TITLE: The Mark of Rhekos, Book I
AUTHOR: Wild Pikachu
E-MAIL: wild_pikachu_2k@yahoo.com
SUMMARY: The beginning of an epic tale pitting Buffy and her gang against yet another evil creature bent on destoying the world.
DISCLAIMER: Everything I didn't make up is copyrighted by other people, and this is purely a non-profit venture. I'm writing this becase, as someone (Stephen King, or maybe Isaac Asimov) put it, it's impossible NOT to write it.
The Mark of Rhekos
Book I: The Dagger
1. Chance Encounter
August 15th, 1998
Sunnydale at night. Total absence of that nasty sunlight, plenty of fast food around, nearby Hellmouth. In other words, prime conditions for vampirous kind, who generally responded by emerging en masse from their enclosed resting places and doing various vampirish things, none of which were exactly healthy for those still living. All in all, it was a good time to be a vampire; not so good if you were a vampire hunter, which was why Xander Harris would have vastly preferred hunting them at some other time. High noon, say. But—life wasn't fair, something Xander had figured out by the time other children were just beginning to crawl.
"I can't believe it's been two months," Willow Rosenberg said despondently as she and Xander ambled side-by-side down the dimly lit alleyway; just another night on patrol. She stopped and turned to face him. "I mean, two months, Xander! That's like, eight weeks...sixty-one days..." Her brow furled for a moment. "...fourteen hundred and sixty-four hours..."
"Wow," Xander broke in. "I could never do that in my head."
Willow found herself momentarily knocked off-track. "Oh, it's easy, there's this trick, you just add up— Xander!" she implored, "Where is she?!" No need to mention who she was. If one of the gang said "she" these days, it was a good bet everyone knew who they were referring to.
Xander studied his fingernails. As if they hadn't had this conversation a hundred times already. "I don't know, Wil. Something happened. Something happened and she couldn't deal."
"She could have talked to us."
Xander tried to think of something to say besides the obvious, but there wasn't anything. He looked away. "I guess not."
Willow turned away as well. "I can't believe it's been two months," she repeated as they began walking again.
"I can't believe I miss Cordelia."
Willow laid a sympathetic hand on Xander's arm. "I share in your disbelief," she said helpfully.
Xander scrunched up his face at her. "Hey, if you can date a werewolf, then I can date a—a—"
"—a shallow, conceited and completely self-centered...witch?" Willow supplied.
He pointed at her with the stake he was holding. "Exactly."
At that point, Oz, the werewolf in question, came strolling up from out of the darkness ahead. There wasn't even any moonlight to see by on this night. "Greetings, fellow substitute slayers," he said amicably. "Any undead action hereabouts?"
Xander sniffed. "Nope, nothing. It's been very dead. Un-undead."
"Xander, un-undead would be 'dead,'" Willow commented.
"That's what I said."
Willow just nodded sagely, and patted Xander's arm.
"That doesn't look too safe," Oz said suddenly. His eyes were focused off to his left. The alley branched off where they were standing, and when Xander and Willow followed Oz's gaze they saw a young, slim woman with long brown hair, standing by the open door of her car underneath a single blazing light and talking on a cell phone while trying to steady a large shoulder bag. Then Oz nudged Xander. "Trouble," he said urgently, pointing to a remote corner in deep shadow. Xander caught sight of a large figure moving purposefully towards the woman. A vampire who liked his meals unchallenging, no doubt.
"Showtime," Xander muttered, and began running full tilt towards the car. Halfway there he shouted out, attracting the attention of both the young woman and her would-be assailant. The woman started at the sight of Xander running towards her; the vampire—a hulking creature wearing dull yellow vestments and a large silver medallion around his neck—growled fiercely and began running in a long, lumbering gait for his prey. Xander could tell that he wouldn't get there in time. All he could do was yell, "Look out!" and point. The woman spun around, seemed to freeze at the sight of the monstrous thing bearing down on her, and—at the last instant—dove into the car, pulling the door shut behind her.
The vampire, ready to pounce with arms outstretched, suddenly found himself sailing through empty air, stumbling along the pavement. Xander closed the distance between them, charging headlong into the vampire, reaching out and spinning him around. The undead creature snarled viciously, clearly upset at having his dinner disrupted. With one heave, Xander went flying over the hood of the car. The vampire took one step towards continuing the fight—then stiffened and burst into ash, Oz having plunged his own stake into the monster's back and through his heart.
Xander was just managing to sit up when Willow rushed to his side and bent down beside him. "Are you all right?" she asked, patting his body as if looking for obvious breaks.
Xander took a cautious breath, testing his ribcage. "Oof... Did I mention that I really hate this job?"
"Hey, what's that?"
Xander looked down and saw that clutched in his hands was the vampire's medallion, a six-inch silver plate with an intricate design etched across its surface. "I must have grabbed it when he threw me."
Oz checked on Xander with a glance, then opened the passenger door of the car, where the young woman they had rescued was huddled. "How about you? Are you OK?"
The woman glared at him, dark eyes flashing. "No!" She held out her right forearm, which now featured a long, bloody scratch. "Ow, ow, ow..."
"Ouch," Oz said sympathetically. "We should probably do something about that—"
"Guys," Willow warned, "reinforcements." And to be sure, coming up the alley were three more similarly-clad undead.
"I think what we should probably do is get outta here," Xander suggested. There was no marked dissent; he and Willow piled into the back, while Oz scooted across the hood and hopped into the driver's seat. Moments later, the car screeched off down the alley, trailing vampires in its wake.
As Oz navigated the darkened streets of Sunnydale, the young woman examined her arm critically. "Here." Willow passed her scarf up to her, and she dutifully wrapped it around the injury, making little hissing noises. "Giles should be able to patch that up."
"Giles? Who's Giles?" The woman had a nice voice, Xander noticed. Or it would have been nice if it weren't laced with pain.
"Long story," Xander said. Apparently nobody had a short version.
"So, you guys are like the Neighborhood Watch or something?"
"Even longer story," Oz said. "Library?" he called back to the back.
"Of course," Xander replied. "Does Giles even have a home?" He glanced over at Willow. "That was a rhetorical question. I mean, I know Giles has a home, because, as you know, we've been there... I think I'll just be quiet now."
"Library?" the woman echoed uncertainly.
"Trust us," Willow said earnestly. "It may not always look like it, but we do know what we're doing. Well, most of the time, anyway."
That seemed to calm her down, Xander thought. At least she didn't try to jump out of the car while Oz made his way to Sunnydale High.
***
Far, far below, in a chamber beneath even Sunnydale's labyrinthine sewers and caverns, two immense, robed and hooded figures watched the rescue unfolding on the surface, a silent scene enshrouded in mystical fog against the uneven wall. As the car peeled away, the larger of the two waved a hand, and the image and fog faded away to bare rock.
The two creatures turned to face each other. They might have modeled after humans, except that they were over nine feet tall, had leathery yellow skin, sunken red eyes—and on each domed forehead was raised in miniature a particular intricate design. The heavy robes they wore were also emblazoned with the design, along with markings which, to anyone who could read them (there were none human left alive who could do so) designated their positions as High Priest and Chief Acolyte.
"They failed," the larger one, the High Priest, intoned. "You should not have sent vampires for this."
"There has been no sign of the Slayer—" the Chief Acolyte started to protest. He was silenced by a raised finger.
"The whereabouts of the Slayer are irrelevant. The vampires failed because their appetites eclipsed their intelligence. If what small brains they possessed had been focused upon retrieving the dagger rather than feeding..."
The subordinate dropped to one knee bowed his head sharply. "I humble myself before your greatness, in atonement for my error."
The High Priest waved him upright. "A small error. At the next cycle of the Black Moon the dagger shall call to me again, and you shall atone by retrieving it yourself." The High Priest gazed pensively at the great circular emblem which was carved in the rock wall of the subterranean chamber, and made a sound that might have almost been a laugh. "I have waited four thousand cycles to complete the Circle. I can wait one more." Again he fixed his gaze upon the Chief Acolyte. "But do not fail me again," he warned.
***
Rupert Giles was coming out of his office as the gang escorted their charge through the library doors. He looked up from the musty old volume he was browsing through and peered at the group through his wire-rimmed glasses. "I didn't expect— Well, who's this?"
"A potential victim, saved by yours truly," Xander declared. "Well, with a little help," he added, glancing guiltily at his colleagues.
"Just a little," Willow agreed.
"Yes, I'd gathered that," Giles said. "I was rather hoping for an introduction."
"Oh!" Xander looked at a loss. "Ah, we were so busy fighting bad guys, we sort of skipped the how-do-you-do part. I'm Xander," he told the young woman, then pointed out the other members of the gang in turn. "Willow, Oz, and this is Giles."
"Rupert Giles," Giles supplied, stepping forward and extending his hand. "Very pleased to meet you, Miss...?"
The young woman held out her wounded arm. "Halliwell," she replied. "Piper Halliwell."
"Miss Halliwell." Giles' welcoming smile disappeared as his eyes dropped to the bloodstained scarf. "You're injured."
"Well, we thought with you being Versatility Guy..." Xander began.
"Of course," Giles broke in. "There's a first aid kit in my office; I'll just be a moment. Please, sit down." And with that he hurried off.
While Oz gracefully pulled out a chair for Piper, Willow nudged Xander in the ribs. "Versatility Guy?" she echoed dubiously. Xander shrugged.
In no time at all Giles had emerged with a ubiquitous white box, from which he retrieved everything necessary to minister to his patient. "Now, this may sting a bit," he warned before applying an alcohol-soaked cloth to her scratch.
Piper sucked in her breath and gritted her teeth, but kept her arm still. "She is going to be so dead when I get back," she hissed to herself.
Oz raised an eyebrow. "'She?'"
"My sister," she clarified. She glanced around the table. "My sister, she arranges exhibits at a museum in San Francisco—that's where I'm from," she explained.
"'Frisco, huh?" Xander broke in with a loopy grin. "Big city, Golden Gate..." He faltered as everyone's attention shifted to him. "Uh, nevermind..." he trailed off.
"Anyway," Piper continued after a moment, "Prue—my sister—she couldn't get this one little thing delivered. 'Piper, you're not doing anything tonight, would you mind driving down the coast and picking up this little thing for me?'" she mimicked with a scowl. "As if I don't have a life—I mean, just because I happen not to have a date one night..." Suddenly her eyes widened and she looked around wildly. "Where's my bag? If I lost it, Prue's going to kill me!"
"It's right here," Willow assured her, lifting Piper's bag onto the table.
Piper rummaged through the bag with her free hand and pulled out a gleaming, sheathed silver dagger. Both the hilt and the sheath were covered with intricate etchings. "Thank God," she breathed.
At the sight of the dagger, Giles' eyes lit up. "May I?" he asked delicately, holding out his hand.
"It's all right," Willow commented, as Piper handed over the dagger. "Giles has a morbid fascination with all things ancient."
"Willow, please," Giles reproved, peering closely at the glittering metal. "There's nothing morbid about my studies." He pulled the blade partway out of its sheath and examined it carefully. "This is a remarkable artifact," he murmured. "These markings...they're similar to early Sumerian...but this is much more sophisticated..."
"Look, I don't mean to sound ungrateful, because I'm not, really," Piper said wearily, "but it's getting late, and I really just want to get home."
Giles looked up at her abruptly, embarrassment shadowing his face. "Of course, I'm so sorry," he apologized profusely. He gazed down longingly at the dagger in his hands. "Would you mind terribly if I took a few photographs to study?"
Piper managed a small smile. "Sure, it can't hurt," she assented.
"Thank you ever, ever so much. This is the highlight of my entire evening." And with that he set the dagger down on the table and fairly flew into his office.
"And, sadly, he means that," Xander commented.
"It's all right," Piper smiled. "When you have a sister who goes ga-ga over a pre-Columbian whatever, you understand these things."
Giles emerged holding an instant camera aloft, and in short order a small pile of snapshots appeared. When he was finished, he wrapped up the dagger in a black velvet cloth and handed it solemnly to Piper, who tucked it safely away in her bag.
"Well," she said, standing up. "I really want to thank you...for this," she indicated her bandaged arm, "and for what you did back there..."
"Aw, pshaw," Willow said with an exaggerated wave of the hand.
"Right," Xander chipped in. "It's not like we have lives either. I mean—I didn't mean to say that you don't have—that is..." He waved his hands helplessly. "I have no idea what I mean."
Piper stopped him with a warm smile. "Thank you," she said.
"Ah...right. Anytime." Xander half-saluted—a comical gesture—and stepped briskly out of the way.
Oz rose smoothly from his seat. "I'll walk you out," he said. "Make sure nothing happens in the parking lot." He held the swinging door open for Piper, and they were gone.
Willow watched them go, then turned back to talk to Giles; but when she looked, she found that he had already produced a magnifying glass from somewhere and was studying the photographs with a singular attentiveness. "Uh, Giles, I think we should talk about those vampires..." she ventured.
"Vampires?" Giles asked absently. "Oh—I think you've done quite enough for one evening. Why don't you go home, take the rest of the night off," he added distantly, without tearing his eyes from his new object of study.
"But—" But Willow could tell that she wasn't going to get anywhere, and a moment later Giles was gone anyway, rushing off towards the stacks and muttering to himself.
Xander looked at her. "I think I heard the magic words, 'take the rest of the night off'." Then, suddenly remembering, he held up the medallion he was still holding. "Hey, what about this?" he asked.
Willow shook her head. "I guess we'll have to tell him tomorrow," she said. Then she brightened. "Look at it this way: when we show him that, we'll be highlighting a whole new evening for him." She plucked the ornament from his hand, went around behind the checkout counter, and stashed it in one of the cardboard boxes sitting on the floor under the counter. "There, now it's safe till tomorrow."
***
The roadside sign said Leaving Sunnydale—Come Again. That was a suggestion Piper had no intention of following, however. She didn't think it had anything to do with almost being mugged, either—there were plenty of places in San Francisco where she could get almost mugged any night of the week. And there had been those nice, if slightly weird, kids, and that equally nice, if quirky, librarian, who apparently doubled as a nurse, or a camp counselor, or something. But there was just something about the whole town—something she couldn't put her finger on—that felt...well, creepy. And if there was anything that wasn't on Piper's agenda, creepy was it. She was just a nice, normal girl looking for a nice, normal guy to do nice, normal things with. She wasn't impulsive and adventuresome like Pheobe, or focused and driven like Prue; she was just...normal. Middle of the road.
Struck by a passing thought, Piper dug her cell phone out of her bag and managed to dial without taking her eyes off the darkened road. She was rewarded with two rings and a click. "Hi! This is Phoebe's machine," the tiny voice in her ear said. "Phoebe's not here right now, but I'm lonely, so talk to me instead, OK?" Beep.
"Pheobe, are you there?" Piper waited a few seconds in vain. "Pheobe, where are you? It's—" she checked her watch— "after midnight in New York! Look, call me on my cell when you get this. I'm going to be on the road for a few hours—and don't ask!" she added irritably. "I just...I haven't heard from you for a couple days, and I get worried about you. Besides, I could use a sisterly voice right now." She snapped the phone shut and was about to put it away when she remembered that she hadn't called Prue yet. And here she was over five hours late. She must be worried sick. Piper dialed home, and waited for five rings before remembering that they hadn't gotten a new answering machine yet, after their old one had had an accidental meeting with the floor. I hope she's not going frantic, checking the hospitals, or the police station, or... Or something less dire. She dredged up Prue's work number from the depths of her memory.
The phone on Prue's desk rang three times before a passing, slightly inebriated blonde noticed and picked it up. "H'lo?"
Piper started at the unfamiliar voice. "I'm sorry," she said slowly. "I was—"
But before Piper could finish that sentence, Prue snatched the handset. "Hello?"
Piper shook her head. "Prue?"
"Piper? Piper! Did you get the thing?"
Piper's eyes narrowed. "What's going on up there?" she asked suspiciously.
Prue took a champagne glass from a passing tray and set it down on her desk. "Oh, nothing," she replied lightly. "Just, you know, getting some work done?"
But Piper was paying more attention to the noise in the background. "Are you having a party?!"
"Not a party, a function," Prue clarified.
"The difference being?!" Piper demanded.
"Better food." Prue studied the hors d'oeuvre she had just snagged. "I think."
"You sent me all the way down here so you could go to a party!" Piper accused.
"A function," Prue corrected her. "Besides, it was work—I had to." A note of concern crept into her voice. "You did get the dagger, didn't you?"
Piper lowered the phone, sucked in her breath, and concentrated on counting to five slowly. "Yes, I got the dagger," she finally said. "The address you gave me was all wrong, and I had to wander around town all afternoon to find the right place, and I had to wait for them to dig it out of some old warehouse, and then I got attacked by some goons, and got my arm cut up—but I got it."
Prue shook her head. "What?"
Piper sighed. "You know what—nevermind. I am not going to spend all night driving. I am going to find some nice motel along the road, and I will see you tomorrow afternoon. Have fun at your party."
"But—"
"Goodnight, Prue." Piper snapped the phone shut and tossed it aside. She let out a rude, exasperated sound and focused on the road, eyes glaring and hands tightly gripping the wheel.
***
Willow was lying on her bed, absorbed in a purloined copy of next year's algebra book, when her phone rang. Thinking that it must be Oz calling, she grinned as she rolled over and picked it up. But instead—
"Willow, I'm terribly sorry to be ringing so late," Giles' voice came through. "I'm at the airport. I'm about to get on a flight to Las Vegas."
Willow's eyebrows rose. "Got the urge for a little midnight gambling?" she ventured.
"Of course not; don't be silly," Giles replied severely. "One of my sources reported a melee there a few hours ago in which a young woman beat up four, possibly five street thugs."
Willow sat up on the edge of the bed suddenly. "Buffy?"
"It's possible—the 'victims' did report their assailant to be small, blonde, and very strong. I believe it's worth checking out."
"Well, you just get right on that plane and go find that small blonde thug-beater," Willow commanded.
"Just tell the others that I'll be out of town for a day or so, will you?"
"The library is closed. I'll pass it along," Willow replied smartly. "And...you'll call, right? Whatever it is?"
"Yes, of course. Do try to keep Xander out of trouble, would you?"
"I'll try," Willow promised.
"I have to go now. Wish me luck." The connection died with a click.
"Good luck," Willow said wistfully into the dead phone. It was fully five seconds after she replaced the handset that she gasped, "Oh!" Vampires. Funny yellow costumes. Little round silver thing. Well—Buffy was more important than all that, anyway. She'd just have to remember to tell Giles all about it when he got back.
***
It was almost two-thirty the next afternoon when Piper pulled up in front of the Manor. And, as she expected, Prue was ready to pounce the moment she walked through the door.
"So, where is it?" Prue asked anxiously, rushing up to her.
Piper glared at her. "'Hey, Piper, how are you?' 'Well, I've been better.' 'How was the trip?' 'Except for the part about wandering around a strange town and then getting mugged, it was just dandy.' 'Gee, Piper, I'm really sorry that I almost got you killed so I could go to a party at work.'"
Prue squeezed her eyes shut and sighed. "I am sorry, Piper, but if I don't get this exhibit absolutely perfect by Monday morning, I can kiss my career goodbye."
"Fine, fine," Piper groused, digging around in her bag. She pulled out the cloth-covered dagger and held it out. "Here."
But that was when Prue noticed Piper's bandaged arm, and grabbed it instead. "What happened?!"
Piper rolled her eyes briefly. "I was mugged. I swear I told you."
Prue looked up, distressed. "Oh, Piper—I'm really sorry," she repeated, sincerely this time. Impulsively she hugged her sister.
Piper gently disengaged herself. "It's just a scratch, really," she insisted diplomatically. She found Prue's hand and pressed the dagger into it. "I'm sure there's a shiny glass case waiting for this."
Prue had taken two steps toward the door when she stopped and turned back, torn. "Oh, but—"
"Oh, go, go," Piper waved her on. "I am going to go upstairs, take a long, hot bath, and forget that Sunnydale exists."
"Great!" With her temporary guilt assuaged, Prue breezed out the door. "Don't wait up!" he voice came floating back.
"Of course," Piper muttered, trudging up the stairs.
Prue trotted out to the driveway, tossed her purse and then herself in her car, and pulled out at just under the speed needed to leave tire marks. As she sped off, she had no eyes for anything around her, and no thoughts for anything but making the Ancient Cults exhibit perfect enough to be noticed by the higher-ups at the museum.
Not that she would have noticed she was being watched anyway.
***
Giles called Willow the next day to report that he hadn't found Buffy, just a small, blonde drug dealer who had ingested an unhealthy dose of PCP. Oz called immediately after that, and spent the whole next day distracting her from her surreptitious work on next year's assignments. By the time anyone got back into the library, those cardboard boxes under the checkout counter—which contained old attendance records—had been moved by the custodian to the basement. Xander spent the whole weekend pining after Cordelia, of course. And the gang spent the whole next week getting rid of a vampire nest that had sprung up in an abandoned cookie factory. So in retrospect, it really wasn't Willow's fault that they lost so much time in what would eventually become the most crucial race of all.
At least, that's what she tried to tell herself later on.