Drusilla's right hand sketched the air as though she were brushing cobwebs away from her and then she touched her fingers to her forehead where the archaic symbol of Laibach still adorned her.
Whatever pleasure she had taken from the experience of being possessed, it fled now and her eyes glazed over slightly. Abruptly she leaned into him and Spike caught her, held her as she fell weakly into
his arms.
"My head's all fuzzy and crowded." Drusilla brought her hand away and gazed at her lover with troubled eyes. "Got something old and dusty inside my skull, Spike. Don't like it at all. It doesn't hear the calliope music, nor see the sparkly lights. It's all dirty, and not at all in the good way."
As he looked into her eyes, Spike felt nothing but rage. "Not to worry, love," he assured her, "your Spike'll make things right. Right as rain."
supporting her as gently as he could manage, he began to guide her away from the patch of shadow where the ancient evil had made its passage into the world.
"We're going on a trip, aren't we, Spike? The voice in my head tells me it's so."
He pulled her closer. "Yes we are, love," Spike replied, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. "Truth of it is, we're going home. The Big Bad has got some business to attend to in jolly old London town."
