Dies Irae

By Medea

Chapter Five

Rupert Giles was jolted out of his serene enjoyment of the latest Barbara Kingsolver novel by the frantic buzzing of his intercom. Setting aside his book, he crossed the spacious loft apartment he had remodeled over the magic shop and spoke into the device. "Yes?"

"Giles, it's me. Let us in," Willow replied.

How odd...her voice sounded strained. The ex-Watcher reasoned that it must be the poor quality of the intercom. "I'll be right down," he informed her as he pressed the button that released the lock on the main door.

Slipping on his shoes, Giles descended the stairs to the shop. Seeing Willow, he greeted her with a casual query.

"I hope you didn't get caught in that storm."

"I *was* that storm," Willow answered in a desolate voice. Something about her demeanor sent a chill through Giles, and he glanced over at Spike. A sickening pit formed in his stomach as he saw the body slung over the blond vampire's shoulder.

"Dear God...no..." Giles breathed in horror.

Spike fixed him with a solemn gaze, and then swung Buffy's lifeless body off his shoulder and laid it gently on a couch near the literature section. Giles walked toward her, dazed, yet unable to stop his feet. At last he stood over her fragile form, staring down in mute disbelief. He knelt down and brushed a few strands of hair tenderly away from her face. With a sudden jerk he hunched over, squeezed his eyes shut, and clenched his fists so tightly that his fingernails drew blood from his palms.

She had held the dearest place in his heart. He had watched her grow strong and confident with the same pride that any father would have felt.

After a few moments, Giles recovered his composure somewhat, and drew in several deep, calming breaths. Bending over the body once more, he placed a reverent kiss on Buffy's forehead, and then stood up. Turning to Willow, he asked quietly, "Who did this?"

The redheaded vampire told him the horrible truth. "The Watchers Council. They sent an assassin. He used a poisoned dart..."

"Ambergris Thalax venom," Giles acknowledged, recognizing the symptoms. "But...the Council? Why?"

"That's the bloody $64,000 question, isn't it?" Spike drawled sarcastically.

"The assassin said it was because of me," Willow added.

"Here now," Spike chided her as he stepped close and gripped her upper arms gently. "Already told you that was rot. Slayer wouldn't want you to take the blame. She'd want you to go after 'em."

"Spike is right, Willow...What we need to figure out is who devised and...*executed*...this plan," Giles agreed. "First...though...we should let the others know."

There was silence.

"I'll call Los Angeles," Giles continued, steeling himself for the heart-wrenching task. "Angel will want to be here. And Mr. Wyndham-Price may be able to learn more about the Council's dealings. I doubt that any of my own contacts will be privy to much."

Spike wrapped his arms protectively around Willow and held her as Giles dialed Angel's number. The two vampires remained immobile and oblivious, shutting themselves off from everything except each other.

There was a greater measure of sorrow in Willow's thoughts than in Spike's, although Spike had meant it when he'd told Buffy that she was a worthy opponent. Over the years, they had arrived at a mutual tolerance for Willow's sake. And as the longest-lived Slayer on record, Buffy had earned the blond vampire's respect. Spike felt that a fellow fighter had at least deserved to be bested by a superior opponent, rather than killed by treachery.

Willow was devastated.

Neither she nor Buffy had been naïve enough to think that they could recapture the friendship they had shared when Willow was human. But over time they had built a different kind of friendship -- one that had outlasted their friendship while Willow had still been alive. Contrary to everything in their respective natures, they had relied on each other, confided in one another, and shared an unshakable trust. Willow felt like a part of her had been amputated.

She was shaken from her sad thoughts by Giles, who approached them and reported on his conversation with Wesley.

"Mr. Wyndham-Price said that Angel left twenty minutes ago. Apparently, Cordelia did have a vision. That's the strange thing, though."

"What?" Willow prompted him.

"Well, for the past week or so, Cordelia has felt...blocked, for lack of a better word. She described it as feeling that a vision was hovering at the edge of her perception but not reaching her. She would have momentary glimpses of images, but lose them before she could make any sense of what she'd seen."

Spike let out a low whistle. "Think it was some sort of spell?"

"It might have been. But to interfere with sendings from the Powers That Be...it would take magic stronger than I can comprehend..." Giles conceded.

"Even the combined efforts of my coven couldn't have pulled off something like that," Willow observed grimly.

"All that to keep my sire at bay," Spike muttered, dumbfounded by the lengths the Council had gone to.

"They didn't want to take the risk that he might save her," Willow growled as her anger mounted. "They knew he would have, if he'd found out in time."

"Willow," Giles interjected delicately, "That might not be the best point to dwell upon when Angel arrives."

"No, it won't," Willow acknowledged. "Just seeing her will destroy him. I don't want to think of what will happen when he learns who was behind this."

Spike locked gazes with Giles, deadly serious.

"Better clear out any breakables while you can, Watcher."

*****

The door to the magic shop flew open.

The only reason that it hadn't been ripped from its hinges was that, at Spike's suggestion, Giles had unlocked it in anticipation of Angel's arrival.

Willow and Giles had spent the intervening hour and a half making the phone calls that no one ever wants to make. Willow had contacted Anya and Xander, and was grateful to the ex-demon for steadying Xander as his sobs grew increasingly hysterical. It was agreed that they would wait to join the others until the following day, since the makeshift wake was no place for children. Meanwhile, Giles had called Dawn in San Diego, where she was currently in medical school. Their conversation had been brief, as Dawn wanted to make arrangements to return to Sunnydale as soon as possible.

The last member of Buffy's intimate circle strode into the magic shop. Without so much as acknowledging the others present, he went directly to where the Slayer's body rested on the couch.

Angel stood, rigid as a statue, and gazed upon his beloved.

Slowly he sank to the edge of the couch and gathered her frail form into his arms. Rocking her gently, he stared at her face and let the tears flow freely. Their lives had been so busy during the past few months...the last time they had spoken, it had been a brief update about his latest case, her latest demon slaying...routine news about work. Damn it! It wasn't supposed to happen this way! They were supposed to have the chance to say good-bye...

A sad, persistent inner voice chided him.

This was how it always happened.

As one who had caused so many abrupt deaths himself, he should know better.

<Death waits for no one...>

He didn't hear Giles pull the shades in the store-front windows or hang a hand-scrawled sign in the door informing the public that the store would be closed for the remainder of the week. Nor did the dark vampire notice when Willow and Spike sat down at a nearby table, silently joining him in his vigil. Nothing broke his reverent gaze, nor interrupted the flow of memories that bombarded Angel as he cradled his first true love, and the greatest warrior he, or the world, had ever seen.

Daylight began to filter through the gaps between the shades and the windows, but didn't reach far enough into the store to pose a threat to the vampires who sat in somber shadow. The morning wore on. Periodically customers rattled the door, as if they were incapable of reading the clearly-marked sign. And still it was quiet as a tomb, while the living and the dead kept watch over their fallen friend.

Shortly after noon, Angel broke the silence.

"Spike...your mark is on her throat," the dark vampire observed softly.

"Coup de grace," his childe explained. "I drained her, but I didn't kill her."

For the first time since he had entered the store nearly ten hours earlier, Angel looked away from Buffy's face and turned his eyes toward Willow and Spike, awaiting an explanation.

"Buffy was poisoned by a hired assassin of the Watchers Council," Willow informed him.

Angel's eyes narrowed.

"*What*?!" he demanded.

"I spoke with Mr. Wyndham-Price just after you left," Giles added. "He's endeavoring to uncover any information he can about those who were behind this."

An enraged snarl broke forth from Angel's mouth. All semblance of control lost, his demonic face emerged as he rose from the couch.

"She was the best Slayer on record, and your organization took her out? What purpose could that possibly serve?" Angel spat angrily as he stalked toward Giles.

Willow and Spike hastily interposed themselves between the former Watcher and Angel. Spike struggled to hold his enraged sire back, while Willow shielded Giles with her body and attempted to make Angel listen to reason.

"Angel, no. You can't blame Giles for this. He cared about Buffy as much as any of us."

Giles stared back at Angel, matching his glare with an equal measure of barely-suppressed rage. "The Watchers Council ceased to be *my* organization the minute they decided to murder Buffy."

The standoff lasted only a few moments more before Angel regained his composure and resumed his human face. Spike relaxed his hold and let his sire step free.

"I'm sorry, Rupert," Angel muttered weakly.

Giles exhaled the breath that he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding. "No harm done...but...perhaps you might care to take advantage of the training room while I call your colleagues in Los Angeles to see if they've learned anything."

Angel's jaw clenched as he considered the offer. Spike caught his eye, knowing exactly what his sire needed.

"Let's you and me go a round, Sire," the blond vampire offered.

Angel nodded. The tension that coiled inside him had almost reached the breaking point. Stiffly, he headed toward the training room, followed by the childe who, for all his rebellion, still showed a loyalty to Angel unmatched by any other.

With the exception of Willow.

As she watched her companions leave, Willow spoke up. "Angel..."

Her mentor paused and turned bitter, mournful eyes to her.

"Buffy asked me to tell you that she loved you. Her last thoughts were of you."

For a moment, Angel said nothing. There were no signs to reveal that he had heard her at all, until Willow caught a glimmer of moisture hovering at the rim of his eyelid. As he turned to continue toward the training room, he acknowledged in a strained, broken voice, "Thank you, Willow."

Her heart went out to him. She felt no jealousy at the strength of his emotions for Buffy, only sorrow. Willow had long ago reconciled herself to the fact that Buffy was burned into his heart with a greater permanence than his own soul. But she harbored no petty rivalry toward Buffy, knowing that for the past decade, she had enjoyed what Angel couldn't let himself share with Buffy, precisely *because* he loved Buffy so much.

His touch. His passion. His longing to be held tenderly in someone's arms. It was difficult for him to share this with Willow and maintain his control. It would have been impossible with Buffy.

Willow shook herself out of her mental wanderings. There would be time enough for reflection. Right now, she had a friend to avenge.

The redheaded vampire listened while Giles spoke with Wesley on the phone. When it became clear that all of Wesley's inquiries had come to naught, Willow stationed herself at Giles' computer and set about trying to hack into the Council's database. When Angel and Spike returned, tattered and bruised, from the training room an hour later, all of her efforts had been unsuccessful. The Council had covered its tracks very carefully.

"Bloody hell!" Willow cursed, her long-time association with Spike showing. "There's nothing! Short of draining every single Council member, we might never get the ones who killed Buffy."

"That such a bad idea?" Spike gave her a sinister arch of the eyebrow.

"I'm in," Angel stated flatly.

Willow's eyes widened. "Angel...you're not serious? You haven't killed in cold blood since...since..."

"Since the Powers gave me a chance at redemption by fighting the good fight. I know the drill, Willow," Angel growled bitterly. "But sometimes fighting the good fight doesn't get the job done. Either the Powers aren't *able* to protect their own, or they aren't *interested* in doing it!"

Just as Angel's tirade was escalating, there was a blinding flash and a shining, translucent figure stood before them. It looked like a Greek youth draped in classical garb.

"Champion," the figure addressed Angel. "You are called."

With no further words, the figure vanished and Angel collapsed to the floor.

As Willow knelt anxiously beside Angel's unconscious form, Spike remarked dryly, "Guess somebody heard him."

*****

Angel found himself suspended in a field of stars. He felt no ground beneath his feet, but he didn't feel as though he were floating. He couldn't really feel anything at all. The youth who had summoned him was nowhere to be seen.

For a moment, Angel thought he might be dreaming.

Then a voice drifted close to his ear.

"A sacred covenant has been violated."

Before Angel could defend himself for what he had said in anger, the voice interrupted him.

"Your words were foolish and presumptuous, but it is not that which concerns us. The Slayer's death was not ordained in this manner. Seven of our servants have tampered with the fabric of fate."

Even as questions formed in Angel's mind, the voice anticipated them and began explaining why, for the first time, the Powers had reached out to him directly.

"For your pain, you are to be granted what mercy we can offer. But we need an instrument to right the wrong..."

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