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Cold Spell revision 1.3a send bug reports, passive voice criticism, barbie doll clothing patterns to nikolai@broadway.net.au thanks to bek oberin for her invaluable advice on rude bits. "That looks spooky," Tara said as they entered the courtyard. She pointed to the Council retreat, a series of sprawling stone walls half-buried beneath a tangled mass of rocks and fallen trees, set half-way up the side of a Colorado mountain. "Giles said it wasn't haunted or anything," Willow assured her, shrugging out of a backpack that was bigger than she was. "Those rocks landed there after some huge battle with some dark force that happened back in the thirties." Tara closed her eyes briefly and nodded to herself. "How old is the building?" "Well, Giles said it was here before the Pilgrims arrived, but he didn't say who built it. The Council has been using it as a kind of holiday house in the Hamptons for, like, forever. Except it's in Colorado." Willow stopped by the broken, rusted iron gate hinge and looked around. "Listen to that." Tara cocked her head to listen. "I can't hear anything. Not even birds." Willow grinned at her. "Perfect, isn't it?" She rummaged through her pack until she found a small rock about the size of a golf-ball, carved into the form of a reclining cat. She stepped up to the two-metre-tall oak doors and placed the figurine into a niche in the wall. A few seconds later, creaking machinery inside lurched into motion and the doors slowly opened inwards, sweeping twin arcs of dust from the stone floor. Willow took Tara's hand and led her inside. She removed the figurine from a matching niche inside; as the doors closed slowly, Tara glanced up at the gathering storm clouds. "Looks like snow," she murmured. The retreat had seen better days; the curtains were starting to decay and the carpets were thickly layered with dust. All of the doors creaked; the doorknobs were made of ancient brown Bakelite and only one of the taps worked. Tara, who had some experience with plumbing in old buildings, let it run for ten minutes before they tried drinking the water. They spent the afternoon practicing Tibetan chants, accompanied by drum music from some scratchy wax records played on a hand-cranked Victrola record player. It wasn't until the sun dropped below the tree-line that they discovered none of the lights worked. "I guess the Council didn't pay the electricity bill," Willow decided after checking the antique fuse-box. "There's lots of candles. This shouldn't be a problem... should it?" Tara said as she gathered candelabra and arranged them on the huge wooden desk. "Well, it can get pretty cold up here." "We've got those sleeping bags that Xander loaned us." Just then, the sky darkened completely and it started raining. They exchanged worried glances. Tara lit a candle and put away the records. "I'll check out the firewood situation." "And I'll check out the fireplace situation." "Don't you think we should stick together? First rule of spooky old house exploring?" Willow smiled and they hugged. "Good thinking. But I'm sure it isn't haunted." Tara struck a match, lit a taper and used it to light the rest of the candles. "Do you think it was haunted once? A-and the ghost moved somewhere else?" "Somewhere closer to the mall? I guess they'd have to go through a, a ghost real estate agent. It's hard to find a good haunted house these days." The results of their searches weren't very encouraging. There was only one room in the building that wasn't locked and which had a fireplace: a sumptuous bedroom with a king-sized canopy bed. A bay window overlooked the tops of trees which were beginning to gather thick caps of snow. Willow stared out at the darkness, hands pressed against the glass. Snowdrifts were beginning to pile up on the window-sill. Tara entered carrying three small logs and a bundle of twigs. "This is all the firewood we have, unless we can find an axe and chop some more." Willow gestured at the snowstorm. "I don't think that's an option." Tara put the wood into the fireplace and went over to the window. "Oh." She glanced back at the fireplace. "That isn't going to last very long." "I think we might be in trouble." They opened their packs out on the bed and made an inventory. "Sleeping bags. Warm clothing, lots. Sandwiches, lots. Thermos flask with hot chocolate. Torches. Robert Anton Wilson paperbacks. Laptop computer. Socks. Mobile phone, out of range." "Do you think we'll get into trouble if we burn any of the furniture to keep warm?" "We might not, but Giles probably will. There isn't much left that's burnable, anyway, and most of the walls are bluestone. In the morning we can walk down to that ranger's station we saw on the way up." Tara looked worried. "If we make it through the night." "Oh, hey! Chin up! We've been in worse situations before. Well... I have. You'll see. We'll be fine." Willow went back to the window and stared at the falling snow. Outside, a dark figure moved over the snow towards the retreat. The last of the firewood burned down just after midnight, leaving a small pile of dark red coals which gave off very little heat. Willow and Tara huddled around the fireplace anyway, wearing almost all of the clothing they'd brought. Willow's teeth were chattering. "I've been racking my brains for ages, but the only thing I can think of is the Spell of Forlorn Encystment. All that does is transport you deep into the ground." Tara stared into the glowing coals. "I think I know one. Give me a moment." She breathed deeply for a few seconds then muttered something in old Latin and gestured at the coals. Pale fire flickered around her fingers; bright yellow flames flared up from the coals and died down almost immediately. "It's no good. We need something to burn." Willow stood up. "I'll get some chairs." The chairs warmed the room slightly, but they didn't last long. Willow stood back and regarded the dying fire. "I think we should, you know, huddle together beneath the covers to conserve warmth." Tara smiled and bit her lower lip. "If you think we should, I'm not going to argue with you." One of the sleeping bags was large enough for three people; the other was too small even for Willow. It had a large hole in the side and at one end, in large black marker, was written A. HARRIS GRADE 2. Willow tossed it onto the fire, looked at the other sleeping bag and then looked at Tara. Tara looked at Willow and smiled bashfully. Together they piled the blankets and all of their spare clothing on the bed around the sleeping bag and got in. "Do you think I should try that spell again?" Tara murmured in Willow's ear. "Well, that canopy looks pretty flammable. Why don't you just scratch my back a little and I'll scratch yours?" "Sounds good." By the time the coals had gone out they were kissing. "Ooh! Your hands are cold." "Here, this'll warm 'em up. Ah." "Hey, I like your socks." A white hand brushed some of the frost from the outside of the window, a slow circular motion clearing a space about the size of a dinner plate. "Well, well. Isn't this cosy? 'Willow and Tara, 'appy as can be, Bee Oh En Kay Aye En Gee.' Luverly." A few minutes later the voice whispered "Hang on... Bee Oh En Kay Why En Gee?" and a few seconds after that, enviously, "Cor." "Willow?" "Mmm?" "I've... uh, wanted to tell you. Ever since we first met. You have the most beautiful smile. Your lips. They're incredible. I just want to... you know..." Tara put her hand behind Willow's neck and brought her closer. "Oh, and I'm really glad you let your hair grow out. I think it looks -" Willow closed her eyes, smiled dreamily and gently nibbled Tara's lower lip. A tiny shock ran through Tara as the tips of their tongues met briefly. It reminded them both of the first time they'd kissed, of each occasion when they'd been able to find enough time together to get around to kissing. Tara paused and lifted her head. "Did you hear something?" Willow frowned, her eyes darting from side to side. "No... but I can sense something... outside." She found a thick cable-knit pullover [1], slipped it over her head, struggling to find the sleeves and not helped by Tara tickling her while she was trying. "I think it's on backwards. Whatever. Goddess, it's freezing in here." She slipped out of the sleeping bag and cautiously approached the bay window. She jumped back, startled, as a white face appeared in the clear space. It was Spike. He smiled winningly and wiggled his fingers by way of greeting. Tara came over wearing most of the blankets and Spike nodded to her affably. He wiped away shards of frozen sleet, pointed at the latch holding the window closed and gave them an inquiring look. Willow grinned, shook her head, gave him the finger and closed the curtains as Spike was mouthing the words 'Oh, come on'. She led Tara back to the sleeping bag and they took up where they'd left off. "He won't -" "He can't, unless we invite him in. Besides, he's still got that behaviour chip in his head. Don't worry. Here. Oh, yeah, right there. Ah. Oh, I love you." "Mmm." It got colder. It got a lot colder. Tara: "Are there any more blankets? No? Brrr. Maybe we should get up and jog." Willow: "I'm thinking that it's time to resort to extreme keeping-warm measures." Tara: "Extreme measures like the tease game?" Willow: "I'm afraid so. Who goes first?" Tara: "It's Thursday morning, and Thursday has a T in it, so it's Tara's turn to tease." Willow obediently turned around in the bed so she was sitting in Tara's lap. The mattress beneath the wooly beige soft cotton sheets was old, and the indentations of old springs formed ridges in places, big enough to slip an arm underneath a sleeping companion. Over a period of five minutes Tara drew the sleeves of Willow's pullover down over her arms, slowly lifted the waistband up over her shoulders and head. They stuffed the warm pullover down around their almost numb toes and Tara started on the long-sleeved windcheater with the purple glittery pentagram on the front (a gift from a Wiccan net.friend in New Jersey). Removing this was more difficult because Willow began arching her back and making soft sighing sounds, some of them almost moans, all of them very distracting. "Stop that," Tara ordered jokingly, hugging Willow tightly from behind and pawing tentatively at her breasts. Willow smiled in the dark and put her hands over Tara's, pressing them together. She pushed Tara's fingers apart, pressed them around her nipples and held them there with her hands until she was sure Tara wasn't going to let go. Willow closed her eyes and breathed deeply, feeling content, and wiggled her hips. A windcheater, one flannel shirt, track-suit pants, one big baggy t-shirt and one pair of leggings (i.e. approximately forty minutes) later, Willow could feel Tara's confidence growing. Her hands moved cautiously, slowly, but always sensing somehow where and when to scratch an itch, stroke a sensitive spot or simply pause palm down and plant a spreading patch of warmth. Willow couldn't decide if it was reverse-psychology when Tara gently grasped her hand and directed it down to the waistband of her panties ("Shouldn't it have been *me* moving *her* hand?") but decided she didn't really care. Tara's eyes widened in the dark. "Wow, you're really-" They were startled by the sound of soot falling from up the chimney. It pattered softly into the ashes of the fire and Tara withdrew her hand to hug Willow close. A faint voice came from the fireplace: "Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas. Oh, bugger. I think I'm stuck." More soot fell and then the ends of some strands of white hair appeared, dangling down from inside the chimney. "Uh, hullo in there? I hate to bother you this late, but I'm stuck up 'ere." Tara leaned up on one elbow and called out "Do you mind? There's people in here trying to sleep." Willow giggled and dragged her down into the depths of the sleeping bag. "Is that what you two were doing? Well, I hate to spoil your little pyjama party but the temperature in there is going to be about the same as the temperature out 'ere shortly, so unless you can find something to burn..." Willow said "I think there's one chair left. Let's go get it and, you know, put it in the fireplace and we can sit around toasting marshmallows while Spike's hair catches fire." "Wait! I can help you. But you have to invite me in." There was a pause. "Look, you'll both be dead from the cold in two hours' time. If there isn't anyone alive in the house then I don't need to be invited in. I can just drop in and hide from the morning sun in the basement." With a defiance she didn't really feel, Willow asked "So why don't you, then?" "'Cause I need your bloody help, you silly b- oh, for f- look, can't you just invite me in? I'm..." more soot fell, "... bloody 'armless, remember?" Willow and Tara exchanged worried looks. "Oh, all right. Come in, Spike." As Willow said the words Spike tumbled down and fell into the ashes, rolling to one side awkwardly and kicking his feet to free them from the chimney. He hastily got up and brushed soot from the sleeves and shoulders of his leather jacket. "Well. There's nothing like a dignified entrance." He shook out his hair and picked flakes of soot out of his ear. "And that was nothing like a dignified entrance. Still! I'll leave the Benny Hill routines to the likes of your mate Zonker." "Xander." "Yeah, 'im. Wha'ever. Now!" He started to pace with his hands behind his back. "You two are in a spot of trouble, aren't you? Slowly freezing, no firewood, no 'phone, no electricity -" Willow sat up in the sleeping bag and Tara put her head in Willow's lap. "How did you know that? Did you cut the lines?" Spike rolled his eyes. "Bloody paranoids. Stands to reason, doesn't it? If you had electricity, you'd be using it." He sat down on the end of the bed, facing away from them, and ran his fingers through his hair. "I came here to help you. I swear to whatever deity you prayed to last time that I didn't damage the power lines." Willow and Tara didn't seem reassured by this. "Don't worry, I have my own selfish reasons for helping you. Here." He held one hand out. An amulet dangled from a silver chain, a glowing red gem shaped like a heart. "A friend gave it to me. Put it on; it doesn't matter who. It'll help keep both of you warm until the morning." "And what do you want in return?" Spike turned around, crawled up onto the bed and pointed at his forehead. "I want you to help me get this bloody chip out." "Why would we do that? You'd just go back to your old blood-sucking ways." Spike idly twirled the amulet. "I haven't counted, but I think I've been on your side more often than not. Besides, you don't have much choice. You'll just have to decide whether it'd be better to have me biting people or to have your girlfriend turn blue. Oh, if you're hoping to be rescued by Buffy's Famous Five, keep hoping. I told them you were in trouble, but they won't be able to get up here until morning. The cold doesn't bother me, so I came first." Willow stared into Spike's eyes, alert for deception. "You told Buffy?" Spike waved his hand dismissively. "Well. I left a message on Giles' answering machine. Close enough." Tara whispered in Willow's ear, "Willow, I'm scared of him. But I'm more scared of freezing." Spike turned around, sat on the end of the bed again and started whistling 'I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas'; Willow didn't take long to decide. She held out her hand; Spike leaned back and gave her the amulet. It glowed more brightly and Willow felt a pulse of warmth flow into her arm. Spike stood and walked to the bedroom door. He paused in the doorway and without turning around murmured "Remember. We have a deal." He left the room and closed the door quietly. Willow gingerly placed the chain around her neck and dropped the amulet down the neck of her pullover. It settled between her breasts and glowed happily. Tara was counting on her fingers and had the expression of someone trying to remember something. She got to four and stopped. The door opened, Spike stuck his head in briefly and said "Riley's the fifth one." He grinned and ducked out again. They snuggled down into the sleeping bag again and became entwined. The amulet seemed to project a field of warmth about four feet in diameter; they wriggled around until arms and legs were within the field, almost rolled into a ball. Tara ducked her head under the front of Willow's pullover and slowly kissed her way up to the amulet. When her lips touched it, the gem glowed twice as brightly and the field of warmth expanded, giving them room to spread out. They stayed entwined, however. On the far side of the building Spike punched out a window, leaned out and hissed. "Dru. Over 'ere. Come on in. The sun'll be up soon." A pale figure wearing a ragged, wet black ball gown struggled through the snow. She dropped a pair of bolt cutters and reached up with black lace gloved hands to take Spike's outstretched hand. He lifted her easily and dragged her in, although the dress caught on the jagged glass and tore in a couple of places. She fell to the floor, stared up at him for a moment then dragged him down and kissed him passionately, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. "Okay, Dru. Tell me again why we're bothering to save the cuddle bunny twins." She closed her eyes and tossed her head back, exposing her throat to him. "I 'ad a dream, and they were in it. They're going to save us both from the Slayer one day soon. So," grinning as Spike nibbled her collarbone, "We need 'em. For the moment. Besides, they look so cute together, I didn't 'ave the 'eart to let 'em freeze to death. That's an awful cruel fing to do to witches. Almost as bad as burnin' 'em." "Okay. Shall we find somewhere to sleep? Or do you want to take turns peeking through the keyhole at the cute witches?" Drusilla kissed Spike again. "I'll go first." "sometimes in one's writing the passive voice cannot be avoided." - nikolai [1] Bek: this is known as globalisation [2] [2] or perhaps globalization.

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