Humanitas | Buffy's gaze flickered back and forth between Willow and Tara. "Like me? What do you mean?" "Tara should really tell you, she's the one who noticed," Willow suggested, looking at Tara. "Well, um, h-h-he seemed sort of, well, Slayer-y," Tara said, then shook her head. "No, that's not right. I mean, he... You know how people have a certain, um, feel?" Blank looks all around. "Well, like Faith felt like Faith, even in Buffy's... body." That earned her a black look from the Slayer. "Oh, really?" "Oh, I'm sure nobody who's not a witch or a demon or something could've told..." Tara backpedaled quickly. "Yeah, I didn't even notice," Willow added helpfully. "Tara was the only one who could tell." Buffy ground her teeth just a bit, before nodding. "Well, there's not much more," said Tara. "He just felt like you." "Ns wht sk s'fr." Xander looked at Spike. "Could you please not talk with your mouth full? I mean, gross." "Swwu." Spike swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and started over. "Bloke knows which end of a stake is up, is all." "Right," said Buffy, taking charge. "Willow, Tara, and Giles, see what you can find out about Doc. Spike, you and Xander come with me..." "Um, I'm a bit combustible at the moment," said Spike. "Yeah," replied Xander, "and we wouldn't want that." "Boys!" Buffy snapped. "Okay, Spike, you help here. Give Giles everything you know about Doc. Where you heard of him, what you saw, anything. Xander, you and I are going to check out Doc's old place." Dawn, who had been listening quietly, chipped in. "What about me? What can I do?" She smiled hopefully at her sister. "You stay here, where it's safe." "Huh! It's always the same. Dawn stay here, Dawn don't touch, Dawn be quiet! I'm nearly fifteen," Dawn complained. Anya put her arm around Dawn. "I have some nice menial tasks that you can do around the shop. Not for money, though." "Gee, thanks," Dawn grimaced, and suddenly something occurred to her. "Hey, Doc is dead, isn't he?" |
|
The room had been silent for several minutes while Marcus stretched his legs and washed out his coffee cup. No sense in disturbing the careful illusion his uncle had wrapped around the place. I wonder why, he puzzled. Normally his uncle had more than enough defenses that a simple illusion would be superfluous. Doc had stopped shuffling papers on his desk and gone back to reading when suddenly his head snapped up and he hissed through his teeth, a strange whistling sound. His expression was still congenially vapid, but Marcus wasn't fooled. "I have visitors arriving, Marcus," his uncle said. "You need to leave now." Marcus nodded and turned to put the coffee cup away, searching for its original location on the side table. "No," Doc continued. "No time for it to be perfect. Close enough will do. Just go." Startled, Marcus whipped his head around to stare at his uncle. "What? What's wrong?" "I told you, visitors. Don't make me repeat it, time is short." Doc was clearing up the table - actually, he was putting it in even greater disarray than previously. Marcus realized his uncle was moving the physical pieces to reflect the illusion, and wavered, in confusion. He's scared, he realized. What the hell? Marcus grabbed the strap of his rucksack and prepared to swing it over his shoulders. "I said, get OUT!" and his uncle's lightening demon abilities once again startled Marcus as he felt the rapid tongue slap him into turning around and shove him between the shoulder blades. The rucksack caught on the doorjamb, and Marcus cast a glance at his uncle before he dropped the bag on the steps. Marcus barely had time to take a breath before launching himself through the apartment door. He cursed leaving the bag behind and took the basement steps three at a time, casting himself out into the empty street. His blood pounded in his ears as he concentrated: nothing, nothing. He could mask his body, he could even mask his shadow, but he couldn't mask his footsteps - and they were still echoing down the empty street as he threw himself against the wall opposite his uncle's apartment door. He clutched the wall, focused on nothing, as a young woman and her tall male companion came around the corner. They stopped, and for a split second, Marcus was certain they'd seen him - and then he realized they were listening to the sound of his footsteps, still echoing. He forced himself to breathe, slowly and deeply, holding his concentration. It was one thing to use the night's shadows to do half the work for him, but another thing altogether when it was middle of the day on a sidewalk in full sun. Just hope they're not powerful witches too, he thought frantically, or my hiding place won't last long. "No, I don't think so," the guy was saying, as they got closer. They'd picked up their pace when they heard the footsteps but appeared to relax at seeing no one in sight. "Yeah, right." The blonde sounded irritated, and the guy appeared to take the hint and shut up. Marcus watched as they approached his uncle's door. He realized the illusion was solid to them as he watched the blonde tear down the boards so convincingly boarded to the doorframe. He had to smile to himself - his uncle's illusions were notorious for having as much physical strength as the real thing. This girl must be amazing - and she looked familiar. His concentration faltered for a second as he tried to remember where he might've seen her. Catching his breath, he returned his attention to nothing before the dark-haired companion glanced around the street again. This is the one that frightens my uncle? Some girl and a guy who doesn't even help her break down the door? Marcus was completely at a loss. The town had a neutered vampire who went shopping for scented candles at ten in the morning, his sole lead had relocated, and his uncle was in hiding. His uncle wasn't afraid of the twins; his uncle wasn't even afraid of gods. To the best of Marcus' remembrance, Doc wasn't afraid of anything... until now. |
|
Doc closed his eyes, concentrating carefully. Nothing. Father! His son's voice assailed him just as the door was kicked in with the force of an F5 tornado. Shatter and silence! He projected angrily at Aeralyus, shutting him off. Doc watched the boy and Slayer look over his apparently empty and abandoned apartment, barely risking a breath. After a rudimentary search, they started to leave, but not before the boy leaned over and picked up the bag that Marcus had left behind. Doc waited until they'd left, and allowed himself a small smile. |
|
It was a long ten minutes before the two reappeared on the steps of his uncle's apartment. Their voices were hushed, and had a disappointed air to them... until he realized, they weren't disappointed. They were on their guard, each glancing sidelong around him, through him, up and down the street - and the dark-haired companion was carrying his rucksack. Marcus froze. How-? Why didn't my uncle's illusion cover my bag? How did they find it? Why could they find it? Marcus fought his rising panic. It was several long minutes before Marcus could bring himself to push away from the wall. He had no inclination to go back to his uncle right away, not while his uncle was on full defense against these two seemingly harmless humans. His mind turned in rapid circles, confused, overwhelmed, exhausted, and terrified. He had thought his cousins were terrifying, and here was something much worse? He'd reached his limit. Slowly he relaxed his concentration, and the tall dark-haired young man materialized on the sidewalk as if stepping over a threshold. Squaring his shoulders, he began to follow the blonde and her companion. He had to get his stuff back. |
|
"Father is such a stupid ass!" Talia sulked as she finished applying the last layer of fingernail polish to her toes. Aeralyus had warned her of their father's reaction before he'd left to pick up Marcus' tracks. "Damn fool has finally lost it," she muttered aloud. "This mess could have been taken care of years ago." Why did the men in my family have to be such idiots? I know what's best for them, but they never listen. She scowled as her hand slipped, leaving a smear of crimson lacquer across the bedspread. Now we're stuck in a second-rate hotel in a Hellmouth, of all places. This place doesn't even have a decent Russian restaurant, let alone any good sushi. Talia's thoughts ended abruptly when the mirror shattered. She swore again, this time at her father's delayed backlash, regarding the spilled nail polish and broken glass with mounting aggravation. I, she told herself sternly, have had enough of this. |
|
Buffy's eyes went immediately to Giles as she entered the Magic Box, Xander trailing in her wake. She called out, "Find anything?" "Not as such, no." Giles looked worried. "We know Doc had some connection with Glory, but the Book of Tarnis doesn't mention any demons that match Doc's characteristics. I hope your venture was a bit more successful?" "Maybe. Doc's place was pretty trashed. Looked like it'd been empty for a while." "And a good thing too," chimed in Xander, "cause I was ready for trouble." A smirk appeared on Spike's face. "Yeah, Harris. Lot of good you'd do against one of those lizard things." "Hey, I'm not the one who went flying." "Caught me by surprise, is all." Spike's face was stony. "I'd've had him if it weren't for that tail." Buffy ignored them. She put the bag on the table. "We found this. It didn't seem to fit with the rest of the place." Willow pulled the zipper on the main compartment on the bag, and emptied the contents onto the table. A well-worn and slightly fragrant change of clothes, a jacket, and a slightly more fragrant pair of socks fell out. Her nose wrinkled. "Ooh, stinky. Human, but stinky. Hey, Giles, have you ever seen this book before?" It was a small leather-bound volume, a little larger than an average paperback. Giles opened the book. "No, I can't say I have. It seems to be written in a Saxon dialect. I'm a bit rusty, I must confess, but I think I can make it out." He smiled to himself. "I haven't read anything like this since I was in school." Giles handed the book to Tara, who paged through it as Xander pawed through the bag. He pulled out a plain wooden box, and turned it over several times, unable to find an opening. Handing it to Willow, Xander continued digging through the bag. "We may have something here to translate this," Tara suggested, and turned to the bookshelf to look. "Well, this is in English," Xander declared, and pulled some wrinkled papers from the outside pocket. "Ethan Rayne." "What?" Buffy was all attention. "What does that creep have to do with this? Sorry, Giles." "No, I quite agree, though I might phrase it a bit more... colorfully. If Ethan is involved in this matter, we must be on our guard. He's quite dangerous." "Not to mention crazy." Xander was still going through the papers he'd found. "Boy, this guy's handwriting is terrible." He looked up. "Um, Giles? Have you been by your apartment yet?" "No. Why do you ask?" "Because here's your address." |
|
Marcus hesitated, taking a second to center himself before pushing open the door. The bell jingled, startling him, and in the door's reflection, he caught quick sight of himself and grimaced. His black shirt hung untucked from his jeans, his dark hair was going in every direction, and his face looked sunken and exhausted, the nose even longer and sterner than usual. This is how I deal with the enemy, he thought bitterly, hoping for a second that they'd just return his backpack and he could move on without trouble. He doubted it. He paused just past the threshold. He took in the hushed room, the long counter, and the shop girl hovering near a table. With enough studied cheerfulness to make him wince, she welcomed him to the shop. He glanced over her head, and saw the young woman who had been at his uncle's apartment; Marcus' focus narrowed, sweeping the shop for signs of his belongings. The shop girl beside him had become sulky, as if she was taking his silence personally. She welcomed Marcus a second time, less hopefully, and he nearly snarled at her as he stepped further into the shop. I am in no mood to deal with retail now, he thought. Someone whispered something that he couldn't make out. He sensed movement near the back of the shop, but his eyes hadn't completely adjusted yet. "Go in the back. Yes, now," a soft voice suddenly said, and while it was a girl's voice, it clearly brooked no argument. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young girl with long, shiny dark hair ducking her head nervously as she brushed past him to disappear behind curtains at the back of the shop. William the Bloody was perched on a tall wooden stool, but as the girl departed, the vampire stared stone-faced at Marcus and moved leisurely to position himself behind the petite blonde girl. Marcus noted, unsurprised, that the position also happened to be directly between Marcus and the back exit. Marcus curled his lips in recognition of the vampire, not quite a smile nor a grimace, and his eyes flickered to the table. There was his rucksack, its innards spilled out upon the scarred wood. Marcus' eyes opened wide, anger flaring around the edges of his self-control. He could see the same boy from his uncle's apartment, sitting on the back of a chair holding Marcus' other shirt against him for fit. Marcus glared at him. The boy responded by puffing up like a cockerel looking for a fight, but he made no motion otherwise, instead glancing from the blonde to the older man, clearly puzzled. Marcus' brows came down in a straight line of indignation. The blonde was staring at him, her eyebrows raised, waiting. The older man cleared his throat and moved to stand in front of the rucksack. Marcus turned his stony gaze to the older man, and slowly nodded, but giving the impression of a short, formal bow. The blonde girl tensed in anticipation of combat. He could smell her distrust; she reeked of tension and controlled power. He tasted her scent a second time, and wondered if the shock showed in his face. Bloody hell, she's a Slayer, he realized, I thought they all died before they reached seventeen. Then another thought occurred to him: why would my uncle be scared of an everyday thing like a Slayer? The older man interrupted Marcus' confused thoughts. "Uh, yes," he said in a crisp British accent, "How may we help you?" "You have my bag." As he spoke, the witch from the night before stepped into his line of vision from behind the shelves and moved to stand beside the redhead. The witch gazed at him with clear eyes and murmured something to her lover, who nodded, tense. Marcus exhaled and swayed almost imperceptibly before he caught himself, fighting to keep his knees from buckling underneath him. No! Gotta hold on just a little longer, he thought angrily. The Slayer reached out as if to catch him, then jerked her hand away, her expression clearly confused and angry at something. Marcus was torn between wondering why, and being offended at her peculiar reaction, and being angry with himself for showing weakness. "I'm sorry, I just - " she stopped herself as Marcus struggled to contain himself. He wasn't sure how to deal with this, and bit back the instinct to grab his stuff and run. They may know something, he reminded himself, but they're still dangerous. |
|
As soon as he was certain the two kids were away from his door, Doc relaxed and dropped onto the sofa, his breathing still shallow. He remained unmoving for a good thirty minutes. "I'm getting too old for this," he muttered aloud. Now that was a good one. Too old. He shook his head, amused. The twins weren't aware of his intentions, but being here had meant discovering the Key before Glorificus did, which promoted his own plans quite nicely. In fact, the Key had walked through his door just when he was beginning to despair it would be located in time. Its disguise was perfect; it revealed fear and disgust when he allowed it to view his true self. The Key had truly believed it was human. However, the past was past; no one would benefit from dwelling in it. First Marcus defies the twins, and then he comes to Sunnydale... naturally the twins would be right behind him. What did the boy expect, he asked himself crossly. All of them here risk my plans. He didn't want to think of what would happen if the Slayer discovered he was still alive. Doc leaned over to pour another cup of coffee, and every injury protested. I am definitely too old for this. |
|
Spike stood rigidly behind Buffy, smirking at the thought of knocking the boy down a peg or two. That momentary swaying had to be a ploy. Bloody strong and silent, needs saving, Spike grumbled to himself, sounds like a bad personals advert in the Manchester Times. The sidelong glance from Marcus unsettled Spike. He would have rather the stranger had showed a little fear. Buffy took a shaky breath. She was shocked at the power emanating from the young man. She had never felt that before. Was that what Tara had meant when she said he had felt like a Slayer? Is that what people feel when they touch me? Or is this because of my Slayer side? What does that mean? Buffy shook her head, refusing to follow the thought further. This is impossible. Buffy studied the stranger, sizing him up, judging his weaknesses and strengths with the critical eye of a seasoned warrior. He wasn't tall so much as long, in leg, arm, and body. His harsh cheekbones and patrician nose were in dramatic contrast to his chapped and bitten lips. When he finally looked back at her, she narrowed her eyes at his gray eyes, fathomless as moonlight on water. Time seemed to stop as she remained paralyzed. Buffy steeled herself, realizing that the gang was waiting for her. "So?" she asked the stranger in a tightly clipped voice. "I don't know who you are, or what you want, but I do know where this bag was found. Which might lead us into thinking you're someone we don't need hanging around." For a split second, it seemed to Buffy that the stranger wasn't nearly as in control of himself as he wanted to appear. Marcus glanced pointedly at the rucksack. "That's my property you have your hands all over...find anything interesting?" "Well, uh," the older man began, slowly pulling off his glasses, "we did find a few interesting papers." Giles placed the notes on the table in front of Marcus. "I don't see why I should explain myself to you, but if you insist... the short story is my father..." Marcus hesitated, squinting his eyes as if trying to see a long distance. "My father... died recently. He left a request that I personally deliver several letters to friends of his from his university days. Unfortunately, it seems only two are still alive. The addresses are for those two men." "What's the long story?" Xander said. "Because that's often the Danger, Will Robinson part." Marcus wrinkled his brow quizzically, and shrugged. "Who's Will Robinson?" Buffy choked back laughter at Xander's disgusted expression, but her face drained of all expression as Marcus glanced over at her, disdain obvious on his face. He was staring at Buffy with such disturbing intensity that the short hairs on her neck stood up. She didn't fear him, but neither did she like him, exactly. Buffy couldn't put her finger on it. At first, she was disconcerted by his stare, but now she was furious, both at him and at herself for her reaction. She noticed there were silver flecks in his eyes that seemed to spark. Buffy gritted her teeth and stood up abruptly. She shot a glance at Giles, who answered it with a nod. Buffy cast another glance at the stranger and headed for the back room. She wanted Dawn out of the shop altogether before it got even more tense. Spike listened to Buffy's retreating footsteps. He'd been pleased by the venomous looks Buffy had shared with this stranger, but when the air turned prickly with heated tension, he was worried and angry. She was his, dammit, and nobody but nobody was going to hurt her, and all Spike saw in Marcus was a great deal of hurt. |
| |