Access All Areas, Chapter 12.
10 May 2007 07:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
curiouswombatIt has been a busy day at work, I have been running a study day for care workers, and teaching tires me more that clinics, home visits and admin does! I came home with a headache and a lack of enthusiasm for cooking.
So after a discussion in![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
petzipellepingo's journal about proper fish and chips, we both decided that is exactly what we wanted for our dinner. So I am now well stuffed!
We have finished the next chapter of Access All Areas -
Chapter 12.
Words: 4636
Rating PG
Writtn by Curiouswombat & Speaker-to-Customers.
Previous chapters are here.
Chapter 12.
The weapon in Jarmila’s hand was no harmless pantomime dagger mimicking a stake. It was the real thing, fifteen inches of polished hardwood sharpened to a deadly point, and she drove it at the middle of Spike’s chest with all her weight and Slayer power behind it.
A fledgling vampire would have stood no chance. Spike had well over a century of finely-honed combat reflexes to guide him and he countered it almost without thinking. His left forearm swept her right arm aside, his body turning away from the blow, and then he reversed his turn and punched hard with his right. His fist drove into her side just below her ribs and then his left arm whipped up and across. The back of his fist crashed against the side of her jaw and Jarmila was knocked to the ground.
She rolled away quickly, giving him no chance to follow up his advantage, and regained her feet. She aimed the stake at him, glared, and rolled her head from side to side to clear it. “Já vůle zabˇt tebe,” she snarled.
Spike’s knowledge of Czech was sketchy at best, and mainly geared towards ordering drinks, but he was pretty sure that she was threatening to kill him. “What the fuck are you playing at, you daft bint?” he growled. “S’pposed to be a sparring session not a bloody death duel.”
Jarmila took no notice of his words. She half extended her left arm, launched herself forward and down, rolled across the floor using the arm as a pivot and came up under his guard. Her stake jabbed out, lower than he expected, and his parry was too late. The wooden point pierced his jeans and sank an inch deep into the muscle of his left thigh.
Spike yelped in shock and pain. His right hand shot downwards and he was just in time to intercept Jarmila’s follow-up strike; a punch aimed at his groin that would have left Spike doubled up and helpless if it had connected.
With that danger averted Spike struck back. He brought up his knee at Jarmila’s face. She straightened up quickly to avoid his strike but Spike jabbed out with the heel of his left hand and connected with her nose. He pulled the blow slightly but still hit hard enough to send her staggering back across the room. A thin trickle of blood appeared from one nostril and ran down her upper lip. “Neštěstí upir,” she hissed, and raised her hand to wipe away the blood.
Spike knew that ‘upir’ was a Czech term for ‘vampire’, and he was fairly sure that ‘neštěstí’ meant something like ‘nasty’, or perhaps ‘evil’. He shook his head, baffled by her attitude, and risked a quick glance down at his thigh. Blood was oozing out of the wound and soaking into his jeans. “What the hell’s going on?” he demanded. “This is playing too bloody rough. Quit it.”
Again Jarmila ignored him as if he had not spoken. She advanced with short, quick, steps and then unleashed a powerful kick aimed at his head. He had assessed her approach as indicating that she was going to attack with her hands and he was taken fractionally by surprise. He swayed back, away from her foot, but she just clipped the edge of his jaw and his head snapped back painfully. As soon as that foot was back on the ground she whipped up the other foot and delivered a stamp to the middle of his chest. Spike reeled away, off balance, and only avoided a stake thrust by throwing himself frantically backwards. Jarmila followed up too quickly for her own good and ran straight into a spin kick that knocked her from her feet. Once more she rolled away to escape.
Spike allowed her to go. “Just bloody stop it, right now,” he ordered. “Dunno what the fuck’s got into you but it’s sodding well not funny.” He gazed into her eyes and saw not even a flicker of reaction to his speech. What was wrong with her? If she wasn’t trying to kill him for real then she was doing a bloody good impression.
The scent of Jarmila’s blood tickled at Spike’s subconscious. Slayer blood, sweet and delicious, full of healing power. The wound in his leg throbbed and twinges from the almost healed bullet hole reminded him of its presence. Spike shook off the temptation to grab Jarmila and teach her a, literally, bloody lesson about what it meant to start a fight with the Slayer of Slayers. Eating the Prague resident Slayer wouldn’t exactly go down well with Rupert, and the rest of the Watchers’ Council, and it would put a bit of a sodding damper on his relationship with Dawn too. Saying ‘But she started it’ would just sound bloody feeble. Nah, he couldn’t eat her, or do her any serious harm.
The trouble was that Jarmila didn’t seem to have any similar restraints. She took only a few seconds to gather herself and then returned to the attack. A kick, punch, kick combination. Spike back-pedalled, fending off her strikes, until he was almost up against the wall. Jarmila pressed on with her attack, no doubt believing that Spike would be vulnerable when he collided with the wall, but in fact he was perfectly aware of its proximity and used it to propel himself forward in a flying head-butt. Jarmila went down hard.
This time Spike didn’t allow her to roll away and escape unhindered. His anger at her behaviour flared up and he kicked her hard in the ribs as she went. Her arm lashed out in a sweep at his standing leg and she nearly brought him down with her. He evaded, however, and once more they ended up glaring at each other from several feet apart.
Spike was still baffled by her actions. Even if she was a traitor, or had some deep grudge against vampires that over-rode her loyalty to the Council of Watchers, she had sparred alone against him before in perfectly normal fashion. If anything he would have thought that she quite liked him, as indeed he had taken something of a liking to her, and this behaviour just didn’t seem in character. Unless she was under the influence of some mojo…
“Ethan fucking Rayne,” Spike growled. “I’ll rip the pillock’s throat out.” He had no time to dwell on the thought as Jarmila sprang for him yet again.
This time they ended up grappling. Spike pinned her stake hand and applied a partial arm bar. Jarmila caught him by the chin and did her level best to twist his head from his shoulders. For a few seconds they struggled in a virtual stalemate. Spike realised that if he reversed the direction of his arm-lock, and went with Jarmila’s pull instead of fighting it, he would be able to bring his mouth up against her throat. That would gain him no advantage in human form, of course, but if he went into game face and summoned up his natural weaponry…
He resisted the temptation. Instead he bent his knees and ducked under Jarmila’s trapped arm. He hooked her leg with a foot and was able to flip her over. She lost her grip on his jaw and instead used that arm to slap the floor and absorb some of the impact from her landing. For a moment, however, she was at a significant disadvantage. Spike shifted from an arm-bar to a straight arm wrist-lock and planted a foot into Jarmila’s armpit. She dug the fingers of her free hand into his calf and tried to force him to release her. It was no use. Spike was in control and he just gritted his teeth against the pain and maintained his hold.
Spike tried to talk to Jarmila but it was pointless. She didn’t even react. It was almost as if she had forgotten how to speak English; not that Spike had any more of a result when he switched to German, and to the few examples of his small repertoire of Czech phrases that had any relevance to the situation. They stayed in that position for what seemed like forever, but was probably only a minute or so, until at last the door opened and Dawn entered the room.
“Ow!” Jarmila complained. Her fingers relaxed their grip on Spike’s calf. “You hurt me.” Spike slackened his hold slightly. “That was not fair,” Jarmila continued. “I did not know that we were to start. I did not even see you move.”
……………
It took some time for Spike to explain to Jarmila, and indeed Dawn, what had just happened.
His bleeding leg, her own bleeding nose, and the very real and pointy stake in her hand finally convinced the Slayer that she had indeed attacked Spike and now had no memory at all of doing so.
“Was a bloody good fight, luv,” he told her, “if a bit scary. But I could have had my fangs in your neck at one stage. Bloody tempted, too, what with you bleeding and all, but I knew Dawn and all the other Watcher-types wouldn’t be too impressed if I ate you!
“Would probably have felt a few twinges of guilt too,” he added with a wry smile, continuing “I’ll walk you through it sometime and show you how I could have bitten you. Not that you’ll meet many as good at fighting as me, anyway.”
“Big-headed, much?” asked Dawn, grinning.
“Just honest,” Spike answered, sounding only slightly smug.
It was pretty obvious that identifying the spell that had been cast on Jarmila, and removing it, had become the first priority. As she had attacked him almost as soon as Dawn had left the room, and had stopped at once upon her return, it looked as if it was activated only when Jarmila was alone with Spike. This meant that it would have been possible to leave it in place, but Jarmila was upset by it, and she didn’t like the idea of being under a controlling spell any longer than she had to be.
Dawn also came up with the possibility that it might not have been a Jarmila-specific spell but might have been cast on Spike. Each and every Slayer might attack Spike if they found themselves alone with him.
It took Willow and Mhairi much of the afternoon to conclude that the spell had been cast on Jarmila, to determine that it did not seem to affect other Slayers, and to work out how to break it. It said much for Spike’s faith in the two witches that he offered to be shut up in the training room with Jarmila again just to prove to her that she was no longer under any outside influence.
As a result it was late afternoon before Willow and Mhairi could get back to their original plans. Except that it now seemed as if trying to find Ethan Rayne might be more important than trying to find the rogue Slayer. Spike thought it was, and Jarmila and Milan agreed with him, but Dawn was still fretting over the idea that, whoever she was, the Slayer had apparently chosen to take all Dawn’s notes whilst leaving items of value like Spike’s watch behind. Giles was torn between agreeing with Dawn, as this Slayer might be a big threat to her, and not wanting to appear to be letting Ethan get away.
Eventually Spike tired of the discussion. Giles, with a long suffering expression but a twinkle in his eye, had carefully counted out fifty euros and solemnly presented them to Spike after he had decided to kill time by complaining about the stake-damage to his jeans. He decided to find a quiet corner and make a couple of phone calls.
First he rang Karel, the local guy who had given him the address where he had found Dawn. “Just thanking you for the information. Got my girl back. Those bastards’ll not make any more trouble for me. Not bother you either,” he added.
“We had heard of the deaths there.” Karel paused, and Spike could imagine him trying to think of a way to ask whether Spike had killed them all single-handed. He seemed to have decided it was better not to ask as he continued “If there is any other help, anything at all, please ask me.”
“Yeah,” Spike answered, “and I’ll tell Le Requin what a help you were,” he finished, recalling his French contact who had originally put him in touch with Karel. ‘Bet you’d bloody jump if I ever asked!’ he thought to himself as he finished the call.
He found another number in his phone, and when it answered, he switched to Italian. “Ciao, bello,” he greeted Ilona Costa Bianchi.
He chatted to the Italian ex Wolfram and Hart CEO for a few minutes before he got to the point. “I’m asking a favour. There’s a guy called Ethan Rayne, chaos mage, English, middle aged. He had my girl kidnapped, and beaten up, and I intend to kill him.
“Yes – my pretty little Watcher… now, Ilona, you know that she would stake me in my sleep if I was to keep on shagging you and she found out… I know monogamy is unusual in a vampire, what can I say? ‘M just not your average vampire! Yeah – we will come and visit you when I get this sorted – not sure if Dawn’ll be into opera though!
“…They want her for the information she’s been researching, but she’s a tough lady – didn’t tell them a thing… Course I rescued her!
“Don’t think he’s working alone – there were German Turks organised to take her, given a list of questions to ask – too organised for him. I want to know who he’s working with – kill that bastard too!
“Course I’ll let you have anything we find out that you can use… anything you want but my body! You’ll do it though won’t you? I’ll owe you one. See if she can find you a nice young Watcher with a taste for opera!
“’Rivederci per ora, pet!”
She wasn’t bad, Ilona, Spike thought. Pity he wasn’t the sort of vampire that could sleep around without guilt, in some ways, but they genuinely got on well, and she’d accepted that he wasn’t doing what poor Anya used to call orgasm buddies, now that he was in a proper relationship, with no hard feelings.
He went back into the office where the rest were still gathered. Willow and Mhairi were having no luck trying to find any trace of Ethan. “I’ve put out my own feelers,” Spike announced to the group in general.
He felt pretty damned good when Rupert replied “Good. Let us hope that you have more luck than the rest of us are doing at the moment!” Not even a hint of ‘Do you think that’s wise?’
Eventually it was time to head back to the hotel. Mhairi and Willow decided to try to pinpoint Ethan again, after they had had a meal, and to leave trying to find their rogue Slayer until tomorrow. Dawn announced that she would need to return to the archives of the Public Records Office the next day to replace the notes that had been lost during her kidnap. She had no trouble at all in persuading Giles to accompany her, as any mention of ancient tomes had the Watcher almost salivating, and Spike decided that he’d better go with them even if it caused the ruin of a whole bed-full of blankets.
‘Sometimes,’ he thought, ‘there was a lot to be said for delicate young ladies who stayed safely at home!’
………………………
The Ferret lowered his bag onto the bed with some care. “Our plan didn’t work,” he informed Ethan. “They fought, yes, but apparently Spike won. If he’d killed the Slayer we’d still have achieved a result but I gather that he didn’t even hurt her much.”
“Bugger,” Ethan commented. “Back to the old drawing board, what?”
“Indeed,” The Ferret agreed. “At least my bugging mission was not wasted. I have picked up some useful information.” He unzipped the bag, took out the laser surveillance device, and began to disassemble the components.
“Oh?” Ethan raised his eyebrows. “So that laser thingy worked? I always thought they were just for the movies and, in real life, all you would pick up would be traffic noise.”
“True,” The Ferret said, “but I use it primarily as a conduit for magic. My version receives only sounds intended as meaningful communication.”
“Impressive. That must be very useful, old boy. And what did you learn?”
“The Watchers’ Council have brought in a couple of witches,” The Ferret revealed. “One of them has a lot of power. I could sense it. I think that the time has come for us to leave Prague.”
Ethan nodded. “That would undoubtedly be the safest course,” he agreed. “They’ll track us down eventually, despite our wards, and not being here sounds like a very good idea to me.”
“Definitely,” The Ferret agreed. “The witches will be using spells to locate you. I doubt that our shields will be able to screen us from them for long.” His lips tightened. “I had to cut my mission shorter than I had intended. If I had carried on much longer one of them might well have detected me.” He began to pack the electronic components into a padded compartment of his suitcase.
“So we leave tomorrow?” Ethan sighed. “Rather a shame, dear boy, Prague is a nice place, but I suppose that being virtually confined to our hotel room doesn’t exactly allow us to experience the city at its best. Where to?”
“Tomorrow, yes, and we shall go to Istanbul,” The Ferret told him. “If they follow us there we can unleash Berberoglu’s wolves on them. All the advantages will be with us. If they don’t follow, we’ll bide our time and try again later.” A frown came to his face and he paused in his task. “There is something that I must do first. I need to clarify what happened in the safe-house. We were wrong in one of our assumptions. It was not Spike the vampire who killed our allies.”
“Oh?” Ethan’s eyes widened. “Then who did? Slayers don’t kill people, unless the Council has changed an awful lot in the past few years, and it’s not a change that I can envisage Rupert introducing.”
“I don’t think that they know either,” The Ferret said. “It is hard to be sure. They did not go into detail. I presume that the greater part of their discussion had taken place earlier and they referred back to it only in passing. There was a mention of the search for you being a more urgent priority than locating the ‘rogue Slayer’. I deduce that they suspect it was a Slayer outside their control who attacked our men.”
Ethan’s eyebrows climbed once more. “A killer Slayer working for someone else? Some rival group after the Key, perhaps? That’s a very, ah, disturbing thought.”
“Disturbing indeed,” The Ferret agreed, “and it is another reason for us to retreat to Istanbul, if their guess is correct.”
“And how do you intend to find that out?” Ethan asked.
“By asking the dead,” The Ferret answered. “I shall summon up the spirit of one of the Turks.”
Ethan’s eyebrows ascended to new heights. “Quite a trick. That should be very useful, if the departed spirit is co-operative, but he might be rather pissed off at being wrenched away from his seventy-two virgins.”
The Ferret snorted. “You think that those were good Muslims? I doubt very much if there will be any virgins for them even if they were killed by an infidel.” He tilted his head to one side and a crease appeared between his eyebrows. “You know, Ethan, one thing about Islam has always puzzled me. Where do all those virgins in Paradise come from?”
………………….
The long summer seemed to be coming to an end and the first chill of autumn was in the air. A thin drizzle was falling, just enough to dampen the pavements and cling in fine droplets to hair, and it made halos appear around the street-lights. It was that deceptively nasty type of light rain that fooled you into thinking that no coat or umbrella was necessary, at least for a few minutes, and when you realised that you were getting wet and cold it was too late. Jarmila kept her hands in the pockets of her jacket as she strode along the street.
It was unlikely that she would come across any vampires tonight, as they appreciated being warm and dry as much as did the living, but Jarmila patrolled anyway. Later she would visit a night-club or two and perhaps she would find a vampire hunting there. It would feel good to stake an evil member of the undead and perhaps wipe away the shame that she felt over having attacked Spike – and losing – even though she had almost no memory of the event itself.
A flicker of motion caught her eye. Well away from the road, and so not a car, but moving too fast to be a human. Too tall to be a cat or a dog. A vampire? That seemed the most likely explanation and Jarmila quickened her step.
The figure appeared and disappeared again. It seemed to have vaulted over a wall. Definitely human, at least in outline, but it was travelling at an eye-baffling pace. Jarmila worked out that their courses were converging and she pulled down the zipper of her jacket to ensure easy access to her stake. If this was a vampire, and the speed seemed to make that very likely, it might be hunting her.
A girl emerged from the shadows in front of her. The size, and the colour of the girl’s leather jacket, matched that of the shape that Jarmila had seen moving at high speed. However the girl turned away from Jarmila rather than towards her and walked along the street at a normal pace. It seemed that the convergent courses must have been coincidental rather than a deliberate approach.
Jarmila maintained her rapid walk and closed on the girl. Her target had long dark hair, she was clad in a leather jacket and jeans, and gloves covered her hands. Jarmila frowned. She did not feel any of the warning tingles that usually indicated the presence of a vampire. Was the vampire lurking still in the side alley from which this girl had emerged?
The Czech girl paused at the alley entrance, looked, and listened. No sound, no movement, no tingling sensations. It did seem as if this girl had been the fast-moving figure. A thrill shot through Jarmila as she thought of the explanation. Was this the Rogue Slayer?
For a moment Jarmila hesitated. Should she call Milan or Mr. Giles? Not yet, she decided, for there was little so far that she could tell them. First she should get a good look at this girl. Perhaps even a photo. She accelerated once more and began to close the gap.
The girl turned her head and looked back at Jarmila. She was slightly shorter than the Czech Slayer and darker of skin, or at least so Jarmila thought; it was difficult to be certain under the street lights. A Mediterranean complexion, perhaps, Italian or Spanish. Quite pretty. A pair of dark eyebrows climbed towards a fringe of hair as the girl looked at Jarmila. A hint of a smile seemed to play on full lips.
Jarmila called out a greeting, feigning recognition, and then allowed her mouth to drop open. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else,” she apologised.
“I am sorry, I speak no Czech,” the girl said in slightly accented English.
Jarmila was no expert on accents, especially in a language not her own, but she thought that her guess at Italian or Spanish might well have been correct. She switched to English. “Oh. I thought you are a different person,” she said again. “You are a tourist?”
“I am,” the foreign girl confirmed. “I come from France. Paris.” The corners of her mouth turned up slightly.
“From Paris? Oh, so much I would like to visit there some day,” Jarmila said. Inside her pocket her hand closed on her mobile phone and she felt for the camera button.
“Prague is also a beautiful city,” the stranger replied. “Now, I must go.” She turned away.
Jarmila matched the other girl’s pace. “How long have you been in Prague?” she asked. She slid the camera phone from her pocket.
Suddenly the smile was gone from the stranger’s lips. Her eyes focused on the phone. “So you know me,” she said. “I know you also, Slayer.”
“Slayer? What is that, please?” Jarmila feigned ignorance and began to raise the phone.
A hand closed on her wrist. Jarmila tried to pull free, failed, and brought her other hand across to either aid the pull or to apply a wrist-lock. Before she could make up her mind which course to follow she was pre-empted.
The dark girl exploded into violent action. A fist hurtled towards Jarmila’s face. She blocked it, barely, but it was only part of a combination move and the elbow of the same arm curled past her block and struck Jarmila on the side of her head. Another fist, a knee, an elbow, a head-butt; blow after blow rained down on Jarmila, in such rapid succession that she was unable to protect herself or to strike back.
Jarmila reeled under the onslaught. The speed and power of the attack was incredible, especially as it was being delivered at such close quarters, and she was overwhelmed. The style was unfamiliar, unlike anything that she had ever encountered, and the blows came at her from completely unpredictable angles. Her blocks and counters struck only empty air or were brushed aside. Three successive strikes in less than half a second hit Jarmila just under the breastbone and forced the air from her lungs. She sank to her knees, gasping for breath, and an elbow crashed against her jaw. Her head swam and bright lights filled her vision. She slumped sideways to the ground.
“I did not wish to hurt you,” she heard the other girl say, “but you should not have tried to take my picture. Do not follow me again.”
Jarmila looked up at the face of the girl who had defeated her and saw that the fringe had been swept aside during the fight. Dark markings, almost certainly tattoos, were briefly visible on the stranger’s forehead and then the fringe fell back into place and hid them once more. The rogue Slayer whirled around and ran like the wind.
Jarmila struggled to her feet. Her phone lay on the pavement a few metres away and she ran to pick it up. She fought back a sudden wave of nausea and then set off in pursuit of the dark girl. There was no hope of catching her but perhaps Jarmila could keep her in sight and work out where she was heading.
The rogue Slayer was thirty-five metres or so ahead of Jarmila when she reached an intersection and turned right. Jarmila raced after her and reached the corner. She looked along the street and her steps faltered.
It was a long, straight, avenue. There were no obstacles to provide cover and hardly any other pedestrians. No other corners that could have been turned. There was nowhere to hide, on either side of the street, and yet there was no sign whatsoever of the other Slayer.
She had vanished without trace.
……………………………………………….
The ’BtVS’ characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only and all rights remain with Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, the writers of the original episodes, and the TV and production companies responsible for the original television shows. BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER ©2002 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation. All Rights Reserved. The Buffy the Vampire Slayer trademark is used without express permission from Fox.
Feed-back is much appreciated by bothspeakr2customrs and myself!
This will probably be the last chapter for a couple of weeks - I am away next week, a conference in Manchester and a couple of days visiting my daughter in York.
So after a discussion in
petzipellepingo's journal about proper fish and chips, we both decided that is exactly what we wanted for our dinner. So I am now well stuffed!We have finished the next chapter of Access All Areas -
Chapter 12.
Words: 4636
Rating PG
Writtn by Curiouswombat & Speaker-to-Customers.
Previous chapters are here.
Chapter 12.
The weapon in Jarmila’s hand was no harmless pantomime dagger mimicking a stake. It was the real thing, fifteen inches of polished hardwood sharpened to a deadly point, and she drove it at the middle of Spike’s chest with all her weight and Slayer power behind it.
A fledgling vampire would have stood no chance. Spike had well over a century of finely-honed combat reflexes to guide him and he countered it almost without thinking. His left forearm swept her right arm aside, his body turning away from the blow, and then he reversed his turn and punched hard with his right. His fist drove into her side just below her ribs and then his left arm whipped up and across. The back of his fist crashed against the side of her jaw and Jarmila was knocked to the ground.
She rolled away quickly, giving him no chance to follow up his advantage, and regained her feet. She aimed the stake at him, glared, and rolled her head from side to side to clear it. “Já vůle zabˇt tebe,” she snarled.
Spike’s knowledge of Czech was sketchy at best, and mainly geared towards ordering drinks, but he was pretty sure that she was threatening to kill him. “What the fuck are you playing at, you daft bint?” he growled. “S’pposed to be a sparring session not a bloody death duel.”
Jarmila took no notice of his words. She half extended her left arm, launched herself forward and down, rolled across the floor using the arm as a pivot and came up under his guard. Her stake jabbed out, lower than he expected, and his parry was too late. The wooden point pierced his jeans and sank an inch deep into the muscle of his left thigh.
Spike yelped in shock and pain. His right hand shot downwards and he was just in time to intercept Jarmila’s follow-up strike; a punch aimed at his groin that would have left Spike doubled up and helpless if it had connected.
With that danger averted Spike struck back. He brought up his knee at Jarmila’s face. She straightened up quickly to avoid his strike but Spike jabbed out with the heel of his left hand and connected with her nose. He pulled the blow slightly but still hit hard enough to send her staggering back across the room. A thin trickle of blood appeared from one nostril and ran down her upper lip. “Neštěstí upir,” she hissed, and raised her hand to wipe away the blood.
Spike knew that ‘upir’ was a Czech term for ‘vampire’, and he was fairly sure that ‘neštěstí’ meant something like ‘nasty’, or perhaps ‘evil’. He shook his head, baffled by her attitude, and risked a quick glance down at his thigh. Blood was oozing out of the wound and soaking into his jeans. “What the hell’s going on?” he demanded. “This is playing too bloody rough. Quit it.”
Again Jarmila ignored him as if he had not spoken. She advanced with short, quick, steps and then unleashed a powerful kick aimed at his head. He had assessed her approach as indicating that she was going to attack with her hands and he was taken fractionally by surprise. He swayed back, away from her foot, but she just clipped the edge of his jaw and his head snapped back painfully. As soon as that foot was back on the ground she whipped up the other foot and delivered a stamp to the middle of his chest. Spike reeled away, off balance, and only avoided a stake thrust by throwing himself frantically backwards. Jarmila followed up too quickly for her own good and ran straight into a spin kick that knocked her from her feet. Once more she rolled away to escape.
Spike allowed her to go. “Just bloody stop it, right now,” he ordered. “Dunno what the fuck’s got into you but it’s sodding well not funny.” He gazed into her eyes and saw not even a flicker of reaction to his speech. What was wrong with her? If she wasn’t trying to kill him for real then she was doing a bloody good impression.
The scent of Jarmila’s blood tickled at Spike’s subconscious. Slayer blood, sweet and delicious, full of healing power. The wound in his leg throbbed and twinges from the almost healed bullet hole reminded him of its presence. Spike shook off the temptation to grab Jarmila and teach her a, literally, bloody lesson about what it meant to start a fight with the Slayer of Slayers. Eating the Prague resident Slayer wouldn’t exactly go down well with Rupert, and the rest of the Watchers’ Council, and it would put a bit of a sodding damper on his relationship with Dawn too. Saying ‘But she started it’ would just sound bloody feeble. Nah, he couldn’t eat her, or do her any serious harm.
The trouble was that Jarmila didn’t seem to have any similar restraints. She took only a few seconds to gather herself and then returned to the attack. A kick, punch, kick combination. Spike back-pedalled, fending off her strikes, until he was almost up against the wall. Jarmila pressed on with her attack, no doubt believing that Spike would be vulnerable when he collided with the wall, but in fact he was perfectly aware of its proximity and used it to propel himself forward in a flying head-butt. Jarmila went down hard.
This time Spike didn’t allow her to roll away and escape unhindered. His anger at her behaviour flared up and he kicked her hard in the ribs as she went. Her arm lashed out in a sweep at his standing leg and she nearly brought him down with her. He evaded, however, and once more they ended up glaring at each other from several feet apart.
Spike was still baffled by her actions. Even if she was a traitor, or had some deep grudge against vampires that over-rode her loyalty to the Council of Watchers, she had sparred alone against him before in perfectly normal fashion. If anything he would have thought that she quite liked him, as indeed he had taken something of a liking to her, and this behaviour just didn’t seem in character. Unless she was under the influence of some mojo…
“Ethan fucking Rayne,” Spike growled. “I’ll rip the pillock’s throat out.” He had no time to dwell on the thought as Jarmila sprang for him yet again.
This time they ended up grappling. Spike pinned her stake hand and applied a partial arm bar. Jarmila caught him by the chin and did her level best to twist his head from his shoulders. For a few seconds they struggled in a virtual stalemate. Spike realised that if he reversed the direction of his arm-lock, and went with Jarmila’s pull instead of fighting it, he would be able to bring his mouth up against her throat. That would gain him no advantage in human form, of course, but if he went into game face and summoned up his natural weaponry…
He resisted the temptation. Instead he bent his knees and ducked under Jarmila’s trapped arm. He hooked her leg with a foot and was able to flip her over. She lost her grip on his jaw and instead used that arm to slap the floor and absorb some of the impact from her landing. For a moment, however, she was at a significant disadvantage. Spike shifted from an arm-bar to a straight arm wrist-lock and planted a foot into Jarmila’s armpit. She dug the fingers of her free hand into his calf and tried to force him to release her. It was no use. Spike was in control and he just gritted his teeth against the pain and maintained his hold.
Spike tried to talk to Jarmila but it was pointless. She didn’t even react. It was almost as if she had forgotten how to speak English; not that Spike had any more of a result when he switched to German, and to the few examples of his small repertoire of Czech phrases that had any relevance to the situation. They stayed in that position for what seemed like forever, but was probably only a minute or so, until at last the door opened and Dawn entered the room.
“Ow!” Jarmila complained. Her fingers relaxed their grip on Spike’s calf. “You hurt me.” Spike slackened his hold slightly. “That was not fair,” Jarmila continued. “I did not know that we were to start. I did not even see you move.”
……………
It took some time for Spike to explain to Jarmila, and indeed Dawn, what had just happened.
His bleeding leg, her own bleeding nose, and the very real and pointy stake in her hand finally convinced the Slayer that she had indeed attacked Spike and now had no memory at all of doing so.
“Was a bloody good fight, luv,” he told her, “if a bit scary. But I could have had my fangs in your neck at one stage. Bloody tempted, too, what with you bleeding and all, but I knew Dawn and all the other Watcher-types wouldn’t be too impressed if I ate you!
“Would probably have felt a few twinges of guilt too,” he added with a wry smile, continuing “I’ll walk you through it sometime and show you how I could have bitten you. Not that you’ll meet many as good at fighting as me, anyway.”
“Big-headed, much?” asked Dawn, grinning.
“Just honest,” Spike answered, sounding only slightly smug.
It was pretty obvious that identifying the spell that had been cast on Jarmila, and removing it, had become the first priority. As she had attacked him almost as soon as Dawn had left the room, and had stopped at once upon her return, it looked as if it was activated only when Jarmila was alone with Spike. This meant that it would have been possible to leave it in place, but Jarmila was upset by it, and she didn’t like the idea of being under a controlling spell any longer than she had to be.
Dawn also came up with the possibility that it might not have been a Jarmila-specific spell but might have been cast on Spike. Each and every Slayer might attack Spike if they found themselves alone with him.
It took Willow and Mhairi much of the afternoon to conclude that the spell had been cast on Jarmila, to determine that it did not seem to affect other Slayers, and to work out how to break it. It said much for Spike’s faith in the two witches that he offered to be shut up in the training room with Jarmila again just to prove to her that she was no longer under any outside influence.
As a result it was late afternoon before Willow and Mhairi could get back to their original plans. Except that it now seemed as if trying to find Ethan Rayne might be more important than trying to find the rogue Slayer. Spike thought it was, and Jarmila and Milan agreed with him, but Dawn was still fretting over the idea that, whoever she was, the Slayer had apparently chosen to take all Dawn’s notes whilst leaving items of value like Spike’s watch behind. Giles was torn between agreeing with Dawn, as this Slayer might be a big threat to her, and not wanting to appear to be letting Ethan get away.
Eventually Spike tired of the discussion. Giles, with a long suffering expression but a twinkle in his eye, had carefully counted out fifty euros and solemnly presented them to Spike after he had decided to kill time by complaining about the stake-damage to his jeans. He decided to find a quiet corner and make a couple of phone calls.
First he rang Karel, the local guy who had given him the address where he had found Dawn. “Just thanking you for the information. Got my girl back. Those bastards’ll not make any more trouble for me. Not bother you either,” he added.
“We had heard of the deaths there.” Karel paused, and Spike could imagine him trying to think of a way to ask whether Spike had killed them all single-handed. He seemed to have decided it was better not to ask as he continued “If there is any other help, anything at all, please ask me.”
“Yeah,” Spike answered, “and I’ll tell Le Requin what a help you were,” he finished, recalling his French contact who had originally put him in touch with Karel. ‘Bet you’d bloody jump if I ever asked!’ he thought to himself as he finished the call.
He found another number in his phone, and when it answered, he switched to Italian. “Ciao, bello,” he greeted Ilona Costa Bianchi.
He chatted to the Italian ex Wolfram and Hart CEO for a few minutes before he got to the point. “I’m asking a favour. There’s a guy called Ethan Rayne, chaos mage, English, middle aged. He had my girl kidnapped, and beaten up, and I intend to kill him.
“Yes – my pretty little Watcher… now, Ilona, you know that she would stake me in my sleep if I was to keep on shagging you and she found out… I know monogamy is unusual in a vampire, what can I say? ‘M just not your average vampire! Yeah – we will come and visit you when I get this sorted – not sure if Dawn’ll be into opera though!
“…They want her for the information she’s been researching, but she’s a tough lady – didn’t tell them a thing… Course I rescued her!
“Don’t think he’s working alone – there were German Turks organised to take her, given a list of questions to ask – too organised for him. I want to know who he’s working with – kill that bastard too!
“Course I’ll let you have anything we find out that you can use… anything you want but my body! You’ll do it though won’t you? I’ll owe you one. See if she can find you a nice young Watcher with a taste for opera!
“’Rivederci per ora, pet!”
She wasn’t bad, Ilona, Spike thought. Pity he wasn’t the sort of vampire that could sleep around without guilt, in some ways, but they genuinely got on well, and she’d accepted that he wasn’t doing what poor Anya used to call orgasm buddies, now that he was in a proper relationship, with no hard feelings.
He went back into the office where the rest were still gathered. Willow and Mhairi were having no luck trying to find any trace of Ethan. “I’ve put out my own feelers,” Spike announced to the group in general.
He felt pretty damned good when Rupert replied “Good. Let us hope that you have more luck than the rest of us are doing at the moment!” Not even a hint of ‘Do you think that’s wise?’
Eventually it was time to head back to the hotel. Mhairi and Willow decided to try to pinpoint Ethan again, after they had had a meal, and to leave trying to find their rogue Slayer until tomorrow. Dawn announced that she would need to return to the archives of the Public Records Office the next day to replace the notes that had been lost during her kidnap. She had no trouble at all in persuading Giles to accompany her, as any mention of ancient tomes had the Watcher almost salivating, and Spike decided that he’d better go with them even if it caused the ruin of a whole bed-full of blankets.
‘Sometimes,’ he thought, ‘there was a lot to be said for delicate young ladies who stayed safely at home!’
………………………
The Ferret lowered his bag onto the bed with some care. “Our plan didn’t work,” he informed Ethan. “They fought, yes, but apparently Spike won. If he’d killed the Slayer we’d still have achieved a result but I gather that he didn’t even hurt her much.”
“Bugger,” Ethan commented. “Back to the old drawing board, what?”
“Indeed,” The Ferret agreed. “At least my bugging mission was not wasted. I have picked up some useful information.” He unzipped the bag, took out the laser surveillance device, and began to disassemble the components.
“Oh?” Ethan raised his eyebrows. “So that laser thingy worked? I always thought they were just for the movies and, in real life, all you would pick up would be traffic noise.”
“True,” The Ferret said, “but I use it primarily as a conduit for magic. My version receives only sounds intended as meaningful communication.”
“Impressive. That must be very useful, old boy. And what did you learn?”
“The Watchers’ Council have brought in a couple of witches,” The Ferret revealed. “One of them has a lot of power. I could sense it. I think that the time has come for us to leave Prague.”
Ethan nodded. “That would undoubtedly be the safest course,” he agreed. “They’ll track us down eventually, despite our wards, and not being here sounds like a very good idea to me.”
“Definitely,” The Ferret agreed. “The witches will be using spells to locate you. I doubt that our shields will be able to screen us from them for long.” His lips tightened. “I had to cut my mission shorter than I had intended. If I had carried on much longer one of them might well have detected me.” He began to pack the electronic components into a padded compartment of his suitcase.
“So we leave tomorrow?” Ethan sighed. “Rather a shame, dear boy, Prague is a nice place, but I suppose that being virtually confined to our hotel room doesn’t exactly allow us to experience the city at its best. Where to?”
“Tomorrow, yes, and we shall go to Istanbul,” The Ferret told him. “If they follow us there we can unleash Berberoglu’s wolves on them. All the advantages will be with us. If they don’t follow, we’ll bide our time and try again later.” A frown came to his face and he paused in his task. “There is something that I must do first. I need to clarify what happened in the safe-house. We were wrong in one of our assumptions. It was not Spike the vampire who killed our allies.”
“Oh?” Ethan’s eyes widened. “Then who did? Slayers don’t kill people, unless the Council has changed an awful lot in the past few years, and it’s not a change that I can envisage Rupert introducing.”
“I don’t think that they know either,” The Ferret said. “It is hard to be sure. They did not go into detail. I presume that the greater part of their discussion had taken place earlier and they referred back to it only in passing. There was a mention of the search for you being a more urgent priority than locating the ‘rogue Slayer’. I deduce that they suspect it was a Slayer outside their control who attacked our men.”
Ethan’s eyebrows climbed once more. “A killer Slayer working for someone else? Some rival group after the Key, perhaps? That’s a very, ah, disturbing thought.”
“Disturbing indeed,” The Ferret agreed, “and it is another reason for us to retreat to Istanbul, if their guess is correct.”
“And how do you intend to find that out?” Ethan asked.
“By asking the dead,” The Ferret answered. “I shall summon up the spirit of one of the Turks.”
Ethan’s eyebrows ascended to new heights. “Quite a trick. That should be very useful, if the departed spirit is co-operative, but he might be rather pissed off at being wrenched away from his seventy-two virgins.”
The Ferret snorted. “You think that those were good Muslims? I doubt very much if there will be any virgins for them even if they were killed by an infidel.” He tilted his head to one side and a crease appeared between his eyebrows. “You know, Ethan, one thing about Islam has always puzzled me. Where do all those virgins in Paradise come from?”
………………….
The long summer seemed to be coming to an end and the first chill of autumn was in the air. A thin drizzle was falling, just enough to dampen the pavements and cling in fine droplets to hair, and it made halos appear around the street-lights. It was that deceptively nasty type of light rain that fooled you into thinking that no coat or umbrella was necessary, at least for a few minutes, and when you realised that you were getting wet and cold it was too late. Jarmila kept her hands in the pockets of her jacket as she strode along the street.
It was unlikely that she would come across any vampires tonight, as they appreciated being warm and dry as much as did the living, but Jarmila patrolled anyway. Later she would visit a night-club or two and perhaps she would find a vampire hunting there. It would feel good to stake an evil member of the undead and perhaps wipe away the shame that she felt over having attacked Spike – and losing – even though she had almost no memory of the event itself.
A flicker of motion caught her eye. Well away from the road, and so not a car, but moving too fast to be a human. Too tall to be a cat or a dog. A vampire? That seemed the most likely explanation and Jarmila quickened her step.
The figure appeared and disappeared again. It seemed to have vaulted over a wall. Definitely human, at least in outline, but it was travelling at an eye-baffling pace. Jarmila worked out that their courses were converging and she pulled down the zipper of her jacket to ensure easy access to her stake. If this was a vampire, and the speed seemed to make that very likely, it might be hunting her.
A girl emerged from the shadows in front of her. The size, and the colour of the girl’s leather jacket, matched that of the shape that Jarmila had seen moving at high speed. However the girl turned away from Jarmila rather than towards her and walked along the street at a normal pace. It seemed that the convergent courses must have been coincidental rather than a deliberate approach.
Jarmila maintained her rapid walk and closed on the girl. Her target had long dark hair, she was clad in a leather jacket and jeans, and gloves covered her hands. Jarmila frowned. She did not feel any of the warning tingles that usually indicated the presence of a vampire. Was the vampire lurking still in the side alley from which this girl had emerged?
The Czech girl paused at the alley entrance, looked, and listened. No sound, no movement, no tingling sensations. It did seem as if this girl had been the fast-moving figure. A thrill shot through Jarmila as she thought of the explanation. Was this the Rogue Slayer?
For a moment Jarmila hesitated. Should she call Milan or Mr. Giles? Not yet, she decided, for there was little so far that she could tell them. First she should get a good look at this girl. Perhaps even a photo. She accelerated once more and began to close the gap.
The girl turned her head and looked back at Jarmila. She was slightly shorter than the Czech Slayer and darker of skin, or at least so Jarmila thought; it was difficult to be certain under the street lights. A Mediterranean complexion, perhaps, Italian or Spanish. Quite pretty. A pair of dark eyebrows climbed towards a fringe of hair as the girl looked at Jarmila. A hint of a smile seemed to play on full lips.
Jarmila called out a greeting, feigning recognition, and then allowed her mouth to drop open. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else,” she apologised.
“I am sorry, I speak no Czech,” the girl said in slightly accented English.
Jarmila was no expert on accents, especially in a language not her own, but she thought that her guess at Italian or Spanish might well have been correct. She switched to English. “Oh. I thought you are a different person,” she said again. “You are a tourist?”
“I am,” the foreign girl confirmed. “I come from France. Paris.” The corners of her mouth turned up slightly.
“From Paris? Oh, so much I would like to visit there some day,” Jarmila said. Inside her pocket her hand closed on her mobile phone and she felt for the camera button.
“Prague is also a beautiful city,” the stranger replied. “Now, I must go.” She turned away.
Jarmila matched the other girl’s pace. “How long have you been in Prague?” she asked. She slid the camera phone from her pocket.
Suddenly the smile was gone from the stranger’s lips. Her eyes focused on the phone. “So you know me,” she said. “I know you also, Slayer.”
“Slayer? What is that, please?” Jarmila feigned ignorance and began to raise the phone.
A hand closed on her wrist. Jarmila tried to pull free, failed, and brought her other hand across to either aid the pull or to apply a wrist-lock. Before she could make up her mind which course to follow she was pre-empted.
The dark girl exploded into violent action. A fist hurtled towards Jarmila’s face. She blocked it, barely, but it was only part of a combination move and the elbow of the same arm curled past her block and struck Jarmila on the side of her head. Another fist, a knee, an elbow, a head-butt; blow after blow rained down on Jarmila, in such rapid succession that she was unable to protect herself or to strike back.
Jarmila reeled under the onslaught. The speed and power of the attack was incredible, especially as it was being delivered at such close quarters, and she was overwhelmed. The style was unfamiliar, unlike anything that she had ever encountered, and the blows came at her from completely unpredictable angles. Her blocks and counters struck only empty air or were brushed aside. Three successive strikes in less than half a second hit Jarmila just under the breastbone and forced the air from her lungs. She sank to her knees, gasping for breath, and an elbow crashed against her jaw. Her head swam and bright lights filled her vision. She slumped sideways to the ground.
“I did not wish to hurt you,” she heard the other girl say, “but you should not have tried to take my picture. Do not follow me again.”
Jarmila looked up at the face of the girl who had defeated her and saw that the fringe had been swept aside during the fight. Dark markings, almost certainly tattoos, were briefly visible on the stranger’s forehead and then the fringe fell back into place and hid them once more. The rogue Slayer whirled around and ran like the wind.
Jarmila struggled to her feet. Her phone lay on the pavement a few metres away and she ran to pick it up. She fought back a sudden wave of nausea and then set off in pursuit of the dark girl. There was no hope of catching her but perhaps Jarmila could keep her in sight and work out where she was heading.
The rogue Slayer was thirty-five metres or so ahead of Jarmila when she reached an intersection and turned right. Jarmila raced after her and reached the corner. She looked along the street and her steps faltered.
It was a long, straight, avenue. There were no obstacles to provide cover and hardly any other pedestrians. No other corners that could have been turned. There was nowhere to hide, on either side of the street, and yet there was no sign whatsoever of the other Slayer.
She had vanished without trace.
……………………………………………….
The ’BtVS’ characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only and all rights remain with Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, the writers of the original episodes, and the TV and production companies responsible for the original television shows. BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER ©2002 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation. All Rights Reserved. The Buffy the Vampire Slayer trademark is used without express permission from Fox.
Feed-back is much appreciated by both
speakr2customrs and myself!This will probably be the last chapter for a couple of weeks - I am away next week, a conference in Manchester and a couple of days visiting my daughter in York.
