouble hearing her.

Some beginning shred of understanding began to take root in Tara's mind, but she couldn't quite place it yet, as she gently, slowly repeated her question.

"Everywhere," Spike whispered in a despairing voice. "It hurts everywhere..."

Tara felt her heart lurch within her, as she stood up straight for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Good," she muttered grimly. "Good to know what you're getting into, Tara..."

She laid down gently on the bed beside him, preparing to do some magic of her own.

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

Buffy laid aside the knife she had used to slice into the wound, watching with idle fascination as the wounds healed up quickly and cleanly -- aware that the pain those wounds had caused her vampire slave would not fade nearly as quickly.

A vindictive smile twisting her cruel features, she reached for another item on the table in front of her, picking it up and watching as it glinted in the kitchen lights, opening and closing it a couple of times and watching as the tiny flame flared up and died down again and again.

Spike's stolen cigarette lighter was going to become another instrument of his torture.

Steeling herself for the pain she knew it would cause, taking pleasure and strength in the knowledge that it would be tenfold for her victim, Buffy flicked the lighter, staring darkly into the flame for a few seconds, before drawing herself out of the momentary hypnosis.

Taking a deep breath, she raised her marked wrist and held it first over, and then directly in, the flame.

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

Dawn's words went off without a hitch, though they were in a language she did not know. Wesley assured her that pronunciation was not important, but still she could not help but worry.

They had done the cloaking spell first, to block Buffy's attempts at locating Spike, and Wesley said that everything had gone as it was supposed to. There was no reason for them to think that the spell would fail.

Still, as Dawn took the book Wesley handed her from which to read her part for the other spell, the protection spell -- she could not help but wonder.

What if her sister was already on her way there?

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

By this point, Spike was trapped in the darkness of his own mind, an agony of burning steadily consuming his body, and Tara's gentle voice became distant and hollow, overwhelmed by Buffy's vicious words in his head.

*Think I can kill you from here, Spike? Think I can burn you to death with a thought, Baby?* A beat passed before she added in a whisper of sadistic menace, *I think I wanna try...*

A sense of panic gripped him as he felt the burning intensify, and Spike could not hold back a sharp cry of anguish, followed by shuddering, soundless sobs that shook him, hard enough to rock the bed as well.

"Spike," Tara spoke firmly against his ear, and Spike was vaguely aware of her body, cool against his unnaturally flushed skin, nestled against him, turning him onto his side and wrapping herself around him from behind, clasping his trembling hands in her own firmly, entwining her legs with his to bring them into as much contact as possible. "Spike, Sweetheart -- hang on -- hang on, it'll be over soon..."

He only wished that those words were true, but he knew that despite her threats, Buffy would not kill him, not unless she had no other choice left.

She enjoyed his pain far too much to willingly end it for good.

*You're mine, Spike, and I'm not going to stop this, not until you're back where you belong -- with me.*

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

Tara began to quietly speak the Latin words to a spell she knew by heart, though she had only tried it once, many years ago. It had nearly worked, too, but the person she had been attempting to help had been too far gone.

Her mother had died, despite her young daughter's best efforts.

But Spike -- Spike would not die from Buffy's torment. Although Tara knew that the pain would not stop coursing into his body from Buffy's malicious intentions, not until they had managed to block her attempts to harm him, she knew that she could at least ease his suffering somewhat.

Holding his hands in her own, Tara was alarmed at the heat radiating from his body, at the feverish moaning that told her that he was nearly delirious with pain, pain that no human could survive in its entirety.

Still, she was willing to take the risk -- for Spike.

She was willing to take his pain.

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

Buffy glanced at the clock on the wall, using meditation techniques Giles had taught her to block out the pain of the lighter against her skin, all the while vindictively enjoying the power of the agony she was inflicting on Spike. She was looking forward to the moment when she could take her time with him, to express her displeasure at his rebellion in a more -- hands-on -- manner.

She smiled as she glanced at the clock again.

Another couple minutes, and she would allow Spike's pain to ease -- just long enough to find out where he was, anyway.

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

Dawn could feel the tension building in the room, all around her, and was simply relieved that her part in the ritual was already finished. Wesley was speaking the final words of the spell, carrying out the last steps of the ritual, and she desperately hoped that it worked, that their efforts would succeed in protecting her suffering friend upstairs.

In a few short minutes, the spell would be finished.

And the moment of truth would arrive.

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

Spike knew that his ravaged body was on the verge of shutting down completely.

The agony kept steadily increasing, until he was sure that he could not take any more. He was losing all sense of reality, conscious only of the anguish, only of *her* voice in his head.

He was losing himself to her again.

*I'm gonna find you, Baby. I'm gonna find you, and I'm gonna bring you back here -- and you will *never* leave my basement again, Spike. You're going to spend the rest of your miserable life paying for what you've done...*

His whole body was shuddering convulsively, though he was not sure whether it was more from the blazing pain tearing through his body, or from the terror of her threats, which he knew she was more than capable of carrying out.

Then -- miraculously -- the pain began to ebb.

Spike's sense gradually began to return to him, as he felt the burning ease, and Buffy's voice in his head becoming distant, quieter. His body began to cool, and behind him, Tara began to feel warm again, and he realized that he was returning to his normal body temperature.

Except -- Tara's touch had never *burned* him before, as it was starting to now...

With alarm, Spike realized that not only was his body cooling, but hers was heating as well, and at an alarming rate.

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

Tara felt the searing heat invading her body, flowing from Spike to her -- and she welcomed the pain.

Spike had been carrying the excruciating weight of it for far too long now - far longer than this single night -- and if she could ease it for him a little, she was willing to suffer in his place in order to do so. As she took his pain, she also heard the echoes of Buffy's cruel words of menace, fleeting fragments of thought, barely there before they were gone again.

*Stupid little whore...kill you...think you can...hurt them, too...*mine*, Spike... *mine*!*

The dark malice behind Buffy's words was worse than the physical pain, and Tara felt herself shaken by it. Between the heat of Buffy's torture, and the cold terror that seized her, Tara's body was soon convulsively trembling.

She was vaguely aware of Spike's anxious voice, quickly becoming panicked, attempting to gain her attention, trying to pull her free of the torment that was now consuming her...but his efforts were useless, as she found herself lost in a world that had held him captive for months.

A world where all there was, was pain.

And then all at once -- the pain was gone.

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

A moment after Tara's pain eased, Buffy ceased her attempts to cause it.

She smiled with satisfaction as she lit the candle in front of her, said a few Latin words over it, and focused inward, trying to envision the place where Spike was now, where he was hiding from her.

Somehow, her efforts were only turned back on her.

She frowned, frustrated and puzzled by the failure of the spell, before trying again, repeating the spell, focusing harder -- and still, with no results.

She took a deep breath, attempting to calm her rising temper, aware that if she was too emotional, if she did any small part of the ritual wrong, it would only fail again. But the third time was no more successful than the first two.

Hurling the candle against the wall, the Slayer screamed her rage into the night.