Ichnobate
Part SevenAs the Xandermobile came to a shuddering stop, Anya, Xander, Willow and all six of the Potentials from the warehouse tumbled out of it. Their chaotic disembarking reminded Dawn of a clown car at the circus.
If clowns were noisy, obnoxious and tragically unfunny, she thought.
Everyone was arguing and jockeying for position as they all tried to attract the Slayer’s notice at the same time. Dawn edged out of the crush. She tugged gently at Andrew’s shirtsleeve as she went by him. When he looked, she motioned for him to follow. They moved a short distance away from the group.
“We need to get back to the house,” the girl said softly, “so you can do the summoning.”
Andrew glanced nervously over his shoulder. His eyelids twitched slightly as he replied. “Uhm…yeah. O-okay. But maybe now isn’t the best time. What about this new thing?”
“Buffy can handle it,” Dawn said, waving a dismissive hand. Andrew continued to look doubtful and the girl frowned at him. “You can do this, right?”
“Sure,” he said brightly. But as she continued to stare he looked up and away. “I mean, I think. I never have before or anything.”
He brightened slightly as he continued. “But one time in Mexico, I helped Jonathan call up the phantasm of this Aztec priest to perform a ritual we were studying. He was like 20-something, covered in red and black paint and wearing nothing but these bead rattles on his wrists and ankles. The priest, I mean, not Jonathan.” Dawn nodded her understanding of this point but the boy wasn't attending. His eyes had glazed over and a small smile played across his lips as he recalled the past. “Mmmm…muy caliente.”
The Slayer's little sister cleared her throat and Andrew snapped out of his reverie.
“So?” He said, with false cheer and wide-eyed interest. “Where are we going to do it? ‘Cause it shouldn’t take long for me to collect the fragments but the spell to assemble them is tricky. Do you think you’re up to it?”
Dawn’s brow puckered in serious deliberation. Finally, she gave a noncommittal dip of her head. “I don’t know either.”
“We could call it off,” Andrew suggested.
“No, we have to try,” Dawn hissed. “It’s just that…well, the last time I did a spell the house got torn up pretty bad. But it really wasn’t MY fault. Can we do it outside?”
“Aren’t we using the laptop?” Andrew asked. Dawn nodded and the young man considered for a minute. “Maybe in the basement? Spike will be helping Buffy, right?”
“I guess,” Dawn shrugged. She looked across at the vampire. Spike was standing too close to her sister. But even as she had the thought, he seemed to notice the same thing. He moved away self-consciously.
"All right, ALL RIGHT," Buffy yelled, over the babble of voices. Nobody stopped talking. The Slayer cocked her head at Spike. He tucked two fingers in his mouth and blew a piercing whistle. The others fell silent as they turned to stare.
"Slayer's talking," Spike informed the group. The timbre of his voice was soft but firm.
"Thank you," Buffy sighed. "Now, everybody calm down."
Her order nearly set them yammering again but before anyone could do more than inhale she hastily targeted a spokesperson.
"Anya? You seem to know what's going on. So, why don’t you explain it to me?"
"Buffy, I…" Xander began.
Just as Willow said, "It was my spell that…"
"I said ANYA," Buffy snapped, cutting off her friends.
"We don't have time for this," Anya said, in exasperation.
"And the longer you argue the longer this will take.”
The former demon cast an anxious eye toward the road but seemed reluctant to make a run for it alone. At last, she muttered “Fine” in petulant tone.
"Someone has called out the Hounds of Actæon."
"The who of what?"
"Actæon," Giles put in. "He was a mythical hunter who, legend has it, was ripped to pieces by his own hounds for the dubious sin of seeing Artemis, the Goddess of the Hunt, bathing nude in a pool. The spell is named for the…"
Buffy crossed her arms and turned an exasperated glare on the man, causing him to break off mid-sentence.
"Right then,” Giles said, looking slightly offended. “Anya, you explain."
The former demon sighed. “It's like Giles said. Artemis turned Actæon’s pack of hounds into demons and then set them on their former master. Ichnobate is one of the Hounds. There are fifty of them.” She ticked off names on her fingers. “Alce, Amarynthos, Oresitrophos, Harpale, Draco, Dromas, Echnobas, Cyllopotes and so on….”
“Why do the demons always have tongue twist-y names?” Buffy grumbled under her breath.
“Makes it more foreboding I expect,” Spike whispered back.
Anya took no notice of the quiet exchange. “The Hounds have slightly different powers but they are all pan-dimensional and extremely hard to kill.”
“Does anyone else miss the disco ball?” Xander asked apropos to nothing. Several heads swiveled in his direction and he spread his arms wide in a gesture of helplessness. “What? I’m just saying! This is like prom night all over again. We’re killing devil dogs. Someone should get Buffy a corsage and a tin umbrella.”
Buffy flashed a twinkling smile at her friend. “Xander’s right. I’ve done this before and without any help. So what’s the big? We can kill fifty demon-y dogs…no problem.”
Anya shook her head. “There are fifty hounds in each dimension. And who knows how many dimensions with Hounds? You kill one and another one replaces it.”
“Oh,” Buffy said, loosing some of her sparkle. “So how many would there be?”
“I understand the tally is closer to five thousand,” Giles answered.
“Look,” Anya said, with finality, “It doesn’t really matter how many Hounds there are because nobody has ever lived to see more than one.” She stabbed the Slayer with a glare. “That would be the first name invoked: Ichnobate.”
"The Fierce Tracker,” Spike supplied. "So called because…"
“It tracks?” Buffy guessed.
“Anyone, anywhere, anytime.”
“Exactly,” Giles said. “Ichnobate hunts without regard to spatial, temporal or dimensional variations.”
“And it’s coming here?”
“So it seems.”
"We saw the signs at the rendezvous point," Anya said, looking to Giles for confirmation.
"Paw prints,” Giles nodded. “I knew I had seen something like them before. Each track—at least, a meter in diameter. I didn't recognize them at the time—but….” He let the sentence trail off and sighed.
“Looked like something in the Baskerville family?”
“Yes, I now believe the signs I saw were consistent with descriptions I’ve read of Ichnobate’s tracks.” Giles turned to address Principal Wood. “That was why I was searching for you. I wanted to consult your books. See if I could discover what was after Faith.”
"If someone has loosed the Hounds,” Wood mused, frowning, “then they mean to end the Slayer line.”
“Starting with Faith," Xander supposed.
Buffy's pleading eyes sought out Giles. "But she’s not dead, right? I mean, we would know. I would know. And one of the Potentials would have been Called?"
"One of them might have been," Willow reminded. "We have a few people missing."
"And you can't be certain all of the Potential Slayers are in Sunnydale," Wood said. "Even under the best conditions, potential can be overlooked. You were chosen unexpectedly, Buffy. Remember?"
"Yeah, but there were a lot more choices, then, right? Sooner or later the W.C. was bound to miss someone."
“Of course, there is always that possibility," Giles said soothingly. "But until we know for sure we must accept the idea. Faith could be dead.”
Buffy shook her head. “I would know.” The others looked doubtful and she repeated her assertion. “I would know if something happened to Faith. I would feel it.”
“Are you certain, Buffy?”
"The only thing we are certain of is our horribly painful deaths," Anya answered, bringing them back to the immediate problem. "We are all going to die if we don't start running really soon."
Willow whipped around to confront the ex-demon. "What good is running going to do? You just said it can track its prey across multiple dimensions."
"It can. But if we all go in different directions…"
"Wouldn't it just follow the right girl?" Xander frowned. “Doesn’t a name like ‘Fierce Tracker’,” he air quoted, “mean anything anymore? Back in my day—” When Anya shot a guilty sidelong glance at him, he broke off and rolled his eyes in sudden understanding. "Oh, I get it. You’re saying it won't kill you?"
"Or you, Xander," Anya replied, in frustration. "Or anyone else who takes my advice." The assembled group stared at her and she snorted. "What? You think Buffy wants us to stay here and die?" Suddenly worried, she turned on the Slayer. "That's not what you want is it?"
"No, of course not," Giles answered indignantly before his Slayer could respond.
Buffy took a deep stabilizing breath. "It won't come to that. We might not all make it. But we will prevail. We knew this day was coming. We knew it would be war. We just need to find a place to make our stand and…"
"Oh, will you put a sock in it? No one wants to hear one of your motivational speeches right now. Zig Zigler us later. What we need is Willow to pop each of us to an alternative dimension." Anya fluttered her fingers at the witch. "Willow, start popping."
"What?" Willow squeaked. "Just like that? I can't…"
“Yeah, yeah, you’re addicted. Cue the tragic music. Magic ruined your life, blah, blah, blah. There will be time enough for you to re-enter Betty Ford when we are all safe in a far away land.”
“I was going to say,” Willow ground out through a tightly clenched jaw. “I haven’t got enough power to pop us all anywhere. Opening even one dimensional gate would take a huge power source. Let alone twenty-five of them. I would have to suck the life out of someone every time I popped.”
"Wh-what does that mean?" Chloe asked her eyes wide. She looked up and down the street, hugging herself against the chilled night air. “Are we going to stay here and wait for this thing to come and kill us?”
Buffy sighed. She glanced around the circle of pale young faces and her shoulders drooped. She had no idea what to say. Instinctively, her eyes sought the blue-grey ones of her habitual advisor.
"Spike?"
The vampire shrugged. “The way I heard tell this Ichnobate is one bugger of a problem. Don’t know if we can stop it." He turned an appraising glance on Willow. "How much time you figure we have before it gets here?"
"I can’t even guess. It could be here any second if it shortcuts through space, time or whatever.”
“Let’s assume it stays relative to us."
Chewing on her lower lip, Willow considered the vampire's question. "I don't know. At the speed it was moving, maybe two hours."
Spike nodded and turned back to Buffy. "Not enough time to run then."
"Right,” Buffy agreed. Her haunted eyes lingered on his for a moment of intimate understanding before she turned toward Wood. “It’s Watcher testing time. Show me what you can do. I need to know what you know about this Ick-no-who’s-it.”
“There isn’t a lot of information,” Wood said. “What do you need?”
“Anything you can turn up. Have the Hounds of Auntie Ion ever been called down on a Slayer before? If so what happened? If not, why not? I want to know every trap, spell, charm and weapon that’s been used against it. Find out what hasn’t been tried. Giles, give him whatever help you can. And contact the coven. I think we might need some extra mojo on this one. Anya? Are you in or out?”
Anya looked pleadingly at Xander. The man’s eyes were focused on the Slayer as he waited for orders. After a second or two, Anya sighed. “I’m dead, just like the rest of you. But until it’s official, what do you want me to do?”
“Help Giles and Wood,” Buffy said, her mouth tightening at the corners. “Willow?”
“Here.”
“Can you locate the witch, warlock, demon spawn or whatever casting the spell? Try to cut off the power at the source?”
“I already located her,” Willow said. “She’s in the sewers off Ridgewood and Orange.”
“Know it,” Spike said. “Bit of a maze down there. I could lead a raiding party.”
“No, I am going to need you here,” Buffy said.
“We won’t be able to kill her while anyway,” Willow added, “not while she’s accessing that much power.”
“Can we slow her down? Overload her somehow?”
“We can try. Or…you know…I can try. I don’t have to be in the sewers. I can cast the spell from anywhere. But I will need to go back to the house for my books and ingredients.”
“You can take Giles’ car. But be careful with the magical dueling. Don’t tangle with the First. Remember what happened last time.”
“I’ll go easy.”
“Do you need anyone to help?”
“Not really,” Willow shrugged. “Magically, it’s sort of a solo gig. I suppose I could use a few hands for the herb sprinklin’ and the candle lightin’ though. Kennedy could come with me. She’s still not in fighting shape. And Dawnie and Andrew could fetch and carry, if you think you can spare them.”
Buffy followed Willow’s glance and noticed her sister whispering in the ear of their erstwhile captive. “Dawn,” she called.
The girl started guiltily but then came bounding over like a gangly colt.
“Yeah, Buffy?”
“I want you and Andrew to go back to the house with Willow.”
“Sure,” Dawn agreed, breaking into a smile.
Buffy was too preoccupied to notice the teen’s unusual enthusiasm. As Dawn bounced off to tell Andrew the good news, the Slayer looked across at Giles and Wood. Both men were deep in conversation with Anya.
“Giles,” Buffy said. “Will needs your car keys.”
The older man reached a hand into his pocket. Fishing out his keys, he tossed them toward the witch without bothering to glance in her direction. Willow extended an arm and caught the keys from the air. Spike moved to join Giles, Wood and Anya but Buffy reached out to grasp his wrist. Her hand slid down to cup in the vampire’s, halting him in his tracks.
“Spike?”
“Pet?”
“I want you to go with Willow. Gather the remaining Potentials. Load them and enough weapons for all of us into the family van.” Leaning in close, she dropped her keys into his tee-shirt pocket. “But be back here in an hour, okay?”
Overhearing the Slayer’s instructions, Wood broke out of his huddle with Giles and Anya, exclaiming, “HERE? You can’t be serious!”
Palm still snug in Spike’s hand, Buffy turned to face her new Watcher. “It’s as good a place as any to make our stand.”
“It’s a parking lot. There’s no cover and…”
“Wide open spaces level the playing field,” Spike countered. “Whatever is coming will be clearly visible.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” the Watcher sneered, raking a contemptuous glance over the vampire. He let his eyes linger pointedly on what he obviously considered their inappropriate handclasp.
Spike followed the disdainful look. He couldn’t blush but he did stiffen slightly and disengaged his grip. Feeling suddenly bereft, Buffy bristled. She stepped forward to confront the Principal.
“Spike’s right," Buffy snapped. "And you should listen because this is our fourth Apocalypse. Out here we’ll have higher ground at our back. We can set sentries and marksmen on the roof. There and there.” She swept a hand up and pointed toward the school, indicating the proposed placement of her forces.
“And if this thing is pan-dimensional,” Spike said. “There’s no advantage to cover.”
Wood shifted from foot to foot. It seemed as if he wanted to argue the line of reasoning but finally he nodded grudgingly.
“There’s not much advantage to open ground either. The Hound can disappear and reappear at will so you won’t see it coming.”
“Now he’s right, Buffy.”
The Slayer huffed but gave ground. She raised her voice to call to her former Watcher. “Giles is there some way to keep this thing from blipping across the dimensions?”
“Anya and I were just discussing possibilities.”
“The demon world won’t be much help. We would advise you to run.”
“I have a few contacts I can call,” Wood said.
“And I will contact Althenea as you suggested, Buffy.”
“What about me, Buff?” Xander asked. “Should I just stay out of the way?”
“No,” the Slayer said, smiling. “I need you more than anyone else. But hang on a minute.”
Xander stuffed his hands in his front pant's pockets, waiting. Buffy looked toward Giles’ car and yelled. “Dawn? Give Spike your cell phone.”
“Okay!”
Buffy and Spike locked eyes for the second time. “I need you to stay in touch. And whatever happens, get back here before the big show.”
“We’ll be here,” Spike promised, turning to go.
From the corner of his eye, the vampire couldn’t help noticing Xander moving closer to Buffy. As he walked away, Spike listened carefully trying to pick up their whispered conversation.
“So what manly job can I do for you, oh fearless leader?” The man asked.
Buffy relaxed into the easy give and take with her friend. “Can you get me a handful of big guys who won’t ask too many questions?”
“Big and dumb, check,” Xander nodded. “Any particular skills you have in mind? Construction? Ironworking? Paint and plaster? If you want to entertain the troops, I know someone who can balance three beer bottles on his forehead while whistling Sweet Home Alabama. Or were you looking for a little something in the Chippendale line? Because I did have that brief, dark, and again let me stress BRIEF, period as an exotic dancer.”
Climbing into Giles’ car, Spike heard Buffy’s light laugh. It brought a small smile to his lips even as it made his heart ache.
---
Hootie and the Blowfish blared out of the dark green 1993 refitted Humvee as the all-terrain vehicle raced along the deserted highway.
We had such a good time
Though we knew this day might come.
So when you hold me tonight
Squeeze a little tighter
Cause in the morning I’ll be gone.
And I’ll tell you baby now, I might be gone…
But I’ll come runnin’, I’ll come runnin’ home
I’ll come runnin’ home to you…to you…
There was tingling on the back of the Slayer’s neck and a flicker of movement in the rearview mirror.
“Hello Number Seven,” Faith purred, narrowing her eyes.
Stomping on the brake, she twisted the steering wheel to the right, testing the limits of the anti-lock system. Wesley’s car burned rubber on the asphalt as it shimmied in a wide circle. Sparks ignited under the Humvee’s one bare rim as the last shred of a drive flat tire tore free. Leaning out the shattered driver’s side window, the Slayer fired three times into the gaping mouth of the rapidly closing Hound. The creature staggered to a halt. It flickered in and out of existence but did not shift relative position. Head down, it glared at the Slayer. Faith returned the defiant stare and cocked her weapon again.
After a moment or two in the Mexican standoff, the Hound vanished. The Slayer placed her rifle on the passenger side and settled into the seat. She waited for the thing to reappear. Gunning the engine, she shifted into low, keeping the brake pedal to the floor. The Humvee bucked and squealed in protest. The beast blipped into being again, a few yards to the right of its previous location. And the Slayer set her killer machine free. The ATV leaped forward. Roaring out a challenge, Ichnobate Number Seven charged.
The Humvee’s iron bush-bar took the brunt of the hit, slamming into the creature’s chest. The impact sent Number Seven tumbling along the tarmac and bounced Faith against her seatbelt harness, bruising her ribs. Ignoring the pain, she accelerated and spun the steering wheel, passing it hand over hand.
The Humvee skidded off the road, hit a boulder and rocked up on two wheels. It nearly capsized. As the earthbound tires sprayed up stones and sand, Faith prayed to a God she was sure wasn’t listening. The airborne wheels found pavement again.
Completing the turn, the Slayer geared back into overdrive and reached for her weapon. The gun had slipped into the fissure between the passenger seat and door. Taking her eyes off of the road for a moment, Faith leaned over and hauled the rifle to her by its barrel. She cocked the weapon with a one-handed pump. Without bothering to sight, she fired through the window again as she blew past the Hound.
Squealing to a stop, tires skipping along the pavement, Faith shifted into reverse and drove backward, looking over one shoulder. The Humvee tilted dangerously when Ichnobate tried to rise under it, and then slammed to the ground again as the creature became incorporeal. The ghostly Hound passed straight through the solid steel frame of the car, head and shoulders appearing next to her, in the front seat, like an apparition.
Faith cringed inside but kept driving. Spectral teeth snapped closed but too late to catch the speeding Slayer. Barely hesitating on a stop, Faith geared from reverse into second without a pause at drive. She backed up, tires smoking and found a substantial target to her rear. There was a satisfying crunch as the Humvee rocked up over the solid mass of the Hound.
“Yes,” Faith crowed.
Another tire blew with a bang and the ATV’s front end dropped, rattling Faith’s teeth. As she hit the pavement again, the Slayer wheeled the car in a circle to watch the latest incarnation of Ichnobate expire. The injured Hound was leaking silvery ichors. It lay stark and solid in the beams of her headlights, looking as real as the distant mountains. It struggled to regain its feet but fell back almost immediately, crashing onto the blacktop.
“Seven down,” the Slayer said, “only four thousand, nine hundred and ninety-three to go.” She patted the dashboard, affectionately. “Wes, you have the worst taste in music but I love your wheels.”
Leaving the engine idling and keeping one eye on the Hound, the dark haired Slayer popped out of her vehicle to assess the latest damage. The engine block was partially exposed where a previous Hound had removed part of the front end. The back bumper had caved in on one of the wheel wells and the tire was flat. The left front rim was a twisted metal lump. After folding back the steel bumper, Faith turned her attention to the buckled rim, kicking it into a rounder shape.
As the air over the Hound’s carcass began to shimmer, the Slayer climbed back into the Humvee. She waited, holding the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip, for the creature to deflate and begin reforming just as it had done six times before. Faith had a plan. She slapped her palm down on the compact disc player’s repeat button and Darius started singing again. Keeping her supernatural senses tuned to the dimensional portal, the Slayer sang along.
I look in your eyes…
And I don’t know what to say
The words…the words aren’t coming for me
I guess I find this just so hard to say…
And if you say you’ll wait for me now
I know you’ll try…
But I’ll come runnin’, I’ll come runnin’ home
I’ll come runnin’ home to you…to you.
I’ll never leave you alone…
I…I will…I will…I will come home…
I will always come right home…to you…
Faith’s plan was all about home. She had formulated a theory based on the skin-crawling sense of affinity she experienced each time the gateway opened. In the past hour, she’d been considering what the feeling signified and had decided it was a sign, a signal from her home dimension. If the gate was looking for dimensions similar to hers, worlds with Hounds hunting her, then, Faith reasoned, it must pass through the original Faithverse. Maybe that was what she was sensing.
She was the Slayer after all. Her First Watcher had lectured at great length about cosmic connections and the Slayer’s place in the grand scheme. Faith tried not to recall how often she’d made fun of the stuffy old man.
And she wasn’t just any Slayer. She was a twin. Buffy was out there somewhere. Faith wondered if what she was feeling was her sister Slayer, calling her home across time and space and altered universes. Wishing Fred or Wesley was there to ask, Faith decided to trust her instincts. She really had nothing to lose. When the hair on her arms rose, she aimed the Humvee straight into the cyclone of trans-dimensional instability, pressed the accelerator to the floor and sent up a fervent plea.
Come on, B! Bring me home.
The gaping hole in space/time closed around her. Icy blackness swallowed the Humvee. The stars disappeared. There was no sight, no sound, no whisper of sensation and certainly no feeling of belonging. Faith’s lungs screamed in protest. Blood sang in her ears. Just as she slid toward oblivion, the land and sky jittered into being, again.
Ten miles ahead the lights of Sunnydale glinted merrily.
---
“Oi, Potentials front and center,” Spike bellowed as he entered the Summers’ home, with Willow and Andrew crowding behind him.
“Dawnie,” Willow said, looking back to where the teenage girl was standing next to Kennedy. “I need you to run upstairs. Get the silk-wrapped crystals from the suitcase under my bed. Andrew you go to the kitchen. I'll need sage, powdered dogwood blossoms and honey to start.”
The boy and girl exchanged a meaningful glance. Andrew started to gesture toward the basement but saw Spike staring at him curiously and changed his point into a stretch. “Oh man, that was some trip.”
“It was three miles you silly git,” the vampire countered, frowning. “Start being helpful before I pop you one.” He turned to Willow. “It shouldn’t take long to gear up. You want us to wait for you?”
The witch considered a moment and then shook her head. “No, the spell could take awhile. You should get back to Buffy as soon as possible. We’ll be fine. Kennedy?” She slid a companionable arm around the girl. “Why don’t you help me set up in the dining room?”
There was a clump of feet on the stairs as several teenage girls in pajamas headed down to the foyer.
“What’s up Big Bad?” Rona asked sleepily. Molly, Mary, Inga and the other three off duty slayers-in-training trailed along behind her.
“End of the world, Pet,” Spike answered. “Time we put all of that potential to use. And what did I tell you about posting sentries?”
“We have a sentry,” Rona protested. She stopped two steps from ground level. Her brown eyes did a quick scan of the entryway and living room. Apparently not seeing what she expected, the girl yelped, “Lissa?”
“I’m awake,” a very young Potential mumbled as she wandered in from the kitchen. She yawned and rubbed her blurry eyes. “I was just getting some coffee.”
“You were asleep,” Molly accused. “An’ the world is endin’.”
“What? Now?” Lissa squeaked, suddenly wide awake. She looked up at the equally panicked faces of the other girls.
Inga said something in Norwegian and Spike answered her in kind. Whatever he said seemed to satisfy her.
“But it’s the middle of the night.” Someone protested.
“Actually it’s almost 3:30 in the morning,” Dawn countered as she squeezed by the roadblock of girls. “And one thing I’ve learned being the Slayer’s sister: Armageddon is an early riser.”
---
Sunnydale High swarmed with activity. People came and went like a hive of migrating bees. A team of demons consulted with the Slayer and then headed off in different directions. Men hammered and sawed and welded, erecting scaffolding and running machinery. Potentials leaped along the school roof. Giles, at the center of everything, was reading from a tome. The pages of the book were yellowed and cracked with age. Periodically, the former Watcher paused in his reading to consult with Wood. The Principal and Anya were measuring out the lines of a blue and green pentagram as large trucks rumbled by on both sides.
The Slayer was everywhere at once, directing traffic and answering questions. By the time Spike and the rest of the girls arrived with weapons, the parking lot looked like an urban artist’s re-creation of the Coliseum. Eighteen-wheelers and iron scaffolds formed the walls of the arena.
“Been busy ain’t you?” Spike purred, coming up behind his beloved. When she looked around, he handed her a sword and shoulder scabbard. Buffy noted the Potentials were unloading an arsenal from the back of the family minivan.
She took the weapon Spike offered but barely spared him a glance, turning away to shout, “Guido, where’s Xander?”
A dark-skinned monster of a man was climbing out of the cab of a truck. He gestured toward the school and Buffy sighted along his arm. Her friend was talking to a group of hardhats. They appeared to be comparing their schematic to reality. Xanders arms were acting out an accompaniment to his verbal explanations. Buffy smiled and started toward him but hesitated before she had taken more than a few steps. She looked back at Spike.
“Get the Potentials lined up on the school roof and the tops of those trucks,” she ordered. “I want everyone armed and ready. And then I need you back here with me for the fire fight.”
Spike gave a terse nod. He was trying not to let his hurt show. He knew Buffy was preoccupied with the coming battle but he still felt a twinge of resentment as he watched her go to Xander. The two friends put their heads together over what had to be a sketch of the makeshift arena. Spike couldn’t help thinking his place was by Buffy’s side. But looking at the manpower and machinery Harris had managed to muster in the small hours of the morning; the vampire was forced to admit he wouldn’t have been as useful.
---
“You do have your uses,” Kennedy praised Andrew as he held open a book for Willow. The witch needed both of her hands free to grind up the crystals into a fine powder. Dawn was sprinkling a circle of sage and Kennedy was lighting a complex pattern of candles, hurrying to stay ahead of Willow’s chanted incantations.
“Thanks,” Andrew said, beaming. He looked at the witch. “Did you ever try grinding ingredients in a food processor? Jonathan did that all the time. It works really well.”
Willow, intent on her spellcraft, wasn’t listening.
Andrew stared dreamily at the light over the table and shuffled nonchalantly as he chattered on. “But then you have to warn people. Because if you don’t they might make meatloaf later and there will be little bits of crystal in it. Someone could choke or get intestinal punctures or whatever.” The young man dropped his gaze to look across at Kennedy. “Have you noticed Buffy never makes meatloaf?”
Willow placed a finger on the page to hold her place as she muttered under her breath. She exchanged a can-you-shut-him-up glance with Kennedy as the Potential lit the last candle. Kennedy made a little helpless gesture.
Dawn finished drawing the protective circle. After checking to make sure no one was watching, she bent over to pull a pillowcase sack from its hiding spot near the dining room’s glass fronted hutch. The bundle contained Tara’s laptop, Book of Shadows and one of the dead girl’s favorite shirts. Dawn and Andrew had been surreptitiously moving the sack from one location to another whenever they managed to distract both Kennedy and Willow at the same time.
Hugging the bundle close, the Slayer’s sister started creeping toward the basement stairs. Willow noticed the skulking movement from the corner of her eye. She started to look around but Andrew chose that moment to fidget.
“Hold still,” the witch snapped. “You’ll make me lose the place.”
“Sorry,” Andrew murmured and froze with one foot in the air. “My nose itches, Kennedy would you mind…”
“I’m not scratching your nose.” Kennedy protested, her dark eyes flashing.
“…holding the book for a second,” Andrew finished with a meaningful smirk. He was gratified to see Dawn duck around the basement door and disappear with the bundle of Tara’s things.
“Dawn? Get me some mandrake root,” Willow ordered. When the teenager didn’t respond the witch repeated. “Dawn?”
“Uhm…I think she had to go to the bathroom.”
“Now?” Willow blinked, glancing behind her. Kennedy also looked. Noting the absence of teenage girls, she lifted an inquiring eyebrow at Andrew.
“You know women,” the boy shrugged, trying for man-of-the-world aplomb and missing by a mile.
“Yeah I do,” Kennedy said, flashing Willow a coquettish smile.
“Kennedy,” Andrew peeped, refocusing the flirting pair, “do you want to hold the book or get to work on that mandrake root?” Before the young woman could answer, he shoved the text at her saying, “Okay, I’ll do the mandrake. What do you know about herbs anyway? Just sit there and don’t move. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Willow waved a hand as he bounced from the room. “And bring me some marjoram, too.”
“Okay-dokay,” Andrew agreed, moving leisurely toward the kitchen.
As soon as he hit the tiled floor, the young man breathed a sigh of relief. Lying to Willow always made him nervous. But he didn’t have time to relax. Dashing to the cabinet next to the stove, he yanked the doors open and located the mandrake and marjoram bottles. He held the vials in one hand as he leaned over to retrieve his Kortlec from the spot under the sink where he’d left it. Then, after a quick glance around the corner to check Willow’s position, he headed down into the basement.
Dawn came to meet him on the stairs and he thrust the herbs at her. “Here, take these upstairs. Willow is waiting.”
---
“Are you out of your mind?” Giles asked Anya. “And that is a purely rhetorical question because quite obviously you are.”
“ME?” the ex-demon challenged. “I wanted to run, remember? You people are the ones who are out of your collective minds.”
“Yes, but…”
“Harnessing the Hellmouth may be the only way we can hold the Hound. It is incredibly powerful. And the Hellmouth is the most convenient source of juice. If Willow wasn’t so 28 Days she could tap into the power too and pop us all out of here”
Glancing up from pouring blue powder, Wood stared at Giles and bobbed his chin at Anya. “Are you sure she’s on our side?”
The ex-demon straightened, scorching the newcomer with an affronted glare. “Are we sure YOU are?” She asked, pointedly.
“And how exactly are you proposing we harness the Hellmouth?”
“With a standard dimensional binding spell,” Anya said, “like the Sphere of Delcephelous.”
She waved a hand at the nearly completed pentagram. “That is what you and Giles are planning isn’t it? I suppose it could be the Sign of the Red Palm. We don’t have time for the Twinned Rings of Kultorus. But it doesn’t matter what spell we use. It doesn’t have to be elaborate. All we need to do is call the power up out of the earth instead of focusing the usual elemental forces.”
“And have the earth suck us dry?” Wood snorted. “Good plan. There is no way we could contain that much power.”
“No, we can’t contain it,” Anya agreed, readily.
Her eyes sought Giles. The intensity of her gaze seemed to communicate something to the older Watcher.
“But, of course,” he said, snapping his fingers. His brown eyes sparkled with a sudden understanding. “Containment isn’t necessary. Not if we can give it something else to feed on.” He turned to address his fellow Watcher. “It’s not so much a harnessing as a redirecting of power, like channeling the flow of a river. We let the Hellmouth deal with the Hound.”
Anya shared a triumphant grin with Giles. He almost made her forget her imminent demise.
“It still sounds like throwing gasoline on a forest fire to me,” Wood grumbled.
“Yes, well,” Giles said. “I am open to alternative suggestions. Anything you might think of in the next…oh…say ten minutes…be sure to speak up. But in the meantime, I need to use your phone.” Without waiting for permission, he headed for the school, catching Anya by the elbow and dragging her along. “I’ll need you to explain this to Althenea,” he told the former demon. “She and the coven will have to help me control the flow of energy.”
---
Spike settled Rona and Chloe in on the roof of an eighteen wheeler. Cocking a bolt into his steel crossbow, he swept a gaze over the perimeter. Every thing was in place. In the distance he could hear the wail of an engine coming closer. He walked to the edge of the semi trailer and dropped the fifteen feet to the ground, landing softly next to the Slayer.
“No, don’t try to stop her,” she was saying into her cell phone. “Just let me know if you see it or she changes course. We will herd them if we have to but I don’t think it will come to that.”
“Is it Faith?” Spike mouthed, catching the Slayer’s eye. She nodded and listened intently for a minute more before smiling at something she heard on the other end of the line.
“Okay,” she agreed brightly. “I will! And Clem? Thanks!” She flipped the phone closed and turned a grim look on Spike. “She’s on Miller at 19th.”
“Time to mount up,” Spike surmised. He started to move away but Buffy shot a hand out to touch his chest just over his heart. He hesitated, stilling in body and mind and lifting a questioning eyebrow as he met her eye. “Five minutes, Luv,” he reminded.
“Yeah,” Buffy breathed, wondering how to say everything she had to say in the time left to them. “Don’t forget sunrise is in less than an hour. Even if we are fighting, you get undercover. I’ll be fine.”
“I know,” Spike said, softly. He lifted his hand as if to caress her cheek but didn’t quite touch her skin before he let the arm fall to his side again.
He held her gaze for a few more seconds and then took one giant step back, breaking their contact. Buffy felt a slight sting in her eyes but couldn’t acknowledge it. She squared her shoulders, unsheathed her sword and held it aloft.
Xander put a bullhorn to his lips and bellowed. “FIVE MINUTES PEOPLE!”
There was a general last minute scurry for positions. Spike and Buffy took their places on either side of the arena. Anya scampered for cover. Muzzles and arrows bristled on the battlements. Giles and Wood started chanting. Tires squealed in the near distance.
“HERE WE GO!” Xander announced.
Wesley’s battered Humvee rounded the corner of 19th and Holly and roared at speed into the Slayer’s constructed cul-de-sac. The vehicle slid to a halt just short of the green and blue pentagram. Weapons clicked into ready position and were steadied.
Several minutes ticked by before the lack of pursuit registered on the battle ready warriors.
---
“Here we go,” Willow whispered as she traced the last symbol in the air.
Dawn poured mandrake-spiked oil into the center of the pentagram, carefully avoiding the rings of other spices and crushed crystals.
She stepped back hastily as the candle flames shot half way to the ceiling. A blue light leaped from the row of symbols, now clearly visible, at Willow’s fingertips. The light danced across the room, connecting the flaring candles in a Celtic knot pattern until the dining table was wreathed in fire. Kennedy and Dawn pressed against opposite walls.
Willow’s head snapped back as if she’d been yanked by her hair. Her mouth fell open and her eyes went dark. Waves of energy seemed to radiate off her body. A panther-like scream emerged from some deep primal well in her throat.
The house shook. The table leaped into the air and skipped across the floor and a supernatural wind rattled every window.
---
In the basement, Andrew blew the last warbling note of the summoning. The screen of Tara’s laptop glowed with silvery light for a moment and then faded back to its usual dull green.
“There we go,” Andrew said, with evident satisfaction, as he lowered the Kortlec.
He took a half-step back and froze. The walls were vibrating and the glass in the casement window was bowing in its frame, singing like a musical saw. Something cold and wet tickled the nape of Andrew’s neck. He had a sense of unfathomable space under the heels of his tennis shoes. It was as if a deep chasm had opened in the floor behind him and the cool, wet, earth-scented air was wafting against his skin. Goosebumps crawled along his arms.
Someone’s walking over my grave.
The half-hearted snigger accompanying the thought became a breathy bleat as the young man glanced over his shoulder. A black mountain of muscle and sinew crouched in the middle of the room, blocking the way to the stairs. The horrid thing’s bottomless eye sockets seemed to see straight into Andrew’s soul.
“Hello puppy,” the boy quavered.
And Ichnobate snarled.