"You're her," Dawn said. "You're Maya. The girl from the haunted book shop."
"You know this bird?" William asked.
"Of her. Xander likes her," Dawn said. Her brow crinkled.
Willow clenched her fist, tightening her magical grasp on Maya. "What have you done with Xander?" she asked through clenched teeth.
"Please," Maya said. She was sobbing now. "I didn't mean... You have to help."
William sussed the girl out in seconds. She was the easy kill, the soft-touch doe-eyed type he fancied in the early days. A ready victim brought up like a puppy on sweet milk - The kind that quietly begged to die.
"Oh for mercy's sake," William said. "Bring the girl in. She'll drown from the runoff out there."
Dawn shook her head. "Don't. What if she really is the Priestess? What if it's a trick?"
"It's not," Willow said, "If she meant us harm, she wouldn't have been able to find us. The protection on the house hides us from evil intent."
"But that would mean Nighna never..." Andrew said, suddenly going very still.
Ignoring him, Dawn said, "Maybe she means no harm. What if she intends to lead us to someone who does?"
"Because it's Xander," Willow said. "We let her in because of Xander."
Willow released Maya. The girl stepped inside, cradling the crystal globe to her chest. Her elbows and knees quaked as she stood before the semi-circle of strangers with whom rested her fate.
"I'm not evil. I swear it," Maya said. "But I may have harmed Xander. In fact, I'm certain of it. I set a trap, see? It wasn't for him."
"A trap?" Dawn said. "What kind of trap?"
Maya lowered her eyes. "A magical kind," she said.
"We have to get him out," Willow said.
William laughed. "That should be easy work, right?" he asked. Then, turning to Maya, he said, "You've lucked out. Willow here's a Charmed One. Connected to the Power."
"No," she said, furiously shaking her head. "No, it's not that easy. Freddie is in there, too."
"Freddie?" Willow said.
Maya shifted the weight of the globe in her arms. "Freddie... is my ex," she said. "He's a warlock, and a demon. Well, half-demon."
William eyed her closely. "What did he do to you?" he asked, a note of severity in his tone.
Maya winced. "Xander... Nothing," she said, playing stupid.
"Not him," William said, sternly. "The fox you've snared in your trap. What did he do?"
What was left of the color faded from Maya's face. She watched William with a mixture of curiosity and dread, as if he had just kicked up the corner of the rug under which she'd been sweeping all her most appalling secrets.
"How do you...?" she began.
"Right. So," William said, having all he needed to know. "How to kill the wanky ponce?"
"He's powerful?" Dawn asked, hurriedly.
"Not so much as he used to be. I drained a lot of his power summoning Alice," Maya said.
"Alice?" Dawn inquired.
Maya's mind was racing now. She said, "Alice was a ghost. Now she's a place. She agreed to help me. I talk to ghosts."
"You're a necromancer," Willow said.
"Mondo cool," Andrew added.
"I'm a bit lost here," Anjelica interjected, quietly.
"So am I, Sweetie," Willow said. "Okay, Maya. Half-demon Freddie's bound up in a ghost that's now a place. Sounds pretty complicated, like you had to go through a lot of trouble. We need to know why."
"We don't have time for why," Dawn said impatiently.
"You're right. You don't," Maya said. "I'll just sum up, okay? Freddie was planning to slaughter his coven in exchange for a kind of Demonic Ascendancy. Everything was signed in blood. Eyes blackened. Crosses burned. But I couldn't let him. I knew I wasn't strong enough on my own, so I worked a spell with the Looking Glass." Maya held up the crystal, which had seemingly gone to sleep since she entered the Flat.
Willow bent forward, nose almost touching the globe. Pinpricks of light shimmered like embers at its core. "It's a real Looking Glass, then?" she mused. "Not just the parlor tricky kind Gypsies use in side shows?"
"It's the real deal, McNeal," she said. "The catch of the whole spell was that there had to be a Guardian. Someone present to man the gateway to the cage. Or woman, as is the case."
"So you did it," Andrew said. "You were the Gatekeeper."
"Were being the operative word," Dawn said, urgent-like. "Without you guarding, where does that leave Xander?"
"That's just it," Maya said, her voice going gulpy. "Last week, after Xander came to visit me, I decided it was time to close up shop. I planned to end it. Take Freddie down and me with him. Stalemate. Lose-lose. Get both of us out of our creepy little picture show for good."
William said, "Then Xander swept in all Rhett Butler and wound up switching places with you."
"He's in there with Freddie right now," Maya said. She warred with tears and lost. "But I think he's alive. I don't think I k-"
"He is alive," Willow asserted firmly. Her lips curled in a sneering smile. "Xander is under my protection. No matter how strong this Freddie freak thinks he is, he can't touch him."
"That's all well and good, Red," William said. "But how are you going to fish the boy out?"
She leveled her eyes on his. "You up for a fight?" she asked.
"That's a bloody stupid question," William said. He turned to Dawn. "Buffy?"
"I'll be here," Dawn said. "Go. Be heroes."
Willow was already bound for the door. She said, "Let's go kick some half-demon ass."
Dawn, Andrew and Anjelica stood in a vacuum created by the absence of the others.
In an absent-minded way uncustomary to his normal absent-mindedness, Andrew said, "So, I'll just take Anjelica back to the school."
"I'd rather not," Anjelica said, ducking her eyes. "Kennedy planned some Slayer maneuvers for tonight, which I would prefer to avoid. I'm sure she would prefer me to avoid them, too."
"Right," Andrew said. "I'll just go get some supplies."
He left them at the base of the stairs.
"Supplies?" Anjelica said. "For taking me home?"
Dawn waved her hands. She was looking past Anjelica into the dining room, already thinking of ways to analyze the text written around the circle. "It's an Andrew thing," she said. "Hope you like Fruit Roll-Ups."
Andrew came back downstairs with his backpack slung over one shoulder. His lips were pressed into a thin line of determination, which Dawn did not notice.
"Well, bye," Anjelica said.
"Yep," Dawn said.
No sooner than they were gone, Dawn was at the table, fingertips itching with excitement. She tucked her hair behind her ears.
"Okay," she whispered to herself. "Let's see what you are all about."
Xander measured the room by paces and then by cubits. He looked under each chair and the coffee table. The underside of the coffee table bore a stamp in black in which read Made In Bora Bora. He then flipped through each of the magazines. They all bore the date of July 1998.
"You think I haven't done all that you just did?" Freddie asked.
"Well, sure," Xander said. "But it never hurts to have a fresh pair of eyes. Or eye," he amended, "as the case may be."
"What are you?" Freddie asked, not sounding amused.
"I'm a carpenter," Xander said.
"That how you lost your..." Freddie made a jabbing gesture to his eye while simultaneously clucking his tongue.
Xander uttered an inappropriately loud snort of laughter. "Uh. No, actually, that I lost in a fight against the First Evil."
Freddie cracked his knuckles. "That right?" he said.
"It is a fact," Xander said.
Freddie's face turned rubbery, stretching into a contorted lumpy demonic mask. "I think we're gonna have to fight after all," he said.
Xander sighed. "I thought you might say that," he said.
The buzzing inconstant fluorescence sputtered. Freddie flung out his arms and grew to fill up the floor to ceiling space, which Xander knew from a mad quick calculation had to be at least five cubits. Bony protrusions ripped through the denim sleeves of Freddie's jacket. The shredded skin from his arms and back draped on his bones like tattered wings.
"Way to go all Hall of the Mountain King," Xander said, surprised at how unruffled he sounded. Freddie continued to bulge in all sorts of uncomfortable places. The scritching piano wire sound warped into high-pitch keening mode.
"You dare interfere?" Freddie groaned, voice thick in his newly muscled throat. "Maya belongs here. She's mine."
Xander chuckled. "Yeah? Eat me," he said.
Freddie clapped his hands together above his head. Writhing arcs of lightning crackled between his palms. The sharp scent of ozone filled Xander's nostrils.
Fire rained down. Xander dived beneath the coffee table. The lightning zapped it to splinters. Freddie sneered. Xander stared at the guy and could not stop laughing.
"Right Said Fred: One. Coffee table: Zero," Xander said. He reclined back on one hand. Freddie's body turned flaming red.
"You dare!" he wailed. The electrical charge built in the air around them, whipping the magazines with unseen currents of air.
"Oh, I dare," Xander said. He jumped to his feet. "You're pathetic," he said. "Just a no-count bully with a few magic tricks up your bone-spurred sleeves. If you were half as great as your brow ridge, you'd have sprung this cage long ago."
"I will pound you to dust," Freddie raged. He threw down another thunderclap. This one zinged off of Xander, then ricocheted from the wall to the chair to the light fixture and back to Freddie. The blast left a smoking scorch mark on his demon carapace.
"Are you serious? With the pounding to dust bit?" Xander asked. He was unimpressed. He sat down in his chair, picked up a magazine and pretended to read.
Freddie slowly reverted to his scrawny human form. The coffee table re-appeared. The lights shimmered back to life.
"So it wasn't convincing?" Freddie asked after a long while.
"Not remotely," Xander said. He flipped a page in a copy of Golfer's Weekly.
Freddie perched on his chair, chin in his hand. Minutes ticked by uncounted. Soon, Xander heard the sound of muffled voices somewhere far below.
He glanced at Freddie.
Freddie's eyes gleamed. "You're about to witness my real power, boy-o," he said. "Maya's come home."
Buffy wandered in the wilderness; this wilderness being bereft of trees, water, animals and all other things wild. She walked barefoot over scorching sands so baked that each footfall broke through a crust of dry earth.
Black cloth wound around her body, covering everything from her ankles to the top of her head. Even a thin scrim of muslin covered her eyes and her mouth. The cloth swaddled her arms to her body, but that changed nothing. As she walked she thought, what use for arms in a place like this?
The path she tread felt familiar to her, inevitable even. A wall of sand swelled before her, unblemished. She crested the dune, leaving a twisting track behind her, like the imprint of a snake's spine. From her vantage on the ridge, Buffy looked out across a wasteland, empty and daunting. A forlorn wind wailed like a falcon's cry across the barren valley.
She watched, impassive, realizing it was only a dream. It seemed that she never slept so deeply that she could not dream.
As inevitability goes, she knew she would fall. She knew before climbing the dune. She knew before she fell asleep. She rolled, sideways at first then end over end, gaining momentum, spraying sand. The cloth unwound. The dune transformed from sand to sloping hillside covered with fragrant waves of white gold grass.
At the base of the hill, Buffy sat up. Behind her, the cloth cut a black swath across a field of barley. She examined the pale fingers of her small white hands. She took her time getting to her feet, feeling out each movement. Stretching, prolonging, indulging herself in the freedom of her motion. She raised her eyes skyward. Stars stood out stark and perfect over the ring of stones before her. This place felt familiar too.
Tara appeared beside her. This felt natural as well. It felt right. Tara's image flickered the way a flame does when it's blown by the wind. Buffy felt Tara's fingers join with her own.
"The Circle is complete," Tara said. "All you need now is to wake it."
Buffy felt no solace from Tara's words. She said, "I don't want to."
She could not explain the sudden pall of dread that weighed on her heart. The stones in front of her seemed dense and remote, like the indifferent stars that whirled above them so many millions of light years away.
The wind gusted, blowing Tara's fading form to ash.
The Circle is complete.
Dawn tapped the tip of her pencil to the blank page. She marked her place in the Habbalissa Codex with her left wrist. The first symbol had been the rose. After consulting The Book of Superstition and Symbolism and the Woman's Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets, she decided that the third must be the Willow Tree.
It was the middle symbol she did not understand. It was not a pyramid, nor was it a simple triangle. She was close, though. So close.
Dawn perched in her chair. She traced the triangular shape with her fingers, marveling at the cleanly inked lines so painstakingly committed to the page. It was thicker at the base, she noted, with wavy lines curving upward, like the cartoon drawing of a heat mirage.
Heat, she thought. Her brow creased. She recalled something from chemistry class about the Greek letter Delta. The triangular shape was the symbol for a catalyst – the key to a reaction.
Dawn sat back, suddenly breathless.
With quaking fingers, she wrote:
The Rose
The Key
and the Willow Tree.
Maya, Willow and William arrived to find not so much a bookshop as book soup. Pipes had burst, and the whole place had flooded to the windowsills. An exposed clutch of wiring shed brilliant sparks in the back corner. Elsewise, all was dark. The three huddled in under the shop's awning while the fitful gale blew down between the surrounding buildings.
"Well," William said. "Hell or high water."
"Yep," Willow said. She waded in, with the other two close behind.
Inside, the bookstore had a cooled sweat feeling that put Maya on edge. She felt an absurd pang of loss looking at her beloved books floating around, swollen like literary jellyfish. They trudged through book sludge in thigh-deep water, Maya in the middle. William and Willow fanned to either side, flanking her.
"Time may be a little slippery in here," Maya cautioned. "I've lost a measure of control, being out and all."
"Control?" Willow said.
"Hmm, yep," Maya said. "The shop is a pocket dimension I pulled out to keep us all isolated."
"Pulled it out? Of where?" William asked.
"Well, the umbra I guess," Maya said.
Willow glanced back at the girl. "Where did you study?" she asked.
Maya's face brightened. "I graduated from Rice University," she said. "I was a children's librarian. Hence, with the books..."
"I mean, where did you study magics?" Willow said.
"You can major in magics?" Maya marveled.
Willow snapped her mouth shut. Then opened it again. "We'll talk later," she said.
William came to the counter and the dead-as-coffin-nails computer sitting upon it. "Here," he said, taking Maya's elbow. "Up you go, to the counter. No good will come of it if those wires touch the water."
"Flash-fried Maya," she said, sticking out her tongue. She climbed up, clumsily tripping on her soaked skirt. "What about you guys?"
"Mayhem? My favorite!" William said with mock enthusiasm.
"It is?" Maya said.
Willow got to the countertop beside Maya. She bowed her head prayer-like, then raised only her eyes. The crackling bunch of wires sizzled, then snuffed. Willow said, "We're set. Release him."
"Release him?" Maya balked. "No. No, I can't do that. Can't you just--" she waved her arms expansively, "--poof him away?"
"It doesn't work like that," Willow said. "You have to make him all materialized before we can de-materialize him."
"About that," William said. "How are we going to kick this guy's ass if he lacks the appropriate body part?"
"You just get ready to fight. When he's released, he'll be solid enough," Willow said.
William nodded. He took up a defensive stance in front of them. They waited for Maya to act.
Willow turned to Maya. "Now would be a good time, honey," she said.
She shifted the looking glass from one hand to the other. Its surface had gone gummy with the moisture in the air.
Maya's hands were shaking. She peered into the glass, waiting for the words to come. They seemed lodged in her throat. Instead, she said, "I don't think I can do this."
Beside her, unseen, the computer screen on the counter quietly stirred to life.
Dawn internalized. It was her thing.
The more she thought about Xander at the mercy of some demented half-demon, the more she immersed herself in her books. It made her feel industrious and resourceful. More productive. Less useless.
She escaped into the intricate interwoven lines of text around the Circle, hoping they would lend more insight about the three symbols. She discovered quickly, however, that none of the text on any of the scrolls carried references to roses, keys or trees of any kind.
Ponderous, considering that they were dominant features of the Circle.
Damas had chosen to write his entries in Latin – a logical, scholarly choice. Fortuitous, too. Dawn could read it. After a cursory glance through the passages, Dawn picked up on the obvious pattern in the text. Each passage contained paired couplets marked with Roman numerals. The assigned numerals appeared to be random but she knew there had to be a code somewhere to unlock it all – an ancient crib sheet that would make all of the tumblers click into place.
Dawn sat back, massaging the tension from her neck. She knew beyond doubt that she was The Key and that Willow was The Willow Tree. That part was all too plain, but she wanted some other knowledgeable person to back her up.
With that thought in mind, Dawn left the table. She had no idea how much time had lapsed since the others had gone. The storm had abated outside, and the street had long since retired for the night. She gasped when she saw the LED clock on the microwave in the kitchen. The display said 11:49.
Hours had passed. Something had gone wrong. She knew it. And Andrew... where had he run off to? It wasn't at all like him to skip off when high profile Watcher work was afoot.
Dawn hovered in the hallway. The Flat seemed suddenly like a hulking shell full of empty chambers. Only she and Buffy...
The thought of her sister spurred Dawn to action. She went upstairs to check on Buffy, who slept in exactly the same position Dawn had left her that afternoon. Dawn left her undisturbed. She slipped into the dim sitting room, still shaken by her uncertainty.
A terrible thought occurred to her. She thought, What if Willow and Spike couldn't defeat Freddie? She had assumed the whole rescue mission would take zero time, and they would all be home to have supper. But what if this time was different from all the times before? What if she and Buffy were all that were left?
There had definitely been a time when Dawn may have wished for exactly that: Quaint, quiet normalcy with a side order of good old-fashioned boredom. Standing there in the dark between her room and her sister's, she could think of no greater hell than trading her life and her friends for some stupid Preskool Playset Family ideal.
Dawn rushed to the phone. She punched in Andrew's cell phone number. She waited, holding her breath, while the connection went through. As the ringing tone sounded in her ears, she heard a tinny rendition of the Star Wars theme playing nearby. Dawn slammed the receiver down, flung open her door and ran for Andrew's, prepared to give him a thorough browbeating for not having the courtesy to call.
Just outside his door, she realized that Andrew had left his phone in his room.
"Great job, Dorktropolis," she said, sulking. "How are you going to call me if you drop yourself in a cave? Again."
From where she stood on the landing, Dawn could see the dining room table with the scrolls spread out across its surface. The Circle and the meandering texts around it looked pretty from this distance. It reminded her very much of the illuminated lettering in the Book of Kells.
Dawn leaned against the railing. She clasped her hands together, bringing her mind into focus. Her concern for Xander and Andrew threatened to claw its way up and choke her. She forced it back down.
"I can do this," she told herself. She went back down stairs to her books. "I can do this. For them."
After walking Anjelica home in the storm, Andrew further braved the bitter rain, bypassing the Flat in favor of the abandoned church on Mercer Street better known to them as the Temple of the Sisters.
A nervous fluttery feeling filled him as he opened the buckled plywood door using the same knock spell he'd used before. He entered the bleak cavern of the chapel. He unshouldered his pack and lighted a compact, highly portable oil-burning lantern he had taken from Watcher Headquarters.
He held up the steady glowing lamplight to take in his surroundings. The Temple looked as it had before with its water stains and dismal matting of cobwebs. The slate-tiled roof did very little to keep out the rain. The constant, almost musical sound of the dripping kinda creeped him out.
But here he was, and he was determined. He refused to back out now
Andrew walked purposefully to the center of the chapel. He found a relatively flat area, knelt and started to unpack. His gear reminded him of the list of murder weapons in a game of Clue: a crimson candle, a hunk of chalk, a silk rope, a spell book, a silver knife. He also laid out a slab of turkey jerky wrapped in foil, a packet of Jaffa Cakes and a Granny Smith apple pre-cut into eight equal slices. He knew he would be there for a while. Wouldn't do to wuss out now.
Andrew unwrapped the jerky, tore into it carnivore-style. While he chewed, his lip curling into a sneer, he took out the chalk. Over the slick flagstones, Andrew inscribed a circle within a larger circle. He bisected the inner circle, then added the proper ornamentation at each pole – a waning crescent moon north and full moon south.
He was careful to keep himself out of the circle while he inscribed. Doing that could throw the whole thing out of whack. He needed it in whack. This was something he would at which he would only have one go. Once the circle was complete, he arranged his objects. He bunched the silk rope in a figure-eight loop on the right side. He placed the crimson candle to his left. He sat cross-legged in his position just below the full moon – the current lunar phase – and waited.
Not patiently. Patience was not an Andrew virtue. But he waited nonetheless, in a cold, dank place with a spell book across his knees and raindrops dripping like something out of a country song into fattening puddles around him.
At midnight, he lit his candle and began the chant of conjuration.
"You have to, Maya," Willow said. "Let Freddie go. We'll do the clean up."
Maya shook her head vehemently. "He'll kill us," she said, panting. "I can't let him go."
The doorbell buzz blared, jarring them all.
"What the bloody hell was that?" William called back to them.
Maya closed her eyes. "He's here, he's here," she chanted. Her bird-bright demeanor eroded before their eyes.
"She's lost it," Willow said.
William heard a skittering sound in the ceiling, like rats in the ventilation ducts. "Find it, Red," he said. "There's something here."
Willow kicked the monitor so that it faced her. A message window popped up.
Hello Maya Welcome Home appeared.
A smile quirked the corner of Willow's mouth. "He's using the computer," she said. "I can get him out."
"Don't," Maya said. Her voice had changed. There was metal underneath her Texas twang. "You going in may hurt Xander." She held out the looking glass to Willow. "Take it," she said. "Be ready. When I speak the words, he'll fly at you like a mad red wasp."
Willow felt an upwelling of power the moment she touched the looking glass.
The computer screen flashed:
What R U doing, Maya?
Maya swallowed. "Neteru ce'eth," she said. "Let the prisoner be released."
The ceiling fell through like sodden paper, hemorrhaging a gush of solid tepid water that washed over William and broke like a wave at the counter. Willow and Maya screamed. William swore. Xander and Freddie landed with a splash in the center of the room. Xander, being human, flailed about in half-blind panic.
Freddie bounced. He descended on Maya in a flash. She froze, going to her knees. He seized her face, putting his thumbs to her eyelids. William, still spitting out floodwater, tackled Freddie, dragging him into the deluge. Freddie writhed, seeming to have more limbs than an aspen. He clawed William's face with glassy black nails. William dunked his head under the water.
Willow leapt from the counter to help Xander right himself. He spluttered and coughed.
"Willow!" he said. "Always glad to see you. But today, especially so." He slipped on a book and took another splash. He had lost his eye patch and spent much of his energy trying to hide the gaping hole where his eye used to be.
Freddie fought above the surface, scratching and biting. William immersed him again.
Maya yelled, "Now may be a fair time to mention: Freddie can control electricity."
Willow lifted Xander. "To the counter, before he can charge..." They bolted. Willow and Xander clambered up just as Freddie zapped William. The pulse deafened them like a shock wave. Willow, Xander and Maya huddled as the magnesium burst rocked the room. When it cleared, William was still standing, hands gripping firmly to the sleeves of Freddie's flannel coat.
"What are you?" Freddie gasped.
William enjoyed this part of it. He wrapped his hands around Freddie's throat, ready to make a clean break. He said, "I'm the guy who's sending you to hell."
"No, don't kill him!" Maya cried.
"What?" William and Xander said in accord.
"Don't kill him. He's already dead. Sort of. Killing him gives him an all access pass to Demon Land – which is exactly what he wants."
"Don't listen to her," Freddie said. His voice warbled in his throat. "She's lying. I don't want to die. I'm not any of the things she's told you. I'm just a guy. And she's a jealous, controlling hoax. You've set me free. Please don't kill me."
Maya shook her head. "No. Not true. I gave up five years of my life to keep you from harming your coven. And they weren't even my friends..."
"See. You kept me locked up in some parallel dimension all this time because you were envious of my power, and my friends. My job..." Freddie said.
Willow, William and Xander looked back and forth like Ping-Pong spectators.
Maya said, "You were a dishwasher at my parent's restaurant until we came here. Then – on the dole."
"My other job," Freddie said. "Remember. Demon fighting?"
"Yes. You fought demons," Maya said. "Then Luxe came along and made his Godfather offer."
"Luxe?" William said. He cast a sideways glance at Willow and Xander. Freddie saw it as an opportunity to attack. William pushed him down by the forehead, holding him at arm's length like a bitey puppy.
"No one's buying your victim act," William said. "Can I kill him now?"
"Fine," Freddie seethed. "You'll all be damned. Maya bears the mark of a curse. You tie your ways with her, you will all suffer. Underneath, she's all thorns."
"He's lying," Xander said finally. "He told me, in Alice. He said I'd witness his real power." He turned to Maya. "All this time you thought you were controlling him."
William shook Freddie roughly. "You are a real piece of work, aren't you?" he said.
"What do we do with him?" Xander said.
Maya looked up, tears brimming in her eyes. "Let Alice have him," she said.
"No," Freddie said, desperately.
"Think we have a winner," Willow said.
Freddie wrenched free from William.
"Get him!" Willow shrieked.
Freddie leaped from bookshelf to column with the agility of a feral fox. He seemed to draw heat from the air, coalescing it in the palms of his hands. He aimed for Maya. Willow deflected. The energy rebounded like ball lightning, shredding shelves, filling the air with acrid smoke.
"He's getting away," Willow called out.
"No he's not," William said. He swung up to a shelf. Freddie zapped again, leaving a burning hole in the counter beneath Xander's feet.
Maya's eyes rolled back to the whites. She wavered. Xander caught her. He heard a tiny susurrus noise in her throat.
"Maya?" he said.
Her eyes rolled forward, first the right and then the left. "Get to the door," she said. "Quick."
"To the door!" Xander barked. He and Willow collected Maya. Freddie jumped to the counter, getting behind them. William followed with a swift, heavy boot to the head. Freddie sprawled, collided with the monitor and tumbled behind the counter.
"Spike," Willow yelled.
The glass in the windows bulged inward. The wood wainscoting moaned like the creaking rigging of a ship. William vaulted from the counter, splashing across the room as the walls buckled. The building was folding in on itself like an origami bookstore. The floor came up to meet William's face.
"Alice is coming," Maya said, frantic. "Get him out. She'll take him with her."
Spike clawed up the swiftly tilting floor. Filthy water and clumps of wet paper mash spattered him. He could hear the grinding, popping sound of something big consuming pipe and wood and sheet rock. His boots squelched, useless on the slick floor. This Alice bird was tearing the place apart and he was next.
"Bollocks," he shouted. "I'm being eaten alive by a blighting bookshop."
Xander's hand gripped William's forearm. "No you're not," he said. He hauled William forward. The boards beneath his feet ground to sawdust. Behind them, Freddie began to wail. Vivid bursts of violent light shook the air. William kicked, gained ground, then barreled into the three of them. They tumbled from the bookstore to the street just as the front windows caved in. There was a kind of rewinding crunch sound. Then, the whole place gutted itself leaving only the outer facade.
The four of them remained still, panting and stunned, for a long while. Xander started to laugh. William and Willow followed suit.
"That guy was such a punk," he said. "I don't know what you saw in him."
Maya put her head down. "You guys were amazing," she said. "And not at all normal. Also, does this count as an act of God for insurance purposes. Fairly certain act of Demon is not listed in my policy. And..."
She looked up. The sky blanched with the first hints of sunrise. Fringy clouds tinged pink feathered their way over the rooftops. "I'm free," she said. "Oh my goodness. I'm finally free."
With his chant complete, Andrew tossed a single lighted match into the Circle. In a puff of yellow smoke, she appeared, dressed in her baby blue satin PJs he really liked a lot.
She gaped at him.
"You conjured me?" Nighna asked, incredulous.
"Damn right," Andrew said. "I did."
"You could have just called," Nighna said, eyelashes fluttering. Then she turned grave. "Andrew, this is not something one does in polite society."
"I'm through being polite," Andrew said. His voice kept hitching in unbearable ways, like he was a scaredy teenage boy in speech class all over again.
Nighna's face softened. "Look at you," she clucked. "All this borrowed bravado. Did your friends put you up to this?"
"Leave them out of this. You tried to hurt them," he said.
"I succeeded. The humiliation on the Slayer's face was very gratifying," Nighna said. She stepped toward him.
He brandished his silver knife, but she didn't flinch.
"Hey," he said. "I conjured you. I get to be Mr. Talking Guy. You get to be Shutting Up Girl. Woman. Demon."
Nighna curtsied playfully.
"Why?" Andrew asked. Not playfully.
"Why what, Mr. Wells?" Nighna said. Another step forward.
"Why did you want me? Why am – was – I your target?"
Nighna moved smoothly to the edge of the circle. "Would they have you believe you are devoid of desirable qualities?
"You're a Kimaris," he said, retreating. "You're up to your proboscises in plans."
"Actually, only the males have proboscis," Nighna corrected.
"I liked you," Andrew said. "You used me."
"I like you still, Andrew," Nighna said. She reached for him, but an invisible barrier blocked her, barring her inside.
Andrew looked and felt smug. "What are your plans?" he ordered, surprised by the firmness in his tone.
"I'm not going to share," she said. "But if you would like to engage in some torture, I'm game. I am fond of flagellation."
"Go flagellate yourself," he said.
"Andrew," Nighna purred. "Sweet boy. The whole world is doomed this time. The Slayers and Vampires are going to war it out. When they do, they'll leave behind a shell. A burned out husk. You can conjure demons, and I bet I'm not too far off in guessing you know a thing or a thousand about crossing the borders between dimensions. That is why I want you."
Andrew watched Nighna's deep well eyes. He was aware of her drawing him in. He could feel himself falling, inching forward. The candle guttered, drawing his attention. He snapped back to himself.
"Hold it right there, Uhuru," he said. "You can't draw me in with flowery lies and pie crust promises."
Nighna bent her head forward. "Then maybe with this," she said. "What I have for you is real. Whatever it is. I think of you. And I hoped you would find me, so we could chat this out. And, see? I have this..."
She held up her hand, revealing his Scooby watch secured to her wrist.
"I wear it always," she said, quietly. "Keeps you near."
Andrew's arm shot out, seizing her throat. He lay the blade to the artery with a shockingly steady hand.
"I murdered my best friend," he said. "Don't think I won't put this knife through your breast bone."
Nighna's blood raced. "This," she said, excited. "This is what I saw in you. Just under the surface lurks a well of rage and hate and strength. You have such potential; a cub with real teeth. You just need someone to show you."
She smoothed her hand over Andrew's face, then traced her fingers down her neck. "Show me," he said, slipping into a trance state.
"I can show you," Nighna said. She glanced down. Andrew's toes had breached the chalk circle he had drawn. It was almost too easy. She enfolded him into her arms, and they disappeared.