4 - The Completely Unexpected Return of Formerly Absent Friends

#

GHOSTS: The Magical Sciences actually know two different kinds of manifestations that are generally termed 'Ghost'. The first, also called Poltergeist, is actually a psychic residue of strong emotions that has been soaked up by an inanimate object, like the famed haunted house. This residue can manifest itself in a wide range of preternatural occurrences, but there is no guiding intelligence behind it and the residue fades after a number of years..

The other variant of a Ghost manifestation is an actual human soul that is unable to go on after death. Normally following a very traumatic death, the soul needs some kind of closure before it can go on to the true afterlife. During that time the Ghost may manifest all kinds of preternatural powers, having shed all limitations of the human body, but is normally confined to the place of its death and may continually relive the circumstances of the same.

Please note that this latter variant of the ghost is always caused by a soul that has yet to cross over the Ethereal Threshold (see separate listing). The only recorded occurrence of souls actually returning after having crossed the Threshold is the Restoration of Souls of the year 1907, where human souls were called back to inhabit the undead bodies of the Vampire population. There is no record of a human soul ever returning as a Ghost after having crossed the Threshold.

Rosenberg Index of the Preternatural, vol. XXVI, September 2057

#
 

Buffy's hand reached toward the door knob, faltered, then fell back to her side. Her Slayer sense was tingling like mad and it wasn't because of the Vampire standing behind her. Something was beyond that door, something preternatural, and the problem was that Buffy knew exactly what it was.

Spike had phoned them two hours ago, telling them what, or better who, they had found in the Hyperion.

"Want me to go in first?" Angel asked from behind her, clearly sensing her distress across their link.

"No!" Buffy said, clenching her fist. "I can go through that door."

Angel nodded, knowing that she might need some more time. It certainly wasn't easy for her. He only had to think what it would be like for him if it was his father waiting on the other side.

Rupert Giles hadn't been Buffy's father by way of blood, but in every other way that mattered. He had filled the slot left vacant by the man who had actually performed that biological act, but been a totally unimportant part of Buffy's life apart from that. Giles had been the man she turned to for fatherly advice, the man she had asked to give her away when Buffy and Angel had made their marriage official a few years after the blood bond.

He was the man whose early death had caused her so much pain.

Angel remembered how much she had cried the night Giles had passed away. How she had broken down at his funeral, not able to believe that he was truly gone. Years after that someone would say something that reminded her of Giles and she would grow somber, thinking of him. It had taken her a long time to come to terms with his death.

Now he seemed to be back.

"I can do this!" Buffy resolved and reached for the doorknob, quickly opening the door before her courage could abandon her once more.

The inside of the room was cold as a crypt, Angel observed. A side glance told him that the heater was turned all the way up, but there couldn't be more than five degrees Celsius in that room, probably less.

"Ghosts!" He muttered.

Spike and Faith were there, Angel had felt the presence of his childe the moment they had entered the building. Also present was Darla, not very surprising as they were using a building owned by the Vampirium as their Los Angeles base. Angel communicated silently with his Sire, he could feel her uneasiness almost as well as Buffy's. She, too, had been close to Rupert Giles. She had even offered to make him a Vampire when he was dying, but he had declined. She had mourned his death almost as long as Buffy.

Giles stood in the center of the room, the far wall visible through his transparent body.

"Hello, Buffy." He said. His voice sounded strange, different than Angel remembered. How did ghosts speak anyway? He would have to ask Willow that one.

"Giles?" Buffy asked, as if needing outside confirmation that she was really seeing him.

"I'm so glad to see you again." He smiled warmly.

Buffy slowly walked toward him, the beginnings of tears shimmering in her eyes. Giles waited patiently as she came to a stop in front of him, one of her hands slowly coming up to reach for him, trembling.

Where she expected her fingers to touch the rough texture of his tweed suit there was ... something. Not exactly thin air, but something else, something making the air heavy and cold, like reaching into a thick cloud.

That was all, though. There was nothing solid to be touched. Nothing at all.

"Giles!" She sobbed, a tear running down her cheek.

Angel appeared behind her, closing his arms around her. Giles could just look at her, see the sadness shining in his eyes. He wanted to take her into his arms, tell her not to be sad. Wanted to provide the comfort he had been able to give her so often during the nearly thirty years he had been blessed to spend with her.

Only he couldn't. He was dead.

Angel held his wife as she was softly crying, but looked over her head at Giles.

"What is going on here, Giles?"

"Yeah, will you get to the story already?" Faith added. "Everyone's here, just like you wanted. Now tell us how come you can appear like that, what with being dead!"

Angel gave her a glare, feeling Buffy tense in his arms with Faith's words.

"Just saying." Faith muttered, looking down.

"I am sorry for just dropping in like this." Giles said when everyone was looking at him again. "I would have liked to give you some kind of warning beforehand, but I'm afraid time is something we don't have much right now. Something is going to happen."

"We just visited with Willow," Angel said, "and she told us that her psychics picked up some kind of disturbance. That the souls of the dead are returning to Earth."

"You don't say." Spike added, looking at Giles.

"I should have known that Willow would be the first to notice." Giles smiled fondly. "I have managed to keep some taps on everything that happened after I ... well, went away. I hear Willow is doing quite well for herself."

"She is!" Angel nodded.

"Change of topics, guys!" Faith interrupted. "We were talking about some kind of big bad coming up, remember?"

"Yes, quite correct." Giles said, adjusting his glasses. "Essentially Willow has grasped the situation, this is exactly what is happening. Souls are leaving the ethereal dimensions and returning to Earth. Only a few for the moment, as the Ethereal Threshold is still quite solid, but the situation is only growing worse."

Buffy looked up at Giles again, sliding out of her husband's embrace.

"So what can we expect to happen? A lot of ghosts here on Earth?"

"That is just the beginning." Giles sighed. "The presence of disembodied souls alone could cause a lot of chaos down here, but that is not the main reason we came."

"We?" Angel asked.

"Well, yes. I have a companion who came with me when we crossed the Threshold. She will be here shortly, but wanted to make a visit to an old friend first."

Angel looked at him expectantly, but Giles continued with his earlier train of thoughts. "As I was saying, I am not so much worried about the increasing presence of ghosts here on Earth, but rather what their absence in the ethereal dimensions may cause."

"Such as?" Spike asked. "Are we going to get some pissed-off ethereal immigration officers on our case?"

"Something like that, yes." Giles nodded.

"I don't understand." Buffy said, looking at him.

"What I am saying, Buffy, is that the disappearance of souls is growing noticeable. There are powers in the ethereal realms that will not be happy about this. According to our information Hell has already noticed and is investigating."

Two Slayers and three Vampires stared at Giles, dumbstruck.

"Yes, I'm talking about Hell. I believe they are not too fond of someone or something stealing souls from them. And if they have noticed, than their opposites won't be far behind."

"Their opposites." Buffy said, not quite believing this conversation yet. "You mean ..."

"Yes, Buffy." Giles nodded. "Sooner or later Heaven will notice as well. And then we'll have lots of trouble on our hand. The biblical kind."

#

Eight time zones away, in a retirement home outside London, Wesley Windham-Pryce was slowly getting out bed, stretching his aged bones. 92 years old and he was rather proud that he didn't need any help in getting up or dressing in the morning. He knew that, with the way things were going, he would probably just fail to wake up one morning and that would be it, but he didn't much mind.

Looking back, as he often did these days, he found that he had lived a good life for the most part. Sure, there were quite a few things he would have liked to do differently if given the chance, but everyone had regrets. He firmly believed, though, that he had helped, in whatever small way, to make the world the rather good place it was today.

Walking across his room his eyes were drawn to the aged photograph standing on his desk. The picture of a dark-haired, dark-skinned girl, taken nearly sixty years ago. He closed his eyes, thinking of the most terrible night of his life. Regrets, yes. He knew all about regrets. There hadn't been many nights in the past sixty years he hadn't thought of her, hadn't thought of what he had done.

Angel had once said that Wesley was a good man, who had been forced to make the most terrible of choices. And as a good man, Angel had continued, he would never be able to stop wondering what he might have done differently that night. Wesley hadn't stopped wondering, not in sixty years.

He shook his head. Kendra was dead and there was nothing he could do about it. He had stopped letting it rule his life long ago, instead choosing to do his best to do the job that Kendra should have lived to do. It hadn't been an easy life, but a good one.

He started to shiver when the room temperature suddenly dropped like a stone. Something wrong with the heater? He checked, but the dial still held at a solid 23° Celsius. What was happening here?

"Hello, Wesley!" A voice called out behind him.

Wesley froze, sure that his old brain was playing a trick on him. This voice ... he knew it. He remembered it. The owner of that voice had never, ever called him by his first name, though. And she was dead. This couldn't be happening. She was dead.

Slowly he turned around, the cold no longer even registering. There was something there, something unreal and foggy, he could see the door to his room right through her.

Her.

Kendra.

The girl he had killed nearly sixty years ago.
 

5 - Trouble in the Higher Reaches

#

ETHEREAL THRESHOLD, THE: Term for the dividing line between the material universe and the so-called ethereal dimensions (see separate listing). Generally speaking it is the place where the souls of the dead pass on to whatever form of afterlife might or might not exist. There is no way known to Magical Science to tell what lies beyond the Ethereal Threshold.

ETHEREAL DIMENSIONS: General term for theorized plains of existence beyond the Ethereal Threshold (see separate listing). According to lore there exist a large number of such dimensions, all of them various forms of the afterlife. Please note that the very existence of these dimensions is pure conjecture. The ethereal dimensions should not be confused with the various demon dimensions that are known to exist, as these are actual material realms.

Rosenberg Index of the Preternatural, vol. XXVI, September 2057

#
 

"It is confirmed then?" The Throne Director asked, tiredly rubbing his eyes.

"Yes." His assistant said. "There is no doubt."

"Why me?" The director shook his head, feeling a very strong suspicion that the universe in general was out to get him.

"The Repository is our responsibility." The assistant reminded him. "As such ..."

A glare from the director made him fall silent. This was a bad day, he resolved. A very bad day. No doubt it would grow worse still, seeing that he would have to inform his own superiors about this without delay.

Should he send someone else to deliver the bad news? No, the matter was too serious for that, though it would have the advantage of sparing him a personal encounter with the people upstairs. There was a distinct possibility that heads would roll for this and it might just be his.

"I'd better get this over with." He sighed.

His assistant gave him a very neutral nod that nevertheless seemed to say, "Better you than me, buddy". Nodding back, the director stepped out of his office onto the balcony, closing his eyes for a moment to enjoy the soft wind on his face.

Below the balcony the City of the Host spread out in all directions, towering spires and sprawling domes gleaming in the light of the trinity star. The perpetually blue sky above was filled with flying shapes, their proud wings spread wide as they rode the air currents, going about their sacred duties without hesitation. Some of them were singing, their voices filling the air with sweet music.

The city below was, as always, buzzing with activity. There was no night here, never would be, and always more work to be done. The Adversary never slept either, they all knew that.

To the south he saw the sharp glare of the Forge, where weapons of holy war were produced and refined in preparation for the inevitable conflict with the Adversary. Gleaming steel, forged above divine fire, polished to a shine and laid ready for the warriors to put it to good use. Gleaming suits of armor, only waiting for someone to wear them, shone in the light of the trinity star, rows upon rows of them like so many tin soldiers.

Right next to the Forge was the marshalling field, where proud warriors of the Host were going through their training regime, keeping their skills sharp, ready to go into battle at a moment's notice. Seraphim warriors, they all lived for the moment the final conflict would arrive, waiting for their chance to smash the enemy, assured of their inevitable victory by the righteousness of their cause.

Battle, the director thought sadly. Today he would almost welcome it.

"No sense putting it off any longer." He mumbled to himself and spread his wings. Virgin white feathers unfolded from his back, murmuring softly. Catching the wind with practiced ease he leaped off his balcony, soaring into the open sky, basking in the light for a long, peaceful moment.

The Repository, his place of work and responsibility, a giant tower of black glass, quickly shrunk below him.  The millions upon millions of pulsing lights flowing inside it merged into a single mass of radiance, shining with the power of Heaven.

A power that was now in danger, it seemed.

If a flying man could be said to drag his feet, the director certainly did so. The flight from the Repository to the Spire normally took less than a minute, yet when he arrived at his destination almost ten minutes had passed. The guardians at the entrance gate eyed him as he walked toward them.

"Greetings, Throne!" One of the guardians said. "You wish to confer with the First Host?"

"Yeah, I guess so." He mumbled back, earning a strange look from his opposite due to his obvious lack of enthusiasm.

"Go in then!" The guardian said after a moment. "They are all assembled."

"Great!" The director nodded his thanks to the guardian and walked through the opening gate of the Spire.

#

"There is no doubt?"

The director shook his head, getting an odd sense of déjà vu as he thought back to his own meeting with his assistant just half an hour earlier.

"We have compensated for the usual drift. There is no room for mistakes. Souls are disappearing from the Repository and moving back toward the material plain. The rate of disappearances is increasing steadily."

He held himself rigid as the seven Archangels looked at him. The First Host. Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Sariel, Raguel, and Remiel. None of them looked particularly pleased at receiving this news.

Big surprise there.

"Any indication as to the cause?" Gabriel asked. The Angel of Death seemed angrier than the others even, the director thought. Maybe she had reason, too, seeing as all those souls she had brought to Heaven in the course of her duties might just be disappearing real soon.

"None so far." The director admitted. "My Thrones are working on it without rest, yet ..."

"It's a first strike!" Uriel, Guardian of the Pearly Gates, announced. "The Adversary must be preparing for the final battle."

"This kind of subterfuge might just be his style," Michael said, thoughtful, "but not even the Adversary would dare temper with the flow of the souls."

Gabriel paced the length of the conference room. "Maybe it is the mortals again. This has happened before, if you remember."

"It was different then." The director said, cursing himself a moment later for opening his mouth. Since he had begun, though, he might as well continue. "It was a single mass disappearance, not this kind of gradual process. I believe we are dealing with something else here."

The members of the First Host looked at him for a long, long time, then Michael nodded.

"Very well. Concentrate all your energies on finding the cause of this! The integrity of the Repository must be regained as soon as possible."

"Of course." The director said, bowing slightly.

"Whether he is to blame or not," Remiel remarked, the ruler of the lower Hosts looking worried, "the Adversary might take advantage of this. We should be prepared."

"We are always prepared!" Uriel thundered, hand flashing toward his sword. "Let him come if he dares. I would welcome it."

"Stop this!" Michael said, his voice causing the six others to snap to attention. "For the moment the peace between Heaven and Hell holds. Until and unless that changes we will not take any direct action against the Adversary. The Thrones will investigate on this side."

He looked at his six siblings.

"Since the souls seem to be drifting back to the material world, though, someone must investigate on the other side as well."

"I will go!" Gabriel announced immediately.

"Why not?" Raphael said mockingly. "I am sure turning mortal cities into salt and raining fire and destruction down on them will get you the answers in no time at all."

The Angel of Death stared at her sibling, the tension between them almost causing the air to crackle.

"This is no time for infighting!" Michael reminded both of them. "For the moment we need to act subtly. There might come a time when Gabriel's touch is called for, but right now it will not do to announce any kind of weakness on our part."

He turned toward Sariel, the messenger. "You will go. Find out anything you can. We know that Samuel Morning manifested on Earth just a short time ago. Investigate! It might be connected!"

Sariel nodded and her appearance changed, wings and celestial armor vanishing to be replaced by a simple business suit, complete with human features.

"I will leave immediately." She announced.

"Good!" Michael turned towards his remaining siblings. "We others must prepare for the worst, should it come to pass."

The Throne director, forgotten by the others for the moment, watched the events unfold with worry. Gabriel looked eager, the Angel of Death looking forward to practice her trade. Raphael was sad, the healer inside him no doubt weeping for the destruction that might follow. Uriel looked arrogant and eager as well, ready to defend Heaven against all attackers.

And Raguel, who bore the Trumpet of Judgement that would announce the final battle, kept his own council.
 

6 - The Price of Dreams Fulfilled

#

NECRONOMICON NOCTURNUM, THE: A volume of dark magic of unknown origin, containing magics and spells for all major arcana of night and darkness. Best known among these is the spell that worked the Restoration of Souls in 1907 (see separate entry). The Necronomicon is believed to have appeared several times throughout human history, furthering several magical events of notice like the infamous eruption of the Sunnydale Hellmouth (see separate entry) in 1741. Not much else about this book has been unveiled to the general public, only that it was destroyed at some time in the late 20th century.

Rosenberg Index of the Preternatural, vol. XXVI, September 2057

#

"It's really you, Giles!" Willow whispered, a look of astonishment spreading over her face. "When they told me ... I didn't really believe ..."

"I can't blame you." Giles smiled at her.

The group composed of three Vampires, two Slayers, and one ghost had moved their reunion toward the Los Angeles office of Magitech Inc, where Willow was already waiting for them. Giles hadn't said much more after telling them of the impending danger, only that he needed the witch's assistance to verify a theory he had.

A theory on why the dead were returning to Earth.

"I still can't believe we were talking about Heaven." Spike muttered. "I mean, we were talking about that, right? Angels and such. Real ones, with wings and halos, dressed in white sheets. We were talking about friggin' angels from friggin' Heaven."

"Get over it!" Faith mumbled, her eyes never turning away from Giles. Buffy and Angel were standing beside them, the blonde Slayer barely moving from her husband's side. Things had moved very fast for all of them, not leaving them any time to wrap their minds about what was happening.

Giles returning from the dead, bringing a warning of more ghosts to come and a potentially pissed off delegation from both Heaven and Hell right on their tails. All in the span of an early morning.

"I don't believe this." Willow shook her head after having been brought up to speed. "Heaven and Hell, I mean ... we tried for decades to find a way and peer beyond the Ethereal Threshold, but it never worked. And now you just appear and ..."

"Believe me Willow, I understand." Giles interrupted her gently. "Things have happened very quickly, otherwise I would have tried to unveil all this a bit more gently. As it stands, though, we haven't much time. The Ethereal Threshold is not as solid as it used to be and I need you in order to verify a theory I have as to the cause of it."

Angel, his arm wrapped protectively around his rattled wife, had suspicions of his own. It was not in what Giles had said, but in the way the Watcher had looked at him a few times when he thought the Vampire to be distracted. A look of sadness and regret.

Angel had a horrible suspicion that he knew the cause of all this.

"The Ethereal Threshold is a one-way barrier." Willow explained. "Only souls can pass through it and only in one direction. From here to ... wherever."

"One way ticket to Hell!" Faith murmured.

"Or Heaven." Giles added. "Or a million other places. But that is not what's important right now."

Buffy could see Willow reign in her natural curiosity, though with difficulty. Knowing her friend, the old witch would like nothing better than to milk Giles for everything he had learned in the thirty odd years he had been dead and ... Giles was dead. Buffy shook her head. He was here, but he was dead. She wasn't going to get used to this anytime soon.

"You all right?" Angel asked her, sensing her distress.

"I wouldn't call it that." She replied honestly. "I have a very bad feeling about this, Angel."

"I know what you mean."

Giles and Willow started talking about some kind of spell specifics that quickly caused the rest of the people present to lose track of the conversation. Angel tuned out the witch's excited voice and the strange ghostly murmur that had replaced Giles' British-tinged baritone, concentrating instead on his friends.

Spike looked as if he was only just catching up with everything that had gone down. Angel wondered how long his oldest friend would need to start thinking about one particular dead person that could possibly return if Giles was right. One he had lost so many decades ago.

By his side Faith seemed jumpy, wringing her hands and looking for something to do. Angel smiled. 75 years old and still the same bundle of energy that had tried to scratch his eyes out when they had first met over sixty years ago.

Darla stood alone, looking everywhere except at Giles. Angel knew that the two of them had not been the same kind of soulmates that he and Buffy were, yet Giles had been Darla's first love after the return of her soul. Remembering the few times she had spoken of her human lifetime, maybe her first love ever. There had been others since Giles had died, quite a few actually, but Angel knew that one never forgot that first love. Even if one moved on.

"A spell like this will need some preparation." Willow said, dragging Angel's thoughts back to the matter at hand. "I think we have all the necessary equipment here at the LA office, as well as all the experienced witches we need, but you can't work that kind of magic on the spot."

"I know." Giles nodded. "How much time will you need?"

Willow rubbed her forehead, feeling the tiredness already seeping into her old bones.

"We might get things started in a few hours. I have to see who is here to help me with this."

Willow took out her com, calling up Sally to help her organize everything. Giles turned toward the others.

"You might all want to catch a few hours of sleep until Willow gets the spell ready. I'm afraid there is nothing more to be done until then."

For a time no one moved, none of them able to even consider just going to bed now. Not after everything they had learned today.

"What the hell!" Faith murmured, breaking the silence. "Some time in the sack will work wonders maybe."

"Does nothing ever slow you down, pet?" Spike asked, draping an arm around her shoulder. "I know this is all just some excuse to drag me off to bed, you know."

"As if!" Faiths snorted. Together they left the room.

"We might as well try and rest, I guess." Angel said, squeezing Buffy's shoulder.

"There are some rooms for employee's to rest in on this floor." Willow called over from her desk. "You can use those."

Angel nodded. "I'll be along in a minute, beloved. Why don't you go pick us out a room."

Buffy looked at him strangely, not liking the impressions she was receiving across their bond. Sixty years of being linked through their blood had taught her a lot about how to read even her husband's most stoic expressions, yet right now she could not make sense of what she sensed from him.

"Sure." She said slowly. "And then you'll tell me what is bothering you so much, right?"

He smiled, knowing that the time he might have been able to fool her was long past, if it had ever existed at all.

"I will." He promised.

Buffy left, leaving Angel alone with a busy Willow and Giles, as Darla had made a quiet exit some moments earlier. The Vampire turned to face the ghost.

"You already know what is causing this." Angel told Giles. "I think we both do."

Giles looked down, nodding sadly. "I hope this spell will prove me wrong. I pray that it will."

"Let us both pray then." Angel whispered, turning to follow his wife.

#

Faith had apparently slept like a rock, an ability that Buffy greatly envied. Spike seemed a bit more rested as well, though where there had been confusion in his eyes before their little break she know saw a curious mixture of hope and dread.

Angel had remarked to her that he might just be thinking about Drusilla.

Buffy had tossed and turned on her bed, not sleeping more than a few minutes at a time before her whirlwind thoughts shook her away again. She was thinking of Giles, of ghosts returning to Earth. Thinking of all the people she had lost during her prolonged life. Her mother. Some of her best friends. Xander. Cordelia. Tara. So many others that time had taken away. Would they all come back now?

Angel was not the kind to toss and turn, that much she knew. He had just lain down, but his eyes had never closed, not once. They had stared straight ahead, yet seen nothing. Her husband had been lost in deep thought all through their short night (which had been a day, actually) and barely uttered more than a few words.

What little he had voiced about his worries, though, had not furthered her ability to sleep calmly.

When Willow called them to meet her in some kind of large conference chamber, the spell she and Giles had worked out was already under way. About a dozen witches were sitting in a circle, their ages ranging from the very young to those almost as old as Willow. The owner of Magitech was sitting with the others, lost in deep concentration.

"It's essentially a probing spell." Giles whispered to them, not wanting to disturb the magic they could all feel building in the air around them. "Only of the very powerful kind."

"Is this mumbo jumbo gonna tells us what's tearing down the walls between the living and the rest?" Faith asked.

"We hope so, yes. Willow and her coven will probe the Threshold and try to find the origin of its weakening. With the added information I could give her about it she should be able to succeed."

"Added information?" Buffy looked at him.

"I have passed through the Threshold twice now." Giles said. "One picks up a few things along the way."

Buffy waited for him to say more, but he didn't. Turning her attention back to the circle of witches, she could see a faint shimmer of energy in the air above the circle's center. A shimmer that was growing stronger as they watched.

"That which divides!" Willow murmured. "Unveil that which divides!"

"Unveil!" The other witches chorused.

"Secrets of the between, unfold!"

"Unfold!"

The energy began to ripple and churn, a wind picking up inside the closed room. None of the witches seemed to notice, they were all completely immersed in their spell.

"It's supposed to be this way, right?" Spike asked.

"Unfold!" Willow yelled. The energy exploded into brilliance.

A heartbeat later the room returned to normal.

"Willow!" Buffy moved quickly to her friend's side as the old woman collapsed, as did several other witches around the circle. Some remained upright, mostly the younger ones, yet they, too, looked winded and drained.

"I'm all right." Willow said after a minute or so, a sheen of sweat covering her forehead. "Must be getting old. Were times I could churn out a dozen such spells a day."

"You were a real terror, I recall." Buffy smiled down at her.

Willow smiled back, but then her eyes turned to Giles and the smile vanished from her face.

"You knew, right?" She asked him.

"I hoped to be proven wrong."

Buffy looked back and forth between Giles and Willow, her mind refusing to grasp the meaning of their words.

"What did you see, Willow?" Angel asked gravely.

Eyes closing, Willow remembered. "The Threshold. We saw it, saw it all. I've probed it a dozen times in my life, but I never saw it this clearly. It always seemed shrouded in fog, drawing away from our eyes, but today ... it's ... it's beautiful. So very ..."

"What about the disturbance?" Angel interrupted her, his voice brimming with a very uncharacteristic impatience.

"The disturbance, it ... Giles was right, Angel. The Threshold is weakening. It seems to be an ongoing process, too, one that will only grow worse."

Willow rose to a sitting position, her eyes firmly fixed on Angel's face.

"And it didn't start yesterday. Or the day before. The effects became noticeable just recently, I guess, but we managed to trace the beginning of this breakdown. It actually started quite some time ago."

"When?" Angel asked, even though he knew the answer already. One look at Willow's face was enough.

"September 21." She said slowly. "1907."

Complete silence fell over the room as Angel just nodded. September 21, 1907. The day thousands of souls were wrenched from beyond the Threshold by a power not of this Earth.

The day of the Restoration of Souls.

Go to Part 7