Old Magic

In the east my pleasure lies...

Spike says Xander spends so much time in Cairo they might as well all move there for the spring, and doesn't expect anyone to take him seriously, which is, perhaps, a little foolish, because Illyria steals the company credit card and rents an old house on the outskirts, and by the time they find out, she's bought plane tickets as well, and really, they might as well go there.

Wesley takes up residence in the museum, and Xander finds cafes that sell coffee you can tap-dance on, illegal wine and legal tobacco headier than Oz's hash. Illyria drifts through temples and mosques, heeding the call to prayer in the setting sun as though she were the one invoked.

They all eat too much, addicted to spice and herbs.

Spike gluts himself on sun-soaked demons that are too slow to care, watches the Nile rise, dreams of water by moonlight and the power of Sekhmet. Drunk on beer and time, he feels the seductive pleasure of a blood richer and older even than Aurelius, the calling of ancient ritual that no-one truly remembers.

Wesley buys linen drapes for the walls, and ignores Illyria's paintings beneath them, outlining the history that she remembers in hieroglyphics older than the Great Pyramid. Xander forgets to carry a stake with him, and is safe.

They climb the pyramids at night, see the Sphinx under the stars.

They move slowly, forgetting to count the days, more themselves than they have been in years.

Egypt still holds old magic.