Author: Leroy Gibin,
This work is based on characters owned by Mutant Enemy, Inc. They are used without authorization, but in good faith. All characters not created by Mutant Enemy belong to me. This work may be distributed freely as long as it is without charge, in its entirety and unaltered. This work is rated "R" for Violence, Adult Language, Adult Content, and Some Sexual Content.
FAQ
Q: What is this?
A: 'The Keeper' is a sequel to 'Siblings'.
Q: Is 'Siblings' a required reading?
A: Yes.
Q: What is this work about?
A: 'The Keeper' picks up 3 years after 'Siblings'. With the First fallen and the Council rising the world may be a safer place now, but the Summers sisters have yet to find their place in it. Their respective destinies will catch up to them by the end.
Q: Speaking of end, how long this book is going to be?
A: This work will cover about 1.5 years of Buffyverse vs 6 months for 'Siblings' so I'm projecting a few more chapters than the first book. However, I plan for each chapter to be significantly shorter on average, so the total length of the 'Keeper' will be about 60-75% of Part I.
Q: Is it going to be published one chapter at a time?
A: For the most part. There are a couple of secondary storylines I'm struggling with right now in a sense that I don't know how big I want to make them. I'll be writing as much of them out as possible then trimming/removing them once I see how well they fit into the main arcs. This means Chapters 4-7 will be written concurrently. Thus, a much longer break between 3 and 4, but short ones thereafter.
Q: It took 1.5 years to get Chapter 2 out. WTF?
A: Sad isn't it? Actually, not really. Other things in my life took priority over writing and I feel okay about that. I'm more motivated now, but not sure how long it will last. I won't make any promises about timing of future releases except to say that I plan on continuing with this work until I finish it. Hopefully in less than 30 years which is the time frame extrapolated from the two Chapters out right now.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
When the Demiurge called Man into Its House It
spoke thus: ' I have taught you all you must know
and now my time in this world is at an end. All I have,
I leave behind for you' Man looked about the endless
horde of beauty and wonder beyond words and spoke
with delight'All of this is now mine?' 'All except for the Key.
The Key I cannot give you for It does not belong to me'
'Who does It belong to?' 'It belongs only to Itself' Man
stared, but did not understand. 'What is it the key to?'
He asked. 'Everything' the Demiurge answered.
Chapter 1: The Shadow
The wind seemed to die down up here. Counter intuitive at first, but perfectly logical when you think about it. Forced into narrow underpasses the slightest gust turned into a flurry, but in the open space atop the roofs it was only a breeze. She could still feel the air breaking against her face, slapping her hair against the leather jacket every time she leapt over another chasm between buildings, but this was all her. Faith could not remember the last time she had to run so fast for so long. She cursed Tamara under whatever breath she had left. The latest in the revolving door of Moscow section chiefs has chosen to merge her schooling with her slaying, running the office as an accounting ledger. A kill was a kill which meant powerful, well-connected demons roamed unmolested while street level vampires were hunted practically to extinction. This was natural selection at its best, survival of the fittest, and none was fitter than the fang boy she was chasing down right now.
"Thirty degrees to your right, about twenty-two meters ahead," her ear bud blared.
"I see him," Faith blurted out, making a sharp turn and bending a TV antenna in the process. If it wasn't for the GPS in her arrowheads she would have lost him an hour ago. Then again, if those arrows weren't off balance due to the extra weight she might not have missed his heart and could have been home with the payment an hour ago. She slowed down letting her thoughts catch up to her body. It didn't look like the vampire had a destination in mind, he was just trying to evade and that means he is following a pattern, consciously or not.
"Fifteen degrees right, thirty-five meters ahead. You've stopped. Is something wrong?"
"He's going to take a roof exit back to the street level on the next building. I'll cut him off"
Though chunks of the Moscow historical district were getting torn up regularly to make room for the new skyscrapers, this particular section was still intact with all the pursuit conveniences that entailed. The fire ladder, a straight, rusty iron line down the brick wall was just to her right. Faith grabbed the sides and slid down, filing down her leather gloves almost to her skin in the process. A mad dash down the alley followed. The vampire still had the lead, jumping out of the building's backdoor about eight meters ahead. He paused for a split second to catch the scent or the sound of his pursuer, but what he caught was the sight of a heavy garbage bin flying into his face. He dodged most of it, but the wheel grazed his shoulder throwing him off balance. A kick slammed him into the wall the very next moment. The slayer was upon him, there was no more running.
"You know what I want," Faith panted heavily, "Just give it up and I may let you live"
"My purpose was always to delay you and now the sunrise is almost here," the vampire grinned, "My master will have his due and I serve him to the end!" with that he reached into his pocket and jammed the contents into his mouth.
"You are fastest vampire I've known, but far from the brightest," the slayer sighed jamming the stake into the his heart. The dust seeped through the fingers of her free hand leaving the sapphire ring nestled in her palm.
"Update, please!" the ear bud shouted impatiently, "Do you have it?"
"Is the Pope Catholic?" Faith smirked into her microphone.
"Not the Coptic one"
"Just bring the car around, smart ass!"
At the end of the alley a black Mercedes convertible slowed down just enough to let the slayer hop over the door.
"We have fifty minutes at the most," she remarked calmly tearing off her headset.
"I'm well aware of the time," Dmitri replied, accelerating.
"Are you aware of where we are going?" Faith inquired after the fourth turn in just as many minutes.
"Do not diss a man's chosen route"
"Can I diss the man's undying love for the speed limit?"
"A traffic stop will cost us at least seven minutes we are unlikely to make up," the young man responded taking a sharp right onto the main boulevard.
"But running a red is apparently not a problem," she remarked at the apparent lack of braking in the face of the obvious, yet just as the wheels touched the painted crosswalk, the light turned green.
"Auspicious," Faith stared at the barely noticeable grin of her driver, "Is it me or was this the seventh green in a row? Don't tell me you hacked them. Half of these lights aren't wired to anything"
"They may not be networked, but they all are on some sort of a programmable timer"
"Is that what were you doing all of last night, rigging the lights around town?"
"What did you think I was doing?"
"A couple of blonde nineteen-year-olds, like any self respecting man of your income"
"Now that hurts. You know very well I prefer brunettes. And we have arrived," Dmitri added pulling up to the gate of large pillared house surrounded by an ornate iron fence. Two men in dark suits were waiting out front.
"Hope you like blue," Faith quipped, whipping out her prize, "'Cause it's all they had"
The taller man on the right grabbed the ring and hurried inside the mansion. The other handed her an envelope.
"I must say, Vera1, you managed to surpass your already formidable reputation"
"Hardly," the slayer smiled smugly, "This one took almost thirty two hours. My personal record for solving a case is five and a half. I believe it's a national record as well"
"And which nation would that be? I'm sorry," he added as Faith's lips noticeably tightened, "Your accent is rather obvious, even to me"
She felt Dmitri's hand tightly squeezing her knee, but before she could puzzle out what it meant a well rehearsed lie came pouring out of her mouth.
"I was born in a small village outside of Chisinau. Folks around there, my folks included, were not fans of the old USSR, I haven't even heard Russian until I got to school"
"How interesting," the man smiled, "un compatriot, de toate lucrurile"
The grin frozen on the slayer's face didn't budge a millimeter.
"So naturally, I try to speak nothing, but Russian at every opportunity to compensate"
"Naturally," the man nodded in an overt display of understanding, "There will be a celebration at the embassy this Saturday. The count would love for the two of you to attend given your contribution to resolving this dreadful matter"
"We are honored, ambassador, and will do our best not to disappoint His Grace, " Dmitri tone mirrored that of the diplomat, "Now if you would excuse us, it has been a very long night"
The black Mercedes peeled off, taking the first cross street, then making another quick turn just in case.
"No one is following us, relax"
"Relax?! Faith, we spent a hundred and thirty grand building up your identity. Vera Enescu has actual historical FSB files, both electronic and hard copy! Police, medical, and school records, both here and in Chisinau. Do you have any idea how hard it is to plant those? You almost ruined all of it with one sentence!"
"My luck is not my fault. Seriously, what are the odds of some Romanian diplomat speaking Moldovan?"
"About the same as you speaking Australian, you numskull!"
Stupid! For a second Faith fought the urge to land a moderate strike upside the head of her companion to cover up her embarrassment.
"The file you gave me said nothing about Moldovan being a dialect of Romanian," she countered verbally instead, "and if you think it's common knowledge – you are the numskull. And we wouldn't even be having this conversation if you've gone with my pick and made me Alutian. There are only twenty-five people who speak that language"
"I don't think language would have been the issue since Alutians are a tribe of Eskimos!"
"So there's another twenty-five people who know that. The odds are way in my favor"
The car braked sharply for the red light and Dmitri turned an eviscerating gaze at his grinning passenger, but before he could muster a comeback Faith's phone rang a distinct melodious tone evaporating both the anger and merriment on both sides. Dmitri shook his head categorically, but the slayer calmly retrieved the phone from her jacket and answered the call.
"Here. Sure thing," she added a moment later, "Be there in fifteen. Take the next right," she addressed Dmitri now, flipping her phone closed.
"You can't be serious about going back there. She almost shot you!"
"No, she didn't. She wasn't even trying to hit me"
"That's right, she was shooting at the people who are not there. Somehow I don't find that comforting."
"You should. Going by the hole grouping in the walls, she is an excellent shot"
"Was that supposed to be funny? You are still treating like a precocious child and she is not. She's a psychotic mass murderer. You are not her friend. She doesn't have friends. Only past and future victims. That includes you"
The sharp and measured lecturing was designed to coat the simmering anger beneath it, but that too was a facade for something else. She could see it in his eyes. Fear. An all consuming worry. Is this the part where she is supposed to comfort him with some fake reassurance?
"I see," she responded coolly instead, "So when this psychotic mass murderer sends for me I'm supposed to tell her what? To suck it?"
"Extricate yourself. Slowly. Don't pick up every time. Delay responses. Lengthen your missions. If she can't rely on you she will find somebody else"
"She can't very well go the Council so who does that leave, Wolfram&Hart? Can't let that happen"
"It will happen. Sooner or later that's where all like her end up. I'm not letting you die trying to delay the inevitable. There's no more debate. You are not going and that's final. I'm putting my foot down!" Dmitri slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the curb.
"Fair enough," the slayer nodded thoughtfully, "You are free to put your foot down. I warn you though, I'm liable to feel free to rip that foot off and beat you over the head with it"
They stared at each other for a few seconds until Dmitri slammed both his hands against the wheel in frustration.
"Damn it, Faith, it's not fair! When is it going to be my turn to play the man in this relationship?"
Smile gone from her lips, she leaned across the car and gave him a long, deep kiss.
"How about first thing after I get home?"
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Three different elevator rides. Seven heavy metal doors, two more than the last time. At least double the number of guards. Given the action in the last week it wasn't that surprising. Her pockets were emptied and jacket taken at the x-ray machine at door number two, but she was still searched at every new threshold. Faith's reputation preceded her and even the new faces were professional to the extreme, their hands never lingering during pat downs. Rooster sat at the desk in front of the final door, silent as always. She scanned his face trying to gauge what was waiting for her on the other side. It was probably just her imagination, but the gray hairs filling up almost half of the twenty-two-year-old's rusty fuzz have added to their number. He opened the door without saying a word and that told her everything she needed to know. The lights were low and the air stale. High ceilings kept it from turning putrid, but it was easy to tell the room lay almost fifty feet below ground. The ceiling itself was not visible. Half a dozen smoldering ashtrays were spread around the room and a thin trickle of smoke from each condensed into an impenetrable gray haze.
"I thought I told Rooster to have the place straightened out every day last time I was here, " Faith spoke as she waded slowly through the empty liquor bottles littering the floor, "Or did you drink all this last night?"
"If I drank that much I would have died of alcohol poisoning," a low, tired voice answered her from a dark corner.
You mean, you should have died of alcohol poisoning
"I didn't call you here for maid service," Dawn pushed a small file cabinet towards the slayer with her foot.
Faith walked over and picked a folder lying on top.
"Seriously?" she stated in disbelief as she continued flipping through on inertia, "You know I don't do this kind of thing"
"What thing?"
"Kill people, or set them up to be killed"
"I need you need to look into him. That's all"
"Look into what? What is it about Jap you don't already know?"
"If I knew, I wouldn't need you to find it out, would I?!" Dawn sprung from her chair now and stepped into the light of the floor lamp. She didn't appear any thinner or tired, she never did, but somehow the taut, fresh-faced look of a seventeen-year-old seemed especially out of place on her now. It was the eyes. Dmitri once said it was as if they belonged to another person altogether. Perhaps it was the way the light fell on her now, but for the first time Faith thought she understood what he meant.
"'Unknown unknowns?'," she said trying her best to keep the patented smirk on her face, "I don't even know where to start, much less, end"
"Start with the fifty thousand I deposited to your account and end with one hundred fifty when you bring back an explanation"
"Of what?!"
"He made a deal with Snowman yesterday. His interest in the Far East territories for a loan of eighty men"
"So he's escalating the war. That happens when you put a hit on the guy. Again. He is probably running out of doubles by now. Asians don't actually all look alike you know"
"It makes no sense. The deal makes him cash flow negative. In a year he'll go bankrupt"
"Not if he kills you and takes over your operations. It's a calculated risk"
"I offered him better deals"
"Perhaps all the assassinations are clouding his judgment a bit. After four attempts most people would take this personally"
"It's just business. Jap was always about business. Only he is doing business with everyone, but me."
"Could it be because, and I know it's pretty radical, that the others are not trying to kill him?!"
" I didn't try, I killed him!" Dawn's face contorted with rage as she screamed, "Every time! If there ever were any doubles it's the one running things now!"
"Jap is his double," Faith said quietly keeping a corner of her eye on the small revolver clenched tightly in the girl's right hand, "Which one was the real one then? The one you 'killed' the first time or the fourth time?"
Dawn stared at Faith then slowly stumbled back into her chair and dropped the gun next to the overfilled ashtray.
"He is wrong," she whispered rocking slowly as she stuck an unfinished cigarette into her mouth seemingly unaware it has gone out, "He doesn't make sense"
"He is wrong? He is the one who doesn't make sense? When was the last time you sobered up, Dawn? When was the last time you went to sleep instead of passing out? Had a decent meal?"
A lot she knows. You don't need to eat and you don't sleep
"I sleep just fine"
No, you drink till your stomach bloats, close your eyes, and keep them closed as long as you can. Then tell yourself you didn't dream because you blacked out from too much liquor. There are no longer any clocks here to prove you wrong. The funniest thing about it, though, is that you can't even get drunk anymore.
"Shut up! Just shut, the fuck, up!"
"I'm over here, Dawn," Faith spoke as calmly as she could manage while her heart fell all the way to her stomach, "But you are not yelling at me, are you?"
"You have your assignment," the girl responded in a dead voice, "Go"
"I don't need to go anywhere. You want to know what's wrong with Jap? Take a look around! You were going to be the Black Hand of the Council, remember? You were going to handle things no one else would. You just needed to do a little mop up first. 'A few weeks', that's what you told me. It's been three years. How many Council cases have you handled? When was the last time you even looked at one? Jap may have stuck around the longest, but there's was Uncle Fedor, colonel Ivashev. All those Chechens popping up like whack-a-moles. There's always something. Even if fifth, or sixth time will be the charm for the actual guy, the proverbial 'Jap' isn't going away"
"The only thing I see that's not going away is you"
"You know I'm right. That's why you called me here with this deluded metaphor of an assignment, to tell you what your hallucinations have probably told you already: it's over; your plan failed. This was the "necessary evil' and the necessary part no longer applies. There's nothing to hold on to!"
"You will get me what I'm paying you to get. Jap will be gone and all will be as it should be"
"How long do you think you have? The hole you are digging can't get much deeper than this fucked up Hitler bunker! Don't you get it? You invited me here, you were prepared, and you still couldn't hold it together for even ten minutes! The shit coming out of your mouth makes no sense! How long is it before your own people will see what I see and hand your delusional ass over to Jap themselves?"
Dawn looked up blankly at the slayer, then pressed the intercom button next to her chair.
"Rooster, Mrs. Novikova has an errand to run for me. Why don't you help her get going?"
The rails pulled the steel door open and the gangster hurriedly walked in and grabbed Faith roughly by the arm.
"Move it!"
The slayer's jaw dropped at the sheer audacity, but before she could react a pleading whisper poured into her ear.
"Please, Vera. You can beat the crap out of me outside, but if I don't walk you out right now I'm going to get a bullet through my head"
Once on the other side of the door she did shove Rooster's face into a wall. Not out of malice, but because it was expected. The trip up was quicker – she was only searched twice. The sidewalk outside the building had plenty of passerby's; the morning commute was in full swing. Faith crossed the street and waved down the second cab coming, just in case. Once inside, she pulled out her phone, then shoved it back in with a smirk. Bugged, almost certainly.
"Hey, pal," she called out to the cabbie, "My phone's dead. Can I send a quick text from yours? You can add it to the fare"
"Anything for a pretty lady," the driver replied throwing her an old flip phone through the opening in the plastic divider.
Working both thumbs Faith quickly entered the number, pressed '3' three times, paused for a second, then clicked send. There was no need for an actual message. This number was set up for just one.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The locks of the door clanked into place and Dawn dissolved into her chair. As her head sunk into the headrest her right hand slid slowly across the end table, brushing against the grip of the revolver handle underneath the pile of papers. Her eyelids fell, locking the world out if only for a moment.
If you ask me she's being unfair. You didn't shoot up the wall this time. That's progress by anyone's standards
"What is it about dying that makes everyone so much wittier," she responded with eyes still shut.
You were the one who always thought Leshii's humorless persona was an act. I have no reason to pretend
"I could have been wrong"
Doesn't matter. The distortion of light is as much a part of a shadow as the original shape that casts it
She opened her eyes now and stared at the chair across. He was there, of course. He was always there. Black suit, black wig, black glasses, a wax mask beneath. Black gilded cane. A phantom tool for a phantom injury. All those purposeless attributes. Is it because that's how she best remembers him?
"'A shadow', " Dawn repeated with a smirk, "I like that. It is what you are, a pathetic, two-dimensional imitation"
"Now you are just trying to hurt my feelings," he shrugged.
"You have no feelings. You have nothing, but malice and cruelty"
"Seems inline with the original. As I recall by the time he was done screwing with your head it barely stayed on your shoulders"
"Everything Leshii did he did for a reason, not you"
The shade chuckled.
"Reason is just as a subjective notion as anything else. The man was a psychopath who fixated on his sister. It gave his cruelty and malice a direction. What I am is simply what he would be without Stefka"
"Bullshit," Dawn scoffed with surprising anger, "Leshii had no more malice than the next guy and the cruelty and the violence were just tools. What Leshii was about was will. The will to live, to prevail. For that he needed a purpose and he picked Stefka. She was convenient, that's all. If she didn't exist he would find something else, someone else"
"And that's the crux of the issue, isn't it? It was supposed to be you. I'm supposed to be devoted to you"
"I created you"
"The Key created me"
"I am the Key!"
"You? You are nothing!" the shadow barked with contempt, "You are simply a mask the Key chooses to wear to experience this world. For now, anyway. Maybe one day It will get bored. Maybe tomorrow It will choose me"
"You?!" Dawn couldn't help her smile, "Now who's lost grip on reality?"
"I'm as real as you are"
The stack of papers flew off the end table and two shots went off before they could hit the floor.
"You are not real"
Leshii turned to glance at the two new bullet holes in the back of the chair then leaned back in his seat with a satisfied smile.
"Well, that supports your statement, but does not disprove mine. To do that you'll need to point that gun the other way"
"Nice try, " Dawn scoffed, "but I don't want to die"
The smile disappeared from his face. Gone were smugness, contempt. He expression was now exactly as she remembered, an emotionless piercing gaze right through her core.
"Yes, you do," he said quietly, "You are just afraid you won't. That your option of last resort doesn't actually exist. That you have nothing left"
Dawn's finger clasped tightly around the trigger preparing to empty her gun like she has done dozens of times before. Instead the revolver slipped from her hand and she collapsed into her chair. She had nothing left, not even anger.
"Please," she whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek, "Leave me alone. Just leave me alone. Please"
"We each have our role to play," the shade answered pitilessly, "This is mine"
Dawn didn't react. Her empty gaze fixed on the milky gray shroud of smoke coagulating above her.
"Leave me alone," she kept on whispering, ever lower, till she could barely mouth the words, "I just want to be alone"
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Linda wasn't sure what it was exactly that woke her up: her head hitting the edge of the desk as the hand propping it up slipped, the fall to the floor that followed, or the laptop and the desk overturning on top of her. She spent about two seconds dwelling on the subject before scrambling to her feet and hurriedly righting the entire setup as best she could.
"Sorry, sorry," she kept repeating feeling the eyes of the room on her. It was too dark to read most of the expressions, but the immolating stare on Luisa's face was hard to miss in the light of the projector. Those big black eyes always looked so cross at her from under the big curly mane. The Brazilian girl's job was to help Kennedy win the election and Linda was aware she wasn't making it any easier. Still, she didn't need to be so surly all the time, it's not like she was doing it on purpose. Then again who wouldn't be surly with a weird metal and plastic contraption instead of an arm.
"As I was saying," Luisa raised her voice to get the attention back to the slides, "The rise in positives has slowed and has been essentially flat for over two weeks. I'm now calling the peak at forty-nine. While I can still think of few ways to lower our negatives...," Luisa paused her eyes on Linda.
"So very sorry," the blonde slayer mouthed silently, following up with a repentant smile.
"...As long as Buffy maintains a twenty point advantage in the positives she will win. And if we can't go up, then she must be brought down. We have to go negative, Kennedy"
Following Luisa's lead Linda turned to her girlfriend sitting sullenly at a desk next to hers.
"Go negative on Buffy?" she scoffed, "With what? Too short to lead?"
"I don't think it'll work," Linda responded first, "You are not that much taller"
"Buffy has made her share of blunders," Luisa spoke opening up the blinds on the windows; her back clearly indicating the blonde's latest contribution wasn't even worth a scathing look, "It just a matter of getting the others to focus on them"
"She's back with Spike," Marisol piped in, "It's polling pretty poorly"
"Glass houses, ladies. Let's stay away from those," Luisa replied getting back to her seat.
"What do you mean 'glass houses'?" Kennedy gave the girl a perturbed stare, "Buffy is having an affair with a vampire. I'm in a committed long-term relationship with a sister slayer!"
"We know. Everybody knows"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means the world isn't Rio, Kennedy"
Linda may have disliked the surliness, but Luisa's boundless dedication to her task was bordering on frightening. The way she spoke and acted sometimes it seemed she was committed to making Kennedy the Chairman whether the latter wanted to or not.
"We have slayers from many cultures," the curly haired politico went on, "and we have learned to celebrate what unites us and tolerate the differences. I emphasize 'tolerate'. The constant public appearances full of hand holding and occasional making out is leading some large constituencies to wonder if the vote for you means, not tolerance, but an endorsement of an undesirable lifestyle"
The room feel into an eerie silence as the unnerved eyes turned to Kennedy whose face was displaying a rather disturbing twitch
"Did I hear you right?" she said in a strikingly even tone, "Did you just advise me to act less gay?"
"Is it an option?"
"Hell no!"
"Like I said, 'glass houses'," Luisa responded calmly, "Let's stick to the issues"
"Awa!" Linda exclaimed in hopes of burring the previous topic as quickly as possible, "She is an 'issue', right? We can talk about her"
"Awa is old news," Marisol shook her head, "Xander's resignation wrapped it all up"
"She still out there"
"Linda's right," Luisa fell silent for a moment, as surprised as the subject that this sequence of words has just escaped her lips, "Assigning blame is not the same as solving a problem. Awa is another massacre just waiting to happen and Buffy is unwilling or unable to bring her in"
"You are making it sound so simple," Kennedy bristled, "Awa is smart. She is hiding in the middle of the jungle which just happens to be around a magic refraction point. Locator spells are useless, satellites are useless..."
"Exactly," Luisa interrupted, "Let Buffy list out the excuses. Let her get bogged down in operational minutia. She'll look dull and defensive, while we take the 'vision and big ideas' high ground. It will also provide a good lead into our main line of attack," she paused for the greater effect and pronounced with as much drama as she could muster, "Dawn"
"Dawn?" Kennedy looked as bewildered as the rest of the group. "What does she have to do with anything?"
"We seek negatives. A mass murdering criminal boss is a negative"
"Awa is a slayer. Dawn is not. Strictly speaking, she had never even been officially employed by the Council, though she certainly meddled a lot. I don't see how we can argue it's Buffy's job to control what she does"
"'Awa' goes to recklessness. 'Dawn' goes to competence. She won't renounce her sister, she's not Stefka. She will admit she's trying to get her back and once she does, it becomes very straightforward. If, despite her best efforts, she is unable to coral her own sister, how can she possibly be trusted to coral the Council?" Luisa flashed her astounded audience a triumphant smile.
"Wow," Linda was the first to respond, "That's going negative alright. Can't get anymore negative than this," she chuckled nervously then leaned over to Kennedy, "We have to find her a boyfriend stat!" she whispered into her girlfriend's ear as the brunette nodded approvingly.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The rail bit uncomfortably into her back as she materialized against the rear wall. The elevator was empty and still. Buffy looked around for the closed panel of the keypad. It was right where she remembered it, a foot off the floor. She pried it open and pressed the lowest button. The steel box shook slightly as if thinking over her request then acquiesced and began the descent. This was the furthest she and Willow got two years ago. Dawn flooded the elevator and the shaft with nitrous oxide knocking them unconscious in half a second. There will be no such greeting this time. All by herself the Slayer is, at most, a nuisance, not a threat; a curiosity, even, or Dawn would have overridden the elevator controls remotely. She should have listened and come alone the first time, too. The forced extraction was an act of desperate stupidity. How long did it sat them back? The only consolation is that if Faith was right then...
The elevator opened and Buffy stepped into the lobby immediately feeling the guns trained on her from the back. She smiled, spread her legs, and lifted her arms perpendicular to her body.
"No need for that," Rooster responded from his seat in front of the bunker door, "Just turn around and ride back up. The boss doesn't want to see you"
"But I want to see her," the Slayer continued smiling, "Looks like we need a tie-breaker. What do you want, Rooster?"
"I want to not piss off the boss"
"And if I get inside, she'll be pissed. Understandable. Though, the only way to stop me would be to shoot me. Somehow I think she'll take it worse. My way at least you get to say you frisked me first"
"Why are you doing this to me, woman?" the gangster groaned
Buffy put down her arms and walked up to his station.
"Let me in there," she said no longer smiling, "I just may be able to solve both of our problems"
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The basement doors screeched along their rails once more. The second clank of the locks followed, sealing her visitor inside. Dawn switched off the monitors and swiveled in her chair to face her sister as Buffy silently made her way across the room, stopping about seven meters away. For almost two minutes she just stood there, saying nothing, doing nothing.
Perhaps we should offer her a drink?
Dawn chuckled, almost nervously. There was something so incongruent about this scene.
"Don't see any restraints. Does that mean we'll be using our words like polite little girls? I do so love your speeches. I am getting a speech, aren't I? I wonder which one is it going to be? A high-minded inspirational 'be all you can be' one or the no-nonsense 'snap back to reality' one?" She paused for a response, but none came, "Seriously? You just going to stand there?"
She doesn't seem to hear you. Perhaps she is not really here.
"Stop it"
Perhaps you are the one not really here.
Dawn roughly thrust herself up from her chair; hands shaking as she clutched at the armrests.
"Say something!" the shrill scream echoed against the concrete; more desperate than angry. Her sister still stood there, silent. Then slowly extended her arms towards the trembling girl, parting them slightly.
"A hug?!" Dawn cackled, "Of course! That will fix everything! All the lying, killing, attempted kidnapping, there's nothing a hug couldn't cure! Hold on, I just got a perfect gift idea for you! It's a bumper sticker, red on white: 'have you hugged a vampire lately?'" she laughed watching her sister's face for a reaction. Buffy remained still, arms parted, watching her sister stumble about with the same expression of care and sadness she had the moment she stepped through the door.
"Except you don't have a car, do you?," Dawn suddenly stopped laughing, "Pathetic. You are pathetic!" she slapped a stack of papers off the end table in Buffy's direction in a sudden fit, "You've got nothing! Nothing you can do, nothing you can say. You are pathetic..," her voice trailed off as she suddenly realized that the distance between them has closed to less than two feet. She tried to step back, but her legs seemed to have lost all feeling. She felt her knees buckle and herself falling. She was caught and her nearly limp body lowered gently to the floor. Her face pressed against Buffy's stomach as her arms grasped weakly around her legs. She thought she heard a muffled sound, like a wail, the fabric of Buffy's shirt felt soaking wet. What is happening to her? Dawn fingernails scraped against the pant legs as she tried to wrestle back control of her body. She had just enough to force herself to look up. Her sister's features were the only thing even barely distinguishable through the watery blanket blinding her. She opened her mouth, but could muster little more than a gurgle.
"Don't speak," Buffy's hand stroked Dawn's hair as she gently pressed her head back against her body, "Just cry," her sister's words sounded low, but clear, "just cry"
She did. For hours, it seemed. She wept until there was no tears left to flow and her sobs turned to cough. Buffy tilted her sisters head back and fed her a bottle of water like a baby, wiping off the tears as she drained the contents.
"It's over. It's all over now. I'm taking you home"
Dawn stared at Buffy then snapped her head back fearfully: the bullet ridden chair was empty. Her eyes lingered there for a moment then moved on, slowly traversing the room. It looked so strange now, empty and fake. Like abandoned scenery from some long forgotten play. Almost on instinct her hand reached out for something, when gentle, yet insistent tug pulled her back.
"No, " Buffy said softly, "there's nothing here you need"
Home. Rome? Dawn tried to picture the beige walls of the Clubhouse. The ornate parquet floors of their apartment. The bell tower of St. Peter's crowning the view from the balcony. The memories were still there, but little more than postcards, opaque and two-dimensional. Rome is just another illusion like this bunker. No, this is Home: the strength and warmth of her sister's hand. Dawn squeezed her fingers just a bit harder. Buffy is real, and, as long as she holds on, she is real, too.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Buffy pulled open the door and guided Dawn out. The welcoming committee was waiting for them as expected. The frozen grin on Yozh's large round face was bordering on a snarl. The expressions of the eight gangsters with electric batons standing behind him were no more promising.
"Look who has dropped in for a visit!" the fat gangster exclaimed taking a step forward. His posse remained in place, but their fists clenched hard in anticipation, "To what do we owe the unexpected pleasure?"
"It is what it look like," Buffy responded calmly, "I'm taking Dawn out of here"
"Wonderful! I've been telling the boss to grab some fresh air for days now. Where do you want to hang? I'll send the boys to secure the location, just in case"
"You know very well what I mean. Dawn is leaving and she is not coming back"
"Like hell she is," the Russian growled. Yozh closed in to within a foot of them, but as menacing as his words were the body language pointed to something other than a fight being the reason.
"No need to be the glass half empty guy," Buffy instinctively pulled Dawn behind her, "She leaves - you get to be the boss"
"I get to be a corpse!" he countered in an angry whisper, "You think I don't know what happens behind those doors? If I wanted to to take over I would have months ago! Jap outnumbers us seven to one. She is the only reason we are still in play even if she is two cherries short of a fruitcake. She can't leave"
"There are a number of ways to handle a superior enemy force, Yozh. Starting a war with an even greater one is not on that list. If I'm not up on the surface with Dawn in the next half hour that's exactly what you'll get. Is that what you want?"
"People without good options tend to make bad decisions," he replied, licking his cracked lips.
"Here," Dawn pushed into Yozh's hand a crumpled piece of paper she's been scribbling on for the last minute, "Payroll account numbers. The last three are Leshii's personal accounts. There's almost seven hundred million there. You can hire a lot of men with that"
"Ones I can trust?"
"I'm sorry"
"I'm not," Buffy forcefully interjected, "You deserve whatever comes to you. Not that Jap doesn't. You can just both shoot the crap out of each for all I care"
"You are all heart," Yozh snorted. He stared at the paper ball in his palm then jammed it into his pocket, "Get these two out of here!" He waved angrily at the guards.
The elevators seemed to take forever, but at last Dawn was walking alongside her sister down the narrow concrete corridor towards the unassuming double doors. It all looked so familiar. Well camouflaged embrasures in the walls, the metal blast doors suspended close to the ceiling – all her latest designs brought to life months ago, yet never seen. She has forgotten the last time she has ascended to the ground floor. The final set of doors flung open and Dawn stopped, wincing at the scattered daylight coming from the overhung clouds. She felt a light tug in her arm as Buffy pulled her in the direction of a gray van parked just beyond the blast perimeter barricades. The door slid open and she climbed inside. Scooted over on the far side of the bench seat was Willow. Dawn opened her mouth, but the greeting stuck in her throat. The witch's lips twitched briefly into a semblance of a smile as she took the girl's hand and pulled her in. Buffy jumped in behind her and slammed the van door shut. Without bothering to sit down she thrust her hand towards Willow. The air wobbled and shimmered and the last image of Moscow left in Dawn's mind was a pair of large black eyes looking sympathetically at her from the rear view mirror.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Jap's quarters were the exact opposite of his enemy's bunker. Taking up the entire seventeenth floor of an old Soviet highrise it was decorated with striking opulence. Tapestry on the walls, Persian rugs on the marble floor. Gilded furniture, golden floor lamps, gold and marble statues. The heavy curtains were drawn, but Yozh could see the gray steel of blast screens peaking through here and there. Understandable. Three years ago the bulletproof glass that used to line this floor was covered in explosive film under the guise of window washing in Dawn's first assassination attempt. When it ripped, everything alive was shredded to pieces except, apparently, for the actual target. Jap was always lucky that way, ever since he became important enough to be worth a hit. He got a third of their crew killed in that 'inauguration'. He got Pushkin killed. Yozh clenched his giant fists harder. The hatred was still there. Fourteen years, hundreds of lackeys and drinking buddies later, he's never made another friend. They were just kids when they met. Already killers, but still kids, still capable of connecting, still able to see people as people, if only on occasion. Now it's just victims or threats.
"Get your shoes off," one of the handlers ordered as they arrived at the final door. Yozh smirked. Plain to see which one he is to Jap. He kicked off his sneakers haphazardly while his guards placed their shoes neatly at the entrance. An outsider could have easily mistaken the two identically dressed hulking gangsters for friends, but they weren't. People like them don't have friends. People like him. The only one of his kind who did was Dawn and that's because hers were all imaginary.
"Is something funny?" Jap addressed the sly smile twisting its way through Yozh's fat lips.
"Just feeling awkwardly underdressed," he answered. Indeed, Yozh's red and blue jogging attire contrasted starkly with his host seated atop of a carved high back chair in a bright white suit.
"I disagree," Jap smirked, "The running getup is quite appropriate"
"I'm not running," Yozh replied smiling wider, "That would be cowardly. I'm bravely surrendering"
The padded walls have cut down on the echo, but laughs were hearty nevertheless. Even the guards allowed themselves a nice chuckle.
"You are a funny man, Yozh, but not a smart one if you think I'll believe you are willing to work for me"
"I never said I would. My guys will. I'm going to retire. There's about seventeen million green ones owed to me from the payroll. I'll collect and enjoy the quiet life"
"Seventeen million," Jap pronounced thoughtfully, "That's a lot of quiet. Especially on top of the seven hundred from Leshii's personal stash"
"No, you get to keep that, too" Yozh answered well prepared for the topic.
"Why so generous?"
"I'm a simple man of simple needs," the fat man answered with a smile, "seventeen million's worth of simple needs and not a cent more"
"I suppose you want some guarantees in return?"
"No promises necessary. Think of it as winning the lottery. And just like the lottery you'll be getting the money in monthly installments over the next thirty years"
Jap leaned back in his ornate chair, folding his thin long fingers into a power pyramid.
"I take it back. You are funny and smart. Not planning on living past the ripe age of sixty?"
"Look at me, man. I've got a heart attack at forty-five written all over my belly"
"Which means I'll only get half of my money. Why wouldn't I take it all now?"
"Because I'm not as smart as the previous owners. I can't remember that many numbers. The list is in the safe at the compound. I'll be happy to give you the combination if you think you can get in. Or out, for that matter"
"I'm not a greedy man, Yozh, just thorough. We have a deal, but there's one thing you need to do first"
"I'm all ears"
"You must kill Dawn Summers"
Yozh stared at Jap trying to process the statement.
"Dawn's in Italy"
"I know. It makes it that much harder for me to get to her. You, on the other hand, she still trusts"
"She's out," the fat man stumbled, "Permanently. Her sister dragged her back to Rome like sack of laundry. She's not coming back. You don't need to worry about her"
"Do not tell me what I need to worry about! Dawn Summers will die. What you need to decide is if you die first!"
"I was with Leshii, you weren't. I've seen what those chicks can do. If I kill the Slayer's sister I'm going to wish I was dead!"
"Don't piss yourself just yet," Jap threw Yozh a small black sphere the size of a ping-pong ball. It felt like one, too, only smoother and slightly warm, "Canned teleportation spell. Crush the ball and it'll bring you right back here"
"They'll find me in a second"
"Of course they will," the thin gangster flashed a brilliant white grin, "That's why once you get here, you'll be arrested, tried, and sentenced to a lifetime of forced labor. Slayers don't kill people; the verdict will be the best they could ask for"
"Sounds great," Yozh scoffed, "Do you want me to bend over now so you can seal the deal?"
"Before you scar me permanently with that mental picture, realize that a rail trip from Moscow to Siberia is not a short one. That the fat man who gets off to chop timber till he croaks isn't necessarily the same one who gets on"
Yozh stared at his rival for a while, but the face opposing him was as blank and as pale as a brand new sheet of paper.
"Pretty elaborate," he spoke at last, "How do I know you won't welch?"
"Because I'm not a simple man of simple needs. I could use the seven hundred million. Even if they come in installments"
Yozh tossed the magic ball in the air a few times, but clarity was not forthcoming.
"I'll need some time to think this over"
"Whatever it is you think," Jap leaned over his desk, the fake friendliness in his voice gradually giving way to open malice, "It is over. But do take as much time as you need to realize it"
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The guards escorted Yozh out while Jap stayed in his chair, still and expressionless. When the footsteps outside the closed door faded completely, raucous applause filled the study. Zemfira clapped her little hands together as hard as she could, little gold bells woven into her long black locks rang in concert with her high pitched, giddy laughter.
"Bravo! Bravo!" she shouted as she stepped out from her hiding place. Jap appeared to not notice her at all. He sat unmoving in his chair, just as he was when his guest departed, staring blankly into the distance.
"Here I was starting to fret I screwed something up and you weren't capable of a proper emotional range, but you proved me wrong, didn't you?" The little vampire hopped onto the desk as she said that, "You just needed a little time to mature, didn't you?" she grinned widely as she playfully poked Jap in the nose with her finger. The gangster kept as he was, silent and unmoving.
"So," Zemfira began as she stretched out her legs and adjusted her bunched up dress. The gold-embroidered red silk piece flowed softly through her gold and ruby ringed fingers, "Do you think he will do it?"
The first non rhetorical question seemed to have snapped Jap out of the stupor. His eyes shifted to Zemfira's smiling face as if he was seeing her for the first time.
"Yozh has few options," he answered, "He knows if he fights he will loose. He knows that if he flees he will be found. Money will not protect him. Whoever he contacts is just as likely to kill him for it as to harbor him. Defecting to the Council won't be any better. They still want him for the massacre in Rome, but this time he has nothing to trade. He'll spend the rest of his life in prison and even there he won't be completely safe. The choice with the most upside is the assassination. If he is reasonably convinced that I won't cheat him he'll do it"
"So you've said already," the witch rolled her eyes, "Hence the canned teleportation spell"
"Yozh will seek to authenticate it"
"I don't mind. It's real. And it really does teleport inside the building. It teleports inside the boiler of the building, but no one can do that level of trace without actually using it"
"Then I suspect he will accept my proposal"
"Good," Zemfira's face grew suddenly cold, "That bitch thinks she can run from me," she hissed through her teeth as she forcefully grabbed Jap's face and pulled him towards, "She can't run. She can't hide. She doesn't get to live. I won't allow it!" The vampire's fingernails dug into the cheek drawing blood, but the man didn't even flinch. She stared at him for a second when a smile returned to her lips just as quickly as it has vanished, "Do you want a treat?" She jumped off the desk and pulled Jap out by his tie, "Do you want a treat, boy?" she giggled pulling him after her, "Who's been a good boy? Who is going to get a nice juicy treat?" She flung open the lower doors of a tall cabinet revealing a mini fridge. She pulled out a large metal bowl and set it on the floor in front of Jap. For the first time since Yozh's departure something bordering on an emotion has crept into his expression. He collapsed to his knees and buried his face in the pile of entrails. Zemfira stood over him with a proud smile as the room filled with muffled growling and chomping while the splatter of blood and flesh were gradually turning the white suit a gory brown.
"Zombies," she pronounced adoringly, scratching Jap behind the ear, "They are so cute!"
1A Russian female name, equivalent of 'Faith'