dragonyphoenix

Title: Conjuring Love From the Ashes of an Old Flame
Fandom: BtVS
Characters/Pairing: It starts out as Spike/Dru and Buffy/Angel, but then there are a couple of love spells so we get Willow/Angelus, Willow/Angel, Willow/Yarn!Spike, Willow/Spike
Rating: I'm going with PG in this section, but it's R-rated overall.
Concrit: Please, in comments
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, not yet, but the will be once I've taken over the world. Bwah-ha-ha.
Warnings/Squicks: Death of a major character in this section.
Summary: Drusilla has a way to bring Angelus back. Unfortunately she needs Spike's ashes to do it.
Note: Written for a bad_swa prompt – conjure
Note: The Spike doll is based on two knitted Spikes by whichclothes
Note: The awesome banner was created by Shaken Silence
Note: Set after Bandy Candy but before Revelations
Note: Thanks to whichclothes, cafedemonde, and shakensilence for helping me pick a location for my final scene and giving me some info on San Francisco so I could write a place I've never been.

Master Index for the story

* * *

“You sure this is the place?” Faith asked as she looked at the mansion that glowed faintly in the moonlight as if it were more a vision than an actual building.

“You didn't know?” Spike asked.

“It's not like Buffy was big on sharing where she kept her undead boytoy.”

“Yeah, this is it,” Spike said, tossing his bag of weapons to the ground where it would be hidden by bushes. “We should scout around and...”

“You wait here, where it's safe.”

As Faith raced into the nearest doorway, the one that went from the garden to the mansion's main living room, she looked more like a rabid animal ready to tear into anything it could find than a trained hound on a scent. “Or we could rush right in,” Spike added as he raced in after her only to find Angelus rising from the couch, smiling and looking for all the world as innocent as Angel. “No Slayer is ever gonna believe you're harmless, mate,” Spike said, trying to undermine whatever Angelus was about to say.

Any reply that Angelus might have made was drowned out by scream, a wail of pure terror, coming from Angelus' bedroom. As Drusilla ran into the room, her eyes immediately settled on Spike. Screaming “you can't be back,” she launched herself at him, nails ready to slash at him like claws. Sidestepping out of her way, Spike grabbed Drusilla's arm and, with a flick of his wrist, sent her flying across the room and crashing into the garden doorway.

“I guess the rumors are true. Angelus is back,” Faith said.

“What can I say,” Angelus replied with a smirk. “I'm a hard guy to keep down.”

Faith pulled out a blade, not as long as a sword, but wicked sharp. “Let's see what we can do about that,” she replied, lunging at him, her blade held high, ready to strike.

A thin trickle of blood trailed down from Drusilla's lip. “You have to go back into the doll, Spike.” Her words were a threat. “If you're in your body, Daddy dies.”

“That'd be what I'm aiming for, pet.”

Angelus, grabbing a fire poker, blocked Faith's blade and, taking a swivel step that turned him around so he was standing next to her, slammed her blade to the ground. As her weapon fell from her hand, Faith jabbed her elbow into Angelus' ribs and then sent her fist flying into his face.

With a quick glance out the door, past Drusilla and toward the bushes where he'd hidden his weapons, Spike briefly regretted leaving the bag behind. “No more spells, got it?” he told Drusilla.

“The spell,” she said, gazing off at nothing.

Spike relaxed, just a bit, but didn't take his eyes off of Drusilla. She wouldn't attack while entranced, but he didn't entirely trust that it wasn't a trick. “The Lord of the House of Aurelius, it's just like you said. The spell was supposed to work on two souls – vampire and human – but I didn't want Daddy loving the witch. It picked you instead.”

Faith flew past Spike and crashed against the wall on the other side of the doorway, the side across from Drusilla. Casually, as if she didn't care what happened, Drusilla removed a comb from her hair and threw it at Faith. It cut Faith's shoulder, not sticking into her but drawing blood.

Spike landed on Drusilla so hard they both crashed into the doorway behind her. “It's not a bloody spell. I love Willow, and she loves me.”

Outside of the mansion, green eyes peered out from behind the bushes, eyes that darted off of Spike only long enough to try and fix on Angelus, half-hidden behind Spike whose hands were squeezing Drusilla's throat shut. Willow, aiming for a better view of Angelus, was shifting leftward a few steps when her leg hit Spike's hidden bag. “What could you be?”

Faith, trying to stand, fell to the floor. “What the?”

Angelus strolled over. “The comb,” he explained, picking up the hairpiece and examining it as if admiring its ornate golden scrolls. “It wasn't poisoned exactly, but the toxin will leave you, let's say somewhat out of commission for a couple of hours. Well it would if you were going to live that long.” As he lifted Faith up, her arms and legs dangled down like those of a rag doll.

“No,” she whispered, unable to raise her voice, as fangs bit into her neck.

Drusilla, bracing herself against the doorframe, kicked Spike across the room and threw herself after him.

“Angel,” Buffy called out, pushing through the front door. “Have you found anything out about Drusil...” She pulled out a stake at the sight of Drusilla trying to pin Spike to the floor while he bucked wildly beneath her. As she scanned the room, an automatic response after years of slaying, Buffy saw Angelus drop Faith to the ground.

“Lover,” he said.

Willow's head jerked up at the word. Gazing at Angelus, her eyes narrowed as she pulled a crossbow out of Spike's bag.

“Angel?” Buffy asked, knowing he wasn't.

“Not quite,” Angelus confirmed.

“How?” Buffy asked, her knuckles whitening as her fist tightened on the stake.

Punching Spike in the jaw, Drusilla threw herself into a forward-roll that took her past Spike and up into a fighting stance. She turned to face Spike, just in time to see him leaping to his feet.

“He's got to die,” Spike said. “Nothing personal, well no, lots of it is personal, but bottom line? I'm not having him standing between me and Willow.”

“Willow,” Angelus replied to Buffy's question.

“What did you do to her?” Buffy asked.

“You really are dense, aren't you? She and Angel made sweet, sweet love, and I mean that quite literally. It really was sweet, and I should know since I was there, well in a sense. She made him happy, which allowed me to come out to play.”

“You don't love her.” There was certainty in Buffy's voice.

“As a matter of fact, I don't, but she loves me, which is what really matters,” Angelus replied.

“A love spell,” Buffy said.

“Giles finally came through, did he?” Angelus replied with a smirk. “Willow loves Angelus, Angel loved Willow, and here I am reaping the benefits.”

Spike punched Drusilla in the gut, again and again, until she doubled over in pain. “Willow loves me,” he shouted at Angelus, “and I'm gonna make sure you never lay another dirty finger on her.”

Drusilla, grabbing the fire poker from the floor, slammed it into Spike's head, sending him reeling across the room. “You are not going to hurt Daddy.”

“I thought you killed him Dru,” Angelus said. “I'm not loving how easily he came back.”

“He'll stay dead this time,” she said, stalking towards Spike.

“That's my girl,” Angelus replied. His torso arched forward as a wooden arrow burst out the front of his chest. He was turning to see who had killed him when his eyes turned to dust.

“I'm your girl; your only girl. That bitch doesn't get you.” Willow, standing in the doorway, crossbow in hand, shifted her aim until the weapon was pointed at Drusilla. “He's mine.”

Drusilla's gaze remained fixed on Angelus' ashes. “He's dead. He's not anyone's.”

“I killed him,” Willow replied. “That makes him mine forever.”

“Willow?” Buffy said. “You're getting really big with the creepy.”

With Drusilla's attention on the ashes, Spike slowly raised himself from the floor.

“Slayer,” Willow said, aiming her crossbow at Buffy, who shifted into a fighting stance, turning her body to give Willow as small a target as possible.

“When did you get turned?” Buffy choked on the words.

“Don't see how that matters,” Willow said,” except how many vampires can say they killed a Slayer on their first night?”

Just as Spike was reaching over to grab the poker, Drusilla turned to him. Something hurt and vulnerable in her stance froze him in place. “Spike, leave the Hellmouth to me.”

“Don't see why I should do you any favors,” he replied. “My Red wants to bag herself a Slayer, who am I to deny her?”

“Please,” Drusilla said. “You have everything now.”

“And whose fault is that?” Spike asked. At Drusilla's pout, he gave in. “Fine,” he said, gesturing towards Buffy.

As Drusilla launched herself at the Slayer, Spike stepped between Willow's crossbow and the fight. “Come on, luv. Let's get out of here.”

“What?” Willow hissed. “You're going to let her win?”

Spike glanced over his shoulder at the fight. As Buffy lashed a leg out in a vicious kick, Drusilla sidestepped, grabbed the leg,and used Buffy's momentum to throw her across the room. “She didn't win. You and I, we've got each other, but Dru's lost everything. Let her have this fight.”

“I don't see why I should.”

“Do it for me,” Spike said. “I, well I can't say that I owe her, but we had a history. She never hurt me, no, that's not true, she hurt me plenty, especially with that turning me into a doll bit, but that worked out all right. I wouldn't have you if it weren't for Dru.”

Willow glared at Drusilla, who was backing away as Buffy swung a torch at her. “OK,” she agreed reluctantly, “but if she ever tries to take you back, I'll torture her for a year before I kill her.”

Spike laughed as he took her hand, bringing it to his lips. His gaze caught hers as he kissed along her fingertips. “She could try all she wanted to. Now that I've found you, she's nothing.”

* * *

“Now there's a phallic symbol,” Willow said, gazing at the pale Corinthian column at the center of Union Square. If she'd still been human, undoubtedly she'd have done a ton of research so she could bore people with enough trivial information to fill a trolley car. The night was new, dusk having fallen only an hour ago, but Willow was bored already and had only bothered to comment at all because her words gave Spike an opportunity to make a sexual innuendo. Predictable that, but Spike was utterly charming, and she enjoyed pleasing him in little ways. “But you said we could go shopping,” she said, pouting in response to his remark, not that she'd actually heard it. Knowing what he'd say, she hadn't bothered to listen to his words.

“Pet,” he replied, sounding shocked. “You'd rather shop than shag?”

“I'd rather dress you in a blue so pale that your skin glows against it as I shred it off of you.”

He looked pleased at that. “Who am I to deny you, luv?” With a nod of his head, he added, “This way.”

They skirted around the park, walking in the street and laughing as a driver, trying to avoid crashing into them, hit his breaks and veered off into the next lane, almost running into another car. When they came to the gate – whose white metal top formed an inverted arch – that only let foot traffic onto the street, Wilow asked, sounding as if it were the greatest tragedy, “No more cars to play with?”

“They'll be other amusements,” Spike replied.

Wrapping one arm around the lamppost to the right of the gate, Willow leaned off of it as she gazed up at the balconies and ladders arrayed above the street. “What a lovely idea for a hunt,” she said to Spike, swinging around the post until she was close enough for a kiss. “We could hide in plain sight, right above the street, picking and choosing our victims before swooping down to play.”

“I thought you wanted to shop.”

With a nod, Willow agreed. “Some other time,” she said, gesturing towards the balconies. As they passed a group of cafe tables, set in the middle of the street, Willow grabbed a Guinness, drained it, and slammed the glass back down. “Thanks,” she told the young man, a guy as big as Angel through the shoulders, who'd stood up, his hands clenched into fists, as if ready to punch her until she'd put the glass down, and he got a good look at her.

Taking in her outfit, his eyes stopped at her breasts, covered by a flimsy fishnet fabric. The black leather roses, sewn over her nipples, barely kept her top from being out and out illegal. “No problem,” he replied. “Would you like another?”

Spike strode out from behind Willow, ready to kill, but she grabbed his arm and wrapped it around her waist. “Move your eyes or lose 'em,” Spike growled since Willow wasn't letting him near the bloody bastard.

They guy raised himself up taller, obviously ready to take on Spike, but Willow stepped between them, the white of her hips flashing above her black leather pants. “The next time someone offers you good advice, take it.” Biting down, she yanked off a chunk of earlobe. He fell to the ground screaming.

“You should have let me finish playing with him,” she told Spike as they strolled down the street, passing under the colorful signs and banners that proclaimed the trendy and upscale shops that lived on Maiden Lane: Xanadu Gallery, Diptyque, Chanel, Britex Fabrics.

“You don't get to play with anybody who looks at you like that.”

“Except you,” Willow said, stopping to kiss him. When she opened her eyes again, wondering if perhaps shagging was the better option, her gaze was caught by a flash of blue in a store window halfway down the street. Grabbing Spike's hand, she ran to the shop. “That,” she said, pointing to a shirt, pale blue with such a small touch of turquoise that the color barely registered. “You would look wonderful in that.”

“You think so?” Spike asked, finding the cut too conservative.

“What that shade of blue, your skin would shimmer like ice.”

As Spike pulled open the shop door, a mechanized bell chimed above them. Willow started towards the rack of blue she'd seen in the window, but then veered left, heading towards red silk, tossing clothes and accessories to the floor in passing, while Spike locked the door behind them.

A woman, with a very formal bun, not a hair out of place, in a conservative, tasteful suit, stepped out from behind the counter. Her focus darted between Willow and Spike as if deciding which of them to deal with first. “Excuse me.” Deciding the locked door was the bigger issue, her voice, gentle but firm, addressed Spike. “We aren't closed.”

“And you are?” Spike asked, deciding to insinuate himself with the woman, to make her think they might cooperate, giving her that small bit of hope before killing her.

“Miss Wilson,” she said. When Spike looked at her expectantly without responding, she added, “Edith.”

When she'd been a girl, Edith and her cousin had fed mice to a pet python, staring at fascination at the act of predation. Spike's gaze reminded her of that snake's unblinking stare. As he continued to look her over, she felt as if to him she was nothing more than a thing to be used and discarded, a husk whose life could easily be drained of meaning and then forgotten. A slow smile spread across Spike's face as she took a step back.

“I think I'd like you in this,” Willow called out, holding up a red silk shirt as she scrutinized Spike.

“I do prefer to be draped in red,” he smirked.

Willow dropped the shirt, lighting up like a lover who, after a long absence, has finally spotted a glimpse of her beloved, enough to send her rushing into his arms. As tongues danced together and hands groped at breast and ass, Edith started backing away.

“Leave now, or I'm calling the police,” she asserted. Edith winced at the unwanted quiver she'd heard in her own voice, but that became the least of her concerns as the two turned towards her, revealing fangs and yellow eyes in faces that were no longer human. Edith shifted into a fighting stance, a half-remembered move from a self-defense class her mother had insisted on when she was in junior high.

“Oh good,” Willow said, sounding almost bored to the clerk's ears. “This one is going to try to fight.”

Hearing a gasp from the back of the shop, Spike looked over to see a woman at the dressing room door, her arms full of clothes, a jumble of pinks and pale greens. “You have your fun Red, and I'll make sure any other guests don't leave the party early.”

As Spike started stalking towards her, the woman at the back of the store let out a squeak and, stepping around a corner, vanished into the dressing room area. Spike paused, certain of his prey, to watch Willow, admiring how she shimmered as she moved, her hair dancing like fairy blood, and he'd been with Dru much too long if that was the image that came to him, but it was true all the same. Willow's hair pulsed, seemingly alive, with every step she took to block the clerk's ineffective attacks. “Oh,” Willow said, “you're going to have to do much better than that if you want to live.”

Turning back to his victim, Spike stepped around the corner into a hallway full of doors. The sound from the front of the store was muted, as if he'd traveled miles in those few short steps. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Spike called, knowing full when, by the heartbeats thundering from the second room on the left, where the woman was. “Are you in here?” he asked as he yanked open the first door, smiling as her heartbeats picked up. “How about here?” he called out, opening a door on the right. He skipped past the next room, the one where the woman was hiding, to open two more doors past her, loudly calling out at each one, before silently sneaking back and ripping her door off its hinges. Spike barely noticed the woman cowering in the corner.

Drusilla stood in the mirror, dressed in that pale, flowery outfit she'd picked up in Rio, holding the doll, that abomination she'd forced him into, carelessly at her side. They looked so real that Spike glanced down to check he was in his own body. “Get out of my head, Dru.”

The doll turned to dust, drifting down from Dru's hand. As it hit the ground, sparks flew up, dancing like spinning stars, twirling madly about the room.

“No,” Spike whispered, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the truth. “She's not like you; she loves me. It's not a spell.”

“You can't hide from what you know,” he heard Dru say.

Opening his eyes, Spike saw flames in the mirror, burning behind Dru. Her clothes had changed. The dress was black where the other had been white, and where the other had hugged the curves of her body, this one was full, with a black bustle trailing behind, its top covered in black ribbons with tiny pearl buttons down the front. A veil covered her face.

“What do you know about love, you cold bitch? All you ever cared about was Angelus' approval.” He kicked the mirror, sending shards shattering over the woman who crouched even smaller, covering herself with her arms. As he yanked her off the floor, shards of glass cut into her skin. “Scream,” he told her.

“Please don't kill me,” she cried, snot mixing with tears as she begged for mercy.

“Scream,” he snarled, grabbing a finger and breaking it with a tiny snap.

Her screams echoed like bells in the tiny room, but they weren't loud enough to drown out Dru's voice, speaking words Spike never wanted to hear again. “Love is never eternal.”