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There were days when Spike forgot he had the ring. Those days, he would catch himself jinking through the shadows to get from the cabin to the farmhouse, and shake his head at himself – but not today.
Today, he had remembered, and was taking the pretty way, between the kitchen garden, and the paddock where The Lieutenant – the big grey – and Suzie, the quarter horse, were grazing.
He was still trying to work up the nerve to offer some of those horse-treats Riley kept in his pockets to their massive choppers.
Riding one of them – Suzie, most likely – wasn’t completely out of the question either.
Nothing was impossible.
As he made his leisurely way to the farmhouse, Spike held up his hand, admiring the soft green glow, as the Gem of Amara caught the light. He glanced up at the sky, enjoying the faint warmth from the winter sun, and remembered the time – it seemed a lifetime ago, in a galaxy far, far away – when he’d worn that other Gem of Amara, and barely escaped, un-scorched, from the Slayer’s blistering rage.
There were times when discretion was definitely the better part of valour.
But there were other times – other battles: epic or mundane – that you had no choice about: you were involved in them, whether you liked it or not, and to run away from them meant letting someone down.
This was one of those times.
Truth was, Al had just spent the last half hour on the phone to him, ranting and complaining: almost in tears, because her parents kept finding excuses not to drop her off at the farm each Saturday, as they used to, before his and Riley’s sudden leave of absence.
Al hadn’t seen them for weeks, and now they were back, it looked like she might not be allowed to visit for a good while longer.
In his head, Spike had classified this battle as mundane; but then he remembered: to a nine-year-old, every battle is epic. So he girded his metaphorical loins, and wandered into the kitchen.
When he sat down at the table, he briefly considered just starting to carve her name – but that might be over-playing it.
“’Becca coming over this weekend, then?” he asked Sarah, trying to make it sound like an innocent enquiry.
“I don’t think so, Spike,” Sarah said, dusting flour off her hands, and putting them on her hips. “Not this weekend anyway. Maybe not for a while.”
“What’s goin’ on then? Why –”
Sarah put a hand on his shoulder, then sighed, got a cloth and flicked flour off his tee-shirt.
“You have to understand, Spike – Frank and Betsy … well, Frank’s Riley’s brother. He’s been brought up the same way as Riley. But Betsy – her family’s a little … strait-laced. It’s hard enough for a frustrated beauty-pageant mom that Rebecca can never be a little beauty queen now she has that scar – not that the poor kid ever wanted to be. But the way I read it, Betsy’s more than a little envious of the influence we have over her – especially you and Riley.”
“Ungrateful … so-and-so …” Josh grumped, as he came in from his morning rounds. “You’d think she’d be happy ’Becca’s stopped chewing the furniture since she started taking chunks out of this feller instead.”
He indicated Spike with a wave of his hand, then plonked himself down, and spread his hands on the table.
Sarah placed a mug of coffee in front of him. “Betsy is grateful,” she said. “Well … relieved anyway. But you can bet she resents that Riley and Spike – two guys, if you please – seem to be able to get through to her daughter better than she can.”
Spike glanced from one to the other, happy to let them bat this ball around between them.
“If I know Betsy, she just can’t wait for something to go wrong, so she can wag her empty head – along with the rest of her ladies’ sewing group – and say she told us so,” Josh opined.
“Well, you’re not wrong,” Sarah admitted. She turned back to Spike. “While you were away, she kept calling, and trying to find out where you were, and what was going on. I’d have told her you’d run off to Metropolis, hopped up on Red Kryptonite, if there was a chance in hell she’d have gotten the joke.”
“Well as far as I’m concerned, Betsy can just take her attitudes, and stick ’em where the sun don’t shine,” Josh said. He took a slug of coffee.
“If I want to see my granddaughter, no prissy-faced evangelist’s gonna stop me, even if she is the girl’s mother.” He shook his head. “What Frank sees in –” Josh glanced at Spike. “Well, I shouldn’t say this in front of you – your head’ll swell up – but out of Frank and Riley, I’d say Riley’s got better taste.” He pointed his spoon at Spike. “You stick in my craw a damn sight less than Betsy-May, and that’s a fact.”
“Flattery’ll get you nowhere,” Spike responded, with a smirk.
Josh snorted. “Well, that’s a relief!” He gulped the last of his coffee, banged his mug down on the table, and stood up. “I’m taking a spin over there. Had some rope to take over to Frank, anyways. I’ll bring the kid back with me.”
“Shall I call ahead?” Sarah asked him.
“Nah … don’t give Betsy time to cook up any phoney excuses. I’ll just show up, tell ’em ’Becca can come back to us for the weekend, to give them a break, like usual. Make like nothing’s changed – which it hasn’t.”
Sarah nodded. “Okay – but be subtle, Josh. Try not to cause Frank any grief.”
Josh scratched his nose. “Subtle’s my middle name – you should know that by now.”
“Hmmm …” Sarah said. “If it is, it’s your best-kept secret.”
~~
When Josh’s wagon pulled up, Al leapt out, and Spike – waiting on the porch – got up to greet her, rather more eagerly than was cool.
She ran towards him, clearly delighted with the success of his mission, and Spike felt a self-satisfied smile breaking out over his face as he slouched down the steps towards her.
He was momentarily puzzled to see her elation turn to panic. She raced towards him, waving her arms, and yelling, “Get inside!” and pointing at the sky.
Hmmm …
As soon as Al reached him, she began to try to wrestle and drag him up the porch steps; Spike let her win the battle.
“What’s up, Al?” he said. “You gone doolali?”
“Have you?” She thwapped him, hard, on the arm. “Are you trying to kill yourself?” she demanded, pointing at the watery sun breaking through the clouds.
They hadn’t yet decided whether or not to tell Al what Josh and Sarah already knew, but it seemed like Minnie the Minx had worked it out for herself.
“Not gonna get skin cancer from a few minutes’ exposure in the middle of winter,” Spike said, deadpan.
Al glanced back at the car, where Josh was still messing around with whatever was in the trunk; then she stage-whispered, “Have you forgotten what you are?”
Spike tilted his head. “I’m a freelance dealer in historical artefacts –”
“– who never goes out in sunlight,” Al said, with deliberation.
“I burn easily,” Spike said, frowning.
Josh was now looking over at them with a quizzical expression, as he hefted Al’s overnight bag.
“– who gets all jittery whenever he sees anyone whittling bits of wood,” Al hissed, then tried to look casual, as Josh tramped past them into the house, pretending he didn’t know what was going on.
“Well, they might cut themselves,” Spike replied, all innocence.
“You wish!” she retorted. “Do I have to spell it out for you?” She tapped the side of her nose. “I know your fridge always has supplies of blood in it.”
“And just what were you doin’, spying on our perishables?” Spike demanded, folding his arms.
“I went to your fridge one day, to get a soda,” she said, looking a little guilty. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Well … that wasn’t blood, it was … raspberry coulis,” Spike lied shamelessly, just about keeping a straight face.
“No! It! Wasn’t!” Al punctuated her denial with hard little punches to various parts of his anatomy.
“Ow!” Spike flinched. “It was so.”
“It wasn’t! I tasted it!”
Spike’s face creased with disgust; Al grinned in triumph.
“We were making Black Pudd– Oh, bugger. You got me.” Spike shrugged.
“Couldn’t fool me!” Al said.
“So… have you … told anyone?” Spike asked, trying to sound like he didn’t care.
“My friends at school,” Al said, fluttering her eyelashes. “They think it’s great. I showed them your picture, and they’re starting a cult for you. They all want to meet you!”
“Umm …”
“All my coolest teachers know too. Oh, and my parents, of course.”
“You told –”
Al’s face broke out into a broad grin. “No! Dumbass! The ’rents only just cope with the ‘Riley’s boyfriend’ thing that I wave in their face every chance I get! If I told them that, their heads would explode!”
“So …” Spike examined his fingernails – “who have you told … really?”
Al gave him a pitying look. “I haven’t told anyone. Secrets are for keeping, or they’re not worth squat.”
Spike’s eyes narrowed. “You had me there, you sneaky chit.”
“Ew!
“I said ‘chit.’ Look it up on your broadband, Al.”
“So … who else knows apart from Riley?” She went back to whispering. “And how come you’re outside? Have you been de-vamped?”
“Nah!” Spike said. “Magic ring.” He flashed it at her.
“Wow!” Her eyes widened. She touched the Gem. “Pretty! Is that one magic too?” She pointed to the intertwined band of gold and silver-coloured leaves next to it.
“Only to me,” Spike said, feeling suddenly shy.
Fortunately, she didn’t notice he’d gone all bashful, intent as she was on pursuing her first question: “Who else?”
“Told your Gran and Grandpa – couple of days ago.”
“Before me,” Al said, pouting.
“Sorry.” Spike ducked his head. “You knew anyway.”
“But you were gonna tell me though, right?”
Spike studiously avoided her reproachful gaze.
“RIGHT?”
“Oh! Absolutely!” Spike affirmed, glancing over his shoulder.
“Look me in the eye, and say that!”
There were times when discretion really was the better part of valour.
Now was one of those times.
“Sorry Al …” Spike said, gazing distractedly into the middle distance. “I just remembered … gotta see a man about a dog.”
Al brightened. “Oh! Are you and Riley getting a new dog?”
But Spike had already vaulted the porch rail, and was making off across the yard.
Cursing a blue streak, Al set off in hot pursuit.
~~