Buffy The Vampire Slayer - The Lost Slayer 3 - The King Of The Dead

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THE LOST SLAYER
Part Three
King ofThe Dead
CHRISTOPHER GOLDEN
An original novel based on the hit TV series created by Joss Whedon
Historian's Note:This serial story takes place at the beginning of Buffy's fourth season.
Previously onBuffy the Vampire Slayer ...
A new breed of vampire arrived in Sunnydale, faster and stronger than others of their kind, and with a
kind of magickal energy surging inside them. These are the Kakchiquels, vampire servants of the ancient
Mayan demon-god called Camazotz.
Buffy had recently come to believe that the only way she could be content in her life and still be an
effective Slayer was to separate the two halves of her life completely, as though Buffy and the Slayer
were two distinct people. That meant trying her best to keep her friends out of her life as the Slayer, to
handle those duties all by herself. But having the best of both worlds soon proved more difficult than she
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had expected.
Even as she began to learn more about Camazotz and the Kakchiquels, and to attempt to locate the
demon-god's lair in Sunnydale, Buffy was visited by the ghost of former Slayer Lucy Hanover, who
brought a warning. An entity of the spirit realm, a clairvoyant being called The Prophet, had predicted
that Buffy would soon make a mistake that would have catastrophic results. Before she could follow up
on Lucy's warning, the search for Camazotz heated up when it was determined that his current lair was
probably a ship moored on Sunnydale's coast. Despite Buffy's desire to handle it on her own, Giles
insisted that it would be faster to have Willow use magick to locate Camazotz and that they would attack
as a group, given the gravity of the threat represented by the Kakchiquels and their master.
Buffy was supposed to have Willow gather the ingredients necessary for the spell and then the two of
them were to meet Giles in Dock town, the run-down section of Sunnydale where the town's shipping
industry is concentrated. But when Buffy called Oz's looking for Willow, the young witch was not
available. Though she left part of the message, Buffy chose not to tell Oz about the spell, the ingredients,
or the planned rendezvous, hoping Willow's absence would cause Giles to abandon the search for the
night. She planned then to search for Camazotz on her own.
But Giles was not deterred. Over her protests, Giles and Buffy went together to the harbormaster's
office, hoping to discover some hint of strange goings-on that might indicate which ship Camazotz was
using as a lair. Giles insisted she stay in the car.
The harbormaster turned out to be a vampire in service to Camazotz. While Giles waited and Buffy grew
impatient in the car, the harbormaster informed the demon-god of their arrival. Buffy realized things had
gone wrong and broke into the harbormaster's office to find her former Watcher in the clutches of that
vampire. Then Camazotz and a group of his Kakchiquels appeared, and the Slayer was faced with a
terrible choice. If she fought, Giles would probably be killed. If she surrendered, they would both likely
die. Knowing that the first rule of slaying is to stay alive, and reasoning that Camazotz would keep Giles
alive to use as bait to lure her, she fled the scene.
Later, as she and her friends tried to determine the location of Camazotz's lair, now desperate to rescue
Giles before it was too late, Willow summoned the ghost of Lucy Hanover. The spirit indicated that The
Prophet's visions had grown stronger. Fearing thatThe Prophet's dire predictions may have something to
do with her current predicament, Buffy asked Lucy to see if The Prophet would speak to her. When the
dark, sinister apparition known as The Prophet did appear, she revealed that Buffy had already made the
mistake and that the dark future she had predicted could not be averted. She offered to let Buffy see this
future, which she claimed she could do if Buffy let her into her mind.
But The Prophet was not what she seemed. In truth, she was Zotzilaha, the estranged bride of
Camazotz, fleeing from her mate in spirit form and searching for a powerful host body with which to
defend herself against her husband. Zotzilaha had come to Sunny-dale to possess the body of theSlayer,
and Camazotz had come in pursuit of his errant bride.
When Zotzilaha touched Buffy, she invaded the Slayer's body and forced Buffy's soul out. Through
magick whose nature has yet to be revealed, Zotzilaha pushed Buffy's soul forward in time five years, into
the nightmare future about which she had warned the Slayer.
The soul of Buffy-at-nineteen was merged with the soul of her older, future self. In that dark future, Buffy
found herself in captivity. Years before, the Kak-chiquels had captured her and chosen not to kill her so
as to avoid the rise of a new Slayer.
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Buffy eventually escaped and found that vampires now controlled all of Sunnydale and its surrounding
environs, their influence spreading with every passing day. She made her way south out of Sunnydale,
where she linked up with representatives of the Council of Watchers. The Council has set up a base and
a large force of operatives whose mission it is to thwart the reign of the vampire king she has heard
rumors about. Among those operatives are her old friends, Willow, Xander, and Oz, all of whom have
been changed by the hard years since they last saw Buffy.
Willow then revealed the most horrifying truth of all about this terrible future.
The king of the vampires is Rupert Giles.
Chapter 1
Drusilla’s dead.
Spike roared through downtown Sunnydale ina silver Camaro with blacked-out windows. Dawn had
come hours ago, and the sun glared down upon the wind-shield, streamed in through the small splotches
that had not been painted black. He had to see to drive, after all.
Behind the black aviator sunglasses he wore to keep the sun off his eyes, tears streaked his face. His
jaw was clenched tight, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Though he would usually have
something on the radio, all was silent in the car. No music. Not even the sound of breathing. Not from
him, for after all, wasn't he a dead man?
Yes, of course he was. Yet somehow he had never felt quiteso dead as he did this awful morning.
The Slayer.That little bitch.
But it had not been only the Slayer's fault, had it?No, not at all. When Giles had split them up, sending
Dru with one team and him with another, he ought to have balked, but he did not. Giles was the king,
wasn't he? He hadn't steered them wrong yet.
Till now.Now he'd steered them all kinds of wrong.
Bastard.
There were big plans. Spike wanted to be a part of it. But now Drusilla was dead and everything they
had worked for with Giles was in jeopardy.For millennia, vampires had dreamed big but acted small,
never able to agree on anything long enough to get it together, to pull off a scheme bigger than a simple
slaughter. Rupert Giles was different. Using the addictive blood of the bat-god, Camazotz, to ensure
loyalty among the Kakchiquels, he wanted nothing less than the world. Unlike so many vampires and
demons, he had achieved the level of patience that immortality afforded him. What he had in mind would
take time to do right. He would wait.
But now this thing with the Slayer.What the hell is this all about?
Images of Drusilla sifted like kaleidoscope images through his mind. He could hear her mad little laugh,
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re-member what she looked like naked and spattered with blood, recall the scent of her, like freshly
pressed an-tique lace with just a hint of lilac.
Fresh tears sprang to his eyes and he let them stripe his cheeks like war paint. They dripped onto his
black leather jacket and he let them dry there, a sort of offer-ing to the ghost of his dead love.
If only vampires had ghosts.
Spike drove out of downtown, haunted as an empty circus tent, awaiting the mad revelry that night
always brought. The Kakchiquels kept the residents of Sunny-dale about for their own amusement.Blood
slaves.Sex slaves.Torture victims. Yet for every human they killed, two more would drift into town on the
current of whis-pered gossip and the desire to discover the truth, to sub-ject themselves to the rule of the
vampires. These humans would do anything to be tasted, to be bled, to have a Kakchiquel lover, and if
having their guts strewn across the sidewalk downtown or their heads rammed onto a fence post at the
edge of Hammersmith Park was a moment by moment possibility, that was a small price to pay.
Then there were the original Sunnydale residents, the people who hadn't had the courage to run away.
Most of them cowered in their homes, even now, or operated their businesses with the permission of the
dead who slept while the sun was high. Those were the ones Spike understood the least and disliked the
most.
Cowards.
In silence, he drove to City Hall. It was warm inside the car and though it didn't really bother him, there
was something wrong with that today. His chest felt hollow, as if a slender surgical blade had somehow
been slipped into him and his heart carved out, cold and dead but still saturated with other people's
blood. With Drusilla's death, he had become a shell of himself, a mask with no face beneath it.
How can it be warm?
Spike was certain that he ought to feel cold, and so he turned the air conditioner up as high as it would
go and relished the stiffness in his fingers as his body tempera-ture began to dip even lower.
Spike pulled into the underground garage beneath City Hall and parked in the spot reserved for him. He
was ice now, a brittle, hollow sculpture of frozen pain shaped like a man. At some point his tears had
stopped and now as he stepped out of the car, jacket cascading behind him, there was only his grief to
mark Drusilla's passing.
From a pocket inside his jacket he pulled out a white plastic key card. At the door that led into the
complex he slid the card into a slot and a light burned green. The door clicked and he pushed it open and
entered the war-ren of corridors beneath City Hall. There were tunnels from there that would lead to the
basement of the court-house, the police station, even the town library.
Spike clutched the key card and strode along one of those tunnels, the scrunch of leather the only sound
to accompany him. At a junction in the corridor, he turned left and walked to a bank of elevators, where
his key card was needed to call an elevator down.
He stepped in and pressed the button for the third floor, then waited as the elevator glided upward. In
the corner there was a security camera. Spike was a shadow of himself, a kind of ghost in his own right,
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and as he glared at the security camera from behind his dark sun-glasses, he wondered if the guards in
the monitor booth
couldsee the change in him. He wondered if they saw him coming, and shuddered.
He hoped that they did.
The elevatorshushed to a halt and the doors slid open. A pair of burly Kakchiquels stood blocking his
exit, their eyes crackling with energy, their tattooed faces im-passive. Spike was not at all surprised to
see them.
"You are not expected until dusk," one of the Kakchiquels said, voice emotionless.
"The master does not need you until then," added the other.
Spike cocked his head to one side, regarding them through the tinted glasses. He slipped his key card
into his pocket. The elevator doors began to close and he punched the button to open them again.
"Yeah.He mentioned that. Wanted me to take a little time, cool off a bit, right?" Spike nodded, but then
stopped abruptly. "Bugger that."
With one swift motion he reached out, grabbed the one on the left by a clump of hair, and hauled him
for-ward, driving his knee up into the Kakchiquel's crotch. The vampire doubled over and Spike yanked
him into the elevator,then stepped off. The other Kakchiquel was ready for him, or at least thought he
was. Spike took one blow to the temple that knocked his sunglasses spinning through the air, then
grabbed the vampire by the face and squeezed, breaking his jaw and fracturing his cheekbones. He knew
his own eyes flickered with the blazing power of Camazotz, just as his enemy's did.
With a low snarl, Spike rammed the vampire back
againstthe wall, then grabbed his hair in a tight fist and shoved the guard's head through the emergency
glass covering a fire extinguisher. Broken glass sliced his hand but Spike barely felt it as he snapped the
heavy fire extinguisher from its moorings and began slamming it into the Kakchiquel's skull until it was
mashed to pulp and splintered bone.
The guard dusted.
A ding sounded behind him and Spike turned to see the elevator doors opening again, the guard he'd
kneed standing inside. With a twist of his arm, he swung the extinguisher again and shattered the guard's
nose. Spike struck him again and again, beating him down,then pressed all the numbers on the elevator
before stepping off. The elevator moved down, taking the bloody, crip-pled Kakchiquel with it.
Spike did not smile. He no longer had anything to smile about.No one with whom to share the
exhilara-tion of a good fight, a good kill. Instead he picked up the black glasses from the floor and
slipped them back on. He reached into his coat, took out a box of cigarettes and a metal lighter, and fired
one up.
He strode down the hall and around a corner that led him to the huge double doors of the courtroom.
There an-other pair of Kakchiquelswere standing guard, and they snapped instantly to attention, ready to
stop him.
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Spike took a drag on the cigarette, blew out the air, and gazed at them coolly from behind his shades,
where he hid the telltale spark of power that bound him to these other creatures.
"I know, I know," he said. "You're supposed to stop me, yeah? Bloody hell, mates, have at it then. But
think about it this way. Mood I'm in right now, you'll have to kill me to stop me.If you can. And if you do,
well, he'sgonna miss me, isn't he? Then he'll kill you blokes sure as I'm standing here. His lordship is
fickle like that. On the other hand, you stand aside and he'll punish you, sure, but you'll live."
Spike took a long drag on the cigarette, blew rings of smoke into the air and barely even glanced at the
two Kakchiquels as they exchanged a nervous glance. After a moment, they actually opened the large
double doors for him.
He winked at the larger one and went into the court-room.
The rows of seats were filled with vampires, eyes crackling with orange fire, black bats seared into the
ten-der flesh of their faces. Spike found that there were fewer and fewer familiar faces as the months
went by. Giles sent those he trusted out on errands of vital impor-tance. They were part of the plan. But
he had always kept Spike and Drusilla close at hand, either because he felt he needed them or because
he didn't trust them, or both.
The lights were dim in the huge room and the only noise was the shifting of the Kakchiquels in their seats
as Spike entered. They were a motley collection of vam-pires, from those who had been servants of
Camazotz when the bat-god had come to Sunnydale, to existing vampires like Spike himself who had
been recruited by Giles, to new creatures made only recently.
Giles sat on the dais—where the judge would have presided, if there were any judges left in Sunnydale.
His eyes glowed only very dimly. His graying hair was combed neatly back and a soft, benevolent smile
turned up the corners of his mouth. He wore a thin green V-neck sweater with a white tee shirt
underneath. To those who had known him as a human being, only the fact that his glasses were missing
would have shattered the illusion that he had not changed at all.
Brilliant, kind hearted, self-effacing. That had been Giles the man, the Watcher. It was a face he wore
still, though no one knew what sort of pleasure he derived from the facade.
Of all the vampires in the chamber, only one other be-sides Spike was standing. He was a dark-skinned
leech whose ritual tattoo had been seared into his face with white ink instead of black. The bat-scar was
the color of milk and it set him apart from all the others. Giles called him Jax. Spike did not know if he
had any other name. He had simply appeared one day, a creature sired by Giles and then suckled by
Camazotz as was their tradi-tion. But Jax had quickly become far more than simply another recruit. He
was Giles's right hand.
Spike hated him.
Jax glanced once at Spike, a small smile flickering across his features,then he gestured at a female
vampire in the front row.
"Valerie? I believe your report is next."
"I don't think so," Spike snapped as he strode up the aisle toward the judge's bench.
Hushed mutterings filled the room.
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"Spike.You're half a day early. You have a private au-dience scheduled at dusk today."
"Bollocks," Spike replied happily.
He walked right up to Jax. No one tried to stop him. Jax moved to block his way, hate simmering in the
other vampire's gaze. Spike took another drag on his cigarette, plucked the butt from his mouth between
two fingers, and pressed its burning, ashen end into the middle of Jax's forehead. The leech snarled in
pain and anger, his features contorting into the bestial face of the vampire.
Spike decked him.
He stood before the bench and glared up at Giles, whose eyebrows shot up with curiosity Spike found
in-sulting.
"She's dead," Spike said, voice a rasp. "You might as well have struck a match to her yourself, you
bastard. What are you playing at with this Slayer? You could've had her a dozen times since she got out."
For a moment, just the tiniest flicker, the mask slipped. A shadow of menace seemed to fall across
Giles's features. The smile gave way to a lip-curling snarl. His nostrils flared and the orange fire in his eyes
became tiny embers. Then it passed and the kindly, al-most paternal smile returned to his features.
Giles leaned toward him and gazed down from the judge's bench. "Go. Sit. Valerie is next. When she's
done, we'll talk about what went wrong last night, and what we've all lost."
As though Spike had suddenly disappeared from the room, Giles gestured for Valerie to come forward.
Jax rubbed at the burned spot on the white brand on his face, but he, too, gave his attention to the
Kakchiquel girl. It infuriated Spike to be ignored like that, but he supposed it beat having Giles order a
room filled with vampires to kill him. Still, Spike did not sit as Giles had instructed. He might take orders
from the big boss, the king, but he was still his own man. He had a legend of his own to maintain. Giles
knew that... he constantly used Spike's status as an object of fear to his advantage.
Jax might be the master's right-hand man, but Spike was his enforcer, his assassin.At least when
Drusilla was alive.Now, though... Giles has a lot to answer for.
Valerie, one of those whom Giles had trusted and pro-moted, glanced uneasily at Spike as she stood.
He flashed the girl a grin born from his savage heart and she flinched and looked quickly away. Valerie
moved for-ward and stood beside Jax, staring up at Giles in total subservience. She even bowed.
"Lord and master," Valerie said, her voice sweet and yet confident. "The Los Angeles operation
proceeds as per your charted strategy. LAPD sirings are at twenty-two percent. Complete departmental
takeover is sched-uled for next Wednesday, with the mayor and the commissioner twenty-four hours
previous."
Giles stroked his chin thoughtfully, his gaze distant. Half a minute ticked by and no one dared interrupt
his thoughts.
"Oh, all right, you pompousgit .Get on with it," Spike snapped. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms,
fee-ling self-conscious there at the front of the courtroom.
He expected a flare of anger, but Giles did notso much as blink. Valerie glanced at Jax,then shifted
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un-comfortably from one foot to the other. Jax seemed un-willing to even acknowledge there was
something odd about the master's behavior. After another half minute ticked by, though, he moved into
Giles's field of vision.
"My lord?"Jax ventured.
"Hmm?"Giles muttered. Then he glanced down at Spike and Valerie and blinked several times. "Oh,
right. Sorry. Late night, wasn't it?"
Valerie giggled like a schoolgirl and Spike wanted to rip her heart out for it. The king was getting a bit
dotty. They all had to see it. Ever since Buffy had bro-ken out of her cell, Giles had been scattered.
Never mind that he'd turned up missing from his chambers half a dozen times, not telling anyone where
he'd gone.
"Valerie, I don't believe you mentioned the studio heads," Giles reminded her.
"Last night, my lord," she replied."Just as you in-structed. We missed at Paramount, though. He took
some unscheduled personal time, went to a spa in Nevada. A team has been dispatched."
"Excellent initiative."Giles stood up. The instant he did so the entire room also rose. "We'll pick this up
to-morrow morning. Any urgent reports or requests can go to Jax." His smile grew wider as he looked at
Spike."In my chambers, now, William. And we'll discuss your be-reavement."
Jaxshot Spike a withering glance as he moved into the aisle, only to be surrounded by thoseKakchiquels
who felt that their business with the king could not wait. Spike caught Valerie studying him with
fascination. An-other time he might have flirted with her, strutted for her. But the tears were dry upon his
cheeks and Drusilla's death was too fresh for him, too close.
Giles stepped down from the high chair and went to the heavy wooden door that led into the judge's
cham-bers. He opened it and stood aside, waiting for Spike. The smile was still there, but a chill ran
through Spike when he caught the glint in the other vampire's eyes. Though he remembered well when
Rupert Giles was the Watcher, a stuffy Englishman who relied more on knowledge than on violence, this
creature was not that man. Not a man at all. It retained Giles's memories, his intelligence and cunning, and
it had turned them to its advantage.
But this king of vampires had not become lord and master to thousands by chance.
That knowledge calmed Spike somewhat as he stepped past Giles and into the darkened chambers
beyond. The windows had been blacked out and the three lamps that burned in the room were unable to
dispel the shadows there. In the corner, the skeleton of Judge Warren Hester had been arranged in an
embrace around a coat rack. Tufts of hair and dried skin still clung to the bones. At night the windows
were opened to air the rooms out, but over the years the smell had mostly dissipated.
"Hello, your honor," Giles said to the bones.
Then he turned and leaned against the desk, crossed his arms and gazed at Spike with sympathy in his
glit-tering orange eyes. Sympathy as false, as feigned, as the benevolent mask he always wore.
"Have you got another cigarette?" Giles asked.
Spike raised one eyebrow in surprise, then shrugged and tugged the pack from his pocket. He held it out
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and Giles took a cigarette. Spike lit it for him, clicked the lighter closed, and slid it back into his pocket
with the cigarettes.
Giles inhaled deeply, cig clutched between two fin-gers. Then he let it dangle in his hand as he leaned
against the desk once more.
"You know how important Drusilla was to me, Spike," he said, as the ash lengthened on the cigarette.
He did not take another drag from it,however, only let the ash grow longer. "Honestly, I find it more than
a bit disturbing that you'd accuse me of having some sort of responsibility for her destruction. Why would
I do something like that?"
Feeling more than a bit petulant, even childish, Spike glanced at the ground. "Not saying you did it on
pur-pose, Ripper. But, look, you're playing with the girl. Me, I always thought it was brilliant, keeping
Buffy locked up like that. You don't killher, they don't get to train another one. But she got out, didn't
she? Not sure it was too bright an ideaputtin ' that new one, the little cutie came along after I took care of
Faith, in with Buffy.Gotta figure that was a mistake, but it's too late to do anything about it now.Right.
Fine. But they could have caught up with Buffy five minutes after she was out the door, or any time while
she was on her way to Sunnydale. You told 'emto wait.More'nthat, you left her that damn crossbow."
A ghost of a grin whispered across Giles's features. "You knew about that?"
Spike shrugged. "Saw youleavin ' with it, put two and two together. At the time I figured you were just
toying with her, having a bit of fun all your own. I can under-stand that. Once upon a time, she was your
girl, yeah. In a way, you were her sire the same way Angel was mine. He didn't make me, but he trained
me to be what I am. You did the same for her. So maybe you play with her a bit, give the mouse a little
string, but you don't let her go."
Spike took off his sunglasses, stared hard at Giles. "You don't let her run around killing your best
people. Harmony was an idiot, but she was vicious. Matthias and Astrid, they were the best of the ones
who came here with Camazotz. And Dru—" his voice broke off.
"I should've been there!" Spike snapped, shouting at Giles, who watched him impassively. "You had us
all spread out, but I think you knew just whatBuffy'd do. You trained her, after all, right? Who'd know
better thanyou. You probably predicted every move she made. You played with her, but you gave her
too much rope and now Drusilla's dead."
Giles nodded slowly, reasonably. "True," he said. "All of it. You know, you've always been
underestimated, Spike. You're really far more perceptive than you get credit for."
Spike shook his head, not knowing what to say next. The last thing he had expected was that Giles
would simply agree with him, taking responsibility for Dru-silla's death.
The vampire lord rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, Spike!" he cried with frustration. "What would you like
me to do about it? I'm sorry Dru's dead.Truly. She was always a source of great amusement. Couldn't
find any better. And the occasional vision, when it wasn't too truncated by her lunacy, was helpful as
well. But she's dead. So now what? You stomp around like a five-year-old and then go huffing off to
Greece or Brazil to lick your wounds? Feel free, if you need to."
Spike flinched. He felt the anger boiling up inside him, dwarfing anything he had felt before. This wasn't
just the pain of his loss, the void in his gut where his love for Dru had been ripped from him. It was more
vis-ceral, more personal even than that. He had spent over a hundred years proving his worth after
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Angelus and Darla had disparaged him. He had killed more Slayers than any other vampire he knew of.
But Giles had just brushed him off as though he was worthless.
"I'll tell you what you do," Spike snarled. His face changed with his anger, his fangs lengthening, his brow
contorting into the face of the beast. "You get a posse up like an old Western, as many of your loyal
subjects as you can pull together on short notice, then you track her down and you kill her before she can
do any more dam-age. Or maybe you don't remember the habit Buffy has of interfering with the fun?"
Giles's upper lip twitched once. He glanced away and idly reached up toward his face as though he were
about to remove a pair of eyeglasses. His fingers paused inches from his face and he made a fist,then
dropped his hand. Spike frowned as he took note of this strange behavior. It was, in that moment, as
though Giles had forgotten that he no longer needed glasses.An echo of an instinctive nervous behavior
that he had engaged in when he was still human.Still alive.Still re-ally Giles.
"You don't want to kill her, do you?" Spike asked, astonished. "What's got into you, Ripper?You gone
soft?"
A shudder seemed to pass through Giles. He bent over slightly, staring up at Spike from beneath heavily
lidded eyes. His face changed, became monstrous, lips curled back to show his elongated fangs. Slowly,
he took a step toward Spike.
"You have a certain value to me, Spike. I gave you a great deal of rope because of it. No more."
Spike tried to protest, but Giles was too fast for him. The vampire lord darted in and grabbed him by the
throat. Lifted off his feet, Spike beat at Giles's head and arms, trying to break his master's grip. Giles
gave him a swift head-butt, connected with a loud, solid crack, and then slammed Spike into the dead
judge's desk.
"It is not your place to question!" Giles roared as he kicked Spike in the ribs once, twice, a third time.
Bones snapped.
"Somebody'sgotta do it," Spike snarled, not sure if he felt brave or just stupid. He clutched at his side
and tried to rise, and Giles grabbed him by the front of his jacket and threw him hard enough that he
crashed into the coat rack and the wall and sent the dead judge's skeleton clattering in pieces all over the
floor.
When he looked up, Giles stood over him. The vam-pire lord kicked him in the face and Spike felt his
cheek give way.
"Son of a bitch!"Spike grunted in pain.
Giles crouched beside him. His face was human again, his features soft, the mask back in place.
Some-how that was more terrifying to Spike than anything else.
"Everything she is, she owes to me, just as though she were my own daughter. She is a more perfect
creature, a more effective predator, than any of the beasts who fol-low me. I wanted to see that beauty,
the flow and rhythm of it, again.To know that it is still there."
Spike wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and it came away bloody.
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   THELOSTSLAYER PartThree KingofTheDead CHRISTOPHERGOLDEN   AnoriginalnovelbasedonthehitTVseriescreatedbyJossWhedonHistorian'sNote:ThisserialstorytakesplaceatthebeginningofBuffy'sfourthseason.PreviouslyonBuffytheVampireSlayer... AnewbreedofvampirearrivedinSunnydale,fasterandstrongerthanothersofthei...

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