Title: Book Review
Series: Magic Season (3/12)
Author: Kerry Blackwell-Dustin
Email: magicbox@whitehats.co.nz
Pairing:  B/G, W/T, S/Dawn
Further disclaimers etc in part 0

Fed and changed, Sionell was sleeping contentedly in the safety of her grandfather's arms.  She had been oohed and aahed and cooed over by all and sundry when Angel and Brianna had come downstairs again – including Spike who even went so far as to give up trying to look tough at the same time.  Giles had won the Battle of the Baby and he was leaning back in Dawn's sofa with one arm cradling Sionell and the other resting lightly across Buffy's shoulders.

Brianna was finishing up the tale of the minor poltergeist haunting her friend's summerhouse when there was a bang and clatter as the front door swung open.  This was followed by the sound of stamping feet and a softer thud as the door was closed again.

Tara entered the living room moments later, followed soon after by Hazel.

"I hung up our coats," Hazel was saying as she came in, "but Aunt Dawn's going to need another coat rack if anyone else..."  She trailed to a halt when she saw Sionell.  With a squeal of delight she was skidding across the room to slide to a stop kneeling in front of Giles.

He held up a warning hand.  "She's asleep.  Don't wake her."

Hazel shook her head, her promise in the action.  Tentatively, she reached out a hand and let just one finger barely touch Sionell's cheek.  The baby slept on, oblivious.  Hazel breathed out softly and looked around the room to find the baby's parents.

Angel was sitting in a large old armchair; his wife had abandoned any pretence of decorum and draped herself across him, half sitting on his knee, half in the huge expanse of the chair.

"She's beautiful," Hazel said softly.  "You're both so lucky."

Her voice was wistful, filled with a barely concealed longing that made Willow frown and exchange a worried look with Tara.

"Hazel, honey," Willow said gently, and her daughter turned to look at her.  "You've got lots to time to think about having babies.  You're only just twenty, love."

To Willow's relief, Hazel grinned.  "Oh, I know that.  But she's so tiny

and beautiful and amazing."

Brianna chuckled.  "You should hear her scream when she wants something."

"It's enough to wake the dead," Angel added with an expression on his face that could only be described as proud.

"Great," Spike protested, quite unable to let the opportunity alone.  "There goes any chance of me getting any sleep while you're here."

"Poor William," Angel offered without a hint of sympathy.

"William," Tara repeated suddenly.  "There's an enormous great box on the doorstep addressed to William Sanger."  She looked at Spike.  "Is that you?"

Spike was already on his feel and striding across the room.  "About bloody time," he grumbled as he walked.  "Didn't think the wanker was going to make it."

Tara blinked, looking at Dawn for further clarification.

Dawn shook her head.  "I have no idea.  When he needs a surname he usually just uses mine."  She chuckled, exchanging a glance with Buffy.  "He says he's so whipped by Summers women he might as well wear a sign."

Buffy couldn't help but smile.  "Property of Dawn?" she suggested wickedly.

Her sister laughed.  "No, but he claims using my surname is as good as.  I have no idea where the Sanger comes from."

Joy knew exactly what was in the box and had been in on the plan to ensure it arrived before Christmas.  "It's a play on the Spanish word for blood," she offered helpfully.

"I never would have guessed," her father commented dryly and Joy flushed.

Seeing it, Buffy shook her head.  "What have you been up to this time, kiddo?" she asked.

Determined not to spoil anything by caving under Buffy's steely don't- fool-with-your-mother look, Joy opted for going on the defensive.  "What do you mean, _this time_?" she countered swiftly.

Buffy held up a hand, obviously about to start counting on her fingers, and Joy knew she was doomed.  Spike better hurry up and get back in here or his surprise was going to be ruined.  Joy cursed herself for opening her mouth in the first place and tried to stall for time.

"So, did anyone else see Santa loose his beard in yesterday's street parade?" she asked desperately.

*****

Despite being over 150 years old and a big, bad vampire to boot (_Yeah, right_, whispered a small, derisive voice in his head), Spike paused before opening the front door again.  What had started out as a challenge and a game was now deadly serious and unexpectedly terrifying.

_Come on_, he told himself firmly, _stop being such a ninny and open the door_.  He cringed inwardly, that a word like ‘ninny' could still be

part of his vocabulary and hastily opened the door before his subconscious could embarrass him any further.

Tara had been right.  It was a big box, a _very_ big box, and he couldn't imagine how the courier driver had managed to deliver it without anyone hearing a thing, not even him.  It was about three feet long, two wide and other two high.  Spike, aware it was chock full of paper, judged it must weigh a ton, at least figuratively and possibly even literally.

He heaved it inside – easy work for a vampire – and set it down at the foot of the stairs.  He sat himself on one of the lower steps and pulled

a pocket knife from one of his jeans pockets.  The plastic binding broke easily and the sharp blade make short work of the packing tape.  In moments the box was open and all he had to do was fold back the flaps to access the contents.

He hesitated a moment, then growled low in his throat, annoyed at himself, and pulled open the lid of the box.  There was a printed letter

on the top that he ignored completely.  Under that, carefully wrapped in protective layers, were stacks of paperback books.

Stacks of the same paperback book.  _His_ paperback book.

It had been Joy's idea to bully Dawn's agent – now his agent too – into having the first copies delivered in time for Christmas.  It had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, but now he wasn't so sure.

It wasn't the Great American Novel, but he'd poured his heart and non-existent soul into it all the same and it was _his_.  Sharing it with Dawn was one thing; taking it in there now meant sharing it with her entire family.

He heard Joy's voice, sharp and defensive, coming from the other room and made his decision.

He'd survived Angelus, countless apocalypses and Buffy Summers finding out he was in love with her little sister.  He could do this.

Spike pulled several copies of the book out of the box and went back into the living room.

"...street parade?" Joy was saying desperately as he walked in.

She saw him, heaved a giant sigh of relief and flopped back into her seat.  "Uncle Spike's back," she declared as if this was some momentous event.  "Ask him."

Everyone was staring at him now.  Mostly they looked curious, although Joy was apologetic and Dawn was watching him with the gentle, curious look he loved so much.

"Spike?" she asked.

He summoned up a classic Spike-smile that he knew she could see straight through and sauntered over to her.

"Special delivery," he drawled as if it was nothing important and handed one of the books to her.

For a moment she looked at him blankly and he couldn't help the way his smile softened.  "Look at it, luv," he suggested quietly.

Obediently, Dawn looked down at the book in her hands.  It had a dark cover – slate grey and black – with a vague, misty face on it that it was barely possible to separate out from the background.  The title and author's name were printed in pale yellow in a wispy, decorative font.

"_The Night Calls_," Dawn read softly.  She looked up at him with glowing pride in her eyes.  "By William Sanger.  It's your book."

"Book?" Willow repeated curiously.

"_Spike's_ book?" Buffy added disbelievingly.

He opened his mouth to say something sharp, but Joy had leaped to his defence before he had time to do it for himself.

"Don't you remember, Mom?" she asked.  "Last Christmas Auntie Dawn dared Uncle Spike to write a book."

As he remembered, Giles chuckled softly.  "A romance, if I recall correctly," he added.

Spike glared at him.  "You got a problem with that, Watcher?"

Giles shook his head, careful not to upset Sionell.  "Not at all," he answered.  "But lots of curiosity."

Dawn was still turning the book over in her hands.  She hadn't opened it yet.  "I said if he finished it, I'd get my agent to look at it.  But Spike refused to tell me anything about it.  I didn't realise Adrian

had agreed to see about getting it published, let alone done it already."

"Wanted to surprise you, luv," Spike said gruffly.

"You did," she assured him with a smile.  "But how did you get it done so _fast_?  It usually takes longer than a year to get a book written _and_ published."

Spike looked embarrassed.  "Well, I'd kind of... well... already stared before you, you know, challenged me last year.  Gave me a reason to finish, didn't it?"

Dawn looked at him for a long moment, then she began to laugh.  "That's my Spike.  Last of the great romantics."

"Oh, I don't know," Buffy whispered quietly to Giles, who just smiled back at her, making her feel both gooey inside and smug at the same time.  Dawn wasn't the only Summers sister with a romantic man.  Although the idea of _Spike_ writing romance novels did tend to leave one speechless.  Unless, it seemed, you were Angel, who had started laughing uncontrollably.

Spike turned to glare at him, totally unaware he'd automatically slipped into game face.  Brianna was desperately trying to shush her husband and having little success.

"Angel, shut up!" she hissed.  "I think it's cool."  Her words had next to no effect and she gave up in disgust.  "I want an autographed copy, Uncle Spike.  Ignore Angel, he..."  She glared back at her husband, who was trying ineffectually to stop chuckling.

"Me too," Joy said firmly, coming over and taking the rest of the books from him.  Spike relaxed, his face shifting back to normal, and he watched while Joy passed the books out to the people in the room.  "Signed copies for everyone who isn't laughing," she declared.

Angel did manage to stop at last.  "As if..." he began and shut up abruptly when Brianna elbowed him in the ribs, leaving him gasping for breath instead.

Willow and Tara were sharing a copy.  Hazel tried to read over their shoulders until Joy gave her a copy of her own.  Brianna got one, but Angel didn't.  Buffy and Giles received one each and, with her job done, Joy settled back in her chair to study the book herself.

Spike found himself standing empty-handed in the middle of the room like a moron while everyone around him read in silence.  Angel had had stopped laughing and was reading over Brianna's shoulder.  For someone who had enjoyed being the centre of attention for the last century and a half, he felt an uncharacteristic desire to go and find some shadows to lurk in.

It was Hazel who looked up first, grinning.  "I like it, Uncle Spike.  Romantic with an edge."

"Instead of totally sappy," Joy agreed.  "I'm skimming, but I'll have to

read it all properly later."

Dawn glanced up from the pages and gave him a wicked smouldering look.  "That's my Spike," she said again.  "Romantic with an edge."

"Ugh," Buffy retorted without looking up.  "So not needing to hear that."

Spike leered at Dawn, unable to ignore the opportunity, then mimed biting Buffy.

"I saw that," Giles added, also without looking up.

"I'm shaking in terror," Spike retorted, but he had the good grace to pretend he didn't see the tiny smile that curved Giles' lips and was gone.

"You can’t talk," Dawn informed her sister firmly.  "You and Giles are the two sappiest romantics on the planet."

That got Buffy’s attention.  "We are _not_ sappy," she insisted, looking to her husband for support.

"You’re totally sappy," Joy agreed.

"And totally cute," Brianna added.  "Don’t ever change."

Buffy blushed, wondering how she could still be affected by such a comment after so many years.  But Giles simply marked his page with one finger and leaned over to kiss her gently and immediately nothing mattered but him, always beside her.

"I like the beginning," Angel offered, changing the subject.

Willow chuckled.  "So do I," she agreed, flicking through the pages to get back to the front of the book.  "William Sanger," she added as she reached the title page.  "Bad joke, Spike."

He shrugged.  "It works."

"It's rather clever," Tara said softly, always the peacemaker.

Willow had found the start of the first chapter.  "It _is_ a kind of catchy beginning," she conceded, and much to Spike's embarrassment, she read the first few lines aloud.  He listened to her, glad that vampires couldn't blush and she wouldn't know.

     It was a dark and stormy night when dead things walked.
     Both of which are, of course, clichés.
     But there are places in this world where the clichés are true. 
     And worse than you might imagine.
     I should know.  I'm one of them.

Buffy had been silently reading along with her friend and as she heard the words spoken, she frowned.

"This isn't about us, is it?" she asked suspiciously, waving her hand vaguely in the air to include everyone in the room.

Spike started to shake his head before the ex-Vampire Slayer could get pissed off with him, but Giles beat him to it.  "It's not," he assured his wife.  "I read faster than you, love.  I've read enough to know it has nothing to do with any of us."  He looked over at Spike.  "It's really rather good," he said mildly.

Now Spike _knew_ that if he could be, he'd be blushing.  "Thanks," he mumbled, hoping someone would say something and save him.

"No resemblance to any persons living or dead."  Dawn quoted the standard disclaimer grinning at her dead lover.  "Takes on a whole new meaning when vampires are involved, doesn't it?"

"Oh."  Tara's soft voice fell into a moment's silence.  "Oh," she repeated quietly.  She was holding the book now and Willow looked at her curiously.

"Baby?"

"I just read the dedication," Tara explained softly.  "Spike, obviously you can be sappy too."

Spike now knew without at doubt that sharing his baby with the entire Scooby Gang had been a phenomenal mistake.  Thank God Harris wasn't here.  As it was, everyone was flicking through their copy to find the dedication page.

He, of course, knew exactly what it said.  His own personal, clumsy attempt to thank the three people who had most changed his life; they were the ones who had made him who and what he was now, taught him to be a better.

To any casual reader the words on the page would mean little or nothing.  To the people in this room, it was like cutting open his chest

and offering them his heart.

     This book is dedicated to ~

     My Nibblet
     who believes in me

     The Slayer
     for our friendship, so hard won

     The Watcher
     my reluctant brother in arms

Everyone was watching him, three particular pairs of eyes saying things he wasn't quite ready to face.

Spike spun on his heel and walked out of the room, out of the house, into the darkness that was safe and familiar, even if it was no longer his friend.

His friends were back inside.

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