“Are you sure this is the place?” Wesley had
stopped the bike on the edge of the small sleepy town and flipped the visor on
his helmet up before turning to face his passenger. He gazed up the quiet Main
Street and frowned – it was so small and sedate, the mirror image of any other
small Californian town on the coast. There was a generic hardware store, some
clothes shops, restaurants, a bank and various other commercial endeavours of no
significance. Not really a place to harbour a murderous thieving witch -- who
viewed human life as disposable, and a means to an end.
Diana nodded and pulled out the much folded map that
they had been using for the past night and day to follow the thief’s tracks.
To their surprise the Crone had barely moved from her hometown, both of them
imagining that with the untold power at her finger tips she would’ve migrated
to Los Angeles, or somewhere bigger. But no, she remained close to her former
home, one she’d lived in most of her life before latching onto her deceased
husband. Working her magic and using the pack for ill gotten gains with no
thought for the consequences of her actions.
There had been two more horrendous incidents where
Zorahia had used the cards to suck the souls out of innocents. The last one had
been only a few hours back when the strength of Diana’s spasms nearly sent
them both off the bike. It had only been his swift actions, and sheer
determination, that had prevented them both from being launched into the ravine
that ran down the left side of the dirt road they’d been travelling along. The
experience had given him a few more grey hairs to add to the rapidly sprouting
collection he was growing.
She slithered off the bike and knelt down on the
tarmac, her slim fingers smoothing the creases out as she traced the glowing pin
point that was her quarry. “Yeah, the old bag is here, somewhere around the
town at the moment. What shall we do?” Diana swiped at the sweat that trickled
down her neck; she was dusty, sweaty, tired and positive that Wes could smell
her from where he sat on the bike.
“A bit of surveillance first. I imagine we need to
know the exact layout of this place and also where she is based.” He revved
the engine pointedly then flipped his visor down.
“Seems like a plan.” She scrambled back on and
wrapped her arms around Wes’s waist. Diana closed her eyes and tried to calm
down; her nerves were building as they moved closer and closer to their
destination. It had all been good in theory - find the fallen Watcher ask him
for help, squish Zorahia and get the cards back. But now that they were getting
closer to their goal, Diana wondered if they would survive the experience. The
old cow had already killed three other people, four including Unca B – and now
she’d have a Diana with a side of Watcher served up to her on a nice plate.
‘I am way too young and cute to die…’ Not even the comfort Oscar was
giving her helped. She shivered as goosebumps chased the willies off her body
and she moved from freaking out to complete heebie jeebies. Idly, she wondered
what Wes would do if she screamed her head off in his ear. She sooo wanted off
this bike - her legs hurt and the pink helmet she’d thought cute was now
rubbing her head and was heavy - all in all she was tired and wanted a bath.
Within minutes they had circled through the town,
driving down Main Street and all the small side streets that lead to neatly
maintained avenues of clapboard houses. Each house was distinctive in its own
right, because of the brightly coloured painted facia boards, tidy front gardens
and verandas that were filled with flowering pot plants and porch swings. All in
all a very pretty and peaceful place to live, belying the cancerous tumour that
was Zorahia the Crone who hid amongst them. Both of them could sense the power
building in the innocent town, it emanated from a surprisingly large shop
standing on its own block that they’d passed on entering the town, a fortune
teller’s shop, a red neon sign in the window bearing the legend Madame Zee’s
palmistry and predictions.
“Can we go and get cleaned up before doing
anything?” Diana yelled over the wind, “I’ve got dust in places god never
intended dust to go!” She smirked as she tugged on his shoulder to get his
attention and pointed at the B & B that they were driving past, Wesley
nodded. He wanted to get organised and ready for the confrontation to come. He
wanted a shower, and he also had to get out of the leathers and into something
more comfortable – his skin needed a break and he was damned if he was going
to go into a fight with talcum powder lining his boxers. Imagine the humiliation
if he was killed and his family discovered that?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Another day and another bed. Hey, at least this
one is kinda fancy with the frou frou lace and all!” Diana dropped her
knapsack down with a happy sigh. She eyed the room with a slightly jaundiced
eye; it was painted pink, decorated with cherubs all over the place and had
pictures and stencilled on the walls. The bed was a massive brass iron affair
with white eyelet lace covers and soft pillows. Somewhere for a dirty weekend,
or a peccadillo or alternatively a passion filled Honeymoon. Not somewhere for a
Wiccan with a mission to clean up and re group, but beggars couldn’t be
choosers.
“I’ll be next door having a shower, and checking
weapons and whatnot. Call if you need me?” Wesley ducked his head and shot off
as Diana began to shrug out of her dirty jeans and kick off her sneakers.
“Good lord, woman, have some modesty!” he muttered as he slammed the door
shut and retreated to his room.
He hesitated at the door, wondering what fondant
fancy was waiting him in here. His hand wavered over the facetted glass knob as
the woman who rented the rooms fluttered around behind him, giving him
instructions on water useage and when breakfast was served. “Thank you,
Madame, you have been so kind.” With that he opened the door and stepped into
the room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Where the hell did you get that crossbow from? I
didn’t see it on the bike!” Diana reached for the weapon and hefted it
professionally; she squinted down the length of it, took aim and mock fired at
the moose head hanging over the fireplace. “Where did you hide it?”
Wesley’s room had been the complete opposite to hers; tartan wallpaper and
heavy brown furniture, a masterpiece in Scottish decorating in the incongruous
setting of a sleepy Californian coastal town. The crowning piece was the large
antlered moose head that Diana was currently aiming at. It had taken her about
five minutes to stop giggling at the décor before she settled down to do an
inventory with her partner.
Both of them freshly washed and dressed, mentally
prepared themselves for the inevitable confrontation.
“I have my methods; you’re not the only one with
magical inclinations, though I admit mine are nothing in comparison to yours,”
he teased. In the interim since meeting this dynamic girl he’d managed to do a
small amount of additional research on her family using an Internet café’s
facilities the previous night, and he was impressed. All of the family for the
last two thousand years were strong practitioners of White Magic, only following
the White Way. Which in itself was a revelation. Invariably there was one or
other member that would fall into darkness, be it for power or avarice. But the
Vacani family had not lost one of their own to Darkness, not unless you counted
the unfortunate Uncle Bartholomeo who had been murdered by his fourth wife a day
or so ago. His passing had been dismissed in the papers as suicide and not
murder, something that had made Wesley grind his teeth in anger.
“No, seriously, where the hell did you hide this
puppy?” she gently returned it to the bed which was littered with knifes,
stakes for some unknown reason and books. “What the hell are you planning to
do with these? Stake her out over an anthill for a while? You realise she can
walk in the sun, right?” She smirked over at Wesley before flopping down on
the floor and sighing. She pushed her wet hair back off her face and twisted it
into a knot at the nape of her neck, revealing a sleeping dragon resting his
chin on her shoulder, the rest of his body concealed by the long sleeved T-Shirt
she’d pulled on with clean jeans and bright yellow scuffed Doc Martins. A
small satchel sat by the door, filled with all the spell components she thought
they might need.
Wesley looked up from the quiver he was filling with
arrows, some regular and some more specialised; the latter being ones he and
Faith had designed in the days before she’d gone insane and joined ranks with
the Damned. The day they’d spent designing and creating them had been a good
one, and one of a few associated with the dark haired Slayer which he recalled
with some measure of contentment. It had seemed like they had found common
ground for a brief instant - until the mania created by her jealously over Buffy
and her lifestyle had set in and begun the rot. “It was in my saddle bag on
the back of the motor bike.
“Riiiiight, kinda cool that,” her eyes glazed
over slightly and she tilted her head to one side. “Be careful of the one you
are thinking about, I can sense something – something painful, fire, glass and
pain.” She blinked and came back to herself. Shaking her head Diana shrugged
at the questioning look in her partner’s eyes. “Sorry, I kinda zoinked out
on yah there, didn’t I?”
Wesley frowned and refrained from cross examining
the girl, realising she had no idea what she’d seen or said. There was no
point in asking as the redhead would have no memory of her vision, otherwise
she’d have said something immediately; one thing he’d learned with the
enforced intimacy of the last few days, she was nothing if not verbose. He
sighed, shoulders slumping and wondering what on earth the comatose Slayer could
do to hurt him anymore than she already had. She’d destroyed his reputation,
humiliating him in front of his disapproving father and in turn had lost him his
job; she was a symbol of his failure. Also he felt a deep and abiding guilt for
not being able to help her. To save herself from her own machinations. Faith and
he had failed each other and in doing so destroyed each other. “It’s okay. I
think –I’m nearly done.”
Trepidation filled Diana. Everything they had been
working towards was now in fruition and she was scared - determined but scared.
“You’re not going to change?” she gestured at the light cotton shirt he
was dressed in and the Khaki slacks and hiking boots he was wearing.
Wesley looked down. “Is there something wrong with
my outfit?” he shuddered at his less than manly words, all testosterone
fleeing the room as he began to twitch.
“Nooo, you look great, very smart, but at least
wear the jacket for protection ‘kay?” she dangled the aforementioned item
and smiled when he shrugged it on; it settled across his shoulders smoothly as
he zipped it up. She watched in fascination as all the weapons he’d prepared
were dispersed across his person, the quiver settling on his left shoulder
within easy reach for him to reload. Wesley picked up the crossbow and nodded.
“Ready?”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
With that they left the room and walked out of the
pretty house and into the sunlight about to face their destiny.
