"Leave off!" Spike held on to the comforter like grim death. It had become enough of a habit for Dawn to walk into his crypt at any time of day that he at least had his jeans mostly on, apart from fastening a few buttons, but it was the principle of the thing. And those few buttons made a very big difference.
"Forget it, Spike! It stinks of booze and cigarette smoke. It goes in the bag along with everything else."
"In case you haven't realised, some of us were trying to sleep under that before you came along and decided to pull my bed to bits."
"Tough. It's past sundown. Even vamps are up by now."
"What bag? And what the hell are you playing at comin' here on your own after dark?"
Dawn pointed at a huge black and white checked laundry bag. "That bag. Willow dropped me off... And I'm trying to make sure you don't smell like Crazy Larry when you take me out."
"Heyyyy!" Spike protested. "I might smell like booze and fags, but that guy's incontinent." In his umbrage about being accused of smelling like the town drunkard, Spike forgot about maintaining his grip and Dawn tugged the covers away like a prestidigitator yanking a tablecloth out from under a 100 piece dinner service. The vampire rolled onto his stomach as fast as he could and began to fumble with his button flies.
"One more trick like that and I won't be takin' you anywhere," he threatened, as Dawn bundled the quilted fabric into the bag. When his modesty had been restored, he looked to the corner where of late he had kept the heap of dirty clothes which he recycled by basically picking through the bundle to find the required item that was currently cleanest. The entire heap had disappeared.
"And what? I'm going to walk around like I think I'm Jim Morrison?"
"Is he the guy that works at the all night diner?" Dawn asked disingenuously.
"Very bloody funny."
The teen bent and, from a side pocket on the bag, she pulled a neatly folded T-shirt. It was navy blue rather than black, but Spike could smell a hint of Joyce's perfume on the fabric, and knowing that most of her mother's things had been jettisoned to make room for the two witches, he wasn't about to reject the gift of one of Dawn's few remaining treasures.
"And where exactly am I meant to be takin' you anyway?" he asked as he pulled the soft cotton over his head. It must have been a snug fit on Joyce because, without feeling restrictive, it clung to every inch of his torso.
"I figure the laundromat's around the corner from the cinema. We load up the machines, go catch a film and then we can load up the driers and grab a burger."
"Got it all planned out, have you? And who's paying for this evening of extravagance?"
"Willow. They're all doing the Scooby thing and we're not invited so she made with the hush money."
"That money's meant to be to look after you."
"Spike, they spent three hundred bucks on a leather outfit for robo-Barbie the other day. She can't even appreciate it, and three months from now it'll be last season's colour. If they can afford that, I think they can afford a couple of cinema tickets, some laundry tokens and a trip to McDonalds. I bet we can even afford the service wash."
"Well... it would cut down on the chances of my stuff getting chucked out 'cause someone was looking for a machine, and then some bast-... some bad man nicking half of it," Spike allowed himself to be vaguely tempted. If truth were told, ever since his disastrous attempt at laundry when he was sharing Xander's basement, the service wash had become a way of life. That, however, required cold hard cash, and between the time he spent with Dawn and the time he spent in a bottle, he wasn't getting the time he needed to circulate around the various bars and clubs where he normally hustled pool. It wasn't just apathy that had brought about his current wardrobe choices.
"Like there are real people who can fit into 26" waist jeans?"
"Well, thanks, now we know where I stand. An' they don't exactly check the labels before they nick the b- stuff."
"Oh, stop being pissy and put your coat on."
"So what's on at the single auditorium fleapit, anyway?"
"It's an animation about an ogre and a talking donkey."
Spike raised his eyes heavenward as he shrugged into his familiar leather duster and picked up the laundry bag. "Great! My humiliation is complete."
"Why do we always have to sit in the front row? It's like neck crick city."
"'Cause these places are easy pickings for vamps, an' a crick in the neck's better than a gaping hole. Hand over the mouth, haul 'em up, an' half the time it's over and done with before anyone even realises you're not just finding a seat. More people can see you in a place like this, the better."
There was a tutting noise from the row behind. "Does that mean you're not going to share, William?"
Dawn jumped as if she'd been stung and twisted to get the best view of the woman who'd spoken and to get her neck as far as possible from her. She was beautiful, long blonde hair spilling down her back in a cascade of curls and a full, crimson-painted mouth that curved in amusement... at least Dawn hoped that was lipstick.
"Lay one finger on her, Lizzie, and all you'll be sharing is the pain." Spike didn't even move in his seat.
"You never used to be so greedy when it came to the sweetmeats, nephew."
"Times change. You bring Jimmy with you?"
"James is ...around."
Spike finally turned in his seat, maybe to face her or maybe to scan the auditorium for other vampires. "I'm hurt. You didn't even send an invite to your 250th anniversary party."
"You didn't leave a forwarding address," she replied with a shrug. "Drusilla?"
"We parted company. Down in L.A. with Darla, last I heard."
"So, William, would you die for your baby sparrow?"
"That game doesn't work so well when the person that you're asking knows the rules. Let's just say I'm willing to kill for her and more beside."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning just remember our nine-fingered acquaintance. Think James would look like such a pretty boy if I chopped off his hands? Bit harder to keep hidden than Drac's little problem. Kind of a disadvantage when it comes to a fight, too."
"You wouldn't."
"Make lover boy spend eternity as a mutilated freak? Try me. And if I don't get to him, the slayer will. Just find your little boy toy and leave town."
"Or what?"
"Or I'll make sure for every night you and your crew stay that James leaves an extra limb behind."
Elizabeth's eyes narrowed and her face lost all its softness. "You're playing a dangerous game, William, making threats against your elders."
"Elder doesn't mean better... an' you know it. This town's mine. Hunt in it and you won't like the consequences." Just for a second Spike let his guard drop. "Just go, Liz. We had some good times back in the day an' if you give me a choice I'd as soon let things slide, but, if you stay, there's no family in the world that I'd pick over the woman I love, not even Dru. You know how that goes."
Elizabeth tilted her head on one side. "Alright, William, for old times' sake. If James agrees, then we'll go."
Spike waited until she was halfway down the aisle before he rose to his feet. "Lizzie, make him agree." He let her disappear through the doors leading to the foyer before he pulled Dawn to her feet and half-dragged her through the fire exit at the front of the theatre.
"Hey, not with the vampy speed, here," Dawn protested.
"That bein' the case, don't you think you'd do better to save your breath to keep up?" Spike replied, deciding his reputation as the Big Bad had suffered enough for one night. Then he made the mistake of glancing back and noticed the hand that Dawn held to her side. He swept the teen into his arms and upped the pace. Soon he leapt from rooftop to rooftop, taking the fastest route he knew back to his crypt.
"She called you nephew..."
"Angel's get."
"Why didn't you threaten her?" Dawn asked.
"Figure I did."
"No, you didn't. You threatened her boyfriend."
"Trust me, the worst thing I could do to Elizabeth would be to hurt James. I could kill her... but James wouldn't care what happened to him, long as he got his revenge. Same with her if I kill him. If I disable him, she's too busy playing nursemaid to come after me... or mine, and then, when he depends on her for everything short of wiping his arse, then maybe that eternal love of theirs might turn out not to be so eternal after all. One of your presidents once said that any man who was willing to give up his life could assassinate anyone he wanted, regardless of the protection they have. We can't afford to make either of them that desperate."
"Or they'd come after the woman you love... but Buffy's already dead."
"Buffy's not the only woman I love."
"Oh!" Dawn whispered, her eyes round. "Keep right on with the plan, then."
If the crypt had looked dishevelled before Spike began, by the time he discarded half the armoury contained in his weapon coffin and threw aside a large portion of the contents of another large chest, which he seemed to be ransacking in the hope of finding some elusive object, it could have passed for the latest adjunct to the city dump. Dawn trawled the debris and pulled out a video case with a picture of a toy cat striped with cream and hot pink.
"What's this?" she asked.
"Mail order porn," Spike replied just a little too quickly.
Dawn raised an eyebrow, looking completely unconvinced.
"Was Dru's. Alright?"
"We are so going to watch this... once you stop freaking."
"Hard job. It's a British vid."
Dawn tossed the tape aside and picked up what looked like an empty envelope that had been lying in the bottom of a drawer for years. She opened the flap and peered at the piece of plastic inside.
"Spike, why have you got a plectrum when you don't have a guitar?"
The vampire flinched and stared at the young woman. "Close that back up, put it down somewhere where you won't stand on it, and back away from it very slowly."
"Why? What's up? Is it dangerous or something?" Dawn asked, even as she complied with his request. Obviously it wasn't really just a plectrum after all.
"No-o-o, it was Lemmy's... and I don't want you to break it."
Dawn pouted for a whole three seconds after that before she pounced on an inlaid onyx and mother of pearl box, opening it out so that top and bottom became the left and right side of a chess board. "I didn't know you played?" she queried, feeling for the pieces inside the black velvet drawstring bag that had been inside the box.
"Gave up a long time ago," Spike mumbled after he'd checked to see what had attracted her attention.
Dawn frowned as she pulled out a solitary figure of a horse delicately sculpted in black glass. She double checked, but the bag was empty.
"Angelus never liked losing." Spike informed her, tugging a big old-fashioned photo album from the very bottom of the chest and passing it to her. "If I've got to carry you, you better hold on to that."
"Where are we going?"
"Watcher's."
"Why?"
"So he can answer all your bloody stupid questions instead of me," Spike barked with an air of finality as he ushered Dawn outside and closed the crypt up behind them.
Once more, he scooped the girl into his arms and set off at a run.
"So why are we going to Giles's place?"
"You need to do that thing where you make the 'bot come home." As usual Spike hadn't even bothered to knock but had walked straight into the watcher's apartment with Dawn at his heels.
"And good evening to you, too, Spike."
"Hey, Giles," Dawn greeted him before settling herself cross-legged on the floor to look for old photos of Spike with bad hair.
"Look, just get on the walkie-talkie or the CB or whatever it was that Red set up so the 'bot hears little voices in her noggin and tell her to get her arse over here pronto."
"Found one," Dawn interrupted, pulling a large sepia print out from underneath the metal corners that held it in place. "Who're all the rest?"
"Would one of you care to tell me what exactly is going on?" Giles demanded.
"Read the back, platelet.
Fine, Rupert, just get that thing back here or your secret's not gonna be a secret any more. There're Big Bads about tonight that'll take that thing to pieces if it goes up against them on its own. So why don't you get her back here, we can show it some mugshots an' I'll do the rounds with it while you keep an eye on Dawn here until we know whether they've moved on or not?"
"All Hallows Eve, 1885. Marishka, Viktor, Aleera, Vlad, Verona, Spike, Drusilla, James, Elizabeth. Vlad? This is Dracula?"
Spike rolled his eyes and pointed at the figures in the photo. "That's Drac, those three are his brides an' the other one is the infamous Dr. Frankenstein as he was trying to convince into workin' for him over in transsexual Transylvania, but since none of them are in town right now maybe we can focus on Auntie Liz an' Cousin Jimmy."
Giles wandered over to peer at the photograph that Dawn was holding. "These are Dracula's brides? I have to admit that my memory on the subject is a little bit fuzzy, but I can't say that they look familiar at all."
"Well, we know now what the watcher was doin' while his charge faced one of the most infamous vampires in the world..." Spike drawled.
"Oh, yeah, Giles was totally macking on the babes. He wanted to go back for his shoe after Riley rescued him."
"An' you couldn't tell me this when it was remotely news?" Spike retorted sarcastically. "Now will you fire up the bat signal?"
"I didn't think they had perms back then," Giles remarked.
Giles poured a drink for himself and one for Spike. "Why aren't Angelus or Darla in these photographs? I thought you only split up after Angel got his soul, which wasn't for several years after that."
Spike sighed. "Angelus and Darla would cut and run at the first sign of trouble. If there was a lynch mob and two horses, you can bet your life he'd be on one and she'd be on the other and devil take the hindmost. 'Course Dru wouldn't let us just up an' move on. We'd have to meet up with them somewhere. Maybe a week later, maybe a month. That was one of the good times. We had about a month and a half before the big Irish lout turned up and started trying to throw his weight around. Really got his knickers in a twist that Drac was more famous than him, but up until they showed up-."
Spike stopped as the front door pushed open and the 'bot wandered in followed by Willow.
"I thought you lot were all havin' some big pow wow or somethin'?"
"Hello, Spike," the 'bot greeted the vampire, coming to stand beside him so he could better appreciate her joyful smile. Spike's lips tightened and he did his best to ignore the facsimile of his dead loved one.
"No-o, no pow wow," Willow babbled, caught off guard. "Definitely not with the pow wow. Just with the watching of NC-17 videos... of the horror and violence variety, not of the smutty variety 'cause watching smutty videos with Anya and Xander, so not on my list of things to do."
"Oh?" asked Spike. "Any titles you'd care to recommend?"
"Huh? What?" the witch asked, looking decidedly twitchy.
"I think Spike was wondering how you came to meet up with the 'bot. I assume she took patrol tonight."
"What? Oh yeah, but she's supposed to come to me when she's hurt and she damaged her arm."
"Some people tried to make me get in a car with them, but I told them that I only go in cars with Spike or Xander or Giles. One of them was very persistent. I think maybe I broke his arm, but one of my hydraulic rams has been twisted out of alignment. Willow was going to fix it for me but then Giles said that Spike was here and that I had to come so I came. Did you want to have sex with me again?"
With a strangled cry, Spike strode off toward the bathroom. "Tell it what's happening. An', Red, you bloody work out a way to fix that or I'll take her down the hospital an' sign her up for an MRI. You hear me?"
He turned on the taps in the bathroom mostly to try to drown out the voices, but he made a show of splashing some water on his face and neck, in any case. None of it helped. He could hear every word.
"That is the man who hurt my arm, but then the pretty woman came and she got in the car with him, instead. She said they should go to Los Angeles to see her sister and grandmother and they left. Won't it be too late for visiting by the time they get there?"
"They're vampires," Dawn explained.
"Oh that would explain why he was able to hurt my arm. Maybe Spike will give me a ride to Los Angeles and I can slay them?"
"No, I don't think that will be necessary," Giles said, "but I would like you to memorise the faces of all the people in this photograph. With the exception of Spike, all of them are highly dangerous. If you encounter any of them, you should get some help immediately rather than taking them on by yourself, unless of course someone is in immediate danger from them. The pretty woman you saw tonight is called Elizabeth and the man whose arm you broke is called James."
The 'bot nodded to indicate her comprehension.
"This one is Dracula and the-."
"No, it isn't." It was Willow's voice.
"I think Spike should know who was in the photograph with him," the watcher argued.
"Then Spike's making it up, 'cause that isn't Dracula."
That was the final straw. Spike flung open the bathroom door and strode to confront the witch. "I think I'm a tad more likely to recognise the bloke than some of you twits who only needed to look at him for two minutes to be eating grasshoppers."
"That isn't Dracula. Dracula looked younger and that guy's got a bigger nose and he's not as pale. He's not even wearing a cape."
"That's because it's inside, carrot-top. Capes were outerwear, an' you can bet your boots if you ran into Drac today he'd be wearing Italian suits an' Gucci loafers. Not some ponce's idea of a Halloween costume."
"I saw Dracula."
"D'you want a t-shirt?" Spike demanded. "'Cause at this rate, you can have one that says I got taken in by a second rate impostor."
"How many fingers did your Dracula have?" Dawn suddenly demanded of the witch.
"Ten." Willow answered automatically with a look that asked why on earth Dawn would expect her to say anything different.
"See, now I know you're talking bollocks. The real Dracula was missing the ring finger on his left hand. Had himself a little argument with someone... You won't see it in the photo. He's pretty good at hiding it."
"But you can bet that the council would have a note of something like that, right?" Dawn chipped in.
"Or we could ask Anya," Giles muttered with some resignation, realising that if the matter didn't get settled there would probably still be a witch, a vampire, a key and a robot sitting in his living room when the sun came up. "She knew him before she came to Sunnydale."
"I think you must have made a mistake, Willow," the 'bot piped up, smiling and looping her arm around the vampire's until he pulled himself loose and stomped over to the furthest corner of the room. The smile dimmed slightly but the 'bot's loyalty didn't waver. "You are my best friend but Spike is always right."
"Let me see. Let me see. Of course, back when I knew him, they didn't have photographs. Sitting for portraits took a lot longer." Anya jerked the photograph of the man in a dark braided frock coat from Giles' hands and examined the details of his face earnestly. A slim strand of hair at either side seemed to frame his face, as if it had slipped from the ponytail he wore with effortless style, and Anya let out a sigh of yearning. "That's Drac. Shame about the finger. He still had all of them when I knew him. Used to wear some huge signet ring with the family crest."
Spike pursed his mouth and stared at Willow, one eyebrow getting gradually higher for every second that an apology wasn't forthcoming.
"Well, Buffy told us he was Dracula, and he had the castle and the brides and the bat thing and..." She cast an apologetic look in Xander's direction. "...He made Xander eat bugs."
"Like I told the soldier boy when he came calling-."
"You were Riley's sources?" Xander asked incredulously.
"Well, who else? Not like his prossies were around long enough to know anything and he wouldn't ask anyone that might actually knock him on his arse, would he? Anyway, all that's just showy gypsy stuff. Anybody as really wanted to could learn it all if they had his books."
"So why didn't you learn it, then?" Xander asked bitterly.
"'Cause magic has consequences. Sooner or later you pay, one way or the other. Nothing comes free and the bigger the thing you ask for, the bigger the price you pay." Spike noticed that now both the boy and the demon bint were beginning to look uncomfortable. God knows what they were all up to but it wasn't good.
"But if this guy got hold of his books, then he must have known him, right?" Dawn continued.
Giles frowned. "Not necessarily, but it could be a place to start. When you knew him did he have any companions other than his brides?"
Spike shrugged. "Anyone as calls themselves a count's bound to end up with a few hangers on, but we ate most of them."
For several seconds the watcher seemed lost in thought.
Dawn picked up the photo album and sat herself down between Willow and Xander. She turned page after page until Willow let out a gasp of surprise. Almost invisible, tucked away in the background of one of the photographs stood the man they had known as Dracula. His hair was shorter and slicked back and he had a wispy moustache. He wore a dark suit with a striped waistcoat and a black tie and on his right hand he balanced a tray with several wine glasses.
Giles gave a sigh. "When Buffy encountered Dracula, my research did indicate that there had been rumours circulating in Eastern Europe late in the nineteenth century to the effect that he and all his progeny had been wiped out by some secret sect within the Roman Catholic Church. Of course, since we appeared to have irrefutable evidence to the contrary and there had been several unconfirmed sightings over the intervening years, I chose to regard those rumours as wishful thinking. It seems they may have been correct after all."
Spike walked around until he stood at the back of the sofa and grinned as he saw the photograph they were looking at. It had been funny enough when he'd thought Xander had turned Renfield under Dracula's influence. The fact that he'd been weak-willed enough to be taken in by Cedric, the bug-eating butler, who must have found some know-nothing vamp to sire him after Drac was killed and he was released from his thrall, was truly priceless. Or worth eleven pounds at the very least.
"I guess he must have lost his Welsh accent, then?" the vampire asked archly.
