BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER
ODIUM
CHAPTER FIVE: LOCK PICKS AND MAGIC TRICKS
Gibson sat, slumped in the large armchair in the museum staff room, and let out a groan as another wave of pain hit him. God these headaches were getting annoying. It felt like someone had ordered the entire Zulu nation to start banging on their war drums, right inside his head. Normally when things got this bad he'd just shut his mind off and stop listening to the auras of everything. Trouble was, right now, he couldn't afford to. It wasn't everyday a secret, occult organisation sent you on an all expenses paid vacation to the land of the free, with only the tiny proviso that you had to help stop an ancient and exceedingly powerful vampire while you there.
Slowly the door to the staff room swung open and Marcus strode in. In his hand he clutched a glass of water that seemed on the verge of exploding, judging by the amount of bubbles coming from it.
"Feeling better?" Gibson had to hand it to Marcus. The man certainly knew how to disguise his emotion, if not his brooding sense of exhaustion. His aura was one of the strangest Gibson had ever heard. The pitch was so low and mournful it made him want to burst out in tears.
"You know," he smiled half heartedly, "in between the bouts of searing pain, I feel just fine." Marcus didn't give much of a reaction although his aura became a little more upbeat.
"Here, I got this for you." Gibson gratefully accepted the head ache mixture and gulped it down in one go. It was only equivalent to placing a stick in the Mississippi and claiming it was a dam, but the gesture was kind enough.
"Cheers mate." He said, placing the empty glass on the small table next to him. "You know, if you'd just let me shut off for a while I could…" he trailed off as Marcus began shaking his head.
"I need to know what you hear, and I need you to listen all the time." Gibson glanced miserably out of the window at the setting sun. He didn't know how to tell Marcus that with all the noise he heard in Sunnydale, the mish mash of strong and weak auras, the varying pitches of hundreds of emotions, chances were he could listen for a hundred years and never hear King. Just as that thought left his head, he felt them, auras unlike any he had heard before.
"Wait!" he shouted at Marcus, who had turned to leave the room. "I can hear him!" Marcus was at his side immediately.
"Where is he? What's he doing? How does he feel?"
"Bloody hell man, give me a minute." Gibson hissed in his broad Yorkshire accent, momentarily flustered by the barrage of questions. Carefully he reached out and listened. Not that he needed to try. It couldn't be anyone else's aura. The sound was too dark and primal for that.
"He's coming here." He said finally.
"Are you sure?" Marcus asked.
"You're joking right?" said Gibson incredulously, "The blokes a fog horn! I could hear him from the other side of the country if I wanted!" Marcus gave a bewildered shrug.
"Whatever you say." Quickly he turned and began to make his way out of the room again.
"Hey!" yelled Gibson again. "Did I say I was finished?" Marcus turned and glared at him, his aura rising in pitch to a veritable scream of annoyance.
"What else is there to say?" Gibson smiled.
"Not about him, about her." Marcus reacted the same way as a stone, but his aura definitely didn't. It dropped low and lustful as he spoke.
"What about her?" he said flatly. Gibson tried to suppress a smile. Not that he blamed the dead man in front of him. The girl's aura was so strong it nearly bowled him over. He wondered if all Slayers sounded like this and made it a point to find out.
"She's coming too." Suddenly his brow furrowed as he listened closely to the sound of her. A wide grin began to spread across his face. "In fact," he said, trying to suppress a laugh, "she's already here."
*****
"How did I get myself into this?"
Buffy rolled her eyes at yet another of Spikes complaints. The vampire had done nothing but complain since they had left the Magic Box and right now, silence was needed. Spike, herself and Willow were knelt on the second storey of the museum fire escape. Spike was closest to the door that lead inside, a small piece of metal clutched between surprisingly nimble fingers, as he twisted it back and forth to an accompanying clicking sound.
"Would you just shut up and concentrate on picking that damned lock!" she hissed at him. She was, quite frankly, amazed that Spike could do something this useful. She'd always had him tagged as a kind of brute force type. The recent revelation that he had even a modicum of subtlety had nearly caused the bottom to drop out of her world.
"What's taking so long?" whispered a concerned sounding Willow.
"Our resident 'big bad' is having his lock picking skills spanked." Buffy jeered. Spike shot her a venomous look.
"Now you listen here, missy…" he began.
"Spike!" Buffy and Willow chorused.
"Open the damned door and get us inside!" Buffy finished.
"Women!" Spike growled under his breath and concentrated on the door once again. There was loud final click as the door swung open. He turned to face Buffy with a smug grin on his face.
"I think some thanks are in order." He said.
"Don't bet on it." Said Buffy, sweeping past him as if the door had been open all along. He gave an unsurprised shrug and followed her inside.
Buffy couldn't ever remember having been on the second floor of the museum before, and was amazed at just how much of a maze the place was. Long corridors lined with paintings, vases, and benches seemed to blend into one another as the unlikely trio crept silently through them. After what seemed like an eternity, they finally emerged onto a second floor balcony that overlooked the museums main gallery. The moment Buffy stepped inside she immediately ducked back out again.
"What's wrong?" asked Willow, sounding worried. Buffy didn't blame her. Being the Slayer did, on occasion, require a little breaking and entering, but robbing a museum was an entirely different ball game.
"Guards." She said. "Two of them." Cautiously she leaned around the corner to stare down into the gallery. The guards didn't look that much like security. They were both fairly big and burly, and stood with an air of confidence that she would never expect from anything less than a professional soldier. Slowly she let her eyes travel around the rest of the gallery. The collection of rare antiquities was definitely here. She even recognised some from the photo in the newspaper.
"What do you see?" asked Willow behind her.
"The two guards are dead centre. They can see everything."
"What about the bloody sword?" hissed Spike, in frustration.
"There's a lot of stuff in here, just give me break while I…" her voice trailed off. Mounted on a pedestal toward the rear of the room, was Odium. Despite the light in the room, the sword didn't seem to shine. Instead it seemed to soak up any light that touched it. If anything, it was more menacing in the flesh than it had ever been in her dream.
"Found it!" she hissed.
"Where?" asked Spike craning his neck around the corner above hers, "I can't see a ruddy thing."
"Well for starters, you're looking in the wrong direction." Buffy smiled. "The sword's over there."
"I knew that." Said Spike, twisting his head in the opposite direction without missing a beat. Buffy smiled before turning to face her friend.
"Willow, are you ready to work your mojo?" Willow nodded nervously.
"Then let's get too it Red." Said Spike giving the witch a reassuring pat on the back. Buffy appreciated the gesture. She knew how nervous Willow could get when she knew she was a key component in a plan. She also knew that Willow was completely reliable.
Slayer and vampire sat back and watched as Willow dropped into a cross legged sitting position, closing her eyes as she did so and assuming a rhythmic breathing pattern.
"Upon the elements of water and air I call." She intoned in a voice that, despite it being little more than a whisper, was full of commanding presence. "Heed my plea, cloud the vision of those that block our way so we may pass unhindered." As she spoke, a thick mist seemed to roll in through the museum. At first it did little more than cloud the floor, hiding their feet in its thick, swirling mass, but it quickly filled the entire hall. Buffy could barely see her hand in front of her face.
"Willow." She whispered, her voice sounding oddly muffled in among the fog.
"No good." Came Spikes thick English brogue. "She's in some kind of trance, probably maintaining this stuff."
"Where are you?" she asked, scanning the rolling grey mass. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. Quickly she whirled around, nearly taking his head off with a well aimed punch. Luckily, Spike was quicker than he looked and just managed to dodge the wild blow.
"Hey…" he said indignantly, "watch it love." Buffy didn't even bother to apologise. She had more important things to do.
"C'mon," she motioned. "Let's go get that sword."
Silently the two of them crept to the edge of the balcony, squinting into the swirling fog. From below, the guards voices echoed up to them like some invisible guide as the two men cursed violently in the blinding fog. Buffy felt the cold metal of the guard rail against her palms and reached out to stop Spike. The vampire grunted slightly as he bumped into her arm.
"You ready?" she asked. She paused when there was no answer.
"Spike?"
"Yeah?"
"I can't see you nodding."
"Ah…" he paused. "Whose bright idea was this anyway?"
"Would you just shut up and follow me." Spike grunted again as Buffy carefully lowered herself over the balcony, her hands wrapped tightly around the guard rail. She dangled there for a moment, summoning herself up for the drop to the ground. A brief rustle of his leather duster marked Spike's arrival.
"Okay then…" Buffy breathed steadily. "Three… Two… One…" the moment the word 'one' cleared her mouth she released her grip on the guard rail and dropped to the ground below. As soon as her feet touched the ground she tucked and rolled so as to muffle the noise of her descent. Next to her she heard a slight thump at Spike's slightly less graceful fall. The voices of the two men sounded close together. Buffy cursed mentally. They had stuck together. That would make things more difficult. She crept forward, each footfall carefully judged so as to make a minimum of sound. If her bearings were correct then the sword shouldn't be too far now. Suddenly, out in the rolling banks of fog she hear the sound of a door opening, and a familiar muffled voice that she couldn't quite place echoed through the chamber.
"What the hell…" it said, loud enough to be heard by everyone. Buffy kept moving, preying to God that the voices owner hadn't realised what was going. Unfortunately it seemed he had.
"Gibson, can you do something about this."
"Give me a second…" came the voice of another new arrival, this time with a distinctly British twang. Then suddenly the fog was gone. It didn't gradually disappear, or roll away. One moment it had been there and the next it was not. The room was clear and she and Spike were in plain view for all to see. Without thinking she burst into a sprint for the sword. An alarmed cry rang out from one of the guards as he dove toward her only to be caught in a vicious rugby tackle by her partner in crime. Spike howled in pain as the chip in his head went off, but Buffy didn't have time to worry about that now, as the second guard had just stepped into her path. She dropped her elbow and barged him aside as if he was made of cardboard. She was almost at the sword when, out of nowhere, an elbow drop caught her in the back. She fell heavily to the floor and rolled sideways as a large boot slammed down where her head had been mere seconds earlier. As she rolled onto her back, she lashed out with her leg, catching her assailants legs and sweeping them out from under him. The stranger hit the ground with a heavy thud, but recovered almost immediately by rolling backwards into a standing position. Buffy vaulted up to her own feet and span to find herself in a face off with…
"Marcus!" she said incredulously. The Reaver smiled slightly.
"Hello Buffy." He said.
