Chapter 3

The Gall'uth Dimension, Year 7 after the Deliverance

Tom Deary had been sleeping uneasily of late. Once again now, he lay in bed, tossing and turning and thinking of that terrible afternoon three days ago.

He had been two miles outside the village, working the quarries, when he heard the screams. His wife would tell him later that three powerful Tarantu demons had invaded the village. Ordinarily, they ruled the mountains, but they, like everyone in Gall'uth, were tools of the gods' will. So they came, twice every year, to let the villagers know their place by making them watch as the Tarantu dined on one of their children.

No one had tried to fight the Tarantu in a long time now. They were too strong – all those who had tried to resist, had died. Once the Tarantu had their sights set on one of the children, the others left it to its fate. There was nothing to be done except to turn away and ask for deliverance.

On that afternoon, the Tarantu had chosen their prey: Tom's son Stephen, the infant he had found in the forest, now grown into a healthy boy of five. Tom's wife had left Stephen to play in the road, and had not heard the Tarantu approach in time.

Grief-stricken, the villagers had turned away and prayed the Tarantu would leave enough of the boy for a decent burial.

But this time was different. When the villagers turned to face the street again, the Tarantu were dead and the boy was alive.

Tom Deary had never told his wife that he had found Stephen in the dreaded clearing, or that he believed him to have come from a place far outside their knowledge or understanding. Now, that belief was robbing him of another night's rest.

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The first thing she became conscious of was the pain. The reason for her pain was recent, she remembered, but she still couldn't seem to think of a time when it hadn't been there. Slowly, she tried to piece her memories together.

There had been fire. Locked doors. No way to escape. She couldn't help a low whimper escaping her as the memories came shooting back. She tried to get more comfortable, but even the slightest movement created more agonizing pain in every part of her body.

She carefully opened her eyes by a fraction of an inch. With a jolt, she realized the charred hand lying next to her on the floor was her own.

Dear boy.

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Buffy spun around on her heels and took another run at the vampire. She got ready to aim a kick at him, but before she could get into position, she felt his fist hit her face. Cursing herself for her lack of focus, she prepared to go on the attack again. Her first patrol back in Sunnydale wasn't off to a great start, she thought.

Suddenly, she saw a pale blur leap over some nearby construction equipment, grab the vampire from behind and knock him to the ground. A second later, the vampire exploded in a cloud of dust.

"Spike! Why the hell did you do that?"

He grinned at her nonchalantly. "Not for money, if that's what you're thinking. Your heartfelt gratitude's plenty. I expect I'll be getting that any moment."

"Gratitude? For getting in my way?"

"Getting in your way? I saved you!"

"I was regrouping."

"You were about to be regrouped into separate piles. You needed help."

"I didn't need you. I never need you, Spike."

She tried to walk off and salvage what was left of patrol, but he followed, undeterred.

"Oh, I get it. You just don't like who did the rescuing, that's all. Heard you went to L.A. to see Captain Forehead, but it was a mighty short visit. Isn't it time you left that bundle of neuroses behind?"

"You and I talking about Angel is not a thing, alright?"

"Hit a sore spot, have I?"

"Remind me why I'm still talking to you?"

"How about, because I saved your pals from being smashed by a honking big troll thing while you were off gallivanting?"

"Yeah, well…" Not being able to think of an appropriately stinging reply, Buffy broke off in mid-sentence and they walked the cemetery in silence for several minutes.

After a while, Buffy looked up, to find that Spike was looking her up and down carefully. Feeling flustered, she finally broke the silence.

"Look, if you want to be helpful, eat some of those Watchers' Council guys. Even with your chip, those shouldn't be a problem."

"What are you talking about?"

"Some of Giles' former watcher buddies are in town to…" Air quotes. "Evaluate my methods."

She huffed. "They have something that could help us with Glory, some sort of information. But they won't hand it over unless I play by their rules."

"So? You've been The Apt Slayer, haven't you? Offing vamps left and right?"

"Not really. I didn't like their methods. They fired Giles for not playing along with this cruel test they make slayers go through when they turn 18. And then, when Faith poisoned Angel, they could have helped him, but they refused. So I quit the council."

"You mean I could be shot of that ponce as far as they were concerned?" His lip curled in amusement. "No deal on partying with the watchers, slayer. You're on your own with this one."

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As Gunn scanned the lobby, he thought to himself that the party couldn't have been going any better. Several former and a few prospective clients had come to the Hyperion at Wesley's invitation, to celebrate the de facto resurrection of Angel Investigations.

What was more, Angel was clearly miserable, which had been part of the point. Gunn, Wesley and Cordelia had agreed they would take him back on board despite the way he had treated them, as long as he agreed Wesley was in charge from now on. And as long as he agreed to spend at least two hours at the party.

Now, Angel was sitting in the darkest corner of the lobby, trying hard to blend into the wall. Gunn had just decided to stroll over and add to Angel's discomfort by trying to get him to dance, when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

There was a small door in the corner of the lobby that led to the laundry and boiler rooms. Gunn remembered locking it just before the party, but now it was open by a fraction of an inch, and someone – or something – on the other side was peering out at the guests.

Gunn checked his pockets to make sure he was armed. He found a small knife and a stake. It would have to do.

When he looked up again, the door had closed.

Gunn looked around and waited until he was sure no one was watching him. Best not to attract attention until he was sure there was reason to worry. Finally, he found his moment and slipped quickly through the door.

On the other side, the corridor leading to the boiler room was in complete darkness. As quietly as he could, Gunn slid along the wall. Suddenly, he stopped short. There was someone at the end of the corridor.

Gunn's eyes were still getting used to the darkness, but he knew the other person was looking at him. Through the window at the back of the corridor, the merest sliver of moonlight fell on the intruder's face. It was not a face Gunn recognized, but whoever it belonged to, it was horribly disfigured; its features rendered nearly inhuman by severe burns.

"Who are you?"

No response.

"Look, I'm not a guy with a lot of patience, and I'm definitely armed and dangerous. What do you want?"

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Buffy, Willow, Xander, Tara, Anya and Giles were assembled around the table at the center of the Magic Box.

"That was quite the speech you gave, Buffster," said Xander, smiling broadly.

"I'll say! Take that, evil… or, ya know, obnoxious watcher guys," Willow added. Tara shot her an affectionate glance.

"I don't know." Buffy frowned. "I mean, I'm glad we got the information we needed, and that they've left. But really, guys, this is bad."

Giles cleaned his glasses thoughtfully. "We certainly… find ourselves with a bit of a problem on our hands."

"You mean the whole 'God from a hell dimension' thing? Surely, the tried-and-true research-slayage combination won't fail us now?" Xander asked, hopefully.

Anya nodded emphatically. "Also, I think we're much better off already now they're gone. I really didn't like the look of that woman with the glasses and the strange bun on her head. I think she might have summoned me once when she was 16."

Ignoring Anya, Giles went on, "I don't know… if the council doesn't know a sure way of defeating Glory, I don't see how we can find one."

"Isn't it possible they're still just withholding information? Maybe if Buffy went after them again with that broadsword…" Willow threw in.

Buffy smiled weakly in response. "I doubt it. They know we're in the same fight. In the end, withholding information isn't in their interest."

Xander nodded thoughtfully. "So what's our next step?"

"Keeping Dawn safe. At least I know how to make that happen… for a while."

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Gunn took a step forward, but not quickly enough. Before he knew what had happened, the intruder had jumped on a shelf next to the window, and from there outside.

Gunn prepared to follow, but before he could pull himself up to the window, he slipped and fell onto something soft. With a thrill of horror, he saw that he was sitting in a pool of blood.

He had fallen over a body. Gunn braced himself and looked around. The body was that of a young woman, maybe 20 years old. He had seen her at the party – he couldn't recall her name, but he remembered Cordelia had pointed her out because she bore an uncanny resemblance to Angel's ex-girlfriend, Buffy. Angel had noticed it too – Gunn had seen him staring at the girl openly several times.

Gunn stood up and scanned the area around the body. He swallowed hard.

On the wall, a message had been written in the girl's blood. It read: "She's next."

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The assembled Scooby Gang looked up from their books as the chimes at the front door of the Magic Box clanged wildly and Spike rushed in the front door.

"Where's the slayer?"

No response.

"What? Have you all gone stone deaf?"

"It's just… you don't usually use the front door to get into the shop," Tara explained.

Anya frowned in dislike. "Yes! Don't think I haven't noticed you pawing the merchandise downstairs when you think no one's there."

"Look, never mind that now. Where's Buffy? I need to talk to her."

"What about?"

Spike sighed in exasperation. "I saw this Glory chick striding down the street as happy as you please, not too far from her house."

"That's old news," Xander said. "Glory went to Buffy's house and made some threats, but she didn't hurt anyone."

Spike shifted in embarrassment. "Well, anyway, I wanted to see if the slayer needs me to take care of the little bit for a while, make sure she's alright."

Giles' frown deepened. "Look, I'm sure your motives are very noble and all that, but you're too late." "Yeah, Buffy's gone to L.A. with Dawn and her mother," Xander chimed in. Giles shot him a scathing look.

Spike huffed angrily, turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door as he went and sending the chimes tinkling hysterically.

"Xander, I do wish you'd think occasionally before opening your mouth. Do the words 'secret escape' mean anything to you?"

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Angel played absentmindedly with a jasmine blossom as he looked around the courtyard outside the Hyperion, trying to clear his mind. It was no more than an hour ago that Gunn had rushed into the lobby and told everyone to go home.

The moment he had seen the body, it was absolutely clear to him who was responsible: Darla. They had spent 150 years together, sharing every kill, every danger – he could never mistake her work for anyone else's.

And yet, it was impossible. He had seen that building go up in flames. He kicked himself inwardly for not checking the perimeter afterwards to make sure Darla and Drusilla hadn't escaped.

What was more, he wasn't sure how to approach the subject with Wes, Cordelia and Gunn. They had only just begun to rebuild their friendships with him, and if they thought he had resumed his obsession with Darla, he might lose them again.

His head jerked up when he heard a leaf rustle behind him in the courtyard. For one second, he was torn between fearing and hoping that when he turned around, he would see Darla as he had first seen her – wearing a beautiful French dress, her hair curled and piled high on top of her delicate head.

But before he had braced himself to face her, a completely unexpected, wonderfully familiar voice sounded behind him. "Angel. We need your help."

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"She came to our home, Angel. Glory. She figured out where we live. She saw Dawn. I needed to get her out of there and find a place to regroup. Figure out what to do next."

Buffy and Angel retreated to Wesley's office for privacy and were now talking over a cup of tea while Dawn and Joyce settled in upstairs. Angel reached across the table and took Buffy's hand.

"Don't worry. You can stay here as long as you like. We'll figure this out together."

Buffy hesitated briefly, but decided not to withdraw her hand. "I told Giles we were going, and he said he'd cover for me on the slayage front. But I still haven't figured out what the hell to tell Dawn. She must be pretty confused."

"You'll have to tell her eventually, Buffy. She has to know what she is so she'll be ready if the worst happens and Glory finds her."

"I won't let that happen."

"Buffy, we'll protect her as well as we can, but we can't all cluster around her 24/7. At least not unless you tell her the truth."

"That she's not my sister at all? That she's a ball of cosmic energy turned into human form by a bunch of monks and that a god from a hell dimension is after her to unlock a portal and start the apocalypse? Yeah, that'll go over well."

If there's one thing we all know about Darla, it's that she just won't stay dead. Anyway, a factory explosion is hardly a fitting way for her to go.