Summers Pryce: Chapter 11

Alas, Time Stays, We Go.

The following day, Wesley had some luck in something he'd been attempting since first coming to Detroit.

He managed to cultivate a contact in Detroit's underground demon society.

He'd been trying for the whole six weeks he'd been in town, and only last week had finally found a demon-patronized bar that admitted humans who would accept the risks associated with hanging around demons. Wes knew the secret of surviving a demon bar, learned from Angel; don't be nosy, don't stare, drink your drink and keep to yourself. If someone messes with you, show strength immediately — and Wes had enough sorcerous skills to feel comfortable, and he hadn't had to demonstrate them, yet. He also kept his business to the afternoon, thus avoiding the vampires that would inevitably come here.

Saturday afternoon, he headed into the bar — called Midnight Jack's — and found a fight going on in the alley. Two Culdehan demons — rather apelike, if apes stood seven feet tall — had a single Mathros demon bouncing back and forth between them, had started turning shoves into punches as he turned into the alley. Wes had been bullied enough as a boy to immediately feel pity for the Mathros demon — a small species, averaging around five-six and a hundred and fifty pounds, and whose only demonic ability amounted to being able to turn invisible in shadow — so he intervened.

"All right, that's about enough," Wesley said, stopping some twenty feet from the escalating fight. "Leave him alone, he's not a third the size of either of you."

The nearer Culdehan looked at Wesley and growled, "Stay out of it, human. He's our play toy."

Wes smiled. Culdehan demons were big, and powerful — and not terribly bright. They also had a weakness, one Wesley know how to exploit. Their bones contained large quantities of metal, to support their massive frames, and they did not like electricity. Rather than carry a taser, Wesley had learned a simple, low-power lightning spell, which he recited under his breath now.

Suddenly, Wesley's hands filled with crackling electrical energy, even as the spell protected him from that same energy.

"Perhaps you didn't hear me," he said evenly. "I said leave him alone."

The Culdehan looked around again, saw the energy in Wesley's hand — and flinched.

"Rall," the first demon said, "we should go now."

"What are you — oh." The second demon looked at Wesley nervously. "Hey, human — we were just havin' a little fun here. Nobody hurt nobody or nothin'. So you don't gotta . . . you know. T'row dat at nobody."

"Then I think you two should go drink somewhere else," Wesley said. "And not bother my friend ever again. If he gets hurt, I shall come looking for you."

"Yeah, dat's good," Rall said. "Okay, let's go Hom."

The two demons edged around Wesley, watching his hands nervously, while the Mathros watched warily. Once the Culdehan's had left the alley via the basement of a nearby building (which has access to the sewer system, Wes knew from listening in the bar), he let the lightning in his hands go away.

"Hey," the Mathros said, his voice oddly low, given his size. "Thanks. But, you know — why'd you do it?"

"I never could stand a bully," Wesley said, and shrugged. "I was a target for bullies for some years in my school days, so I've a special hatred of them."

"Okay, makes sense," the Mathros said, and held out his hand. "I'm Lojat. You can call me Lo."

"Wesley," he said, and shook the demon's hand. "Or Wes."

"Come on, Wes," Lo said. "I'll buy you a drink. Owe you that, at least."

They had a beer together, and Wes asked what Lo did for a living.

"Oh, mostly I work for a couple private eyes," Lo said. "Humans, but in the know, like you. Since I can go invisible in shadow or dim light, I'm good at surveillance. And sometimes I scout new areas of sewer that open up, since if there's humans there, they can't see me. Pays the rent."

"That makes sense," Wesley said. "Hmm. Lo, do you ever . . . hear things?"

"I hear lots," Lo admitted. "You looking for ears underneath?"

"That's about it," Wesley admitted. "I'm too new here to find things out for myself. And I have . . . concerns."

"Anything in particular you're concerned about?" Lo asked after looking around to make sure no one had come close to the booth they occupied in the back of the bar.

"Actually, yes," Wes said, leaning closer. "And I will, of course, pay for information on my . . . chosen interests."

"Ah, I owe you," Lo said. "I'll let you know when you need to pay. What are you interested in?"

"On Devil's Night, someone ordered a factory burned down, and hired a Thoknara demon to do it," Wesley said. "The thing is, they weren't looking to destroy the factory — they wanted to kill a man I've come to call a friend. And they are likely to do so again."

"Oh, boy," Lo said. "You're looking for the steep stuff right off the bat, huh?"

"Am I, then?" Wes asked. "I honestly don't know."

"Yeah, this is hot," Lo said. "And it's . . . outside my usual circle. But I can tell you this; somebody — don't know who, on my father's egg — is moving into the illegal human stuff and the illegal demon stuff. Pretty sure it's a demon doing the moving, but I don't know for sure — I stay away from the sort of thing I hear he's into. And this demon, this guy, whichever, he wants a certain guy dead, a Champion of the Light. And he's going to pretty severe lengths to get it done, if what I hear is right."

"What did you hear?" Wesley asked.

"Seems that this demon or guy — no one ever refers to him as anything but 'the boss' where anyone can hear — has hired himself a serious wizard to do a seriously scary spell." Lo looked around again, nervous about discussing this. "I don't know what sort of spell, but if it goes off, this Champion, he's supposed to just pretty much cease to exist."

"Bloody hell," Wesley said. "All right — is there anything else you can tell me?"

"Yeah, I . . . look, don't be pissed, okay, because I didn't know what this was for, hadn't even met you yet, you know?" Lo said. "So I didn't know this was aimed at a guy you call friend.

"Yesterday, I played courier, brought in a special item for a wizard — human guy, he's not the one doing the big spell, he's small potatoes — named Alvarez. Had to come in from underground, see, and go past a human work crew, so they got me. A vial of something that glowed green, liquid, a little thick, like blood.

"Alvarez, he tipped nice — and said they were using it tonight, because the moon phases were identical, or something. I didn't get where, though."

"Damnation," Wesley said. "Lo . . . is there anyway you might find out where? I was serious about this Champion being my friend."

"I might be able to," Lo said. "But I think I better move fast. Got a number?"

Wes gave Lo a card with the number of the brownstone on it, and printed his cell number on the back.

"Lo . . . if you find anything out, I'll be in your debt," Wesley said. "And I pay my debts."

"Ah, forget it," Lo said. "I have to spread any cash around, you can pay that back. Past that . . . nobody ever stuck up for me before, let alone anybody human."

"I see," Wesley said. He thought for a moment, then said, "As I recall, Mathros demons as a species are very, very fond of certain human delicacies. If you help me save my friend, I will treat you to the best lasagna in the city — best by your definition."

"Now that is a deal I can't resist," Lo said, standing up. "Hey . . . one more thing. You're a Brit, right?"

"I'm English, yes," Wesley said. "Why do you ask?"

"Everybody knows those guys that run the Slayer are Brits," Lo said slowly. "You're a Brit, you're down with the demonology, you know magic, you're friends with a Champion of the Light . . . and word is, there's a Slayer in town."

"The Slayer in question is, in fact, a friend of that same Champion," Wesley said. "I can assure you, Lo, that you are safe from her — just for trying to find out what you can."

"Good deal," Lo said. "You know, I'm glad I met you. Never thought I'd say that about a human."

"I'm glad I met you, as well," Wes said, shaking Lo's hand. "Though I've a bit more experience in cross-species friendships. There was a time when a vampire was my best friend, and a Pylean demon was a definite friend."

"Best friend was a — you talking about Angel?" Lo asked, staring in amazement.

"Yes, we were friends, before I . . . bollixed it," Wes said.

"Wow, you're that guy, huh?" Lo asked, impressed. "Freed Pylea from the Wolf, the Ram and the Hart, and all that. Doubly glad we're friends, now."

"Thank you, Lo," Wesley said. "It's nice to know I've got a reputation."

"Yeah, you do," Lo agreed. "Okay, I'm out — I'll call you soon as I know anything."

They shook hands again, and both left, going different directions.

Wesley went home, called Dawn and Locke into the study on his second floor, and told them what he had learned and how.

"Oh, crap," Dawn said. "They're going to wipe Locke out of existence?! No way, we have to stop it! I hope your demon buddy comes through."

"As do I," Wesley said. "However . . . in the meantime, Locke, it might be best to place you in a warded circle."

"No," Locke said, his voice soft but firm. "I will not cower, for that is not the way. Your friend will find something, and we will stop this. I am sure."

"Yeah, but Locke, you're our friend, and —" Dawn started.

"I am your friend, and I hope to be your friend forever," Locke said, reaching over and squeezing Dawn's hand. "But I am a Champion of the Light, Dawn — and like you must put being a Slayer over friendship, I must put being a Champion first."

"I . . . okay," Dawn said. "But Locke, if something happens to you, I'm kicking your ass!"

"All right," Locke said, chuckling. "I suppose that's fair."

"We'll stop it," Wesley said. "We'll stop it, one way or another."

They were just preparing to sit down to supper when the phone rang, and Wesley grabbed it, saying, "Wyndham-Pryce."

"Hey, Wes, it's Lo," the Mathros demon said. "I think you can relax a little, okay? Not all the way, but some."

"What did you find out?" Wesley asked.

"The spell these people are doing comes in two parts," Lo said. "The first part, they do tonight, and I couldn't get where — sorry — but it's only prepping all the ingredients for the second part, which they're doing at noon tomorrow, in a warehouse out on the end of McDougall Street on the waterfront. Big place, empty, and you can't miss it — it's painted yellow. They're starting the spell at noon, but the demon I heard it from didn't say what it's for, or how long it'll take to cast it."

"Excellent, Lo, thank you," Wesley said, scribbling down the information on the warehouse. "You've very likely enabled me to save my friend. No, strike that — one of my friends. You're definitely in that category yourself."

"Ah, thanks — but seriously, it wasn't any big deal." Lo hesitated a moment, then said, "Hey, listen, if you need some extra muscle tomorrow . . . I'm not much hand-to-hand, but I'm sudden death with a shotgun, and I got a couple beauties."

"I appreciate the offer, Lo," Wes said, "but I think I'd rather you didn't fight demons if it's not absolutely necessary — I don't want you being outcast from your own society. In fact — you aren't going to get in trouble for this, are you, if we stop it?"

"Nah, no danger," Lo said, sounding pleased that Wes felt worried. "The Kogan demon I got it from was talking his ass off in a different demon bar — one where you should never go, they don't permit humans. But there had to be fifty, sixty demons in there. No way to connect it to me."

"All right," Wesley said. "I'll call you after it's over, and we can schedule a time for dinner — I owe you that lasagna, at the very least."

"I won't say no to that," Lo said. "Hey — be careful. The wizard they got for this, he's got some serious mojo going. And there are likely to be some demons along for muscle, and armed humans."

"Yes, we'll be careful, thank you," Wesley said. He hung up, looked at Dawn, and said, "Call Jazz and Polly, ask if they can come here about ten tomorrow morning. Tell them it's a mission."

"Got it," Dawn said, and grabbed the phone.

The next morning at ten, Jazz and Polly both showed up, Polly with what she called her "magic box," a heavy leather bag with roughly three million little pockets, and what could only be her father's walking stick, a piece of beautifully sanded and finished wood that stood about four feet high.

"Wes, Locke . . . you were right," Polly said. "This was Daddy's walking stick and it . . . it pack some serious magic. It's like having a boost of power, an extra battery, and it makes things just . . . easier, that's all."

"Excellent," Wesley said. "We may need that boost today."

Wes laid out the little that he knew, and gave them the rather necessarily fluid and adaptable plan that he'd come up with, finishing with, "No matter what else, we must prevent the focal element of whatever their spell is from being enacted, acted upon, or used, whichever is the case."

They piled into the Trailblazer and left for the warehouse as soon as Wes had finished with the briefing. They arrived near the place at eleven-thirty, and given that Locke was the target, had Dawn scout it out.

"It's bad," Dawn said when she came back ten minutes later. "Lots of guards, and they've all got radios, and check in fairly often. I counted a dozen guards in six pairs, one pair at each corner and one at the middle of each of the two long sides.

"Wes, I think this is going to be somewhere between really hard and totally impossible to do on the quiet."

"Well, then we'll just have to make a bit of noise, won't we?" Wes said, shrugging. "I'm not totally opposed. Though I don't like the comm gear. Polly, can you do anything about that?"

"Sure, I can whip something up," Polly said. "Let me think . . . okay, yeah. First I lock in on their frequency, then I establish feedback. I can do that. Two minutes."

"Right then, that'll be good," Wesley said. "Then . . . well, I rather like the idea of going in through the main doors, rather loudly — and very violently."

Polly cast her spell, and they saw the two guards in their field of vision jerk off their headset radios.

"That's it," Wesley said. "We wait five minutes for them to report the equipment failure and get orders, then go in. Dawn — you're the point on this. Locke, bring up the rear, hopefully your entrance will distract them and give the rest of us time to act."

"Understood," Locke said, loosening his saber in its scabbard.

"Polly, stay away from their circle — if your walking stick is a power source, we don't want them to have access to that power," Wesley said. "Work the edges of the room, and do not attempt a direct assault on their wizard — he'll be warded. However . . . you have displayed an affinity for probabilities, with the effectiveness of your Desire's Luck spell. Perhaps you could do something to make the luck of the opposition go sour?"

"Oh, yeah," Polly said. "I've got one — Gambler's Bane, that'll mess them up."

"All right," Wesley said. "Four minutes, then."

At the appointed moment, Dawn approached the two guards in front of the main doors on the long northeast side of the building. They stiffened to attention, and one said, "I'm sorry, miss, this is private property, you'll have to leave."

"Okay," Dawn said, "but I don't suppose you've seen my little sister? She's ten, blond hair, walking a dog about twice her size? A big mutt, part St. Bernard?"

"No, I'm afraid not," the guard said. "There's a security building down on Campau Street, at the corner of Campau and Wight Avenue. Maybe they could help you."

"Hey, thanks!" Dawn said — and punched the man in the gut, doubling him over, reached across him to grab his companion and jerk his face into her fist. She knocked the first one out (as opposed to just down), then strolled to the doors casually, hearing her friends approach behind her.

"Wes, do I open it or kick it in?" Dawn asked.

"The latter, I think," Wesley said. He smiled and added, "Much more distracting, and that can't be a bad thing, right now."

"Okay," Dawn said — and kicked the left-most of the double doors as hard as she could, tearing it from its hinges and sending it flying across the room.

Almost two dozen people and demons stood ranged around the room, while a single human knelt at the edge of a magic circle in the middle — and a large, powerful-looking orange-skinned demon with four long arms, each jointed an extra time and each hand holding a heavily curved sword, stood at the center of the circle.

"Anybody wanna buy some Girl Scout cookies?" Jazz asked brightly from behind Dawn.

"Get them!" roared a large, no-neck-thug type. "Kill them all!"

"Okay, no thin mints for you!" Jazz said, and followed Dawn in as the Slayer charged the group of men who started charging her.

Dawn did a beautiful jumping side kick into the man at the front of the group, even as Polly performed her bad luck spell.

"Infortunium inimicus!" Polly said, holding her stick out in one hand, and tossing a small handful of black cat hair into the air with the other.

The man Dawn kicked flew backwards into his companions, and all seven went down in a crumbled heap. As Dawn turned to face the next group, a mere four, she heard Locke shout, "Adversor Atra in nomine Lucis!"

"No!" shouted a demon who had started forward. "No, not now!"

"Now," Wesley said calmly — and shot the demon through the chest with his crossbow, dropped the weapon, and pulled his long sword.

Dawn saw one of the men in the group she faced now stop and try to pull a gun from under his suit jacket — but the hammer caught on something in his coat, and it wouldn't come free. She punched one man, kicked a demon — and the man with the gun jerked harder on it and it went off, pointing down and slightly in towards the man, who screamed and dropped his hand from the gun as he fell to the floor, bleeding from a long, deep graze down the outside of his leg.

"Shot yourself in the foot, huh?" Jazz quipped from behind Dawn, where she had been kicking the men Dawn had knocked down in the kidneys and crotches (whichever seemed easier to reach) to keep them down.

Locke passed them, headed for the next oncoming group, even as Wes moved along behind him, backing the Champion up like Jazz backed Dawn up.

Dawn fought hard for a moment against the last demon, a slender, whip-thin creature that had speed she could barely match, blocking furiously and looking for a chance to counter — and the demon fell to the floor as it slipped in the blood of the man who'd shot himself. Dawn immediately stomped on the demon's neck, killing it, and tossed a grin back at Polly in thanks for her bad luck spell.

Locke and Wes had things in control over there — though watching them fight could only be called a study in contrasts, as Locke's movement were flashy, powerful, and obscenely graceful to Wesley's short, economical and vicious — so Dawn turned to the wizard and the circle, just as the wizard's voice started rising as he approached the end of his spell.

"AGNEZAL ARRATHAME H'LIDOR!" the wizard bellowed, head thrown back and eyes closed. "GRATAJ VEILAS KODRAZ BELARE KIHNJULL!"

Dawn charged the wizard, hit something that felt like a wall of electricity, and got flung back. She picked herself up, glared — and tried a different tactic. She charged the spell circle, jumped at the multiple-armed, orange-skinned demon within it, managed to kick it out of the circle, though its mass was such that she fell in its place.

"VEILAS KODRAZ!" the wizard shouted — and the magic circle lit up. "VEILAS BELARE!"

"Dawn, no!" Jazz shouted, and charged the circle herself, leaping into the air to tackle Dawn and knock her clear of the spell.

"VEILAS KIHNJULL!"

Just as Jazz's extended hands hit Dawn's shoulders, the spell went off — and both girls vanished in a huge flash of light.

"DAWN!" Wesley yelled. "JAZZ!"

Locke charged the multi-armed demon, engaged him, as Wesley ran for the human wizard, who'd just risen to his feet. The man saw Wesley and turned to run — only to discover Polly standing behind him, her father's walking stick back behind her like a baseball bat. He stepped forward, reaching for Polly, and she swung the stick, slammed it across the wizard's gut, knocked him to the ground gasping and gagging.

"Where did you send my friends, you slimy son of a bitch?!" Polly snarled, stepping closer. "Where?! Answer me!"

"Fuck you," the wizard gasped. "I'm not saying anything!"

"I wouldn't bet on that," Wesley said, his voice hard and cold. "No, I wouldn't bet on that at all, little wizard."

"Little — do you know who I am?!" the wizard choked.

"You're the man who just did something to two young ladies whose safety and well being are my responsibility," Wesley said, kicking the man in the ribs and beginning to search him for weapons as he lay gasping on the floor. "You're the man who is going to tell me exactly what he did — or who will suffer like he won't believe for the lack of the telling."

"Fuck . . . you!" the wizard gasped. "I'm . . . not talking!"

"We'll see about that," Wesley said. He looked around, saw Locke approaching, having dispatched the demon that had been the spell's original focus. "Locke, find some rope, tie up the humans. Kill the demons. Then take Polly and wait for me outside."

"I can help!" Polly said. "I can help you make him talk, they're my friends, too!"

"No, Polly," Wes said softly. "Not this time. I won't have you help with the things I may have to do to make this . . . creature talk."

"But —"

"He's right, Polly," Locke said as he gathered up a couple of coils of rope that sat on crates nearby. "He may have to do things . . . that you shouldn't see."

"What sort of — oh." Polly went pale, but nodded. "Okay, Wes. I'll wait outside."

"Before you go, look over that circle," Wesley said. "See if you can discern anything about it."

"Okay, right away," Polly said, and went to the circle.

"You think you've got the balls to torture me, is that it?" the wizard said, chuckling. "Oh, please — you can't do it."

"We'll see," Wesley said calmly.

The wizard didn't' seem to like that calm tone of voice, or the total lack of expression on Wesley's face. He shut up.

"Wes," Polly said from behind him, "look at this."

He turned to find Polly holding out a foot high model of an old British police call box.

"The TARDIS model," Polly said. "Wes . . . I got a bad feeling about this."

"As do I, Polly," Wesley said. "Can you determine anything from the circle?"

"Not much," she admitted, sounding frustrated. "Mostly it's way beyond me. Only thing I can say for sure is that it includes a teleport spell in it, one that moved them east. All I could get, I'm sorry!"

"No, that's all right," Wesley said. "It's more than I knew before.

"Locke seems to be done, Polly. You two go on outside. Deal with the remaining sentries out there, if they haven't left by now, please."

Locke and Polly went outside, Locke giving Wes a somber nod before he closed the door behind them.

"All right, then," Wes said, turning to the wizard. "Let's talk about where, exactly, you sent my Slayer and her friend, shall we?"

Ten minutes later, Wesley had his information. He mopped the blade of his sword on the sobbing wizard's shirt — then knocked the man unconscious with the pommel of the blade.

Wes walked to a nearby crate, sat on its top, and dry-scrubbed his face. He thought for a long moment, then sighed . . . and did the only thing he could do in order to get Dawn back.

He pulled his cell phone from a coat pocket, opened it, and scrolled down to a phone number that he hoped hadn't changed — he'd never even used it, but he'd put all the numbers on Angel's rolodex in his phone.

"Hello," he said when a voice on the other end answered the phone. "This is Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. Yes, yes, it has been a long time.

"Listen, I'm calling because I need your help, rather desperately. Yes, it's about . . . look, this may come as rather a shock, but . . . Dawn Summers has been with me for the last few weeks — and I'm afraid I've lost her, and I can't possibly get her back without your help."

As the voice on the other end of the phone began spewing rapid-fire questions, Wesley closed his eyes and sighed, hoped that he'd done the right thing — and started answering them.