Just ahead lay her salvation.

She ran.

Pounding along the narrow side streets of New Orleans, past the cloistered gardens and the looming mansions that seemed to whisper secrets as she fled past. If she could make it just a little farther...up ahead she could hear music and laughter from one of the crowded main streets.

The man lurched out of the shadows, straight in front of her.

"No!" she screamed, trying to dodge around him as his big hand closed like a vise on her wrist.

What saved her were the tourists, seven or eight Germans who tumbled cheerily out of a bar, laughing and ready to party. The man loosed his grip as they were surrounded; and she wrenched her arm free and ran on.

She turned into the closest hotel and rushed to the bank of phones opposite the elevators.

There were only two numbers in the world that she knew by heart; and his was one of them.

"Rupert?" she said urgently into the impersonal machine. But her need was so desperate that she kept on talking.

The elevator doors slid open.

Olivia glanced up- and dropped the phone. She screamed but no one in the lobby of the hotel heard. Or if they did, they decided to pay no heed. It was Mardi Gras, after all; best not to question too closely what lay behind the glitter.

Might be bad for the tourist trade.

After a while a clerk walking through the lobby spotted the dangling phone. But he hung it up, and went about his business.

"Bloody hell," the blond groaned. "I swear I can't feel my arms."

The other spared him a rare glance of sympathy. "And my back...I'm certain it's broken. I've never before been through such a frightful ordeal."

"At least it's over with, and we've survived." The blond brightened.

"Unless....Buffy decides the dining room needs another coat of paint."

His companion sat up suddenly. "She wouldn't! We've been painting that sodding house for a solid week! Can't you talk her out of it, Rupert?"

"Buffy isn't easily swayed once she decides on a course of action," the other man said pointedly. "Luckily for you, Spike!"

"Humph, you lot really hold grudges," grumbled Spike. "I came through in the end, didnt I? If not for me, where'd you be, I'd like to know? AND your precious Slayer!"

"True," Giles conceded. "I might not be breaking my back to help Buffy, Willow, and Xander redecorate that old house so they can live there next semester."

"You OWE me, Rupert," Spike insisted. "Sure, maybe I caused a little upset..."

Giles glared at him. "No maybe about it, you certainly did!"

"BUT- I more than made up for it by helping out at the crucial moment."

"I suppose so," Giles allowed.

"And what's more, I'm STILL helping," Spike scowled at his paint-splattered hands," with the blasted decorating! Do I look like Martha Stewart?"

"It's the least you can do," Giles said hotly, "since you're planning to live there yourself! And that reminds me, why are you here again?"

"No blood there," Spike said. "And those paint fumes are nasty, even though I don't breathe."

Giles groaned, and heaved himself to his feet. "I need some coffee."

"Heat my mug while you're up," Spike ordered. "Hey, did you know your machine is blinking?"

"What? Oh. I usually forget about it," Giles headed back into the living room with two coffee mugs, and handed the yellow one to Spike.

"Probably Red with more paint samples," Spike said glumly.

"Rupert?" the frantic female vice penetrated the quiet room. "Please...help me! Please....I went back and now, they've found me! If you ever loved me, I beg you to help me now! You can find...."

The words cut off abruptly, followed by a shrill scream. Then....nothing.

Spike hit the button to replay the message.

Giles' lips were white. "Olivia," he muttered. He sat down suddenly, head in his hands.

"You know where she is?" Spike asked.

Giles nodded. "Yes, and I must go at once."

"Wait, first call the Slayer," Spike urged.

"No!" Giles' voice took on new firmness. "I don't want Buffy involved in this...this filthy business."

Spike blinked at him. "But..."

In one swift gesture, Giles ripped the telephone cord out of the wall.

"There! You can't call Buffy now," he said triumphantly. "And the sun's up, so you can't leave!"

He dashed up the stairs.

Spike stared in disbelief at the broken telephone cord; then glanced at the early morning light streaming through the window.

Giles hurried down clutching a small bag. "Tell Buffy I'll call her," he said crisply.

"Wait, where're you going?"

Ignoring Spike, Giles marched out into the sun.

Spike shook his head. "What now?"

It seemed to Buffy that she had barely dozed off before she was awakened by a pounding at the front door.

"Wha...ok, I'm coming!" She stumbled down the steps, tying the belt of her white terry-cloth robe toghtly around her.

She gasped at the sight that met her eyes. Spike on her porch, huddled under a fluffy comforter.

"Bloody hell, Slayer, let me in!"

Obediently Buffy stood aside as the vampire stamped into the house.

"It's Rupert." In a few brief words he told her what had happened, and Buffy lost no time in racing to the phone.

"Here, who're you calling?" Spike asked.

"The cavalry," she told him shortly.

Willow glanced up from her laptop in triumph. "Got it! Giles took an early morning flight to New Orleans."

"This is a great time to decide to go to Mardi Gras," Xander shook his head in dismay. "Probably not a hotel room for miles."

"Did you find out where he's staying, Will?" Buffy asked anxiously.

"Uh-huh. La Fontaine...it's in the Garden District. He must have lucked into a cancellation."

"Can you book us in there, too?"

"Here...who's us?" Spike inquired.

"I'm going." Xander's tone showed he'd brook no argument.

Buffy wasn't arguing. "Great! Willow?"

"Of course, You know that," the red-haired witch told her friend reproachfully.

"What about Anya?' Buffy asked. "And Tara?"

Xander and Willow exchanged glances. "We'll call them from the airport," Willow conceded.

Buffy nodded slowly. She knew her friends were both having a rough time in their respective relationships, just as she was with her boyfriend, Riley. Somehow demon-hunting and romnce didn't seem to mix very well.

"I'll get my car and pick you up in twenty minutes," Xander told Buffy. "C'mon, Willow."

Buffy ran up the stairs and threw some things in a small bag. She concluded she'd probably be hoime before her mother returned from a buying trip to Nova Scotia; but in any event she scribbled a note.

Then Xander honked.

As she ran down the sidewalk she was elbowed aside by a figure huddled within a blanket cocoon.

"Open the trunk," urged a muffled voice.

Xander automatically obeyed and Spike leaped inside.

Buffy slammed it shut and grinned. "It'll be a long ride out to the airport."

It was almost noon before they got a flight to New Orleans, but Willow played with her laptop and succeeded in getting accomodations at La Fontaine.

"There's always ways," she said smugly.

But on the plane they were all separated.

Spike glowered up the aisle, where he could just glimpse the Slayer's blonde head. She was seated between two handsome young men, both vying for her attention.

He turned a malevolent eye on the little old lady beside him, who insisted on telling him about her recent cruise to Majorca.

"Um, madam, I was just wondering," Spike began, cutting his neighbor off just as she was detailing her hunt for souvenirs.

Buffy was startled when the old lady touched her arm.

"Would you mind changing seats with me, dear? Your young man explained the special circumstances."

Mystified, Buffy glanced back at Spike, who assumed an innocent air.

"I understand. Of course you want to sit with the man you're eloping with." The old lady settled firmly into Buffy's seat.

"What're you up to, Spike?" Buffy dropped breathlessly into the empty seat beside him.

"Me?" he asked, cherubically. "Nothing, Slayer- just wanted some company!"

She turned to smile at him. "Guess I had better not leave you to your own devices too long," she agreed.

"Why don't you get some sleep, Slayer?" Spike suggested.

"You're tired too, " she demurred, noting the weariness in his eyes.

But she leaned against his shoulder, making herself comfortable. He smiled, and rested his chin against her hair. They both fell asleep.

"What do you mean, there's only one bed?" Xander stared at the attractive room with one large bed in the center.

"We were lucky to get it," Willow said regretfully.

But something in her voice caused Buffy to glance at her sharply.

Willow...Willow WINKED!

Buffy blushed; but gamely, she did her part.

"Don't worry, Xand," she said hastily. "You and Willow have this; I can share with Spike."

"Yeah, you're used to sleeping with vampires," Spike smirked.

Buffy glared at him. She'd been surprised to wake and find her self cuddled tenderly against him. But- he'd roused and gone right back to his old annoying ways.

Xander looked relieved; then hesitated. "You sure it's okay, Buffy?"

"Yes." She gave him a little nudge in Willow's direction and smiled warmly at the witch.

Then the door of room 316 closed behind them.

Spike eyed it speculatively. It hadn't escaped his notice that Xander and his demon-girl weren't spending much time together lately; or that she'd declined to move into the new place with him.

The Slayer's gasp recalled his attention. "Spike, look!"

He stepped down the hall to 319, the room at the very end. Instantly he understood the reason for the Slayer's reaction.

The other room had been nice enough in a modern fashion, decorated in soft shades of gold and blue.

But the one in which Spike and Buffy found themselves was very different. It was immense, with rosy chintz on a four-poster of Louisiana walnut.

"Nice, hey pe...Slayer?"

"It's gorgeous!" Buffy began to dance around the room excitedly. "I never dreamed...I htought it would be just like Xander and Willow's room."

"It's got a lot more atmosphere," Spike approved. Try as he would, he found it hard to wrench his eyes from that enormous bed.

"You know, Slayer, maybe we should rest...until sundown."

She frowned suddenly, staring at the bed, and his heart sank.

"Spike, do you think this shade would have been better for the dining room than the yellow?"

"Huh?" What was she talking about?

Buffy sighed in exasperation. "Our house, Spike. Back in Sunnydale?"

Relief swept over him. "No, he said hastily. "I mean, this is a good color for a bedroom, but the yellow is better for a dining room."

What was he babbling about?

But she was smiling again.

"You're right."

Xander hammered on the door.

"Hey- you want to get ready and go get something to eat? It's almost sundown."

"Let's." Buffy hurried over and murmured something to Xander. "Want to shower first?" she asked Spike expectantly.

"No, you go ahead," he croaked.

He paced back and forth, increasingly agitated, until she finally emerged from the bathroom, wet hair wrapped in a towel.

She was draped in another.

"Ok, your turn," she said cheerfully. "I can't believe how hot it is here."

"Yeah." his mouth was dry.

"But, I guess you don't feel the heat; anyway, not as much."

"I wouldn't say that, " Spike muttered, as he stalked off to the shower. He made it as cold as possible.

By the time he finished, she was already dressed. It was unseasonably hot, even for New Orleans, and she had coped by wering a simple batik-print sundress in soft shades of cream and indigo. Her long hair fell straight and shining in the way he favored, and she seemed to glow in the dim room.

If he'd been breathing, she'd have taken his breath away.

Xander's knock brought him out of his trance., and the four headed downstairs.

Xander handed Spike a plain paper bag. "I ran out to a butcher shop and got you this."

He was oddly touched; he was aware of Xander's long-standing distaste for vampires.

They decided to eat in the garden, a brickpaved courtyard with a tiny fountain splashing merrily in the center.

It was not yet really dark, but already the sounds of revelry could be heard from the streets nearby.

Spike ordered a glass of red wine, and surreptitiously watered a large plant with it.

"Spike!" Buffy said reprovingly.

"It's not hurt, Slayer." He eyed the shrub guiltily, then refilled his glass from Xander's jar.

When the waitress returned with their meals, Willow took the opportunity to question her about Giles. They had already dertermined that Giles had left the hotel soon after arrival; and had not yet returned.

"He's had a full day's start," Xander said glumly. "He could be anywhere."

"But he hasn't checked out," Willow objected. "So he must mean to come back here eventually, right? I left him a message at the front desk."

Buffy nodded. "If Giles hasn't turned up by the time we finish eating, we'll go walk around and see if we spot him."

"That'll be like looking for a needle in a haystack," Xander told her. "Though I bet I'd always find one of those fast enough...sticking right into me."

"Excuse me," the waitress was back with their food, "But Cecile thinks she remembers your friend."

Cecile was a slender, pretty girl with cafe au lait skin and cornrowed hair decorated with green, gold, and purple beads.

"The colors of Mardi Gras," she explained. "Gold for wealth, green for power, purple for justice."

She recalled Giles..." He had lunch here...it was still too early but I brought him a croque monsieur and some tea."

"Did he say where he was going?" Willow asked eagerly.

Cecile shook her head, the colorful beads bobbing. "He did not, but his friend..."

"Friend?" Xander said sharply. "Was she a black woman in her thirties, with a British accent?"

"No, It was a man." Cecile replied. "He was perhaps thirty, but he was cajun, not British."

"What did he look like?" Buffy inquired.

Cecile considered. "He was tall and muscular; and his head was shaved. He was quadroon, I think."

"He was what?" Xander blinked.

"It means one-fourth African-American," Willow explained. "There used to be fabulous quadrron balls here, where..."

"Where rich Creoles could choose girls of mixed blood to be their mistresses," Cecile supplied.

Spike heard a sudden edge in her voice and looked up sharply.

"But that was in olden times," Willow protested.

"Here in the Crescent City, the old times...and the old ways...are still with us," Cecile shrugged, and turned to leave. "I heard him, the man with your friend, mention Momus, so perhaps you will find him there."

"Momus is one of the krewes that parade for Mardi Gras," Willow told them. "Maybe if we go to the parade..."

Early as it was, the streets were crowded; and Spike frowned. He acquired a firm grip on Buffy.

"If we get separated in this sodding mob, we'll meet back at the hotel at midnight," he told Xander. The boy nodded and seized Willow's hand.

They came to an alley where several young people were braiding colored threads into girls' hair...instantly they targetted Buffy and Willow.

Laughing, the two hesitated.

"My hair's so short now," Willow pointed out.

But no matter the length, the stylists produced a tiny braid in seconds. When they walked on, both girls sported a narrow braid in the colors of Mardi Gras.

They worked their way along slowly. Try as they did to stay together, the jostling crowd pushed between them. Luckily, Willow's bright hair and pale yellow dress helped them keep her in sight. But the crowd was increasing, turning the streets into a whirling kaleidoscope of color; little by little, the gap between the two couples got larger.

Spike glanced down at Buffy, startled to see fury flash across her large eyes.

"Why, you..." she swung at the man standing slightly behind her.

He ducked hastily. "Hey, lighten up! It's Mardi Gras!" he smirked.

"We'll see how light you feel with a broken jaw!" Buffy snarled, preparing another blow.

"Hey man, she's a real wildcat," the guy told Spike.

His eyes raked over Buffy's body. "Doesn't look like she'd do much damage, though. C'mon honey, hit me...I'll like it!"

"I doubt that," Spike said calmly. "I know I never do."

"Wuss," the man grinned, grabbing at Buffy's breasts.

Spike watched with interest as the Slayer barely tapped him; and he went down like a log.

"I didn't really hurt him, did I?" she asked anxiously.

"No," Spike answered. Not unless a broken nose was hurtful, he decided. Still, better get her away...the crowd was becoming rowdy.

"What did the wanker do?" he wondered.

Buffy reddened. "He put his hand up my dress!"

"And?" he prompted.

"He pinched me!"

Spike chuckled, and she glared at him.

"He couldn't know he was pinching a Slayer, pet."

"Still," she began...

A large-breasted female thrust her assets at Spike.

"Look, cher," she gurgled, "all natural, no implants!"

"Very nice," he mumbled, pulling Buffy along.

"That woman was topless!" the Slayer spluttered.

"It's Mardi Gras," Spike explained patiently, leading her past a house with a wrought-iron balcony filled with women who were not only topless but also bottomless.

"They are totally naked!" Buffy gasped.

Spike's mouth twitched. "Not totally, Slayer. They're wearing their carnival beads!"

She opened her mouth to answer, then looked dismayed. "Spike! We've lost Xander and Willow!"

"Thought we would. Never mind, we'll meet up at the hotel."

He drew her down another side street where people were dancing to the music of a small trio. The laughing revellers caught at their hands, pulling them into the line of dancers.

Spike watched Buffy; she was laughing now, thoroughly enjoying herself. It always surprised him, how she could take such pleasure in what little bits of fun she could find in her life.

Sometimes he found himself wishing that she wasn't the Slayer; that she was an ordinary girl that he'd found before that chip had made it impossible for him to bite anyone. He'd have turned her, then, and taken her for his own.

But at other times, he knew that part of her attraction for him was because she was the Chosen One.

The music changed to something slow and langorously sweet. He pulled her into his arms, and they began to dance.

Spike felt peculiar, almost disoriented. He was dancing with the Slayer in a crowded street in New Orleans; and they might have been alone.

He looked at the tiny blonde in his arms. He had resented her, hated her, admired and desired her...he had even feared her occasionally.

But never before had he felt the reluctant tenderness he experienced at this moment.

It was a strange way of falling in love.

They made the trip back to the hotel in silence...a silence that was broken when they found Willow and Xander in the lobby.

"Buffy!" Willow shrieked. "We saw Giles!"

"What?!" Buffy felt as if she was about to faint; and Spike shoved her down onto a small bench.

"He was getting into a car with that man the waitress talked about," Xander told them. "But by the time we fought our way across the street, they were gone."

"But we found this!" Willow waved a stained, dirty envelope triumphantly in the air. "It's an invitation to a ball! And there's some directions scribbled on the back of the envelope, in Giles' writing!"

"A ball?" Buffy asked in disbelief. She couldn't imagine Giles attending a ball, knowing how worried he must be about Olivia.

"A costume ball," Willow explained. "So I got busy on the net, and ordered some costumes for us! Don't you see what this means? We have an in to this ball, and we're bound to find Giles there!"

Buffy didn't want to rain on Willow's parade, so she waited until they were back in the room before turning to Spike.

"Do you really think we'll find Giles tomorrow?"

"I'd say the odds have improved, pet." Spike studied her pale anxious face, and unlocked the mini-bar in the room.

"Have a brandy, Slayer."

Unthinkingly, Buffy took a large gulp and choked. Spike had to pound her on the back.

"I think that's enough," Buffy gasped She scrambled up to get ready for bed.

Spike chuckled, and finished the brandy.

Buffy returned clad in a tank top and cotton drawstring pants. She slipped into the huge bed, facing away from Spike.

"G'night," she mumbled.

"Good night, Summers." He stretched out cautiously, careful to allow no part of his body to brush against hers. From her regular breathing, he surmised she was already asleep.

Tentatively, ready to jump back if she moved a muscle, he inched closer.

He slipped one arm around her, spooning tenderly against her back.

Buffy sighed in her sleep; and squirmed back against him, as one hand dropped to hold his at her waist.

Spike smiled and allowed his lips to just touch her fragrant hair. Holding her was every bit as nice as he'd imagined it would be.

He hoped Giles was all right; and that they wouldn't find him too soon.

They both slept far into the afternoon as the jet lag, along with the brandy, caught up with them. They were eventually awakened by Xander's knock; he handed Spike two large boxes and another jar of blood.

When Spike turned away from the door, Buffy was sitting up in bed.

"Are those our costumes? I can't wait," she said excitedly.

Spike shook his head. "You won't have to; do you have any idea what sodding time it is?"

"No," Buffy said cheerfully, "but I'm starved. Order from room service?"

He ordered chicen gumbo while she showered.

"Mmm,it's good," she approved, eating hungrily.

Willow and Xander erupted into the room.

"You're finally up!" Willow exclimed. "We were going to wake you earlier but decided to let you sleep. We went shopping for souvenirs!"

"We got some T-shirts for everyone," Xander put in. "And we ate those powdered-sugar things...beignuts?"

"Ooh, I want to try those," Buffy said eagerly.

"Right now you'd better get dressed," Spike reminded her.

"Right- back in an hour?" Willow asked. "Buffy and I can help each other."

Spike realized he'd been effectively evicted from his own room and trailed Xander back across the hall.

"Want the shower first?" Xander offered.

Spike emerged to find Xander watching cartoons on television.

"I like Tom and Jerry," Xander glanced up and got ready to take his turn in the shower. "Funny how the cat can't seem to kill that mouse!"

"Nothing funny about it," Spike muttered, under the cover of the running water. "If he kills the bloody mouse, the cat's life has no purpose- so, THEN what?"

He scowled at his costume. It was a naval uniform circa 1814. Very becoming, with white pants, black boots, and navy jacket with a double row of shiny brass buttons.

Xander, on the other hand, looked like something from the frontier in fringed buckskin and moccasins.

"Willow ordered costumes from the time of the Battle of New Orleans," he explained. "So I'm one of Jackson's men and you're a naval officer, and the girls..." he pounded on the door, "are..."

"Stunners!" Spike stared at the vision before them.

Willow wore a pale blue dress with a high waist and puffed sleeves. The straight skirt was embroidered with silver acorns, and a glittering silver turban with feathers concealed most of her red hair.

Buffy's costume was similar; her dress was a delicate lavender and her blonde hair was piled high except for some distracting ringlets clustered about her face.

Both girls carried satin masks.

All four headed out; with Xander and Willow chattering animatedly.

"You're very quiet," Buffy said softly to Spike.

He shrugged, groping for a cigarette.

"It's the clothes, isn't it?" she asked with sudden perception. "Do they remind you..."

"They don't remind me of anything," he snapped.

Then he saw her face. "I...the people who dressed like you...weren't part of my world, all right? Oh, I saw them now and again out shopping, or riding in the park, but they were...untouchable."

"Oh." Buffy nodded, satisfied with his explanation. And he couldn't find words to tell her that her clothes reminded him that SHE was untouchable, too.

Or....had been. Once. Not so very long ago...

He brightened, remembering that she'd never even bothered to call her soldier boy.

The house was in the Vieux Carre, built inside a courtyard where a formidable guard was taking invitations. Inside the garden twinkled with miniature lights; they could hear the hum of music and conversation.

Spike placed his hand on Buffy's arm. "There's demons here, pet."

She looked carefully around. "And at least one vampire, over in the corner."

"Do you have a stake?"

She smiled. "Several."

The guard barely glanced at their invitation; evidently the guest list was pretty open. Instead he concentrated on ogling Buffy and Willow.

Spike glared at him evilly. "Wanker."

Buffy giggled softly; and he cheered up.

They swept into the ballroom with the rest of the crowd.

"Look!" Willow indicated a man dressed as a Spanish grandee. "There's the man who was with Giles at the parade. Should we ask him where Giles is?"

"Better wait," Xander advised. "Maybe we'll see Giles....hey, now what's going on?"

The man they'd seen was striding onto a small platform at one end of the room where the orchestra was stationed.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" His rich, deep voice boomed over the microphone, silencing the crowd.

"Welcome to my home! We are here to celebrate Mardi Gras; and tonight we welcome our own queen of carnival, Olivia Laveau!"

They stood in stunned silence as Olivia, magnifiucent in a strapless, full-skirted gown of flame-colored taffeta, swept in.

"Is...is that really...Olivia?" Willow whispered.

"I think so," Buffy whispered back. "It's hard to tell when she's masked."

"But, Olivia's last name isn't Laveau," Xander objected.

The tall man led Olivia onto the dance floor as the music began to play.

"Christophe Legrand," Willow said. "That's the name on the invitation, and he said it was his house. C'mon, let's dance over there."

Just as they neared the couple, they had some unexpected luck.

A woman dressed like Marie Antoinette, complete with a replica of the infamous diamond necklace, seized Christophe's arm.

"Please...I must have a word, Christophe!"

He hesitated, his golden lion's eyes on Olivia.

The other woman tightened her grasp. "For one moment..."

"Very well, Marguerite," he said curtly. He turned and accompanied her from the room, and Buffy seized the chance to touch Olivia's shoulder.

"Buffy!" Olivia lowered her sequinned mask, and her terrified eyes gazed into those of the Slayer. "You must leave this place at once! You don't know what..."

"We came here to find Giles," Buffy interrupted,"and we're not going without him! Where is he, Olivia?"

"You'll get him killed! Or worse. Christophe is a powerful houngan; if he knew..." Olivia broke off suddenly and laughed loudly.

"Yes, Bacchus parades tomorrow night," she told them gaily. "You'll like that one- everybody does!"

"Cherie," the man Christophe was suddenly at her side. "Won't you introduce me to your friends?"

"Of course," Olivia acquiesced, "if I had an inkling who they were! Who ARE you?" she turned to Buffy, still smiling.

"Buffy Summers, from L.A." gushed the Slayer, in her best Valley Girl voice. "We're here for the carnival!"

Willow hurried to the rescue. "Willow Rosenberg. We just love Mardi Gras! But I didn't get any doubloons yet!"

"Better luck next time, Will. Maybe Bacchus has a good aim," Xander tried valiantly to do his bit.

Spike concentrated on Christophe, and thought the man relaxed slightly.

The music was starting again, and he led Olivia away.

"Goodbye, everyone!" Olivia waved goodbye, then held out her hand to clasp Buffy's. "As we say in the Big Easy, "Laissez les bon temps roulez!"

She disappeared through a door at one end of the room.

"Now what?" Willow asked, clearly disappointed.

"Now we get out of here while the getting's good," Spike said grimly. Christophe did not look like the man who'd like loose ends, no matter how harmless he considered them.

To his surprise, Buffy made no demurral but followed him down the steps.

When they were outside on the street she told them why.

"Olivia slipped me this as she was leaving."

It was a small scrap of paper with the words, 'At the sign of the Black Cat.'

"I know of it," Spike said slowly. "It's a bar, not far from here."

"So, do we go there now?" Willow asked.

"Better not," Spike advised. "Not while we're being followed."

"Oooh." Willow's eyes widened.

"Let's lose him," Xander proposed.

"No, that will make him suspicious. Better make him think we have nothing to hide."

Buffy nodded. "Good idea, we just act like tourists!"

"Which we are anyway," Xander reminded.

Fr the next hour, the quartet wended their way through the Vieux Carre and then, very slowly, back to the hotel.

"Should we let him know where we are staying?" Buffy asked, concerned.

"Don't worry, we won't."

He settled them at a small sidewalk cafe.

"This will do," Spike decided. "He'll move on...or if not, get bored enough so that we can lose him."

He turned to their waiter and ordered a bottle of wine.

"We don't drink," Willow protested, eyeing the contents of her glass dubiously.

"You do tonight," Spike overruled her. "I want that wanker to see everyone getting tipsy."

An hour later, he was regretting that idea.

The trouble was, none of his companions was used to drinking. Soon Xander was silly, Willow giggly, and Buffy...affectionate.

And Spike didn't know how to handle an affectionate Buffy. The only prior experience he had was when they'd both been under that ridiculous engagement spell of Red's; and then he'd also been affected.

Not that he was wholly unaffected now. He swallowed as the Slayer leaned langorously against him.

"C'mon, pet," he urged feebly, "time to sleep it off..."

Eventually Spike managed to get them all back to the hotel and up to their rooms.

Here there was a slight delay, since Willow insisted Xander carry her over the threshhold, and he couldn't make it through the door without stumbling.

Spike listened to them laughing and swearing; and opted to let them be, he had enough problems on his own account.

His main problem smiled dewily and held out her arms. "Aren't you going to carry me in too?"

"Uh, yes, sure, Slayer. Half a tick, will you?" Spike cast a swift glance down the hall. There was no one in sight; so he quickly hoisted her over his shoulder and rushed into the room.

"Oooh, Spike, the room is spinning!" the Slayer squealed as he dumped her onto the bed.

"Um, do you feel sick, luv? If you do, go ahead...have a lovely sick, you'll feel better and you can go right to sleep."

"No," she said consideringly. "I don't feel a bit sick, Spike. Just...floaty. It's wonderful," she sighed blissfully.

"That's good, kitten. Now, let...uh-huh, shoes off...good. Long dress...yes, that's right. Now these...knickers, are they?"

"Don't you know?" BUffy giggled. "I thought this was the way the girls dressed when you were young."

"Not really, pet."

Not at all. Doxies and shopgirls, that's what he'd known; and to a lad with no money in pocket, their charams, tawdry though they were, remained an alluring mystery.

"You'd have been reserved for the gentry, luv."

She smiled at him. "Would I?"

He stared down at her, clad only in the frilly drawers and lace camisole; and his mouth went dry.

"Oh yes, pet. Worth a king's ransom, you'd be."

She gazed into his eyes, infinitely provocative; and he forced himself to look away.

"Why don't you go to sleep now, Slayer?" he said, emphasizing her title as a reminder to himself.

"'Kay," she said agreeably; and stripped off her undergarments.

His yell brought her up short.

"What?"

"Uh, nothing, pet. Nothing at all. Only, you're not about to sleep naked, are you?"

"Uh-huh. Comfortable."

"But...but..." he stopped, not wasting his time. Her underwear lay heaped beside the bed; and she was nestling happily under the covers.

Wildly he wondered what he should do: redress her, sleep on the floor...

But she decided for him. "Spike?"

"Yeah, Slayer?"

"Come to bed."

Automatically he started unbuttoning his tunic. "Yes, pet."

He never wore underwear; should he, now? Where would he get any?

The bed was too tempting. Naked, he slid in beside her.

"Nothing will happen," he told himself firmly. "She's had too much wine, she doesn't care about you, Spike me lad, she just....arghhh!"

Her arms around him felt so good, so very good. Nothing had ever felt better.

Wrong. Her mouth was better, he could kiss her forever. It was a long time since the botched spell that had seen them so overwhelmingly in love, but he still remembered the taste of her mouth.

And her hands on him were a tender torment...

"Buffy," he whispered. "Don't. I CAN'T stop if you do that!"

She tilted her head to look at him. Her hair had tumbled down around that enchanting face; he cupped it in both hands and stared into her eyes.

"Buffy," he repeated hoarsely, "I CAN'T stop!"

"Well, who wants you to?" she asked pertly.

Then she kissed him again, so tenderly it made his heart ache. He groaned his delight; and she giggled.

"You're drunk," he protested helplessly, "you don't know what you're doing..."

"I'm doing this," she breathed, "and this..."

That does it, Spike thought in resignation. He couldn't survive this, no man could bear pleasure so intense; but he didn't care.

His blue eyes begged. "Whatever happens...don't stop what you're doing!"

He grinned ruefully when he remembered some of his comments about her previous boyfriends...'sit up and beg;' 'Slayer's lapdog.'

And who couldn't wait to be the Slayer's lapdog now? Well, he'd always been Love's bitch- nothing new there.

He smiled ruefully down at the sleeping girl; and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

"Woof!" he whispered, as he finally fell asleep.

Across the hall, Willow held a slumbering Xander just as tightly. But she was wide awake herself, overcome with joy.

She thought about those she had loved: Oz and Tara. And Xander. Her oldest love was yet her strongest.

She wondered what his reaction would be when he woke tomorrow to the realization of everything that had happened between them.

But she wasn't worried. What had happened was natural and right; and she knew, with utter certainty, that this was the love she wanted.

Knowing that gave the strangest sense of freedom.

Moonlight streamed through the curtain. Willow rose, careful not to disturb Xander, and reached for her robe.

A full moon made her think of Oz. She'd never regret loving Oz; somehow, that had made it possible for her to love Xander even more. Tara, too...

Willow frowned ...what was that noise in the hall? Like a cat or something, scratching against the door. It would wake Xander!

Annoyed, she strode to the door and yanked it open....

Xander slept late, feeling the effects of both the wine and the intense love-making he'd shared with Willow. But he was grinning when he opened his eyes- he'd have a killer hang-over today; but it was worth it.

Strange though, he couldn't hear Willow. If she was in the bathroom, she was taking her own sweet time about it.

Suddenly he was sure the room was empty of her. An icy trickle of fear crawled across his mind.

He scrambled into his clothes in record time, and hurtled across the hall.

Spike opened the door...a barefoot, disheveled Spike, clad only in his black jeans and smoking a cigarette.

Xander raised his eyebrows; he hadn't seen Spike smoke in months. But he was too distracted to pay any mind.

"Have you seen Willow?" he blurted. "She's gone!"

Buffy was there beside him, her hair still wet from the shower. "What's wrong, Xand?"

"Willow," he whispered. "She's missing. Last night we...last night..."

"Yeah, we get the picture, mate," Spike interrupted harshly. "Too much wine, you fell into bed, it's the morning after the night before, and she regrets it!"

"No!" Xander's hurt sounded in his voice. "I'm sure she was happy. WE were happy, but when I woke up, she was gone. I think maybe she was kidnapped or something."

"Without waking you?" Spike said sceptically.

Xander looked stricken.

"Look," Buffy put in, "Willow knew we planned to visit that club tonight to search for Giles! So she wouldn't just take off and not leave a note or anything."

"That's right," Xander insisted. "She wouldn't."

Buffy pointed him toward the door. "Finish getting dressed and we'll try to find her."

The door had no sooner closed behind him than she rounded on Spike. "And just what was that all about?"

He shrugged. "What?"

"Being drunk, having regrets?"

He stared at her through smoldering eyes. "Well, you do. It's obvious."

"ME? Who didn't say two words to me this morning? Who's been answering in monosyllables?"

"Who couldn't wait to get away from me?" Spike shouted. "Who jumped out of our bed like it was on fire and raced into the bloody bathroom? Who wouldn't even kiss me?"

Her eyes widened; she looked at him in astonishment. Then, to his fury, she began to laugh.

"Don't you dare!" He seized her shoulders roughly. "Don't laugh..."

"Spike." Buffy smiled up at him tremulously. "All of that...well, I'm human. And humans need a bathroom, especially first thing in the morning."

She blushed rosily. "I just wanted to freshen up before we got into any heavy-duty kissing. And maybe...I felt a little shy."

She caught a glimpse of his eyes. "No! No regret, Spike! Just...shy."

"That's all it was?" he asked quietly.

Buffy wrapped both arms around his waist. "That's all it was."

He held her hard against his chest, unable to say anything more for a moment.

There was a frenzied pounding on the door.

"You guys ready?" yelled Xander.

"We'll be right there!" Buffy called frantically. "Spike..."

Spike chuckled. "Xander always did have a great sense of timeing, luv."

He grabbed a pair of her jeans and thrust them in her direction.

She stood still, biting her lip unceratinly. "But...is evrything okay? I mean, with us?"

He stepped towards her and touched his lips to hers.

"When we find Willow and Giles, I'll show you how 'okay' it is. Now get dressed."

He turned her gently towards the closet- and gave her a swat.

She gazed at him, speechless; but then giggled when he winked at her.

She was dressed in record time.

Nobody in the hotel had seen Willow.

"The desk clerk says there's no message, either from Willow or Giles." Xander's voice was heavy with misery.

"There's only one thing we can do; go to that club and hope we get word of them," Buffy declared.

"Miss." The young waitress, Cecile, called softly to Buffy.

"I have a message from your friend. The red-haired girl. She said she'd see you tonight, and you should wait here for her."

"Willow did?" Buffy's eyes widened in astonishment. "But where was she going?"

"She did not say- only that she would return this evening." Cecile glanced about nervously and fled.

The puzzled Slayer rejoined Spike and Xander.

"What do you think?"

Spike shook his head. "I think it's odd that the only information we get on either Giles or Willow- comes from Cecile!"

"Maybe we should force her to talk," Xander suggested eagerly.

"She's a very small fish," Spike demurred. "Someone else is behind this."

"Christophe Legrand," Buffy exclaimed. "I KNEW he was evil!"

"How?" Xander asked curiously.

"The way he smiled," Buffy said irrationally. She made up her mind. "Let's hurry!"

"Huh? What are we doing?" Xander demanded.

"Following Cecile, right pet?" Spike put in.

Buffy nodded. "And I bet I know where she's going to end up!"

Cecile made a beeline for a small club, below street level, where a jazz quartet played loudly. The club had no name - but there was a large wood-carving of a dancing black cat suspended over the door.

Although there was a muscular doorman, he seemed to be admitting everyone- the place was already crowded.

The club was smoky and dark, with tiny tables wedged into brick alcoves. Xander snared one near the stage.

Buffy clutched Spike's sleeve. "There!" she hissed. "It's Christophe and Olivia!"

The couple made their way slowly toward the stage; and as they did, steel doors crashed shut, effectively sealing the front and back entrance.

"Uh-oh," Xander muttered. "Guys, it looks like it'll be harder to get out than it was to get in."

The band walked off the stage...and from the wings came six scarlet-robed figures, bearing a long carved box.

"Hey...isn't that a coffin?" Xander croaked.

Christophe lit black candles at either end; and Spike recognized the ritual.

"Voodoo," he said softly.

"What?" Buffy asked, startled.

Spike seized her wrist. "We need to get out of here, right now!"

"Wait!" Xander was staring at the red-robed acolytes. "That one ...it's Willow!"

Christophe raised his arms and began chanting.

Xander started forward.

"Stop!" Spike ordered.

Xander wavered. "But what is he doing?"

"He's the houngan," Spike said grimly. "Come on, Buffy!"

Buffy had gone uncharacteristically quiet; she was actually swaying as the music- strange, haunting music, began to play.

Suddenly Xander yelled "Willow!"

The six acolytes had discarded their robes and now danced naked around the coffin.

Christophe led Olivia forward and she stretched across her make-shift altar. Everyone was dancing now- more and more wildly.

Both Xander and Buffy were struggling to reach the stage- and Spike knew he could not allow that to happen.

Someone had left the dregs of a drink on one of the tables; Spike dashed the contents full into Buffy's face.

She gasped, but momentarily at least, stopped swaying. Her eyes met his questioningly.

"We have to get out!" Spike screamed.

Buffy hesitated, looking confused....then nodded. They each latched onto one of Xander's arms and rushed him into the kitchen.

There were three small-paned windows above the sink- and Spike smashed them.

"I can't leave Willow!" Xander shouted.

Spike knocked him out, ignoring the pain in his head. Then he lifted Buffy through the small gap- and waited until he felt her catch hold of Xander's hand.

He heard noises behind him; he kicked backwards savagely just as someone gripped his ankle. There was a scream- but he was through the window and Buffy was helping him stand.

Spike knew they had only seconds before Christophe's men were in pursuit.

Buffy wavered. "Spike, what about Willow, and Olivia?"

"We can't help them now, Slayer!" he snapped.

Then he saw her face, and added quickly, "They won't be killed, they're needed for the ritual. Now come on!"

Between them they dragged Xander back to one of the main thoroughfares. A boy offered a beer to Buffy, and she took it with a smile of thanks.

Then she flung it on Xander. "People will believe he's drunk," she told Spike.

The tourists might, but not Christophe's men. Spike made a decision.

"We can't go back to the hotel, we'd be bloody sitting ducks. There's a place I know, near the river. If it's still there...if she's still alive...."

They ran and hid, and ran again...working their way through throngs of partygoers out to enjoy the last remaining seconds of Mardi Gras.

But finally- at one end of a narrow street between two warehouses, they came across the house- a large ramshackle pile painted barn red, glowing with tiny lights in every window.

Buffy eyed it dubiously. "It looks like it's going to fall down any minute."

Spike grinned. "It's looked that way for decades!"

He knocked at the door, and it swung open.

For a second, Buffy thought Cecile stood there, staring at them coldly. Then she noticed that this woman was taller and older than Cecile. She must be around thirty; and bore a certain resemblance to Olivia.

She looked anything but pleased to see them; but Spike was unfazed.

They ran and hid, and ran again...working their way through throngs of partygoers out to enjoy the last remaining seconds of Mardi Gras.

But finally- at one end of a narrow street between two warehouses, they came across the house- a large ramshackle pile painted barn red, glowing with tiny lights in every window.

Buffy eyed it dubiously. "It looks like it's going to fall down any minute."

Spike grinned. "It's looked that way for decades!"

He knocked at the door, and it swung open.

For a second, Buffy thought Cecile stood there, staring at them coldly. Then she noticed that this woman was taller and older than Cecile. She must be around thirty; and bore a certain resemblance to Olivia.

She looked anything but pleased to see them; but Spike was unfazed.

"I want to see Tante Louise," he said firmly.

The woman's eyes hardened. "She's resting."

"Non, je suis ici!"

A tiny old woman with prune-like skin pushed past the imposing goddess in the doorway.

"Spike! Mon cher, is that you?"

"Bon soir, Tante! Have you room for us?"

"No!" exploded Jacqueline. "Not tonight!" She pointed to Xander. "That one is not really drunk- they are trouble."

The old lady paid her no mind. "I know, Jacqueline. And where else should Spike come, if he is in trouble?"

"You'd better know the trouble first, tante Louise," Spike said softly. Hurriedly he related their adventures in the Big Easy; and the woman's shoe-button eyes sparkled.

"Christophe! I might have known! Calls himself houngan, but he is trash, that one!"

"Yes!" A remarkable change came over the tall woman. "He perverts the old ways in his lust for power!"

Tante Louise cackled. "But we are more than a match for him, Jacqueline and I."

Jacqueline smiled. "Gris-gris?"

"Oui, I'll see to that. You provide for our guests and find out what you can of their missing friends."

The old woman trotted off; and Jacqueline turned to them. "Come. It will take time to prepare the charms; and you need rest and food."

Buffy followed the others up the stairs, growing more astonished as they passed each floor. The furnishings in the old house became increasingly elegant until, on the fifth floor, they emerged into a richly panelled hall paved with figured carpet.

Jacqueline unlocked the first door on the left; and Buffy gasped in appreciation. The splendid high-ceilnged room was decorated in the rich colors of Mardi Gras, and long french windows opened onto an exquisite wrought-iron balcony overlooking the street.

Two immense beds sat side by side...they were curtained with a heavy gold gauze that made it just possible to see someone sleeping- but not to clearly discern that person's features.

Spike dumped Xander squarely into the center of the nearest bed. "If he wakes..."

"He will not wake before we are ready," Jacqueline said with certainty. "Tante Louise has seen to it."

She turrned around slowly, eyes raking Buffy. "If you require...anything more..."

"No, nothing, Jacqueline! " Spike said firmly. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"You are most welcome, Spike!" the woman's amber eyes glowed. "I am sorry to be so cold, just now- but tonight we have a very special guest...one who may just be the next president! That is why there are few others here tonight."

Smiling warmly, she left the room; Spike locked the door.

He caught Buffy's eye. "Safety first, Goldylocks! I don't think Christophe would dare come here, but..."

"Why not?" Buffy demanded. "What is this place, anyway?"

"A rather notorious brothel, pet," Spike admitted.

At Buffy's startled look, he added, "Caters to some of the most prominent in New Orleans; both human and demon, they don't discriminate."

Buffy sighed. "Sure hope my mother never finds out about this!"

Spike winced at the thought. "We won't tell her, pet. But we needed to see Tante Louise- she is a mambo."

"A what?"

"Voodoo priestess," he explained. "Yes, it sounds laughable, luv; but voodoo is a dark and deadly thing."

"But why is Olivia involved?" Buffy asked.

"Unless I'm much mistaken, Christophe plans to use Olivia to raise the spirit of Marie Laveau."

"The old-timey voodoo queen?" Buffy's eyes widened in dismay.

"Queen being the operative word, pet. Marie Laveau actually ruled the Crescent City from the shadows, with an army of followers to enforce her will. She wielded enormous power!"

"Through voodoo?"

"That, and blackmail." Spike said flatly. "Many of her followers worked in the hotels and restaurants of the city- they were in a unique position for finding out things about important people. And Marie used that knowledge! She's still a legendary figure here; and if Christophe can tap into that charisma, there'll be no stopping him."

Buffy looked worried. "I wish we hadn't left Willow and Olivia in the Black Cat! Do you think Tante Louise will be much longer?"

Spike nodded emphatically. "There was nothing we could do for them, pet. Not without powerful charms to counteract the spells! Now, why don't you get some rest?"

"You really don't think the others are in danger?" Buffy asked anxiously.

"It's highly unlikely Christophe intends to kill them," Spike said carefully.

"That's such a relief," Buffy sighed, not noticing his hesitation. "Guess I will try to sleep after all."

She kicked her shoes off and stretched out on the bed.

Spike stared at her longingly; but she was avoiding his eye.

"Spike?" she said at last. "You've been here...before?"

He couldn't lie. He sank down on te bed beside her. "Yeah, I have. Drusilla...well, she liked sharing this room."

Her eyes widened as she stared at the bed next to theirs. Xander was snoring softly, but they could see any movement that he made. Buffy said no more, just turned away with her back towards him.

Spike sighed and lay quietly, still looking at Buffy from the corner of his eye. Maybe she was angry and wouldn't speak to or touch him- but he could still watch her.

Because- pain lanced through his heart- this would be the last time. Soon, very soon now, she'd discover he had deceived her.

And then he would lose her forever.

When Jacqueline finally tapped on the door, both Xander and Buffy were awake and pacing nervously.

They were quick to follow Jacqueline down to a small back parlor crammed with overstuffed Victorian furniture.

"Tante will be here soon," Jacqueline promised. "But here are beignets and coffee."

Xander's face brightened as he took deep gulps of the strong, hot coffee. He and Buffy finished most of the beignets by the time Tante Louise finally appeared.

The old woman sank into a chair with a look of exhaustion. "I have been busy this night."

She placed three tiny leather bags on the table. "Gris-gris for you. You will please put them on at once."

It was not a request.

"What are they?" Buffy fingered hers uncertainly.

"A charm to protect you, p'tite," Tante assured her. "From the loa."

"Loa?"

"A voodoo spirit," Spike put in. "It possesses its victims and forces them to do its will.. The charm will prevent that."

Buffy and Xander looked at each other, than obediently placed the bags around their necks.

"Are our friends at the Sign of the Black Cat?" Xander asked tensely.

"No, they were there only at the start of the initiation," Tante exlained. "By now they've been removed to Christophe's."

"Initiation?" Xnder was alarmed. "You mean, into voodoo?"

"No, Xand, into needlepoint," Buffy said in exasperation. "That must be why everyone was dancing around in front of that coffin."

"Oui," Tante Louise smiled at Buffy.

But Jacqueline scowled fiercely. "That coffin contains the mortal remains of Marie Laveau! STOLEN from her final resting-place by Christophe! He thinks to compel her spirit to possess this Olivia, but he shall not succeed!"

"That is so," said Tante Louise calmly. "And Spike, since you wish to rescue your friends, we are of like mind. Jacqueline will take you to Christophe's now."

Buffy wavered. "One thing...Olivia seemed, well, the other night I felt she was frightened of Christophe and wanted to get away from him. But then, during the ritual, she...I saw..."

Tante looked puzzled.

"I saw them too!" Xander said. "Olivia and Christophe were having sex on top of that coffin!"

Jacqueline's expression darkened; but Tante Louise was unfazed.

"That was the loa, mon ami," she said. "Olivia was possessed by it and subject to the will of the houngan."

"You mean Christophe raped her?" Buffy was horrified.

"Non. It is possession...it is the loa who is in control, and the houngan serves its needs."

Xander whistled. "Like a human vibrator."

Then his face distorted. "Willow!" he choked.

Buffy's jaw dropped. "Willow...you mean, she was possessed by a loa too?"

"Most certainly," Jacqueline nodded. "You would have felt the effects yourself, mademoiselle, had you remained in that room one moment longer."

"You mean..." Xander was having trouble grasping what he'd been told. "Christophe! Did that bastard...hurt Willow?"

Jacqueline looked at him in sudden sympathy. "You don't understand; the houngan does take the acolytes, but it is at the urging of the loa! The loa is in control, and while it is, the human wants only what the loa wants."

Xander stared at her, dark eyes burning. "I'll kill him for this!"

Buffy turned slowly to look at Spike. "You knew, didn't you?"

His face was expressionless. "Yeah."

The crashing blow sent him slamming into the wall.

Spike didn't even try to defend himself, but Buffy pulled Xander off. "No, he can't fight you!"

"I don't care!" Xander looked like he wanted nothing better than to punch Spike again. "If we'd stuck around at that club..."

"You would have felt the presence of the loa." Jacqueline's voice held no doubt. "Without any gris-gris, you would have been Christophe's mindless creatures! Spike saved you, remember that."

Xander looked unconvinced; but Buffy was remembering the curious impulse she'd felt as she watched the ritual- the sudden urge to dance for the houngan.

To dance...and what else?

Buffy shuddered. She placed her arm around Xander soothingly. "We need to plan the rescue," she reminded gently.

Xander tightened his lips. "Fine. But keep Bleach Boy away from me!"

He stomped out in Jacqueline's wake; Buffy was about to follow when Tante Louise called to her.

Spike gave them a hopeful glance, then walked after the others.

Tante Louise patted Buffy's hand. "Don't be unhappy, p'tite. His concern for your friends is as nothing, compared to his love for you. That is the way Spike loves. Completely."

"But, he lied to me," Buffy whispered.

Tante Louise smiled. She pulled out a thin band of braided colored threads and tied it around Buffy's wrist.

"If you have need of me, untie this and I will come," the old woman promised. "Go now, and remember what I said. You are loved, cherie. You are so loved."

Buffy's eyes filled with tears as she hurried to rejoin the others. Spike looked at her, but she refused to speak to him.

Yet the mambo's words had had an effect. Rationally, Buffy admitted that there was nothing she and her two companions could have done against Christophe and his horde of followers. Yet somehow, irrationally, she still felt she should have rescued her friends.

"Delusions of grandeur," she muttered, as they approached Christopjhe's mansion.

The same doorman was there; but this time he was accompanied by a large Doberman.

"Christophe doesn't want visitors," Jacqueline observed.

Without breaking stride she led them to the back of the walled courtyard, and the spot where some stones had crumbled away to make rough footholds.

"I will go first," she instructed.

Jacqueline could climb like a cat, Buffy decided. In no time they were over the wall, landing in the shadowed farside of the courtyard where the guard couldn't see them.

But the dog stirred.

In a flash Jacqueline made a sign in the air and muttered a few words. The dog settled down again.

"Restless, hey Pompey?" the guard said cheerily.

Buffy sighed, glad she wouldn't have to face Pompey while searching for her friends. They enetered through a long French window that faced a tiny garden; and found themselves in a book-lined study.

"Christophe will be above," Jacqueline told them. "We'll take the back stairs."

"I have a better idea," Buffy broke in. "I think we should climb UP- to that balcony. Less likelihood of being spotted."

Jacqueline frowned. "I do not like the idea of climbing around on balconies, but it is perhaps the safest way."

One by one, they landed softly on the narrow balcony, shielded from eyes within by heavy damask drapes swathing the long windows.

Carefully Xander leaned forward and parted them, affording a view of the room and its three occupants.

On a huge circular bed, three naked figures writhed in passion.

Buffy recognized Christophe and Cecile...and then Christophe moved slightly and she had a clear view of the other woman.

"Willow!"

Xander's agonized cry brought heads whipping around to face the window; but Buffy and Spike were already moving, diving inside and rolling to spring to their feet on either side of the bed.

Cecile, screaming wildly, flung herself on Spike while Willow clawed at Buffy.

The Slayer was unnerved at having to fight her best friend- until she got a clear look at Willow's yellow eyes. Whatever she was fighting- it wasn't Willow.

The next instant she felt a stinging pain, and then her arm was on fire.

Willow slashed at her again with the thin-bladed knife; but Spike twisted her wrist viciously. Willow screamed and dropped the weapon. Then her eyes cleared; she gasped, and reached out for Xander.

Buffy managed to stay on her feet; Xander grabbed Willow while Jacqueline faced Christophe in a strange duel.

Both were chanting, arms raised...but then Jacqueline was sent flying back against the wall. She hit it hard and crumpled to the floor beside the unconscious Cecile.

Instead of taking advantage, however, Christophe fled, slamming the door behind him.

Spike hurled himself against it, but even his vampiric strength could do nothing against the ensorcelled barrier.

Jacqueline's eyes fluttered. "He has gone...for Marie Laveau. He will ...invoke her spirit! Hurry..."

"Now or never," Buffy decided urgently. She untied the braided thread around her wrist; and as it drifted to the floor she spotted the balcony and had an idea.

She staggered toward it, weak from blood loss. "Spike!" she cried, as her knees threatened to buckle.

The vampire was beside her in an instant, swearing loudly. "Bloody hell, Slayer, how'd you let this happen? Should've clipped the witch a good one!"

Xander growled at this but said nothing.

Spike stripped off his red shirt, tore off the sleeve and used it to bind Buffy's arm.

Xander seized what was left and wrapped it around Willow.

Spike swung Buffy up in his arms.

"I can walk," she tried to protest.

"Shut up, Buffy!" In one long stride he stepped across the gap to the adjoining balcony and set her down.

"Hand Red across," he ordered Xander.

Xander hesitated, but finally prevailed on a clinging Willow to take Spike's hand and climb over the railing. Next he hoisted Jacqueline over.

"What about her?" Xander jerked his thumb at Cecile.

"Leave her," snapped Jacqueline. "We can't carry her too!"

Buffy wondered if the last remark was intended for her, since Spike had once again picked her up. It was hard to tell since Xander was practically carrying Willow, dragging her along while she wept and shivered uncontrollably.

They found themselves in another bedroom- and Buffy gasped aloud.

A limp figure lay, bound and gapgged, on a green damask sofa...

"Giles!" Buffy cried out.

His eyes opened at the sound of her voice; but he couldn't speak.

"Put me down, Spike!" Buffy pushed at his chest, then rushed across the room to her Watcher. Frantically she untied the gag, and then the ropes.

"Buffy," Giles croaked. "Shouldn't have...come...don't know what you're dealing with."

A burst of silvery laughter echoed; they spun around to find Olivia in the doorway, her followers crowding close behind her.

"You're dealing with me!" Magnificent in her scarlet dress, she swept in. "You're dealing with the spirit of Marie Laveau!"

Her eyes blazed yellow as Willow's had; and Buffy realized that Olivia, too, was possessed.

But mention of the voodoo queen galvanized Jacqueline. "You? You're not Marie Laveau!"

Olivia's followers hesitated, eyes uncertain.

"She is Marie Laveau!" Christophe, now clothed in his red robes, thrust into the room. "Marie's spirit has returned to rule once more!"

Furious, Jacqueline lunged at Christophe, who seized her by the throat.

Buffy started forward, but Olivia raised her hand, and the Slayer found she could not move. A horrible sense of paralysis crept over her; she could see Jacqueline strangling.

Olivia laughed again, a mad peal of murderous laughter. "Now, you see? Who is Marie Laveau?"

"I am."

The quiet voice seemed to hang, suspended, in mid-air. Olivia's jaw dropped in astonishment as her followers melted away from her side, clearing a path to the door.

Through that door walked Tante Louise.

"Christophe!" she said commandingly.

He stared at her in disbelief, and allowed Jacqueline to drop. She rolled to her knees, face purple, hands clutching her bruised neck.

Then Tante Louise spoke.

Buffy had no idea what the old woman said; but she found she could move once more. She leaned over Giles and helped him up; he sagged heavily against her as the cut on her arm began to bleed once more.

Then Spike was there, taking Giles' weight from her, trying to help.

She looked at him, and whatever anger she still felt died.

He would help her friends because he loved her. But if it came to a choice- her life or someone she loved- then Spike would save her.

No matter what she wished.

No matter what he promised.

She found herself remembering a night years ago, when she had- as she thought- chosen to die at the Master's hand in order to fulfill the prophecy.

Buffy knew with sudden clarity that Spike would never have allowed her to enter the Master's lair- not even if he knew the whole town would have to perish instead.

He'd have shrugged his shoulders and considered it a fair bargain to have many lives lost for the sake of one.

If that one were hers.

And it was wrong; and Buffy knew it was wrong- yet something deep inside her thrilled to the knowledge of how he valued her.

She had taught herself to sacrifice, to put others first. Yet, she had to admit it was a glorious feeling...knowing Spike would put her first...and second, third, and fourth, for that matter.

Christophe was screaming at his acolytes; but Tante Louise still held them immobile by the force of her will.

Olivia slumped weakly to the floor as the loa abandoned her.

Tante Louise relaxed. "La curee est fini."

"No!" Christophe drew himself up defiantly. "I...I am the houngan..."

"No more." Tante shook her head, as a whirling column of wind enveloped Christophe and sent him hurtling backward.

Buffy saw him hit the wrought-iron of the balcony, saw it give way...saw Christophe, still screaming, plummet down to the cobbled courtyard. There was a sickening thud- followed by silence.

Tante sighed; and when she looked at them again the gold flash was gone from her eyes. She was just a frail old woman in a print dress, with white hair and bi-focals.

"It's time to leave," she said clearly.

Instantly the room cleared of Christophe's followers. In less than ten minutes, the entire mansion was deserted.

"You too, mes amis," Jacqueline croaked. "Soon the police will come, and you are better out of it."

"Will there be trouble for you?" Giles managed.

Jacqueline smiled. "No. Never, for us. Tante?"

Tante Louise smiled at them; then walked out of the room as quietly as she had come.

Spike realized that the six of them were now alone in the house. "We need to get out of here! Can you walk, Rupert?"

"I think so." Giles clenched his teeth against the pain as his circulation returned.

"Xander, help him," Spike ordered.

"Willow..." Xander began. "Can walk on her own," Willow mumbled. "I'm ok, Xand."

Spike lifted Olvia, while Buffy put her uninjured arm around Willow. Xander helped Giles as the six made their way out. They were careful not to glance at Christophe's body.

Their progress was slow; but one block from the mansion, Spike spotted two young women and a boy unlocking their van.

"Here!" he called. "Any chance of a ride? We'll pay."

"Whoa, some party?" said the boy with green-tinted hair. "What happened?"

"Bar fight," Xander improvised. "Some drunks attacked the girls."

"Bad luck," a girl with a head full of wild red curls told them sympathetically. "Sure, you can ride with us; where you going? We've been staying at a motel in Metairie."

"They got any extra rooms?" Spike gave her his best smile.

"Sure, lots of the kids checked out today."

"Great." Spike boosted Olivia into the back. "Ten dollars?" he offered hopefully.

The girl nodded, staring at Spike in fascination. "We're going there anyway. by the way, I'm Jessica."

Suddenly she remembered the other three. "Um, that's Robbie and Heather."

Spike would have preferred to skip the introductions, but he knew that might lead to suspicion. He gave first names only.

The tall brunette, Heather, drove the van with Robbie beside her while Spike struggled to head off questions from the inquisitive Jessica.

This gave him absolutely no opportunity to try to straighten things out with Buffy.

The motel was small and on the shabby side; but they were able to get three rooms.

By the time the sun rose, Spike was lying on the bed staring up at the ceiling. They all had tickets back on the nine o'clock flight to L.A.

And- then what?

The sun climbed high overhead, then began its downward arc.

Still the vampire lay unmoving. How would he go on, now that he'd lost her?

On either side of him were motel rooms with couples: Giles soothing a shaken Olivia, Xander comforting an unhappy Willow.

Only he was alone....he'd been alone before. But he'd never never known this kind of loneliness. Spike thought bitterly of the writer who'd once said that hell is other people. What did he know? Hell was being alone...

There was a soft knock at the door...reluctantly he got up. Giles, perhaps...or Xander, checking to see if he was all right. Like they even cared after this little fiasco. Probably blamed him, even though he'd had no choice.

Spike squared his shoulders, and wrenched open the door.

Buffy stood there.

He blinked in astonishment; gone were her torn jeans and blood-stained top. She'd showered and changed into a short black terrycloth dress with large wooden buttons.

"Hi," she offered.

He found his voice. "Where the bloody hell have you been?"

She flopped a hand vaguely toward the door. "There's a shop across the way. I had to get something to wear on the plane...and for Willow and Olivia too. Lucky that Giles still had his wallet!"

"You went shopping?"

"Sort of; I mean they only sell beachwear! But Giles felt it would be better not to risk retrieving our luggage, so...I had to get swimsuits to use for underwear!"

Spike's mouth went dry. "Let me see," he managed.

Casually she pulled the cover-up over her head to reveal a minuscule black bikini.

"It was the best I could do; but the shoes were a real problem." Buffy let the dress drop and held out one small foot.

Spike gaped at canvas sandals in an unusual shade of...

"What do you call that color?" he asked, distracted.

"Wicked Watermelon," Buffy answered complacently. "I got Evil Orange for Olivia and Lethal Lime for Willow; we'll look a sight but it's better than nothing!"

"They're very...bright," Spike commented dubiously.

They were blinding.

"Souvenirs of Mardi Gras," Buffy giggled.

"You want to remember this sodding trip?"

She stopped studying her outrageous shoes and glanced up at him.

"There were lots of bad parts; but...good things too," she said softly. "That's what Willow feels, you know. She doesn't remember much, but she knows what happened...wasn't HER. And Xander, well, they both realize now how much they mean to one another."

He was silent for a long moment. "What about Giles and Olivia?" he asked at last.

"Olivia is staying in Sunnydale for a while," Buffy explained. "Indefinitely."

She took a step closer to him. "So, I guess it's a happy ending, all around?"

"All around?" his blue eyes burned into hers.

Buffy went up on her toes, linking both arms around his neck, and pressed her mouth to his.

He reared back, panicked. "You...do you..." the words stuck in his throat.

"Yes," she whispered, kissing him again.

He picked her up, right off her feet, and swung her around exultantly. "Oh luv...!"

"Spike!" she gasped at last. "Air...remember?"

He set her down gently but didn't let go.

"Buffy." He said her name with a sense of wonder; and she sparkled back at him.

"Spike, I love..."

"What?" he urged, when she paused.

"New Orleans!" she finished triumphantly.

He glared at her. "Slayer..."

"AND you," she added hastily, kissing his nose.

He opened his mouth to tell some of the hundreds of things he'd longed to say...

There was a loud knock on the door.

"Hey! " Xander yelled. "C'mon, guys, the shuttle's here! We got a plane to catch!"

Spike gave Buffy a hasty kiss. Then he sighed.

"Me too, luv. And now, let's go home."

The End

TBC