Sang et Ivoire
By Holly
Chapter Twenty
It was positively sinful to have a surprise pop quiz during the last week of her final year in high school. However, as this was the instructors' favored brand of torture, Dawn didn't get much of a say. Along with the other two hundred fifty seven of the graduating seniors, she grudgingly endured the lasting strain of academics the so-called authority figures attempted to exercise. She remembered Xander telling her once that his final week had been composed of madlibs and hangman. This was pure and simple torture, concocted to keep the students in line. If only that giant snake hadn't destroyed the school that used to reside on these grounds...
In spite of herself, Dawn had to crack a grin. Honestly, how many teenagers could have that purely validated thought cross their minds without a flinch, or a sudden need of extensive therapy?
Between passing notes in class and turning in her last revision of the Streetcar essay Willow had helped her with, the younger Summers was completely occupied with whispered talk concerning the uprising evil. Even the notably oblivious students that accompanied her through particularly boring lectures seemed to understand that something large was on the rise. The number of people occupying the Bronze after dark had dwindled - granted, not by much - but enough to be noticed. The previous day, after awaking ten minutes late for class, she found Buffy watching the television in Xander's basement, keened to the news that another baby had been born with the eyes facing inward.
Things were getting hairy.
The bottom of Dawn's stomach gave way, the lead of her pencil snapping as she hastily attempted to answer question fourteen. It was impossible to concentrate in the midst of such proceedings. To make things worse, she hadn't seen Spike since that episode in Xander's basement. When she arrived that evening from school, she found Buffy and Willow chatting quietly, reflecting some conversation the Witch and Harris had held with the vampire prior to his departure. Giles and Angel showed up sometime later, relating that Spike (or William, as the Watcher called him) was busy with research and couldn't be bothered.
It was the definitive sign of bad to worse.
Trying to gauge Buffy's reaction to the entire situation was difficult, especially with the weight of Spike being back and all non-evil like resting atop every other flash of new tidings. That night at Xander's seemed to prove several things. For one thing, her sister had loved the demon very much, despite what she said or whom she tried to fool. Secondly, Spike, equipped with a soul, felt it impossible to feasibly give her what his demon had tried over and over to obtain for the burden of his crimes. And lastly, (not at all pertaining to her sister), Dawn needed to talk to the vampire desperately and apologize for the harsh welcome home she had delivered the night they discovered his return. Soul or no soul, she had loved Spike dearly, despite what he did to her sister, and to see what he put himself through all for the sake of her...it made her well up with warm fuzzies.
Tiredly, the younger Summers girl yawned, eying her friend, Diana, with a pointed look. "I'm going to be so glad when this is all behind us," she whispered fervently, avoiding the accusing though indifferent look cast by the teacher. It was too late in the year to start avidly caring about the classroom chatterboxes.
Her friend nodded and rolled her eyes. "No guff. Hey, I'm gonna head downstairs for a quick smoke. Wanna come?"
The answer formed wordlessly in the air before the need to recite her standing materialized. A year before, Diana had persuaded Dawn to join her on one of these daily trips to the basement and test a huff of nicotine. Smoke did not rest well with her, and the first puff did her lungs in. Whatever fascination she held with the practice was hence dissolved, and though she didn't want to admit it, a higher level of Dawn's understanding connected the experiment with Spike's annoying addiction. On occasion, Diana would ask her friend to accompany her out of the sport of good humor and a friendly jest when she declined.
"And miss this highly entertaining class period?" Dawn smirked and indicated the drooping heads and eyes that were fixed on the clock that insisted on passing time as slowly as possible. "Get real."
Diana snickered and rolled her eyes. The teacher excused her to the rest room, though the telling threat behind her voice informed her that she knew perfectly well where the girl was actually headed. "Whatever, Summers. Be sure to not tell me if we have another quiz. As the rest of the senior class, I don't really give a fuck anymore."
Dawn smiled and resumed doodling on her spiral notebook. The majority of the class had finished the quiz and was collaboratively partaking in the attempt to stall turn-in time. These endless days could not be filled with more tedium, but that didn't mean the Gestapo that ran her school wouldn't try.
The rest of class passed with growing monotony. By the time the bell rang, more than half of the students who bothered to show up anymore were snoozing on their books, oblivious to the drool that rolled haphazardly onto hard-wood desks. Threats of a follow-up test rang ineffectually to the herd of hormones fighting to get through the doorway. Things as universally dull as schoolwork simply didn't matter anymore, and try as they might, the faculty was visibly tired of routine as well. The evidence was irrefutable: Sunnydale was beyond prepared to grasp summer with open arms.
Dawn was halfway to her next class before she realized her friend had not returned from the rendezvous downstairs. This was not wholly unusual; Diana's smoke breaks were extending rapidly by five-minute intervals the faster graduation day approached. Anything to avoid a room full of blank stares and redundant lessons that no one would remember outside of high school. Fellow students were often referred to as puppets. Guinea pigs. Whatever the public school system could devise to keep Sunnydale's youth in line. That, and the teachers were likely a part of some major government conspiracy that concerned flying saucers and shiny objects.
Lunch hour came and went with no sign from Diana, and at last Dawn began to worry. Chances were an authority figure had finally captured the offender after four years of carefree smoking, but she was in no way accustomed to living on absolutes. Strictly speaking, students were not admitted on the lower levels without a pass, and while this hardly put a hamper to daily exploring by the big-name troublemakers, it was stringently monitored thanks to the aid of several sporadically placed security cameras. By whatever grace of God, Diana had managed to evade capture during the course of her high school career.
But now...
Third period's a bore, anyway, Dawn rationalized as she neared the NO STUDENT ADMISSION sign placed rigorously at the end of the long corridor. The warning bell had sounded, but no one was hurrying to beat the tardy policy. Besides, I so aced that test. Won't matter if I...
It was a matter of resolve. What would Buffy do?
Summers grinned cheekily and pushed the door open. Her body went rigid immediately as though she expected an ambush of angry personnel, but the only thing that greeted her was the darkness of the stairwell. Cigarette smoke wafted in the still air, and she rolled her eyes with expectancy, a dry, sardonic murmur escaping her throat. "Quick smoke, huh? Well, let's be fair, Dawn. She never specified what she was smoking."
Uh oh. Perhaps she had been training too much with Buffy. The butterflies in her stomach were beginning to stir in that you know something's down there kind of way. Weren't only slayers supposed to get the tinglies? Emitting a breath, ashamed at how it shuddered, she shook her head and stepped down boldly. Alarms failed to sound and she was fairly certain the staff had yet to sick the guard dogs after her.
This from the girl whose occupation used to be amateur shoplifter...
Dawn stopped on the fifth step down and finally allowed the door behind her to slam closed. "This is stupid," she told the darkness, unsure of whom she was trying to convince. Either way, the three-word assurance did her in, and without further hindrance, she skated down the stairway, searching for a light when she came to the end.
Switch. Burned out bulb.
"Fantastic," she murmured. "I knew I should have bought those night vision goggles."
All right. Bad humor not a good sign of being completely in charge of one's emotions. Dawn bit her lip and proceeded. The past three years had taught her to be entirely self-reliant - prepared to face a world of danger, and though she handled herself better than any of the other Scoobies when presented with peril (strictly in the ass-kicking sense), a child lurked within her confident cavity. An evil child that whispered unvoiced feelings of lingering inadequacy. Vampires were easy to deal with, and patrolling in an open-graveyard in the dead of night seemed much more logical than attempting to maneuver through a dark high school basement.
School in itself was frightening enough.
She waited a few seconds for her eyes to adjust. No such luck. Dawn waved her hand in front of her face with futility. Her skin could be florescent purple and she wouldn't know the difference.
Okay, she thought, calming, let's sort things out in a good and bad pile. Good: I'm not in European Government. Good: Had a nice, healthy, school/prison food lunch. Bad: Should not have thought of food. School food icky; term 'food' used lightly. Bad: Am currently trekking through unknown territory at bottom of said school. Bad: If sister finds out, sister kills. Bad: Have lost use of personal pronouns. Bad: Have very bad feeling about this.
"I am the Key," Dawn proclaimed under her breath. "And it's not the Key's job to have tinglies."
And yet tinglies were most certainly being had.
Pursing her lips, she continued down a darkened passage, tiptoeing as quietly as possible while stretching her hearing down the far-reaches of the underground to detect any indication of movement. She absently wondered how the security cameras spotted misdemeanors down here unless they were equipped with super laser vision or something equally cheesy.
I'm being stupid. Di probably ditched school and went home like any sensible senior would. I mean, who would want to be here on a lovely...dreary...rainy... Okay, scratch that. Who would want to be here at all?
"Stop talking...or thinking," Dawn sputtered awkwardly. "It's not working."
The next instant banished any measure of rational thought from convenient proximity. One second she was standing grounded, watching, waiting, listening for a sign that her friend was near, and as her senses took command of her, the eerie serenity captured in the lower level evaporated altogether. A sharp pain clamored against her jaw as she was shoved to the wall, the familiar growl of a hungry vampire caressing her ear. Dawn's interior monologue vanquished along with any lingering qualm. It was basic instinct now. Quickly, she head-butted the vamp and broke free, whirling in a roundhouse kick that resulted with her pressed again against the wall; tight, snapping jaws nearing her neck too close for comfort.
All right. Enough with the 'What would Buffy do' thing. We've done what Buffy would do, and now we're feeling pretty much screwed. Let's try the...what would Spike do. SPIKE. Not William - Spike. What would HE...
The answer to that was all too obvious. Something outlandish and bold and just stupid enough to work.
"You know," she said, struggling futilely against the vampire's strength. "You really should consider a long term dental plan. One that actually concerns brushing. Cause from here...shew. You smell like cabbage, buddy."
Forget bold and outlandish. That was just stupid. Within the next second, Dawn found herself resigned harshly to the floor, and at last the darkness alleviated with some sense of light. There were four, perhaps five vampires surrounding her. Closing in.
Still wanna try what Spike would do?
No, no. In such instances, it was her extreme good fortune that her older sister was a superhero. Drawing in a deep breath, Summers bounded to her feet. The situation would be a breeze if Buffy were here, and despite whatever preparation she had put herself through, it was beyond obvious that the Key did not equal Slayer.
If I get out of here alive, she thought with tragic irony, shuddering to imagine the scowl of raging disapproval on her sister's face. I am so dead.
These were not encouraging thoughts.
Dawn kicked blindly in a random direction, victoriously coming into contact with something - cold but lively. Again she twirled, swinging instinctively to the creature behind her. Another successful blow. Motivation charged her veins. Gaining momentum, she prepared to pivot again, but was stopped in mid-action by powerful pressure weighing on her shoulder. Not thinking twice, she grabbed the offending hand and attempted to toss the vampire over her body as she had seen her sister do time and time again. However, her confidence drained as her peaked high remembered exactly who she was and what powers she did not possess. The ground beneath her groaned when she hit it - or was that her own helpless wheeze fighting to escape winded lungs? It was over so quickly; she didn't realize she had lost until she was surrounded by an oval of demon eyes.
The most hideous face she had ever seen hovered over her weary face, and Dawn felt her insides collapse in dread. Over the course of her brief, eventful life, she had played witness to more than one memorable occurrence. More than one apocalypse. She remembered Buffy's accounts of the first, those many years ago. When she had been too young to - when she hadn't even been there.
The face she saw now surpassed all accounts of reasonability. Everything and anything her young, gullible mind could conjure-swept away in the blink of an eye. Glowing maroon eyes - God, are there vampires with maroon eyes? - stared back at her, tight lips taut in a satisfied, malicious sneer. The sort of mocking repose that dared any sort of revolution. Without speaking, without breathing a word, the smile assured her all hope of escape was naïve, and beyond impossible.
This sort of despicable creature. Dawn felt a rush of disgust before losing all sense of consciousness. The last thing she saw was the drained, lifeless body of Diana lying several feet away, cigarette still smoking between unmoving fingers.
*~*~*
However much time had passed since the night spent at Xander's, William wasn't sure. A few days, even a week, perhaps. Time in itself mended into one continuously growing routine. Every waking minute thereafter had been occupied in the library, investigating book after book and playing himself into a labyrinth of crossword puzzles with numerous failed attempts to decode the cryptic message Giles had discovered. At first, even he had been skeptical of his own conviction. The measures one took lowering to the helpless grasping of straws.
He was convinced now. It was definitely code. A well concealed code, at that. He had positively nothing to compare it to. Nothing to test it against. The words and letters constructed a thousand different sentences in a thousand different tongues: none of which rang as intelligible or likely. He had the sinking suspicion that the answer was remarkably straightforward, and that he was simply missing something.
There was one perk to continuous research: his mind hadn't the time to travel to Buffy. To consider what had passed between them. That road was untended, and with any luck, he would figure the clue out and reveal it to show terrific potency as the missing link to defeating the rising evil. Then he and Ripper could go home.
At long last.
Of course, nothing was ever that simple.
Leaving the Slayer would be easier said than done, especially with every tearful confession clamoring his insides. Whatever he had expected from this journey, it wasn't forgiveness, and least of all love. Every time he got near her, touched her, he felt and saw warmth he could not fathom possessing. And it hurt. With each look, smile, kiss, she drove a stake through his chest. Her best was more than he could bear. It was harder yet, now that he had accepted its validity. Pretending it all to be an elaborate dream had at least given him some room to work.
But now was not the time to worry with such things. More urgent matters pressed with lasting persistency. The code would not unravel itself.
It was getting darker earlier. The terrain was nestled in blackness before the hour could creep past five. William felt the hairs on the back of his neck spring to life in reaction, a shudder claiming his body. Time was growing regrettably short; they had spent so much effort mangling themselves around the personal affects of his visit rather than visiting the point of the trip in itself. The approaching days would prove difficult, perhaps deadly, and no one would know how to respond.
Not for the first time, he felt a surge of homesickness seize his core. Everything had been so simple then. Working for the lot of poofters that owned the library, researching every demon brought to their attention, trading jibes with Ripper over morning coffee, poking fun at obscure literary references that would likely exceed anyone else's understanding. Knowing that he could never have her. Understanding that was what he deserved.
William sighed and shook his head. The past couple days had not been generous enough to provide him time to rest. Though he had slept his share at the crypt the night they were raided by vamps in the graveyard, he could only go so far fully charged before fatigue inevitably seized command.
It was luck that Willow happened in at that moment. The library was fairly unoccupied, all except the nosy librarians that had grudgingly accepted that he had consent from the administration to use as much time as he cared to, even if his stay progressed far into the night. The past couple days had seen him nowhere else, and each morning the opening librarian would greet him cheerfully and give him a cup of coffee. He liked her all right. It was the closing shift that had their knickers in a twist, studying him contemptuously. He had to hand it to them; he didn't much have the look of a bona fide scholar. The temptation was great to light up a cigarette a couple of times, just to get them brassed, but he knew that would lead to banishment from the books and straight to Giles's crap list: a place he had not seen in years.
The Witch presented him with a brown bag full of goodies with a slight smile. "Hey, Mr. Research," she greeted, plopping her purse into a chair, briefly glancing over an open book cast across the table. "Any luck?"
William motioned to the notebook filled with the thousands of possibilities he had produced in the past forty-eight hours with arched brows. "If you call that luck," he sneered bitterly. "This bloke's aimin' to make it eat away days at a time. After all, what is life to these chaps more than a tale told by an idiot, full of sound an' fury, signifyin' nothing? Problem is everythin' I come up with 's just as wonky as the original. None of that makes any bleedin' sense."
A frown wiped the smile from her face as she browsed the list of useless predictions. "No, it doesn't," she agreed. "I could surf the net for yah. Maybe there's something on this Ger...Geryon? Yeah. Geryon guy. You know...list of powers, references, things he might have put in creepy old books to wig people like us out?"
A small, faint grin tickled William's lips, and he shrugged appreciatively. "Luv, 'f you think it'll do any good, I'm open to all sorts of help right now. But I gotta tell yeh...I've looked through every bloody title in this damn place, an' I've searched my own collection more times than I can count. Not to mention all those books Ripper has piled away." He read her skeptical expression, and the smile on his face turned sheepish. "A bloke's gotta keep occupied. 'Sides, I do work in a library. In order fer anythin' to get online, they'd firstly 'ave to 'ave a book to look it up in, right?"
Willow frowned and conceded, her eyes rolling. "Yeah, I guess. Are you sure you've looked through everything-"
"Two and three times, pet. P'raps more. 'S not 'ere. There's only a couple books I've found that even call Geryon by name. 'E's mentioned in a few, right, but nothin' that would lead me to know what the bloody hell this means." In grim frustration, he gestured to the yet-to-be-cracked code. "This not knowin'...really's the bloody thorn in my side." Then, without suggestion, the hardened expression besetting his features fell, a placid look of indifference overcoming him. The tenor of their discussion changed at that minute, dropping in degrees. "How is she?"
"All right. She was confused when she woke up and you were all...not there."
"She understood, though, right? Some things're just more important." He sighed heavily. "The sooner this is over, the better."
"Hey - no argument here." Her face, though, told a different story.
William's mouth drew into a taut line, eyes unwittingly rolling upward and meeting hers. A sort of grim understanding connected their thoughts into mutinous abode - unspoken and not needing any elaboration. There was no want of denial, and no use in vocalizing those opinions that were already gleaming in manifest light. When the air confined and threatened to become uncomfortable, he shifted and cleared his throat, drawing his gaze back to the ineffectual text. At such times, it was imperative to discover a new route of conversation. "So..." he said awkwardly. "Any luck with the curse? Find how to work the wonky?"
At that, the Witch's face brightened and she nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yeah. Well, it's not all completely worked out. Got its kinks and whatnot, but I think I could definitely work it on you...if, for some weird reason, I need to. There's not much change in the ritual. I used Ms. Calendar's old program to translate the document." She stopped and rolled her bright eyes. "It's been so long! I had to dig out my old computer to find software compatible with it. I never noticed how quickly things get outdated. The curse mentions Angel's name twice...so I think if we had to, we could put yours in there - no prob."
Well, that was reassuring, though he didn't know how helpful it would be in the end. He was simply grateful that she felt useful. He suspected things would pretty much be left up to Buffy.
"It's amazing," the Witch continued. "To think...that curse was so hard for me to work. I looked at it last night and was all like, 'Whoa...I could do that now. Right here. No big.'"
"You've come a long way, pet," he agreed.
A scowl crossed her face, brief but effective. "Yeah. Went from computer geek to Lady MacBeth in just four years."
"Ah, ah." William quirked a brow. "We'll 'ave none of that. 'Sides, I went from the Big Bad to a bloody poof of a boy scout in three. Wanna compare notes, luv?"
Willow fought for a minute but her humor got the better of her, and she offered a large, grateful grin. "I wouldn't worry," she assured him. "Don't think anyone will mistake you for a boy scout anytime soon."
"Sure as hell hope not. Might be all soul-having, but I got an image to upkeep."
"Hate to break it to you, Buster, but your reputation was pretty much shot the minute you showed up here and started acting like the son Giles never had."
William smiled brightly. "Yeah. Look what that old git's made me into."
"Nothing you didn't let him."
"'S right. Absolutely." With a sigh, the smile melted once more from his face, and William cast his gaze downward again. "I can't let 'em down, you know. 'Im or her. Gotta find out what the blazes this bloody thing means."
Willow bit her lip and stepped forward. "Is there anything I can help you with? Anything at all?"
"I don' think so, but I 'preciate the notion." His eyes told a different story. Hazarding a glance to the librarians, he finally explored the contents of the sack she had brought him, discovering - to his delight - a pack of blood and a zip-lock bag filled with Wheatabix. "Ah, Red," he said gratefully. "You sure know the way to this man's heart."
A tickle of mirth overcame her briefly. "Hate to tell you, buster, but I'm just the delivery girl. That's all in the care of your ingenious, however impatient, supplier."
"Well, Ripper does know how to motivate me," William conceded, practically tearing the bagged blood open with blunt teeth. "I was getting all sorts of rumblies in that region, anyways."
"Glad I could help." Willow smiled again before casting her gaze to the open manuscript. There she lingered as he heartily drank, not noticing that he vamped out. He was careful not to spill; technically, food wasn't allowed anywhere on the property. He received the vague notion that being caught downing a bag of blood wouldn't put him right with the workers.
The comprehension came slowly. He watched it tackle her eyes, lighting up fiery pupils with radiant understanding. Then to her cheeks, rousing a breathless rouge to otherwise pale skin. And lastly, her smile intensified to heights of terrific magnitude. She was tugging at his arm before he had a chance to voice his inquisition.
"Geryon...Giles said he took the name from The Inferno, right?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, look! Slayer; Even night ends two at circle - Corou. Circle! The circles of hell, or whatever? What if he took this directly from the book? What if the-"
William groaned and smacked himself in the forehead. "I am such a git!" he growled, lurching over, seizing a fresh page of notebook paper, and beginning again.
The new additive made for a simple translation. Annoyingly simple. The vampire spent the next few minutes grumbling about his lack of insight - muttering things Willow couldn't possibly hear, though she detected the words ponce, prat, and nincompoop more than once. He stunk of self-aimed aggravation.
"I'm a bleedin' wanker," William snarled, throwing his pencil down with finale. "Right 'ere; in fron' of me the whole time! God, I've lost my edge."
"Spike-"
"I mean it. My brain's all rotted out. This sodding trip has taken it out of me."
"Spike! What does it say?"
At that, he blinked and leaned forward, shaking his head still. "Right. Directly from the text. Canto VIII - prat spelled everythin' out, o'course - Circle Seven Round Two. Clue's somewhere in there. Be a doll an' fetch me a copy of The Inferno, would yah? Grab two if yeh wanna help."
She returned shortly with the requested material, and they dove headfirst into work. There were only two copies in the entire library. One translated into English, the other in fluent though foreign with no helpful sidebars. She offered it to him without bothering to ask how sharp his Italian was. There was no need.
"I think," Willow suggested after a few minutes of mindless flipping, "that it's at the end. The clue...'even night ends two' - get what I mean? Flip to the end of Canto VIII. What's the last line?"
Immediately complying, William tore across the last page of the indicated text. Something tight and restrictive caught in his throat, and slowly, he began to read. "Io fei gibetto a me de la mie case."
"What does it mean?" The Witch was practically shouting, ignoring the looks of perturbed indignation other patrons of the library delivered. In that minute, it seemed she had forgotten that she had a perfectly capable copy sitting in her waiting grasp, pages away from unearthing the riddle herself. Instead, her eyes focused demandingly on the vampire, who took a long beat to find his words.
"It means - when all put together: 'I am one who has no tale to tell. I made myself a gibbet of my own lintel.'"
Willow frowned. "What does that mean?"
"That the Slayer's aimin' to set herself up right quick, an' we-"
The thought went incomplete with the sudden persistence of a loud shrill vibrating from the Witch's purse. Another montage of irritation wafted in their direction, but the damage was already done. She leapt to her feet and seized her cell phone - suddenly cluing into the sense of displaced frustration emanating from the staff. A stoutly woman with a mean face had paraded forward, making sure to put herself between William and his friend as Willow turned down an aisle of books to answer her call.
Then the librarian was scolding him, face red with anger. It was obvious she was attempting to exercise the same restraint she was preaching, but the vampire had hit some pivotal nerve. He didn't capture much from her tangent as he struggled to hear what Willow was discussing, but several select words like delinquent, no respect, and I don't care who your friends are - we bend the rules for no one stood out in all their inglorious condescension. It wasn't until the Witch returned, phone curled in grasp, expression pale that he snapped to the present. Something within ran dreadfully cold.
The librarian was still whispering vehemently. Dismissively, he waved her off and muttered an insincere, "Umm, yes. So sorry. Won' happen again." Without waiting for a reply, he tore away and approached his companion, eyes wide with concern.
There was no denying it. Buffy was his first and only coherent thought. "What happened?"
Willow couldn't speak. Her mouth was open and words were ready to pour, but she couldn't bring herself to force anything out. William's patience ebbed uncontrollably. He was seconds away from either slapping her silly - rather until the chip knocked him out on impact - or running to make sure Buffy was all right. What seemed like hours crept by before she met his gaze fully, returning to herself in all sense of judgment.
Her words cut him like deep shards of crimson glass.
"It's Dawn."