Thanks and blame go to Leah Rosenthal for the Bloody Awful Poem.
Mucho, major, chocolate-covered thanks go to Gyrus for the fight scenes. You rock, my buddy!
Chapter 5: Things Come to a Head on Friday
Dear Buffy,
It's weird. Yesterday, I was feeling pretty good. Today, I'm all down again. I remember I was like this after Mom died, too. I'd be okay, and then I wouldn't be okay, and then I'd be okay again. It was nice to have a good day, though. I mean, better than I've been having, anyway.
Actually, two things got me down yesterday. First, I talked to Sarah Anne. She has nightmares about her father and the monsters he sends looking for her and her mom. Demon dogs is what Wesley calls them. One burst into the Hyperion last night, and they're big, mean, and seriously ugly. Spike killed it. It's not fair. All Sarah wants is to be a normal kid, and she can't have even that.
I guess that's like you or me, huh? You just wanted to be normal, and you had to be the Slayer. I wanted to be normal, but I'm the Key. I hope we make things okay for Sarah Anne, though. Maybe she can have a normal life after all.
Second thing: Wesley's stupid niece did a spell that broke down the protection spells on the Hyperion. He was really mad at her, too. I wonder if she's going to have to go back to England.
I think I just heard Cordy screech. Bet Spike left another poem for her. This should be fun. Maybe it'll cheer me up.
***
The poem of the day was:
"Lilies are white
Fungus is black
I want you for romance
And not for a snack"
"SPIKE!" screamed Cordelia, coming shooting out of the kitchen.
The blond vampire was there in a moment. "You called, my dove?"
The pitch and volume of Cordelia's voice had attracted Angel and Gunn as well. They stood off to the side, wondering precisely what they should do.
Cordelia gestured violently toward the kitchen. "What part of your bleach-soaked brain came up with that . . . that . . ."
"Doggerel?" supplied Angel.
"Yes! You call that a poem?"
Spike thought about it. "It's got rhyme, it's got meter—by definition, yeah, it's a poem." He grinned. "Truth now: don't you find it just the least bit flattering?"
The Seer's eyes narrowed. "Flattering? Having bad Magnetic Poetry love notes dedicated to me by some walking corpse whose hair can't even remember what color it's supposed to be?"
"Come upstairs with me," Spike murmured, leaning ever closer, "and we'll both find out my natural hair color."
Gunn was thunderstruck. He started forward, only to be caught by Angel.
"You going to let him get away with saying things like that?" Gunn demanded of the elder vampire.
"Let Cordy handle it," said Angel.
Cordelia was, indeed, handling it. "So very clever. Tell me, just how many decades did it take you to think up that one?"
"Hey, I was the one who thought up that one originally, luv," said Spike.
Cordelia stepped closer to him. "Somehow, I don't doubt it. It's classy enough."
Spike stepped even closer, bringing them nose-to-nose. "Never pretended to be classy, sweetheart. Classy blokes mince words. Me, I say what I think, and I think that backside of yours could make me re-think my taste for skinny women."
"Really?" Cordelia's face took on an artful surprised look. "And to think I thought you'd gotten over that when you took up with Harmony and her mile-wide hips, Blondie Bear."
Spike grinned. "Kitten's got sharp teeth."
"Yes. And as opposed to you, I can actually use them."
The phone rang, and Cordelia went into the office to answer it. Spike, meanwhile, had the look of a man who'd just come out of an intense make-out session. He turned to Angel and Gunn. "Now, that's entertainment!"
Gunn gave him an icy stare. Angel rolled his eyes. "Sooner or later, that'll get you staked, Spike," said the elder vampire.
Spike flashed his canines. "Come on. Haven't you ever gotten into it with Miss Cordelia?"
"Actually, we try to avoid being on the sharp side of her tongue here," Angel told him, very dry.
"But why?" Spike looked positively dreamy. "She bites back so prettily. Tangle with her sometime. Even you'd enjoy it, poofy sire."
"Angel! It's Thia!" shouted Cordelia from within the office. Angel went into the office to pick up the call. Gunn gave Spike another withering look and followed.
"That was funny." Spike turned and saw Dawn standing in the shadow of the hallway, hugging Buffy's shawl around her.
"Mornin', Little Bit. You eat yet?"
Dawn shrugged. "Not that hungry this morning."
Spike was concerned. "You feeling all right?"
"I'm just . . ." Dawn scrunched up her face, thinking. "I'm just kinda down today. The usual, you know?" She walked further into the lobby to stand near Spike.
He didn't know what to say. Awkwardly, he reached out and set a hand on her shoulder. "It'll get better," he reassured her. "That's the good of being a human, you know; things never last forever with you."
Dawn's sad blue eyes looked into his own. "I guess so. I just wish . . . Spike, it can't ever go back to the way it was before, can it? I can't ever be the way I was before."
"No. That's another thing about you humans. You're always changing. Not like us demons, you know; we never change." Spike thought about that. "Well, with the exception of me and the poof, that is."
"Well, I'm glad you changed," Dawn said softly. "Maybe I'll have some cereal or something. I guess I am kinda hungry."
She walked toward the kitchen. For a moment, Spike just stood there, watching her. Dawn was small and slim, probably much like Buffy had been at her age. Her eyes were Joyce's, her face oval like Buffy's, and her mouth was pure Summers. With Buffy's wrap around her, she smelled of her older sister.
'Til the end of the world.
He'd given Buffy that pledge, and he'd meant it as an expression of his own love for Buffy, as well as genuine fondness for Dawn. Now, he realized that perhaps it was something more: a protection of Buffy's flesh and blood, her spirit, as wrapped up in Dawn, her sister and child both.
"Mind some company?" he called after Dawn.
She turned, offering him the smile that was so like Buffy's or Joyce's. Not as bright as usual, but an attempt. "Sure. I think they've got cocoa."
Spike grinned mischievously. "Not for long, they won't."
***
Wesley and Rebecca appeared just as Dawn emerged from the breakfast nook. Angel greeted them, then took Dawn aside.
"Dawn, we're going to have a meeting with everyone this morning, including Kate and Sandra," he said.
"And you want me on baby-sitting duty?"
"That's what I'm asking. We're going to gather in the lobby this time."
Dawn cocked her head. "So you want me to keep Sarah Anne out of the lobby?"
"Not exactly." Angel glanced over to where Sandra and Sarah Anne, freshly bathed, were coming down the stairs. "I want you to keep Sarah Anne in the office. I've got some art supplies in there, so she can draw or whatever."
Something was coming together in Dawn's mind. "You don't want her out of sight, do you?"
Angel hesitated a moment. "No."
"Things just got worse, didn't they?"
"Yes."
Dawn nodded, swallowing. "Okay."
"Thanks, Dawn." He smiled a little, affectionately touching her face. "You've been a big help this week."
She rolled her eyes. "In between going postal, you mean?"
Angel's smile grew a bit wider. "Everyone's got to go postal once in a while."
"Angel, Gunn, Cordelia, may I see you in the office for a moment?" requested Wesley. The three followed him into the office. Rebecca, Dawn noted, was sitting on the couch looking subdued and vulnerable. Spike started toward her. Wesley ducked back out of the office. "Say one word to her, Spike, and I'll drive a very dull stake through your heart." The office door shut after Wesley as he withdrew again. Spike shrugged and left the lobby.
Inside, Wesley faced his friends. "I realize that what Rebecca did was very ill-considered and, yes, dangerous. I have no excuse for her error save that she is, like I was, a victim of our family. What I'd like to ask is that she be given a second chance." He paused briefly. "Like me, much was expected of her. And like me, she could not live up to those expectations. Unlike me, it was none of her own fault that she failed to be what our family wished her to be. She came here in need of help. Our help. I'm asking you . . ." He trailed off. "I'm asking you to help me uncover the good young woman under the Pryce exterior."
There was a moment of silence. Cordelia looked a bit skeptical, Gunn looked open, and Angel looked at Wesley after consulting both of them with his eyes. "We'll help," the vampire said. "Actually, Wesley, she might not have done nearly as much damage as we were afraid she did. And believe it or not, that's not good news."
***
Twenty minutes later, the lobby was full. Angel, Wesley, Cordelia, Gunn, Rebecca Sandra, Kate, and even Fred and Spike were all present. Angel had roped Spike into attending. Almost literally, actually; there had been some mention of tying Spike to a chair if he refused to sit in, at the very least. The blond vampire was currently sulking on the fringe of the group, chewing on a toothpick.
Wesley stood, opening the meeting. "Angel has reached some conclusions that I believe may be vital in keeping Sandra and her daughter safe until the White make their decision and hopefully step in. Angel?"
Angel addressed the group. "Last night, I was thinking about why the demon dogs were sent after Dr. Banerjee, and why one would have been sent here. Sandra, when you told your story to Thia, you left out one detail that you'd told us, something you probably didn't think was important: Andrew could find things without looking for them. When I talked to Thia this morning, she said that's a dead giveaway that he has farsight, like her. According to Thia, it's easy to see things and almost as easy to see events, but harder to see people. You need to be communicating with them, as she was with us on the phone yesterday, or you have to have an intimate connection with them."
Sandra knew where this was headed. "And I'm Andrew's wife."
"Yes." Angel nodded. "More to the point, though, Sarah Anne is his daughter, and Thia says it's easiest to see one of your own blood."
"Waitasec—didn't those witches make this place invisible?" asked Gunn.
"They made it invisible to scrying," said Angel. "Farsight is different. You'll remember Thia could see us easily even with that shield in place. Furthermore, Willow and Tara tested it with a scrying spell last night, and it apparently never faltered. Incidentally, they were able to reinstate the spells they placed on the Hyperion within a few hours. Willow did warn us that if he's as strong a warlock as he appears to be, he'll most likely be able to break down enough of those spells to get in, but it'll take him time and energy to do so."
"I don't understand," said Kate. "If he's been able to see them all this time, why hasn't he made his move yet?"
"Sounds to me like he's driving them." Spike's voice startled everybody. "Hunting but not killing—he's either moving them someplace, or he just gets off on the fear."
"I'm with Spike on this one," Angel said. "I think he's driving them as well, and when I talked it over with Thia, she agreed. We think L.A. is right where he wants you and Sarah Anne, Sandra."
Sandra straightened. "Why L.A.?"
Angel paused a moment, framing his thoughts. "For the sake of argument, we're saying he's a Fire Mage. Their powers are strongest around large numbers of people. According to Thia, from what she could discover of the ritual, the mage who performs it wants his own powers to be at their absolute peak, as the ritual takes a lot of energy to perform. Now, any population center would probably be good enough, but L.A. has another attraction for any magic user."
"The Hellmouth," supplied Cordelia. She'd been in on discovering most of this with Angel.
"Exactly," Angel agreed. "To explain that, Sandra, the Hellmouth is a convergence of mystical energies that attracts demons and also amplifies magical forces. It's actually located about two hours north of here, in Sunnydale, but L.A. is close enough that the Hellmouth still affects it."
Wesley put it all together. "So he's got both sides of his magic use covered. He's got the population center to bring his magery to a peak, and the Hellmouth will augment witchcraft."
"I still don't understand why now," said Sandra. "Why didn't he just catch us early on?"
"That's something else I talked to Thia about," said Angel. "She said he could have, but he'd have expended energy keeping you both with him and alive. He wants you alive, Sandra, because the ritual requires the blood of the child's mother. If you become inconvenient, he can still kill you and take your blood, which is possibly why the demon dog was sent here last night. But he needs it relatively fresh, which is why he's wanted you alive until now."
"So he's driven her," concluded Wesley. "He's driven her to his chosen ground and is waiting for the last minute to strike. I'd say that will be within the next twenty-four hours. Given the attack on Dr. Banerjee last night, I would speculate that he was planning on making an attempt to take Sarah Anne, but when the attack failed, he decided to re-think his plan."
Sandra was shaking as she stood. "Then we should leave. Leave the city. Get as far away as we can . . ."
"No," said Wesley. "He would stop you, Sandra; he's very powerful here, and he knows where you are. He may have chosen the city, but you can stand your ground and fight him here, with people on your side."
"I can't!" cried Sandra. She seemed to catch herself and glanced nervously at the office before continuing. "I can't fight him. I couldn't back in Virginia; that's why I ran. Now you tell me he's more powerful than ever, and he's going to use Sarah Anne to get even stronger. How am I supposed to fight that? That cloak stopped him from seeing us before, so we'll just put it back on and get out of the city now, maybe run far enough that he can't catch us until it's too late." She swallowed back tears. "I won't let him hurt my baby. I'll die first, if that's what it takes."
There was a moment of silence, broken by Cordelia's voice. "That cloak's not going to do you much good anymore. Thia said it was made to confuse the farsight, but whoever's looking can adjust to it. Andrew's expecting you to use it, so it probably wouldn't hide you long enough to get out of the city. Besides—hello, he's the bad guy. Why should he be the one calling the shots? Hasn't he been playing his creepo game long enough? Thia said the best person to use the Water Sphere she's sending is someone who's got a connection with the mage it's being used against. This is your chance to tell him you're not letting him control you any longer."
Sandra swallowed visibly. In that moment, her vulnerability was laid bare: the years of control at the hands of her powerful husband, the difficulty of breaking free, and the strain of running, always hiding, always knowing he was hunting her. Angel glanced at Wesley briefly, and the question of whether this woman would be able to help herself, let alone anyone else, passed silently between them.
"What do you need me to do?" she finally asked, voice low and hoarse.
Wesley and Angel had discussed a plan in short form, and Wesley laid it out for the group. Bit by bit, it was refined. They only hoped they wouldn't have to use it.
And they knew it was a vain hope indeed.
The Hyperion was basically sealed, as much as they could make it. Even some of the ground-floor windows were boarded up. Each member of the team also kept a weapon nearby—Cordelia and Wesley, crossbows, Angel, a sword, Gunn, his personal axe, and Spike chose another battle-axe. Kate had a gun.
"Rebecca, what's your specialty?" asked Angel at one point.
The British girl had been very quiet and helpful all morning and seemed a little thrown by Angel's question. "Ah—I'm best with the quarterstaff, actually, but I can use almost anything else."
Angel bit his lip, looking thoughtful. He crossed over to the weapons cabinet, removed two quarterstaffs, tossed one to Rebecca, and gestured toward the ballroom with his head. "Come on. Let's see what you've got."
"You mean . . ?"
"You wanted to spar with me, didn't you?" Angel gave her a half-smile. "Show me what you can do."
Rebecca flushed and smiled, following the vampire to the ballroom. It was a magnificent place, octagonal in shape and with fantastical statues standing against the gold-and-maroon walls. The ex-Slayer-in-Waiting kicked off her shoes and took a position opposite Angel. They each held their staffs at one end to capitalize on the weapon's long reach.
Angel feinted high, toward Rebecca's face, then thrust at her abdomen, probing her defenses. She set his thrust aside and arced the tip of her staff down toward his knee. Angel stepped back only just in time to avoid the blow. He thrust his staff forward one-handed, to maximize his range, but Rebecca struck his weapon aside and swung her staff at Angel's exposed head. Angel quickly raised up the back end of his staff to block the blow.
Angel and Rebecca's exchange of attacks and counters continued, growing faster. Their spar soon attracted Wesley, Cordelia, and Gunn. They stood watching, amazed, as Rebecca transformed. Her movements were swift, graceful, and assured. Her face was set in concentration, but also betrayed eagerness for the challenge. With her eyes shining and her face flushed, she actually looked rather pretty.
One of Angel's thrusts struck her side suddenly. Rebecca cried out and leaped back. Angel pursued and swept her off her feet. In a second, the tip of his staff was poised over her exposed throat. She looked up at him, wide-eyed.
"You hit me," she noted.
"This isn't just a spar, Rebecca," the vampire told her. "I need to know what you're capable of. I need to know that a little pain isn't going to stop you in the middle of a fight. Unless I know that, I can't trust you with my friends."
Her jaw set and her eyes hardened as she got to her feet. "Let's go again, then."
The ensuing fight was beautiful to watch, but also frightening. Rebecca was forced to take several more strikes from Angel's staff, and Cordelia winced, envisioning the bruises the other girl would have. But the British girl kept fighting, doing her best and occasionally returning the physical abuse Angel was dishing out. Occasionally, too, she would call a halt and request Angel teach her whatever trick he'd just used. He would, and she'd invariably catch on quickly.
Cordelia glanced over at Wesley. There was a worried frown between his eyes.
"You know, Wesley, if this is getting to you, you don't have to watch," the Seer said.
Wesley started at her voice. "It's not Rebecca I'm worried about. It's Angel."
"What's the problem?" asked Gunn. "He looks like he's doing okay. Not like she's gonna hurt him permanently."
Wesley gave Gunn a look and said, "I know Angel can take care of himself out there. What I'm worried about is . . . tell me, how has Angel seemed today? I mean his emotional state."
"Looks to me like he's doing better," said Cordelia.
"That's just it." The frown between Wesley's eyes deepened. "He seems to be doing fine."
"Okay, now I'm not getting you," said Gunn. "He's not doing fine, you're worried. He's doing fine, you're worried."
"Inconsistent much?" asked Cordelia. All three took a moment to wince as Rebecca took another hard fall.
"Consistency is the defense of small minds," opined Wesley. "Angel has been throwing himself into this case, into taking care of Dawn, even into keeping Spike under control. I'm concerned that he may be avoiding his emotions."
"Isn't that pretty much business as usual for the king of repression?" asked Cordelia.
"It is," acknowledged Wesley. "Which is what worries me."
Gunn and Cordelia exchanged a look behind Wesley's back.
Angel and Rebecca came jogging back to the entrance. "That was wonderful!" exclaimed Rebecca. "Did you see, Uncle Wesley?" She was positively glowing.
"Quite excellent, if I do say so," agreed Wesley. "What's your opinion, Angel?"
"She's very good," said Angel. "Your Watcher really knew her job, didn't she?"
Rebecca nodded warmly. "Madeleine taught me all I know."
"She had good material to work with," returned Angel. "You can't teach great coordination. I think you're a definite asset here."
Rebecca's glow went up a few lumens. She and Wesley traded a warm smile. The five moved back into the lobby, discussing plans. Abruptly, Wesley broke away, examining several objects on and around the coffee table.
"Spike!" he yelled. Several minutes went by with no sign of the blond vampire. Angel finally went to the kitchen and hauled Spike out bodily.
"What's the bleedin' idea?" Spike demanded.
Wesley held up a well-chewed toothpick. "Kindly cease leaving piles of these around. I've been noticing them for two days, but realized you're the culprit only this morning when I saw you chewing on one."
Spike looked defiant. "Let me smoke, then."
"This is our workplace," Wesley explained patiently. "We have the right to ask that it not reek of cigarette smoke or have used toothpicks scattered about."
"You seem awfully concerned about what I put in my mouth," Spike sneered. "Do you have an oral fixation? Did your mother not breastfeed you?" The next sound out of his mouth was a gasp of pain as Angel's hand clamped over the back of the blond vampire's neck.
"Keep a civil tongue in your head, boy, or I'll rip it out," growled Angel.
Wesley merely gave Spike a condescending look. "A vampire who can't bite shouldn't throw stones about oral fixations."
Spike wriggled free of Angel's grasp, looking irritated. "You're entirely too fond of that maneuver, you know that?"
"Spike?" The vampires' eyes met. "Make yourself useful. Now." Spike turned, uttering sulfurous oaths under his breath. "And stop swearing!" Throwing Angel the British bird, Spike went off to help fortify the building. "Walking attitude problem," muttered Angel. "Did you know he short-sheeted my bed last night? Not to mention I had to borrow Cordy's mousse this morning because my hair gel mysteriously disappeared."
Wesley rolled his eyes and shook his head at the younger vampire's antics, then drew Rebecca away for further instructions. Angel looked at Gunn, who remained.
"Could we talk a minute?" Angel asked the young man, sounding hesitant. Talking wasn't something the two did a great deal of—at least, not together.
"Sure," Gunn replied, sounding equally hesitant.
Angel drew in a breath, gathered his thoughts, then spoke. "If I'm out of line asking this, just tell me, but I was wondering . . . I was wondering if you'd mind talking to Dawn. You and she both lost sisters you were very close to, and I thought that maybe she'd feel like you'd understand more of what she's going through. You don't have to, of course, but . . ." He trailed off.
Gunn looked at the floor, pain shadowing his features. "You're not out of line, but I'm not sure talking to me would do Dawn any good. She—she wasn't the one that killed her sister."
"Gunn, there was no way you could've predicted those vampires would attack during the day. You're not responsible for Alonna's death."
"Angel, I was the one who killed her," Gunn stated. "I staked her, remember?"
Angel blinked. "You staked a vampire, Gunn. Alonna was already dead."
"Was she?" The bitterness in the young man's voice took Angel by surprise. "She knew me, man. She remembered things from when we were little, she talked the same, she said . . . she said she wanted us to be together. I don't know if she'd even killed anyone."
"I had no idea you felt this way." Angel's voice was soft. "To answer your last question first, yes, she had killed. Vampires are feral when they first awake. She would hardly have been coherent if she hadn't fed. As for the rest—Gunn, she still looked like Alonna, she still had the same memories, even the same mind to some extent, but the part of her you loved, her soul, was gone. All that was left was a shell housing a demon like the kind you saw me turn into in Pylea."
"She didn't have a chance." Gunn's eyes were on the floor, dark with pain. "I never even tried to save her."
"You couldn't have."
"You got saved. Even Bleach Boy's doing the hero thing. Why not Alonna?" He raised his eyes to Angel. "Maybe she could've had a chance, and I took that away from her."
Angel's eyes had also gone dark. "I had no idea," he repeated. "What you've got here are two exceptional cases, Gunn. I was given a soul, and believe me when I say I'd wish my fate on no one. Spike got a chip implanted in his brain that stifles his violent impulses, and he fell in love with someone truly exceptional. All that and he still worries me. You can't generalize to all vampires from what's happened to the two of us."
"I just . . ." Gunn swallowed. "I just keep hearing her saying she wanted us to be together again. If it wasn't Alonna, why did she still know me?"
Angel didn't say anything, just went to the office. After a moment, he returned with his sketchpad. He flipped to a page, looked at it almost reverently, then gave it to Gunn. The picture was of a young girl with dark hair and a sweet, sweet smile.
"I had a little sister, too," Angel said. "Her name was Kathy. She was sweet, bright, beautiful—actually, a lot like Dawn. A whole lot like Dawn." He hesitated. "Only, she never got to be as old as Dawn is right now. When I was turned, I went back to my family home and killed everyone there. Including Kathy."
Gunn looked from the picture to Angel, wide-eyed. "I didn't know."
"Not many people do. Cordy and Wesley know, and now you do." Angel bit his lip. "When vampires are turned, they often go back to their homes and either kill or turn their family members. We do it because our families encompass all we were as humans. We either try to sever those ties or bring them with us into our new world. Neither way works. You can never be rid of your family, no matter how long you live, with or without a soul, but without a soul, you can never have that bond the way it was before." Angel looked at the picture. "I loved Kathy more than anything while I was human, but you can't know how grateful I am that I only killed her and didn't turn her. In a world of regrets, that, at least, is one I don't have."
Something passed between the two, then, a complicated strand of emotions: pain, understanding, respect, deep grief. After a moment, Gunn spoke. "Listen, I can't promise anything, but I'll think about talking to Dawn. Okay?"
"Okay. Thanks, Gunn."
Gunn handed back the sketchpad. "Thank you. You didn't have to tell me all that, but . . ." Gunn ducked his head a bit. "It answers a lot of questions that've been bothering me."
Angel nodded. "Anytime."
Fred walked back in and straight to Gunn. She betrayed no anxiety at the turn of events, just simple acceptance. There was something endearing about the girl, Angel decided. Something innocent, in spite of all she'd been through in Pylea.
"I was just noticing in the back, behind the kitchen, there's a door," she said. "That really big door, that one that goes up and down. You know that one? Well, it's not too strong; it rattled something terrible when I knocked on it, and I was just thinking that if I was a monster, I could knock it down real easy. We're trying to keep monsters out, and this place is no cave, you know, there are too many places to get in and out, and monsters will find them. Monsters always find them."
"The loading zone behind the kitchen," Angel realized. "That door is pretty weak. Want to help me reinforce it, Gunn?"
"Sure." The two started to move off, but Fred's sudden cry of surprise stopped them in their tracks.
The young woman was staring at empty space, her eyes slowly tracking from the stairwell toward the lobby doors. Suddenly, she giggled and walked forward. Still giggling, she reached out and pulled the hood back from Sandra's face.
It wasn't like Sandra and Sarah Anne just appeared; it was like they'd been there the entire time and Angel and Gunn simply hadn't noticed them. The Fey cloak was still encouraging the men to ignore the fact that Sarah Anne was underneath it, but Sandra was clearly noticeable. And looking both terrified and guilty.
"That's funny," giggled Fred.
Angel and Gunn exchanged a glance. "I'll get Wes," volunteered Gunn, and he headed off to find their boss.
Angel sighed and walked over to Sandra. "Sandra, do I need to ask what you're doing?"
"Andrew's coming," whispered the woman. "He's coming. I can't just stay here."
Sarah Anne peeped out from beneath the cloak. " 'Bye," she said.
Angel touched the little girl's cheek but held her mother's gaze. He could hear Sandra's heart beating, smell her fear, sense her weariness. She was so desperate . . .
Wesley arrived in the lobby, flanked by Gunn and Kate and followed by Rebecca. He either sized up the situation quickly or had been briefed by Gunn, because his first words were, "Sandra, it will do you no good to run."
"But he's coming," she protested, her voice choked.
"Yes, he's coming," Wesley acknowledged. "He will come, you know, whether you're here or elsewhere. The only difference is that while you're here, you have allies, people to help and support you. People to fight for you. You don't have to go through this alone."
Sandra was weeping openly by now. "It's been—so long."
"Mama, don't cry," pleaded Sarah Anne. Sandra knelt and drew her daughter into her arms. Kate knelt beside the two of them and put an arm around Sandra's shoulders.
"Wesley's right, Sandra," the ex-cop said. "You need to trust them and work with them. This can all be over soon."
At that moment, a Fed-Ex courier appeared at the front doors. Wesley went and signed for the package, then came back to Sandra. "It's from Thia," he said. "Probably the Water Sphere. Would you like to see it?"
Sandra swallowed the rest of her tears and nodded. Wesley opened the box and produced from within it a crystal sphere about the size of a large grapefruit. The outside was rippled and reflected light oddly, in ways that the human eye couldn't quite understand. The inside was hollow and filled most of the way with water. Sandra reached out to it.
"Careful, it's heavy," Wesley warned as he handed it over.
She took it, examining it from every angle. "It's beautiful." As she continued to examine it, the Sphere began to shimmer from the inside out. Sarah Anne reached out to touch it. Sandra sought out Wesley's eyes. "Is it safe?"
"It should be perfectly safe for her to touch, yes. You should look at Thia's instructions for using it." He looked at her very seriously. "Do you think you can do this?"
Sandra was silent for a long time, letting Sarah Anne examine the crystal. The mother looked at Kate, finally, and the former cop nodded.
"I think I can. I think I have to," Sandra said.
Wesley nodded once. "Good. Good. I'll show you what to do, then."
***
The day ticked by agonizingly slowly. Sarah Anne, in particular, was fretful, sensing the tension among the adults. Dawn settled her on the couch and read Harold and the Purple Crayon to her, trying to get the small girl to nap.
"I could use a crayon like that," commented Spike, who'd been reading over Dawn's shoulder.
"Everyone could use a crayon like that," said Dawn.
Sandra exited the office, where she'd been talking with Thia on the phone. Sarah Anne called out to her. "Mama, can I look at your pictures again?"
"Of course, honey-bunny," said Sandra. "But you need to promise me you'll take a nap once we've looked at them."
The child sighed. "Okay."
A few minutes later, Sandra brought down a sizable portfolio. She sat down between Sarah Anne and Dawn and opened it. Inside were what looked like modeling shots.
"Were you a model?" asked Dawn.
"I did do some modeling in high school and college," Sandra confirmed. "This, though, is my pageant portfolio." She flipped past the first pages to a picture of herself at about Dawn's age, wearing a tiara and a sash that read, "Miss Junior Charleston." "I was in beauty pageants from the time I was thirteen all the way through college. It wasn't ever really important to me—and believe me, some of the girls made it their life's work, winning pageants—but it brought in some nice money from the prizes, and I thought it was fun. Besides, I got to keep the crowns."
Dawn was examining some pictures of Sandra at seventeen or eighteen. "Nice hair."
Sandra laughed, actually sounding relaxed for once. "It was the South, and it was just after the eighties. Big hair was a necessity. I swear, the winner of that particular pageant had hair that showed up on radar. But she was the nicest girl. We kept in touch until . . . until this year."
It took a moment, but Sandra managed to brush away the darkness threatening to settle over her mood again. She flipped through the pages. Dawn saw Sandra in with the other contestants, sometimes in carefully-planned shots, sometimes caught candidly, and sometimes mugging for the camera with the other girls. Sandra told her little anecdotes as they went along, pointing out girls who she'd kept in touch with, who'd won particular events, who were the biggest queens, and one particular contestant who'd turned out to be a man in drag.
"I still keep in touch with him, too," Sandra said with a laugh. "He's got a great sense of humor, and his taste in clothes is absolutely impeccable."
"You miss all this, don't you?" asked Dawn.
Sandra nodded. "Terribly. Terribly."
***
As evening fell, the mood grew even more tense, anticipating, hoping, dreading. Dinner was picked over by most, with the notable exception of Fred. If she sensed the pressure, it didn't deter her from devouring her food with her usual enthusiasm.
Suddenly, the phone rang. Everybody jumped. Wesley was the one who picked it up. "Angel Investigations. How can we help you? Oh, hello, Dr. Banerjee." Everyone's heads turned. "No, we've been waiting to hear from you." Pause. "They have? May I ask . . ." He listened, holding his breath. Kate took Sandra's hand, which was white at the knuckles.
And then Wesley breathed a long sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God." He covered the receiver with one hand and looked at Sandra. "The White have found sufficient evidence to form a Tribunal and take over protecting you and Sarah Anne. They've got their seers looking for Andrew right now."
Quiet jubilation filled the room. Sandra sagged, drained, as Dawn hopped up and went over to give her a congratulatory hug.
Wesley was still on the phone. "Do you need anything else from us?" He looked surprised at what she said next. "No, no that wouldn't be a problem. Angel and I can come get you right away, as a matter of fact. Considering that there are demon dogs about who know who you are, I believe it would be best, in fact. We'll be there in twenty minutes, traffic permitting." Pause. "No, thank you, Dr. Banerjee. Thank you very much." He hung up.
Angel already had his coat on. "I'm ready to go."
Sandra stood, wiping away more tears, and approached Wesley. "Thank you so much, Wesley. It's all going to be over now, isn't it?"
The Englishman looked happy, but sober. "I certainly hope so. Whatever happens with the Tribunal, at least he won't be able to perform the ritual. Sarah Anne will be safe."
"That's all I want." The woman impulsively hugged Wesley. He blushed slightly as he returned her embrace, then turned to the rest of the group.
"We shouldn't let our guard down. Angel and I will go pick up Dr. Banerjee. Hopefully, we shan't be gone more than forty-five minutes. Call us if anything unusual happens." He and Angel strode out of the hotel.
The mood inside was much lighter. Cordelia broke out the ice cream, and they all settled down for a dessert filled with giddy laughter. Sarah Anne started talking about her birthday again, and what a wonderful party she was going to have. Sandra's forehead crinkled unhappily. Dawn decided it was the perfect time to bring up her idea.
"Sandra," the teen said, coming around to the mother's side of the table. "I have an idea. It's a little crazy, but . . ."
She was cut off as Cordelia grabbed her head with a cry and fell to the floor.
"Vision!" shouted Gunn, jumping to her side. "Cordy? What do you see?"
Cordelia's eyes were wide, terrified, as images slammed through her brain. She made no sound at all, which was somehow even more frightening. Then she gasped and shuddered as the vision released her.
Gunn helped her into a sitting position. "Cordy, what was it?"
She blinked, looked at Gunn, looked at Sandra, and then suddenly jumped to her feet and ran out of the dining room. Confused and scared, the others followed.
"Spike!" she shouted. "Spike, get down here! Gunn, give me a phone. Now."
Gunn handed over his own cell phone. "What's happening?"
Cordelia looked at him, wide-eyed. "He's coming."
It took a second for that to sink in. "Andrew?" Sandra asked.
Cordelia nodded a confirmation as she dialed. "Wesley? Vision. Andrew's coming. Okay." She thumbed off the phone. "They're at UCLA talking to Dr. Banerjee. They're headed back, but they're gonna be too late."
***
In Dr. Zanita Banerjee's office, Wesley clicked off his phone. "Andrew's coming to the Hyperion."
"We've gotta go back," said Angel.
"Dr. Banerjee?" Wesley looked at her. She'd been gathering her things, preparing to leave work for the day when the call had come in.
"Go on," she said. "I will summon the White. Go do your best to protect your friends. If Andrew truly is there, you will lead us right to him—our seers have been unable to locate him. When we find him, the Tribunal will begin."
Wesley and Angel didn't need to be told twice. They left the office, jumped into Angel's car, and almost immediately began breaking traffic laws.
***
"Where's Spike?" demanded Cordelia.
"Right here, luv," said Spike, who literally had just dropped into the lobby. "Knew you'd be screamin' for me sooner or later."
"Not the time for inappropriate comments of a sexual nature, Spike. We've got a crisis situation. Sandra, where's that cloak?"
Sandra had draped it over the couch. It was trying to look like the upholstery, but wasn't hiding itself as effectively as it hid people. Sandra fetched it, shaking again. Dawn, knowing her part, took it from her.
Cordelia turned to Spike. "Spike, get the non-combatants out of the way. Fred? You're going with him, Dawn, and Sarah Anne. You guys go down to the sub-basement and wait until the last possible second to go down through the sewer entrance.
"Why not just go now?" asked Dawn.
"Because Andrew's tracking Sarah Anne," explained Cordelia. "We need to draw him into the hotel. Spike, when I yell, take them someplace safe."
"Sewers?" asked Gunn. "You sure, Cordy?"
The Seer nodded. "Yeah. They're not going to be able to get out aboveground. Trust me on this. Sandra, last chance—you sure you can do this? If not, go with Spike now or forever hold your peace."
Sandra set her jaw, though she still looked frightened. "I have to do this. I will face him."
Spike was looking crestfallen. "Why do I get baby-sitting duty?"
"Because Andrew's human," said Cordelia. "He may be a mage, and he may be a bastard, but he's still human, and you can't touch him. You're still the best one to protect Dawn and Sarah Anne, though, so don't let us down. If they get hurt . . ."
"They get hurt, it means I'm already dust," stated Spike. No one who saw his face at that moment could doubt it.
Dawn draped the cloak about her shoulders but didn't put up the hood. She went over to Sarah Anne. "Sarah? We need to go now."
"No!" The little girl yanked herself away and ran to Sandra. "Mama?"
Sandra knelt down, forcing herself to smile. "It's okay, sweetheart. Go with Miss Dawn. It'll be okay, I promise. Mama will catch up to you soon. Just remember: this is one of those times Mama talked to you about, when you need to be real quiet and fast. Okay?" She kissed her daughter's forehead. "I love you, baby."
Sarah Anne took Dawn's hand reluctantly, but allowed herself to be led toward the basement door. Spike had already grabbed his coat and an axe. "Come along, my little hors d'oeuvres," he said, waving Dawn, Sarah Anne, and Fred to follow him.
"I'll tell Angel you said that," called Cordelia after him.
"Great. It'll give you something to live for," shot back Spike. "That and our torrid love affair, of course."
"Don't you wish!" She watched as they disappeared down the basement stairs. "Good luck," she murmured.
In the lobby, the weapons were waiting. Rebecca was carrying a quarterstaff and had tucked a few throwing knives into her belt. She'd chucked her overshirt and tied her hair back, stripping for action. Gunn hefted his axe. Cordelia checked her crossbow. Kate quietly cocked her gun. Sandra clutched Thia's Water Sphere.
Outside, a demon dog howled. First one, then several, then a wild pack. Their howls came from every side of the building, an eerie, evil sound that sent chills down the spine.
"They're here," whispered Sandra.
Cordelia had been around magic long enough to recognize the feel of it. An almost electrical charge crackled through the air. Then, suddenly, there was a reverberating snap, as if something had broken. It wasn't a sound, exactly, just a feeling, and Cordelia knew one of the wards had just fallen.
It happened again. Then again. The charge in the air increased, and suddenly, there was banging and scratching at every point of entrance to the hotel. Where the wards had failed, though, the physical reinforcements held firm.
Then there was a final snap. The front doors rattled and shook. Cordelia hefted her crossbow.
And the doors flew open.
"Now, Spike!" shouted Cordelia.
Down in the sub-basement, the vampire's sharp hearing just picked up on Cordelia's cry. Spike looked over one shoulder with regret, but yanked up the sewer grate and jumped down. Dawn was lowered to him by Fred, and Sarah Anne came right after. Fred herself came last, carefully dragging the grate back into place as Spike helped her down.
"This way," said the vampire, and the small group was off. As they began to move, Dawn pulled the hood of the cloak over her head and drew Sarah Anne close, covering her in invisibility.
Up above, Andrew Burnham walked casually into the lobby. He was flanked by demon dogs, but except for that detail, he looked like a businessman coming to a meeting. His hair was dark and impeccably groomed, his suit neat, pressed, and very expensive, and his handsome face betrayed no particular emotion. As he looked at the people in the lobby, though, they realized his eyes were black.
The dogs started to surge forward, but a gesture from Andrew held them back. "Sandra," said the dark mage. "It's been awhile."
Sandra was shaking, her teeth clamped shut. Cordelia looked at her.
"Looks to me like it hasn't been nearly long enough," the Seer said.
Andrew looked amused. "You have no idea, girl. Sandra, why put yourself through this? I don't want you to be hurt, you know. All I ever wanted was to take care of you. Come back to me now, my love, and you'll see how good I can make things for you."
"By killing my baby?" Sandra burst out. "I'll die first."
Andrew shook his head. "You're thinking in the short-term, Sandra. That was always your problem. If I go through with this ritual, which I assume you've figured out by the way you're talking, I'll be the most powerful mage of my generation, possibly of all time. Can you imagine the things I'll be able to do? You had a list of things you'd like to see happen in your lifetime, remember? You showed it to me the day we got engaged. I can make all those things happen, love. My power could feed the hungry, stop crime, stop wars. All of that for the price of one life. Are you so selfish?"
Before Cordelia could respond with an appropriately scathing comment, Sandra's voice cut in, low and deadly. "When the price is Sarah Anne's life, it is too damn high. And the fact that you don't seem to think so makes me wonder why on Earth I ever loved you in the first place. I'll spit in your face sooner than I'll share your bed again. Do you hear me? I. Want. A. Divorce!" She held the Water Sphere high, and it blazed with her indignation. "Protect!"
A rippling shield spread out in front of them. Andrew's face grew stony. He kenned a knife into one hand and threw it as if testing the shield. The knife bounced harmlessly away.
"So short-sighted, Sandra," the dark mage sighed. "That was always your problem. But not mine." His eyes seemed to turn inward for a moment. Then he opened them, looking almost amused. "You've covered her with the Fey cloak. Nice touch. I can't find her with my concentration divided. The hounds, fortunately, use their noses rather than their eyes." He waved again, and five of the demon dogs ran forward.
Cordelia felt herself shoved downward. Kate was almost directly behind her, and the gun roared. Two of the dogs dropped in their tracks. Cordelia took out another with her crossbow. The fourth dropped with a throwing knife through its eye, and Kate's gun took out the last one. Then the gun rang out twice more as Kate aimed directly at the dark mage.
The bullets were stopped by a shield Andrew had thrown up. He no longer looked amused. Stepping to one side, he allowed more of the demon dogs through. One more fell to the gun and another to a throwing knife, but they were coming through too fast. Gunn stepped out, axe at the ready. Cordelia took another shot and hit a demon dog in the shoulder. It howled in pain and rage and came straight for her. As she stood, she stumbled.
Uh-oh, thought the Seer. What Wesley had said about the dogs being charmed against magery flitted through her mind as the creature ran through the shield.
The dog lunged for Cordelia. Just as its jaws gaped open to seize her, the creature was struck hard from the side and knocked away. Rebecca had made a flying tackle, and now she quickly wrestled her legs around the monster's neck. She jerked hard, twisting her entire body to the side, and the hound fell to the floor, neck broken. Rebecca leaped back to her feet.
"Are you all right?" the British girl demanded. Cordelia nodded numbly. Rebecca turned, snatching up her quarterstaff. She thrust hard into an attacking dog's face, forcing the beast to stop its charge, then brought the staff down on its head in a smashing overhead blow. The dog stayed down.
Rebecca ran to join Gunn, who was barely keeping a small group of dogs at bay with broad sweeps of his axe. The two began to fight as a team, Rebecca knocking dogs down and Gunn finishing them off with his axe.
"He's doing something!" cried Sandra. The shield she'd put in place was rippling, buckling.
"Do something back!" shouted Cordelia, beating off a demon dog with Kate's help.
"Push him!" commanded Sandra.
Andrew stumbled back suddenly. Rebecca seized the moment, grabbing a throwing knife and casting it smoothly at the dark mage. He managed to push it aside enough that it didn't go through his throat, which Rebecca had aimed for, but slashed his arm instead.
His eyes blackened again, and he snarled in rage. Uttering a spell in a guttural language, he made a throwing motion. A force smashed through the mage shield. The whole team was thrown off their feet, but it was Rebecca who caught the brunt of it in her chest. She fell to the ground, gasping for air.
The remaining demon dogs, six in all, swarmed around the battlefield, running toward the sewer entrance as Andrew Burnham gloated.
Then the lobby doors flew open behind him. Angel and Wesley burst in. Their eyes took in the whole scene as Andrew turned to face them. Wesley's eyes found his niece.
"Rebecca!"
***
In the sewers beneath Los Angeles, Spike led his small cadre toward what he hoped would be safety. He was slightly annoyed by the fact that he had to keep asking Fred where Dawn and Sarah Anne were until Dawn very sensibly suggested that Spike take the lead and have Fred bring up the rear, behind the two young girls. Although the vampire had worried that Fred might not understand what he was trying to get across, the young woman had instantly obeyed his order. They were traveling single file now. Spike squelched the urge to quack as he walked.
All sarcastic thoughts flew out of his head in the next moment. He pulled up short, vampiric senses reaching out.
"What is it?" whispered Dawn from underneath the cloak.
"You two niblets better get down," Spike muttered. "That alcove over there will do nicely. Hide, and don't make a sound. We're bein' hunted."
He heard the subtle sound of Dawn and Sarah Anne moving where he'd directed them. The five-year-old had, surprisingly enough, not talked at all. Spike decided she must be used to moving quickly and quietly by now.
Demon dogs move quickly, but not quietly. Their howls could be heard clearly by all now.
"Monsters!" hissed Fred. She melted into the shadows as effectively as any vampire.
Spike did not. He stood, axe in hand, ready to fight. The first hound wheeled around the corner.
"Hello, doggy," growled Spike, and he swung into action. The first one lost its head as quickly as it had appeared. Five more were charging Spike even as the first one fell. Another broad sweep of the axe killed a second and wounded a third.
The remaining three lunged at the vampire. He kicked one in the chest, but the other two took him to the ground. One, he managed to wound with his axe. The other, however, latched onto his leg. Spike roared in pain. The one he had kicked was on its feet again and headed for his throat. The wounded ones, too, were struggling to their feet.
Another sound reached his ears: Sarah Anne's frightened cries.
On the tower, Dawn looked at him, her eyes pleading.
He struck aside a demon dog with his arm. Then he noticed one of the others sniffing the air, looking off toward where the girls were hidden.
Spike lay crushed on the ground, aware only of pain and a terrible sense of failure.
Dawn's voice broke through. "It's okay, Sarah," the teen reassured Sarah Anne. "Spike will protect us. We'll be okay."
I won't let her down. Not again.
A red haze covered Spike's vision. He fixed the image of Dawn's eyes, wide and hopeless as he was thrown from the tower, into his mind, and a fire grew within him.
A good-sized rock flew out of nowhere and beaned the demon dog biting Spike's leg between the eyes. It fell. Spike was on his feet in an instant, killing one that had been lunging for his throat, then finishing off one of the wounded ones. The final demon dog, he discovered, had had its head smashed with a brick. Spike made certain they were all dead.
Fred stepped out of the shadows, another rock in her hands. "You gotta hit them right between the eyes," she explained. "Monsters, they're tough. You gotta make sure you hit them just right."
"I think I like you, girl," the vampire said. "Now, where are the niblets?"
"Sparkly girl's over there," said Fred, pointing to the alcove Spike had directed the girls to.
"Think we can probably lose the cloak now," Spike decided. "Wimpy-Spice said it'd only be good for about fifteen minutes, and it's been about that."
Dawn pulled the cloak away from herself and Sarah Anne, then folded it over her arm. She looked at the wreckage of the demon dogs, then back at Spike.
"Um, Spike? Your axe," she said.
"What about it, Little Bit?"
"You might want to wipe the blood off."
"Why?"
Dawn pointed at Sarah Anne, who was looking petrified. Spike shrugged, wiped the axe on the pelt of one of the demon dogs while Dawn attempted to shield the little girl from the sight, then began walking again.
"Where are we going?" asked Dawn.
"Think I know of a place where we might be safe," said the vampire, and the small group moved on.
***
Wesley's eyes blazed as he turned them from his niece's prone, gasping form to the man who had attacked her. For a moment, they just stared each other down.
Angel attempted to rush Andrew, but was stopped by an invisible wall. Andrew looked at Wesley and began to intone a spell.
He was interrupted by Gunn yelling, "Wesley!" The young man pitched a crystal orb at the ex-Watcher.
Andrew watched it arc through the air and made a grasping motion at it. Whatever he'd tried to do made no impact on the orb's course, however, and a worried frown creased the dark mage's forehead as Wesley caught it.
Holding the power-binding Orb of Ikonos at arm's length, Wesley spoke several words in Ancient Greek. The full force of his anger was behind them. The Orb blazed to life, and the spell hit Andrew with enough force to knock him off his feet. The wall holding Angel back disappeared, and the vampire charged in, pulling the mage up by his collar.
"Not so tough without your power, are you?" snarled the vampire.
"You've bound my magery," the mage retorted. "Not my witchcraft." He set a hand on Angel's chest. "Ignis incente!"
Fire blazed out from underneath Andrew's hand and Angel screamed, letting go and leaping back. He fell to the floor, trying to smother the flames, but the witch-fire refused to go out.
"No!" shouted Sandra. She held the Water Sphere in front of her. "Protect Angel!"
The Sphere unexpectedly flew out of her hands and straight to Angel. It hit him, cracking open like an egg, and the water inside spread out over Angel's form. The witch-fire was quenched. Angel stood, surrounded by a watery blue nimbus, in full game face.
Andrew sensed he was in trouble. He held up a hand and started a new spell, but Angel grabbed and head-butted him before he had a chance to complete it. A right hook knocked the mage a few feet away. Andrew managed to snarl another spell, though, and something like white lightning arced toward the vampire. It bounced harmlessly off the nimbus.
"Anything else in your bag of tricks?" asked Angel. "Because I gotta tell you—I'm not impressed." He hauled Andrew up again, pulled back one fist, and prepared to put the dark mage's lights out.
The blow never fell. Something like wind blew through the Hyperion. It locked everyone where they were, and Angel felt himself gently lifted and moved away from Andrew, then set back on the floor.
The doors to the lobby opened one more time, admitting two lines of people. There were around twenty in all, men and women of every race, each wearing a white tunic. They strode in, forming a circle around Andrew. He was suspended in mid-air, unable to move. Each member of the circle lifted his or her hands to touch the hands of the people on either side.
"The Tribunal begins," they chorused.
The White had arrived.
***
Lorne liked to think he was a reasonable man—well, demon—but this remodeling was enough to try the patience of a saint. Had Caritas not been warded so well against violence, he was certain he would long since have committed bloody murder against his interior decorator, Gunther. The man seemed to have no idea what the ambiance of a demon karaoke bar was supposed to be. And then there was Luis, putting out a steady stream of complaints about the new design of the bar. Lorne swore that if the man wasn't such a master mixologist, he'd have canned him long ago.
And now he had one of his employees coming to him with yet another crisis. "Somebody's at the sewer door," said the Irpa demon (not very good in a fight, but the best accountants you'll find this side of Hell, and Lorne desperately needed someone to balance his books). "They're demanding entrance and really being very rude about it."
The Host shook his head. What else could go wrong?
Caritas had been built to be friendly to the denizens of the underground world. Some of those creatures didn't like to be on the surface for any reason. Thus, Lorne had installed a door leading directly in from the sewers, complete with a small airlock to keep out the worst of the sewer smells. As he approached that door now, he heard a highly irritated voice coming from behind it, directed at the Terl demon standing guard beside it.
"Listen to me, you stupid Terl," the voice was saying. "I'll explain this very slowly: if you don't let me in, I'm going to rip your horn right out of your forehead, then stuff it down your gullet until you're wearing it as a tail. Do you understand?"
Lorne approached the door. "Who's threatening my bouncer?"
"It's Spike, you dandy. I need to be let in."
"Sorry, sweetie, but we're closed for renovations," replied Lorne. "Our grand re-opening is in three weeks, Powers That Be willing."
"I bloody well know you're closed," Spike retorted. "That's why I'm here. I've got a few little humans who need protecting, and your bar's supposed to be warded and all that rot."
"Humans? That need protecting?" This wasn't computing.
"A couple of sweet little girls, plus another young lady. We've got some nasties after us, and I've a bum leg. Can we please come in?"
This was really puzzling Lorne. "Okay, you're Spike? As in Bloody, comma, William the?"
"How many Spikes do you know?"
"One in L.A., two in 'Frisco. If you're the Spike I'm thinking you are from the accent, why aren't you eating said sweet little girls?"
There was an impatient sigh from outside. "Remember how last time I was here, you told me never to go back to Sunnydale? I ignored your advice. Will you let me in, or am I going to have to sing about it?"
Lorne considered it. "Might help."
"Can we come in?" asked a plaintive, young, female voice from outside. Lorne's eyebrows jumped.
"Not gonna work, Little Bit," said Spike. "Watch this." And he began singing, "I'm Henry the Eighth, I am, I am . . ."
"Augh! Stop, for God's sake, stop!" Lorne covered his ears, determined to not let that song take over his brain, as it was wont to do. Besides, he'd gotten quite enough information already. "I'm opening the door."
It opened to reveal not just Spike, but three other figures. One lovely little post-adolescent, one pretty little girl, and one person Lorne knew.
". . . don't like this dark and the smell, no, sir, it's not good at all, and oh! He's a nice one." Fred smiled sweetly.
"Freddo! Glad to see you again. Why don't you all come on in?" Lorne stepped aside gallantly.
The smallest girl screamed. "Monster!" she cried, pointing at the Terl demon, who was currently engaged in a battle of bad attitudes with Spike.
"It's okay," the older girl hastened to say, trying to calm the child. "It . . . is okay, isn't it, Spike?"
"We're okay here," said Spike. "No violence allowed."
Lorne gestured for the Terl demon to go. "Don't worry, little sweetheart. No one's going to hurt you here. Certainly not me." The child looked at him, and her expression changed from fear to curiosity. Lorne held out a hand. "I'm Lorne. What's your name?"
The little girl took his hand shyly. "I'm Sarah Anne Burnham." Her slight Southern accent was music to Lorne's ears.
"Great to meet you, Sarah Anne. And who might you be, dollface?" He turned to the older girl, the one with a cloak (which was attempting to convince Lorne it wasn't there) draped over her arm.
"I'm Dawn Summers," she said, and Lorne didn't even need to hear her sing to see the pain and grief in her aura. Word got around the demon underworld quickly, and he knew the Slayer was dead. The name Summers combined with such pain could only mean one thing.
Spike had shut the door. "We're running from an evil mage," the vampire explained. "He sent some demon dogs after us, and I got my leg chewed up trying to keep them off the girls."
The slight bit Lorne had been able to pick up from Spike through a few seconds of song had thoroughly piqued the Host's curiosity. "Boy, howdy, somebody's been changing. What have you been doing in your spare time, pilgrim?"
"Got a couple hours?" Spike winced on his bad leg. "And a place for me to sit?"
Sarah Anne began to cry. "I want Mama."
"She's okay, Sarah Anne," Dawn reassured her. Her eyes flicked up to Spike. "She'll be okay, right, Spike?"
"Talk to him," Spike said, tilting his head toward Lorne. "He's the bloody psychic."
Dawn's blue eyes sought out the demon. "Can you tell us what's happening?"
"Well, maybe, little darling," replied Lorne. "But for that, I'll need someone to sing for me. And what's singing without a little something to drink? Luis!" The bartender stood up from behind the bar, where he'd been restocking the drinks. He looked annoyed. "Luis, mi amigo, kindly whip up a couple of Shirley Temples for the little ladies. Fred? You want anything?"
"Oh! Coke, please," requested Fred.
"A Coke with a wedge of lemon for our favorite Pylean expatriate, and a double shot of O-negative for Spike here. Come on, girls and boy, let's have some singing."
***
Angel watched, transfixed, as the White convened their tribunal. Wesley shook himself out of his shock and ran to Rebecca, who was still struggling to breathe. He lifted her into a sitting position. Her lips had turned blue, and her skin was graying. Desperate, Wesley looked at the White, his eyes finding Zanita Banerjee.
"Dr. Banerjee!" he called.
A moment later, a single White detached herself from the circle. Her space was immediately closed by her two neighbors. The girl—she didn't look any older than Rebecca—literally floated down to where Wesley was holding Rebecca. She knelt, stretching her hands out to within a few inches of the former Slayer-in-Waiting's body.
Within seconds, Wesley felt Rebecca relax, breathing deeply. Color flushed her cheeks and lips, and her eyes opened.
"Uncle Wesley?" she murmured.
"It's all right, Rebecca. It's over. Just rest," he told her. She closed her eyes, letting Wesley support her.
The White who had healed her smiled briefly at Wesley, then floated back to her place in the circle.
"Andrew Grant Burnham," the Order of the White intoned. "We find you culpable in the matter of the following crimes." Each charge was stated by a different member of the circle.
"In the magical abuse of Cassandra Elaine Hollins Burnham, your wife."
"In the death of Amanda Jeane Burnett of West Virginia, a mage."
"In the use of black magicks to hide your actions from the White."
"In the summoning of accursed spirits."
"In consorting with demons."
"In the death of Jerome Wayne McKinley of Kansas, a warlock."
"In the enslavement of a Faery."
The charges went on, finally ending with, "In the assault on Rebecca Catherine Phyllida Martin-Pryce."
"We find you guilty," the White chorused. "How do you plead?"
"You can all go hang," Andrew spat. "You think you have authority over me?"
"One finds little governance on your actions," said Banerjee contemptuously. "Particularly that which you should have had over yourself. Do you wish to defend yourself against our charges?"
Andrew sneered at them. "You think you can win this way? Blast the mage power out of me? Go right ahead. I'll still be a warlock. Unless you were planning on killing me, of course, if that's what this kangaroo court is all about."
Zanita Banerjee smiled thinly. "No, that's not what this is about. You're a special case, Andrew Burnham. The White will not punish you."
That startled everyone in the room, including Andrew. "What?" he asked, the disdain shaken out of his voice.
Another woman, one with a distinct Irish accent, spoke next. "Your actions have brought the Fey nigh unto war with us, Andrew Burnham. The Mab has demanded blood, and blood she shall have. Your own actions will dictate your fate."
And as one, the White turned to face Sandra. "Cassandra Elaine Hollins Burnham, thy tongue is loosed. Speak the name thou wast given."
Sandra blurted out several syllables which no one could remember for even a moment afterward. Andrew's eyes were suddenly wide with fear.
A distortion formed off to one side. Then the fabric of space itself seemed to tear, and a single form coalesced in it. She was small, dark, bearing a spear and painted with blue, and she was angry beyond anything.
"No!" shouted Andrew. "I banished you!"
"Thou no longer hast the power," the Faery snarled. "I have given my name to another, and by that other, I am called. Vengeance is sought by the Fey; I am the instrument."
Suddenly, violently, her form was wrenched in two directions. Three distinct figures stood where one had before: the Dark, the form they had first seen; the Fair, tall and willowy, her face bright with intelligence; and the Russet, so sensual every man and woman in the room was instantly affected by her.
"Don't look at her eyes," warned Wesley suddenly. "Any of them, avoid the eyes."
The three Aspects surrounded Andrew in the time it took for a thought to form. He was literally petrified with fear.
And they changed. Each had been beautiful; now they were hideous beyond bearing. Needle-sharp fingers speared into Andrew's chest. He screamed. Kate turned to Sandra, drawing the other woman's head down to her chest, blocking her view.
Light flashed from within Andrew Burnham for one terrible moment, and then it was over. The three Aspects merged back together into the form of the Fair as Andrew dropped to the floor, a puppet whose strings had been cut.
The Faery, beautiful again, floated over to where Kate stood with Sandra. "Lady," it said, its voice strangely choral, as if speaking for all three Aspects.
Sandra raised her head, horror in her face as she looked at the body of her estranged husband. She looked at the Faery.
"Lady," the Faery said again. "We serve thee, Lady. Speak thy will."
"Set her free," hissed Wesley. "Tell her you want her to be free, Sandra."
The Faery paid no attention to him, focusing entirely on Sandra.
"I . . ." Sandra was in a state of shock. It took her a moment to get the words out. "I want you to be free."
The form changed to that of the Russet. She smiled. "Thou art indeed kind, Lady. Thy will shall be done, after I have given thee one last gift for thy kindness." The Russet leaned forward, placing a kiss on Sandra's forehead. "Thus I leave, taking with me thy burden. Be at peace, Lady. Let not thy mind dwell upon these dire events, for they were none of thine own making."
The Faery changed once more, into the Fair Aspect, and then slipped back out of the dimension.
Sandra blinked, as if coming out of a deep sleep. She looked slightly confused, but at peace. "Is it over?" she asked.
"It's over," confirmed Banerjee.
"Oh. I think I need to sit down." Kate helped Sandra to the couch.
The White broke out of their circle, various ones staying with Andrew's body, others going to the aftermath of the battle with the demon dogs, and the healer going back to check on Rebecca. The demon dog corpses were all gone in moments, and even their blood disappeared out of the carpet.
Angel sensed something strange: Andrew was still breathing, and his heart was still beating. The vampire went over to inspect the dark mage. Yes, he was still alive, but . . .
Angel recoiled in horror. "He has no soul."
"No," said the Irishwoman who'd spoken before. "The Fey can strip you of your soul. That's why you shouldn't look them in the eyes. Not that it would have made a difference in this case." She looked at the body. "He'll die soon. No human can survive having their soul stripped away so violently."
Angel pulled away, feeling sick. Andrew Burnham had been the one to invoke these forces, so he had to have known the possible repercussions, but still . . . still, Angel felt no one deserved such a fate.
Down in the lobby, Rebecca was sitting up, feeling her chest and talking to Wesley and the healing mage.
"I think I'm all right," the ex-Slayer-in-Waiting said. "On the other hand, I may collapse. I'll let you know when I've decided."
"Being healed takes it out of you," said the mage, whose name was Wendy. "Give yourself a day to be back at full strength, and eat well. Keep hydrated, too, and I wouldn't go swimming."
Gunn walked over and hunched down by Rebecca, smiling. "Nice moves, girl."
Rebecca blushed. "Nice moves, yourself." She clasped his offered hand.
"Nice moves, duh. You saved my life." Cordelia had come up from the other side. "You broke that thing's neck with your legs. That is so entirely gross under normal circumstances, but I'm not complaining. Thank you."
Rebecca's blush deepened, and when she raised her eyes to Cordelia's they were suspiciously moist. "You're very welcome, Cordelia."
Cordelia waved a hand. "Call me Cordy."
Zanita Banerjee, meanwhile, had gone over to the couch, where Kate and Sandra sat. "Are you all right?"
Sandra looked up. "I'm . . . shaky. I can't believe . . . I don't know what to feel. What happened?"
The mage smiled gently. "When the Faery gave you her name, she gave you the power to call her from any dimension. Apparently, your husband banished her after she helped you escape him. However, because you had her name, you had the power to call her back—and that gave you more power than he had when she did return. And as she was incredibly angry, she sought vengeance on him. The White had agreed to that as terms for keeping the peace between Fey and magi. It wasn't any of your fault, Sandra. Please understand that."
"I do," said Sandra. "I don't understand much of what happened here, but I understand that. Where's my daughter?"
A moment later, a bored-looking blond mage with Slavic features walked over and thrust out her hand. "I am Lyudmilla Alexandrovna Kovashnikova. Please to call me Lyuda. I will find daughter."
"She may be wearing a Fey cloak," warned Sandra.
"Is not problem. Please concentrate on daughter, thank you." Lyuda put her hands on either side of Sandra's face, not quite touching her, and for a long moment, there was silence. Then the mage opened her eyes again. "Daughter is at place called Caritas."
Angel, nearby, considered that for a moment, then began to laugh. "Who'd have thought?" he said. "Spike did something right."
***
As Angel, Wesley, Cordelia, Gunn, Rebecca, Kate, Sandra, and Dr. Banerjee reached Caritas, the door was suddenly opened. "Please come in," invited Lorne gallantly. "We've been expecting you."
All of them filed in except Kate, who came to an abrupt halt when she saw Lorne. He looked at her. She looked at him.
"You're a demon," she noted.
"Please, honey," snorted the Host. "Some of us prefer the term 'Otherworldly American.'"
Angel caught her arm. "It's all right. Come on inside." Kate allowed herself to be led, keeping a suspicious eye on Lorne the whole time.
Inside, Sarah Anne had flown into her mother's arms, and the two were holding each other and crying. Dawn set down the Shirley Temple she'd been sipping and ran over to bestow hugs liberally amongst the new arrivals. Fred waved cheerfully from where she sat.
"Where have all you blighters been?" asked Spike, holding a glass of blood. "We've been sitting here forever." One of his pants legs, Angel noted, was shredded.
"Spike sang," Dawn announced.
"That he did, indeed," confirmed Lorne. He nudged Angel. "Why is it that only the blond members of your family can sing, Angelcakes?"
Angel gave him the hairy eyeball as Cordelia and Gunn guffawed. Cordelia, who had Dawn's arms wrapped around her waist, went over and sat with the girl. Lorne drew Angel aside.
"Actually, they all sang," the Host said. He looked at Dawn, one hand on his heart. "Little Miss Muffet there—she breaks the heart, doesn't she?"
"She does," murmured Angel.
"She's got a tough road ahead of her, my friend. Being the Key isn't a temporary thing with her, and she's gonna have to live with it."
Angel turned to him. "Is there anything we can do to help? She's been hurt so badly, and frankly, it's a little beyond me what to do."
"Never fear, my dear. Help is no further away than Blue Eyes over there." Lorne pointed at Kate. "Ask her how to deal with Dawn's PTSD."
"Huh?"
"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. You know, a man in your position ought to keep up on his basic psychology." The Host looked at where Sandra sat with Sarah Anne in her lap, then at Cordelia and Dawn, huddled together and laughing over something. "Little sweethearts. I give my heart too easily. Kinda like the Platinum Destroyer over there." He indicated Spike.
That hit on something Angel had been worrying over. "Spike and Dawn—I'm worried. Is it going to be a problem?"
Lorne gave him a look. "Okay, sugar, remember that discretion is what keeps me in the job. Not to mention my life."
Angel dug in. "Lorne, I need to know. If he's going to be a problem, then I need to know."
"No, you don't," stated Lorne.
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I said. You, Angel, are not the one who needs to worry over them."
"Not the one to worry about them?" questioned Angel. "Seems to me like I'm the perfect one to worry."
Lorne sighed. "Angel, sweetie, honey, darling, love of my life . . ."
"Lorne . . ."
"What I meant is what I said," explained the Host again. "If there is some cause to worry about Dawn re: Spike—or Spike re: Dawn—you are not the one who needs to be doing it. So cut it out. He's the right guardian for her right now, and that's as far as I'm saying. Kapische?"
Angel knew he'd reached the end of the line with Lorne. Although he wasn't satisfied completely, he decided to trust what the Host said—for now.
Lorne then bugged Luis into drinks all around, after which he sent the beleaguered bartender and the entire renovations crew (which was mostly of the demon variety) home. The group stayed for a time in which things were explained, Spike gave a greatly-exaggerated version of the fight in the sewers, and Kate was bothered into singing a little Patsy Cline. She had a beautiful voice, which some had heard while she was tending "her" garden in the Hyperion's courtyard, and Lorne fell in love for the third time that evening.
Soon, though, Dawn and Sarah Anne were yawning and sagging, as was Rebecca. "We need to go," decided Wesley. As the group got up to leave, though, he pulled Zanita Banerjee aside.
"Is Sandra all right?" he asked. "I'd have expected more trauma than this."
"She is all right," said Banerjee. "The Faery muted events in her mind, so Sandra, at the moment, does not have a complete version of what happened in her memories. There's no chance she'll ever think of it as being her fault. She'll never remember the Faery taking Andrew's soul." The mage shrugged. "The White couldn't correct her memories, even if we wished to. She's happier this way."
Wesley nodded. "I understand. Perhaps it is better this way. Thank you for your help, Dr. Banerjee."
"Call me Zanita," said the mage. "And I should be thanking you. You helped us bring a dangerous mage to justice, Wesley. For that alone, you have our gratitude. Call upon the White anytime you have need of us. We do not forget our friends."
As they were all leaving, Lorne quickly caught Dawn's arm. "You know that idea you've been tossing around, sweetheart?"
"Yeah," Dawn said.
"It's a great one. Just what the little lamb needs. Talk to her mother ASAP." Lorne winked and nodded, and Dawn smiled back. Then she ran to catch up with Sandra.
Wesley's car, Angel's car, and Gunn's truck were all loaded up with people, magi, and vampires, and they all headed home.
EPILOGUE FORTHCOMING (no, really)