DEAD RINGER
Chapter 2
IN THE STACKS
Spike stalked into the Sunnydale Public Library with a chip on his shoulder that made him forget the one in his head. What the hell was he doing here, anyway? He’d already been to the library at Sunnydale U. It was a big place, lots of books—and completely overwhelming. He’d had no idea where to start, and when he’d gone to the front desk for help, had the overwhelming urge to bite both students there—the male for being a prat, and the female—well, she’d just looked tasty. The frustration was palpable. He couldn’t concentrate in that bloody place, hence the change of venue. If this didn’t work, it was back to the drawing board. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of book bindings and dust—at least the smell was familiar. It was close to seventy-five years since he’d been in a library for anything other than mischief. This one had computers everywhere. Why hadn’t he paid attention to how Red had used that “laptop” gizmo? He was about to bag the whole notion, when…
“May I help you find something?”
Spike turned around and looked…down. At his right elbow was a petite, plump woman with salt and pepper hair, and glasses. She looked to be in her late fifties. Huh…your typical librarian-type…some things never changed. Her nametag read “Mrs. Licciardello.” Well, at least she didn’t make him hungry. And a glance into her inquisitive brown eyes told him this old bird knew her stuff.
“Okay, look. I need to do some, uh…historical research, and I don’t know how to use these sodding computers. So why don’t you grab me some books and I’ll take it from there, hmmm?” He shot her a look meant to be intimidating, condescending, and charming, simultaneously. It always worked. Well, it usually did.
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Young man, I’d be happy to assist, but you’re going to have to help me help you. I’ll show you how to use the computers, and find a few books to get you started. This way, you’ll understand the system—and you won’t have to bother with an old fuddy-duddy like me next time you come in here.”
“Hey, look lady—I don’t have time for this bollocks. Don’t you work here? Isn’t it your job to get me books?”
“First of all, young—“
“The name is Spike, and I’m hardly “young.” I’m more than twice your—gah, forget it.”
“Very well, ‘Spike.’ To answer your question, yes, I’m here to help you. But if you look beyond your nose, you’ll see there are other people using the facilities as well, who also need my help. If, by “bollocks,” you mean “nonsense,” be assured I have as little time for your “bollocks” as you do for mine. So, if you’d like to work *with* me, we can find what you’re looking for. Otherwise, you’re on your own. Oh, and would you mind keeping your voice down? Thank you.” She smiled pleasantly.
*Huh! Of all the bloody cheek. Listen to this one, then!*
But he had the feeling that if anyone could help him find what he was looking for, it was Mrs…what’s-her-name. So…
Spike blinked “Uh, all right then. Show me what to do.”
Learning the computer system actually turned out to be much easier than he’d imagined. Before long,
Mrs. L. had him set up with several histories of London, plus genealogy books for the “family tree” she thought he was researching. She seemed to enjoy helping him. Said this job made her feel like a detective. She’d have made a good Watcher—he could tell she was tough as nails.
As he pored over the volumes, Spike marveled at how minutely history was recorded. It was amazing the way you could find out just about anything if you knew where to look. He was beginning to rather like this place. He located information about William’s family “on line.” The librarian had printed out information from a site called Somerset House Archives. Yes…Gwendolyn Anne Martingale married to John William Kingsley, 1853. Twin boys, William and Henry, born April 3, 1854. Henry, deceased October 14, 1854.
*Twins?*
*Bloody hell. I—*he*…William. Had a brother who died.*
Then: Sarah Elizabeth Kingsley, born 1859. That was the girl with the curly red hair from his dream…William’s little sister. Her laughter rang in his head. The sparkle in her eyes reminded him of someone he knew now…someone who wasn’t too happy with his recent attentions to *her* sister.
*Jeez, mate—give it a bloody rest. Stop thinking about the Slayer for two minutes!*
He read further on. The part where William’s father died [“hunting accident,” 1860]; mother remarried [Randolph Chilton, 1863]. Mother died [Gwendolyn Anne Kingsley Chilton deceased, “household accident,” 1865]. Accident. That’s what they called it in those days, when a man killed his wife by beating her until she toppled down the stairs. Spike had dreamt about that, too. William had seen his stepfather that night. Witnessed the drunken rage that killed his mother. And knew, even as “respectable society” glossed over what Randolph Chilton had done, that the man was a murderer. Well, he’d certainly paid for it in the end, hadn’t he?
If Spike’s memory served, ol’ Randy’d made quite a tasty meal for a fledgling vamp and his lovely, mad sire. But the rest of the family was spared. He could see that Aunt Kate had lived to a ripe old age, and Sarah had gone on to marry one Edmund Daniels. She’d borne twins: Jessica and…William.
Why? Why had he and Drusilla not feasted on the rest of the family? They’d have been easy pickings, all tucked up sound asleep in their beds. He dimly remembered that it had been *his* idea to leave. Dru hadn’t been pleased at all.
“Bad doggy. Teatime’s not over and Miss Edith is still hungry! There are more dainties here.”
“No, luv, I don’t fancy the taste of these. I know a better place—there’s a party there tonight—it’s late, but I’m sure…”
“Oh, a lovely party? We’ll dance and drink magic wine. We’ll eat the fairy cakes and our tummies will glow! Let us go there, Miss Edith!”
And so they had. And William had met some old “friends.” Cecily had been sweet, so sweet, going down.
It seemed like a lifetime ago, but of course that was only in mortal terms. If he were smart, shrewd, savvy, he’d have hundreds more years ahead of him. But how would he spend them? Would he be alone forever? Did he have to be? What if he found someone who didn’t mind that he couldn’t kill? Fat chance, that. No self-respecting vampiress would have any interest in a neutered mate.
*But who says you have to be with a vampire? There might be another who would come around to understanding—maybe even loving you—eventually…*
“NO—SHE DOESN’T WANT ME!”
Heads turned, looking up from their books at Spike’s outburst. Uh oh—the librarian was heading over, and she didn’t look pleased. Time to get out of here—he was desperate for a smoke, anyway. Spike grabbed a couple of history books from the table as he strode towards the exit. Something beeped insistently as he passed through the metal gate, but he kept going. He’d bring the books back when he was done—no reason to get Mrs. L. in trouble—he kind of liked her. She reminded him of Aunt Kate…
********
As Buffy entered the library, someone brushed roughly past her. She wouldn’t have noticed, but for his scent, which was very familiar. She turned to see a glimpse of black leather, platinum hair, fading into the night. How could it be? *Spike?* At the library? This was just too weird.
Buffy headed over to Mrs. Licciardello’s desk. The older woman looked up and smiled.
“Hello, Buffy—here to pick up my best assistant?”
“You know it, Mrs. L.”
“I believe she’s in her usual spot—she finished her work early.”
Before heading over to Dawn’s favorite reading chair, Buffy hesitated.
“Hey, Mrs. L.? Did you notice a young guy—pale, platinum blond…”
“…Leather jacket, English accent—answers to the name of ‘Spike?’” the librarian finished Buffy’s question. “He just left—I helped him with some historical and genealogical research. Seems he’s tracing his roots. Strange young man, but I rather liked him. He’s quite bright—a friend of yours?”
Buffy blinked. Mrs. L. had struck her as a good judge of character—until now.
Could Spike be looking into William’s life? Why would he care to do such a thing? He’d always expressed contempt for his “mediocre” human existence. Maybe the chip really *was* changing him emotionally. But no, she wouldn’t—couldn’t—think about that possibility now. It would just make her job harder. Vamps were evil—end of story—no exceptions. Well, there was Angel, of course…
“NO—STOP IT!”
Once again, startled readers looked up, now at the blonde girl. Mrs. L. shook her head. “Something’s in the air, tonight…no doubt about it.”