Chapter Seven
Charing Cross Road, London
Late afternoon the following day
Xander pushed open the door of the small, unremarkable office building and walked in, Cordelia at his side. "This can't be right," he sighed, eyeing the cold, austere workspace. "No old guys with Watcher decoder rings and Sherlock Holmes hats--and no books. This can't be Headquarters without books, full of Latin and yellow paper and cute little demon portraits. Are you sure Wesley gave us the right address?"
"I'm sure," she replied. "And this is it." Eyes narrowed, she took a much longer look at the room than he had, then headed determinedly around the single desk and chair to the back corner of the room and its only other door.
She looked tired, and too pale. "You okay?"
Cordelia shrugged. "Who sleeps on planes? Ruins the hair." She tried the door, knocking loudly when she found it locked.
They waited a long, silent moment. Xander wondered how many bones he'd break if he tried to kick the door in. They didn't teach that at the gym. The silence stretched on, until he reached around Cordelia and pounded on the door again. They didn't have time for this.
"We don't have time for this," Cordelia breathed, when the door abruptly opened and a tall, slim brunette walked through.
"May I help--"
"It's about time," Cordelia interrupted. "We need to see the Council."
"I'm afraid there's no council here," the brunette blinked, closing the door behind her, but Completely Clueless didn't suit her. Xander stepped in her way when she would have tried to lead them away from the door.
"We're in the middle of your basic, Slayer-saves-the-world-again emergency, so now would be good," he insisted.
The brunette shrugged. "I am sorry, but you must have the wrong--"
"Did we mention the part about saving the world?" Cordelia backed her into the door, somehow managing to loom over the taller woman. "You work for the Council," she continued evenly. "We work with the Slayer. Guess who kicks more ass? Now open the door."
The brunette blinked again and tried one more time, but Cordelia had obviously had enough. She frisked the girl, pulled a set of keys out of her sweater pocket, and pushed her out of the way.
Xander grinned. "LA obviously agrees with you."
"Auditions," she shot wryly over her shoulder. "Once you've been through a few of those, slaying is almost easy."
Cordelia had found the right key. They followed the small, cramped hallway, took the small, cramped stairs up a flight, turned the corner, and there it was--the huge room with the tall ceilings and the tall windows and the tall shelves filled floor to ceiling, wall to wall, with books.
"This is more like it," Xander nodded. "Except I really thought they'd all have those hats." Regardless, this was obviously the Watchers Council: eight older, stodgy men scattered around the room, lots of pipes, lots of tweed, and a tea set on the low, center table.
The grey-haired man standing in the back corner hung up the phone he'd been holding. "The keys you took from Miss Falkes, please," he said quietly.
Cordelia lobbed them clattering onto the tea tray.
"Now," he continued sternly, "we have rules on this side of the Atlantic, and one does not simply barge into the Council. If you'll be so kind as to take yourselves out the same way you--"
"Looks like Buffy wins," Xander sighed.
"Color me so surprized." Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Wesley never should have taken the bet."
Xander smiled at the room full of useless old men. "Buffy said you'd be a waste of time," he confided, "but Wesley thought if we were actually here, in full, technicolor glory, that you just might understand this is an All Hands to Battle Stations, Romulans Uncloaking Off the Port Bow, Red Alert."
"The only thing they could agree on," Cordelia added, "was that you should be warned."
Gray Hair harrumphed, the rest started muttering, and Cordelia pulled an envelope out of her purse and tossed it, too, at the tea set.
"Your receipt," she informed them. "For the private plane we chartered. I had them bill you. Or maybe you think you can stop Dracula all by yourselves when he opens a Hellmouth in Edinburgh. Last time I checked, that was on this side of the Atlantic--right, Xander?"
"Unless it got moved the last time somebody threatened to destroy the world," Xander cheerfully nodded.
That got their full attention and, for a moment, silence. Then as if some huge invisible flag had dropped they all started arguing at once. Xander looked at Cordelia, they both looked at their watches, and simultaneously they knocked twice on the nearest bookshelf, the short raps cutting through everything.
"Battle stations, Dracula, Red Alert," Xander reminded them. "We don't have a lot of time here."
"A Hellmouth in Edinburgh?" Grey Hair sputtered. "How reliable is your information?"
"I saw the ritual myself," Cordelia coolly replied. "The Powers That Be may be blue Wonder Twins, but the visions they've sent me have never been wrong."
Grey Hair raised a skeptical eyebrow. "A Hellmouth can't be opened by a simple ritual."
"How reliable is your information?" Cordelia calmly, confidently parroted.
A small, professor-type with a kinder face than Grey Hair stepped forward. "What did you see, Cordelia--it is Cordelia Chase, is it not? And--you would be Xander Harris?"
They both stared at the little man, and Xander decided that anywhere else, he would probably like this guy. Except he really didn't like the thought that the Council had abandoned them, but was still keeping an eye on them anyway--on all of them.
"We're not here to help you fill up more Watchers' diaries," Cordelia finally replied, pointedly ignoring the Professor's attempt to confirm their names. "So crack open a book or two and spill. What can you tell us about opening a Hellmouth?"
"Very well," the Professor nodded. "As you might expect, opening a Hellmouth requires an enormous amount of power, far more than opening any other portal of any kind, especially if one hopes to hold the Hellmouth permanently. I imagine Vlad the Third Dracula would be one of the few vampires capable of wielding such power. However, there must also be a rather precise ritual and a rather precise lunar alignment, centered on the location in question, to focus the powers and force the portal through. As well as some kind of trigger to get everything started, of course."
"A trigger?" Cordelia pressed, eyes narrowed.
"To initiate this kind of event," the Professor continued, "Dracula would have to obtain one of three ancient amulets, each capable of triggering such power once they themselves are roused through ritual sacrifice. But the Amulet of Adesina was lost in the ash when Pompeii was destroyed and the Rhothos Amulet, which cracked when it was used to open the Sunnydale Hellmouth, is in fact securely locked in one of the Council's vaults. As for the Eshkondan, it's become more myth than reality--only a handful of confirmed references, and the last was during the First Crusade. If it ever existed, it was lost nearly a thousand years ago."
Cordelia tensed. "Was it a small jewel--kind of colorless--on a silver chain?"
"How did you know it was a jewel?" the Professor gasped, as all eight men went completely still. "No one outside this room knows the Eshkondan was a jewel--dear Lord, are you saying Dracula has actually assembled all these elements?"
"He has a new moon in Edinburgh," Cordelia softly replied, rubbing at her temples, "but Wesley was still researching what might be unique about this particular lunar cycle when we left. He has a small jewel on a silver chain. And he has Giles for a sacrifice. I think that covers all his bases."
"He has Giles?" A third man stepped angrily forward. "Dracula has Rupert Giles? Precisely how did the Slayer allow that to happen? Stupid girl--I toldyouwe--"
One minute Xander was standing there, and the next something had snapped deep inside and he was stepping up and swinging, hard, knocking the man head over heels into the center table and splattering tea and silver all over the floor.
Cordelia laid a calming hand on his shoulder. "Chatting was fun, we should do this again some time. When we aren't so busy with this whole slaying thing."
She tugged on his arm and turned to leave, and Xander was right behind her. He was terrified for Giles, for Anya, for them all--he was furious for Willow and Riley and for Buffy and the Council's ignorant shortsightedness--but for the first time in his life, what he didn't feel was helpless. Cordelia was right: they had work to do.
Tailors Hall Hotel, Edinburgh
Just past twilight
Buffy leaned on the sill and stared out the hotel window as the lowering darkness blanketed the streets of Edinburgh. Scotland. She was actually in Scotland. Castles, kilts, whiskey, that killer accent. It was beautiful, and exciting, and the most intriguing place she'd ever been. Except none of that really mattered, did it? This could be any room, any building, any street. Because she was only here to slay vampires and save her Watcher and a happily unsuspecting Great Britain. Because she was only here to work.
Buffy turned, ignoring her own half-eaten sandwich to watch everyone else finish their meal.
She couldn't believe Willow had talked her into letting her come. But there she sat, pale, tired, determined, the bandages still visible at her neck, the bruises still livid across her face. And her fingers flying across the keyboard of Giles' laptop, searching for any scrap of information that might help. She should be home in bed--anywhere warm and safe. Not here. Buffy wished she'd been able to say no. But the Slayer needed everyone, and Buffy's best friend Willow needed desperately not to feel like a victim. Buffy could only hope she wouldn't have to put Willow's frail strength to the test.
Oz sat next to her at the table, eyes intent on the screen, somehow managing to hover protectively without making a jumpy Willow feel crowded. Oz reached to tap at a few keys, then without missing a beat pressed the other half of Willow's sandwich back into her hand. When Willow flashed a smile of thanks to him, Buffy had to work hard not to tear something apart.
Tara had better be in hell, she thought grimly. And counting her lucky stars that she'd died before Buffy could get her hands on her.
Aspell. All of it--the whole relationship, the whole time--just some miserable spell. And for what? Buffy would have given a lot to know the how's and why's of Tara's insinuating herself into their lives and Willow's bed, especially considering the timing of all the attacks. But on the other hand, she wasn't sure she could have held back long enough to ask Tara any questions if she'd had that soft little neck in her hands.
No--make that definitely no--she wouldn't have.
God, she'd been so stupid, so concerned with alienating her best friend that she'd accepted her sudden change in sexuality without one single, solitary word. She'd been eager to accept Riley's Initiative, too, and look where thatgullible moment had gotten her. Note to self, Buffy thought sourly: always look for ulterior motives and/or dark magic when someone new comes into the group and doesn't run screaming as soon as they learn the truth.
The Edinburgh phone book thunked closed onto the table and Wesley scribbled a few more numbers before closing his own laptop and reaching for the last of his dinner. She was still having a hard time accepting the changes in Wesley. He reminded her of Giles now--confident, knowledgeable, focused--and while she was grateful for his help, the resemblance to her Watcher and to her friend only managed to serve that much more sharply as a reminder of his absence.
Which she really didn't need.
Angel stood, stepping out of the shadows now that the last rays of sunlight no longer touched the room. "Buffy?" he prompted softly.
She nodded. "Research Time is up. Anything, Will?"
"Giles doesn't have anything more than the Council did on the ritual to open a Hellmouth," Willow grimaced, "but the amulet Cordelia saw in her vision was in Giles' collection. His family has owned it for over four hundred years, actually, but I guess they never knew it was the Eshkondan. When we catalogued the collection this summer, we pegged it as either Zion's Gem or the Gem of Myka's Sorrow. The only description Giles had of the Eshkondan didn't mention it was a jewel, which is probably why he never knew. Dracula must have stolen it when he took Giles."
"Then he must have known Giles had it," Buffy scowled. "How?"
Wesley cleared his throat. "Did Tara help you catalog the collection, Willow?"
"Of course she--" Willow's jaw dropped.
Buffy stiffened in furious shock. "Tara was with us for over a year," she hissed. "Are you saying she was passing information on us that entire time? She knew everything--which means so could any demon or vamp in the world by now!"
"No, not anydemon or vampire. Just Dracula." Wesley tapped his laptop. "A Council database I was able to access includes mention of a Taras Basarab, who also showed up in Romanian phone listings as well as a European tabloid or two. The House of Basarab was Vlad the Third Dracula's line, through his younger brother, Radu. The older brother, Mircea, was assassinated, and it's widely assumed died without issue. Dracula himself married twice, but the line of his direct heirs apparently died out four generations later. Regardless of how she was descended, however, Taras Basarab was a princess and the acknowledged royal heir to his House."
Buffy took a long, slow, deep breath, holding on to her anger and her fear by nothing more than fingers and toes.
A year. Dracula had been watching them for overa year. What could he know? What could he be expecting?
"I was dating Dracula's great-great-great-great-et cetera niece?" Willow choked into the stunned silence. "I think I'm going to be sick."
"I think whatever hell she's in can't possibly be hellish enough," Buffy growled, throat tight and stomach clenched. This was somuch worse than she'd thought.
"Why Willow?" Oz asked, the quiet words laced with the same anger that still glittered deep in his eyes. "If Dracula sent Tara to spy on Buffy, then why go through Willow and not Xander, or Giles, or even Buffy's mom? None of them have half the power Willow does. Wasn't Tara taking a pretty big risk?"
Willow winced. "Not back then she wasn't, no. I was just getting started with the more powerful spells. Plus," she sighed, glancing aside at Oz, "I was pretty distracted at the time."
"I think it's more than that," Wesley shook his head. "When Dracula finally made his move, he came at you, Buffy, from nearly every angle--even Angel, if I'm right and that attempt to take Angel's soul was his doing."
"If he'd come at me," Buffy said icily, "he'd be dust and we'd be sightseeing."
"But he did, Buffy," Angel insisted. "By attacking all of us, Vlad knew he'd be hurting you, far more than if he'd come at you directly. Wes is right--and I think I see where you're going with this, Wes."
"I don't," Buffy admitted, frowning darkly. "What Spike and a vamped Tara did to Will had nothing to do with any spell a mortal Tara might have been nursing along to keep herself all cozy with us."
"I think Spike was Plan B," Wesley said softly. "Mortal Tara was Plan A. She must have used a binding spell on Willow--nothing else would have been powerful enough to make Willow believe she was in love with another woman when she'd never shown any inclination in that direction before."
Buffy raised an eyebrow, still not seeing the point, but Angel finished the thought for her. "A binding spell like that, on a witch, by a dark witch--Vlad must have originally meant for Tara to seduce Willow to evil."
"That never would have happened," Buffy flatly denied.
Willow shifted restlessly.
"Is that why they went to Plan B?" Buffy continued. "Because Tara couldn't turn Willow?"
Wesley shrugged. "Or they simply ran out of time. While the binding spell would have been powerful, it would also have been a very, very subtle version, or Willow would have felt it. Which means it could have taken months more before anything would have come of it. Whatever the method, though, I think it's clear Dracula wanted to take Willow away from you."
Buffy stalked back to the window and once more leaned on the sill, shaking with anger and sharp, gnawing unease and the grim certainty that she shouldhave known. "Then Spike was working with Dracula. There's no way Spike is in the middle of this and turning Tara and going after Willow without Dracula knowing about it."
"Or not," Angel cautioned, "and that's why Spike was staked--if that pile of dust in the crypt was him. However, whenever that chip stopped working, he'd have been like a kid in a candy store. He could have turned Tara without knowing she was a Basarab."
Buffy stared out at the darkness now cloaking Edinburgh, her grip on the sill tightening. "That wasn't Spike in the crypt," she slowly shook her head. "I can't get that lucky. Besides, the timing of all this is just too freakish. Including the attempt on Angel and the attacks at Riley's fraternity--maybe even luring Anya into taking off. All in one night, all Dracula, with Spike lending his slimy little hand."
"He…Spike went after Riley," Willow whispered brokenly.
Buffy closed her eyes, and one by one tried to relax her fingers on the sill before she shattered it.
"He told me," Willow continued, standing abruptly. "I remember now. Oh, God, he--"
"Willow," Wesley interrupted sharply. Angrily Buffy turned, ready to pound him back down to size, but one look at Wesley stopped her cold. She'd never seen such tenderness on his face. "I'll need your help with this counter spell," he said, this time as gently as Giles might have--
Willow wrapped her arms around herself and took a long, shaky breath, then another. "Right," she nodded, dropping swiftly back down to her chair. "Got it. A counter spell. I knew that. Fire, air, water, or earth?"
Angel shifted toward the door, and a moment later someone knocked. "They're back," he nodded at Buffy, and swung open the door.
"London was wet," Xander sneezed as he and Cordelia entered, "the Council was not impressed, and I feel completely backwards after all those hours of driving on the wrong side of the road. What did we miss?"
"Some really Sithly conclusions," Buffy replied, "starting with Tara being related to Dracula and running screaming downhill from there."
Xander blinked. "Related? Meaning I staked a Dracula?Me? That can't be right."
Wesley nodded. "Afraid so, Xander. In the proverbial nutshell: we think Tara was actually Taras Basarab, a mortal descendant of Dracula's family; that Dracula sent her to spy on us and to seduce Willow to evil; that he's behind all the attacks, to hurt Buffy and render her ineffective; and that Spike was helping him."
Cordelia and Xander simply nodded, grim and focused, and Buffy could only stare at them. Since when did the two of them respond to news like that… with such calm strength? What else had she missed?
"Your turn, Cordelia," Wesley prompted. "I take it you reached Giles' contact?"
"It took way too long, but we finally tracked Charles down," she nodded. "He had two things for us. One, Dracula has had a very low profile for over a year now."
"Hemusthave been planning this for some time," Wesley mused. "Consider how long ago he sent Tara."
"Two," Cordelia added, "he thinks Giles knew exactly what amulet he had and was keeping it misnamed as a way of hiding it."
Buffy sighed. "Secrets suck. I have yet to learn a single good secret."
Wesley smiled crookedly. "It's brilliant, though, Buffy--leaving the Eshkondan hidden in miss-catalogued anonymity for hundreds of years? If Tara hadn't helped go through the collection--if Giles hadn't chosen to update the catalog this summer, after she'd arrived--then Dracula never would have known."
"Why not just destroy it?" Oz shrugged.
"Because the amulet itself is not inherently evil," Wesley softly replied. "It was created thousands of years ago so, yes, it does require ritual sacrifice to activate it. But once roused, the Eshkondan is nothing more than an extremely powerful tool. And no Watcher worth his name would ever throw any tool away that might one day help the Slayer. So the only thing youcan do with it is hide it with someone who'll keep it safe, but never use it."
Xander raised an eyebrow. "Giles is too tall to be a hobbit."
"Enough talking," Buffy growled, the itch under her skin grown to undeniable proportions. She reached for her coat and started checking her weapons. "Now we slay. The plan is to rescue Giles, steal back the amulet, and stake Dracula. Any one of thoseshould mean safe Giles and no Hellmouth in Edinburgh. Angel, you and I will search Edinburgh Castle. Oz, Xander, I want you two patrolling Arthur's Seat. Willow--you up for this?"
Willow raised her chin. "I'm in."
"If we don't find them before they've started the ritual," Wesley interrupted, "we'll need something to disrupt the ritual. I've confirmed the addresses of some magical shops and a few contacts. Willow and I should be able to concoct something quite incendiary."
"We don't have a lot of time," Cordelia said softly.
"Another vision?" Angel asked.
Cordelia shook her head. "Just a feeling that whatever's going to happen will happen soon."
"The new moon will be directly overhead and complete at exactly midnight," Wesley said, checking his watch. "That's what's so special about this lunar cycle. That's six hours from now. Buffy, I'd like Cordelia with Willow and me. We've got the most ground to cover. I suggest we rendezvous at Holyroodhouse in four hours, unless we've heard from you before then."
Buffy nodded, and took one long, last, loving look at her friends.
At her family.
"I hate that he came at me through all of you," she said softly. "I hate that even if you weren't on the front line with the Slayer, you'd still be targets because you're important to me. Be careful."
And then Buffy tucked her heart away and looked with hard, cold eyes at her crew. "Now we end this."
The farthest dungeons of Edinburgh Castle
Just past twilight
Vlad turned the cold, iron key in the lock and released the cell door, swinging it out with an easy flick of his fingers. He stepped into the pit, the rank, wet darkness caressing his skin as it swallowed the smoky, flickering light from the torch his servants had left in the wall.
"Is he awake?" Drusilla giggled, drifting in behind him. "Ilike this one--he's so much fun."
Vlad didn't bother with a response, instead waving his hand over the prone figure lying bound against the wall and invoking the counter spells that would awaken Rupert Giles.
Magic shattered and silently released. Giles groaned, shifted, and Vlad waited as the eyes opened and the Watcher gradually regained his senses and his sanity. Coughing and blinking owlishly and shaking his head, Giles pushed himself up to sit against the wall and got his first look at his surroundings. And at them.
Vlad smiled. "Good evening," he said softly. "I believe you're already acquainted with the fair Drusilla, Rupert. What you may not know, however, is that I am Vlad the Third Dracula."
Giles' eyes widened, horrified denial lancing through his still slightly disoriented gaze. "If you're Dracula," he rasped, "then who did Buffy kill?"
Vlad shrugged. This question was becoming quite tiresome. "No one of importance." Giles frowned, and Vlad nearly laughed aloud to see the brilliant mortal mind so cowed, so sluggish.
"Well?" Giles finally prompted. "I assume it was all some kind of show to make us think you were dead. What now? Where are we? What do you want? Isn't this the point where you gloat about your evil plans, and I insist that the Slayer will stop you?"
Drusilla hissed, her grip on his arm tightening and her nails cutting into his flesh with sharp, digging pain, but Vlad had to laugh this time. "A pity I didn't need you aware before now. I believe I would have found your conversation quite entertaining if you hadn't had to make this journey under the coercion of spells."
"Journey… " Giles murmured, eyes going distant as he cast back through what little memory the spells would have left him.
"Don't trouble yourself," Vlad mocked. "Simply understand that soon I will use you, and soon… you will die."
"Ah," Giles sighed. "The gloating part. I had so hoped to miss that."
Dracula smiled, a feral twist of his lips that had little to do with humor. "Prepare him," he said softly.
Drusilla clapped and danced as the hovering servants swarmed into the cell, and Vlad drifted back into the shadows, watching her croon and caress and taunt an increasingly annoyed Giles as he was stripped. His servants applied the body paint, thick crude slashes of black and red that were nevertheless meticulously precise, and Vlad trembled with the sudden hunger that tore at his belly, with the vicious anticipation that sizzled down his spine. Nearly time now. Everything was in readiness, all the elements completely under his control. Soon he would open the Hellmouth and release the denizens of Hell to roam the Earth once more--at his command!
"My prince," Luka called urgently from the doorway, and Vlad heard something he did not want to hear in his steward's voice. He whirled and transformed in the cold, rank darkness.
"What is it?" he hissed.
"The Slayer is here," Luka murmured, as if saying the words quietly would make them less ugly to hear. "She and Angel were spotted entering the castle."
"How could she have known?" he growled, fury rising up to howl and shriek within him.
Luka shook his head. "A resource we did not know about?" he suggested.
With brutal, iron control Vlad released his rage. He was so close.Not even this Slayer would stop him now. "It doesn't matter," he said coldly. "You know what to do. Apparently William's incessant warnings weren't quite so useless."
Luka nodded, shot him a swift, abrupt bow, and was gone. Dracula stared after him, a question ricocheting through him that he could not silence. That he could not tolerate.
How could the Slayer have known?
With savage grace he stalked out of the darkness, pushing Drusilla and his servants aside until only the Watcher stood before him. Shirtless, paint drying on his torso, arms, neck, and face in the precise configuration required for the ritual, Giles nevertheless stared back, uncowed. Vlad stroked a cold finger down the warm, mortal throat. "How?" he demanded.
"Getting a little nervous now?" Giles calmly taunted. "Did you truly believe she wouldn't find me--wherever we are? That she wouldn't be able to stop you? These marks are very interesting. You're calling up a great deal of--"
Vlad snarled and reached with power and cruel control and ripped the Watcher's will away once more. "How?" he repeated icily.
"She's the best Slayer you've ever seen," Giles gasped, shuddering, face blank with shock. He shook his head, and astonishingly, defiance fired in the depths of his eyes. "She's also the last you'll ever see."
Vlad swung with demonic speed and strength and backhanded him, the cheekbone shattering, the head smacking back into the wall as the Watcher reeled. "Finish the markings now," he commanded.
The servants scurried to obey, steadying the sagging Watcher and reaching once more for the paints. Vlad watched silently, coldly calculating, planning, preparing himself, Drusilla still as death at his side, until the final mark was made. Then he grabbed the rough, warm flesh of Giles' jaw and turned the bruised face, the dazed eyes, to the flickering light.
"You will make a magnificent sacrifice, Rupert Giles," Vlad crowed, vicious and low and utterly unwavering. "Not even thisSlayer will save you." He dropped the Watcher back into his servants' hold, once more in complete control.
"Bring him."
