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~Part: 51~
Buffy sighed, looking at the piece of wood that's he was slowly turning into a stake. Dawn was sitting at the research table, and she was supposed to be working on her homework. Everything seemed so complicated now. She had been brought back, not to deny her happiness, but to protect her sister and the Hellmouth. Her behavior with Spike. well, it had been all sorts of wrong, she could admit that. And because she'd been so angry at being alive again, and feeling so guilty over what she'd been doing with Spike. Well, could she leave part of the blame for Willow and Tara's break up on Dawn? Now, they were facing the possibility of something on the same level of bad as Glory.
It was simpler being dead.
Giles walked in, a cup of tea in his hand, the cordless phone in the other. He appeared to be listening unhappily to the person on the other end. "What plan? I somehow find myself deeply worried that you've combined the words 'plan' and Quenton Travers."
Buffy looked over, her attention caught by the mention of the Head of the Council of Watchers. Travers had been the miserable jerk responsible for that demented vampire and the Watchers kidnapping her mother. The guy who'd fired Giles for caring about her. The guy who hadn't wanted to help find a way to defeat Glory.
Giles set the cup of tea down, ignoring the fact that he'd just set it on one of his centuries old demon texts. "What do you mean, more malleable?"
The color drained from his face, and Giles swayed. "But. but. a new Slayer?"
Buffy frowned, her mind putting together the words 'new Slayer' and Travers having a plan. A new Slayer would only be called if an existing Slayer was killed, meaning either herself or. Faith. But Faith was in prison, how much danger could she possibly be in?
Then, Buffy remembered her mother, gone from her very own house. Remembered tales of potential Slayers just vanishing, listed as runaways. Remembered the way that Merrick had just been able to show up practically anywhere. But surely he couldn't have arranged for her o be killed in prison, could he? Nobody would be that. well, maybe Travers could be that heartless.
"Thank you. I'll. just have to keep looking for something on the Hunter." Giles hung up the phone, and shuffled over to a chair, picking up his tea and draining it with a single swallow. The cup was returned to the table with enough force that she half expected it to crack.
"Giles? Did you. did I hear something about a new Slayer? Travers wants to call a new Slayer?" She looked at him, part of her hoping that she'd heard him wrong.
"Since when do you care what happens to Faith?" Dawn looked at them, a line down her forehead. "I mean, you did nearly kill her, and then she stole your boyfriend, and then. She deserves to be in prison."
"Dawn, I . " For a moment, Buffy wasn't certain what to say. "I don't like Faith, and there were definite issues, but. that doesn't mean that I want her to be dead."
"Yes, Quenton Travers decided that the Council would be better served by a more. traditional Slayer." Giles sighed, one finger trailing around the rim of his tea cup.
"You mean one that listens to the Council, and follows orders." Dawn's unhappiness was clear. "Someone that won't hesitate to sacrifice people, or themselves."
"So, why not go after me? I mean, all the demons are doing it, why not the Council? Buffy felt something growing inside of her, a mix of anger and fear.
"There was no new Slayer called in May, not that anyone knows of, at any rate. This has lead several members to speculate that as your. first death called Kendra, you no longer have the power to activate a new Slayer." Giles looked older, and somehow sadder than he had only moments ago. "Which is why it was apparently decided to slip demons into the prison where Faith was being held. Apparently, this project had been going on for the past month. Yesterday, Martin overheard some of the Watchers discussing the new Slayer, a girl near the French and German border."
"Oh my God." Buffy felt as if she'd just been hit in the stomach, all the air driven from her. "They just. just decided to kill her? But. I thought that she was trying to turn herself around?"
"Was she doing better?" Dawn's question sounded soft, almost as if she was afraid to learn the answer.
"I hadn't heard anything about Faith causing any trouble in prison. She hasn't been in contact with anyone that I would consider a threat. It looks. looked as if she was really making an effort." Giles rubbed his eyes.
"We have to do something about that!" Dawn sounded furious, and frightened. "What if they decide to go after Buffy?"
"If there is a new Slayer, then. then Faith is already dead, and there is nothing further that we can do." Giles sighed. "If there was a mistake. Perhaps we can check the prison, see how Faith is doing."
Dawn looked up, her eyes bright. "If Travers wants Faith dead, maybe we could have Willow bring her back, like she did with Buffy?"
"Resurrection should not be done simply to annoy Quenton Travers!" Giles sounded better, less defeated. There was also a hint of amusement in his eyes.
Buffy heard the jangling of the bells over the door, and felt a very familiar vampire presence. It was only a few moments before that that Spike sauntered in, scowling as he carried a box of books. He was accompanied by three thin, bruised girls who were barely dressed, and had bite marks over their bodies.
Buffy just gasped, and the questions slipped out. "Spike. what have you done?"
"I just went after some books that got left at the factory. Got more complicated. some other vamps had moved in, and they had a few snacks." He indicated the girls with a toss of his head. "I got the books, killed the idiots, and brought the girls with me. Why don't you and Lil' Bit help get them sorted out?"
Buffy looked more closely at the girls, and then back at Spike. "You. rescued them?"
"ehhh. I didn't plan on that part." Spike looked awkwardly away, and then put the box of books in the corner. "These were Dalton's. I'm not sure what all he had, but I brought all of them. I'll just go bring the rest in from the car."
~Part: 52~
After lunch, they'd gone to the beach, just her and Fa- no, call her Caitlynn. They'd just wanted to relax a little, to enjoy the sunshine and pretend, even if only for a little bit, that they had nothing bigger to worry about than dating, friends, and college. They'd stopped for mochas on the way back, giggling at the froth mustaches left on each other's faces. It was sort of theraputic, in it's own way. But now, the sun had set, and it was definitely time to go home.
Willow sighed, making her way back towards the Crawford Street mansion. There were so many things going through her mind, some of which conflicted with each other. There was the shadow-hunter, and all the connected puzzlement and fear. There were the questions of who, why, and how Faith had been under attack from demons in the prison. Buffy's apology, and the question of its sincerity. Everybody's relationship questions. Angel.
"You know, most people look a little more cheerful when they're on their way to a house with a hunk like your's waiting for them." Caitlynn's voice sounded full of amusement.
"There's so many other things. if it was just going home to see him, I'd be smiling. A lot. But there's the. shadow and the nightmares. There's Buffy. There's Amy and Spike. There's questions about. well, this place outside of LA, and security gaps. There's the question of." Willow shook her head, sighing again. "I have too many questions."
"That's for sure." One hand caught Willow's arm, and soon their elbows were linked. "Sing it with me, you know the words." With an impish grin and a sway to her hips, she started the song. "We're off to see the wizard! The wonderful wizard of Oz!"
Willow was almost laughing too hard to keep singing by the time they reached the door. "Oh my.. That was definitely a distraction."
As they made their giggling way inside, Willow came to the conclusion that things - if they could deal with the shadow hunter- had the potential to be really good. If they could sort out their personal issues, if they could keep everyone alive, if. well, there were always if's. What they needed were answers, not more questions.
Angel was in the living room, smiling at his sketchbook. He looked at them, almost certainly alerted by the giggles. "And good afternoon to you both."
Caitlynn leaned over, peering at the paper. "Is that. that's me and Wesley! You drew pictures? It's. that's. Actually, it's a pretty good drawing."
Willow leaned over Angel's other shoulder, curious about the drawing. Oh my, definitely a good picture. Caitlynn was on her side, one hand under her cheek as the other rested, half flung out over the sheet. Her knees were pulled up a little, giving the impression of vulnerability. Wesley was beside her, one arm draped lightly over her waist, his head tucked up against her. There was a soft smile on his face, as if he felt utterly content. "Wow, that looks so sweet."
"Thank you. How did your day go?" Angel looked at Willow, a few flickers of amber in his eyes.
For a moment, all she could do was stare into those eyes. If she leaned just a little bit closer, they'd be kissing. Her breath seemed to catch, and she licked her lips. "Class was boring, the guy teaching it couldn't make things interesting if. well, he was boring. Then, on the way out of class, I had a talk with Buffy. She. she apologized, and. it sort of sounded like. well, like there's a chance of fixing things. I want that to be real. And then there was lunch, and the. well, I'm sure you heard the singing."
"Yes, I did." He looked at her, and for a moment, it almost looked like he was going to say something. His eyes flickered, looking almost golden for a moment as he gazed into hers. The sketch pad found itself on the small table, and his hand cupped her cheek.
"Willow." He moved just a little, but it was enough. His lips met hers, softly, like butterfly wings at first. But then his hand moved, sliding into her hair, pulling her closer as his tongue slipped between her lips, tasting and exploring her mouth, flicking over her teeth, brushing her lips and sending the most delightful tingles through her body.
Willow barely noticed when his features changed, kissing back. Rather, she noticed, but didn't think about his eyes now being a warm amber, or his sharp teeth. Not until her own exploring tongue slid into a sharp surface, the unexpected pain startling her almost as much as the sudden coppery taste.
All of a sudden, Angel let go, pulling away from her as he took ragged, unnecessary breaths. He looked away, his hand still entwined in her hair. For a moment, there was near silence, broken by his words. "I. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Willow blinked, watching as Angel made what she could only describe as a retreat to the kitchen. That had been amazing. He'd kissed her. Angel had kissed her. And then he'd run away. Was he retreating for fear of the Clause, or had he just forgotten to have breakfast?
"You can't possibly expect anyone to believe there's nothing happening after that." The soft statement was inarguable.
"Trying to pick up the Resolve Face?" Willow raised her fingers, touching her lips, where Angel's lips had been just moments before. "That was. wow. Entirely unexpected, and just. wow."
~Part: 53~
Rupert Giles closed the book in his hands, glaring at the leather binding when what he really wanted to do was yell, or perhaps throw a few things. He was only finding a few fragments of information, mostly the same fragments over and over again. The news of Travers' plan and the apparent success of it had him angry and distracted, and he still couldn't figure out how they would be able to deal with the Hunter.
And now, thanks to Spike, there were more boxes of books to look through. Some of them were wonderful texts, rare volumes that any other time would have delighted the librarian in him. Hopefully, there would be something in them that would justify the way they were currently cluttering his back room. At least Spike was also here, leafing through the books in search of useful information.
He'd actually felt almost relieved when Buffy and Dawn had gone off with the girls that Spike had rescued, claiming that they needed to get cleaned up and to find them ' some real clothing' to wear. It got them out from underfoot, and maybe. maybe it would let Buffy and Dawn try to rebuild the closeness that they'd shared before Buffy's death that spring. And the fact that he could even think something like that - after her death that spring - and think that it made sense was a sign of just how strange his life had become.
There was the sound of the bells on the front door jingling. Considering the fact that Anya had closed the shop early in an effort to try to gain some information from one of her contacts, most likely a demonic one, he knew that the new arrival could only be one of a small number, one of the Scoobies. Nobody else would have a key.
"Giles?" Anya's voice called out. "I know that you're back there, I can smell the tea."
He tried to smile at her when she came into the room. The mingled scents of sage, cedar, and something else clung to her, most likely a residual effect of her conjuring. "Did you have any luck?"
Anya offered a small smile as she poured herself a cup of tea. "Possibly. I wanted to ask D'Hoffryn if he had anything that would help. He's going to consult his books and Seers."
"More research." He sighed, one hand running through his hair. "At least it's not just me doing this."
"There was something else that he said. it got me thinking. He said that a Hellmouth should have a Guardian. someone of strong will who wants to do good, to keep people safe. That as long as he, she or it is alive, the Hellmouth can't be completely opened. AND he said that if we could find this Guardian, they could help with a ritual to." Anya paused, as if remembering that he hadn't been there and wouldn't have known all the details of the conversation. "Well, it's his theory that something - Glory, the resurrection, both of them. that the wards keeping the Dark Hunter away were weakened. One of them anyhow. If we can find the Guardian, they can help with a ritual to repair the wards."
"A Guardian." The idea sounded reasonable, and beneficial. There had been something about that in several of his Watcher's books, although there was considerable debate over how a person became a Guardian and what exactly that really meant. "How do we find this Guardian?"
"I have no idea. But I was wondering if the Tree prophecies might have something to do with that Guardian. If so, it would explain your impression that it's important." Anya shrugged, looking around the room. "When did all these arrive?"
"Brought them in earlier tonight. What's this about a prophecy?" Spike looked up, focusing on Anya.
"The prophecies about the Mouth of the Underworld, by that crazy Greek. The section about the Guardians of the Mouth." Anya shrugged. "We haven't got very far."
"Daenisyus. Dalton had a book of stuff on him, it had a bit where one of those prophecies talked about the Judge in it. Part of what gave Dru the idea." Spike suddenly paused, putting down the book he'd been looking at to go to one of the other boxes. "It's right here, the whole bloody book of his collected prophecies."
Almost in disbelief, Rupert watched as Spike lifted out a massive volume bound in leather the same red as fired pottery, and a good six inches thick. He dropped it onto the table, where it made a solid thump.
Anya looked at it, one finger brushing over the cover. "Oh goody, a huge book of Greek prophecies. Just what I've always wanted to read."
"I can look in that if you'd rather sort through the rest of the boxes." Spike's voice was dry.
"Fair enough." Anya moved towards the boxes, kneeling beside one and reaching to lift out a green volume that almost looked like it was made of scales. "So, was there anything else that we learned tonight? Anything that we can deal with easily?"
"Quenton Travers arranged to have Faith killed in order to get a more malleable Slayer for the Council." The words emerged, filled with anger and bitterness. The callous way that Travers had decided to eliminate Faith to gain someone else as a tool was against everything that he'd been taught the Watchers stood for.
"What?!?" Anya's startled exclamation was almost a shout. "He's what? When?"
"I received a call from one of my contacts perhaps ten minutes before you arrived. It seems there's a new Slayer near the French and German border as of last week." He sighed, taking off his glasses in order to rub at his eyes. "It seems he decided to have demons sent into the prison in order to kill Faith."
"That's. but isn't he supposed to be the Head of the Watchers? Aren't they supposed to protect Slayers?" Anya looked outraged.
"Yes and yes. Unfortunately, Travers views himself as a political leader, or perhaps something closer to a feudal overlord." He stood up, deciding that another cup of tea would be welcome. "Apparently, he's decided that the Slayer should be the tool of the council, a blade in their hands. In his arrogance, he's taken steps to arrange it. It's a violation of everything. a violation of several of the Oaths of the Watchers. Of all that we're supposed to be and stand for."
"Last week?" Spike repeated the words, his eyes going almost blank, distracted. "I'd best call the witches. This could complicate things."
All Rupert could do was continue researching as Spike left to make his phone call. From the way he'd looked, it wasn't a whim, but something important. Unfortunately, everything was important right now. He'd find out why Spike was calling Amy and Willow soon enough.
"You said it's a violation of Oaths. how big are these Oaths? I mean, is there magic behind them? Are they sworn on anything?" Anya sounded nervous.
"Beyond over a thousand years of tradition and the fact that we're supposed to protect people?" Rupert paused, trying to remember the ceremony when he'd been fully and officially sworn in as a Watcher. "If his Initiation was like mine, his name would have been inscribed into a book by a senior Watcher, the one who stood as his Mentor and Witness. The book is supposed to be a link in the history of the Council of Watchers, stretching back into the mists of the past and the time of Druids. There is the repetition of several promises, which used to be done in Latin or Greek, although I think one of the recent reforms was to start taking them in English. And we drink from a cup, something that is. well, my mentor told me that it was supposed to fill us with the wisdom of the past."
Anya started swearing again, and it was several minutes before she looked up, here eyes almost blazing with fury and fear. "When? When did he put that plan into motion? How long ago?"
"Possibly as long ago as a month, perhaps only a few weeks. Why?" There was a sinking feeling in his stomach as he asked the question. If Anya had an answer, it wouldn't be very comforting.
"Damn it all, these things add up! One thing, maybe two against the natural order, and we probably would have been alright! There are fail safes, countermeasures. things to keep the Wards from being broken from too many years and people trying to learn. But three big violations at once. no wonder. Glory's ripped open portal. Buffy's resurrection - a resurrection! You can't get too much more in violation of the cycle of life and death than that! And now the arrogant and foolish Head of the Council decides to shatter his oaths? Sworn in ancient ritual, linking him to the whole damn structure and defense of the order, and invoking at least one artifact?" Anya collapsed into a chair, shaking her head. "Maybe it's not to late to run and hide in Arashmahad.."
He blinked, the room seeming to waver around him, as if the world had just shimmied. One hand groped for the table's edge as he sank back into the chair, his desire for tea now forgotten. "Oh dear lord, what have we done?"
~Part: 54~
Lorne winced as he tried to roll a few of the kinks and knots out of his shoulders. Last night had been.... well, nightmarish came to mind. Caritas had been packed, and not with the usual mix at all. Some of his regulars had been gone - Bertulikan the wonderful tenor-voiced Ch'pultec, Marian who was the best person that he'd ever had in for covering an Aretha Franklin song, this adorable half human girl named Sydney who could be just lethal in a fight or behind a microphone, Parachet the only guy who did acoustics...
Come to think of it, they hadn't been in for a while. It had been a bit over three weeks since he'd seen Marian, and as he recalled, the last time she'd been in, she'd been making her way back from the bar and just... staggered as if she'd been hit, almost falling down in the middle of his club. She'd promptly downed her drink in one gulp, staggered back to the bar and had two shots of Scotch, and left. She'd seemed almost frightened. None of his empaths had been here lately.
But last night... there had been a huge crowd, some of them demons that he'd never seen before. And such a dark batch of readings... full of fear, and pain and... there was this image that kept coming back, like a wall of light full of cracks and a couple big gaping holes. He had no idea what it meant, but it had come up in seven reading last night. Seven! Something was going on.
He had a really bad feeling about it too.
Suddenly, there was this horrible crashing noise, and his front door was forced open. A group of humans stumbled in, all of them looking rather... well, beaten, bloody and in shambles came to mind. They also had plenty of weapons, assorted guns as well as knives, swords, axes, and a couple crossbows.
In that moment, he was really thankful that he'd paid top dollar to have the anti-violence wards put back up. Strong ones.
"Are you guys sure that you're in the right place?" He was going to try to be calm. Really, he'd much rather be saying 'get out of my club!' but let's try for civil, shall we?
They looked at him, and for the first time he realized just how badly injured some of them were. Close to a third of them were being held up by the others, either unconscious or close to it from their injuries. And was that Angel's friend Gunn?
"Empty club, Kareoke set-up in the corner... and a green guy with horns in a suit. Yeah, this is where we were trying to be." The guy sounded exhausted.
That bad feeling got worse, and settled in his intestines like a collection of stones - cold stones. "Right... let me call someone to help try to patch you guys up. Then, someone can explain what's going on."
A few moments, and he was calling Sh-Taura, one of the fully trained doctors at the local clinic. She was also capable of passing for human at a glance, although a closer inspection would show the tiny scales and the slit pupiled eyes. A few words about 'bloody, beat-up people' and she was insisting that she was on her way.
"Right, a doctor is on her way over. Now, why are you bleeding on my floor? And can I offer a few drinks? There's a fully stocked bar." Lorne wanted answers, and he was fairly certain that losing his temper wouldn't help. Granted, they shouldn't be able to hit anyone, but there was nothing to prevent screaming or insulting.
"Gunn said to come here." This came from a guy with a hat pulled almost to his eyes, someone who didn't sound like he could be more than sixteen. "He said it would be safer."
A taller man with blood over his temple and shoulder winced, putting a short sword down on the counter. "He said there was some sort of spell on this place to keep them from following us in and killing us all."
"Them? Them who?" Lorne could feel a headache coming on, and had the feeling that things would only get worse. "This is a club, for singing and drinking, not a hide out for demon hunters!"
There was a small snort, and one of the half supported figures was revealed to be a young woman, with slender braids ending in golden beads. "Demons out there are going crazy. Just... attacking people, attacking each other."
"What sort of crazy?" Part of him was certain that he didn't want to know, and another part was certain that this was a symptom of the something Bad that was happening.
"Ever see rats caught in a flood? The way they'll just rip each other up trying to get out? It sort of reminds me of that, but there's nowhere to go." This guy had blood all over his shirt, seeping from his abdomen. "I keep asking what the flood is."
With a sinking feeling of finality, he asked. "Did any of them say anything? Did any of you ask any questions?"
"Some shit about hungry shadows and cracks in the light, whatever that meant. Some shadow man coming to eat everything. That make any sense to you? It didn't tell us anything." This guy seemed almost familiar, as if he'd seen him before, although he couldn't put a name to the face.
For a moment, it felt like the floor was going to pull him down. If those cracks meant what he thought they meant, things were bigger and worse than he'd thought. "Cracks in the light? Like a wall or a bowl?"
"Yeah." The words held confusion and fear both. "What's it mean?"
"The only part I'm sure of it trouble." Lorne wanted to have more answers, and at the same time, was afraid of those answers.
"That thing with the three horns said there was a Hunter in the Darkness, and the one in the robe was shouting about Ancient Hungers before he slashed the pack of vampires down and slit his stomach open." The woman with the braids spoke again, her words filled with worry.
They were distracted by Sh'Taura's arrival, and she quickly began sorting out who needed sewn together first. She also had two of the less injured start passing out painkillers and antibiotics for everybody.
His hands were shaking as he decided to try to call Angel. Now he hoped that the vampire had his cell phone turned on and charged for once.
~Part: 55~
Angel retreated to the kitchen, his emotions in a tangle. He’d kissed Willow, and it had been wonderful. Who knew how long they might have kissed if she hadn’t nicked her tongue on one of his fangs? The taste of her blood… She’d been delicious. And the very fact that he’d reacted like that told him to get away at once, and feed properly, before… Before things got out of control.
As if they were under control now. Hah. The possible end of the world, a jailbreak and new identity for Faith, and he’s too busy thinking about how tempting and desirable Willow is to think straight. Although she had been kissing him as much as he’d been kissing her, which had been quite nice.
Blood. He needed to have some blood before he went back out there, kissed Willow breathless, and tasted her. He pulled a bag from the refrigerator, and grabbed a mug from the cupboard, knowing that it wouldn’t taste nearly as good as she had.
He had almost finished the mug, despite it being cold and flat tasting, when his cell phone chirped at him, in some annoyingly cheerful and loud pattern. With a growl, he flipped it open. “What?”
:Well, Angel-cakes, you certainly don’t seem to be in a very good mood.: Lorne’s voice rang out, made slightly tinny by the connection.
“Lorne… Why are you calling? What’s going on?” Angel had the sinking feeling that whatever it was, it would turn out to be something important. And considering the way his luck usually went, it would be important and bad.
:Your friend Gunn and some of his people showed up on my doorstep this morning. They looked like they’d been through a miserable and painful night. Angel, the nightlife out here is going nuts. I haven’t seen any of my regular empaths in weeks, and the readings last night… There’s this image that keeps repeating. Some sort of wall or upturned bowl made out of light, and it’s breaking. I don’t even know what it means and it’s scaring me almost peachy.: There was a pause, and the almost distinguishable sound of Gunn saying something. :Right, one of the demons said something about a Hunter in the Darkness – and that’s with audible capitals, by the way. Another scared the poor guys half to death raving about Ancient Hungers, taking down a pack of vampires and committing Seppuku on himself.:
“Damn. I suppose it’s not that surprising, really.” Angel ran his hand through his hair, and pulled a second bag of blood from the refrigerator. “The… well, not quite good news, but the less bad news is that it’s not a local thing limited to LA, we’re getting those warnings in Sunnydale as well. We’re already researching to see if we can find answers.”
:Got any so far?: Lorne’s voice held a bit of impatience.
“The Hunter in the Darkness, also called the Most Ancient of Hungers, That Which Devours, and a whole list of other miserable things. It got locked away thousands of years ago, and the Watchers formed to make certain that it stayed locked away. Guiding a Slayer apparently got added later.” Angel sighed, debating if he could open the packet of blood while on the phone.
:You’re starting to worry me here. If this thing was so bad, why are we getting warning signs that it’s back?: Lorne’s question was filled with worry. :Did they lock it away with a deadline? Did they forget a lease payment on captivity?:
“I don’t know. There’s research going on right now. The only thing that I do know so far – it’s not here yet. That wall-bowl thing that you’re seeing is probably the confining wards to keep it away.” Angel put the bag down, and drained the last of the mug.
:I’ll start seeing if I can round up a couple magical types to try and see if those can be repaired. Wouldn’t want… umm… Angel, how bad is this? Is this… going home to visit bad, or…?: The question trailed off, as if Lorne was uncertain how to phrase what he really wanted to know.
“That story carved on the palace walls – the one about the Devouring Darkness? That’s probably what this is.” Angel replied, remembering the carvings that had been locked away in the dungeons of the Pylean Palace.
:Oh.: Lorne sounded weak, and there was the distinct sound of something liquid being poured. :That bad. I’ll see what we can do.:
“Right. Thanks for the warning, Lorne.” Angel leaned against the counter, for a moment brooding. “I’ll call back if we learn anything useful.”
He didn’t go back out until he’d drank three bags, though he did warm the third one. Willow was a bit too tempting, and the possibility of the Hunter… it scared him, soul and demon both. Granted, only his soul was wanting to admit it, but still… They needed to find a way to deal with this, and that would be a lot less likely if he was too busy trying to seduce Willow to concentrate.
As he was walking into the front room, seeing Willow and Caitlynn sitting on the couch, he smiled. Surely they could deal with this? After all, Willow and Amy had managed to rescue Faith from the attempts of the Council to kill her, and created the new identity of Caitlynn to further protect her. Shouldn’t this be manageable?
The phone rang again, causing Angel to grit his teeth in frustration. “Stupid cell phone… Why didn’t someone kill that Bell guy before this could happen? Who decided that making phones that weren’t tied down was a good idea? If this is a telemarketer…”
He could hear the girls giggling, and felt a bit embarrassed that they were probably laughing at him. He was certain that he’d be blushing if he was alive. Again, he opened the phone. “Who is it?”
:Angel, are the witches there?: Spike’s voice was urgent, and almost worried.
“Willow is, but I’m not sure where Amy went. What has you sounding upset?” Angel was worried, knowing that Spike usually didn’t seem rattled by much of anything.
:Anya found some information. The wards… the things binding the Hunter away, they’re breaking down. Violations of the natural order, shattering oaths… It’s all adding up. Remind me to put out a contract on Travers of the Watcher’s Council, I’m pretty sure all of this is his damn fault.: It sounded as if Spike was pacing.
“Go through that more slowly. What violations? How does killing Travers help anything besides our moods?”
:Apparently, there have been three big shattering events that endangered the bindings. Anya said that the combination of them is what’s causing the wards to crack. First was Glory’s portal. Second was Buffy’s resurrection. Third was Travers sending assassins after Faith.: Spike’s voice was low and serious.
“How do you figure that? The Council runs on traditions, not magical rituals. It’s not like they take binding oaths to anything other than the Council.” Angel asked, and then got a cold feeling. “Right? They don’t… there isn’t anything other than several centuries of British tradition.”
:Sorry to disappoint you, but… Rupert talked about his Initiation. There’s solemn oaths that he took in Latin and Hebrew. Names are inscribed in a book to link them the ancient past, and there’s a bloody cup of ancient wisdom. It’s a damn mystical ritual, with oaths of protection, and Travers shattered his to pieces when he sent assassins after their own Slayer.:
“Oh my…” Angel could feel himself swaying on his feet. “Damn. Maybe we can arrange Travers to have a lovely one way trip to hell, it’s much slower than simply killing him. I’ve got to tell the girls, and then… I need to make a couple phone calls. Hold off on setting assassins after Travers until we know if he might be needed to fix this mess.”
:Right. I’ll just go back and see if Rupert and Anya have come up with anything else then. If people broke it, maybe people can fix it. One more bombshell to drop on you – apparently there was a new Slayer called last week.: Spike hung up the phone.
Angel walked over to the couch, feeling as if he was trembling. “Alright, it seems that we have some new information. Lorne called from LA, and the second call was Spike. And I don’t think you’re going to like what they had to say.”
~Part: 56~
Faith found herself just blinking as Angel explained what Lorne and Spike had said. The panic from this thing wasn’t just in Sunnydale, but also in LA. Probably in other places as well, they just didn’t have friendly people calling about it. She’d already figured that Travers was bad, but this… “He was willing to shatter sacred oaths to try having me killed? But… Watchers aren’t… That’s why they’re broken, isn’t it?”
Angel just nodded, and sat down beside Willow, one arm sliding around her. It didn’t even look like he realized he was doing it.
“So, where’s Wesley?” She couldn’t help asking. Seeing Willow and Angel like that, she wished that she had someone here to snuggle up with.
“He was going to try to call some people. There was also something about a meeting that might give something useful, or at least get some more people looking for ways to fix the barriers.” Angel sighed, and leaned his head against Willow. “He should be back soon.”
She nodded, understanding the need to gather information, and to look for help in times of near disaster. But she missed having him there, even if she wasn’t certain that they could have a future. Even if she didn’t know if he could forgive her past, if they could trust each other enough to make things work. Damn it all, she wanted the chance to at least try.
“We need to share our information.” The words emerged slowly as she considered the problem. Just look how much more they knew now because Anya had talked to someone and then told Giles and Spike. If Spike and Lorne hadn’t talked to Angel, they’d still be sitting here wondering if they were going paranoid and delusional with coincidentally matching nightmares. But if she kept going with that logic, it drew her to one inescapable point. “We’re going to need to talk to Giles and Buffy. They need… I think they need to know that I’m… that Caitlynn is Faith.”
“Not quite. You aren’t quite the same now. Caitlynn is Faith’s second chance.” Wesley’s voice came from the doorway, where he leaned. He looked tired, and his clothing was dusty and wrinkled.
She smiled at him, a warm bubbly feeling rising at his words. Her second chance… a fresh start. Hearing him say that seemed to lift a great weight from her shoulders, and that made her heart feel like it was skipping. Patting the couch next to her, she smiled. “Come on over and sit down, you look ready to collapse.”
Slowly, he walked across the room, looking as if he was concentrating on each step. “I spoke with a pair of Native American shamans. They were aware of the problem, and decided to seek enlightenment as to the cause. It was… quite the experience.”
When he nearly collapsed onto the couch next to her, she reached over to massage his shoulders. “So, am I still Faith, or am I just Caitlynn?”
“Is there more of a reason for the question of identity than I was aware of yesterday?” He leaned into her massage, his shoulders full of tension-knots.
Angel looked up, his eyes full of worry. “Apparently, there was a new Slayer called. It seems that Quenton Travers decided that the Council needed a more traditional girl.”
Wesley froze, his back filling with tension in a heartbeat. “He didn’t… dear merciful God, tell me that he wasn’t the one sending the assassins.”
For a moment, there was only silence.
Softly, she offered a single statement. “They never said who sent them, just that they were being offered a lot of money.”
With a slight moan, Wesley let his face fall into his hands, and just shook, not quite forming any words. It was obvious that this had him very upset. And then, words began to emerge. “Centuries of tradition. Sacred oaths – by the breath of our words, by the tradition of our instruction, by the honor of the Council. Sworn under binding and ancient oaths. How could he just… To have your name inscribed in the book is to swear to protect. To dedicate your life to protecting the world, to watching and guarding against the dangers of the darkness. To help those who champion life and humanity. How could he go against that? How could he try to destroy the one who was chosen to stand as our Champion, as the Chosen Warrior?”
She pulled him towards her, wrapping her arms around in a firm hug. “Because he’s an utter bastard?”
Wesley just made a little whimper, and clung to her. “The world might end because of his selfish quest for power.”
Willow looked over, and offered a weak smile. “But we’re not going to let it come to that. We’re going to figure out a way to stop it.”
Angel nodded, his eyes filled with worry and desperation instead of the determined optimism of Willow’s. “The alternative is intolerable.”
Snickering, she shook her head. “I’m sitting here trying to figure out if I’m Faith or Caitlynn, you two are sitting there trying to pretend you aren’t desperately wishing there’s no clause, Amy’s wanting Spike, and… Yeah. The end of the world would be a bit much.”
There was a bit of laughter at the way her words seemed to pull things into perspective.
“I still think we’re going to have to talk to Buffy and Giles. We’ll have to tell them that I’m not quite dead, that… I don’t think it would do any good to have that kind of secret hanging over us forever.” Her arms had loosened a bit, and she was leaning into Wesley.
“Before you mention any of this…” Wesley’s words were filled with more worry. “I don’t know if there has been continuing Council observation of Buffy. If they have some means of eavesdropping… While I won’t argue against the idea of letting Buffy and Giles know, I don’t want the Council to know. I especially don’t want Travers to know.”
Feeling a cold thread of worry, she nodded. “We definitely don’t want him to know. Sunnydale would be a lot easier to send big nasties to than the inside of a prison, and both of the Slayers on his bad-girl list are fight here. Me, and Buffy.”
“So, how shall we set this up?” Willow asked, clearly already thinking about it. “We need to meet somewhere large enough to talk, private enough to talk about this, and that we’re relatively certain isn’t being monitored. And I don’t want it to be here. This is… it’s home, it’s safe, it’s ours”
Angel spoke, his voice low. “Maybe in one of the parks? They might be a bit less familiar than the cemeteries are, but also less threatening. Cemeteries make you think of death, or fighting.”
“Yeah, that might work. So, tonight, after it’s dark?”
“I suppose that should work nicely. I’ll just… I suppose Giles is at the Magic Box?” Wesley offered. “I’ll just give him a ring there, we can make the arrangements.”
~Part: 57~
Rupert Giles was sitting in the office f the Magic Box, a cup of tea steaming gently beside him, his glasses carefully removed and placed near the tea, and his head face down on the pages of a book of Watcher History. He wasn’t certain if he wanted to laugh at the irony, cry from disappointment, or scream. Instead, he was just sitting there, face fallen, and trying to keep a tiny measure of control. Disaster was on them all, and a major portion of the cause was from the effort of people trying to help.
Willow had wanted to help when she brought Buffy back. Granted, it had been hasty, and poorly thought out, but she’d wanted to help. She’d feared that her friend was in a hell-dimension, and had wanted to rescue her. After so many years working with things, she should have known that things aren’t always as they seem, she should have thought to check first, to make certain that she could retrieve Buffy. And for the love of God, they should have thought to dig her up if they were going to bring her back to life. The very thought was enough to give him nightmares, how much more disturbing must it have been for Buffy to wake up in her own coffin?
And as for Travers… He had no explanation. The Crucinomitum was bad enough, but that was only a test. A horrible, brutal test that had been revoked centuries ago, but still a test. It’s purpose was to ensure that the Slayer was resourceful, and could adapt to new situations. But to deliberately order the death of a Slayer… It was something that should have been inconceivable for any man of ethics, of integrity, for any decent person, actually. How could he still be willing to look himself in the mirror in the morning? He couldn’t imagine how such a thing could be explained, how he could have justified it to anyone, especially to the Council. Or had Travers decided to act outside the Council’s knowledge and consent? He wasn’t quite certain which would be worse.
The phone rang, jangling at him in a loud and annoying tone that he knew could easily be heard clear in the front of the store. Slowly, he lifted his head, glaring at the phone as it shrilled again. If this was some sort of telemarketer… But he hadn’t heard back from some of his contacts, it could be important. Sighing, he picked up the handset, and uttered a simple acknowledgement. “This is Rupert Giles.”
:Yes, Giles?: Wesley’s voice was only faintly distorted by the phone. :There’s something that needs discussed with you.:
“I’m assuming that this ‘something’ is important? Does it connect with this current mess? Did you manage to get any leads on how to fix this?” Rupert wasn’t certain if he wanted to let himself hope or not.
:Very important. I’m not entirely certain if this will help with the solution, but… You need to know. And most likely Miss Summers will also need to know.” Wesley sounded as if he was trying to work his way up to something.
“Will tonight be acceptable? We can meet here, in the back room.” His mind was starting to consider the possible results of Wesley’s consultations.
:No, that won’t do. Tonight is good, but… This is something that mustn’t leak to the Council, and there is… speculation that they might have surveillance of the shop.: Wesley sounded thoroughly unhappy, probably as appalled by the news of Travers’s behavior as he had been.
“Surveillance? Of my shop? Who do they think… what bloody right would they have to do such a thing?” Rupert was outraged at the merest suggestion, even as a part of him realized that Buffy’s insistence to ignore the Council after her eighteenth birthday would hardly be enough to make them stop observing her. He’d most likely never been the only person monitoring Buffy.
:That’s not the issue. Considering what we’ve learned, it doesn’t sound like all of the Council are concerned with rights. Meet us at um… a park.: There was a pause, and an almost audible exchange of words. :Willow says the one with the big fountain?:
“Of course. A half hour after sunset?” He sighed, rubbing at his temples.
:Yes, that should work. I’ll errr… I’ll leave you to explain this to your Slayer.: Wesley offered, moments before there was a soft click as he hung up.
Rupert put his glasses back on, and closed the book that he’d been resting his head on. Sipping at his tea, he wondered what could possibly be so important, and yet so urgent to keep the Council from finding out. It had to be something important, just from the way that Wesley was reacting. He’d best figure out how to explain this to Buffy…
In the end, he decided to take the simple, yet cowardly way out. He simply suggested that she prepare for a patrol, and said that he could use some fresh air. He’d managed to direct their meanderings towards the park, and they arrived just at the right time. She’d been commenting on the recent lack of anything but minions, and how it was much easier on the laundry.
“Giles? I feel… ummm.” Buffy paused, her body tensing. “Why do I feel Angel and Spike?”
“Because there’s something that the two of you need to know.” Spike’s voice was almost amused, and he had a cigarette in one hand. “And this seemed like the place to talk about it.”
“We don’t trust the Council, not after everything. They might have surveillance at the shop, and this is something that they must not discover.” Angel looked serious, and wasn’t even glaring at Spike. “People might get killed if they learned of this, and most of them would probably be considered collateral damage.”
“So, you’re protecting someone by having us chat in the park?” Buffy sounded doubtful. “Who?”
“All of us.” Willow’s voice was soft, and she sounded tired. “We’re trying to keep all of us safer. If Travers was willing to send assassins after Faith in prison just because he didn’t think killing you would activate a new Slayer…”
“How does this connect with Traves? He… he had Faith assassinated, but there’s a new Slayer. She’s in Europe.” Rupert had a feeling that things were about to get more complicated.
“See, here’s the thing.” And unfamiliar red-haired woman moved into view. She had a resemblance to Willow, but seemed aware of what was going on. “Travers doesn’t play well with others, how do you think he’d react if his plans didn’t quite work as neatly as possible? He’d never liked the fact that Buffy won’t ask ‘how high?’ if he says jump, what do you think he’d do about two of them? In the same town?”
“Two of them? Two of me?” Buffy blinked, looking at the young woman. “Are you Caitlynn?”
“Two Slayers.” Angel’s voice was soft, and he looked at Giles. “Two Slayers who answer to protecting people rather than to the Council.”
“But… If there’s a new Slayer, then Faith’s dead.” Buffy’s words were a protest, and she looked around, her eyes flickering from Angl, to Willow, Spike, and this new woman, Caitlynn.
“That is the normal case.” Wesley was moving towards them, tucking a cell phone back into his pocket. “But things aren’t going quite normally right now.”
In that moment, a suspicion bloomed in Rupert’s mind. “You somehow managed to rescue Faith? How?”
“Amy and I did it.” Willow’s voice was barely audible, and she looked over at him and Buffy as if she dreaded their reactions. “This… It’s weird. There was this guy in a plaid jacket. He said his name was Whistler, and that we needed to save Faith, that it was very important. So, we did a spell.”
“What sort of spell?” Buffy asked, her eyes clouding. “Not another resurrection?”
“No. We… I guess we put time in a bubble around Faith.” Willow sounded a bit more confident as she offered the explanation. “Faith didn’t really die, we just…. Sort of paused everything, like stopping a movie and starting it up again later.”
Rupert felt something inside of him tense, and looked at Willow. “But that’s a very difficult spell. The energies need to be carefully balanced, or else… What made you try something like that?”
“I had to. I couldn’t just let her be killed! It was…. Wrong. I can’t put it into words.” Willow glanced down, biting at her lip. “And then we didn’t know who was trying to kill her, so we had to find a way to hide her.”
“Faith isn’t really dead?” Buffy was frowning, and looked around again. “You… But how? Where is she?”
“How did you plan to hide her?” Rupert had the feeling that things would get into an emotional tangle. But the fact that Travers hadn’t succeeded in killing their Slayer had to be good. He tried to imagine Faith hiding, staying out of sight, hiding in a spare room somewhere. No, utterly implausible.
Caitlynn gave Willow what could only be a look of reassurance, and smiled. There was something unsettlingly familiar about that smug grin. “Red managed to pull off something that she called a set glamour. It’s a whole new look.”
For a moment, Rupert felt like the world had tilted slightly, and he shuffled over a short distance to the right, and sat down on the bar that supported the teeter-totters. “Faith is Caitlynn. Oh my.”
“She’s not really your cousin?” Buffy was glaring now, and had crossed her arms. “You lied to me.”
Wesley put one arm around the shoulder of Caitlynn, or Faith – Rupert wasn’t quite certain how he should think of her. “We had to keep her safe. At first, we didn’t know who was trying to kill her. Then, we only knew who they’d paid to arrange things.”
Curious, Rupert looked at Wesley, noticing the way they stood a little closer than necessary, the way Wesley’s fingers were rubbing against her arm. It was obvious to him that Wesley had considerable personal interest in Faith, or Caitlynn, whichever name they should be using. Part of him wondered if either of them knew what they might be getting into, and another part wondered if it was worth arguing – after all, they were facing the end of the world. Instead, he decided to ask something else, something more focused on their current danger. “Who was hired to arrange Faith’s death?”
“Quentin Travers hired Wolfram & Hart to make it happen.” Angel’s voice held a little bit of a growl. “They’d been sending demons into the prison.”
“Who?” Buffy blinked, her almost sullen disappointment fading to mild confusion. “But isn’t that a law firm? I’m pretty sure that I used to drive past the offices on the way to one of the malls in Los Angeles.”
“They’re an evil law firm.” Wesley muttered. “They don’t simply defend questionable individuals, they… they engage in a vast assortment of immoral and illegal activities, always carefully protecting themselves. They’ve sent assassin after Angel, protected stalkers and serial killers, sent buying representatives to the most reprehensible of paranormal auctions…”
“Auctions? What’s so bad about an auction?” Buffy asked, apparently distracted from glaring at Willow.
“Auctions where they offer the eyes of a Seer, to be plucked out after purchasing.” Angel had a definite growl in his voice. “As well as an assortment of black magical artifacts, mystical weapons and poisons, the whole mess.”
“Yikes.” Buffy shivered, and glanced over at Wesley and Faith-Caitlynn, and then at Willow. “You should have told me.”
“We had to be careful.” Willow glanced away, her eyes pausing for a moment on Wesley, on Spike, and then resting on Angel. “We couldn’t just blurt something out in a place that would endanger her. What if the people responsible had spies? What if word of her being alive comes back to the bad guys, and they decided to send lots of bigger, nastier stuff here, where it would be a lot easier to smuggle in a scary demon than a prison?”
Buffy sighed, and nodded slowly, still clearly unhappy. “I guess that makes sense.”
Rupert started to clean his glasses, wondering if Buffy would really be as calm about this as she appeared, or if she would have her fit of temper later. He wondered if offering Faith a second chance so close to them was wise. And then he wondered just why Whistler had insisted on saving Faith.
~Part: 58~
Buffy stood there, her hands clenched at her sides, as she tried to sort out her reactions. She was hurt that Willow hadn't trusted her with the truth, surprisingly relieved that Faith wasn't dead, furious at Travers, shocked and a bit hurt to see Angel again, annoyed and angry that the Council might be spying on her, and a bit grossed out by the whole eye-plucking thing that Angel had mentioned. Everything seemed to be happening at once - the freaky suicidal demon-lady, the weird feeling, Amy de-ratted and that whole mess. Faith even looked surprisingly convincing as Willow's cousin.
Duh, things were happening at once because some of them were connected. She should have put it together earlier. Something had to have happened to let the freaky nasty scare the demon-lady, and what the demon-lady had been scared of was also giving her the wiggins. Travers had something to do with it getting out. Willow had de-ratted Amy, they'd jumped to the wrong conclusion, and Willow had felt like she had nothing better to do than save Faith. Naturally, Travers and his people wouldn't be happy to know their plan failed.
But why were Angel and Wesley here instead of in LA? And what was up with Wesley and Faith? And why was Angel talking to Giles, and Giles getting t hat 'oh dear' look and frowning? It must be some sort of bad news.
She really hadn't talked much to anyone since Willow had brought her back. It had just been so hard to be here again, after being. where she had been. Everything had felt safe, peaceful. She'd thought that they were all safe as well. But Giles had said that they weren't safe, that they'd been in terrible danger. If she hadn't been in heaven, where had she been?
Slowly, she walked towards Willow, knowing that she could stand here until sunrise and not know for certain what Willow had been thinking. A few guesses about Amy had already led to one wrong conclusion, she could learn from that mistake. "So, you're passing Faith as your cousin? Was that just to hide her from Travers?"
"Not just Travers. He hired someone else, an evil law firm, and we had to hide her from them." Willow sighed, fidgeting a bit and her fingers tangling in her short red hair. "She couldn't be Faith anymore and still disappear from their sight."
"Do you even really have an Aunt Niobe?" Buffy asked, feeling just a little bitter.
"Yeah. And she had a daughter." Willow's hands moved together, her fingers interlacing with white-knuckled tightness. "My cousin was killed in a car accident. I'd only met her a few times. Mom and Aunt Niobe had a really big fight years ago and they don't talk much anymore. I don't even know what they fought about."
"So, why couldn't you let Faith get killed?" Buffy knew as soon as they came out that the words sounded harsh. Maybe too harsh.
"We've all done things that we've regretted. Maybe not as big as what Faith did, but. Mistakes, misjudgments, things we regretted. But we've all done it, and all wanted a second chance to make things right. Why shouldn't Faith get that chance? And why should Travers get to play God?" Willow was quiet for a moment, and it looked as if she was lost in her thoughts. "Whistler said that she was needed. I don't know if he meant that she was needed to fight this Ancient Hunger, or if it was for something else, but if he comes from the Powers That Be, the people who are on our side in this whole mess, I should listen, right?"
Buffy could feel herself smiling at Willow's babble. How long since she'd felt amused when Willow rambled, instead of angry that she was here in Sunnydale? "I guess, but. After the whole mess with Angel's soul, and after dying and being brought back, I'd take their words with a grain of salt and a lot of caution. They always seem to leave out the important stuff."
Willow's smile seemed a bit weak. "Yeah, I know. But this. It scares me. Not just me, Amy's getting a bad feeling, and Caitlynn's been having freakier dreams about it than I have, and it's making both Angel and Spike nervous, not that either of them really want to think about that."
"She's Faith, not Caitlynn. You can make her look different, but she's still Faith." Buffy said, glancing over at the other Slayer. Faith had done terrible things, it would be stupid to forget all of that just because Travers wanted her dead. Even if maybe there was something to Willow's second chance idea.
For a moment, Willow had that little frown that said she was trying to come up with a way to explain something that made perfect sense to her. After a few minutes, all she said was, "We don't know if Travers and his people put listening or recording devices around Sunnydale. If they're still going to think that she's dead, we can't call her Faith. Having them try to make her as dead as she was supposed to be would be. dangerous. Don't we have enough danger to deal with already?"
"I suppose that makes sense." Buffy shrugged, flexing her shoulders and unclenching her hands. A part of her still hoped that Faith would end up dying in the upcoming mess, thus sparing them all any future worries about her redemption.
* * * *
"You okay over there?" Caitlynn asked, her words purely Faith, but her voice now different, thanks to the glamour that had changed her voice as well as her hair and skin.
"Possibly. Tonight is just." For a moment, Wesley was at a loss for words. "It's quite a lot to process. My thoughts are all over the place, and I think that unless there's something we need to do, I'd like to go back home."
"Hey, Red, Fang, We're heading back to base. It's been a lot to take in, and Wes looks about ready to shut down and pass out." She gave a small wave that was probably a goodbye, and placed her hand on his elbow. Her voice was softer as she added, "I'll make sure we both get back home safely."
"It wasn't supposed to be like this." The words slipped out, breaking a long silence as they'd been walking. "The terrible danger isn't supposed to be because of our misjudgments."
"I know." Her voice was quiet, blurred by pain. Oh yes, she could understand that feeling.
For a while, they walked in silence. Wesley felt his thoughts spinning and twisting. Travers had betrayed everything that the Watchers stood for. People in LA were aware of some of the problem. Another Slayer had been discovered in Europe. "How did there come to be another Slayer? A Slayer is only supposed to be called when."
"I know the speech. When one falls, another is Chosen. A destiny which is rather unhealthy, by the way." She kicked at a rock, frowning. "I don't know. I can guess, but I don't know. Either putting time in a bubble around me made whatever chooses Slayers think I was dead, or it's a result of Buffy dying."
"That was in the spring. If that was the cause, why would the new Slayer only be uncovered last week?" He glanced over, seeing the confusion and worry in her eyes.
"It could be that she didn't have a Watcher teaching her, like Buffy didn't at first." Faith shivered, and when she spoke again, her voice was hardly more than a whisper. "Or if it was from B's fall, then the one in Germany might not have been the one called right away. Slayers can have a really short life expectancy, Wes."
Wesley wanted to deny her words, to insist that things weren't that bleak and painful. But the words stuck in his throat, feeling falsely optimistic. He no longer had the same confidence in the Council that would have let him utter the attempt at consolation last month. "I suppose it's hard to say. Maybe we should just be grateful that it means Travers isn't trying to kill you any longer?"
"Yeah, I guess so." She murmured. For some reason, she wasn't looking at him. "Wes? Do you really think we can pull this off? The more I hear, the bigger and badder this whole thing sounds."
"We'll face it together." His hand reached out, catching hers. He wanted to try to make something for the two of them, even if it turned out that they could only have a few moments together before the end of the world. He was tired of trying to make the safe choices in everything, and wanted to try to for the most enjoyable choices, especially if these ended up as his last days. "We have some leads. The Native American shamans that I spoke with were already aware of the problem, and they are seeking advice on how to fix the barrier."
"Shamans, huh? Did you smoke a peace-pipe with them?" There was a trace of a smirk as she asked the question. Her thumb rubbed over his hand, and she had somehow ended up closer to him, her hip brushing against him as they walked.
"No, not a peace pipe. There was the ceremonial burning of some sacred herbs, which included some sage and a few other things that they didn't identify, in a sweat lodge." He paused, remembering the way that he'd felt, as if he could just step out of his body, like stepping out of his clothing. "I'm confident that we'll find something before things are too late."
"How bad is this thing Travers did?" Her question was low, as if she wasn't certain she should even be asking.
"What Travers did. It's more than the fact that it's wrong to send assassins after someone. It's more than the fact that he did this because he wanted more power. It's." Wesley struggled to find the words. "He turned his back on everything that we are taught as Watchers and spat in the face of our purpose."
"So, things look pretty bad." She murmured. "Well, that sucks. Any last wishes, since we might be about to die?"
"How about a few happy memories to take with us to the other side?" He asked, hope warring with the lingering fear that things would never work out for him. Be brave, because there's not enough time to dwell on what could have been's any longer.
"I don't have a lot of those." Sorrow darkened her words, and then she looked at him. "Do you have a way to fix that?"
Leaning forward, he whispered, "Let's make some better ones?"
Then he kissed her. To his great relief, she kissed him back, her arms sliding around him as their lips met and moved urgently against each other. "I like your plan. Why don't we take this inside?"
* * * *
Amy rubbed at her wrist, sighing as she looked at the big book in front of her. Whistler had arrived just as the others were preparing to go talk to Buffy in the park, and he'd tapped her shoulder. Without offering any explanation, he'd just grabbed her hand and the world had spun, blurred, and they'd been elsewhere. Some sort of weird place that was all pale light and smooth not-marble floors and shelves of big books bound in strange leathers. The one that she was staring into was wider than her shoulders, with thick pages covered in twists and loops that, while elegant, were no form of writing that she recognized.
"Why am I copying this section of the book again?" Amy asked, glaring at the messenger. She was certain that she could hear voices chanting somewhere in the background. If there was someone close enough for her to hear them chanting, wouldn't they notice that they weren't alone?
"You'll need it." He sighed, and rubbed at his temples, looking almost depressed. "This whole mess. It wasn't supposed to happen. Nobody made plans, because they never thought that things would be bad enough to need a plan."
"So, they were overconfident?" Amy asked, frowning a little. It was weird, as she looked at the loops and twisty swirls, there was a picture forming in her mind. This web of multi-colored light, and this dark shape like some deformed large guy, with long claws, caught against the light. The chanting seemed to get a bit clearer, though she had no idea what the words meant, and the shadow-shape seemed to writhe in pain. There was something uncomfortably familiar about the dark shape...
"Basically. They were overconfident, and they thought that nobody would forget what they'd locked up. That nobody would risk the things that might damage those locks." For a moment, he was quiet, and then, in a softer voice, he continued. "But they forgot that mortals don't remember on the same scale as they do. And people will do the most astonishing and horrible things for power."
"My life is so weird." She muttered. "So, who's over there chanting?"
"Chanting?" He looked at her, eyes worried. "There's nobody here but you and me, kiddo."
"But. I hear chanting." With a nervous swallow, Amy tried to copy faster. She didn't even realize that she'd started to whisper along with the chanting until Whistler grabber her shoulder.
"What are you saying?" His eyes looked worried, and he looked. less human, somehow. The features were all right, and the proper colors and sizes, but it was wrong at the same time.
"That's the words to the chanting that you didn't hear." Tapping the book, she asked, "So what does this do?" In her mind's eye, the shadow-thing struggled against the light, and the light seemed to fold around it, like wrapping a tissue over a dead bee before dropping it into the trash. There were other shapes, scattered in groups and singly outside the web, and threads of colored light emerged from them, forming the web.
"It's about the rituals that were used to create the Barrier and bind the Most Ancient of Hungers." He glanced around, as if nervous. "We aren't really supposed to be here, but if we're quiet and quick, I think we can get this copied and be gone before anyone has a chance to notice. And there's nobody here chanting."
Feeling entirely uncomforted, Amy returned to her copying. Loops and swirls, which looked sort of pretty and made no sense to her at all. If this explained how the Darkness had been bound, maybe they could figure out how to do it again, assuming they could find someone who could read this stuff. The images burned in her mind, and she shivered, uncertain if they were from her imagination, the chanting that she heard, or the book. In the margins, she started to note little bits of the strange images in her head. After all, this place reeked of magic, maybe they would be helpful - the web of light, the dark and hungry shadow, the large number of people working against the shadow - they all sounded like the Binding. "I'm telling you, I hear chanting. Goes with the pictures in my head. Either I'm going crazy, or the book's multimedia."
Whistler had nothing to say in reply, but his hand on her shoulder tightened.
~Part: 59~
Xander Harris unlocked the door to the apartment that he shared with Anya. Things were going wrong out there. He couldn't explain it better than that. The creepy factor of Sunnydale had gone up, the shadows were darker, and the spooky noises that were probably the monsters were spookier, only he wasn't seeing the monsters. Something had carved weird runes all along the support beams of the current construction project, and stained them with some sort of blood and ashes mixture. The worry resulting from that had caused things to drag out, and it had taken them hours longer to finish what had to be done for the day.
Somehow, it creeped him out even more that he recognized them as runes of protection.
"Xander!" Anya flung her arms around him, squeezing him tight. "You're alright. I'd feel a lot better if you had gotten back before the sun set."
"I'm still in one piece, and nothing worse than tired and freaked out." He sighed, and hugged her back. At least he wasn't facing all this scary weirdness alone.
"What happened to keep you out so late?" She asked, still holding his hand as she tugged him to sit on the couch.
Xander tried to smile, noticing that the room still smelled like sage. "There were protection runes carved into the support beams this morning."
"You're certain they were protection runes? Nobody's being stupid enough to try to make things worse now, are they? Nobody's trying to, I don't know, open the Hellmouth?" Anya asked, grasping his hand as she fretted. "Has Giles got any more ideas on how to fix this?"
Xander opened his mouth, about to say something, like 'nobody would be that stupid.' Instead, different words slithered out as an idea hatched and emerged without even considering a pause at 'common sense' to see if it was good. "Maybe we could ask some of the local demons. If they know enough to be asking protection like that, maybe they know something we can use to stuff that bad-boy genie back into its bottle?"
For a moment, she stared at him, her jaw dropped a bit in shock. "Xander, I don't know if that's the stupidest idea you've ever had or a stroke of genius. We might as well go ask, the worst that can happen is we die a little sooner than if we sat back and waited for it to come get us."
"Right. Well, we might as well go, right?" He stood up, still holding her hand tightly in his. "I don't think we have enough time to worry about elaborate plans."
"Let's not be in a rush to invite doom ahead of schedule." Anya insisted, one hand smoothing over her pant leg. "But the sooner we go, the sooner we might have something useful to add to the efforts at stopping disaster, right?"
"Right." Xander agreed. He had the sudden urge to say 'never mind, let's just stay home', but squashed it down. It was his reckless idea, how could he back out now? Besides, Anya was right - unless they could find the answers and fast, they were all dead anyway.
It felt like just a few minutes later that they were shuffling along the beach, which looked a lot spookier at night. With a few weapons each, they weren't exactly helpless, but they were deliberately going to a cave system that Anya thought had a lot of demons, and Xander was feeling rather vulnerable. Stupid ideas like this were going to get him killed, possibly tonight.
At the mouth of the cave, there were two figures. One had the massive build and curling horns of a Fyarl demon, like the one that Giles had been turned into the year before, though Xander doubted that this one was really a British Watcher changed by a spell. The second looked like a bony woman with long hair and a pale dress. It wasn't until he was so close that he could have touched her that he realized her hair was a dark purple, she had scaly, pinkish skin, and her eyes were completely milky white.
She smiled, the expression unnerving, and gestured for them to come inside. "We've been waiting."
Xander couldn't help the feeling that went through him - as if they'd just waltzed into a trap. "So, I found some protection runes on the support beams at my construction site."
"Yes. We ask for something, either a shield against the Hunter, or a swift death that will spare us from His coming." The demon woman led them deeper into the cave, which was filled with dozens of demons of many different types. Some of them he recognized, but others were unfamiliar. Pits held fires, casting dancing shadows and light over the walls and the demons. "Now, you are here, and perhaps our prayers have been answered."
Xander blinked, feeling really disturbed by the whole situation. "Are you asking us to help you, or to kill you?"
"Yes." The woman shrugged, as if either option was acceptable to her.
Xander looked at Anya, unsurprised to see that she looked just as worried as he felt. This was not what he'd expected at all. "Umm, why don't we start by trying to find a way to stop this Hunter, and if that doesn't work, we can start with the killing later? Anybody got family histories about how it got locked away?"
A man with green scales and tiny blue spikes over his face stepped forward. He had a half smile, and when he started to speak, there was a faint Irish accent. "In the tales of our ancestors, it is said there was a desperate alliance of all peoples against the Vile Devourer, and that together, they worked a great spell..."
~Part: 60~
Lindsey MacDonald frowned as he listened to Gavin ranting on about something. The man had been handling a few accounts, mostly normal ones from overseas people with American investments. Things that should have been simple, even legal, or at least mostly legal. Except that Gavin looked like a spastic puppet, so something was clearly not going according to plan.
"How hard could it be anyhow? These were professionals! Granted, they were unprofessional enough to let their debts get too large to control, and so they had to forfeit, but." Gavin ranted, pacing along the wall.
"She's dead now, isn't she?" Lilah Morgan asked, inspecting one taupe-painted nail with apparent calm. "Does it really matter if it was at the time of one of the attacks or afterwards from lingering effects?"
"Now that miserable bastard is trying to insinuate that I sent incompetents to deal with her. He doesn't realize how hard it was to work under his constraints. Nobody that couldn't pass for human, nothing that would draw too much attention, nothing that couldn't be explained away. Report to him when Faith Wilkins was finally dead." Gavin dropped into a chair, his face contorted into a sulk. "Damn Quentin Travers anyhow, the man is a pain in my ass."
"Quentin Travers?" Lindsey repeated, trying to sort through the nagging feeling that he had. "Where have I heard that name before?"
"He's the current Head of the Council of Watchers." Lilah replied, starting to file another nail. "Gavin's responsible for handling the American investments for the Council, and making certain they don't get themselves in too much trouble for spying on little girls."
"Is that all they do? Spy on little girls?" Lindsey joked, trying to hide the baffling feeling of unease that the news brought him. Something about this seemed off to him, and he wondered if it was some sort of test or trap from the senior partners.
"Oh, the occasional kidnapping of a potential, the occasional removal of an obstructive individual. Just the usual sort of thing." Gavin shrugged. "Until Travers decided that a woman safely and securely locked under Federal observation had to be eliminated."
"I thought Faith was the Slayer?" Lindsey offered, deciding that it might be safest to play dumb on that account. "Why would the Head of the Council of Watchers want to kill their Slayer?"
"Because he can't control her." Gavin said with a sneer. "He wants to replace her with someone more malleable to the Council's commands, and to do that, Faith had to die. It's really very simple - when one dies, another is Chosen, so, he's just hurrying the process along."
"Huh." Lindsey grunted, his mind spinning. Something about that explanation seemed very wrong to him, and he had no idea why. It wasn't the logic - that was flawless. But the Council was a very old organization, and they dealt almost as heavily with magic as Wolfram and Hart. Hadn't it ever occurred to anyone in the Council to make a few arrangements to prevent people from derailing things to serve private agendas? "Of course we had the resources to make that happen."
"We? The Watchers are my case, not yours, MacDonald." Gavin snorted.
"Wolfram and Hart, Parks. The company that issues our paychecks, the greater corporate entity that we're both part of?" Lindsey shook his head, wondering how long Gavin could last. "The company has a lot more connections than either one of us separately could ever hope to gain. Of course the company could manage something like the elimination of a Slayer."
Standing up, he started back towards his office. Maybe if he focused enough on his own cases, he'd forget to be disturbed by the idea of the Head of the Watcher's Council trying to kill their Slayer. He was a lawyer, he wasn't supposed to be having moral or ethical qualms. Not while working for this company. Passing one of the magical research department, he shook his head at the mutters about chicken feet and circles of containment. He was just glad that he didn't need to know any of that stuff. Containment was for the mages, or for the special physical taskmen that were their own equivalent of Slayers.
That comparison froze him mid-step. Their equivalent of Slayers. and they had to work within certain careful restrictions to avoid causing changes to various mystical balances. Did the Slayer have constraints like that? What would happen if there was a revolt within the Watchers?
He'd better ask. His bad feeling suggested that things could get ugly, and when in doubt, it never hurt to make certain something wasn't about to eat you. He turned and made his way towards the elevator, pushing the button for the floor that held the records department. They might have something on the restrictions and constraints on the Slayer, and, by extension, on the Watchers.
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