Chapter 13

On the day of the ritual, Duncan walked into the club carrying a narrow duffel bag and found Richie sitting at the bar talking to Joe.

"Hey, Mac," the bartender greeted.

"How are things going?"

"You mean, aside from a possible apocalypse? Not bad," Richie replied lifting his glass in salute.

"Where are the others?"

"Upstairs. Julia was released from the hospital this afternoon," Joe replied.

"While I needed a little liquid fortification," Richie confessed while Joe left them to fix some drinks.

Sensing his friend was in a strange mood, Duncan nodded toward an empty table. Richie shrugged then followed. They sat down, and, after a moment, Duncan asked what was wrong.

"It's just ... I mean I feel so out of my depth," Richie explained slouching in his chair.

"We are out of our depths."

"Gee, I feel ever so much better," Richie grumbled sarcastically.

"We're just a little inexperienced."

"Bet you never thought you'd say that at your age," Richie said then raised his hands in surrender at his friend's pointed look.

"I know you're a bit overwhelmed by recent events," Duncan said.

"When Dawn told us what her life was like, the reality of it never really sunk in even when we were doing research," Richie said.

"And now that we get to see it firsthand?" Duncan prompted.

"It's terrifying. She grew up patrolling cemeteries on a nightly basis and helped save the world at least once a year. Here I thought our lives were complicated," Richie replied then with a shake of his head changed the topic. "So what's in the bag?"

"Since it sounds like we'll be fighting in close quarters, our usual swords might not work so I brought some other weapons," Duncan said. "Shall we go up and find you something suitable?"

"Sure."

Dawn looked up at the full moon and shivered slightly. In a few hours, the lunar eclipse would turn it blood red. She was out on the roof getting some fresh air while Andrew started supper, and Julia and Vi went over the plan again.

"Mind if I join you?" Methos asked.

"Not at all," she replied.

He set up another lawn chair beside hers. "Worried about tonight?"

"Yeah," she admitted. "Research was always my forte. Buffy's the strategist in the family."

"It's a sound plan," he commented.

Dawn smiled ruefully. "I don't think Duncan likes it."

Methos rolled his eyes. "He'll get over it. He still doesn't fully comprehend what we're facing."

She raised an eyebrow. "But you do?"

He smiled enigmatically. "I've died on a hellmouth, remember? Let's just say I'm familiar with things that go bump in the night."

Ever since reading the thin file on him, Dawn had wondered just how old he really was. She knew he had to be at least two hundred years old because he admitted he had died in 1812 in what would eventually be Sunnydale but for some unknown reason she felt he was far older. Before she could comment, she noticed he was suddenly very alert and tense. "What is it?"

"Hi, guys," Richie said coming through the door. "What's up?"

Methos relaxed, and Dawn smiled. "Just getting some fresh air."

"Supper's ready," Richie said.

"Sounds good to me," she said as Methos helped her to her feet and followed her inside.