by melWinter

Chapter 3

New Council of Watchers

London, England

Willow frowned to herself, clicking on her computer as her email was updated with the photos taken from the recon. She’d already received the samples by courier and she had a group working on that, trying to identify the demons involved so they’d at least have an idea where they came from. She reached for a carrot stick and chewed on it lightly, looking over the pictures and sending them to print.

“Miss Rosenberg, the 35mm is back from printing.”

She nodded her thanks, letting them slide out of the manilla envelope and nearly choked at what she saw. What was a detailed picture by the naked eye and by digital was something else entirely through carbon. She couldn’t explain it, but it didn’t change what she was seeing. Words. The entire mural was comprised of words, in a language she wasn’t familiar with but she suspected might be a demon dialect. Unfortunately there were so many different dialects she couldn’t even begin to decifer it.

But there was one phrase that caught her immediate attention. Touching it lightly with her finger tips, whispering softly, “Patronus.”

I see you learn quickly, Miss Rosenberg. More so than we have ever given credit to a mortal. You are truly an exception amongst your race.

Willow warily looked left and right, seeing that she was no longer in her small office on the second floor of the new Watcher’s Council but instead in a large, brightly lit space with white columns that reminded her of ancient Rome. There was no sky or ceiling, just an expanse of white. The same with the ground. She looked down at herself, seeing her normal clothing that looked so out of place here. She felt an impulse to wipe her feet.

Yes, we try to alter your perception to something that is not too much outside of your kin. As you are still an earthly being our reality is simply too much for your mind to comprehend.

A woman swathed in white, toga style robes appeared next to a crystal clear stream, fingers trailing idly through the waters. Even if she weren’t a witch she’d know this creature was powerful. It enfolded around her entire being and billowed out in gentle waves. Willow blinked and swallowed, “You’re the Powers...aren’t you?”

The woman looked up to smile. I am a part of the Power, but it is beyond your comprehension. Identity has no purpose when I am that as we are, yet there is no individual to that recognition. Suffice to say that I am the voice that will answer your questions.

Willow nodded unsurely but decided not to beat around the bush. There was no telling how long she would have to talk with this representative of the powers. They were notorious with leaving cryptic messages and prophecies before disappearing again, “Alright. What happened in Los Angeles?”

Ah, the city of angels. Yes, we sent our chosen warrior there, and he accomplished what he was meant to, so his humanity has been granted to him as prophesied. The Shan Shu Prophecy is fulfilled.

Blinking, thinking of every person she knew and piecing together a possibility, “You...your chosen one- Angel? He’s all humaney goodness now?”

Nodding slowly. Yes, that is what he has named himself. He has fulfilled his role, died as was foretold, and was given his reward.

Brow furrowing, “So, Angel somehow stopped all the demons and died doing it so you gave him back his human body.”

The woman’s eyes seemed to sparkle with a secret humor. No, silly goddess. The chosen warrior defeated the dragon and died protecting the city and so was rewarded. The prophecy was only that he would fight and die in a great battle, not that he would stop the apocalypse.

Nose wrinkling, ignoring the goddess comment because she was anything but. She was just Willow, “Then who saved LA?”

The champion, of course.

Willow decided to sit down, realizing she was going to have to be very specific with her questions if she ever hoped to have them answered. She could understand that these powers might not place names and labels as specifically as humans do, “And who is the champion?”

The souled vampire chosen to drive the demons back. The champion chosen to maintain the balance between worlds.

Licking her suddenly dry lips, getting a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, “Angel was the only souled vampire still alive.”

Slowly shaking her head. No, child, there were two where once there was one.

Closing her eyes and silently praying she was wrong. She had to be wrong. Because if she was right and Buffy ever found out the blond slayer would be devastated all over again, “Was this Champion called Spike?”

Yes, that is one of his earthly names.

Willow felt like her heart was about to explode in that moment. He’d come back. Spike, for however long had been alive and merely a plane flight away. Wait, that didn’t sound like the Spike she knew. The souled vampire that she knew would do anything to be with Buffy. She had an awful feeling, “Did he still have his soul?”

Of course. The amulet was created to channel the goodness of the bearer. Though a being of good intent, a human soul was required to make him Champion.

So another, awful thought occurred to her. Maybe he had tried to get in touch with Buffy and something or someone prevented it, “Did anyone outside of LA know that Spike had been alive?”

As a vampire he is not alive. Groaning and holding her head in her hands, she tried to think of a better way to ask her question. You must return to your earthly form.

Willow scrambled to her feet, “Wait. You said Spike was chosen to be the champion. Who? Who chose him?”

She could feel everything faded around her, but she still heard the reply. By the Chosen One.

Willow all but jolted to her feet, her secretary retreating with a screech and coffee flying. Sighing softly to herself, sitting down with a plop, “Sorry, Janice.” The brunette silently stalked out, coffee dripping from her hair and the redhead groaned to herself. Then with a frown she glance at the picture that had been on her desk and felt her throat catch. The hot liquid had already left it’s mark on the destroyed picture, “No.” She looked for the other pictures, or the negatives and soon realized that had been her only opportunity.

***

Wakeeny, Kansas

Not just one heartbeat, but four should have sent alarm racing through his frame except that it didn’t. In fact he felt quite the opposite and unconsciously continued to purr in contentment, surrounded by four small bodies. The littlest body wiggled up against his chest and threw strong arms around his neck, face buried in his shoulder, “You sound like a kitty.”

“That’s cause he’s a vampire, Freddy.”

“Well Uncle Theo is a vamp and he doesn’t sound like a kitty.”

“That’s cause Uncle Theo is a sourpuss.”

“He is not, Henry!”

“Is so, Nate.”

“My mommy told me so.”

“You’re mommy’s a butthead.”

“Take that back, Alex!”

“Hey.” Four pairs of round eyes stared at the bemused vampire that had stopped his ridiculous purring and raised an eyebrow at them, “How ‘bout letting a vamp sleep in peace?”

The littlest, Freddy, shook his head solemnly, “Can’t. You have to come to dinner, now.” Spike blinked once before turning his attention to his internal clock and realizing it was sunset. He couldn’t remember ever sleeping the day away. He was usually so wired it was next to impossible to get more than six hours.

Henry, the oldest, sat cross legged on the bed, “Our moms and Nate’s butthead mom made us come wake you up.” Nate growled and leapt across the bed, both of the falling off and landing with a thud. It didn’t stop them, both immediately snarling and wrestling one another.

The door crashed open to reveal a stout woman wiping her hands on a towel and giving the boys a stern look. They all immediately froze, Spike nearly leaping to his feet in surprise, “I believe you were told to politely invite William to dinner...not to demonstrate how to be little heathens.” The boys all had their heads down and the stern looking woman sent a wink to the nervous vampire in bed, her heavy Irish accent floating all around them, “Now, go wash up and put on your manners for a guest.”

The boys solemnly left, racing up the stairs a second later and the woman just rolled her eyes and tucked a few curls of red hair behind her ear, “May the Powers save me from those four. They’re going to be the death of me yet.” Pointing a stern finger at him, “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you. You’d best wash up for supper or we’ll start without you.” Spike blinked once in shock before nodding and scooting out of bed, slipping into the bathroom to get some water to fix his hair. If there was one thing he would never, ever do it would be to disagree with the lady of the house. He paused and smirked to himself, thinking fondly of Joyce for a moment and absently rubbing his head where she’d clocked him with an ax, “I’ve left a change of clothes on the bed for you. It should fit well enough. We’ll be in the dining room waiting for you.”

Spike glanced through the door as he heard the woman leave and sighed in exasperation, realizing he had spikes everywhere before slowly but firmly putting down his comb. The slicked back look had been his old look, it was time to change it up a bit. He’d been sporting this one since the 80's, it was time for an update. He left it the tousled mess it was and inspected the clothes. It was a mismatch of clothing and he pulled on a pair of dark, narrow denim pants, threw on a blood red long sleeve shirt buttoned up most ways and a black leather vest over it. Lastly he slapped on his old boots and smirked to himself. It was still him, but it was also a change. He gave his leather duster a long look before tossing it into a rubbish bin and nodded firmly to himself. No more Spike, slayer of slayers. He was just a man now, and he was starting over.