Enemy IncognitoBy Wynn
Chapter Thirty-Six: When It Rains, It Pours
The clang of the steel bars echoed through the empty, antiseptic tinged house, ringing in Willow's ears with a finality that sent shivers of foreboding along her spine. The air surrounding the bars and the house tingled with traces of magic. They were trapped, both physically and magically. Wesley was telling the truth in that Lilah and the rest had been waiting for them to arrive. But it hadn't been to keep them out of the house and to keep them away from any potentially incriminating evidence. It had been to lock them in their own personal prison and then kill them.
"Shit." Buffy moved over to the bar covered window, peeking through the steel, wood, and dirty glass at Mulholland Drive. "We've got company."
"How many?" Spike asked.
"I can't tell. It's too dark. Fifteen, twenty. Maybe more." She swore again, pushing away from the window to pace the front foyer of the house. "We're just sitting ducks in here. Spike, Giles, find the others. See if there's a way out of this place."
Spike nodded, blue eyes locked on Buffy. "Stay safe."
"I will."
He nodded again, gaze darting briefly to Willow before he turned and walked down the hall with Giles. Willow watched the two disappear around the corner. Turning to Buffy, she said, "They used magic on the house. On the bars. I think I can break it and get us out of here."
Buffy remained silent as she stared at Willow, teeth gently worrying her bottom lip. She glanced at the bars then back at Willow and said, "Are you sure?"
"Yeah. It's a pretty powerful spell, but I think I can get around it."
"We could wait. See if there's another way out-"
Sounds of fighting cut off Buffy's hesitant reply. Willow turned towards the back half of the house, her eyes widening as Spike and an unknown man came crashing down the hall. As he jumped to his feet, Spike dodged a blow from the man and said, "They're coming in from the back, luv. Trying to pin us in one corner of the house. Make us easy pickings."
Willow took a step towards Buffy and laid a hand on her arm. "I can do this, Buffy."
A few seconds passed as Buffy gazed at Willow, hazel eyes searching her face. Sighing softly, Buffy nodded and said, "Go work your mojo." She squeezed Willow's hand before moving down the hall to join the fight.
Willow drew in a deep breath and faced the steel covered front door. "Work my mojo," she said softly as she closed her eyes, opening her consciousness to the primal energy suffusing the world. Her breathing increased as the magic flowed through her, lighting her from within with an ancient, feral fire. She reached out with her hand, palm tingling from the energy waves enveloping the front door. The magic pushed against her, and she trembled as she drew strength from the earth, focusing it through her veins, muscles, and bones, and directing it at the door. Her physical senses deadened, the sounds of combat, of raised voices and dull blows, vanishing from her awareness, as her mind opened to higher planes of existence. Body trembling, Willow's eyes flew open, revealing inky black irises. Her hand latched onto one of the bars, and the house shook from the battle of magicks. A raw scream was torn from her throat as the front wall exploded out, ripping away from her hand and the brick house, sending loose plaster, wood, and bricks tumbling down onto her.
* * *They came in from the back, striking the same time the house flooded with brilliant white light. Before anyone could attack, they threw Xander against the wall, his head connecting roughly with the concrete and plaster, body crumpling into unconsciousness. Dark eyes narrowing at the trickle of blood sliding across Xander's forehead, Faith turned towards the men and launched into battle.
From the corners of her eyes, she could see Angel and Cordelia fighting, barely holding their own against the ever increasing forces. Faith grunted as her opponent's fist smashed into her stomach, followed by a blow to her temple. She reeled back, slamming against the wall and bouncing off the pristine plaster. She aimed a kick for the burly man's head, and her boot connected with his face, sending him stumbling back against another man. As the two fell to the floor, Faith spun and blocked a kick from a third man, latching onto his foot and throwing him across the room, where he landed before Spike and Giles.
"Where's B?"
Giles dodged a punch from the third man, who stumbled into Spike, sending both sailing down the hallway towards the front of the house. "With Willow trying to create a way out."
"We trapped in here?"
"Yes."
"Thought so."
As Giles fought against another attacker, Faith spun and faced the two men who had untangled themselves and stood from the floor. The one on the right was tall, stretching over six feet, with broad shoulders and thick biceps. The second was shorter and stockier with a bruise decorating his face from her kick. They glanced at each other and then at Faith. Her eyes darted between the two men as she shifted from one foot to the other, waiting for them to make their move against her. The tall one charged, catching Faith around the middle. She groaned as she collided with the wall, the back of her head smacking against the concrete, bursts of black coloring her vision. Large calloused hands pinned her against the wall, bruising strength digging into her arms, and she panicked as memories from her past came rushing back to her. Reacting on instinct, Faith screamed and kicked again, her foot slamming into her attacker's stomach. He flew across the room and crashed into a steel covered window, falling to the floor. Breathing erratic, Faith blinked a few times, trying to clear her cloudy vision. She stiffened as she felt the cold steel of a gun pressed against her temple. Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw the short, stocky man standing beside her, gun grasped tightly in his hand.
"Time's up, Slayer."
Faith winced as the click of the hammer echoed in her ears. So this was it. Taken out by a thug with a gun. The end of Faith contained in one tiny metal bullet. Wesley must have been real serious about wanting that celebratory bottle of champagne if he allowed the use of firearms in this game he was playing. She couldn't blame him though, not after all she had done to him.
She jumped as a dark blur streaked past her, tackling the stocky man, sending his gunshot high above her head. Plaster rained down on Faith as she turned and looked at her savior.
It was Wesley.
She struggled to her feet as the two men grappled on the floor. Wesley ripped the gun out of the man's hands and smashed the butt against his temple twice, knocking him unconscious. Shoving the gun into the waistband of his jeans, Wesley stood and walked over to Faith, tilting her chin in the air as he inspected her face. His fingers traveled to the back of her head, and she winced as they brushed against the knot formed by her close encounter with the wall.
"Quite a knot there," he murmured, azure eyes intent on her face. "I suspect you'll have a concussion. How-"
"What the hell are you doing here?" Faith asked as she jerked her head out of his hands.
"Saving your ass apparently."
"I-" The house shook, windows and steel rattling against each other. The floorboards shifted and Faith stumbled as the world swayed around her. Wesley reached out, his hands grasping her arms, holding her upright as the tremors died around them. His hands were warm on her arms; his palms were rough with scars and calluses. Faith broke contact between them and took a few steps backward, her dark eyes large and wary and locked on Wesley. "What are you doing here?" she asked her voice hard in her mind but soft in her mouth.
"Saving you," he said. Wesley opened his mouth to speak again but was cut off as he was slammed against the wall by Angel. Wrapping one of his hands around Wesley's throat, Angel said, "Wesley. So nice of you to show. I think I'll kill you now."
* * *Stepping around the broken glass, Connor moved over to Dawn. Blood oozed down her face from a gash across her cheek, and shallow cuts lined her bare arms from the explosion of the dining room windows.
"Are you alright?"
Blue eyes wide with fear and shock, Dawn nodded. She sucked in a shaky breath, and her gaze flickered over his shoulder. Connor spun and punched the man behind him. As he sunk to the floor, Connor looked at the smashed front door; more men streamed into the house, half of them entering the living room, fighting against Gunn, Lorne, Fred, and Clem, while the other half moved into the dining room, eyes trained on himself and Dawn. Connor eased Dawn behind him, backing her in one corner of room, as he faced off against the four men spreading throughout the room.
Four on one. Connor smirked. They really had no clue who they were dealing with. If they had, they would have sent more men.
Connor shot forward, grabbing one of the chairs circling the oak dining table and hurling it towards the man on his right. The chair collided with the man, eliciting a harsh moan and causing him to stagger into the wall. Connor stepped back as a second man moved forward, his attention drawn to the advancing attacker. He hissed in pain as the oak table slammed into him, forcing him to his knees as the wood collapsed around him. Connor heard Dawn scream again as he shoved the table pieces off him, and he jumped to his feet as a bruised and bloodied man with shackles attached to his wrists punched Dawn in the face. As she crumpled onto the floor, Connor felt a slight prick in his neck. He swung his arm, knocking one of the four men to the ground, the hypodermic needle sticking in his neck clattering to the floor.
"Good work, boys," the beaten man said. As the room began to spin around him, Connor recalled what the others had said this man's name was. Tyler. He fell to his knees again as the man continued, "Grab the girl and the kid and get them out of here. Boss doesn't like to be kept waiting." That was the last Connor heard before he slipped into unconsciousness.
* * *"Willow!" Buffy sprinted down the hall, boots skidding along the dirty floor as she slid to a stop beside the rubble covering Willow. Her gaze briefly flickered to the missing wall and she shook her head before she re-focused on Willow. It had been too much too soon. No one knew what Willow was capable of, if she could control her power or if the magic still controlled her. One simple healing spell did not signify a complete recovery from the misuse of magic. Buffy shouldn't have let her try to break the spell. They would have found another way out of the house.
Heart racing, Buffy clawed at the rubble, pushing it off the prone form of her best friend. Willow coughed as billowing clouds of dirt and dust formed in the air, and she shook her head to clear off the fine layer of paint and plaster that clung to her skin. She looked at the jagged edges of the ceiling that formerly attached the front wall to the house, and a faint smile tugged at her lips as she said, "Willow, one. House, nothing."
Giggling in relief, Buffy said, "Mere steel and bricks are no match for the mighty Willow."
"No, but I think the dust is." Coughing again, Willow stood, leaning on Buffy as the rubble shifted beneath her feet. "Killer dust clouds are more evil than pollen. But at least we have a way out."
"Yes. We do have a way out." Buffy glanced out of the house towards Mulholland Drive. A man was sprinting up the gravel path stretching from the sidewalk to the area formerly known as the porch, and Buffy's eyes widened as she recognized the rapidly approaching figure. Tall, burly, long red hair. Charles. Emilia's business partner and co-owner of the Bronze.
Opening her mouth to speak, Buffy froze as she saw the gun clutched in his hand. He lifted his arm and pointed the gun at her and Willow.
"Get down," he said, his voice rough and husky.
Grabbing Willow, Buffy dove to the side as the gunshot exploded through the air. Sliding across the ground, Buffy rolled to her feet, eyes darting between Charles and the prone figure of the man who had been silently approaching her and Willow. A curved dagger lay beside his slack hand. She hadn't sensed him. If Charles hadn't been there, the man could have killed her. But why was he here?
Turning to Charles, Buffy said, "Who are you?"
Climbing into the house, he extended a hand down to Willow, helping her to her feet once more. He glanced at Buffy, the timbre of his voice changing from a low huskiness to a softer refined British accent as he said, "My name is Samuel. Charles Samuel."
* * *"What did you do?" Anya grabbed Emilia and shoved her against the refrigerator. Fighting raged in the other rooms of the Summers house, but none of the action had extended back into the kitchen. Anya knew the fighting was associated with the moving shadows she had seen through the kitchen window, and she knew all of this was connected in some way to Emilia and her mysterious phone conversation. Body tense with anger, Anya leaned into Emilia, her golden brown eyes hard and shining with rage. "Who did you call?"
Violet eyes wide, Emilia swallowed. She looked from Anya to the closed kitchen door. Her body shook with soft trembles. "I…"
"What did you do?!" Anya slammed her hand against the refrigerator, inches away from Emilia's head. They had trusted her. Giles had trusted her. And she betrayed them. Voice steely, Anya said, "I heard you on your phone. Talking about how Faith and Giles and Buffy left twenty minutes ago. Who were you talking to?"
"I…"
"Answer me!"
Her lavender eyes locked on the kitchen door, the color drained from Emilia's face as she whispered, "Get out of the house."
"No. Not until you tell me what-"
'Get out of the house! NOW!'
Anya cringed at Emilia's psychic cry, pain shooting through her as the Elf's voice pierced her mind. Locking eyes with the other woman, she gasped as Emilia slumped against the refrigerator, her eyes rolling back into her head as she lost consciousness. Grasping her underneath her arms, Anya drug Emilia towards the back door, kicking it open and stumbling into the backyard. Halfway across the yard, her strength gave way, and both Anya and Emilia fell to the ground as the Summers' house exploded into a ball of crackling orange and red flames.