ORIGINALLY POSTED: January 7, 2002
TITLE: The Family Business
AUTHOR: JK Philips
RATING: PG-13 (swearing)
SUMMARY: After the events of The Ticking Clock, Buffy and Giles are still looking for their daughter. Can they save her from a terrible fate?
SPOILERS: Everything up to “The Gift”
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.
SECOND DISCLAIMER: I have a laundry list of literature to site in this part. My footnotes will be found in the next part.
EMAIL: . Would love feedback. This is only my third fanfic. Well, technically my first if you want to lump Death Brings Clarity, The Ticking Clock, and this together as one book.
MY WEBSITE: www.jkphilips.com
---------------------------------------------------

Part 9: Waking the Dead

Buffy picked her way through the sorority house. It appeared to have been hastily abandoned. Nothing of value had been taken: the electronics were still there, and the plush furniture and the baby grand. But all the personal items were gone, the rows of dorm-like bedrooms upstairs in disarray, emptied of clothing and pictures and jewelry. Whatever could fit in suitcases and assorted boxes was taken, everything else left where it lay. Some rooms had obviously packed more than they could carry, evidenced by the packed boxes stacked against walls and on beds.

Buffy stopped as she passed one room, drawn in by the brief glimpse of something familiar. It was hurriedly packed like all the others, but she recognized a few of the belongings left behind. The bedspread looked exactly like it could belong to… And the clothes strewn across it and the posters still hanging on the walls, they were all exactly like her friend’s. It couldn’t be. But it was. Buffy bent to pick up a small snapshot, forgotten on the floor. Her own face laughing back at her, framed by Xander and Willow, all of them looking so young, so different. It was from their first year of high school together, she thought, back when Xander had a crush on her, back when Willow was pining away after her best friend, barely able to string together two words in front of the opposite sex, and back when Buffy herself had thought playing star-crossed lovers with a 240-year old vampire was the height of excitement.

This was Willow’s room, or it had been until recently. Whatever was going on, whatever these people were up to, Willow had some part in it. And she had discarded her old friends just like the photograph in Buffy’s hands.

Buffy had thought that in losing her watcher and husband she had hit rock bottom. But here was a lower place. Her best friend had switched teams, and not in the straight then gay kind of way. Buffy was fairly certain these people had something to do with Robin and the other potential slayers and probably the watchers as well. But even if they didn’t, they definitely had something to do with April lying in a hospital bed the last two weeks.

How would she stop her best friend? Did she have it in her to square off against Willow? Was it too late to offer her friend a helping hand out of the darkness? She thought of Faith, how they had tried to help her and lost her, thought about that fated battle before graduation day, how she had slid Faith’s stolen knife in her gut- slid in like she was butter- and almost lost herself. What are you going to do, B? Kill me- you become me. You’re not ready for that. What would she become if she were forced to hurt Willow? Would she be worse than Faith? Would it be better to simply walk away, let Willow do whatever she wanted, rather than take a human life, a life she loved? Should she just write Willow off as Giles had written off Ethan?

She stared at the high school snapshot, longing for simpler days, when things had been more black and white: kill a demon, save the day. Was the price for saving the day now too great? Not even to save the world could Buffy sacrifice her sister. What would it take before she would be willing to sacrifice Willow?

***

They were strolling hand in hand through the streets of Prague. Dru had always liked Prague. Since Angelus and Darla had gone their separate ways, it was just the two of them, and he brought her here often, although they were never good at laying low. Consequently, they were never able to stay in Prague long. They never stayed anywhere long.

They stopped in front of a dressmaker’s shop. Dru pointed excitedly at the dress the mannequin wore.

“Oh, Spike, isn’t it lovely?”

He eyed it skeptically. “We killed a shopkeeper not two blocks back for the dress you’ve got on. Don’t tell me you’re tired of it already.”

She pouted at him. “Yes, but this one smells of her, and she tore the lace trying to run away.” She lifted the beaded hem of the overskirt so he could see more clearly the tear across the elaborate underskirt. “Naughty girl. Wouldn’t even mend it for me.”

“She was dead, Dru. You killed her.”

“Oh, right.” She eyed the dress in the window longingly. “Such a lovely color, like dead roses, all faded and dried on their stems. I want it, Spike.”

He sighed as he studied her in profile. In many ways she was like a child, able to find joy in such simple things. “Then you shall have it, my love.” He stepped over to the front door, and stooping over for a rock, busted out the side window. She applauded for him giddily as he reached through to unlock the door, stepping aside for her to enter first.

The shop was dim, lit only by the light that filtered in from the street. He nosed around until he’d found the shopkeeper’s store of matches and lit the oil lamp beside the register. Dru had already peeled the dress off the mannequin and was holding it against herself as she twirled in front of the full-length mirror.

“Dru, darling, you don’t have a reflection,” Spike reminded her very patiently.

“If I close my eyes, I can see it,” she murmured approvingly. “It’s perfect, my William. I’m going to go put it on.” She stopped mid-twirl, her eyes focused on a spot just behind him. “Well, well, maybe she can mend my dress for me.”

He turned to see what had caught her attention. A young woman in her nightclothes stood just behind the register, holding aloft a candle in its holder. They had apparently wakened the shopkeeper who lived above the store. With any luck, there were more upstairs.

Spike smiled appreciatively. “Well, aren’t you a bit fresher than the last? What do they call you, little girl?”

“Tara.”

He stopped in his advance, overcome with a strange sense of déjà vu and the feeling that things had just been set on their side. Dru slipped in behind him, sliding her hand into his. She leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “Do you want to, or shall I?”

He remembered this. He remembered what happened next. He and Dru would drain the young woman together, unable to decide which should have her. They would go upstairs, and the little girl would invite them in, because Dru had a dolly for her. And they would play with the young toddler while the father begged for her life. They would kill them both and sneak out before the morning light could reveal what they had done. And Dru would wear her new dress through the streets of Prague the next night, window-shopping for a bit of jewelry to go with it.

He remembered all of this, even though it hadn’t happened yet. He wondered if Drusilla’s visions were beginning to rub off on him as well. But just as he remembered everything that would happen next, he also knew without a shadow of a doubt that the woman’s name hadn’t been Tara. Not the first time. Her hair had been longer, darker, and pulled up in rag curlers. This woman was fairer, her thick blonde hair worn straight to her shoulders. And she was familiar.

Dru tried to walk around him, impatient for the kill. He restrained her, his eyes never leaving the woman before him, and her eyes fixed on him as well. He knew what to ask, without knowing why he knew or why he cared about her answer. It was all very surreal, like a dream. “You have something to show me?”

She nodded and started up the steps directly behind her. He followed, Drusilla on his heels. She was forced back at the stairwell by an invisible barrier. Spike turned to see her standing there, pounding against the air, unable to follow him. He wondered how he had passed through without an invitation.

“You’ve already been invited here,” the young woman informed him, as if she could read his mind. She waited at the landing for him, holding the candle to light his path.

Spike continued up the narrow stairwell, which turned once, then twice before ending on the second floor. But it wasn’t the shopkeepers’ apartment he ended at. It was someone else’s house, someone else familiar, whose name stayed just out of reach. Modern conveniences in the bathroom, the tellie blaring from the end bedroom. All things that shouldn’t be here in this time.

He laughed at himself, at his own stupidity. “I’m dreaming.”

The woman smiled. “Something like that.” She stretched her hand towards the ceiling and a small ladder stairway unfolded itself to the ground, leading up to a dark attic. She offered him the candle. “It was my mother’s book. I never showed it to anyone, not even to her. I think it will help.”

He took the candle from her hands, feeling the warmth of the flame and the wax as it dripped down to the taper. He watched Tara for a moment, feeling like he was standing astride two worlds. “It’s really you, isn’t it? And it was Dru before, in the other dream?”

Tara shrugged bashfully and ducked her head. “It’s easier for the dead to visit the dead.” She raised her eyes again, her expression serious and urgent as she reminded him again: “My mother’s book.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll find the thing. And it bloody well better be useful, if you’re going to go disturbing a perfectly good dream to bother me about it.”

Tara smiled, the shy, timid smile Spike remembered of her. She wrapped her fingers around the hand holding the candle, her grip on his wrist strong. “Tell her I’m happy. I miss her, but I’m happy. And I want her to be happy too.”

“Sure, whatever.” He rolled his eyes. “Anything else? Should I take notes? Bleedin’ messenger service for the afterlife. Is that what I am now?”

Tara’s smile widened. “Goodbye, Spike. And take good care of Dawnie. She’s loved you for a long time. You know, you may not have a soul, but you have a heart, a good heart.”

“A dead heart,” he scoffed.

She shook her head emphatically. “A heart that loves is never dead.”

“Yeah, yeah, put it on a greeting card and sell it. We finished, ducks?”

She blew out the candle, and that was her answer.

He was plunged into darkness. He heard voices a great distance away and felt a slap across his cheek, then another. He opened his eyes and caught the hand before it struck again. Anya was kneeling beside him.

“Finally! You were a lot more difficult to wake up than Xander. You sleep like the dead, which makes sense, I suppose, since you are.”

Spike bolted to his feet. “Dawn!”

Xander stopped him before he’d taken more than two steps. “She’s fine. She’s downstairs trying to get a hold of Buffy at the hospital. We’re all fine, except I think I got a concussion and the twins are gone.”

Spike puzzled through Xander’s assessment. He thought for sure he was dust when the attacking vampires got the better of them. Vastly outnumbered and outmaneuvered, they hadn’t lasted more than ten minutes against the invaders. “Why aren’t we dead?”

“I heard them talking to each other after you both were knocked out. They were under strict orders from somebody not to kill Giles,” Anya answered. “I guess they didn’t know which one of us was Giles, so they didn’t kill any of us. And they didn’t knock Dawn or me out, which wasn’t a bad thing either. But they took the children. We couldn’t stop them. I think they were surprised to see two. I think they were only sent after one of them, probably Robin.”

Spike nodded. “Any idea where they’ve gone?”

“No,” She answered despondently. “We need some of those homing things like they have in the movies, and then we could follow the twins like little blinking dots on a computer screen.”

“Okay, Q,” Xander replied sarcastically, “any ideas for the real world?”

“A locator spell?”

Xander rested his hand against her round stomach. “Except...”

“Yes, except...” They both looked towards Spike. “Could you do it?”

He shrugged. “Could try.” He tilted his head back towards where Giles was still resting on the bed. “Watcher would be better at it, if we could break that damn spell.” His thoughts continued on even as Anya and Xander talked in the background, thoughts of his dream with Dru and then Tara.

“What’s up with the invitation giving?” Xander asked. “He wakes up just long enough to invite in a bunch of vampires?”

“No, it was whoever cast the spell on him,” Anya explained. “They made him give the invitation. They probably hired the vampires to steal the children, too.”

Xander’s eyes lit up with an idea. “Hold on. I think my fuzzy, concussed head just had an idea. We find the twins, and we find whoever put the spell on Giles, right? Then we’ll make them break it.”

“Good plan. Now how do we find the twins, sweetie?”

His face fell. “Oh, yeah. We were just trying to figure that out. I think it involved breaking the spell on Giles so he could do a locator spell.” He groaned and held his hands to his head. “We’re just going in circles here, and it’s making me dizzy.”

Anya smiled, and patted him on the arm soothingly. “Maybe Buffy will have an idea.”

Xander frowned. “I’m not so sure. I think she might have a total shutdown. She’s spent the last week thinking that Giles might never wake up. When she finds out vampires abducted both their children, she might go a little catatonic. Remember when Glory nabbed Dawn?”

“Oh, yeah, and then Willow did that spell to bring her out.” A long silence followed her statement. “Right. Another spell none of us can do. We need to put an ad in the paper or something for another witch, because we really seem to be coming up short right now.”

Spike had finally sorted out his dream. Tara had led him to the second floor of this house, Buffy’s house, and they’d been standing not even ten feet away in the hallway. “What’d they do with Tara’s stuff after she died?”

The young couple stared at him, baffled for a moment. Xander had a cutting comment on the tip of his tongue. “Why? You looking to fence it to buy beer?”

“Just answer the bleedin’ question.”

Anya reached out her fingers to probe him along the back of his head, and he flinched away. “Can vampires get concussions too?” she asked. “Because your question in no way fits into the conversation we were having.”

Spike glared and gritted his teeth. “What did they do with the witch’s sodding stuff?”

Xander studied him for a moment, and then reluctantly answered his question. “Willow didn’t want to keep any of it. She said she couldn’t look at it. She wanted to get rid of it, but Giles thought she would regret that later. He and Buffy boxed everything up and stuck it in the attic, in case she decided she wanted some of it later.”

“The attic?” Spike strolled out into the hallway and looked up at the outline of the doorway in the ceiling, just like he had seen in his dream. He laughed. They’d been searching all week, and now all he’d have to do is pull down the stairs, climb up into some dank attic, and sift through the witch’s stuff ’til he found her mother’s book. Why couldn’t Tara have dropped in on one of his dreams days ago? It’s not like he hadn’t dreamed before today.

Dawn came up the stairs then, smiling when she saw Spike. He cupped her chin in his hand and pulled her into a crushing hug. Whatever Xander and Anya wanted to think be damned. There had been a moment where he thought her lost, thought he had failed to protect her. When the vampires rushed them in numbers too great to hold back, he had experienced a moment of despair and failure every bit as great as that moment at the top of Glory’s tower when he had failed to stop Doc, when he could only look at her helplessly before being thrown from its height.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he murmured into her hair.

“Me? Nah.” She gave him a brave smile. “Slayer’s kid sister, remember? I have years of experience getting into trouble and walking away. Buffy’s the one who died twice. Worry about her.”

He chuckled softly and touched her cheek with his hand.

Xander interrupted their tender moment. “While a lovefest between Dawn and Spike is... well... gross.” He shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry, Dawn, but it is. Anyway, we really should figure out a workable plan before Buffy gets home.”

Dawn faced them, still leaning against Spike. “She left the hospital a while ago. She should be home...” The front door banged open. “...right about now.”

“Guys?” Buffy called as she jogged up the stairs. “Oh, good, you’re all here. I’m afraid I have some really bad news.”

The foursome exchanged meaningful glances before looking anywhere but at Buffy. Spike spoke. “Sure, Slayer, you first.”

***

He heard the girl’s wailing before his minions had even reached his office. But when the band of vampires entered his presence, they carried not one child, but two between them.

“What is this?” he demanded, glaring back and forth between one very hysterical little girl and one very sullen little boy.

“There were two kids, boss, and we didn’t know which to take, so we took them both.”

“You idiots!” He backhanded the vampire closest him and then advanced on the next, who held the boy up as if to use him as a shield. Joseph didn’t strike again, but his eyes focused on each subordinate with contempt. “Slayers are always girls. Always! What am I going to do with a little boy? There isn’t even enough blood in him for a decent snack.” His hand thrust out to grasp the boy’s face in his hand, feeling the child’s heart rate quicken beneath his fingers as he forced the small head to the side. But the boy’s green eyes didn’t even waver as Joseph slipped into his demon visage.

“Aren’t you afraid of me, little boy? Aren’t I the kind of monster that gives you nightmares?”

“Leave him be, Joseph.” Sabrina pushed him back and motioned for the boy to be set down. She knelt on the ground in front of him. “Sometimes you vampires are so dimwitted, I’m surprised the sun ever shines for you.” She smiled coyly. “Oh yeah, it doesn’t.” She grasped the child by his shoulders and pulled him closer to her, sizing him up thoughtfully. “Anyone can see that the boy’s worth ten of her. He has his father’s power.”

Joseph scoffed. “And the girl has her mother’s power. Her mother, the Slayer.”

Sabrina shot him a look over her shoulder. “Fine, then. She’s yours. Make her into whatever kind of slayer you like. Our business here is done. Give me the sword. And I want the boy, too. A little bonus for making me wait.”

He nodded to two lackeys at the door, and they left to fetch the witch’s payment.

Joseph sized up his little slayer, cowering in the arms of one of his less threatening minions. The man used to work in the mailroom of Wolfram and Hart. And here his slayer was, trembling in fear of this gawkish, beanpole, nothing vamp.

“She’s rather timid for a slayer. Are you sure she’s the right one, Sabrina?”

“Yes.” A weary sigh. “She’s a child, Joseph, and you are a monster, what would you expect her to do? Pull out a mini stake and attack your kneecaps? Fear is your ally, in this case. Fear is how you will control her and make her yours. You would have more to worry about if she showed no fear.” Sabrina turned back to the boy in front of her, reaching out her finger to bop him on the nose as she smiled. He met her stare levelly. “Yes, if she showed no fear for you, you would have no choice but to put her down.”

She leaned down closer and whispered, “What is your name, little man?”

The child’s chin jutted out stubbornly as he crossed his arms.

“That’s alright. I’m sure your father will tell me.”

His eyes grew wider at that statement, and Joseph wondered how she knew the child’s father.

The lackeys returned then with their cargo, and Sabrina seemed to forget about the boy as she rushed to claim her sword. Joseph had never seen a child more eager for Christmas than she was for that damn blade.

She tested the weight of it in her hands, gave it a few swings to hear it slice through the air. She beamed at him. “Thank you. I had almost given up hope, but you came through for me.”

He shrugged, playing modest. “You just have to know where to look, who to bribe, who to kill. Networking.”

She bowed slightly, graciously. “All the same, I salute your resourcefulness. And I hope you found it to be a fair trade. But I believe our business is concluded.” She slipped the sword back into its ornate sheath, strapped it across her back and moved to take the boy.

Joseph stopped her. “Am I not invited to your big hurrah?”

“Really, you don’t want to go. Lots of chanting, blood sacrifice, that sort of thing. Quite dull. It’s liable to take all night. Stay home. Enjoy your little slayer. I’ll give you a call sometime. Maybe do dinner?”

She scooped the boy up into her arms. He didn’t resist, but neither did he wrap his arms around her.

“Wait,” Joseph insisted, restraining her by the arm. “I thought we were partners.”

“Partners?”

“You know, you’re taking the power of all the watchers...? I have the last slayer...? Ring any bells? You were going to find the potentials as they came. Our own Council. It was your idea.”

She laughed. “You’re a man of resources; you find the next generation of slayers. I got rid of this one; I got the Council out of the way. What you do with it from this point on is your own affair.”

His grip on her arm tightened. “You got rid of the Council? And the slayers? By yourself? If I recall, it was a team effort.”

She sighed in exasperation. “Fine. I showed you where the slayers were, and your minions killed them. I destroyed the Council headquarters, and you took care of the branch offices and finished off the stragglers. The point is: I did my part. You’re set up nicely to play watcher if you like. Or not. I don’t really care either way. I’m done.”

He shoved her back roughly. “If I could find the potentials on my own, I wouldn’t have hired you to do the fucking spell.”

“Language, Joseph.” She adjusted the boy’s weight on her hip. “If you don’t think you can handle it, then just kill her, kill Faith, and be done with it. But if you’re ready to stand on your own two feet, then stop whining to me about what you can and can’t do and figure a way. You’re out of your father’s shadow now; you’re out from under Wolfram and Hart’s wing; it’s time to walk in the sun for once.” She paused before adding, “Metaphorically, of course.”

Joseph studied the little girl, sobbing brokenly at the feet of the mailroom clerk. His slayer now. Maybe Sabrina was right. Maybe he didn’t need her. He had orchestrated a worldwide massacre of all potentials in a single night. Sabrina had only told him where to strike. He could do this. And if he missed a slayer here or there over the years, well there would be no watchers to find them either.

He focused again on the witch, who was waiting patiently for his leave to go. “So you are sure there are no more watchers left?”

“None that should cause you any concern.” He gave her a skeptical look, and she elaborated. “Only two. One will be dead tomorrow. The other will simply wish he were.”

He nodded. “Fine. Go. Good luck tomorrow. Tomorrow night is the crescent moon, isn’t it?”

“Yes. You cut it close delivering the sword. Then again, I would have had another chance next month, so no harm, no foul.”

“Your coven is staying at the shelter now?” He spread his hands wide in surrender when she hesitated. “I just want to know where I could send flowers.”

Sabrina laughed heartily. “Yes, at the shelter. The sorority was compromised.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I thought fruit baskets were the traditional thank you from lawyer to client.”

He shrugged. “I suppose I am no longer the traditional lawyer. That is something I will need to remember in the future. Thank you, Sabrina, for everything.”

She acknowledged his gratitude with a tilt of her head and swept out of his office with the sword and the boy.

Joseph dismissed his minions and shut the door behind them. Alone in his office with his slayer, he paced around her like a tiger. “So, little slayer, they tell me your name is Robin.” She didn’t uncurl or raise her head, so he sat on the floor just in front of her and waited patiently for several minutes. Tired of waiting, he gripped her chin roughly and forced her head up. “I asked you a question. You will learn to mind me or you will suffer for your disobedience. Whatever life you had before is gone. I am all you have now. I can make you very happy, or I can hurt you terribly.” He tucked a few stray locks of golden curls behind one ear. “Now, your name is Robin, right?”

She nodded meekly.

He smiled. “That’s better. My name is Joseph. Do you want something to eat? Some toys perhaps?”

***

Faith paced and stretched, returning periodically for a look over the edge of the roof and down on the alleyway below. She was about to crawl out of her skin. After more than a week of tailing vampires and watching them from the shadows, she was craving the hunting like nothing she had experienced before. Worse even than those two months a couple of years ago when she had begged them to lock her in solitary before she lost control and killed someone or... Well, there’d been those other urges too.

She wanted to just bust in there, guns blazing, and dust as many as she could before they took her down. And they would take her down. There were just too many of them. This lawyer vamp had a full staff, just like that demon at Caritas had warned her. Bodyguards and errand boys and limo drivers and a frickin’ mail clerk sorting mail in a side office. She needed to dust the leader first, the lawyer vamp, and then some of the others would bail out, even up the odds a little. She was pretty sure she had it figured out who he was and where his office was. Getting to him was another matter entirely. Faith had learned a little caution while in jail, and so she wouldn’t just bust in there, guns blazing. She would wait for the right moment. In the meantime, all this waiting was making her crazy.

She stole another look over the edge at the alleyway. The woman who had entered earlier was leaving now, except with a sword strapped to her back and a kid in her arms.

“What’s a vampire doing with a kid?”

The kid looked suspiciously like Buffy’s kid. Faith decided to come back for the lawyer later. She would follow the woman first.

***

Buffy went through phases. First she had been a flurry of activity: let’s go, let’s find them, let’s bring them home. She tried to track the vampires, but they’d been gone too long. She beat up Willy the Snitch. She paged through all the books they’d already paged through. Second had come the despair. She’d fallen, sobbing, to her knees, her grief a keening wail that tore at everyone around her. Dawn had started crying too, embracing her sister, the two of them clinging to each other on the floor. Now she had burned herself out and moved on to an empty, sullen stage. She sat on the couch, staring at nothing. Dawn sat beside her. Xander and Anya helped Spike sort through the boxes from the attic, unsure what they were looking for, but knowing it was at least something to keep them busy.

They nodded off one by one through the night. The nurse came promptly at eight in the morning to take care of Giles. Neither Buffy nor Dawn had the stomach to eat breakfast. Anya complained that her back ached from sleeping on the couch, and Xander shushed her quietly even as he sat beside her to give her a back rub. Spike threw a box against the wall, frustrated with constantly pulling out clothes and trinkets and love letters and, all in all, junk. He tramped off upstairs for another box.

The phone startled them all when it cut through the miserable silence. Xander was the only one who moved to answer it, and when he tried to hand it over to Buffy, it took him three tries before he had her attention.

“Buffy, it’s for you. It’s Faith.”

Buffy stared at the cordless blankly.

“Faith. She wants to talk to you.” Xander waved the phone back and forth.

She blinked and finally moved to take it. “Hello,” she said softly.

“Hey, B, missing a kid?”

Buffy sat up straighter, her attention caught. “What do you know?”

“I know where Alex is. Come to LA. Meet me at five o’clock by the Redondo Beach Pier.” The rest of the conversation was abruptly cut short. “Shit. Gotta go.”

Click. That was it. No time to ask questions, no chance to ask about Robin. Just a time and a place for a rendezvous. Buffy wasn’t even sure if she would be walking into a trap, if Faith had sold her out yet again.

She jumped up off the couch, issuing orders as she crossed to the hall closet. “Spike, Xander, you’re with me. Anya, Dawn, stay here with Giles. I’ll take my cell; call if anything changes, if Faith has any more messages. She knows where Alex is, so we’re meeting her in LA.” She stuffed her pockets with a few stakes, grabbed a couple crossbows and a couple crosses for good measure.

“Hold up,” Spike told her. He had a hand-sewn patchwork quilt in his hands and was slowly unfolding it. Wrapped at the center of the bundle was a worn, leather bound volume of considerable bulk. “Jackpot.”

“What’s that?” Anya asked.

“The ticket to waking up Watcher-boy, I’ll wager.” He smiled at his success.

“How do you know? We have a whole stack of books over there, and none of them were very helpful. How can you be sure this one is any different?”

“I just know, okay?” he snapped. “I knew it was up in the attic, didn’t I? Give me a little credit here.”

“Fine.” Buffy’s stern tone prevented any further argument between Anya and Spike. “You stay here and try to wake up Giles. Meet us in LA as soon as you can.”

“Hey!” Spike protested. “Just ’cause I found the damn book doesn’t mean I can do anything with it.”

“Well, you have a better shot than anyone else here. I’m counting on you, Spike. We need Giles. Anya can help you figure it out and get supplies.”

“No, I can’t. I’m coming with you.”

Xander balked. “I don’t think so.”

Anya crossed her arms. “Well, I think so.”

“Buffy, tell her.” He glanced back and forth between his friend and his wife. “Tell her she can’t come.”

The Slayer hedged. “Anya, I really don’t think...”

“No, you don’t think,” Anya retorted. “Who’s going to drive the car while you two are off doing whatever you’re doing, which is probably going to involve getting screwed over by Faith? Parking in LA is hell. You need someone to drive the getaway car. And I can answer the phone, take messages for you while Faith is selling you out. And then I can call for backup after you both walk blindly into Faith’s trap and get yourselves almost killed.”

Buffy frowned. “I’m getting a feeling that you think Faith is going to stab us in the back.”

“Yes, she is,” Anya stated without hesitation. “Possibly literally. Possibly metaphorically. But one way or the other, there will be back-stabbing.” She sighed. “Look, I don’t want to get hurt. I don’t want the baby to get hurt. I’ll stay out of harm’s way, I promise. I’m a good shot with a crossbow at a distance if I have to, and I’ll stay in the car, so there’s always the possibility of speeding away. But you need me to drive your getaway car. I think it will improve your chances of actually getting away.”

“No, absolutely not,” Xander insisted. “This is me putting my foot down. Hear the satisfying thud?”

Buffy bit her lip and screwed up her face in apprehension. “Umm... Xander? She kinda has a point. I think she should come.”

Anya grinned triumphantly. “See? This is me going. Hear the door opening?” She grabbed the car keys and made a dash for the car.

Xander glared at the Slayer darkly. His tone was very serious. “If anything happens to her, or to the baby... I’ll never forgive you.” He snatched the crossbows from her hands and slammed the door on his way out.

Buffy faced her sister and the platinum haired vampire. “I hope you’re right about that book. Bring Giles to LA with you if you can, but I need you there either way. And, Dawn,” she took her sister by the shoulders. “I need you to stay here at the house no matter what.”

“But-”

“No buts. You’re Mission Control. We’ll be checking in on the cell, and if we get separated from Anya, you’re how we’ll find her again.” Buffy gave her a kiss goodbye and turned back to the closet to retrieve a heavy longsword. She tossed it back and forth between her hands, testing its weight and balance. She smiled grimly. “They have a sword. I have a sword. I can’t wait to see who’s better at using theirs.”

She grabbed her coat on the way out, pausing as she saw Alex’s jacket resting beneath it. She swallowed back the emotions rising in her throat. “He’ll be cold,” she whispered. “He gets cold easily.”

“You’ll find him,” Dawn assured her. “And Robin, too.”

Buffy nodded. “Yes. Yes, I will.” Her eyes lingered on the length of her blade before she joined the others waiting outside.

***

Faith hung up the payphone, catching sight of the woman she’d followed exiting from a side door to the shelter. There were several people with her, one of whom she recognized as Quentin Travers. So that was the game, was it? The Council wanted Faith out of the picture, wanted to activate themselves a new slayer. Maybe the Council wasn’t as dead as he made them out to be. Maybe they’d just relocated and blown up their own buildings. This Joseph Zalk guy had tried to kill her, and this woman had something to do with him, and Travers was somehow involved with her. The pieces were all falling into place. If she’d stayed at Buffy’s house, Travers would have probably managed to have her killed by now.

They were getting in a car. She needed to find her own transport, and fast. A motorcycle sat unattended a few parking spots down. Another woman in her cellblock had been in for grand theft auto and had tutored Faith in all the necessary skills. Faith had soaked it all in, mostly because it was more interesting than listening to gossip about the newest warden or recaps of the latest Jerry Springer episode. The woman knew her stuff, because less than two minutes later, Faith was buzzing down the street, trying to catch up to the car carrying Quentin Travers.

***

Morgaine couldn’t remember what her name had been before. Nor could she remember what it had been the last time or the time before that. Sabrina had decided on their names for this incarnation. They had needed to gather themselves a coven, to attract power to themselves, power they could use to fuel the sword, and so they had decided on witchy names. The name Morgaine had dignity and a little nobility to it. She had featured in the legend of King Arthur, had delivered the instrument of his final destruction. Sabrina was just cute, the name of a television witch from a show that pandered to adolescents. But Sabrina had insisted that a cute, saccharin sweet name could only cloak the darker menace that lay beneath. Much as the name Buffy concealed the steel might of a Slayer, a warrior.

In the end, Morgaine wondered where Sabrina’s darkness had gone. They had gathered power to themselves, one at a time, but in the end Sabrina could not take them, could not count them among the 280. She had taken the watchers instead, claiming expediency, but Morgaine wondered if her resolve was weakening, if she were growing soft and too attached to the others in their group.

She watched out the beach house window for Sabrina’s car. The preparations for the ritual were nearly complete. Tonight the crescent moon would rise, and with it their power. Morgaine thought it should be Willow who lit the sword; she had more power than any of the others. But Sabrina wanted another watcher. The car pulled into the drive. She would see what she thought of this watcher, if he was worthy of being the last.

***

Faith parked the motorcycle in the lot for public beach access. She pretended to engage herself with the engine while she watched the beach house a hundred feet away. The car unloaded its passengers, Travers getting out last. This time, seeing him from behind, she could tell his hands were tied behind his back with thick rope.

“Great! Just great!” She had wanted to blame him and hate him for her current predicament, but now it looked like she would have to rescue him instead.

***

Morgaine and Sabrina strolled along the beach. The others were in the beach house with Travers and Alex while she and Sabrina scouted the location where the ritual would be performed that night. They walked past the public beach, past a few private houses, and on to where the beach became less sandy and more rocky, less public and more private. Maybe a fifteen minute walk from their rented house.

Sabrina pointed to a spot just ahead, where the rocks rose up to become cliffs, a good hundred and fifty feet above the water line. There were two peaks, with a clearing of sandy beach between them and a fencing of thick forest shielding the beach from the road. They had discovered this spot some time before and decided upon it, renting the beach house for its close proximity.

“There,” she said. “We’ll put two at each peak, three along the edge of the forest, and you and I will complete the circle of nine at the waterline. We’ll need to bring a stake or something. The watcher will need to be tied down if we’re to keep him in the symbol until the end of the ceremony. How will we manage that in the sand?”

“A binding ritual.”

“Of course!” Sabrina clapped her partner on the shoulder. “I’d be lost without you. No rope then, just magic.”

“Are you sure about the seven you chose? That we can count on them?”

She seemed unconcerned. “I told them convincing lies.”

“So we can trust them? Even Willow?”

“Willow is firmly in my pocket. She would kill her old friends, I think, if I told her to.”

“Don’t think, know,” Morgaine snapped. Sabrina’s cavalier attitude was beginning to grate on her. So many things had gone wrong so far, and she had dismissed them all. Four of their group had tried to escape, one at a time, and had needed to be dealt with, leaving the symbol of their order exposed to those who might try and stop them. Joseph had nearly refused them the sword because one potential slayer had escaped. His attempt on Faith had failed, although, granted that was not their fault. Those detectives had stirred up trouble for them, forcing a move to the shelter in LA. And the other watcher had found them by magic and would have blown the whole plan wide open if Willow hadn’t caught him spying.

Less than a day to the big payoff, and Morgaine thought that deserved a little worrying, a little hedging of bets.

“Everything will be fine,” Sabrina assured her. “This time tomorrow, the power will be mine, and you will have everything I promised you.”

“And if the watcher escapes?” Morgaine countered, catching sight of something on the other side of the embankment.

“He won’t. You worry too much.”

Morgaine pointed behind Sabrina. “Isn’t that him? And the Slayer?”

***

“Shit!” Faith dragged Travers back by his collar. “They saw us. I told you we should have just taken off while we had the chance. We should have grabbed the kid and hightailed it outta there. Now if we go back for Alex, they’ll be waiting for us.”

“The boy was too well guarded. If we’d tried to take him too, they’d have caught us all. We couldn’t chance it. It was far more important to know where they were planning to perform the ceremony. If she activates the sword, her power will be beyond belief. We need to stop her before that happens.”

“And the kid was expendable, huh? A little like slayers. Yeah, well, your plan only works if you live to tell someone about it. Come on.” Faith hauled him up by his arm and propelled him into a run towards the road and her waiting stolen motorcycle. They were far short of their goal, and Travers was already wheezing from the exertion. “Jeeze, you watchers spend your lives training potential slayers, and you can’t handle a brisk jog?”

“I’m sixty-eight... and for your information... I’ve never had a slayer.”

“It shows.” She shoved him towards the woods that cloaked the road from their sight. “Keep going. I’ll stall them. Pick me up on the bike down the way.”

He was blowing hard to catch his breath. “I don’t know... how to operate... a motorbike.”

“You’re so smart- figure it out!” She started running in the opposite direction, towards the beach and their ominous pursuers. Her blood was pounding, her senses soaring, her body feeling completely alive in the way it only did during the hunt and the kill. This was the part she missed, the part that even Buffy didn’t understand. For Buffy slaying was a duty, a burden. For Faith it was a joy, what she was built for, what she lived for. Slaying was the high she craved. As Faith, she was worthless. As the Slayer, she meant something. And during the hunt, the fight, the kill, there was no part of her that was Faith.

Buffy had a life outside the slaying, and she resented her calling for interfering with cheerleading and running for homecoming queen and dating a string of losers. The life Faith had was not one anyone would want. Beat down by her abusive father. Put down by her drunken mother. Her childhood had been an endless cycle of screaming and breaking glass and name calling, her father becoming more violent each day, her mother withdrawing further into her own world and deeper into the bottle after each fight. Until the day came that her mother hadn’t gotten back up, had just lain on the floor where her father threw her. And twelve-year-old Faith, her own nose bloodied, had mustered up the nerve to hit him back. He’d thrown her through the window for her temerity, and she hadn’t gone back in that house again, had turned and run away into the night.

A shiftless, distrustful runaway is what her watcher found. But the woman had instinctively known how to channel Faith’s rage into her training, and for the first time in her life Faith knew what it was to be valued and cared for. She knew what it was to actually be good at something. And when she was Called, it was like the Universe was telling her: “They were wrong about you. You are important. You do matter.”

She wondered sometimes what her life would be like now if Kakistos hadn’t murdered her watcher. Emma Dosser had been the only person in the world who had ever given a damn about her, but in the end Faith hadn’t been able to save her, hadn’t been good enough, was never good enough, and poor Em must have drawn the short straw to have gotten stuck with her. If she’d gotten Buffy, she might be alive now, because good old Buffy always saved the day.

None of that mattered right now, except to fuel the fire for this fight and this battle. She met the pair halfway, channeling her momentum from running into a flying leap kick, meant to knock each of them to the ground with a blow from each foot.

The instant before impact, her targets vanished, her feet passing through only air. A solid kick to each of their chests would have given her the push-off she needed to regain her footing. Failing that, she landed flat on her butt. She heard laughter behind her and rolled to her knees. The woman she’d been following was standing there, bouncing back and forth on her feet and daring Faith to make another try. The black woman who’d been with her was gone.

Faith tried again. She jumped to her feet and charged the smaller woman, swinging her fist with a windup that would likely break the woman’s jaw. Her target disappeared again, and her fist connected with only air… again. She was slammed from behind, knocked onto the ground… again. She rolled and pulled herself into a squat.

“Come on, Faith. Did you really think you’d save the day? When have you ever saved the day? It was always Buffy. You were never more than the sidekick.”

Faith launched herself at the woman in a fury of flailing arms and legs and a bloodcurdling war cry of rage. She passed through thin air, stumbled, and turned around. The woman was standing behind her, laughing at her.

“What the f-”

Brunette curls bobbed as the woman shook her head in amusement. “Magic. Teleportation. Quite useful with the rising cost of gas and all.”

Faith lunged, and the woman dodged easily, not disappearing, but seeming to anticipate the Slayer’s every move.

She taunted the Slayer, dancing just beyond reach. “Give it up, Faith. You’re worthless. You’re not even any good at this.”

Faith spun kicked, again flying through empty air as the woman teleported the second before impact. She felt a blow across her shoulders and fell to the ground. The grass beneath her hands began to grow. She blinked her eyes, sure it was her imagination. But tendrils of weeds were wrapping themselves around her wrists. She snapped their hold, struggling to her feet, but tripped before she could stand. She was on her back now, creeping vines crawling up her legs and around her arms. They multiplied faster than she could break their hold.

The woman advanced on her, stood over her, looking down. She sneered at the Slayer, now pinned with chains of green vine.

“You’re nothing, Faith. You’re not even worth killing.”

And the woman turned and walked away.

***

Travers felt his heart pounding in a rhythm that threatened to split his chest open. Each breath burned his lungs. A man his age was not meant for battle. A man his age was meant to pull the strings from afar. But Faith had delayed his pursuers, and he was nearly to the motorcycle. The forest broke, and he could see the road not even fifty feet ahead. The motorcycle waited for him there, but there was a woman sitting astride it. He stumbled slightly as he stopped his run. It was the black woman from the beach, the same one who had been in the room with him when he first woke after his abduction. Somehow she had beaten him there.

She smiled as she swung her leg over and climbed off the bike.

He doubled back the way he had come, running into the forest, taking a hard right and praying he could lose her in the underbrush. He nearly tripped over a log. He caught himself on a tree and pushed onwards. Her voice echoed behind him, calling him, taunting him. The underbrush crunched with each step, advertising his location to anyone within a hundred meters.

The forest gave way to sand. He was nearing the ocean again, somewhere further down the shore from the location of the ritual. There was no beach here, only rock, rising up to cliffs that towered over the surf. He heard a voice to his left and couldn’t help but steal a glance. The second woman, the leader, Sabrina they had called her, she stood leaning against the rock face, watching him in amusement. She waited for the shock and fear to cross his face before she moved to chase him.

The sand shifted with his strides, slowing him down, forcing him to run in slow motion. She had nearly caught up with him when he fell to one knee. His next actions were quick and without thought, the last ditch desperation of an animal backed into a corner. His hands touched the sand as he fell, and he scooped up two fistfuls, twisting and throwing the sand in her face as she came closer.

Her hands scrubbed at her eyes, trying to clear her vision, and she howled in frustration. Travers was already on his feet, running beside the cliffs. A crevice opened in the rock face, and he darted inside, hoping her vision was still too obscured to have seen him.

The terrain was hazardous, slick and uneven, and he picked his way carefully along the crevice towards the water. With any luck he could turn back and make his way along the beach, back towards the beach houses, waterfront condos, and tourist traps they had left earlier. He left no footprints on the rock. If he were very lucky, he could put enough distance between himself and his two kidnappers to elude them.

The crevice opened up to the surf, great boulders tumbling down into the water below, where the ocean waves broke upon their surface. He looked left, then right. There was no path along the shore, no way to travel along the beach in either direction. The cliffs to both sides blocked his way. He was trapped.

Beneath the roar of the ocean and the crash of each wave, he heard the heavy breathing of something less than human. He remembered then the vague warnings that Rupert’s young son had given him. Don’t go water. He felt a presence behind him and knew as clearly as if he were the prophetic one. He took a deep breath and drew himself up straight. He would at least die like a man.

He turned. The Beast struck him down. The surf rolled red with his blood.

***

Morgaine stared down at the tangled growth and snapped vines. She glared at Sabrina with an anger she had never imagined she would feel for her friend.

“You let her live? You let her escape?”

Sabrina shrugged off the disbelief in those words and started walking back to their beach house. “She is unimportant. I was more concerned about him.”

Morgaine waited a moment before rushing to catch up. “I was taking care of him. You should have trusted me. You should have focused on her.”

“What’s done is done. She is gone, and he is dead. Let’s move on.” She fished in her pockets for the rental keys and then tossed them back and forth in her hands, their steady clang setting a rhythm that matched their strides. “If she tries to interfere in our ceremony, we will kill her then. Otherwise, she can remain Joseph’s problem.”

Morgaine studied her friend sideways. “And who will light the sword?” She watched her friend’s thoughtful features as the other woman considered and discarded several options. They walked in silence the remaining distance to the house.

Inside, the others of the coven were putting things back in order. Only one witch had been knocked out, and three others were forming a healing circle around her. Apparently Faith had opted for stealth rather then force. No one else had been aware of Travers’ disappearance until his guard began to painfully regain consciousness. They apologized profusely for their failure, but Sabrina was forgiving and placed no blame. Only Morgaine noticed how Sabrina studied each of them, sizing up their power and possible use as the final sacrifice.

Willow was the only one missing. She would not come until nightfall. Sabrina claimed this was so she could keep watch over the others at the shelter, but Morgaine suspected her hold over the witch was not as complete as she claimed. She suspected Sabrina knew that if Willow saw the boy, she would see them for what they were, would finally comprehend what her power was being used for. More than any of the others, Sabrina wanted to believe she owned Willow. And Morgaine was beginning to realize that her hold over Willow, over all of them, was more tenuous than she wanted to admit.

They retired into a back bedroom, and Morgaine set the wards without thought.

“I think it should be Willow,” she insisted. “She is more powerful than any of the others.”

“No.” Sabrina vetoed that choice quickly.

“You’re going soft. You’re attached to her,” Morgaine accused. “When this is all over, do you really think she will have any place with us? She will have to die one way or another.”

Sabrina watched through the window as the ocean chased the shoreline. “Maybe. Maybe not. There are two kinds of people in this world, Morgaine. One man can betray his morals and commit an act so evil that it will haunt him for the rest of his days. And in evil, he finds redemption, turns back to the straight and narrow, and spends the rest of his life trying to atone for his sin. Another man can be driven to the same act, and yet for him it severs his ties to the man he once was. And that man will spend the rest of his life doing more and greater evil, trying to prove to himself that he is the monster he thinks he is.

“I want to know which Willow is. When she learns what her power has wrought, will that knowledge reform her, or will it drive her deeper into the arms of darkness? Will she belong to us, or will she return to them? And will they welcome her or hate her for what she has done? I find these questions interesting.”

“You are a coward.”

“Excuse me?”

Morgaine crossed her arms, the reservations she had accumulated over the last few weeks now pouring out in a torrent. “Those are all very good excuses. You want to see how evil you can make Willow. You want to see how long before the watcher goes insane. You would rather take the Council than any of our coven. The fact is you’ve gone soft. All these years spent living among them, and you’ve developed empathy, sympathy, feelings. You can’t kill them because you know them. You care about them.”

Sabrina turned from the window, stepped toe to toe with the fellow witch. “Careful what you say. Maybe I’ll prove you wrong. Maybe I’ll make you the sacrifice.”

She laughed in her face. “Hah! I’m not afraid of you, Sabrina. Aside from your mind games and until you activate the sword, my power is equal to yours. You know I’m right. Tell me, oh heartless one, when Joseph delivered the sword, did you call fire down upon him and all who served him? Or did you spare him?”

“Because I do not choose to kill indiscriminately does not make me compassionate or merciful. What would Joseph’s death have gained me, and what does his life cost me? I have my reasons for the Council, and I won’t hesitate to kill any member of the coven who betrays us. As for the watcher… do you have any doubt that I have given him the worst kind of lingering death? That he is even now praying to the darkness that has become his whole world, praying for some kind of end, some kind of release?” She turned back to the window and its ocean view. “As for Willow, if this breaks the last of her spirit, she will make an impressive ally. And if she returns to her do-good ways, we can always kill her then. But think, Morgaine: if we make her the sacrifice, will we not lose the loyalty of the rest of the coven? We need nine for this last spell. After that, we can kill the whole lot of them if you like, if it will convince you that my heart is pure and untainted by love.”

Morgaine bowed her head. She wanted to believe her friend. They had been through so much together. They had worked towards this moment. Maybe she was just getting jittery now that they were so close to the end. Maybe that’s why she was having doubts.

“Fine. You will have my trust and my faith. I will stand beside you without question, obey you without hesitation, if you do this one thing for me.”

Their eyes met. “Name it.”

“Make the boy the sacrifice.” Morgaine could see the other’s eyes widen, her head shaking in denial. She pressed forward. “The others will not question it. He is a watcher’s child, and you already lied to them; you already told them the spell required a watcher’s blood. They do not need to know the boy will die for it. They will accept your decision, especially now that Travers has escaped. Not knowing that he is dead, not knowing that the Council is in ruins, they will fear the Council’s reprisals even more. And the boy is worth little to us alive.”

“The boy has power.”

“And his power will be yours. The sword will give you his power and all the ones who came before. You claim you want to see which path Willow will take. What will it do to her to learn she has killed a child she loved? What will it do to the others to learn they were a part of it? There is every reason to make him the sacrifice and no excuse not to. So are you still dark, Sabrina? Are you still worthy of the sword?”

She stepped forward, her pale hands framing Morgaine’s darker features. She bent the woman’s head down to place a kiss across her brow. “And if I am willing to kill a child, will that prove that I am still the same woman I have always been? Will that earn your trust?”

“Yes.”

“I had wanted the boy for other things… to mold him into something… something that would have been a wonder to behold.” Sabrina smiled and leaned closer until their foreheads were touching. Her voice was an intimate whisper between lovers. “But for you. For you I will sacrifice him. To keep your loyalty and friendship. To prove your value to me. I will do what you ask. Tonight, he will light the sword.”

Morgaine closed her eyes and leaned into the other’s embrace. So close. Morning would see it finished.

***

Buffy had her feet propped up on the dashboard. Giles never let her do that. Her head was turned to the window, watching the world pass by them. The top was down, and the wind played with her hair, valiantly struggling to free it from its ponytail. Xander was driving. He tried to engage her in conversation sometimes. Sometimes it worked, sometimes she just pretended like she couldn’t hear him over the sound of the wind and the road. Anya sat in the backseat, napping with her head resting against the glass.

It seemed like the longest two hours of her life.

“How much longer?” she asked him finally.

“I think it’s been two miles since you asked the last time.”

“Oh, yeah.” She sighed and looked out the window again. Two more miles passed before she looked at him again. “How fast are you going? You know, Beemers are designed to go fast.”

He glanced over at her patiently. More patiently than she would have expected. She knew she was being a pain in the ass. “Yes, and getting there in one piece also has its advantages.”

“So no call from Dawn yet? No new news about Giles or Faith?”

She could see now that he was beginning to get irritated. “Are we riding in the same car? Or do you think I’m in some parallel dimension car where I’m answering phone calls you don’t hear?”

“Okay, so no phone calls.” She rested her head back and looked up at the sky. The afternoon sun was falling closer to the horizon. They would reach LA by four. The rendezvous would be at five. The sun would probably set by seven. Call it a slayer’s sixth sense, but Buffy had a powerful feeling that time was running short. “You think Spike will be able to fix Giles? You think that book will really do anything?”

Xander pretended he hadn’t heard her questions.

“It’s okay, Xander. We’re going to find Alex either way. And Robin. And even if we can’t fix Giles today, we’ll figure it out eventually.”

He nodded and glanced over at her, giving her a sympathetic shrug. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes too high, and have it not work.”

“Gotcha.” She measured an inch out between her fingers. “This much hope and no more.” She looked over at Xander again. “You think Dawn will be okay by herself? You think those vampires will come back tonight?”

“Nah, I think they got what they came for. She’ll be fine. Besides, she’s not alone. Spike’s with her.”

“Yeah, Spike.”

They both drifted into a thoughtful silence. They looked at each other a moment later.

Xander frowned. “I’m just starting to realize… Leaving Spike alone with Dawn… Isn’t that kind of like leaving a fox to guard the hen house?”

Buffy frowned and reached for the cell phone. “Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing. You think I should call?”

“And if there’s anything going on, do you really want to know?”

Buffy set the phone down and made a face. “Ick! Spike and my sister. What did I do to deserve that?”

“The less forgiving among us might say… oh, I don’t know… Angel. But that’s neither here nor there.”

She glared. “Bite me.” They returned to their separate thoughts, the hum of the road, the whoosh of the wind over them, the warmth of the afternoon sun on their faces.

Buffy’s patience ran out quickly. “How much longer?”

“Would you like to walk?”

She sighed and shifted her feet on the dashboard. “You know, I can’t help but feel like I’ve already fought this battle. The whole twins getting kidnapped thing… been there, done that. You would think having your children stolen would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. But not for Buffy, no siree. I guess Fate is running low on creativity.”

“I don’t know, Buffy. I mean, look at Dawn. How many times have we had to go rescue her? Way more than the twins.”

She considered his words and had to admit he had a point. “I guess you’re right. Maybe everyone I love is just doomed to get hurt. Slayers should come with a warning label: knowing this girl may cause kidnapping, torture, coma, or death. Approach with extreme caution.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself. Hey, we’re buds, right? And no one’s had to rescue me since high school.” His eyes widened, and he gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Oh God, I just jinxed myself, didn’t I? Something terrible’s going to happen now, isn’t it? Oh God, why did I have to say that? Stupid, stupid.”

She laughed. “It’s okay, Xander. I’m sure nothing’s going to happen to you.”

He groaned. “Now you’ve jinxed me too. Double jinxed. I’m doomed. Maybe I should stay in the car with Anya tonight.”

***

He did not come at the dawning. He did not come at noon; and out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon. When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, a red-coat troop came marching, marching, marching, King George's men came matching, up to the old inn-door.

The light was bright, brighter than he could bear. He clenched his eyes shut against it and pressed his head into his knees. He could feel the cool air across his skin, the unyielding stone against his back, and knew that she had brought him back to her circle.

Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, then her finger moved in the moonlight, her musket shattered the moonlight, shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death. “And has thou slain the jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” He chortled in his joy.

He felt her touch on the back of his neck. It burned like fire for one so numb for so long. He jumped away from her, his head still bowed. The light was overwhelming. Touch, sound, sight, it was overpowering; it was sensory overload. Movement felt awkward, as if his body belonged to someone else, as if he had to reacquaint himself with how to work it properly.

He tried to keep the recitation going, though it had started to lose cohesion sometime before, though it had started to flow and seep together. He tried to focus on the words. She must see nothing in him. He must betray nothing.

He took his vorpal sword in hand: long time the manxome foe he sought. Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, then look for me by moonlight, watch for me by moonlight, I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.

“I thought you should know,” she whispered. Her voice was soft, and still it sounded like thunder. He covered his ears and groaned. “I thought you should know that Travers is dead. You are the last watcher.”

Back, he spurred like a madman, shouting a curse to the sky, with the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high. One, two! One, two! And through and through the vorpal blade went snicker-snack! Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat-

“I thought you should also know that I have your son.”

That caught his attention, motivated him to lift his head to see her. He felt the tremor go through his body, and it shook him to the core. She smiled at him, and he hated her. But in the end he could do nothing but drop his head back to his knees and curl tighter into himself. There was nothing he could do for Alex. Not like this.

“Ah, so that’s his name. Alex.”

He bit his lip, allowing the pain to drive out all other thought. Nothing. Nothing. She must see nothing. He started again.

You ask how many of your kisses are enough for me? As great a number of Lybian sand lies in silphium rich Cyrene between the oracle of sweltering Jove and the sacred tomb of old Battus. One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight, but I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light-

“Your son’s power is different than any other I’ve tasted. I can’t read him. I can’t see through him. He is a blank slate to me. I find him incredibly fascinating for that very reason.”

He felt her fist in the back of his hair, pulling his head up to meet her eyes. He blinked to clear his vision, squinting against the unaccustomed light. He felt the warmth of her breath on his face as she leaned in close.

“Don’t skip out on me yet. You’ll have all the time in the world to go mad later. We were talking about your son.”

“You see the darkness in people,” he told her. His voice felt strange in his own ears. His lips moved silently, as if practicing before speaking again. “You saw all my fears, my weaknesses, the moments in my life at which I have felt my greatest losses.” He allowed his eyes to meet hers. “He is a child. Innocent. There is no darkness in him, no loss, no despair. There is nothing for you to see. You are blind to anything that is good.”

She released her grip on his hair, ran her fingers through its curls, and kissed him fondly at his temple. “Even half-sane, you are a wise man, Rupert Giles.”

He bowed his head again, the touch of her lips on his skin still warm, a lingering kiss that would not end. The words. He must fill his head with words.

Separated lovers belie absence by a thousand chimeric things that have their own reality. They are prevented from seeing each other, they cannot write to each other; they find a host of mysterious ways to correspond. They exchange the song of the birds, the perfume of flowers, children's laughter, sunlight, the sighs of the wind, the starlight, the whole of creation. O Spring! You are a letter that I write to her.

“Pity that I won’t get to see what kind of power he would grow into. But Travers is dead. So now your son will be the sacrifice. Your son will be the one that lights my sword.”

Giles rocked with his grief. He had never felt so helpless in his life. His mind blanked on all the words that had flowed before like water through his consciousness. He could think of nothing but his son. Memories of a tiny infant, cradled close as he worked the register at the Magic Box. First steps across the training room mat as his mother did headstands for his entertainment. Trips to the zoo and bedtime stories. Eager hands that stretched for his father’s tea each morning. A trusting smile before the unexpected leap from the second-floor railing at the store, knowing his father would catch him. The tears from a pair of scraped knees, so easily soothed with a tight embrace and a soft lullaby.

Giles lifted his head, his eyes seeking her out, pleading with her. “Please.” She was standing not even two feet away. He made his body move towards her, his movements stiff and halting. He was on his knees before her, his hands held out in supplication. “Please. Take me instead. Make me the sacrifice.”

She took his hand, and he grasped hers in both of his. He bent his head to rest against their joined hands. What Angelus couldn’t take, he was willing to offer freely. She could have him: body, mind, heart, soul, whatever she wanted. He would give anything to save his son. “Please,” he begged her, his tears wetting their hands. “Please, my life for his.”

“It’s not my choice to make. Morgaine wants him, and so she shall have him.”

“No,” he breathed, his body beginning to shake when he could no longer hold back his sobs. “Anything. I’ll do anything.”

“I only came to see what I could of him in your mind. He’s quite a stubborn little thing. He tells me nothing.” She pulled her hand from his grip, and he folded to the ground with the loss of contact. He was broken, as nothing in his life had ever broken him before. “I also came to say goodbye,” she told him. “Tonight everything will be finished, and I won’t be back to see you again. I wanted to thank you. You’ve made the time pass more quickly. For me, at least.”

She started walking backwards, away from him. His heart hammered with his panic. His breath caught with his tears. He stretched his hands towards her. The thought that the last living person he would ever see would be this… this monster, taunting him with his son’s death… it was beyond bearing, and yet he wanted her to stay. Until she was gone, there was still a chance. There had to be something he could say, something he could do to change her mind.

But she was wavering, disappearing, and the circle of stones inside the grove of trees was fading. He curled his fists into the grass, digging his fingers into the dirt beneath, as if he could hold himself there by force of will. His vision was growing dark, and he shook his head while he still could, his voice repeating one word for as long as he could: “No, no, no,no no nononono…”

But the darkness was coming, and everything else was fading. The sound of his voice in his ears gave way to silence, and he was back in his mental prison. No sound, no sight, no touch, no sensation. His grief was a silent weeping in his soul. His thoughts continued to echo in his mind, a constant mantra, as if he had any power to deny what was to come.

No. No. No, no, no,no,no no nonononono…

Alex!

***

Anya was parked in the public lot just off the beach. The top was up now, and the doors locked. Buffy and Xander could see her from where they sat on a bench near the pier. She kept the engine running. She was still fairly convinced they would need to make a speedy getaway.

Buffy watched the crowd for Faith, for anyone who looked suspicious. It was daylight at least, but that didn’t preclude other kinds of monsters. She wasn’t wearing a watch, but she continually grabbed Xander’s hand to look at his. He finally took it off and handed it to her. By a quarter after five, she was getting nervous.

“Calm down, Buffy. Punctuality is not exactly one of Faith’s good qualities.”

“Yeah, I’m trying to remember what is.”

Before Xander could answer with a pithy reply to lighten her mood, she caught sight of the dark slayer walking towards them from the parking lot. Xander’s eyes immediately searched out his wife, assuring himself that she was still tucked safely in the car, untouched by Faith.

Faith had stolen clothes more suitable than Buffy’s cast offs: black leather pants and boots, a red halter, tied in back with string. Her lips were painted red as blood. Her dark eyes were lined with black. Buffy had never hated so her much, not even seeing her in Angel’s arms. Buffy was on her feet, moving, burning with rage, meeting the other slayer halfway and, with a swing, aiming to put real blood on those blood red lips.

Faith ducked and dodged again and again, but she made no attempt to return the blows, not even when Buffy nailed her in the stomach, nor when her fist connected with her jaw.

“Where are my children?” she asked with each strike.

“So, B, we gonna dance all night, or we gonna cut to the chase?”

Buffy stopped mid-swing, waiting, panting with exertion and high emotion.

“I didn’t take them. I was following the guy who set me up in prison, and I saw some woman leave with Alex. Okay? I’m on your side here, B.”

Buffy felt Xander’s presence behind her, but didn’t turn. She continued to watch Faith intently. “You’re going to take me to them, and if you double-cross me, I’ll put you in the kind of coma you don’t wake up from. We clear?”

“Crystal.”

Faith started back towards the parking lot, the other two following behind her. She was surreptitiously wiping blood from her mouth, smearing her lipstick across her hand at the same time. She looked sideways at Buffy several times, as if working up the courage to tell her something. “Look, I only know where Alex is. I never saw the girl.”

Buffy tried to push down the stab of disappointment. “Well, it’s a start. We’ll find him, then we’ll find her.”

But they found neither. The beach house was abandoned. A message of sorts was left for them. The body of a young man lay on an upstairs bed, his shirt open and spread apart to display the burned mark of Camela across his chest. A greeting card rested on his stomach, a flowery Hallmark one from one of those machines where you could design your own. Buffy picked it up and read it.

“Roses are red, violets are blue, interfere with our plans, and I’ll kill you too.”

***

The others were packing the car. As far as they were concerned, the watcher had escaped, and they were trying to stay ahead of the Council. Somehow just the knowledge that the boy was a watcher’s son had made him seem less sympathetic, and no one had balked at using him in the ceremony. Perhaps if they knew it would kill him… But that was something they could all regret later.

Sabrina pretended to be worried, concerned for everyone’s safety, remorseful that the boy needed to be a part of all this. Morgaine played the same part. But when her friend looked at her, she could see Morgaine’s irritation at their forced move so close to the ceremony, her irritation that Sabrina had let the Slayer go. Perhaps she was right to be angry. Sabrina wasn’t sure why she hadn’t killed Faith, except that it had seemed worse not to, in the same way it was worse to leave Giles locked away in the darkness. The Slayer wanted death, or had wanted it at one time. Words had echoed through Faith’s head, memories of another battle. I'm bad… I'm bad… Just do it… please. Just kill me… And so Sabrina had found more satisfaction in walking away than in delivering the final blow.

Her friend’s anger would pass. And with the boy as the sacrifice, their friendship would be mended. If the Slayer came, she would be killed, and if she didn’t, she could stew on her failure for the rest of her days.

Jonathon approached her, asked to speak with her a moment. Sabrina could see in an instant what he wanted, but she smiled cordially and told the others to go on without her. She stopped Morgaine at the threshold.

“See if they won’t give us a room with a balcony. It would be nice to have a view.”

And then she was alone with the young man. She waited for him to say the words she already saw in his mind.

“I can’t do it, Sabrina. The magic was cool and everything, and you taught me so much, but… I don’t know. It just feels kinda wrong now. Like maybe these guys chasing us… Maybe if they want us so badly, maybe they have a point and we shouldn’t be doing some of the stuff we’re doing. And now this kid… He’s just a kid, you know? I can’t do it.”

Sabrina smiled. Inside she was fuming. Here was this seventeen-year-old nothing she had taken off the streets of LA, given shelter and guidance to, brought into her inner circle, and this was how he repaid her? But she shrugged her shoulders and feigned indifference. “Sure, Jonathon. I’m not going to try and make you do something you’re not comfortable with. Go back to the shelter if you want. I’ll have Willow bring someone else to be the ninth.”

“Well, umm… I kinda thought maybe I’d go home. I talked to my Mom the other day… I don’t think it would be so bad now, give high school another go.”

“Sure.” Sabrina smiled wider. “Good luck with that.”

He seemed relieved that she wasn’t angry with him. She curled her fingers into fists, feeling the magic thrum to life in answer to her call. At first he didn’t put it together; he just scratched absently at his chest. But then his eyes widened as he looked at her. He wasn’t such a stupid boy after all.

He ripped his shirt open, buttons flying, and stared down at the symbol painted across his chest, now flaring into an angry red. He stumbled back, his hand pressed over his heart that now hammered in an unnatural rhythm.

“The symbol does work nicely for joining,” she told him. “Joining you to me, not to the group. Pity you couldn’t be a team player. For some reason the runaways were always harder to control than the sorority girls. Maybe sorority girls are just more naturally the follow-the-leader types.”

He fell to the ground, gasping for breath, doubled over now that the symbol began to blister and blacken as it burned through.

“Awful young for a heart attack, but these things can’t always be predicted.”

She watched him die. Never one to waste opportunity, she decided that he could be the message she left behind in case the Slayer dared to return.

***

Dawn lit the candles that rested on the floor at the four points of Giles’ bed. She hoped this would work sooner rather than later, because the nurse was supposed to be there at six, and Dawn wasn’t sure how she would explain to the woman that they needed to wait and see if her vampire boyfriend’s spell would work before they would know if Giles still needed caring for or not. Dawn sighed. Her thoughts were babbling again.

She looked over at Spike, sitting on the edge of the bed, studying the book in his hands. He looked way less nervous than she was. “So why does every spell need candles? What’s so special about candles anyway?”

He glanced up at her. “Do I look like I made this stuff up? I’m just doing what the book says to do.”

“Sorry.”

He relented, and his expression softened. “Sorry, Lil Bit. Didn’t mean to snap at you. Truth be told, I might be the teeniest bit nervous ’bout doing this spell.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. If it doesn’t work… I don’t relish the idea of gettin’ stuck in Rupe’s head for any amount of time.” His eyes traveled over the still figure of the man Dawn had grown to love as a friend and as the kind of father she’d always wished she’d had. “If I get stuck in there too, I think I’d rather you staked me than leave me like that.”

“Spike, no!” She rushed into his arms, and he held her passionately, his cheek resting against her hair.

He titled her head up and kissed her softly on the lips. “Promise me, Dawn. If something happens, you’ll make Buffy do it.”

She nodded solemnly, tears slipping down her cheeks. She gave him a brave smile and a soggy laugh, turning it into a joke, wanting him not to be worried about her at this particular moment. “I think she’d have to fight Xander for the chance.”

He laughed too, perhaps seeing through her attempts at humor. He looked back at the man he was about to risk his life for, his smile fading. “I know the lot of you don’t want to think about it… But have you considered that he wouldn’t want to stay like that neither? Keeping him alive like this, it’s not the kindest thing you could do for him. I’d break the poor bastard’s neck myself if I didn’t have this blasted chip.”

“Spike, no! Stop it.” She tried to worm herself out of his grip, but he held her fast.

“Dawn, look at me.” She did, tears blurring her vision. “You know I’m right about this. Buffy’d put me out of my misery fast enough, but she’d never be able to do the same for him. Xander probably couldn’t either. Anya might. She’s the only one you could ask. She might not be able to do it with her own hands, but she’d find a way. Something in his IV would do it right quick.” He pulled her into a close embrace, let her cry herself out against his shoulder. “Promise me, Dawn. Promise that if something goes wrong with this spell, that he’ll get the same mercy I would.”

She nodded against his shoulder, unable to bring herself to say the words aloud.

“Right then. Now that that’s taken care of, let’s get this show on the road, shall we? Twins in peril and all that.” He took her by the shoulders and held her out at arm’s length. He brushed the tears from her cheeks and tapped her beneath her chin fondly. “Buck up, Niblet, everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see. All puppy dogs and kittens and running through the daisies. I promise.”

She nodded and sniffled. She didn’t seem able to do much talking right now. With one last glance over the spell, he handed her the book and climbed onto the bed beside Giles. She clutched the book against her chest and stepped out of the sacred space they had made with the candles and incense.

With her back against the wall, and her knuckles turning white around the book, she finally found her voice. “Spike!”

He turned his head to look at her.

“I love you.”

His eyes studied her with that intense soul-penetrating stare that she always found so sexy. “You’re the only good thing that ever has.”

He closed his eyes and began the incantation he’d memorized from the book. His hand moved to the side and found Giles’. He interlaced their fingers, and then he was as still as the watcher.

***

Alex sat on the bed in their new hotel, watching the lady watch him. She had offered to take him for a walk on the beach earlier, but he didn’t want to go. He remembered his dream, and he didn’t want to go to the beach. Now she was offering him a Happy Meal from McDonalds, and he was hungry, so he took it. But he wouldn’t say anything to her. He wouldn’t even say thank you, like his father always told him he should.

“So, Alex…” The lady knew his name now. She said his father told her, but he didn’t believe her. “What do you want to do before bed? You want to watch a movie? Disney?”

He shook his head, intent on his french fries. He didn’t want to do anything the lady wanted him to do. Maybe if he was naughty enough, she wouldn’t want him anymore and she would give him back. He dunked his fries in the ketchup and dripped it across the bedspread. He watched her defiantly.

She only laughed. “That’s okay. We’re only renting. Make as much of a mess as you like.” She took one of his fries and dribbled ketchup across the bed also before eating it herself. “You’re a cutie, aren’t you? Wish I had more time with you. I had such big plans for you, little boy. I wanted to see what kind of power you would have had as a man, if it would have equaled what your father’s power could have been, unchained.” She sighed and ruffled his hair. He didn’t flinch back, just took a bite of his hamburger. “But I need you for a spell tonight. So this is sort of your last meal, although you probably don’t understand what that means.” She pulled the toy surprise from his bag: a colorful plastic whistle. “I figured Happy Meal, good choice. Kids like McDonald’s, don’t they?” She handed the whistle to him, and Alex put it in the front pocket of his overalls. “You want some ice cream after dinner?”

He scowled at her, his best angry face, the one he gave his father when he didn’t want a time out or to go to bed, and the one he gave his mother when she wouldn’t take him to the park or read him a story.

He finally said something to the lady. He told her, “Mommy beat you up.”

The lady laughed. “If your Mommy tries, I’ll kill her.”

Alex took a long drink from his orange soda, trying to be a brave boy and not cry. He knew his Mommy would come. Mommy’s job was stopping bad guys like this lady. But he didn’t want anything bad to happen to her either. He didn’t want the mean lady to hurt her.

But Mommy was strong and brave, and she would win. He told the lady again with conviction, “Mommy beat you up.”

The lady laughed, and ruffled his hair, and left him alone.

***

One can no more keep the mind from returning to an idea than the sea from returning to a shore.

He wondered how much time had passed. He wondered if his son were dead yet or alive and if he would know when it happened, if he would feel it. He wondered if his child were crying for him.

Beware the jabberwock, my son. The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

He thought of Robin, that he would never know what fate had befallen her. Was she with Sabrina? Was she with her brother? Or was she alone and frightened?

Whichever way it plays out, whether she will belong to you or to the darkness, I sensed that magic will be what tips the scales in either direction.

He thought of Buffy. He prayed that she would find them in time. And if not… He wondered how she would cope with the loss of their children, how she would bear it by herself. Would she crumble as she had after Glory took Dawn? Would she be trapped inside her own mind as he was now trapped inside his? Would they lay her body down beside his, the pair of them a mockery of living?

Oh, to be laid side by side in the same tomb, hand clasped in hand, and from time to time, in the darkness, to caress a finger gently, that would be enough for my eternity.

But mostly when he thought of Buffy, he ached for her. He missed her. He wished that he could still hear her voice at least, even if he couldn’t answer. He imagined that she must sit beside him and talk to him sometimes, his Buffy. He wished he could hear the words she spoke to him.

There is a strange thing- do you know what? I am in the night. There is a being who has gone away and carried the heavens with her. But overcome space, and all we have left is Here. Overcome time, and all we have left is Now. And in the middle of Here and Now, don’t you think that we might see each other once or twice?

He knew he was losing focus. He knew his mind was slipping. The words continued to fragment and come together. He was skipping across passages and books. One sentence would blur into the next. It wasn’t working anymore. It wasn’t keeping him anchored. And yet, he didn’t know what else to try.

That you have but slumber’d here while these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream.

He imagined that he saw light. He wondered if it were the first of the hallucinations to come. Did people choose to go mad? Did it offer them a pleasant escape? He wondered if he might like it, if he might even believe that he were home with Buffy and the children. If madness were nothing more than a Sunday sleep-in with his wife and twins, the television playing cartoons and the paper folded out across his lap… maybe it would be better than this, whatever this was.

But he could not go gentle into that good night. It was not in his nature to lay down his sword and admit defeat. So he would stubbornly hold on to sanity for as long as he could. He would fill his head with nursery rhymes and sonnets and the lullabies his mother sang to him as a child. He would see what good a watcher’s memory was to him now.

I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy; which is as thin of substance as the air, and more inconstant than the wind. For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause: there’s the respect that makes calamity of so long life; for who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor’s wrong…

But the light would not be ignored. It grew brighter. He shut his eyes against it and realized he could shut his eyes, and so he opened them again. He made each hand into a fist and stretched them open. His nerves tingled with feeling, the feel of breath, of life. He blinked his eyes and searched his surroundings.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe.

It was dank and dark, and he knew this place. It was Spike’s crypt.

“Well, hello, Watcher.”

He flinched and put his hands to his ears. The vampire’s voice was loud. He curled into a ball, pulled his legs into his chest, and dropped his head to his knees. He wondered why Sabrina would come to him as Spike.

And as in uffish thought he stood, down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, the highwayman came riding, riding, riding, the redcoats looked to their priming!

“No hello? No, gee, Spike, thanks for risking life and limb to rescue me? No grudging respect for the vampire who found the book and the spell while the Scoobies were still trying to muss out how to play watcher in your absence?” He laughed, and it echoed through the crypt. “Thankless bastard. See if I ever go out on a limb for you again. Right then. Let’s go.”

The reduction of the universe to a single being, the expansion of a single being into God, this is love. Love is the salutation of the angel to the stars. How sad the soul when it is sad from love!

“Are you deaf? I said let’s go.”

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?

He felt the vampire’s hand on his arm, hauling him to his feet. He wavered where he stood, unused to keeping his balance. Spike held him steady.

“Time. To. Be. Going. Then.” The vampire enunciated it slowly, as if speaking to a small child.

He lifted his eyes. He was tired of these games. He was tired of her cruel tricks. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. He might have believed for a moment that he had been holding Jenny, might have even believed that she was Buffy, but that time was past. He was not going to believe that she was Spike. Did she think she could make him believe he was being rescued, raise his hopes, and then pull the rug out from under him? What perverse satisfaction could that give her? How bored must she be?

He wrenched his arm from her grasp, stumbled several steps, and caught himself on the stone sarcophagus to keep from falling over. “Piss off, Sabrina. Send me back and let me be.”

“Who?” Spike looked around the room, as if checking to make sure they were alone. “Bloody hell. Look who’s gone off the deep end.” He tapped himself on the chest. “Spike. Spi-ike. William the Bloody. He who you love to hate…? Undeserving of the love of the littlest Summers…? Am I ringing any bells here?”

Giles shook his head, trying to clear it, and lowered himself to the ground. “You pulled all of that from my mind. I’m not falling for it this time.” He looked into Spike’s eyes, tried to see the sorceress behind them. “Have you come to tell me my son is dead? I don’t think I want to hear it. You said you weren’t coming back again. I think I’d rather you kept that promise.”

The vampire came closer, studying him. “Oh, I get it. Someone’s been mucking about in your head. Hmm… Let’s see. How do I convince the Watcher I’m me?” He snapped his fingers and pointed. “Oooh, I got it! When I was staying at your house and your merry band of children were off in college having a life without you, bet you never told them I used to beat you at Jeopardy all the time. Nasty blow to your ego, that was.”

Giles glared. “I would expect someone who has lived through a hundred more years of history than I have to be at somewhat of an advantage.” He rested his head back against the stone coffin. “Besides, you could have gotten that from my head same as the rest of it.”

Spike frowned and tried again. “Remember when Buffy was in the hospital, almost lost the babies? We were smoking in the lobby together. Bet you never told her that.”

“Actually she figured that out all on her own. I smelled of it.”

Spike sat on the ground beside him, both of them leaning back against the sarcophagus. “The next time she landed in the hospital… Skovish demon, wasn’t it? Anyway, she was in surgery for hours, in the ICU for days after that. Bet you never told her I took you out and got you thoroughly sloshed.”

He chuckled slightly. “No. I was thankfully able to keep that to myself. I think she would have been mortified to learn her husband got picked up by a fellow officer, even if he understood the circumstances and let me go with a warning.”

“No, no, no. She was still in college then. You’re thinking of the next time, after that run in with those-”

“The Disciples of Hnong. Right.” He turned his head and studied Spike with a puzzled frown. “You do seem to have a tendency towards getting me tanked in moments of crisis.”

Spike shrugged off the assessment with a knowing smirk. “Well, you are loads more fun when you’re drunk.”

“Actually, under those circumstances, I believe I made more of a bitter, angry, pathetic drunk.”

“Yeah. Like I said: more fun.” Spike elbowed him in the side, but Giles’ skills at keeping his balance were rusty, and Spike had to snatch his arm to keep him from toppling over. “So, Watcher, have I convinced you that I am who I say I am?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” Giles sighed. “It’s rather a Catch 22 you’ve found yourself in. Anything you could tell me to confirm your identity is something she would just as easily know as well. Anything that wasn’t in my head for her to find… well, you could tell me, but I wouldn’t know for sure that you weren’t just making it up.”

Spike jumped to his feet and started pacing. “You gotta be kidding me! Do you have any idea how hard it was to find you in here? And now you’re just going to stay here? I don’t think so.” He stormed back across the crypt, stopping directly in front of the watcher. “Snap out of it and let’s get the hell outta here!” Spike struck him across the face hard. But it was Spike who cried out in pain, as his chip brought him to his knees, clutching his head in pain.

Giles merely rubbed his jaw and watched dispassionately.

Spike threw an accusatory glare upwards at the Powers That Be. “For the love of… This isn’t even frickin’ real, and I can’t hit him? Who made up those rules?” He brought his angry gaze back level with the watcher. “See here: I can’t leave here without you. It’s part of the spell. And I don’t fancy spending the next fifty years trolling through your head for a bit of entertainment. I think I’d rather die.”

“Think me up some wood, and I’ll oblige you.”

“Ha ha. Very funny. Regular comedian.”

“Hold on.” Giles clenched his eyes shut in concentration. His head was still all muddled, stray bits of quotes and phrases crowding in his brain. It was hard to hold onto to anything for any length of time. “I think I had a thought.”

“Well, there’s a news flash. Careful or it’ll dribble out the other ear.”

“Shut up, Spike!” he snapped. “Something about staking you.” He pressed his hands to his head, as if he could push out all the useless clutter. He rocked slightly, as an autistic might, as he tried to focus. “When she was Buffy, she had slayer strength. The strengths… and the weaknesses of the form she takes.” His eyes popped open in triumph. “When you come to me as Spike, I can stake you.”

The vampire backed up several paces. “You know, I’m suddenly not liking the new, improved, less-than-sane Rupert.” He stopped his retreat. “Wait a sec. You don’t have a stake. What am I worried about?”

“No, but…” Giles scanned the crypt with his eyes. “This is a fairly good representation of the real thing, in which case I know where you keep your arsenal.” He sighed and laid his head back against the stone.

“But you’re not going to stake me?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Good. As long as no one’s getting staked.”

“You’d only change form before I could do it.”

“Damn straight I would.”

Giles sighed. He was so weary of this, these games, this nightmare. He just wished it would be over.

Spike approached him again, tentatively, and resumed his seat beside him. “Has it occurred to you that I might be the real thing? That maybe you could go home now?”

Giles tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement. “It has. It’s also crossed my mind that you might be a delusion, a manifestation of my somewhat tenuous grip on sanity.” He frowned. “Although, if you are, I’m quite disappointed in myself. I can think of much better hallucinations than a chit-chat with Spike of all people.”

The vampire leaned forward slightly and placed himself in the other’s line of sight. “What do you say we take a chance? See which one I am? Come back with me. Where’s the harm in giving it a shot?”

“Where’s the harm?” Giles chuckled mirthlessly and then descended into a dark and brooding silence. Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, it shall clasp a sainted maiden… When he spoke again, it was with hushed voice and bowed head. “Where’s the harm? There’s a small chance you might be real. While we’re just sitting here talking, I can let myself believe it, if only a little. But I know that there’s a greater chance that you’re not, that you’re her or me. Either one ends the same… back in the darkness.” He swallowed and clenched his hands into fists, clenched them tightly enough that he could feel his fingernails bite into his palms. He wanted to assure himself that he could still feel something. “I’m trying… Do you know, I don’t think I dream while I’m there, or sleep? Plays hell with my internal clock. Feels like an eternity sometimes. I’m trying to hold on, but… I can’t… stand it… anymore.”

He turned his head to the side and studied Spike, who was watching him with something that looked surprisingly close to sympathy. Whether the vampire was real, or her, or the first step down that slippery slope into madness, it didn’t matter. It felt like someone was listening to him, and that was all that was important for now. “Can you understand, then, why I’m in no hurry to go back there? Why I might like to pretend for just a little bit longer that I could maybe be free?”

Spike stood and, looking down on the watcher, offered out his hand. “Come on, Rupert, let’s go home. You have to take the chance sometime, and we both know you’re not one to put off the inevitable.”

“Inevitable,” Giles echoed bleakly, but he accepted the hand and allowed Spike to pull him to his feet. “So how’s this work? Back through the looking glass? Tap my heels together three times and there’s no place like home?”

The vampire laughed and led him by the hand to the door of the crypt. “Nothing so grand as that. I did the spell to bring me here, now I reverse it to bring us out. I’ve never done this before, so… Might be wise to hold tight to Daddy’s hand as we cross the street.”

Giles rolled his eyes, but did as he was instructed. Spike moved to open the door, and Giles stopped short, a momentary jolt of panic surging through him and tightening his grip on the vampire’s hand. Spike paused and squeezed back gently. “There’s light at the other side of the darkness this time, Rupert. Promise.”

It was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us…

Giles nodded for the other to go ahead. The door opened, and he was in darkness, as dark as it had ever been. But this time he could feel a cold hand in his, and he could hear Spike murmur something in an ancient tongue. His watcher’s mind tried to translate and decipher the words. Aramaic perhaps, or Arabic. Whatever it was, Spike was slaughtering it horribly, and he hoped the spell wouldn’t be affected. There was silence for a long time, and he was afraid that maybe none of this had worked after all. She had tricked him, or he had tricked himself, and no one was going to be coming to his rescue. Nothing left but half-remembered prose and poetry to keep him company.

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

But he still felt Spike’s hand in his, and if he listened hard enough he could hear his own pulse thrumming and his breath shaking through his chest and the myriad unique and quiet sounds of his own house: the radiator kicking on, the rattle of a loose shutter against the wind, the creak of a footfall on the second from top stair. And when he opened his eyes, he could see his own ceiling above him.

He rolled his head slowly to the side and saw Spike lying on the bed beside him, watching him, still holding fast to his hand. The vampire’s voice was low and teasing.

“Hello, lover.”

Giles chuckled and felt his chest shake with it. He swallowed and moved his lips tentatively before trying out his voice. “I’ll gladly wake in bed with you, Spike, if it means waking at all.” He brought their joined hands to rest against his heart. “You’ve set me free. I can’t thank you enough.”

“No, you can’t.”

He heard a girlish scream and felt the bed shake as Dawn jumped in to join them. “It worked! It worked! Omigod, you’re both okay!” She was squealing in delight and hugging Spike fiercely. Giles released the vampire’s hand so Spike could return the embrace and then turned his head so he wouldn’t have to see it.

“Nice to see you too, Dawn,” Giles muttered sarcastically. The words were barely out of his mouth before he felt her pounce on him too, knocking the wind out of him with elbows in tender places. She nestled her head beneath his chin, and he felt her begin to cry. “What’s this?” he murmured.

“I missed you so much, Giles. We all did. And Buffy cries all the time. And everything’s falling apart. And the twins are gone. And no one can read any of those books and Willow’s in trouble and we didn’t know if Faith set a trap, but she didn’t, which was good, but we still don’t know where the twins are and we didn’t know if we’d ever get you back and I didn’t wanna hafta find someone to kill you like Spike made me promise.”

“Shhh… Breathe, Dawn. Slow down.” His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of her torrent of words. “Kill me? What?”

She lifted her head and looked down on him with tears still streaming down her cheeks. “You can fix it now, right? You can go to LA and help Buffy?”

“I’ll do what I can, Dawn.” He reached up to wipe away her tears and noticed for the first time the IV trailing into the back of his hand. He lifted his other hand and noticed a matching one taped to that one as well. “I appear to be stuck full of tubes.”

“Yeah, liquid lunch,” Dawn quipped as she climbed off him, sitting up now on the bed and drying her eyes, Spike sitting cross-legged behind her. “The nurse came at six, but I sent her away, ’cause you were in the middle of the spell. I can have her come back and unhook you now if you want.”

“I don’t think that will…” He trailed off as he started to sit up. He reconsidered her suggestion when he realized he had tubes going into other places as well. “On second thought, maybe that would be a good idea.”

Dawn reached for the phone from the nightstand, and Giles fixed Spike with a level stare. “How long have I…?”

Spike shrugged, and it was Dawn who answered. “Eleven days.”

He gasped. “Is that all? It felt like much longer.” He closed his eyes as he absorbed that piece of information. “Eleven days? Hmmm… Sabrina would have lost her bet. I don’t think I would have made it the full month even.”

After exchanging a few brief words with the nurse, Dawn hung up the phone. She smiled, giddy now. “You want some tea, or… or anything?”

He reached across the bed for her hand, and she gave it. Such a small thing, holding her hand, that failed to express the full breadth of his emotion at that particular instant. To even be able to hold her hand felt like a miracle, something he had thought never to experience again. He swallowed back a surge of emotion. How could he tell this sweet young girl just exactly what she meant to him? How could he make any of them understand just how lost he had been without them? But more practical concerns had to take priority. There would hopefully be time later for heart-to-heart talks, for words that should have been spoken long ago. For now, he had to find his children, had to stand beside his slayer in her battle. “Tell me what’s happened. Everything.”

“Pretty much what Lil Bit said. Someone nabbed the kids. Faith called with a lead, and the rest of them went off to LA for a look-see. But the place was deserted when they got there. Oh, and that Travers bloke is missing.”

“Dead,” Giles corrected.

“Yeah, whatever. That’s about all we got.”

Giles closed his eyes in concentration. His head was still all muddled, and all of the stimuli surrounding him was taking its toll on his sensory deprived nerves. He took a few deep breaths, resisted the urge to curl his legs up against his chest, and focused on the information they had before them. “She has the sword, and she has Alex, and she’s going to use Alex to activate the sword.”

Spike got off the bed and started pacing. “The sword of Camela? So that thing does have something to do with all of this?”

He nodded, his eyes still closed.

“If that’s the plan, they’ll do it tonight. Tonight’s a crescent moon, and the books said that’s when this Camela chick can strike down lightning on the last victim.”

Giles opened his eyes and felt his heart beat faster. He turned towards the window. It was already past dark. He realized then that he couldn’t wait for the nurse. “Dawn, load some weapons into the car. We’ll be down in a minute. Spike, go in the closet and pull me out some pants and a sweater.”

The vampire waited until Dawn had gone. “What you gonna do ’bout…” He gestured with his thumb to first the tubes and then to the IV stand in the corner.

Giles didn’t answer, merely extended his hands in front of him and focused. His arms were trembling, and his heart was racing. Sabrina was right. He was afraid. For more than twenty-five years, he had mostly done little stuff and only when necessary. The spell with Robin had been the most difficult thing he had attempted in all that time. He had been thankful to have Willow and Tara do most of the magic for him. But now he would be required to do much more. He would be required to reach down into a part of himself he had buried with Randall.

Best to start small. Test the waters. He took a deep breath and called on the power he kept locked away. “Laxare.”

The IV, the tubes, all of it vanished. It had worked.

Spike whistled. “All right. So that’s what you’re going to do ’bout it.”

He eased his way to the edge of the bed, unused muscles protesting at the sudden exertion. “Spike, I might need your help.” He blushed savagely, which only embarrassed him further. “Dressing, I mean.”

But Spike kindly refrained from jests at his expense. The vampire said nothing as he helped the watcher into his clothes. He didn’t even wait to be asked before putting his arm out for Giles to lean on, steadying the watcher with his other arm whenever he seemed ready to topple.

Giles smiled apologetically. “This walking thing will just take a little getting used to again.”

“Sure thing, whereas I’m sure you’ll take to the weaponry like a fish to water.”

They made their way slowly down the stairs where Dawn was waiting for them. She gave him another crushing hug and informed him that Spike knew where Buffy and the others were headed. “I’m Mission Control, so call if there’s any problems or you can’t find them. I’ll tell them you’re coming.”

He indicated to them the books on Camela and leaned against the doorjamb as they gathered them into the van beside the weapons. Giles couldn’t help a pang of irritation when he noticed that Buffy had taken his car. Spike went upstairs for another book, one that Giles didn’t recognize immediately, but one he couldn’t worry too much about at the moment.

While the vampire was upstairs, Dawn turned to him and asked hesitantly, “Giles, who did this to you? The spell, I mean.”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

Spike had caught Dawn’s question and Giles’ dismissal as he came down the stairs, book in hand. Giles could sense Spike’s scrutiny and, as soon as they’d had their hugs goodbye from Dawn and shut the door behind them, the vampire guessed what Giles had avoided saying.

“Willow, huh? She put the whammy on you?”

“Yes,” he answered quietly, not lifting his eyes from the ground.

“I told Dawn the fallout was coming. Guess you got the brunt of it.”

Giles waited while Spike opened the passenger door for him. There had been no need for discussion on who would be driving. “No, Spike, the fallout’s still coming.”

Giles put his hand on the door, but didn’t actually climb in. It was almost like getting into a box, and he didn’t know if he could do it. Spike was already sitting in the driver’s seat, staring at him, while he was still standing there with his hand on the door.

“Sometime before they do the blood sacrifice thing on your kid would be good.”

That spurred him to action, and he finally climbed into the van, feeling his heart race and his hands tremble. His finger pressed the down button for the automatic window at the same time as he shut the door.

He could feel Spike’s eyes on the back of his head, studying him. “My, my, someone’s picked up a wee bit of claustrophobia, haven’t they?”

Giles clenched his teeth and ground out, “Shut up and drive.” He leaned his head against the doorframe, feeling the breeze across his face as they started for LA.

“So when we get there, your plan is to curl up into a fetal ball and wish them dead, is it?”

“Just get us to LA, and then we can worry about the plan.” Giles pressed one hand over his eyes, and tried to think over the cacophony of sound and feel and movement. He tried to think through everything he knew about Camela and the sword and Sabrina and… and… It was all blurring together. His mind was drifting again. He tried to rein it in.

Camela stood alone against the Numidian army, and with one word, she felled them where they stood. Came riding the Chosen champion to defeat her. And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, his pistol butt a-twinkle, his rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Giles found himself pulling his legs up onto the seat and his knees into his chest. It was all so overwhelming and too much to take in, being out of the darkness. But for Alex, he had to get past it.

***

Joseph buttoned up the coat around his little slayer. It would be cold by the water. His fingers brushed across her skin as he did up the top button, and she trembled. He smiled at her fear.

“Let’s go, boys.”

He carried Robin out of the warehouse, a large contingent of vampires following behind him. Sabrina thought it was time to stand on his own two feet, to leave his father’s shadow and forget about Wolfram and Hart. Maybe she was right. Maybe he would show her a thing or two about what exactly Joseph Zalk could accomplish on his own.

Joseph looked up at the night sky. The crescent moon was rising.

***

Sabrina had searched for so long, had schemed and manipulated more people than she could count, all to bring her to this moment. She would have her vengeance, and she would have her power, and she would have the sun and the stars and the moon too if she wanted them. Her hands clutched the hilt of the sword tighter. In blood and fire, in wind and rain, she would have what was hers.

Sabrina looked up at the night sky. The crescent moon was rising.

***

Morgaine stood beside Sabrina. Her doubts were fading with the tide. The boy would be the last, as Sabrina had promised, and his death would prove her faith justified. For more years than she could count, she had been the right hand, the shadow, and the rock. She could not remember the girl she had been, the girl who had been left on the mountaintop for the Beast. She had been the sacrifice, but now it would be her salvation.

Morgaine looked up at the night sky. The crescent moon was rising.

***

Buffy stood at the edge of the forest, Xander and Faith beside her. They had walked the perimeter, looking for weaknesses, but found the invisible barrier unbreakable. Beyond the forest, her son waited on the beach, waited for his mother to save him. But even slayers had limits. She was barred the way by magic. And without magic, she could go no farther.

Buffy looked up at the night sky. The crescent moon was rising.

***

Willow stood at the edge of the cliff, her hand clasped in the hand of the woman beside her. The joining symbol warmed her stomach and tingled down between her thighs. She could not see the ritual clearly at this distance, not while she was focusing on the others forming the circle, focusing on weaving the beginning matrix of their spell. It didn’t matter. She trusted Sabrina, and tonight Sabrina would act as the center: she would guide their power, and Willow would give herself willingly, as would the others. They were a team, a family, a sisterhood. One for all and all for one. And when the spell was finished, the Watcher’s Council would never be able to hurt them again. They would be safe.

Willow turned her face up to the starlit sky above her. The crescent moon was rising.

***

Giles had stilled his panic by the last half of the journey. He sat in his seat properly, poring through the books they’d brought, looking for weaknesses, for ways to stop the ritual. He knew he couldn’t defeat Sabrina with magic. She could anticipate his every attack. Buffy wouldn’t be able to score a hit either. But to save his son, he had to find a way. That was when he noticed the book Spike had brought. Curious and unfamiliar with the volume, he opened it. The breeze ruffled the pages, and he looked out the car window.

The crescent moon was rising, rising, rising, the crescent moon was rising into the jewelled sky.

***

The Mortog beast felt it coming. Three thousand years of searching at an end. A vow made would soon be honored. Vengeance would be sated, and the Sorceress would rest at last. No one else knew what was coming, what the ritual would bring, not the power hungry witches or the troubled runaways or the innocent sacrifice. Only the Beast knew.

Above, the crescent moon was rising. Camela would answer the call.

***

Author's Note:
A challenge for my readers:
The next chapter will have the disclaimer with all the lit references from this part. Anyone think they can name all the books/poems Giles was quoting? Maybe you'll win something if you get it right. Or maybe you won't. Maybe it will just be the satisfaction you'll get from knowing your English classes weren't for naught.

So... Did you get them right? Match the quote to the piece here.

DBC Home Back: Part 8: The Long Sleep Next: Part 10: The Last Watcher

Please, send me feedback, either by or form:

Your email address:

Your name:

Story feedback:

Form processor by www.tectite.com