Spike raised an eyebrow at her. "For what?"

She kept her sigh muted. Last night at the station he'd casually mentioned that pool and beer and extra-spicy buffalo wings were more fun with company. She had observed that the next night was an off night for both of them. He had agreed, seemingly surprised by the observation. She had mentioned that eight o'clock seemed like a time when people might enjoy having their paths cross on their way to pool and beer and extra-spicy buffalo wings. He had nodded thoughtfully and wandered away. It was the first time they'd made any effort to be together since the memorable all-nighter a few nights before.

Now, of course, he was going to deny any insinuation that arrangements had been made. How very male. She wondered if he'd been such a pain in the neck when he'd been alive. Well, two could play at the game of ostentatious unconcern. "Forgive me, but I'm just on my way to the grocery store," she told him, nodding up the street. "Leah's cooking for several and she needs more spaghetti sauce." She started up the walk, then paused, looking at the person she knew as Mr. Night. "Care to come along?"

He took his cigarette out of his mouth. "To the supermarket?" he sneered.

"Or you could hang around here and greet Leah's guests."

"Who are?"

"Her magic circle. They meet at each other's houses once a month, and tonight it's Leah's turn."

A house full of witches. In the house of a woman who did not necessarily mean him well. No, there were safer places to be. But he took his time about straightening. "The supermarket, then." He smiled at her. "Squeeze the produce, look over the meat display."

"Please, no cliches."

They had to dodge the evening dog walkers. Normally Elizabeth was careful to politely greet every dog and its person, but tonight the canines gave her and her companion a wide berth. When one particularly self-possessed Russian elkhound actually tucked his tail and whimpered, she looked over her shoulder and glared.

"What?" Spike demanded, but his muffled grin said he'd done something. She settled for a mutter and a shake of the head.

The grocery store up on 9th was crowded with late dinner-makers grabbing components and with bored people using shopping as a cover for scoping each other out. Spike noticed he was not the only one in a leather duster, though he was sure he looked the best. And he realized that for all his bleached hair and attitude, he was one of the more conservatively dressed. The amount of piercings and chains and loops poking through anatomy never meant to be pierced reminded him of gypsies carrying their wealth about with them on their persons.

He sighed ostentatiously as Elizabeth picked up a shopping basket and headed for the sauce aisle. "I'm not forcing you to do this," she said over her shoulder.

"No, no, go on about yer business, never mind me." She left him to his theatrical pouting.

Food as far as the eye could see. Enough to make even the kings of his youth stop and stare. A jar of something green caught his eye. Jalepeno jelly. He glanced around casually, strolled after Elizabeth and dropped the jar into one of his deep pockets.

She never noticed, busy comparing two jars of sauce thoughtfully. "This one might work, if we get some extra tomatoes and stuff."

"Just pick one," he sighed.

"First rule, never take men shopping."

She headed up the aisle, Spike slouching after her. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a trio of girls whose hair was as aggressively blond as his. They were watching him and whispering.

Maybe college age, wearing shirts that showed off the belly buttons and slacks that barely hung on their narrow hips. They saw him noticing and giggled together. He smiled but followed Elizabeth.

"Ah, time to squeeze the produce," he said, seeing her heading for the tomato displays.

"Keep your squeezing impulses contained." She dodged the hand that was reaching for her butt and focused on the organic tomatoes.

The trio of bimbettes worked their way through the produce, eying Spike and sneering less than subtly at Elizabeth.

"It's a shame, really," one of them said to her companion.

"What is?"

"The way older--I'm sorry, mature women throw themselves at younger men, thinking they're still attractive."

"Oh, I know, it's sad."

Elizabeth was too busy comparing tomatoes to notice. Spike leaned over to her. "I think they're talking about you, love."

"What?" She looked up, at him, then at the girls, then at him again. "What?"

"Something about younger men and the older women who throw themselves at them. Sounds like a Maury Povich episode to me."

Elizabeth blinked at him, then began snickering. She had to lean on the tomato case to catch her breath. "Younger men ... Oh, my dear," she grinned at the girl. "Let me guess, he should stop throwing himself away on dowdy old me and find himself someone younger, perkier, fresher, like, oh, say--you?"

The girl preened and made a point of throwing out her chest.

Spike looked her over. "I'd do her," he observed.

Elizabeth made a rude noise. "You'd do the Mormon Tabernacle Choir if you had the chance."

"Not all of them!"

"OK, the alto and soprano sections."

"Oh, don't go that far, love, I saw a couple of blokes in the tenor section I wouldn't kick out of bed."

The girl gasped, and her friends alternated blushing with going pale.

Elizabeth observed the first girl's well-displayed bustline. "They are nice, in a sculptural sense. How do you pay for those, by the pound?"

"Like tomatoes?" Spike grinned.

"Well," the girl sniffed, "at least mine aren't sagging around my ankles."

Elizabeth glanced down. "No, right where I left them. Gravity gets us all in the end, dear, even you. When you're my age you're going to look like you've got two socks around your neck with rubber balls in the toes."

The girl's eyes went huge.

Spike grinned. "You do know why organic costs more than industrially produced, right?" he asked, holding one of the organic tomatoes. "The organic ones taste better."

The trio broke and scurried away.

Elizabeth dissolved into half-ashamed giggles. Spike looked at her approvingly. "That was very nice."

"That was horrible of me."

"Yes, like I just said."

As they left the tomatoes, Spike paused at the cucumbers and picked through them thoughtfully.

Elizabeth looked at him uneasily. "And what are you planning for that?"

He looked at her. "I was thinking of cucumber sandwiches. What were you thinking about?"

"Uh, never mind."

"Filthy minded female."

"Filthy minded--!"

"Who was it that sneaked up on me in the music library after locking the door?"

"Nicole the production secretary?"

He looked chagrined and just the triflest bit guilty. Elizabeth laughed out loud. "Just a couple of more things, then we're out of here," she said. "Then you can get those wretched buffalo wing things. Waste of barbecue sauce, those things."

"Philistine," he muttered. He stopped when he saw where she was headed: the garlic. "Oh, lord, that's right. Italian."

He watched queasily as she fondled the roots, holding them up and breathing deeply of the fragrance. Spike remembered her cradling other globe like object with the same look of appreciation, and he had to turn away.

"You're doing that on purpose, aren't you," he snapped.

"Huh?" she blinked. She stared at him, then the garlic in her hand, then back at him. "Oh, damn, I'm sorry." She snatched a plastic bag and dumped the garlic bulbs in.

"And you're going to wash your hands after messing with that stuff before you come anywhere near me. Not touching any of my personal private bits with hands that have touched garlic."

She very mightily kept from snickering. He heard it anyway and glared at her. "I know where there are very large spiders," he said in an unpleasant voice.

She shuddered. "Point taken, I'm sorry."

"Is that it?" he grumbled.

"Yes, that's it," she sighed after pausing in front of the cake and donut display. They went through the self-serve checkout and saw the trio of bimbettes from the produce section just leaving. Spike leered at them, and they scurried guiltily away. The first bleached blonde hesitated at the door, looking back, before being dragged off by her friends. He laughed to himself.

No challenge there. Spread and bled if he just twitched an eyebrow. He went back to Elizabeth and peered over her shoulder as she wrote a check. "Middle name Louise, huh?"

She glared at him. "I bet your real name is Humphrey or Percival or something like that."

"Guess it right and I'll give you a prize."

He took the bags away from her, making sure the garlic was buried in the bottom in multiple layers of plastic. "Go wash your hands, I'm dyin' for a smoke."

"You're addicted to those things, you know."

"So are you to air. Hurry up."

He contemplated the mysteries of women and restrooms as he peacefully smoked outside. A homeless man begged a cigarette off him, and Spike had tossed him one before he noticed the tail peeking out of the long coat. But the creature only shuffled away, engrossed in his smoke.

Elizabeth strolled out finally, and he almost told her what he'd seen but got distracted by what she was holding. "What is that?"

"Corn dog," she explained around the long round thing she had her mouth wrapped around. She tore off a bite and chewed rapturously. She drizzled mustard on the end of the thing, then devoured another inch. Spike winced.

She finished the corn dog with glee and licked her lips. Then she saw the look on his face. Puzzled, she tilted her head for a second, then started to smile.

"Woman," he warned.

"Man," she countered. She reached into a bag and pulled out a second corn dog. She started back down the street to home as she slowly dripped mustard onto the end of the corn dog.

Spike followed reluctantly. She turned to see where he was, eyes wide and curious as she slowly licked the mustard off. He clenched his hands around the grocery bags. There was a cop station right there in the supermarket, someone would probably report it if he raped her right there on the sidewalk. How depressing to realize that, immortal creature of the night or not, a male being was led by the thing in his trousers.

She nibbled delicately on the corn dog all the way back, fastidiously cleaning the last crumbs off the stick. His patience broke when she licked a trace of mustard slowly off her finger. "If you do not stop that, I am going to put this bag very carefully on the ground, making sure nothing breaks, and I'm going to drag you into those bushes over there and rape you unconscious."

She blinked at him a moment. "Oh, that doesn't sound like fun." He growled and took a step backwards until he got a grip on himself, then he yanked the corn dog stick out of her hand and tossed it in the gutter. "There are fines for littering in this town," Elizabeth scolded.

"Is there a fine for this?" He yanked her to him with the hand that wasn't carrying groceries and kissed her hard. A man who had been walking behind them tsked and went around. "You're pushin' my patience, woman," he growled into her ear. "Not a smart thing."

"What do you expect me to do about it here on the street?" He smiled at her and looked thoughtfully up and down the darkening street. "Not on the street," she said firmly. She tried to pull away, but he didn't let her. "If you let me go, we can take these groceries to Leah, then we can--be elsewhere." He finally let her go, and she tsked as she rewound her hair around the hair sticks she normally wore. "You've mussed my hair."

"There'll be more where that came from eventually."

There were cars in the driveway at the house and people carrying dishes in. One fluffy bunny of a woman caroled "Merry meet and blessed be!" as she went through the door.

"Oh, my god," Elizabeth and Spike said at the same time.

"Who is that?" Spike groaned.

"That is Fairy Dust McFadden. She's a very happy lady."

"Tell me you're joking."

"No, she legally changed her name."

"Would anyone miss her?"

"She's a Legal Aid attorney, someone would miss her. And the most damnedable thing about it all is she's a pretty good witch. Her business cards just say F.D. McFadden. Apparently she's normal in a courtroom, but when she's among 'her own people', as she puts it, she acts like this."

"How bloody lucky for you."

F.D. bounced out of the house and headed back to her car. "Oh, hello, Lizzie! Merry meet." She cavorted up the sidewalk.

Elizabeth managed a smile. "Hello, Fairy Dust."

"Leah said you were going out, I was afraid I'd miss you." F.D. saw Elizabeth's companion and froze. "Oh, my." She clasped her hands in delight. "Welcome, wanderer of the night!"

Elizabeth gasped as Spike's hand clamped on her arm.

"Leah said you were seeing someone, but she never ever hinted it was someone so--so--"

"Ready to rip someone to little bloody shreds," he said under his breath.

F.D. came up to the two of them and saw the grocery bag. "Are you staying for dinner?" she said happily to Spike.

"Oh, my lord," Elizabeth breathed. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and saw the urge to say yes all over his face. "Please, don't," she whispered.

"Oh, please, yes!" F.D. gushed. She put her hands on Spike's. "I've always thought that vampires must be so much more in-tuned to the rhythms of nature, living so close--"

Spike let go of Elizabeth and took a step backwards. "Car in the usual place?" he asked her.

"Yes." And he was gone.

"Oh, come back, mystic one!" F.D. called. "There's so much I could learn!"

Elizabeth picked up the bag of groceries and grabbed F.D.'s arm. "Come on, F.D. We need to get cooking."

"Would you introduce him to me, Lizzie? How old is he? Where has he lived? Who has he met?" She looked back into the night. "I've never met one before, they're every bit as compelling as I thought."

Elizabeth yanked open the front door and shoved F.D. inside. "Leah! Sit here, F.D., talk to Paul. Leah!"

"In here, where else would I be?" Leah was hunched over the refrigerator, trying to find room for bowls inside. "Did you get the sauce? Took you look enough."

"Found Mr. Night lurking around outside. He went with me."

Leah straightened. "You took a vampire to the grocery store."

"He wasn't shopping. He saw some items in the produce department but wasn't interested. What we did find was dear old Fairy Dust outside, who was just all thrilled to little bitty bits to meet a real non-live vampire."

Leah closed the refrigerator and took the grocery bag. "Went all gushy, did she?"

Elizabeth collapsed on the stool in the corner: "Wanderer of the night, mystic one--she invited him to dinner!" Leah turned and stared. Elizabeth nodded.

"What did he say?" Leah asked carefully.

"He was about to say yes, I think, then she started in on how in-tune with nature he must be and he bolted."

"Where did he go?"

"My car, probably. Leah, how do we convince her that in some cases the world is not the happy fuzzy place she thinks it is?"

Leah unpacked the grocery bag and did not make the obvious point that if one wants to protect foolish innocent people, one doesn't bring insanely dangerous creatures into their circle.

The swinging door opened and Paul poked his head in. "What's this I hear about you dating a vampire?" he asked Elizabeth.

"Oh, goddess," she sighed, bending over her knees.

Paul came closer and peered at her neck. "Dear lord, you didn't."

"Go away, Paul."

He looked serious. "There's firewood here, we could--"

Elizabeth jumped to her feet.

"The only staking that's going to be done around here," Leah said firmly, "are these toothpicks into these pieces of cheese. Paul, do the honors." She looked at her sister, but Elizabeth did not reply to the veiled questions in her eyes.

From the living room, they could hear Fairy Dust blithering to the other members of the group.

"Oh, but of course he wouldn't come in, we haven't invited him in! Oh, wait, he was going somewhere with Lizzie. Do you think he'd come in when he got back? We should ask Lizzie."

Elizabeth moved quickly for the back door.

Leah stuck her head out through the swinging door. "Fairy Dust, you do not invite soulless things into my house without my knowledge or consent. Or I will feed you to them." F.D. looked thoughtful. "No."

Elizabeth made her escape into the back yard. Not surprisingly, Mr. Night was nowhere to be seen. She went to the carport that fronted the alley and found him leaning against the hood of her battered Subaru with a cigarette. They stared at each other a moment.

His lips twitched. "And now I must sprinkle you with Fairy Dust."

"What, you ground her up already?"

He shook his head. "How can someone be that daft and live?"

"I find F.D. to be good evidence for the existence of a supreme being. Something is looking out for her. For what it's worth, she's the one who advocates skyclad for rituals."

"La, she would. But the idea of watching her cavort around the backyard in nothing more than what she stands up in ..." Elizabeth giggled. He grinned. "Probably waving a wand with ribbons and sparkly things ..." She nodded. He shook his head. "I don't think I could stand it."

Elizabeth dug her keys out. "She thinks Disney songs make good ritual chants. You should hear her do 'Bibbity-Bobbity-Boo.'" Spike dropped his cigarette for laughing. "Come on, mystic wanderer of the night, I feel the need for pool."

"God, yes, smoke and beer and fat men in rude t-shirts. That would get the taste of Fairy Dust out of my mouth."

Elizabeth looked at him over the car roof, wondering at his choice of words. He grinned at her and just let her wonder.

***

The Cue was a private club on State Street, the main drag of the city. Elizabeth took a deep breath, apologized to her lungs, and walked in behind Mr. Night. She wondered why he didn't let her go in first, then she saw the clientele. Odds of a brawl-in-progress had been high, and she assumed he was scouting the room for trouble.

Mostly men, nearly all of them puffing on cigarettes like the tobacco leaf had been declared endangered. Beer and loud music. Not country, surprisingly. Well, the Allman Brothers, but they didn't count.

Spike reached for his cigarette pack before he was ten feet from the door, lit up and sighed in delight. He grinned at Elizabeth. "Great place, innit?"

She coughed and blinked rapidly. "Sure, it's great." She'd agreed to drive to a place full of cigarette smoke and obnoxious people. There was a word for this kind of behavior, and it was a stupid word.

And odds were he'd leave her with the tab. He was notorious for not being around when bills were being settled--unless there was booze to buy and he was the only one interested.

They paid the cover charge, then Spike led the way through the crowd looking for an empty pool table. "Let me guess, you've been here before, haven't you," Elizabeth said, dodging fat, bearded men in motorcycle t-shirts.

"Yep, though the music on the juke box is horrible."

There was an empty table in the back corner. "First round's mine," he announced, shoving some money into a coin slot on the table, which released the balls. "Pick a cue."

Elizabeth sighed. "I don't play pool," she admitted.

He froze and stared at her. "You don't play pool."

"I'm sorry. I kick ass at chess, though."

"All right, woman, come here. This is a pool cue."

"I know that much."

He pulled one down and hefted it to check the balance: "That'll do. Here." He pulled down one for his own and pushed Elizabeth towards the table "Let me rack the balls."

"Won't that hurt?" she asked innocently. He gave her a very pained look.

He arranged the balls in the triangle and lined them up on the white dot, then removed the triangle with a flourish. "All right, the object is to use this ball" he held up the cue ball "to hit those balls."

"I know that, too," she said patiently. "What I don't know is how to hold this stick so it works right."

He took the cue from her and assumed the position. "OK, one hand out here on the table, the other back here." He looked at her to make sure she was paying attention and saw she was looking at his ass.

She blinked when she realized he wasn't talking anymore and blushed. "You were saying?"

He handed her the cue. "Left hand here, right hand here, bend over the table." He helpfully put his hands over hers and leaned over her to show her the proper position. "And you line up the cue with the ball and where you want it to hit the others."

"I can't concentrate when you do that," she protested mildly as he made sure he was settled properly against her to check her form.

"Do what?" he asked innocently. If his hand was resting more on her hip than on the pool cue, it was just in the interests of making sure her posture was correct.

She sighted down the pool cue towards the balls, trying to ignore the body against hers. She moved her shoulders to get him to back off a little so she could shoot. But the smack of the cue ball was rather anemic, and the other balls didn't spread out very far. "Dammit."

"Have to hit a little harder than that, pet." Spike straightened slowly, taking his time about moving his hands, and went for his own cue. He bent over the table and lined up the shot. "It's all in the thrust." The cue ball smacked against a ball, which zipped into a corner pocket.

Elizabeth leaned on her pool cue in the approved, learned-from-the-movies manner. "Thrust, huh?"

"You have to know your tools."

He lined up another shot, taking his time about his positioning himself. Elizabeth forced down the snicker and just enjoyed the view. The next ball went into a side pocket after bouncing off a cushion.

A waitress appeared at her shoulder. "What c'n I get ya?"

Spike peered through the smoke at the menu board. "Extra spicy buffalo wings, a big order. Did you get that Guinness restocked?"

"Sorry, there's a computer show in town, the geeks have drunk it all, the distributor's out."

"Damn. What's a decent Yank beer?"

"We got Anchor Steam, that's from Frisco, supposed to be good."

"It'll do."

The waitress looked at Elizabeth. "Don't you have Squatter's?"

"Of course."

"Scratch the Anchor Steam, bring me a hefeweisen and him a Cap'n Bastard's."

"Right."

Spike glared at her. "I pick me own beer, woman."

"This is local microbrew, I'm surprised you haven't tried it yet. Trust me. I'll even pay for it." The offer decided him.

He swept the table, while Elizabeth twiddled her thumbs. "Right, this round's yours," he said with a grin.

She plugged two quarters into the table and started pulling out the balls to rack them. She went to the end of the table and assumed the position. Spike wandered towards her, just in case she needed more instruction in how to hold the cue.

"Thank you, I can do this myself. All in the thrust, you say?"

"A smooth, long motion, with the right amount of power."

"I see." She focused on geometry and shot. This time the balls collided with a satisfying thwack, and one of the balls dove into the corner. "Hey! That was supposed to happen, right?"

Spike debated invoking the kind of complicated rules men often did when playing games with women, then decided he had better chances of getting laid if she enjoyed herself. "Yep, that was supposed to happen. Keep shooting."

The beer arrived, and he picked up his bottle suspiciously. The bristle-faced pig on the label with the eye patch and pirate's hat caught his eye. "What's with the pig?"

Elizabeth took a big swig of her beer. "Why, that's Cap'n Bastard, scurviest swine to sail the seven seas."

"Lord." He took a cautious swig, was pleasantly surprised. "It'll do. Your shot."

When the food arrived, they had to retreat to a table with chairs. Elizabeth nibbled delicately on a wing while Spike began demolishing his share. He never noticed when she signaled the waitress for something with a better food to effort ratio.

He finished the wings, belched, drained his beer, and looked at her side of the table. "What's that?"

"Fried mozzarella sticks. Equally unhealthy, but it's all edible." She nodded at the pile of bones on his plate. "Not that you worry about fat grams, I imagine."

He grinned at her. "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful." He started to reach for a cheese stick, and she slapped his hand.

"Get more wings if you're still hungry."

He flagged down the waitress and ordered another plate of wings and three more bottles of beer. "You want another one?"

"Those three are for you? Lord. No, I'm fine. Two bottles of beer and I go to sleep. Don't smile like that, I'm not getting drunk for your amusement."

"How about for your own amusement, just to see what will happen?"

"What will happen is I make a fool of myself."

"Don't you ever just let yourself--lose control?"

"I think you can testify on whether I do or not."

"Not like that. Completely kick the traces over, do what you want, come what may, no matter what the rest of the world says."

"I've never worried about what the world has to say. But I've got some rules, and they're there for a reason."

"What's your main rule?"

"That whatever I do, I do because I choose to."

"Sounds like you've got some control issues, pretty." The beers and food arrived, and he popped the top off the first bottle. "You're not the sort to just put yourself in somebody's hands and let them do what they want?" His smile dared her to deny it.

She thought back to the other night. "Not without having some parameters in place."

"No parameters. No conditions. Just let someone else call the shots, make all the decisions."

"It would have to be someone I trusted." She wondered what he was getting at, what ideas he was mulling over.

He frowned. "Trust isn't the point."

"It's the only point. I would never put myself into the hands of someone I don't trust."

He put down his beer bottle. "You're not going to say you trust me."

"Yes, I am."

"I'm a vampire, love. We don't score well on reliability ratings."

"You being the only one I've ever met, I couldn't say. As for you, I stand by my statement." She cocked her head. "You actually look upset. Does it really bother you so much that someone could sit here who knows what you are and accepts it?"

"You don't know what I am, Ellie, you get your ideas about vampires from movies. I like what I am. I don't wander the night bitching about cruel fate. I've killed thousands of people, and I enjoyed it."

Elizabeth studied him. "What's your point?"

"What's my fucking point! You gonna tell me you don't care?"

She stared at other things across the room. "I have been accused before now of being lacking in feeling for my fellow man. You've harmed no one I know. Maybe you have killed thousands. It's academic to me." Her eyes slid back to his. "Harm one of my own, though ..."

Something prickled on his skin, the touch of magic. "What are you doing?"

"Dammit." She stared at the table a moment, and the feeling went away. "Leah is a very powerful witch. So was our grandmother. Mom could not be lied to. All the women of our maternal line have something extra."

Spike lit a cigarette and blew a veil of smoke between them. "So what did you get?"

"A bit more empathy than is comfortable." She glanced at him. "And I know evil when I see it."

He smiled smugly. She didn't respond, just looked at him.

"I know it's there," she went on. "And I know how much. But I also know how much of a threat you are to me. Oh, don't frown. I don't care if your self-image requires you to be dangerous. I'm being serious."

"So, you think I'm no threat to you," he said, displeased.

"Not at this time. I know you could be. Believe me, Leah is not the only one who keeps an eye out."

"You're very calm about it."

"Mr. Night, I walk down the street every day past human beings whose instincts to evil easily match yours. Sometimes only opportunity keeps them from matching you." She looked around the room. "There are two other people in this room who make me more uneasy than you do."

Spike looked around. No obvious threats. "Who?"

"What, so you can take them out so you can be top shark in the pool? Sorry. I haven't looked that close. Getting close leaves messes on my mental shoes."

"So you can see the bad guys coming. Could be handy."

"It's not like that. There's the potential for evil--" she glanced at him from the corner of her eye "--then there's the willingness to do evil. There's a woman over there, she has one of the greatest potentials for evil I've ever seen. But she's utterly unwilling to do evil, so she keeps herself under rigid control. I think this is where saints come from."

"Corrupting saints is fun. Who is she?" He looked around for some woman in this tractor-pull crowd with saint potential.

"I'm not telling."

"Is this what I felt you doing just now, reading the evil?"

"Oh, I wish it was that controllable. No, that was--well, I seem to have a knack for making threats that stick. It has to be something a bit more deliberate than a simple 'damn you'--"

"Good," he said, remembering some of the things she'd said to him in distracted moments.

"But if it's something important to me, things can get away from me. If I ever see the head cheerleader from my high school again, I'm going to have to try to beat the crap out of her. It's embarrassing at my age."

"Could be fun to see." She rolled her eyes at him. "What were you going to say to me?"

She stared at him. "You want me to finish it?"

He nodded, his stare a challenge.

Elizabeth put down her empty beer bottle, turned to face him and met his eyes. "If ever you harm someone I care about, I will do my best to destroy you."

The hairs on his arms stood up. "Your best might not be good enough," he said softly.

She nodded. "So mote it be."

He winced at the wave of cold and electricity that went through him. "That was a curse. That was a bloody, god-damned curse."

"Which you asked for."

"Curses are not white magic, love."

She looked away. "I know."

He drained the beer and flipped the top of the next bottle off with his thumb. "You always put curses on people you trust?" he asked with a curl in his lip.

"Why the hell does that bother you so much? The thought that someone might trust you is that big a threat to your self-esteem?"

He glared at her. "People don't, normally, and they have good reason. I've killed people just for the fun of it, and they tasted good."

"Why is it so important for me to be frightened or disgusted by you? If you want to be rid of me, all you have to do is say so."

"People who trust me generally end up dead."

"And how often at your hands?" she asked softly, meeting his eyes.

He so wanted to pull out the vampface. "Often enough. That's what vampires do, get people to trust them. Hunting's ever so much easier if the prey isn't running."

"As a side note, Leah wanted to make sure I told you that she's rebuilt the wards and revoked your invitation. Her decision, not mine."

"Afraid to have me near the kiddies?" he sneered.

She stared at him for a very long time, and he almost felt her rummaging through the remnants of his soul. "No," she said softly.

"Then you're a fucking idiot."

She picked up her bag, pulled a fifty out of her wallet and dropped it on the table. Then she stood. "Is it really that horrible to think you could have a friend, not just someone to fuck?"

He might have jumped to his feet and grabbed her, he certainly had time. Instead he just watched her walk away and out the door. He began ripping into the buffalo wings with his teeth, consoling himself with the sound and feel of tearing flesh.

Elizabeth strode towards her car in the parking lot behind the bar. He was right, of course. Trusting him was the course of insanity. But she knew what she felt when she opened the shutters she tried to keep locked over that camera in her soul. He had done immense evil. The potential was still there, but the willingness had shifted.

She pulled out her car keys and unlocked the door. He could just walk home, or turn to mist or a bat or whatever. And she'd just wait till her shift at the station in two days to see what he had to say for himself. She couldn't very well apologize for believing that he was capable of killing her but that he wasn't going to.

A whiff of breeze, of cold air behind her. She turned to confront Mr. Night.

"Hello, coffin bait," said someone else, someone with a distorted face, who set all her alarms screaming. He was one of the foci of evil she'd sensed in the bar, the equal to her vampire lover in potential, far outstripping him in current willingness and glee.

The stranger yanked down the collar of her shirt and looked at her neck. "Was this one the same as you just walked out on? Or have you been making the circuit?"

Elizabeth shook off the shock, yanked her bag around and fumbled for the pocket, where her gun was. Her hand had just slipped around the pistol butt when the vampire wrapped his hand around her wrist and squeezed.

"Whatever you're going for, don't bother."

He squeezed until she went limp, then pulled the bag off her shoulder and threw it into the weeds. He stepped closer, and she backed up till she was against her car. He kept coming, pressing his body into hers, still holding her wrist in a painful grip. Her other hand on his chest could have been a tie tack for all the impression it made. He leaned against her, driving her spine into the roof of the car.

"Let's see, dinner and fucking?" he asked, grinning at her. "Or just dinner? Or take you home, fuck you a lot, then have dinner when I'm bored? You choose."

"None of the above?"

With a snarl, he grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. "Just dinner, then. And when they find your body, that bleached blond nancy boy can take the blame."

His lips were cold on her throat and the points of his fangs were poised on the jugular. She closed her eyes and tried not to feel ashamed of being afraid. He slowly pushed his fangs into her skin, chuckling at her whimper of pain. Then he was ripped away and Elizabeth fell to her knees.

All she saw was pale hair and the leather duster. Mr. Night faced away towards the other vampire, who was just peeling himself off the dented hood of a gigantic SUV. The car alarm whooped in protest, and the headlights started flashing.

"Run, Ellie!" but his voice was strange, and she couldn't focus yet.

The other vampire plowed into him, driving him into the side of a battered 4X4 pickup truck. No car alarm added its voice, but the door caved in.

Elizabeth got to her feet. Run, advised the woman who had heckled a thousand stupid movie heroines, and she scrambled for her car. And remembered the car keys, which had fallen somewhere, and her driver's license in her bag, somewhere in the weeds. Damn the license, if a cop pulled her over she'd say she was mugged. And there were the keys, next to the tire. She bent for them and felt her hair slither out of her hair pins' control.

Spike shoved the other away and saw Elizabeth messing with her hair when she should have been running. "Get out of here, you stupid bitch!"

The other vampire caught his feet, considered targets, and shifted aim to the human.

Elizabeth noted his approach almost absently as she untangled one of the wooden hair pins from a knot of hair. The wooden ... She flipped the hair stick in her fingers, shifted her feet and weight and shot her hand out just as the vampire came within reach. The hair pin punched into his chest. The vampire's eyes went briefly large before everything burst into a cloud of dust that broke over Elizabeth.

Spike stared. "Nicely slayed."

"Thank you," she blinked. "As you said, it's all in the thrust." Then she found herself sitting on the ground.

He made sure his human face was on and hurried to her. He knelt beside her and looked her over. The dust of vampires lost was in her hair, on her clothes and skin. He began brushing her off. "Did he bite you?"

"I--I'm not sure."

Gently he moved the collar of her shirt. The top button had been ripped off. The two holes weren't deep, but a thin trail of blood traced the tendon down the side of her neck. He wiped the blood away with a careful finger. She didn't seem to notice when he licked his finger clean.

The car alarm shut off and the headlights went dark. No one had come to see.

Elizabeth blinked once, then again. "He just went--poof. Exploded." She looked down, saw the dust, and began frantically brushing at her face and arms.

"Easy, easy, it comes right off. See? All gone." He knocked some out of her hair. "Where are your hair pins?" Her vague look answered him. He saw one near her car keys on the ground. The other one lay nearby, in a pile of dust.

When he touched it, he almost dropped it for the tingling he felt. "Now what the hell," he muttered. He didn't recognize the wood, but the head had--he peered at it closer. Carved bone, very delicate work, with silver filigree. He didn't hold the thing too tight.

He retrieved the other, collected her bag from the weeds, and went back to Elizabeth. "Come on, love, we'd best get out of here before the good ol' boys want to know what happened to their testosterone buggies."

"OK." She reached for her keys, and it took three times before she could pick them up. "Bloody fucking dammit all to hell."

"Who was that one aimed at, please?"

"The car keys."

"Can you curse car keys?"

"I've done it often enough. Help me up."

He lifted her to her feet, then got a look at her face. "I always seem to catch you when you're in no shape to drive."

"I can drive." But she squeezed her eyes shut as she relived the soft puff of vampire dust in her face.

She didn't resist when he pried the keys out of her hands and led her around to the other side of the car. "I'm sure you're perfectly capable of driving," he said as he opened the door, pushed her into the seat and fastened her seatbelt. He winced as he straightened. "But I've had sufficient excitement for one night, I don't want to go one on one with a tree."

"OK," she said, several seconds behind the ball. He was behind the wheel and headed across the parking lot.

"Right side of the street," he muttered, reminding himself which way to go. "Honk somebody else, you poncy bastard!"

Elizabeth watched him run red lights with detached interest. "Why were you there?"

"What?" Spike changed lanes, cutting off a low-rider full of young men listening to rap music.

"I'm very grateful for you showing up just then, but why were you out there?"

"Oh. The feel of the room changed just after you left. I knew he was in there, the vamp, he was a regular. But he left me alone and I left him alone. I figured he was one of the two you felt. I lost track of him after you left, and I thought ..." He shrugged.

"Oh. Thank you. But I didn't expect you."

He didn't answer, watching the cop car to his left to hide his unwillingness to continue the earlier conversation.

Elizabeth stared at next to nothing as they went back to Leah's house. "Leah's bunch might still be there."

"Fuck 'em."

"No, you don't want to do that. I bet Fairy Dust giggles at inappropriate moments."

"You do know you're in shock, don't you?"

"Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt."

Thankfully, the house wasn't much further. Spike parked in front of the house, close enough to the curb to count. Elizabeth unbuckled her seat belt, opened the car door, climbed out, then fell into Spike's arms as he hurried around.

"Silly female." He hoisted her up into his arms, braced himself, and marched up the walk to the front door.

He felt the change in the wards when he approached the door. Oh, well. He gave the front door three good kicks.

A teenaged boy pulled the door open. "Hey, don't kick the--" He froze, staring up at his aunt in the arms of a strange man with bleached blond hair, a killer leather duster, and a snarl that would probably make Rottweilers back down.

"Get yer mum," Spike ordered.

The boy stared, then shook himself. "Mom!" He ran off.

Through the big window Spike saw a bunch of people gathered near the fireplace with books and plates of spaghetti. They looked up at the boy's progress, then hurried to the front door. Fairy Dust McFadden was in the lead. "Oh!" she squeaked. "It's him. Lizzie! What have you done to her!"

Spike sighed. "Nothing, you stupid git. Where's her sister?"

One of the men appeared, a piece of firewood incompletely hidden behind his back. He glanced at Fairy Dust, who frowned. "But we're not ready, Paul." She looked down at the plate of spaghetti she still held. "There's garlic, and there's basil, that's good against evil. Does anyone have any wolfsbane?"

"That's for werewolves," Spike snapped. "And if you throw that plate of spaghetti at me--" He let the vampire face out a little. The group at the door backed up but looked willing to pull themselves together.

Wind blew up from nowhere, making the chimes on the porch dance. Leah appeared, hair moving in a small tempest seemingly centered on her. "Back off, you! Let me through!" She slid to a halt in the doorway and stared at her sister, bruised, shocky, a bit of blood on her neck, lying in the arms of a vampire, her head on his shoulder. Then Leah raised her eyes to the vampire's, and he saw lights moving in the depths.

"Twern't me!" he said quickly. "We won the fight."

"We?" Leah frowned. The others clustered around her, peering around her shoulders. The piece of firewood poked her in the shoulder. "Paul, put that back! Fairy Dust, go put that spaghetti back on the table, what are you thinking? All of you, just go sit down and let me deal with this!" When they had slunk back to their seats, she turned back to Spike. "What happened?" she demanded quietly.

"Well, killing your first vampire takes it out of you, can I bring her in already? She's getting cold."

She only hesitated a second. "Come in." She put a hand up as he stepped forward. "This time. This is not a blanket invitation."

"Whatever."

Leah stepped back and let him go first. The crowd of mystic seekers huddled together stopped whispering together and stared. He glared at them, and they stayed back. The boy who had opened the door stood apart from the others, watching Spike carefully, but without fear. Not an utter git, then. Another teenager, a girl, sat in a pile of cushions in the corner, watching everyone with a look of disgust. The two of them had reddish hair like Leah and Elizabeth, and their noses matched.

Elizabeth stirred and looked around. "Oh, hell," she muttered when she saw everyone staring at her. "Leah ..."

"Right here, love." Leah glanced at the couch, currently covered by gaping clueless people, then shrugged. "Bring her downstairs," she said to Spike. "She'll be more comfortable in her own place."

"Good idea." He followed her through the house to the back. Urgent whispering broke out in the living room behind them.

"Mind the stairs," Leah said, leading the way down the uneven, winding staircase past the backdoor to the basement. "And the ceiling." She opened the door at the bottom of the stairs.

First there came the laundry room--and the location of litter boxes. Then there was another door, which Leah opened after closing the first door. Beyond was EllieWorld.

The smell of incense and spicy candles hit, followed by the usual dank odor of old basements. No wonder she burned incense. It was beautifully dark inside, with only a small votive candle burning before a large poster of Albert Einstein on the wall. Posters covered all the walls that weren't buried under bookshelves. A small kitchenette lurked in one corner of the room, with a microwave and a small refrigerator, and a table nearby covered in books and empty pop cans. On the other end of the long room was another door.

"Her bedroom's through there," Leah said, turning on the lights.

"It's a mess," Elizabeth protested faintly. "I can walk."

"No, you can't," Leah and Spike said at the same time.

She had a queen-sized bed, somewhere under the clothes and books and blankets bunched up together. Her computer was at the other end of the room, sharing a bookcase with a large sound system. Racks of vinyl records, cassette and reel tapes and cd's fought for space with even more books.

"Her room was a mess when she was a kid, too," Leah observed as she excavated a spot on the bed. "Still sleeping with books, I see--" She paused, then pulled a scabbarded longsword out from under the blankets.

"Interesting bed partner," Spike observed.

"Shut up," Elizabeth said.

Leah looked over and frowned. "How's your head, sis?"

"Hurts," she muttered.

Leah looked at Spike. "I didn't see her get hit," he said. "She might have gotten knocked against the car or something, though."

"Right, put her down here."

The stuffed green Cthulhu shared the pillow at the head of the bed. Spike frowned at it. Who would want a plush version of one of the multi-tentacled Old Ones in their bed? No one who had ever seen the real thing, that's for sure. But Elizabeth reached for the thing and snuggled against it as he put her down.

Leah sat down next to her sister, after moving several books. Spike retreated to the corner near the door.

"Open your eyes, sis. I want to see if you have a concussion."

"I'm fine."

"Let me decide that."

Spike frowned. "What, you're a nurse now, too?"

"I've got my EMT certificate." She didn't respond to his curious look, just peered at Elizabeth's eyes, comparing the pupils. "That looks OK. This might hurt," she said as she started running careful fingers through Elizabeth's hair. The swollen place on the side garnered a pungent oath from Elizabeth. "Watch your tongue, my girl. Skin's broken, got a good whack there from something."

"I don't remember--"

"I'm not asking for a play-by-play of your bar brawl." Leah glanced over at Spike in the corner. "Was she unconscious or so dizzy she couldn't stand?"

"Her knees went out on her, if that's what you're asking."

"That counts. Liz, how's your stomach?"

"Empty."

Leah smiled faintly. "I meant, are you nauseous."

"Well, the cheese sticks at the bar were more than usually greasy, but I think I'm OK."

"Stoicism is out of place right now, dear, tell me the truth."

"Well ..."

"Right." Leah straightened, then looked over at Spike, a disgruntled look on her face.

"What?" he asked suspiciously, making sure he had a line on the door.

"If she does have a concussion, it's a mild one. But someone should stay with her."

"And you've got a house full of people."

"Yes."

Elizabeth shifted. "I'm sorry to wreck your Equinox, Leah ..."

"Oh, stop. You've given me a great excuse to send the Sunday school class home. They're so busy working up the proper invocations to all their individual Gods and Goddesses of the Month we'd never get anything done anyway. Besides, the real group is due in a couple of hours, Alicha finds Fairy Dust more annoying than you do."

"If she's so annoying," Spike pointed out, "why is she here?"

"Because they could learn this stuff from people who see power as something to exploit or they could learn it from me, who has some ethics. It's hard enough to do proper workings in this valley, if they're going to learn they need to learn how to do it right."

Spike raised an eyebrow at her. "Hard to do workings? You don't seem to have any problems."

Elizabeth snickered, but Leah only smiled. "Well, that's just me. But the Salt Lake Valley is notorious for being a negative pole in the magical energies. Things just get sucked into some void, and it's hell to pull enough power to use for yourself."

He thought about the Hellmouth, and how any yahoo and his dog could pull energy to muck about with things. "Sounds very peaceful. You've got your own home-grown vamps, though. Well, one less than you did at the start of the evening."

Leah tried not to smile. "We've got a fairly large urban population, a high number of transients. In a properly balanced environment, if you've got antelope, you've got lions." She saw Spike preen in the corner. "Or hyenas, depending on your outlook. They actually find it easier to hide in this population, for some reason the idea of supernatural creatures tends to really offend the orthodox Mormon."

"Not in the worldview?"

"Not really. I know a priest at the Cathedral of the Madeleine, though, who would drop everything and come running with his crucifix if I gave him a holler."

"Leah," Elizabeth said disapprovingly. Leah patted her hand but didn't take back the remark.

There was a knock on the far door. "Leah?" came Paul's voice. "Everything OK?"

Leah sighed. "Might have known. Close a door on a bunch of kids, and they come sniffing around to see if anything interesting is going on. Coming!" she hollered. She stood up and looked at Spike. "Will you stay?"

"I thought I wasn't welcome."

Her eyes narrowed. "Special circumstances apply. If it bothers you so much, I'll send Eleanor down. She finds the whole circle thing far too embarrassing anyway."

"Do I get a vote in any of this?" Elizabeth asked from the bed.

"No." She looked at Spike. "Well?"

"I'll stay."

"Thank you. If her temperature goes up or if she starts acting confused, come get me immediately. Head trauma is tricky stuff."

"Anything else, Dr. Kildare?"

"Keep her warm, don't let her sleep, no strenuous exercise," she added wryly. "And no snacking."

"For her or me?" he asked levelly.

"She can eat if it doesn't make her nauseous."

"Fine."

She hesitated, unwilling to leave her somewhat-incapacitated sister alone with a vampire--as if said sister hadn't been alone with said vampire lots of times in the past. Leah noticed every time a new mark showed up on Elizabeth's neck, but she so far had managed not to make a fuss.

Elizabeth watched the debate on Leah's face. "I'll be fine, sis. If he meant me harm, he's not so stupid as to think he could get away with it here."

Spike snorted. "Thanks."

"Dammit," Leah muttered. "Well, if you trust him ..." She'd never understood Elizabeth's odd knack for reading people, but it was reliable.

"I do." She glanced at Spike and saw the dissatisfaction. "Despite arguments to the contrary."

"All right." Leah headed towards the far door. "Call me if she needs anything," she said to Spike.

"Right-o." He breathed a sigh of relief as the outer door closed. "Wouldn't want her mad at me."

"No, you wouldn't." Elizabeth sat up and swung her feet out of bed.

"Should you be doing that?"

"No one elected you mother hen. I want a shower. I can still feel that ... dust in my hair. And I want to change clothes."

He grinned. "Can I help?"

She considered her equilibrium. "I just might let you." She stayed seated as she started shucking clothes.

He watched in amusement as she dropped things on the floor. "And I thought I was a slob."

"I'll pick them up when my head doesn't wobble when I bend over. Besides, it's my room, I can do what I want."

"Why do you sleep with a sword?"

"Um, oh, that. Well, I got out of practice sleeping alone when I lived with Tom. The things in the closet stay quiet when I have Present in bed with me."

Spike glanced at the closet, wondering if he should take a look for boggles in the corners. "And who's Tom?" he asked, not noticing his disapproving tone.

She smiled to herself. "The guy I was with before I moved in with Leah. One morning I reached for a book before I reached for him. He wasn't pleased. It took me eighteen hours to realize he'd moved out."

"Must have been a hell of a book."

"It was the new Harry Potter, I fell asleep before I could finish." She unzipped her jeans and pried her sneakers off with her toes. "I think I'm going to need a little help here."

"Always happy to help get a woman out of her clothes."

He gave her a hand to help steady her as she stood and let the pants fall. He leered but gave it up when he saw she wasn't paying attention. "You said you were all right."

"My head hurts, the horizontal hold needs just a little tweaking to stay put, I'll be fine. Especially after a shower."

"Hold on to this dresser for a second."

"Why?"

He shucked the leather duster and tossed it on the bed, then started on his shirt. "Don't fancy your sister's reaction if you go all woozy in the shower and bash your head on the tile, not on my watch."

She watched him undress with her usual interest. "It's a small shower."

He tossed her a smile as he stood on one foot to unlace his boots. "All the better to wash your back, my dear."

The bathroom here in the basement was small, but whoever had designed it had had an ungovernable taste for gold leafing. The floor tiles had gold flecks, the mirror frame was painted gold, the faucets were brass slumming as gold. Some of the wall tiles had cherubs sculpted into them, and some had cheesy paintings of Greek and Italian scenes. Even the ceiling light had a gold-tone bracket and gold-flecked glass.

"Who was the architect?" Spike asked. "King Midas?"

"Almost. The former owner was Greek, and I like his taste."

He gave her a very pitying look. "It's a concussion, all right."

"It's fun, it's exuberant, it's not all restrained like that Arts & Crafts stuff Leah likes. Whenever she comes down here and contemplates the application of a crowbar to this bathroom, I ask her when she's going to finish the built-in sideboard in the dining room, and she goes away."

The shower stall was very cramped with two people.

"I can do this myself," she repeated.

"Where's the fun in that? And I could use a scrub down myself." He set the water to as hot as a human could stand and soaped down happily.

Elizabeth watched thoughtfully. "I'll do your back if you can't reach." He grinned and handed her the soap and turned around.

Elizabeth got a look at his back and saw a huge bruise. "How did that happen?"

"Those old Dodges are built tougher than they are now."

"I--didn't think you could get hurt like that."

He snorted. "Don't I wish."

She was careful not to annoy the bruise, but she kept being distracted by the muscles moving under his skin, which almost felt warm under the hot water.

"You're wasting soap, love," he said softly. "I think I'm clean." He turned around, took the soap away and leaned down to kiss her. "Your turn."

Her right wrist had been the one the vampire had clamped on to, and her hand didn't work quite as well as it should. Spike was quite willing to do most of the work, making sure all the bits got washed that needed to get washed. She did ask, though, if her breasts really did require five minutes each to be properly clean. He said yes. He was happily absorbed in washing her long hair for her when he realized she was shaking.

"What? Do you need to sit down?"

"No," she whispered.

"Then what?" He looked around at her face and was fairly certain she was crying. "Ellie, what?"

"I killed somebody."

With a sigh he put his arms around her. "You or him, love. And he wouldn't have felt at all bad about it. Just wiped his mouth and gone looking for dessert."

"Still ... There was this person--OK, this sentient being, and one minute he's looking at me and there's someone at home in the eyes, and the next--he's just a cloud of dust in the air." She scrubbed anxiously at her arms, as if she could still feel it on her skin.

Despite the hot water, she was cold. "Love, you did the right thing. I'd have done it if I could have gotten to him fast enough. But he went for you, and you got the job. Sucks to be you, and all that, but what can you do?"

She rested her head on his shoulder. "And it was so easy ..."

"Easy! Shit, girl, you were so god-damned lucky--he did half the work himself, shoving himself onto that hair stick--and why that didn't just go to splinters on a rib or something before it got to his heart ..." He stopped. The enumeration of her lucky breaks was not helping. "Tonight the dice rolled your way. It could easily have happened that I'd have come out a few minutes later and found you dead on the ground."

"I know," she whispered. "I know I was lucky. But the thing is--it felt good. When I felt it punch through and saw the look on his face when he realized what had happened, I felt ..."

"Oh. That. It's called 'I'm alive, you wanker, and you're not, and that's just the way I want it.' Generally considered to be a good thing."

"I'm proud of myself, and that disturbs me."

"God, you Puritans. I'm glad we kicked you out of the country, stupid gits, all of you. You're supposed to be glad you're not dead, not feel guilty. What, you should have let him take out your throat for a bar snack?"

"It's not like that."

"Oh, right, then it's the 'nice girls don't drop mad killers in their tracks' kind of thing."

She went still, then looked up at him. "That does sound stupid, doesn't it."

"Moderately so, yes."

"I'm certainly holding up family tradition."

"What do you mean?" he asked, intrigued.

"Um, well, it's really Leah's story. Suffice to say that it was three of them to one of her and when the dust had settled there was still one of her and the three of them were no longer a factor to be considered." She saw his interested look. "Ask her, if you want more. She doesn't talk about it much."

"Statute of limitations?"

"No, she called the cops when it was all over. Tidier that way." Elizabeth didn't add that Leah's self-possession in the face of taking down three would-be rapists had been the final straw that broke the camel's back of her marriage. For some reason her husband had been upset that she hadn't even yelled for help before calmly dispatching the trio. Perhaps it was finding her at the police station absently cleaning the dried blood from under her fingernails as she gave her statement that had disturbed him so much.

Spike turned the water back on so he could finish rinsing her hair. "Do not go gentle into that good night," he murmured, but he caught himself before he could finish the stanza. He paused to shove William back into the rat-infested little hole he normally lived in.

"Who wrote that?" Elizabeth asked absently.

"Some silly bugger, who remembers?" He squeezed the extra water out of her hair, then put his arms around her. "It's a good thing to be one still standing at the end of it all, pretty."

"For some reason, a lecture on how good it is to be alive sounds odd coming from you."

"Being alive means more than drawing breath. It's being able to get up in the morning--or the evening--and having the world in front of you." He turned her around to face him. "It's standing up in a fight and being the last bugger upright when the other bloke's being carried off in a box--or on the breeze. It's staring the universe in the face and saying 'Not this time, you bloody bastard.'" He leaned down to kiss her. "And it's being able to have another chance to hold on to someone when all the screaming's done, knowing how close it was."

She kissed him back, despite the headache still mumbling in the back of her skull. Alive was much better than dead. His skin was hot and wet under her hands; for a moment she imagined he was just like any other man--who happened to be really good in bed--and her animal sub-brain wanted positive reinforcement that she was still among the living and that her body still worked right. The way his tongue was working with hers, he wouldn't mind that reinforcement either.

She shoved the water off with one hand. The push plate for the shower door was on his side, and he hit it with his elbow. Steam rolled out into the tiny bathroom, fogging all the reflecting surfaces. Spike found one towel to wrap around Elizabeth, another to towel himself off with.

"Leah said I should avoid strenuous exercise," Elizabeth commented for formality's sake as he helpfully made sure she reached everywhere.

"So avoid it. Let me do all the work." He picked her up to carry her back to the bedroom.

She hedonistically enjoyed it to the hilt, putting her arms around his neck and her head on his shoulder. "A real bed," he commented, putting her down. "How decadent."

"As opposed to the floor, or a table ..."

"Or a couch, or a wall ..." His knee hit something hard as he stretched out next to her, and he dug out another book. Collected Modern English Poetry. He tossed it to the far side of the bed. "How many are in here?"

"Well, I don't really know. Toss them out when you find them. Oh, dear." He'd just found a paperback romance novel with a half-undressed couple on the cover.

Spike propped himself up on one elbow and opened the book to where a supermarket receipt marked the place. "'Bethany pressed her trembling hands against Dirk's broad chest. "Oh, whatever do you mean, sir!" she cried.'" Elizabeth yanked the book out of his hands and threw it across the room.

"I'd ask what kind of books you read," she said, "but I'm afraid to find out."

"The usual, Playboy, Hustler ..." Dostoevsky, Rousseau ... His hand found something under the pillow. A remote control of some sort.

"Ah, stereo remote. " she said. "Hit play on the CD player."

He paused before obeying. "I am not in the mood for Vivaldi, pet."

"I listen to all the classics. Push the button, Max." He braced himself and pushed the button.

Good drums and better guitars came out of the speakers. He looked at Elizabeth in surprise.

"U-2, Rattle and Hum," she explained as she listened with half-closed eyes. "Like I said, the classics. And there's Oingo Boingo and The Hooters. Mozart's Requiem is in there somewhere, too."

Bono's voice started in on The Beatles' "Helter Skelter". Spike found the Random Multi-Disk button and set that, then turned back to the woman next to him.

"You were hurt, too," Elizabeth said for form's sake. She was careful of her hands on his back, remembering the bruise she'd seen.

"Nursery stuff. Had worse than that from me dad." She blinked up at him, and he kissed her to distract her from what he hadn't meant to say.

She kept flashing to the memory of that other vampire's face leering at her, offering her foul choices. "What does coffin bait mean?" she whispered.

"Where the hell did you hear that?" he asked in surprise.

"The vampire tonight--"

"Never mind what he said. He was not a gentleman."

"And you are?"

She was surprised at the look on his face. "I've had my moments. Hush."

He was very gentle with her, careful of her possible concussion and the bruises they both sported. He kissed his way down her body, careful to not aggravate too-ticklish points but making sure to reach all the places that made her moan happily.

"There is such a thing as being too gentlemanly," she said, catching her hand in his hair and making him look at her.

"Not when you've got a bash on the skull." He slid back up and kissed her again. "If we'd come out of that little scuffle unscathed," he grinned at her, "what I would have done is dragged you into the back seat of your car and fucked you silly, passers-by be damned. Nothing better after a fight than a good, hard shag." He tapped her forehead gently and nodded when she winced. "Breakable mortals, now, when your head aches from a whack on the skull, shouldn't make matters worse."

She ran her hand down his body, tracing the muscles of his chest, then down to that line of hair low on his torso. "I find this headache a damnedable intrusion." Slowly she traced her fingers further down, not quite touching him and playing with the tight curls around his balls. "A good, hard shag sounds just the thing about now."

He fought down the urge to pin her down and make her scream. "If you have a concussion and it gets aggravated, your sister will put my head up on a stake in the front yard. Thank you, no."

"If I have a concussion and it gets aggravated, I'll write you an excuse note." She wrapped her hand around him and squeezed, not completely gently. "Now, come here."

He'd given up prayers for his soul decades ago. Oh, well. He yanked her close and kissed her as hard as he'd been wanting. Somebody's lip caught on somebody's teeth, but blood was blood. If she winced, he didn't notice as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Her legs were already open when he went exploring with his fingers. She moved impatiently.

"Don't you dare take your time," she growled at him. "Tease me tonight and I'll get mean."

He remembered other fights and other women. More than once he had been the one to get jumped in the gory aftermath by someone whose blood was up and who wasn't too particular about how her hunger was fed. He remembered he'd always been very happy to oblige, and he didn't need any more encouragement to fit his hips against Elizabeth's.

She still felt that dust settling on her skin, still felt the killer's body shoving against hers. He'd have been happy to rape her before feeding on her, his erection had jabbed into her belly as he'd looked her over.

She kept her eyes open, looking up at the other face, the face she watched as they moved together passionately. He smiled at her as he slid decisively into her, not stopping till he was in against her all the way.

"Harder," she whispered. "Please."

"Comes under the category of strenuous, love," he said, moving against her and trying to remember Leah's warnings. "Could make things worse."

She wrapped her legs around him and yanked him to her with all her strength. "Deal," she gasped.

He nodded. "Deal."

Only the knowledge that she was breakable kept him from moving as hard as he could. She moaned encouragement each time he shoved into her, her fingernails forgotten in his back.

But it was still those other hands she felt, those other lips on her skin. When she felt her lover's lips move to her neck, then start to pull away, she put a hand on the back of his head in encouragement.

"Please," she whispered.

Spike went still, then slipped her grip to look at her. "Please what?" he asked very softly.

"He bit me, but to him, I was just food. I don't think I'm just food to you. Am I?"

He was tired of being leery of Leah, anyway. Better to be hung for a lion then for a sheep. "Food I can get anywhere." He kissed the side of her neck, gently ran the tip of his tongue along the vein, across the mark from the other vampire. "Intoxication, now, that's another thing."

She slid her fingers through his hair. "Take me, please," she whispered.

Other women had begged him, and he'd chortled at their foolishness as he'd taken everything they offered and all the rest as well. Some of them had cried out happily even as they died. But that game had lost its interest, and now he was careful as he settled his fangs against Elizabeth's throat. She came with a yell muffled against his shoulder as the points broke the skin, her arms and legs and all the rest of her body tight around him. He thrust into her as he drank, and it was the bitter taste of her remembered fear that pushed him over the edge as well.

He forced himself to stop, trying not to remember how much he enjoyed the taste of other people's terror. Belatedly he remembered to be concerned about Elizabeth and her head wound. But she was still wrapped limply around him, moaning slightly and shivering every now and then. Sex was the best cure for stress in the known world, but if he was going to have to run for the border before dawn, he wanted to know it now.

"Are you okay?" he asked, brushing her hair out of her face.

"Oh, yes, lovely, thank you for asking."

"Ellie, how's your head?"

"What head? Oh, my head? I think it's gone to Toledo, if it writes, I'll let you know."

If she stopped making sense, he was supposed to be worried. Did this count? Well, she'd made less sense in other lust-induced moments. He wouldn't run for the woods just yet.

She pouted as he pulled slowly out of her, then he collapsed onto the bed beside her. "I need a cigarette," he said. Another book, dislodged from its lair by the activity, poked him in the ass. A Brief History of Time, by Steven Hawking. That hit the floor, too.

"You are such a cliche," she said, rolling over and pillowing her head on his shoulder. "Why the hell haven't we done this in a bed before now?"

"Haven't had one handy before now." But he saw her point. Pillows and soft fucking surfaces were one of the triumphs of civilization. And room enough to stretch out and fondle the woman lying next to you. "I still want a cigarette."

"If you want to sneak out the back door for a smoke break, I think I'll survive till you get back."

"You're not supposed to sleep, remember. Shouldn't violate all the rules on dealing with head wounds."

"But I pride myself on my thoroughness."

If she was making bad jokes again, she was probably fine. "Keep the sheets warm, I'll be back." As he got up to look for his trousers, she found where stuffed Cthulhu had landed and pulled him into her arms. "That is simply wrong, woman. Sick and wrong."

"But 'Thulhu's cute, and he's fuzzy, too."

He shook his head, unable to get his mind around the concept.

They both jumped when someone knocked loudly on outer door. "Bloody," Elizabeth muttered. "Hello?" she yelled. She winced and rubbed the back of her head.

A deep male voice answered. "I'm supposed to make sure everything's all right down here."

"Oh, hi, Amado! Everything's fine." She saw Spike's questioning look. "Amado, he's part of Leah's real circle. Crap, are they here already?" She looked around for a clock. Closer to one than midnight.

But Amado apparently was under orders to get visual confirmation as well. The door opened a crack. "Everybody decent?"

"Well, no, since you ask," she snapped. "What's up?"

"Oh, uh, well, I'm supposed to say that there's the offer of beer and goodies from the pub if anyone's interested."

"Beer," Spike said delightedly.

"You do realize we're being checked up on," she said.

"So? Free beer."

"Gah. OK, Amado, we'll be right up."

"Need any help?" he asked, the door still easing open.

"I'm sure, Amado. Go away."

The door reluctantly closed, but there was the faint sound of a chuckle.

Spike went to add his shirt to his ensemble as Elizabeth dug around for clean clothes. "Why send him to do the checking up?"

"Amado's about six foot five and is a fireman. He calls his axe Lucy. He may have brought her."

"No, I don't like axes. Isn't it awful late for more visitors?"

"This bunch is into precision, Equinox doesn't officially arrive till about 2, more power available then." She debated, then pulled out a turtleneck sweater. Why flaunt matters? "Besides, if the beer and munchies have arrived, that means Patty's here, and Squatter's wouldn't let her go till about now."

"Squatter's? The place with the beer with the pig?"

"Yes, the place with the beer with the pig."

They were both more or less presentable, though Leia's sharp eyes would notice Elizabeth's change of clothes and would probably wonder where Spike's boots had gone.

He felt his hair. "Shit, what a mess."

"What did you just say?"

"I should have combed it right out of the shower, it's all everywhere."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Come on, do you have a comb or not?"

"If I understand you correctly, you're obsessing about your hair."

"Look, not all of us just shove it up on top of our heads and forget about it. Some of us care about how we look."

"If I thought it would do any good, I'd hit you with something. There's a comb on the dresser. Don't leave hairs in it."

Long practice without mirrors had taught him how to put his hair back into shape. He finally accepted that some things were out of his control and followed Elizabeth upstairs.

He came to a stop, though, at the door between the kitchen and the living room. How many sacred items were in that room, anyway? This bunch was not the blessed wanna be's the last ones were, these were the real deal.

"What?" Elizabeth asked, looking back at him.

"How many of them are there?"

"About half a dozen, why?"

"How old are they?"

She looked confused. "Well, Amado's in his twenties, but Alicha's over 60 somewhere."

Grown-up mages, not youngsters still finding their way, even if said youngsters did have power to spare. Mages with experience and knowledge and used to working together. And here he was inside the wards. Elizabeth had told him that Leah had once taken out three toughs all by herself. With her full circle as back up, she might be about to tidy away that inconvenient development in her sister's life.

"What's wrong?" Elizabeth asked.

"White mages, right?"

"Well, yes."

"How white? Or do they figure if it's not outright black, grey is close enough?"

"What do you mean?"

He grimaced. "Would they consider taking out a vampire to be an appropriate centerpiece to an Equinox ritual?"

She blinked in dismay. "You mean--"

"'Cause if that's the plan, your sister's hardwood floor is going to take a bit of cleaning in the morning. Things will get messy."

She stared at him, then at the kitchen door. She knew every one of Leah's circle and liked them all, even the scary ones. And she couldn't deny that what Mr. Night was worried about was possible. None of the circle was overly concerned about mundane rules if right and wrong were on the line. Most people who considered themselves walkers in the light put vampires on the other side of the line.

"I don't know," she finally admitted. "But the back door's over there, I can stall them long enough for you to get out of here."

He gave her an odd look. "You'd get in your sister's way to keep her off me?"

She glared at him. "You may not be on the side of the angels, but you're not in the Take Down on Sight category either. At the moment. I told you that earlier. Time to decide if you believe me or not."

He looked away at that. "You say you can feel evil."

"I'm not picking anything up out of that room. But I never pick up the ones who do their evil out of righteousness. It's the big flaw in the system." There was a sudden thump against the wall, and the sound of young male giggles and barking. Elizabeth relaxed. "That was Michael. If Leah is planning on using you as the centerpiece of a banishment ritual of a particularly permanent kind, she would not do it in front of him. And he's been waiting to graduate to the big people's circle for years. If he's there, you're safe."

"If she sends him to bed, I'm out the front window."

"Fair enough." She waited till he was looking at her again. "So if you're willing to trust me ..."

"I don't like ultimatums."

"Neither do I. I wasn't giving one, just asking. I'm going out, up to you if you come with me." She pushed opened the door with a smile. "But the beer's in here. I'm for beer."

He only waited a beat, then followed.

The conversation came to a stop as they entered the room. Spike fought a very rational urge to make for the back door. In the bad good old days, he and his mates would have gone a hundred miles out of their way if they'd felt a bunch like this ahead of them--or purchased distance weapons. And here he was all by his lonesome, with only a mortal with a partial concussion on his side.

Michael lay on the floor next to the wall, entwined with a big German Shepherd. The dog froze, swung its head around to catch the air, then jumped to its feet facing Spike, growling. He stared at the dog, but its growl only took on a deeper tone. Michael put his arms around the dog's neck. "Easy, Ivy. It's OK." But his eyes were on Spike, obviously wondering if he was telling the truth.

There was a woman on the Morris chair who turned her head slightly at the dog's growl. She was silent for several moments. "It's all right, Ivy."

Michael relaxed and scratched the dog's ears. "You're a good girl, Ivy, yes, you're a good girl." The dog hesitated, kept its eyes on Spike a moment longer, then returned to its game with the boy.

Spike looked at Elizabeth, with "what the hell was that?" all over his face. She shrugged. "Good evening, everyone," she said. "This is--" She stopped, realizing the circle might not be as amused by a lewd radio alias as she was.

Spike sighed. It would have come out sooner or later. "Most folks call me Spike." He saw Elizabeth's look of mingled surprise and disbelief from the corner of his eye.

Perched on the fireplace hearth, Leah raised an eyebrow. "What do the other folks call you?"

"Nothing that can be repeated in front of a kid." He glared around the room. "Someone mentioned beer?"

Everyone else awaited Leah's reaction. She had her hair unbraided and looked five years younger. "Beer's over here in the cooler. Squatter's, I hope that's all right."

"I've always liked Cap'n Bastard's," he replied, beginning to relax.

"You certainly drank enough of it earlier," Elizabeth said softly, following him over. "Spike?" she repeated. "What kind of name is Spike?"

"Don't bitch, woman. You wanted a name, you got one."

She stopped complaining and began introductions. Fireman Amado was well over six feet, and nearly as broad. No axe, thankfully. He probably didn't need one. Guarding the beer cooler was a 40-ish Asian woman with very short dark hair and an open chef's jacket over her white t-shirt. "This is Patricia," Elizabeth said. "She's a chef at Squatter's, she brings the food and beer, we like her."

Patricia reached into the cooler. "Here, Liz, I remembered the hefe."

Leah cleared her throat. "No beer, sis. You can save it for tomorrow."

"I want a second opinion."

Her sister grinned. "That sweater is the wrong color on you, how's that?" Elizabeth sighed and handed the beer back to Patricia.

"You wanted Cap'n Bastard?" Patricia asked Spike. Her look was assessing other things than his taste in beer.

"If you've got it." He utterly despised being the new boy, he should have run when he had the chance. "Food was mentioned?"

She handed him a bottle. "Got some mac and cheese, got some stuffed peppers, we had some artichoke cheese dip but Leah seems to have absconded with that." Leah clutched the bowl closer and bared her teeth. Spike blinked in surprise. "Oh, and there's some jambalaya, but nobody here seems to like it."

He managed not to lick his lips. "Most jambalaya I've tasted is pretty wimpy."

Pat raised her eyebrows. "We pride ourselves on our authentic recipes. Visiting Cajuns have asked for seconds."

"Where is it?"

"Over there. I recommend ceramic bowls for eating it out of."

"Right."

Sitting on the couch near the food was a man who looked like he'd be more comfortable in a business meeting than a coven. "This is Roger," Elizabeth said, "Roger the plumber." Roger did not offer to shake hands. Spike wouldn't have accepted if he had. He took the bowl of jambalaya for himself. If Leah could get away with it, so could he. Maybe.

He felt someone at his shoulder and turned quickly. Over him loomed a big black man with greying hair who stared at him with very empty eyes and an aura that prickled Spike's skin. Yes, he should have taken the back door offer when he'd had the chance. He kept the jambalaya for a possible weapon.

Elizabeth cleared her throat, rubbing her arms. She apparently felt the charge in the air too. "This is Martin, he teaches zen and karate and things like that."

"That pays here?" Spike said before he could stop himself.

The lights came back on in the eyes, and an easy smile appeared. "Pays for shit," Martin said in a deep voice. "Keeps me off the street."

"Oh, pays for shit, nothing," Leah protested around a mouthful of artichoke dip. "He charges out the ass for Michael's iaido lessons."

Spike stared at her again. "Who is she, and what have they done with your sister?" he hissed to Elizabeth.

Martin snickered, and there was a rich laugh from the Morris chair. Spike turned, and he couldn't have run for the back door if a mob with torches and five-foot-long pikes was in view. The woman who had reassured the dog had a brown face mapped with the lines of a long, interesting life. Her long black hair was almost completely gray, and her smile had forgiven much. Her faded brown eyes gazed on him calmly, but when he shifted nervously he realized she wasn't tracking on his movements. He looked down and saw a guide dog harness on the floor next to the chair.

Elizabeth relaxed the rest of the way. "And this is Alicha, who you know from the station."

"Good lord, it is. You've got the Sunday morning show. Though I only saw you at that one meeting."

Alicha smiled. "And you had your eyes on other things." Elizabeth looked up at the ceiling. One of those other things had been a very brief cat fight between her and Tango while Spike had looked smugly on. Tango had "accidentally" spilled her coffee into Elizabeth's lap, but Tango's smug grin had disappeared when Elizabeth had grabbed her arm and twisted it around her back while asking very politely what the hell she thought she was doing. Alicha held out her hand. "So your name is Spike."

If he touched her hand, he might just go up like tinder, there was that much power rolling off her. Why hadn't he noticed this kind of power around the station before now? But everyone else was now watching closely again, and he knew if he didn't pass this test he might have to go for the front window after all. Leah in particular had an "I dare you" look on her face. He mouthed back at her "bitch", and she only grinned. Then he turned around, took a deliberate breath, and took the old witch's hand.

It was just a hand, warm, callused in a few places, soft as a grandmother's in others. He had a very disconcerting flash of memory of his own grandmother, a comfortable old lady who had listened to the extravagant stories a small boy made up about the things living in the back garden and who had nodded in agreement at every word. He yanked his hand away, not caring if it looked rude.

Alicha nodded. "I think there's a chair next to me, Spike--unless Leah's had a cleaning fit and moved all the furniture on me again."

Leah cleared her throat rudely. "How many times are you going to bring that up, Alicha! I apologized, and I warn you every time, OK? Roger, pass me a chicken wing."

Spike paused in mid-sit to stare at Leah again. "What, with the change of seasons you get a new personality? What's up with you?"

Amado grinned. "Nah, that was just her PES acting up."

"Her what?"

"Amado!" Leah yelled.

"Pre-Equinox Syndrome," Amado explained helpfully, backing away from the breakables on the mantle.

"That's it!" Leah put down the bowl of dip and yanked a pillow from behind Roger, then ran for Amado.

Spike stared in utter bafflement, then looked at Elizabeth. "I don't know," she shrugged. "She'll be fine in the morning."

"Which way, fine? Because the urge to throttle her isn't nearly as bad--wait, I'm joking," he said quickly as Martin turned slowly from his study of the bookcase. "Joke." Martin rotated back.

Alicha patted his hand. "Moods can be odd at this time of year for weather witches. The seasons are rolling and the energies are shifting. Once things settle into the autumn patterns, Leah will be back to normal."

"Pity," Spike muttered. Elizabeth, sitting on the floor next to him and close to the food, hit him in the leg.

The tension level in the room had flatlined when the old witch had invited him to sit next to her. He wondered sullenly if he'd gone completely mushy, that William the Bloody should be sitting around with a bunch of white witches munching on bar snacks and swigging beer. The old urge uncoiled in his gut, to eviscerate the lot of them, paint the walls with their blood and take their hearts with him for a before-bed snack.

Not that he'd get further than pulling on his game face, with the number of cocked protection spells he felt in the room. He smirked to himself. This was the Old West, after all, everyone had weapons handy.

He glared at Elizabeth as he munched on jambalaya spicy enough to burn even his tongue. Pussy whipped, that's what he was. Regular good sex with snacking privileges, and even he was some mortal woman's lapdog. Disgusting.

Elizabeth glanced up at him, then looked away, sympathy on her face. God damn it, she was being understanding again. Bloody empaths. A bloke couldn't have a proper brood in private.

"So what do you folks do for excitement around here?" he said to Alicha. "Any good demon uprisings, breaches of the dimensional barriers, mad black wizards threatening to engulf the world?"

"Not this year, praise be," the old woman said calmly. "Last summer we had a bit of trouble, but we were able to deal with it. Fortunately there was a thunderstorm in the area, the tornado was very effective."

"Tornado?" Spike repeated.

"Must you?" Elizabeth said to Alicha disapprovingly. "Leah does not like that story."

Leah at the moment was beating the gigantic, giggling Amado with a throw pillow, not paying attention.

"Leah did very well, child," Alicha said. "When a tornado strolls through the downtown of a major city, we should all be very grateful that only one man was killed. Though I do wish she'd taken my advice about the route it took," she muttered.

Elizabeth glanced at Roger. "Alicha, please. It went through Temple Square, she nearly got a direct hit. The thing's made of granite, anyway, all that would have happened is some blown out windows. And they'd have just rebuilt."

"True."

Spike studied Leah. "Weather witch? She called a tornado?"

"We had to send something back where it belonged, we needed the power."

He shuddered, thinking of a tornado used as a weapon. "Where did she learn to do that?"

Elizabeth smiled. "She used to work with stormchasers in Minnesota."

Michael and Ivy dropped down next to the food table. "Is the mac and cheese spoken for?"

"What, all of it?" Elizabeth asked mildly. Michael looked hopeful.

"Teenaged boys need a lot of feeding," Alicha said calmly. "I believe all the food that anyone else wants has been spoken for, child."

"Yay." Michael pulled the bowl to him. "Ivy, that's people food, get your nose out of there." He bought off the dog by putting some mac and cheese on a paper plate on the floor, then settled in. After finishing a quarter of the bowl, he glanced casually towards Spike.

Spike took a pull at his beer. "What's on your mind, sport?"

The boy blushed. "Um, oh, gosh, um ..."

"What?"

"Oh, well, are you, well, technically--dead?"

Spike held out a hand to look at. "No pulse, body temperature whatever's ambient, no breath unless I want to talk--that qualifies as dead."

Michael looked around the room. Leah was talking to Amato, but by the tilt of her head, she was following the proceedings. "Did it hurt?"

"What, dying?"

"Yes."

He took another slug of beer. "Yep."

"Then why--" Michael shook his head, not wanting the answer to that. He stole a look at his aunt, an obvious look of "My aunt is sleeping with a dead guy" on his face.

The domesticity of it all made Spike edgy. Martin and Roger were consulting quietly on something, while Leah and Amado were digging in the chicken wings. Elizabeth rubbed Ivy's ears, while Alicha watched benignly. Spike nudged Elizabeth's leg with his foot, then, when she looked up, nodded towards the door. She nodded.

"Sis, everybody, I'm going to go lay down again," she said. "My bones ache." Spike jumped courteously to his feet and helped her stand.

Leah frowned. "Liz, I really don't think you should sleep just yet."

"My head doesn't hurt that bad--"

"Humor me, huh? You can sleep tomorrow." She looked between her sister and the vampire who was edging towards the kitchen door. "Just rest, sis, please."

Elizabeth heard the scolding. "All right, Lee, all right. Just rest. Good night, everybody."

There were murmured good-nights, but Alicha caught Elizabeth's hand as she passed. The old woman was silent a moment, then smiled up at the younger woman. "It's good, sometimes, to remind yourself that, even if you're not young, you're not old either. But mind your heart, child."

"It'll bounce, it won't break."

"Good."

Spike sighed when the kitchen door closed behind them. "One scary bunch. And they're just sitting around this little backwater."

"There are reasons why there have been no significant earthquakes around here for generations, despite the amazing numbers of fault lines in the area."

He stared at her. "They're stopping earthquakes?"

Elizabeth dug into the refrigerator for something to drink that would meet her sister's approval. "Not stopping, bleeding them off. There are micro-tremors nearly all the time. Anything big, and the whole Wasatch Front would liquefy and all the cities would sink. It's just a huge primordial lake bottom around here."

She came up with a two-liter bottle of diet Coke and cuddled it to her. "What are your thoughts on microwave popcorn and TV?"

"You keep the popcorn, give me the telly. But I've got to have a smoke now, especially after that lot in there. I'll see you downstairs."

"Right."

He sucked down three cigarettes in quick succession, getting his nerves back in order.

When he felt better able to face a house full of the unnervingly powerful again, he headed in and down the stairs. Elizabeth was finishing a batch of microwave popcorn. "Not much on at this hour," she said, "unless you like infomercials. But I've got some tapes. Go see if there's anything you like."

"Telly in the bedroom, good place for it. Any porn?"

"Sorry, took it back to Blockbuster yesterday."

He hesitated, decided she was mocking him, and headed to the bedroom. He braced himself for weepy sob-sister stuff, but most of her video collection was things-blow-up and comedies. "Thomas Crown Affair" had some good porny bits, though, and he pulled that out as a possible. Then some videos with a DM logo caught his eye.

"You've got Danger Mouse! Where the hell did you hear about Danger Mouse?"

Elizabeth came in with a bowl of popcorn. "Doesn't everyone know about Danger Mouse?"

"In this benighted country? Bloody hell if they do. All the episodes, excellent." He started pulling out tapes.

"Danger Mouse it is, then." She headed for the bed.

Spike yanked his duster off the bed. "No popcorn grease on the leather, woman." He paused to watch her undress and climb under the covers. Sex or TV, sex or TV--the world was full of difficult choices. He started setting up the VCR.

"What was that bit about upstairs?" he asked.

"Which bit?" Elizabeth tucked stuffed Cthulhu down where he wouldn't be seen.

"The bit about the track of the tornado and Temple Square."

"Oh, that. Well, Alicha was hoping the tornado would take out the Mormon Temple."

Spike glanced up in surprise. "Big grey building with pointy bits and a big gold angel up top?"

"That's the one. It sits right on the nexus of a couple of power lines. Alicha says that doesn't help the negative power problem any. I figure it was done on purpose. Joseph Smith was heavy into Masonic stuff, and Brigham Young picked the spot for the Temple. Plus there's some of the usual Native American vs. white settler angst still settling out."

Spike paused. "I remember reading stories about the Wild West. Last frontier stuff, noble savages, all that."

"When was this?"

"Oh, back when--" He broke off and sorted tapes. "Episode one, here we go." As the FBI warning and all that played, he dropped his clothes and climbed in next to Elizabeth, remote in hand.

They watched Danger Mouse for hours, Spike nudging Elizabeth occasionally when she started looking droopy. It got to the point where every time Penfield said "Crumbs, Chief!" she pounced on him, and whenever Danger Mouse said, "Shush, Penfield," he grabbed her. They missed the last fifteen minutes of an episode when she declared that she was going to get some sleep and nothing he did could stop her, and he proved there was something he could do to stop her from sleeping.

As the third tape rewound, Spike looked at the woman who had somehow gotten her head on his shoulder. Was she--yes, she was asleep. And drooling on him. Well, he supposed he couldn't blame her, he being the sort to encourage women to drool. But she looked far too comfortable there, and she wasn't supposed to be asleep. He started to nudge her awake but ran a hand along her shoulder instead. There were bruises on her as well from where that vampire had forced her against her car. He remembered older days when he'd have pulled the vampire off, but only because he was horning in on Spike's reserved meal. He hadn't thought about reasons, though, just reacted. Maybe he just didn't like sharing.

His musings became muddled, and he drifted off to sleep.

Some time later, Elizabeth stirred, prodded by the revenge of two liters of diet Coke. She jerked in surprise, seeing Spike next to her. Spike, what a name. Nothing British parents would give their kid, unless said British parents were the soccer hooligan sort. Unless he'd been born before soccer hooligans.

He didn't snore. Then again, he wasn't breathing. A cold, still lump. But he twitched, apparently dreaming. What did vampires dream about, she wondered. Probably best not to ask.

He barely stirred when she crawled over him to get out and head for the bathroom, yawning. She shouldn't have slept, but she hadn't woken up dead so her head was probably all right. After a peaceful interlude in the bathroom, she flicked off the light in her living room.

And went still.

There was one window in the living room, a small one set in the foundation of the house. But instead of a pitch dark wall, there was a square of pale gray light. She looked at the clock on the microwave. After six in the morning.

"Shit."

She ran for the bedroom and shook Spike's shoulder. His hand shot up and clamped around her throat for a split second, then he let go and woke up the rest of the way. "God, Ellie, don't do that," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "What's so damned important?"

She had to swallow twice, rubbing her throat. "Not a morning person. Wait, I knew that. What's so damned important is that it's 6:10 in the morning."

"Shit!" He whipped around to look for windows.

"They face north, it's OK. Do you have time ..."

He looked at the clock on the bedside table and grimaced. "No. I don't."

"Hell. Well, this is the basement--"

"In the house of your sister, the weather witch who summons tornados. Who only invited me in because I was hauling you."

Elizabeth let out a long breath. "I've got to tell her."

Spike considered the blankets on the bed. "Give me a head start if she goes postal?"

"Of course."

He started pulling his clothes on, not forgetting the boots, as she headed upstairs.

There were snores from Leah's bedroom. Elizabeth paused to listen. One set, good. Sometimes moods got interesting after major rituals. She wondered how late they'd gone, hoping Leah hadn't just managed to drop off.

Leah was buried under cats and blankets. The cats raised their heads, then flattened their ears slightly, apparently not liking the scent Elizabeth carried. Elizabeth grimaced, then went to the foot of the bed to look for the usual foot sticking out from under the blankets. Leah tended to thrash as well if woken too quickly, but Elizabeth was used to that from her.

"Hey, sis," she said, trying to be quiet for the sake of the kids. "Sis. Wake up."

Grumpy noises came from under a pillow.

"Come on, it's important."

The grumpy noises became sharp.

"Not house burning down important, just inconvenient and uncomfortable important."

The covers folded down. "He's gotten you pregnant," Leah said, blinking.

Elizabeth froze. "I didn't think that was possible. Oh, my god ..."

"Relax, tortured joke. Martin and Amado were doing rude puns."

"At whose expense?"

"Their owns. You and your pale paramour caused very little conversation."

"Pale paramour?"

"What is it, already? I'd like to sleep."

Elizabeth took a deep breath. "I fell asleep."

Leah glared. "Well, you're not dead. I guess it's OK, then. Fell down on the job, did he?"

"He fell asleep too."

Leah went still, then her eyes slid to the window and the growing light outside. "He didn't. He isn't."

"Yes. He's still here."

"Elizabeth ..."

"I asked him if he had time to get--wherever, and he said no. If you don't like it he'll make a dash for it. I think he's contemplating stealing blankets or something."

"Look, can't you just put him in the trunk of your car and drive him home?"

"He doesn't want me to know where he's staying."

"But he doesn't mind knowing where you live."

Elizabeth nodded. "You don't want him here."

"No, I don't." Elizabeth headed for the door. "But ..." Leah scratched cat ears for a moment. "I don't want him to risk getting hurt, either. He did help you." She sighed. "I'd rather he leave, but he can stay if he has to."

"I'll let him know. Go back to sleep."

"Oh, as if I could. A vampire in the basement is even less conducive to sleep than palmetto bugs in the kitchen."

Elizabeth found Spike lurking at the bottom of the basement stairs, coat on and a blanket in his arms, ready to run if necessary. "Relax, kemo sabe, she'd rather you left but you can stay if you have to."

He relaxed, but he looked at the door thoughtfully. "I don't know the city, or I'd try it."

"She suggested I throw you in the trunk of my car and drive you home. It seems less than polite, but I could drop you off somewhere, if you like."

He weighed options. "I'm not trusting you behind the wheel, yet, but maybe later."

Elizabeth yawned. "Yes, I could use some more sleep."

He grinned. "Back to bed, then."

She nodded sleepily and focused on locking her door. Kids and cats occasionally came wandering, today they could just go elsewhere.

Spike was perusing the bookshelves in the bedroom as he undressed. When she realized which bookshelf, Elizabeth blushed. "'Fanny Hill' is still available?" he said with a grin, pulling a paperback off the shelf.

"It's a sort of classic," she said defensively.

"Oh, and so are 'A Man and A Maid', volumes one and three, by Anonymous?" He glanced through a couple of other plain-covered books, then looked at her assessingly. "Interesting literary tastes for a single woman."

"Those who can't, read. And don't look at me like that, there are kids upstairs who don't sleep that heavily."

He looked through "Fanny Hill" as he sat down on the bed to unlace his boots. "Takes a whole page for him just to get her on her back," he observed. He hesitated, boot half off, reading further.

She didn't know whether to be amused or offended at his distraction. Shrugging, she dropped the robe she'd grabbed for her trip upstairs and climbed into bed. They were definitely at the casual stage, he barely looked up as she crawled, naked, past him. Just as well, that pillow looked almost as appealing as he did sitting there without a shirt on. She snuggled into the blankets, traced the muscles of his back and shoulders with her eyes for a while, then rolled over and settled to sleep.

Her contented sigh caught his attention, and he glanced from the book to the naked woman with her back to him. He closed the book and put it on a nearby shelf. He divested of trousers and boots in short order, and crawled over to her.

"Who said you could sleep?" he said softly into her ear, then he kissed her shoulder.

She sighed theatrically but managed not to smile. "This is when I normally go to sleep, around dawn. I had a hard night."

He slid under the blankets and settled against her back. She jumped and vowed never to complain about cold feet in bed again. "Well, if you feel the need for sleep, I won't stop you," he said, running a hand down her arm. "After that ... hard night, who could blame you?" He kissed the side of her neck and put his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. "So why the collection of pretentious smut?"

She reached behind to run a hand along his hip, feeling the muscles flex as he moved gently against her. "Most women aren't that excited by the bald statement, 'He fucked her.' A little more description is nice."

"I didn't think women read porn." He ran the tip of his tongue up the edge of her ear.

"You'd be surprised what women read," she said when she caught her breath. She turned her head to meet his lips. When she tried to roll back over, though, he tightened his hold on her.

"The only time I'm surprised by a woman," he said between kisses, "is when she says 'no.'"

"Oh, you smug bastard." She tried to break his grip just on principle, but he only grinned and held on with disgusting ease. She subsided with a glare that was too obnoxiously close to a smile. "I really do want to be furious with you."

"Can't help yourself, I understand."

"I'd kick you if I could."

"Which is why I'm not letting you." He leaned down to kiss her, but she turned her face back to the pillow. "Be that way, then." He turned his attention back to her neck and shoulder and that place just behind the ear. She bit her lip and vowed not to give him the satisfaction.

Seeing the challenge, Spike ran a hand up and down her front. "Some say more than a handful is a waste," he murmured as he traced circles around her nipples. "They just haven't had a chance to get their hands on tits like yours. Haven't had a chance to see the way the nipples wake up and stick out. Or the way you twitch when someone sucks on them. Poor fools."

Elizabeth closed her eyes, but she couldn't close her ears. Not that she wanted to.

His hand moved down to her hip. "And your ass, that's very nice, too. You may never qualify for the Miss America Pageant, but dammit, woman, you've got a body a man can hang onto."

"That's a euphemism," she whispered, disgruntled, then regretted speaking.

"For what, eminently fuckable? Because that's what you are. Beddable, that's a good word, too." He pulled her hips towards him, then shifted down enough so he could start feeling the way in. "Hot works too," he growled. "Wet. But mostly hot. And wrapped around me." He shoved his way in.

She winced at the angle, but the gasp of lust was louder. He still held her too tightly for her to move, but that wasn't stopping him. She pushed her butt back against him to help as he thrust into her.

"Thought you were sleepy," he said with challenging smile.

"Just shut up," she gasped, "and keep fucking me."

He pulled out and tugged her onto her back. She got her legs open and wrapped around him as he slid back in. His lips settled on hers and their arms went around each other. When she whimpered helplessly into his mouth, he only slowed down, grinding against her. Blindly she slid one hand down his back, over his ass, until her fingers reached to stroke his balls. He gasped, then tried to bury his hips in hers as he came.

The world came back to Elizabeth first, but all she could do was gasp for breath and wonder if her heart could explode. Spike lay against her, muttering happily to himself, but she didn't mind. It gave her a chance to run languid hands along the muscles in his back and feel the faint tremors that shook him every now and then.

"Sleep," he murmured. "Good now."

"Uh huh."

He pulled one lazy arm free and reached up to tilt her face to his so he could kiss her. "Damn, you're good."

"Only as good as the material I get to work with." An after-tremor shook her, making her forget langua