Ichnobate
Part EightAs the tinny echo of Willow’s scream died away, her neck whip-lashed forward so her hair covered her face. A moment later, she raised her head, cocking it slightly to stare at Dawn. The teenager shrank away from the dark iris-free eyes. They glinted with a malevolent intelligence as if Willow wasn’t at home and there was some other entity inhabiting her body.
Dawn watched in horror as the witch moved in a jerky, puppet-on-strings fashion. She shifted her shoulders, changing position. Lifting first one leg and then the other to rotate her hips, the witch turned to face Kennedy. Dawn noted with roil of her gut that Muppet Willow’s head was flopping at a very odd angle.
“Willow?” Kennedy said, reaching out a tentative hand. She frowned, mildly puzzled by the witch’s odd behavior. When Willow failed to acknowledge her, Kennedy shot a worried glance at Dawn.
“IT IS HERE!” Willow intoned her lips barely moving. Her voice, far removed in tenor from her normal one, caused both of the other girls to twitch.
“What is h—?” Dawn started to ask.
She broke off mid-question, shrieking. Willow, gesturing flamboyantly with one of her marionette arms, had produced a massive animal in the middle of the room like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat.
It was in the basement…Andrew…Oh, God…dead…we’re going to die…
Dawn’s thoughts tumbled over one another in jagged confusion. Adrenaline flooded her system. She started to run but before she could do more than take a half step back the ghostly creature solidified. Plunging forward, it effortlessly shouldered the dining table to one side. Flaming candles spun molten wax in all directions. Crystal shards, herbs and oil filled the air. Tiny fires flared everywhere the candles landed. The smooth top of the table struck Willow from the side, slamming her into the far wall.
“Son of a BI—tch,” Kennedy spat, her voice cracking. She snatched up a candlestick as she leaped protectively in front of Dawn. Swinging her impromptu weapon like a bludgeon, the Potential Slayer went on the attack.
There was no fight. There wasn’t even a struggle.
Black jaws snapped closed and a large portion of Kennedy simply vanished. The remaining parts of her twisted and stretched. Flesh trailed from the beast’s maw like strands of hot cheese stringing off a slice of pizza. Then, Kennedy’s right hand, still grasping her crude weapon, became a separate object in mid air. Obeying the laws of physics in a way the rest of the girl was not it continued its previous trajectory. Fist and candlestick bounced impotently against the Hound’s shoulder before falling to the ground.
Bile rose in Dawn’s throat as blood and bits of bone spattered her. She gagged, biting on her knuckles in an effort to keep her gorge down. The Hound tilted its head at her. It shifted back on its haunches but didn’t spring. Instead, it crouched in the middle of the room, jaws working as it chewed and swallowed.
Dawn tried to make her icy feet budge.
Run…go…run…
It was hopeless. She was numb, immobile.
I can’t move…Oh, God…It’s going to kill me…it’s going to take me apart like…oh, God, Kennedy…it’s horrible…it’s here…BUUFFFFFYYY!
Her sister’s name was a hysterical cry in her mind. The scream died away, fading to a childish whimper.
Willow? Someone…help me…help…
But there was no one to hear her. Even if her dry throat would produce a scream no one would come. They were all gone. Her sister was miles away. Dawn knew she was going to die. Seconds seemed to take hours to pass. Her eyes were fixed on Ichnobate. The Hound was her world. All that remained.
And then there was a noise.
It was a thrumming sound, so deep it echoed under her breastbone.
Dawn wasn’t sure how long she’d been hearing the noise, feeling it inside her, before it registered as music. She tried to focus through the rush of endorphins preparing her for dismemberment. The sound was coming from behind her and a little to the left. It seemed to have mesmerized the Hound. The beast was swaying to the pulse and swell, almost dancing. With a great deal of effort, Dawn forced herself to turn away from the menacing form in front of her. Her head seemed to move in millimeters. But finally, she faced the source of the mysterious and hypnotic music.
Andrew was standing in the basement doorway, playing his Kortlec. His eyes were glassy with concentration but when he noticed Dawn looking he wiggled the fingers of one hand at her. The little wave and a guttural gasp from the wreckage in the dining room galvanized the Slayer’s sister. Feeling poured into Dawn’s limbs and an absurd euphoria warmed her belly. She could think again.
Oh, God! Willow!
Tingling with renewed energy, Dawn surged forward. She stopped with one hand on the doorframe. The Hound snarled a warning and Dawn’s stomach flip-flopped. But it wasn’t her fear of Ichnobate that halted her in her tracks. It was necessity. The dining room was on fire. Dozens of blazes had started from the spilled oil and scattered candles. Willow was trapped.
Torn between assorted worries, Dawn hesitated, indecisively. She tried to edge closer to Willow but crackling heat forced her back. As she watched helplessly, the broken remains of the table wobbled. The injured Willow struggled to rise but failed. She fell back. Attracted by the motion, Ichnobate moved toward the pile of lumber that was once furniture. It passed like a phantom through the circling flames.
“Willow?”
“Dawnie,” the witch’s voice was edged with pain. “Where is it?”
“Close! Too close! And there’s fire.”
Battered and bruised, Willow started pushing her way out of the rubble, edging up the wall by climbing hand over bracing hand. She steadied herself in the upright position, leaning one palm on the paneling as she wiped the blood from her onyx eyes with the heel of the other hand. Ichnobate shuffled a step closer. Black lips curled up to reveal jagged teeth.
“Andrew,” Dawn called. “Play louder.”
The boy obliged and the hound hesitated again, momentarily confused.
“Demeter, Goddess of the Hearth and Home, defend,” Willow muttered softly, her head hanging low. “Pele and Hephaestus hear me. Gather your fires. Make them my own. Turn the forge to my hand.”
As she spoke the last word, the witch, shoved out from the wall. She rotated at the waist, turning to face the Hound, tottered for a moment and then fell backward. Her shoulders banged into the pine paneling. Her knees buckled and she started skidding toward the floor, palms pressed against the wall, fingers splaying for purchase. The paneling charred where her hands acted as brakes.
The Hound crouched for a spring.
Willow let herself fall. As she did, she brought her arms together in front of her chest like the closing of a bellows. The simple gesture focused the many fires in the room into single column of flame. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she loosed the blaze like an arrow of fire. The conflagration blasted the Hound into the air and carried it straight through the opposite wall. The beast crashed down in the front yard.
Eyes returning to a mossy green, Willow folded up on the floor as Ichnobate burned away, baying and writhing in the middle of a supernatural inferno.
Barely sparing the spectacle on the front lawn a glance, Dawn rushed to Willow’s side. “You stopped it,” she marveled as she dropped to one knee beside her.
“No,” Willow shook her head wearily. “O-only slo-slowed it down. There are thousands…waiting.” She sat up with Dawn’s help and looked at the blood splatter and the few remaining pieces of Kennedy. Her eyes filled with tears as she whispered, “I don’t understand…why it came here? And why it didn’t kill us all?”
“Andrew,” Dawn answered. She nodded toward where the boy was standing just inside the dining room door, clutching his instrument in both hands. His face was drawn and pale. His lips curved down at the corners, forming a thin line of color in his pasty visage.
“It was my fault,” he muttered, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I did it. I summoned that horrible thing, brought it here to kil—.” He couldn’t make himself finish the sentence.
“You—summoned it?”
“With the Kortlec,” Dawn said. She pointed a shaking finger at the oboe-like device. “That’s Andrew’s power, raising demons.”
Willow looked at the boy with renewed respect. “You can control demons?”
Andrew shook his head emphatically. “I can’t control them. I can only call them.”
“But then why didn’t it attack me?” Dawn asked.
Andrew had no answer for her. He shrugged, his eyes still focused on the hole in the dining room wall. “Maybe it was confused. Because it…you know…was supposed to be hunting Slayers? And you’re not even a Potent—.” Again, his voice trailed off.
“But that doesn’t make any sense. It was going to attack Willow. Why not me? If it was only after Potentials, why didn’t it just leave?”
“Because I started playing again…I guess…”
Willow shook her head. She didn’t understand how Andrew could have stopped the unstoppable. Anya and Giles both agreed the Hound couldn’t be turned from its objective. No counterspell could slow it. No weapon would deter it. There was no safe place to hide. Even death didn’t faze it. It was renewable. It attacked singly but was really many-headed, hunting like a pack of wolves.
The faint outline of an idea took shape in Willow’s foggy mind as she imagined fleeing through the woods with the Hounds howling at her heels. She frowned in concentration for a minute as she followed the line of thought. Every instinct would clamor for a safe place to make a stand, a weapon to use. She envisioned Act?on, the once noble hunter, run to exhaustion, whipping around to fight, a stag at bay.
Willow wondered how many heroes had fallen in the same way, fighting a hopeless battle against a continually resurrected foe. Mentally, she raced on in front of the pack. She splashed through an imaginary stream and then as she scrambled up the far bank the ramifications of Andrew’s power became obvious. Suddenly, she was struggling to stand, pulling at Dawn’s shoulder.
The teenager resisted. “Maybe you should rest for a minute.”
“Can’t,” Willow said. Scrambling to her feet despite her swimming head and Dawn’s efforts to restrain her, she nodded toward the hole in the far wall. “Look!”
Dawn followed her glance. A swirling darkness was clearly visible against the grayish pre-dawn half-light. It was tiny, a few feet across, but it was also growing as it twirled in the air above the ashy remains of the Hound.
“What is that?”
“A window opening in space/time. Another Hound is coming through.”
“Another one? But you killed it.”
“I killed forty-two of them,” Willow said, with no trace of humility. She fished Giles car keys from her jacket pocket. “And there are thousands more.” Closing her mind to the horrid evidence of Kennedy’s death, she knelt on the floor to gather a few candle stumps, plucking the melted wax free of the carpet’s weave. She scraped up a hand full of sage as she continued talking. “All I did was slow it down. It can’t be destroyed. Not by me, not by anyone. Giles told me. Anya told me. I should have listened.”
“Bu-But then…how do we stop it?”
“We don’t,” Willow said, simply. Climbing unsteadily to her feet, she went through to the kitchen, pushing past the stunned Andrew. “We’re going to help it along.”
“Help it?” Dawn yelped, following in her wake.
“They hunt like wolves,” Willow explained as she rummaged in drawers, dragging out a map and then a flashlight, “one replacing another, harrying the prey.” She looked over her shoulder at Dawn and the blinking Andrew to ask, “Why does the deer turn and fight?”
“Uhm!” Andrew said, exchanging a puzzled look with his young friend. “Because…”
“Because it can’t run anymore?” Dawn guessed.
“Exactly! And those are the only two choices, run or fight. Wizards and warriors and fierce demons, all of them ended up dead because they ran or fought. And there were just too many Hounds.”
“Buffy?” Dawn said, in a tiny choked voice.
“Won’t be able to stop them all,” Willow confirmed. Tucking the flashlight into her pocket, she closed on Andrew. The boy tried to back away but she latched onto his arm. “Which is why we need you.”
“Me?” Andrew squeaked. He looked pleadingly at Dawn. But the girl stood powerless as the witch hustled him toward the kitchen door.
---
Crickets started chirping in the stillness of the Slayer’s crude arena.
Buffy sighed, relaxing out of her conflict management stance.
“Big set up. No follow through,” she grumbled.
Ten more minutes ticked away before she unclipped her cell phone from its hip holster. She flipped the phone open to call home and a dead battery light blinked at her. She grimaced. Snapping the useless device closed, she re-holstered it and waved Spike forward. They both started toward the Humvee.
The door of the car opened as they approached. A dark-haired, lush-figured beauty stepped out onto the tarmac. She was wearing an orange form-fitting jumpsuit with a black number over the left breast. Her brown, lace-up boots were institution issue. The wind caught her long hair, whipping it into a wild tangle that seemed to suit her surly scowl. Power emanated from every tensed muscle in the newcomer’s decidedly feminine frame.
Even if Spike hadn’t been expecting another Slayer, he would have recognized the confident stance and the spicy fragrance of her blood on the breeze. His eyes strayed to Buffy. She was bright mid-day to her sister Slayer’s moonless night. With a hunter’s discernment, Spike catalogued the similarities and the differences in the two women as his beloved closed on Faith. He considered them dispassionately, as his prey, big game, lioness and black leopard. He could appreciate the challenges presented by both.
Part of him longed to take on the novel, to test the new Slayer’s mettle in a bare-knuckles brawl, skin on skin, blood and bone. He imagined how she’d feel beneath him, struggling for her next breath. She looked like a good time, this girl, the down and dirty kind. She was cash and carry, no long term commitments. The Slayer killer’s equivalent of a one-night stand, she might not live to fight another day but she’d leave her mark on you. Time was Spike would have signed off on her dance card without a second thought. That time was past.
Faith cocked her rifle and took stock of her surroundings. She scanned the area, ready for anything. The armed girls on the arena walls, reminiscent of prison guards as they paced, caught her eye and she scowled. Her trigger-finger twitched. She felt the claustrophobic press of the trap. Nothing ominous happened. After another few minutes, as if by silent accord, people started relaxing, talking and shuffling into groups.
Faith lowered her weapon a fraction and shot a quick glance over her shoulder at the approaching Buffy.
“Hello, B,” she purred, flashing a seductive smile. “Miss me?”
“More than you’ll ever know,” Buffy answered, stopping a foot or two away. The golden haired Slayer looked toward the street. “You alone?”
“Looks like.”
“We heard there was a hell hound after you.”
“There was,” Faith admitted, nervously checking the perimeter again. “Lots of teeth, bitch to kill, unstoppable I heard.”
Buffy shrugged. “Willow must have stopped it.” She glanced over at Spike. “My battery's dead. You still have Dawn’s cell to call home?”
“Yeah,” the vampire nodded and jammed a hand into the tight fit of his jean pocket.
Faith aimed the barrel of her gun at the ground. She remained on edge. Her legs were braced wide. Every muscle was tensed for battle. Her wary gaze sought the Hound again and then circled back to Giles, Buffy and finally Spike. The vampire leaned the handle of his wicked looking ax against one hip, freeing his fingers to punch in the phone numbers. Watching him dial, Faith frowned.
What is he doing here, acting all man of the house?
She looked again at Buffy. The blond stood just slightly in front of the vampire, showing no evidence of hostility or concern over his proximity. She seemed completely at ease.
“This thing might be a tad more than little Willow can handle,” Faith said, returning to the topic of her tireless and mysteriously absent pursuer.
“You’ve been away,” Buffy said. “Willow’s got teeth of her own.”
They gave it a few more minutes, each staring off in a different direction. Spike listened to the house phone ring on the other end of the line. Finally, he clicked the cell closed and shrugged. “No answer.”
“Maybe they’re on their way back,” Buffy supposed, looking a little worried.
“Could be,” Spike agreed.
“My Slayer senses are sounding the all clear. Do you pick up anything Hound-ish on the wind?”
The vampire sniffed the air, checking for spore and then spread his hands.
“We got nothing,” Buffy interpreted. She pointed her sword over her shoulder and deftly slid it into the scabbard. Then, reaching out, she caught the shocked Faith up in both arms, hugging her close. Faith struggled to escape.
“Whoa, hold up there, pod-person,” she said, ducking out of the embrace and pushing away with both palms. “What have you done with the real Buffy? You know…the one that hates my guts?”
The question was only half in jest as it suddenly occurred to Faith to doubt these familiar looking but probably unknown people. She had no way of determining if this was her home dimension, but, judging by the welcoming committee, she was willing to bet it wasn’t.
Buffy shook the hair back out of her eyes to study the other woman.
“I never hated you, Faith,” she said softly.
The dark-haired Slayer snorted. She pantomimed a knife plunging into her own stomach and Buffy puffed out an impatient breath.
“Okay, maybe a little. But you did try to kill Angel.” Faith looked slightly contrite and Buffy went on. “And anyway, despite the past, I’m glad to see you’re alive. We figured you were puppy chow.”
“Almost was, but you know me…gristly.”
“Yeah,” Buffy said with a smile. “If anyone is taking you out it will have to be me.”
“You can try,” Faith smirked.
Spike made a disrespectful noise and looked away, totally unimpressed with the dark Slayer’s cocky attitude. He knew their history but beyond that he knew Buffy. Faith wouldn’t stand a chance against his girl.
Taking exception to Spike’s obvious disdain for her prowess, the dark Slayer turned her fiercest glare on him. “And what are you doing here, Sport?”
“Spike,” Buffy corrected.
“I know who he is. I was asking why he’s here.”
“Yes, many of us have asked the same thing,” Giles commented dryly as he and Anya joined the warrior trio mid-conversation. Buffy turned a long suffering look on the man.
“Spike’s here because we need fighters.”
“The vampires are on our side now?”
“No, just Spike. He has a soul.”
“Huh,” Faith said, narrowing her eyes at the vampire. “Like Angel?”
“No, not like Angel,” Spike and Buffy said together.
“Gifted not cursed,” Anya added.
“What’s that mean?”
“It means it’s not the sort of soul you can lose by getting the blissful happy,” Buffy explained with a becoming blush. “It’s permanent.”
“That’s convenient,” Faith purred, giving Spike the once over…twice.
Smiling rakishly, Spike returned Faith’s admiring appraisal. He gave every indication of liking what he saw. His gaze lingered on Faith’s lush curves and Buffy reflexively folded her arms across her own nearly flat chest. Her color washed out. A cold dagger of jealousy sliced into her stomach. Her skin burned and then prickled as the past came rushing back to haunt her.
I knew the only thing better than fighting a Slayer would be fu—
Is that what this is about…doing a Slayer?
The hurtful words were clear in Buffy’s mind. As her hard-eyed stare flitted from Spike to Faith, she couldn’t help remembering how many times she had lost out to the other girl. Riley had betrayed her. Angel had betrayed her. Even Xander had a thing for Faith. Why should Spike be any different?
Because, I want him to be different. To be mine. To love only me.
But of course he would be tempted by another Slayer. Faith was sexy, dark, deadly and wild. She was everything Spike had wanted from Buffy. Even when they were together, when she knew she satisfied him, Buffy had wondered what would happen if he ever met her evil twin. Now she knew. The sting of it was almost more than she could endure without tears.
Faith noted Buffy’s possessive turn with interest.
Little Miss Perfect has a warm tingle in her belly for another vamp, huh? And yet, I’M the ‘bad Slayer.' Go figure!
Bouncing on her toes like a prizefighter, the brunette favored Spike with a saucy look as she tested her theory. “So? No chance of banging it out?”
Buffy’s face flame red. Oh, that’s right. I DO hate you!
Spike blinked at the provocative comment. He darted a sidelong glance at Buffy. There was a shadow of pain on her face, and a trace of disappointment. Belatedly, he realized he was opening old wounds, playing into a long standing rivalry. There had been a body swap, as he recalled. And Riley, the wanker, hadn’t picked up on it. And hadn’t someone mentioned Angel siding with Faith against Buffy?
It was hard for Spike to imagine any man making that mistake. He looked again at the dark-haired newcomer. She had a vulgar appeal but she lacked polish. He knew he could kill her, easily. Have her easily, too. And it would be a good ride. But that’s all it would be, a spot of mindless recreation.
Surely, Buffy doesn’t think that I would…
In case she did, Spike was careful to stare at an androgynous point to the right of Faith’s navel the next time he looked at her. The air was charged with enough dangerous emotions. He knew better than to throw anymore fuel on the fire.
Anya, however, wasn’t quite as perceptive. “Spike got his soul to please Buffy after they had lots and lots of deviant sex,” she explained, ever helpful. “She kind of banged it in.”
Several things happened at once in the wake of this guileless pronouncement. Faith’s mouth dropped open. Giles gasped, ‘Oh, dear, Lord.’ And Spike took a sudden intense interest in the sky, a detached part of his mind remarking on the approaching dawn. The muscles in his jaw twitched as he tried to swallow against the bubble of laughter lodged in his throat.
Meanwhile, Buffy took command. She leveled a chilly glare on her former Watcher. With an imperious gesture, she made it clear she wanted Anya removed. Giles began to herd the struggling ex-demon away.
Faith sputtered as her gaze flitted from the departing Giles to the blushing Buffy to the helplessly snorting Spike.
“Wait, Giles. What did she—? Are you saying—that? Buffy, you and—this thing were…? Before he even had a soul?”
Buffy gathered herself for a scathing retort. Something along the lines of Faith being one to judge. But whatever she was going to say was lost forever as Xander chose that exact moment to ask a pertinent question via his bullhorn.
“INQUIRING MINDS WANT TO KNOW: IS THE BIG EVIL STILL GOING DOWN?”
Spike lost it. He staggered to the Humvee and collapsed across the hood, head cradled on his arms, shoulders quaking with mirth. Sighing and shaking her head, Buffy squeezed her eyes shut on the scene. She wondered if it was possible to die of embarrassment as she waited for the inevitable snide remark from her sister Slayer. But Faith failed to comment and, after a moment, Buffy stole a look at her. The brunette was obviously flummoxed. She was gaping at the still chortling Spike. Her habitual urbane attitude had evaporated.
Buffy felt a tiny surge of satisfaction.
What’s the matter, Faith? Can’t wrap your mind around the concept?
It suddenly occurred to Buffy that, for the first time since Faith had entered her life, she was the sexually adventurous one. Savoring the moment, she adopted a careless posture and leveled a confident stare at her evil twin.
That’s right, bitch! You got nothing on me. I wanted, I took and I had…over and over again…in back alleys and on the front lawn. There were handcuffs. There was gender switching. I used hot candle wax in foreplay. I made him beg. I made him scream. I made him righteous. And I would like to see you and your overstuffed D-cup try to show him something I didn’t.
Striking a blow for good girls everywhere, Buffy raised her voice to answer Xander’s question. “SADLY, NO!” She yelled.
Spike snuffled into his crossed arms.
---
Willow parked the car on Ridgewood, three blocks from Orange.
“You’re going to steal Andrew’s voice?” Dawn gasped, trying to follow Willow’s line of reasoning.
“And redirect it, yes,” Willow confirmed as she got out of the car. “His voice carries the seeds of his power. If what I’ve read is true, that’s how a Kortlec works.” She decided not to mention how vague her recollection was. “I need the whole package, not just the music.”
“But, I’ll get my voice back, right?” Andrew squeaked softly. “After the spell?”
Willow didn’t answer him and his pale skin took on a greenish tint.
“And then,” Dawn said, frowning, “somehow you will use the Kortlec to confuse the Hounds?”
“Right,” Willow said but she didn’t sound confident. “Just like running along a riverbed to hide your trail.”
“I still don’t understand how this is going to help, Buffy,” Dawn said. “Even if the hound goes after the witch instead, won’t we all just go boom when she dies?”
“That won’t happen,” Willow snapped, suddenly worried about the holes in her plan. “She’ll break the enchantment when she senses the danger.”
Stalking around the front of the car, Willow renewed her grip on the reluctant Andrew. Dawn trailed behind as the witch marched her captive to the nearest sewer grate. Leaning over to shine her flashlight beam into the underground dank, Willow whispered. “Now, be quiet. Those demon lizard things could be down there too.”
“Demon lizards?” Dawn asked. Looking left and right, she tightened her grip on the stock of her borrowed crossbow.
“The ones that got Buffy earlier. They came out of the sewer near here.”
“Great,” Dawn sighed. “It’s like a trip to the petting zoo.”
The sun was just rising, streaking the sky with red and gold. It looked like the start of another beautiful southern California day. Birds were chirping and along the street an occasional early riser shuffled out for the morning paper. As Dawn watched Willow created a silvery will-o-wisp in her palm. She blew on it and sent it flitting into the sewer. It left a faint trace above ground as it danced through the maze of tunnels, seeking the evil witch.
Dawn wondered if Buffy was home yet.
We should have left a note. ‘Dear Buffy hope this finds you still alive. Off to the sewers with Andrew and Willow. Will try to get back in one piece but might be late for school.’
---
At the high school, Spike finally recovered enough of his wits to seek shelter from the rising sun. With little more than an hour before the first students arrived for class, Wood was anxious to have the lot cleared. He spoke briefly to Buffy and then headed indoors.
The Slayer’s crew started breaking down her makeshift arena. Potentials scurried about, big rigs roared off into the breaking day. Giles and Anya took the van to check on Willow and Dawn. The vampire watched from the shade of the commons as Faith, Buffy and Xander directed workers from a command station at the dark Slayer’s vehicle. He strained to hear their conversation.
“And Giles knew?” Faith repeated.
“Yes, he knew,” Buffy sighed. “I told him.”
“Jeez, B! And time was they thought I was kinky!”
“AFTER!” Buffy stressed the word, casting her gaze heavenward before dropping it to glare at Faith. “After it was over, I told him. GOD why is it…?” She broke off to answer a question from Cleo and another from Amanda and then went right back to her rant. “What is with everyone and the icky Giles/Buffy connection making? It’s just wrong.”
“But the undead thing? That’s perfectly okay?” Xander asked, exchanging a look with Faith.
“There is no thing.”
“I don’t know, B. I’m sensing a pattern.”
“Two isn’t a pattern. Two is a line.”
“Three’s a triangle,” Xander muttered under his breath, before calling out, “Guido! Thanks for the help buddy. See you at O’Malley’s later?” The big man nodded and waved before climbing into his truck.
Buffy put both fists on her hips, whipping around to confront her friend. “Three? How is there three?”
“Angel, Spike, Dracula,” Xander said, ticking the names off on his fingers.
“Time out,” Faith said, making the requisite hand gesture. “You’re not telling me the legendary Drac was here?”
“Count Creepy in the room temperature flesh,” Xander confirmed.
“And he has a soul?” Faith said, frowning. “What are they giving them out at the Sunnydale Burger King, now? Or did Buffy…insert…his too?”
“Dracula doesn’t have a soul,” Buffy told Faith in a quick aside before continuing her argument with Xander. “And you can’t count the bitey thrall thing as part of a pattern. I was under a mesmerizing spell. He had hypno-eyes.” She turned again to Faith. “And there was no inserting of any kind. I kicked his ass. I was very Slayerish”
“All I’m saying is...,” Xander began and then he was stumbling in an effort to avoid a fall to the pavement as Buffy shoved him into the lee of the Humvee.
Amanda screamed a warning as a ragged tear appeared in mid-air. The Slayer’s sword seemed to materialize in her hand. At the same instant, Faith pivoted and fired twice from the hip. Her bullets whizzed into the void. Spike rushed to the edge of the school’s shadow and halted unable to go further without bursting into flame. Less than twenty feet from his beloved, something large and scaly slithered in the center of the rift.
“SPIKE!” Buffy shouted reflexively.
An inrushing wind buffeted her, tugging at her clothes and stealing his name from her lips. But the plea reached him, regardless, and staked into his heart. He saw the concern on her face as she glanced over her shoulder, meeting his eyes across the expanse of sunny parking lot. Spike hefted his ax but knew there was little he could do to help in the coming fight.
The Hound had arrived, late to the party but with extraordinary fanfare. It roared in like a freight train. Already moving, Faith absently noted the astonishing physical changes in the beast. It had vestigial wings this time, six legs, a flexible body and an elongated snout. The combination made it look more like a dragon than a dog. Wings flapping it hit the ground at a gallop. Its claws gouged deep grooves in the blacktop as it lunged at Chloe, the nearest Potential, tossing her off her feet before slicing her in two with a single snap of its jaws.
The kill didn’t slow the thing in the slightest. Insubstantial as a phantom, it wafted past Buffy, targeting Faith. Spike waited for a clear shot and hurled his ax. The dark Slayer did a one-armed hand spring, flipping out of the beast’s path and the Hound disappeared. Spike’s ax whirled harmlessly through thin air. A heartbeat later, the creature reappeared a few feet from its previous location, still moving forward. Xander cringed as it humped over the Humvee, reducing his cover to a pile of scrap iron.
It thundered on, finally crashing into the trailer part of Guido’s departing semi. The vehicle shuddered with the impact. There was a high pitched whine as huge wheels lost traction and the engine fought to stabilize the truck. Then the big rig toppled over, crushing Shannon and Cleo beneath it. Guido tried to slip out the shattered passenger window and was decapitated.
Corrugated steel tore like tissue paper under the eight-inch talons of the Dragon/Hound as it crawled up the twisted metal of the fallen eighteen-wheeler. Potentials screamed and scattered. In a matter of moments, the thing had disposed of all resistance on one side of the parking area. Half-visible it stood on its hind legs, clawing the air with the other four. Beating its proportionally tiny wings, it trumpeted a challenge at the heavens. Then it fell forward, one vertebra at a time, avalanching toward Faith.
Spike spit out a curse. Snatching off his shirt, he held it over his head for cover and made a dash across the sliver of sunlight in the center of the commons. He reached the shadow of the main school building only slightly singed. Yanking open the door he raced down the hall and up the main staircase toward the roof. Molly, Rona and a handful of girls he’d barely spoken to met him on the second floor landing. They were on their way down at a run.
“Where the Hell do you thing you’re going?” Spike barked, barring their way.
“We need to get out of here man,” Rona said, trying to shoulder him aside.
“You need to get your asses back on the roof,” Spike barked, shoving back. “And help the Slayer kill that ruddy Hound. I can’t believe Wood hasn’t got you lot organized.”
“’E’s not up there,” Molly said. “An’ tha’s no ‘Ound, is it? Tha’s a bloody fire-breathing dragon.”
“Let me tell you something, pet,” Spike said, latching onto the Cockney girl’s arm and dragging her and one of the nameless Potentials along the second floor corridor. “That’s Draco, one of the soddin’ Hounds of Act?on.” He kicked in the first door he came to on the parking lot side of the hallway. Hustling his charges inside, he pointed to the windows. “And you are all right privileged to see it but fire-breathing dragons are a lot bigger.”
“Oh, great,” Rona remarked, as she followed in Spike’s wake. She obediently broke out the indicated glass and aimed her weapon. “Good to know it can get worse.”
“It can always get worse,” Spike said sagely.
---
“Hello, what have we here?” A cultured, slightly sissified male voice exclaimed in a British accent as Willow’s will-o-wisp drifted out of a cross tunnel and bounced merrily over to hover above Amy’s emaciated form. “Someone’s looking for you, Luv. Now who would do that?”
Amy shuddered and twitched but not in response to the threat of discovery. Her eyes were focused on a world far removed from the one her body occupied. Her once young face was as wizened as a crone’s. The spell had drained away her reason and nearly drained away her life. She gave no indication she heard the man speaking or noticed the floating light dancing in front of her face.
The man stared at her for a minute longer and then wafted a hand in the air. A bubble appeared in response to his gesture. Inside the bubble, Willow, Dawn and Andrew were casting a spell. Dawn completed her pentagram and Willow started chanting. Andrew raised the Kortlec to his lips and blew a long quavering note. The sound echoed in the tunnel. It seemed to be coming from Amy’s parted lips.
“Oh, very clever,” the man said, “throwing our little pack off the scent are you?” He turned to address the shadows on the far side of the sewer pipe. “I’m afraid the jig is up, Princess. Not that it matters, I suppose. This chit is nearly dead already.”
“Then we should be going,” The First said, stepping out of the darkness, her golden hair glinting in the dim light. She looked exactly like Buffy Summers but was dressed anachronistically in a full-length scarlet gown from the Eighteenth Century.
Ethan Rayne smiled in appreciation of the joke.
---
Faith continued to fire at the Hound as it came toward her but on the fifth bullet her gun jammed. She turned and ran. Buffy pivoted on one foot and raced to her sister Slayer defense. Xander had organized the ground crew and they were taking up positions behind the fallen semi as Spike’s girls sent a rain of crossbow quarrels and flaming arrows arching down from the second floor windows. Most of the missiles passed harmlessly through the Dragon, continuing their trajectory to other targets. Spike saw Buffy take an arrow in the calf and stumble. The sword spun out of her hand as she hit the ground. She skidded into the path of the onrushing Draco.
“Bloody hell,” the vampire yelped in dismay. Shouldering his way dangerously close to the window, he snatched a crossbow from the hands of the nearest Potential and fired a bolt into the beast’s eye just as the creature rose above his beloved.
The arrow found a solid mark. Black ichors sprayed out, showering down on Buffy as she yanked the pointy wood from her flesh. Rolling to one side as the dragon came down, she fumbled for the hilt of her fallen sword. Finding it with one blindly patting hand, she rolled back under the creature and thrust up into its exposed belly. Draco screamed, doubling back along the length of its body to snap at the Slayer.
Faith was sprinting toward her fallen twin, booted heels kicking up stones as she ran.
The dark Slayer had abandoned her empty rifle. She did a diving shoulder roll and came up with Spike’s double headed ax. As she found her feet, the brunette threw the weapon. It took the dragon in the throat. The beast thrashed about and roared as it clawed the blade from its neck. The ax bounced on the tarmac.
Buffy flipped to her feet and Faith circled to the left. Darting in low, the dark Slayer recovered her weapon and danced away again. She saw Buffy signal for her attention as she too backpedaled. A silent message seemed to pass between the beautiful warriors.
They regrouped and then moved as one. Blades whirling, they closed on their massive foe. It was a short, fierce battle, with only one possible conclusion. The demon was formidable, vanishing and reappearing, attacking and then instantly retreating into another dimension. But it was outclassed.
When it lunged at one woman, the other would strike. Faith and Buffy were brilliant, moving in tandem, always a hair’s breadth ahead of certain death. They were smoothly confident, dark and bright. There was no mistaking them…two halves of a whole…kin, sisters….
"Slayers," Spike whispered, feeling the awe of the word in a way he never had before.
---
On the far side of Sunnydale, Dawn stared in fascinated awe at the silent figure of Andrew. The boy was suspended in mid-air, playing his Kortlec. There was no sound coming out of the instrument but there was a golden light that pulsed from a source in the young man’s throat. Willow’s spell had captured the compelling music and redirected it in the hopes of once again enticing the Hound away from its prey.
Six feet below Dawn’s position, in a trickle of oily sludge, Amy lay in a dazed heap at the bottom of the sewer pipe. In her mind’s eye, she saw the dark figure coming for her. It swam toward her across a turbulent sea of space/time.
Amy thought it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. It was black and silver and had a spiny crested head. There were great wings on either side of the sleek form. It had a long snake-like neck. And teeth! Rows and rows of teeth. Amy let the horrid thing get very close. Then she sighed in heartfelt regret and let go of it. She watching in mute wonder as it slipped away into the deep.
When it was gone, she turned, looking for the door to her own world. It was a tiny dot in the distance. It was too far to travel, Amy thought, as she hovered wraith-like between the dimensions. She waited, watching the dot dwindle away. It was a relief to rest at last, to be free of her wasted flesh. No more evil. No more magic. No more pain. As the gate closed, Amy’s spell disintegrated around her forgotten body. She gasped out a final musical breath and died.
---
There had been far too many dead to bury quietly; eight Potentials and two of Xander’s co-workers. It took hours to clean up and then there were city officials to placate and reporters to dodge. And worst of all family members to notify.
“I’m so sorry,” Buffy repeated, struggling to maintain the impersonal tone of a marginally involved school counselor.
Her voice cracked with sympathy but the tearful woman on the other end of the phone line was beyond noticing. She was beyond condolence as well. She had lost her only child. There were no words that could ease her pain. She went on crying as Buffy said her goodbyes.
After ringing off, the Slayer shuffled a few papers on the card table in front of her. She drew a line through the last name on her list, Cleo Anderton, and released a tired sigh. Death was her constant companion but she never got used to it striking at others. The weight of her calling settled on her shoulders. She leaned her forehead into her hands, pressing the cold metal casing of her cell phone against her furrowed brow. The back door opened and closed, party noise waxing and then waning again. Buffy ignored the sound of movement in the kitchen until someone spoke behind her.
“This is Hell, right?”
The Slayer straightened and turned around in her chair. Xander was standing in the kitchen doorway. He was holding three bottles of beer in each hand and embracing an impossibly large bag of chips. “I mean, I figured they’d tell YOU if it was, even if they kept the rest of us in the dark.”
Buffy managed a tight-lipped smile which Xander took for an affirmative response to his inquiry.
“I thought so,” he nodded. “This is Hell and I’m like that sissified guy with the boulder.”
Buffy puzzled over this for a minute, forehead puckered, before taking a guess at his meaning. “The one from the Red Bull™ commercials?”
“Yeah,” Xander said, with a sigh. He gestured vaguely, with one beer-filled fist, at the plastic-covered hole in the far wall. “Witness my heavy rock. The structural damage that never ends. I am doomed to repair this house for all eternity. I’m being punished for my sins.”
Buffy looked from her friend to the impromptu picture window in the dining room. “I wouldn’t think you could fit in this much sin and still keep your day job.”
“It’s accruing from past lives. I kept nubile young women as slaves when I was the Emperor of all Rome. I’ve dreamed about it many times.”
Buffy snorted. She considered the damage to the wall for a little while longer. “Maybe we could leave it like that,” she supposed, half-heartedly. “Nice view.”
“No,” Xander shook his head. “That’s a load-bearing wall. Moisture will leak in and you’ll have a real disaster on your hands. I’ll have to fix it. But until I do, try not to get all wild and crazy upstairs. The whole house could come down.”
Buffy started slightly at this remark. She narrowed her eyes at the carpenter but Xander’s expression was bland as he appraised the work in front of him. After a silent minute or two, he turned to look at her. “Did you reach everyone?”
“Everyone but Kennedy’s family,” Buffy said, glancing again at the eight names on her list. “I left a message for them to call. It’s not the sort of thing you leave on a machine. Did you contact Guido’s wife?”
A deep shadow crossed the man’s face and she knew he had. The conversation must have gone badly but all he said was, “Remember when we never thought about calling the families? Somebody must have, but not us.” They took a moment to reflect on the past then Xander said, “Remember how we couldn’t wait to be all grown up?”
“No,” Buffy said dryly. “That’s not usually a Slayer issue.” There was only a slight twinge of regret in her voice. She changed the subject. “How’s the party?”
“Subdued. A bunch of foot soldiers, happy to be alive but…missing the missing.”
“Yeah,” Buffy said. She forced a bright smile and nodded at his burden of beer and chips. “People will be glad to see you though, assuming that’s not a personal stash.”
“Hey, four beers is my limit.”
“And zero beers is Dawn’s,” Buffy said, standing up. “Make sure she remembers that, okay? Molly and Amanda, too.”
“Aren’t you coming out?”
Buffy pulled a face. “Not really in the mood to celebrate,” she said. She started for the hallway, limping slightly on her injured leg. “Thought I might enjoy the peaceful bliss of a bath while the teenagers are otherwise occupied.”
“Good idea. I’ll tell them to give you an hour or two. And Buff?” The Slayer hesitated at the edge of the foyer. Xander walked over to drop a kiss on the top of her head. “Do me a favor will you? Get some rest.”
He watched her climb the stairs to the second landing before he headed back to the party. Occupied with juggling his burden, Xander didn’t notice the door to Spike’s downstairs abode close softly as he entered the kitchen.
---
Reaching her bedroom, Buffy locked the door behind her. She leaned against it for a minute, blocking out the world. Then, she crossed to the window and looked down on the gathering in her backyard. Xander was passing out beers. There was no sign of Spike or her new Watcher but Giles was perched on the table of the redwood picnic set, already nursing a bottle of dark ale. Anya sat on the bench by his feet. Willow faced away from the group. She stared vacantly into the middle distance. Faith and a few of the remaining Potentials were apparently reconstructing the battle using soda cans and bottle tops. Andrew was scribbling messages to Dawn on his ‘big board.’
Nobody looked happy. They just looked relieved.
They had beaten the unbeatable. They had survived in the face of overwhelming odds. Maybe Xander was right. Being alive was enough cause for celebration in a band of foot soldiers. Front line grunts had different priorities. Maybe it was the lot of generals and family members to mourn over the graves of a victory.
Sighing, the Slayer pulled the curtain closed on the festivities. She didn’t have the stomach for them. In the pitch black of her room, she undressed. Long habit led her to her robe and a clean pair of pajamas. Holding the clothing in her arms, she padded, nude, to the bathroom door.
A slight intake of breath and a sniffle, greeted her as she stepped over the threshold. The bathroom was occupied. Buffy jumped. The bundle of clothes spilled from her grasp. She squinted across the dimly lit room. Molly was seated on the closed lid of the toilet. She gaped at the Slayer as Buffy hastily stooped to reclaim her robe.
“I didn’t know anyone was in here,” Buffy said, covering up.
Just as Molly gasped, “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought everyone was at the party.”
“Almost,” Buffy mumbled. She double-knotted the belt of her robe and frowned at the teen. “Did you need a few more minutes?”
“No, no.” Molly scrambled awkwardly to her feet. Her movements were stiff, as if she’d been seated on the cold porcelain for a long time. Buffy took a step closer, peering at the girl. As her eyes adjusted to the dim illumination of the nightlight, the Slayer noticed the teen’s puffy face.
“You’ve been crying?”
“Jus’ a bit,” Molly admitted. She shrugged off her weakness and, head down, started for the hallway. She was almost at the door when she looked back over her shoulder. “It’s jus’ tha’…” She hesitated, biting her lower lip and then turned around to face the Slayer, rushing out tearful words. “Chloe and I used to share a room. And Beth-Ann made fun of my clothes. I didn’t like her. Not one bit. But now I keep seeing her face. And Shannon she’s from Galway…or she was…and a boy from Galway moved to our street last summer so every time Shannon talked it reminded me o’ my ‘ome.”
“Cleo Atherton was an only child,” Buffy said.
“I didn’t know that,” Molly whispered, the confession choking her. Buffy went to the girl and took her in her arms.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I know it seems like it will never end. But somehow, it will all be okay.”
“No it won’t,” Molly sniffled, affronted by the lie. She pulled away a little and wiped her face with the back of a hand. Then, she leveled a serious look on the Slayer. “What if it’s me?”
Buffy didn’t follow. “You?”
“Chosen,” Molly clarified. “What if I’m the one? I don’t think that I can be brave and strong like you.”
“I’m not so brave,” Buffy said.
“You are. You’re like Kennedy. I thought it would be her. We all did. She was so cocksure and good with the crossbow. She woulda made a grand Slayer. She used to say, ‘I mean to survive this fight, Maggots.’ It just seemed like it would ‘ave to be her. But now…” She looked at Buffy with large luminous eyes. “Wha’ if it really is…me?”
Buffy reached out a hand and touched the tips of her fingers to Molly’s cheek, “You’ll live,” she said simply.
Releasing a long shuddering breath, the teenager nodded her understanding and without another word turned and left the room. Buffy waited until she heard her thump down the stairs before she slipped out of her robe again. Padding across the tile floor, she retrieved her pajamas, refolded them and set them on the top of the vanity. She started the hot water running for her bath and then returned to the bedroom to flip on a small bedside lamp for light. She disrobed, tossing the garment on the bed before going back into the bathroom. When the water was deep enough, she settled in with a groan.
Eyes closed, Buffy floated in the womb-like warmth. Her hair drifted around her with a life of its own. Her mind drifted too. Images of the long day assaulted her. And then she was standing in the sewers, looking down on Amy’s body. There was a scurry of rats underfoot. Buffy followed the sound of the rats moving along the tunnel. Ahead of her a light flared and she threw a hand up to shield her eyes.
When the light faded, Angel was standing in front of her.
“How many more people are you going to let die?” He asked.
“I didn’t let them die,” she protested, hurt by his accusing tone.
“You could have stopped it. You have the power.”
“Power?” Buffy said, confused. “It took everything we had, everything I had to defeat it.”
The vampire shook his head and stepped backward, disappearing into deeper shadow. His voice echoed off the walls. “This is all your fault,” he said.
Buffy thrashed into awareness. “Angel?” she called desperately.
After a moment, her eyes focused. Spike was standing next to the tub, looking down on her.
“No,” he said softly, turning away.