Chapter 9

Startling creatures

"Willow? Willow?" Buffy called, running through the cemetery. They had reached the supposed site of the crypt, only to find it gone, a large patch of undisturbed grass in its place instead. Walking on the grass was possible, so it hadn't been illusion… now they'd left Anya to watch the spot, and Buffy and Giles split up to comb to cemetery. They'd started off by calling the Summers house with Anya's mobile, only to find no one was picking up – so Xander had run off to check the house with Buffy's keys. On arriving there, he'd found no one in, and had called Anya back. Still, he stayed in the house in case Willow arrived there.

Spike hadn't been able to follow – due to the sunlight, and had agreed to stay in the Magic Box to offer what help he could. When they were leaving, she'd heard the crash of someone exiting the shop with great speed, and she dimly hoped Constantine was okay.

There were no crypts that resembled the one Willow had described to her, and she was convinced that somehow, the patch of grass was all that was left of the actual crypt. Her best friend hadn't had any reason to lie, had she?

No, she couldn't believe that Willow would lie to her about this. Frustrated and angry, looking in every likely crypt she came across, she let the emotions override her fear for her sister's safety. She had to believe that Constantine could hold whatever was happening until Willow could be found. She had to believe that Willow had the solution. She had to.

Denizens of the crypts she invaded to check for the dark elf took one look at her face, flushed with fury, and decided to let the Slayer take her look around without making comment.

Farther away, Giles wasn't having much luck either, though his progress was slower, he was no less meticulous. He didn't understand a lot of what was going on – why Dawn was the Key, why the crypt had gone, why the ritual seemed so bizarre. Technically, this last wasn't too surprising, since in his long stint as a Watcher to Buffy, and even after when he was fired by the Council but continued as an unofficial Watcher, he had seen extremely strange events.

He finished his section of the cemetery and hurried back to the patch of grass, only to find Buffy already there and hopping around in frantic agitation. "Giles?"

He shook his head, and her face fell. "This must have been the place."

"Then what now?"

Giles cursed himself for neglecting his own study of magic as he realized how much the gang had relied on Willow for it, and he also cursed himself for not having Willow's telepathic powers. "Er… er… we have to call Willow. Magically. I… I want all of you to sit down and… and hold her in your minds. Grounding memories of her here might help in locating her." At least, he hoped that would work. Sympathetic magic was a nuisance to get right.

**

Constantine was having problems. Synchronicity wasn't working at its full strength as it had in Toril, so he wasn't able to use it to dodge hits, and had to rely on his own, slow human responses. He was quite sure his left arm was broken, and some ribs were at least cracked. If not for Meri he probably wouldn't be able to get up and walk as she shunted the pain off somewhere temporarily – he hated the sound of that word – and so far he could sense that the Goddess was getting stronger. The blood from Dawn had formed the outline of the Gate – about the size of a normal doorway – and was continuing to fill it out. Constantine felt sure that if the Gate was totally colored out, then the actual avatar of the Goddess would come out – and then, he would have to hope to die.

: Damn this. Meri… can you call Jarlaxle? He still owes me a favor, so… : Constantine doubted that there was time to set up the ritual proper, something which involved a protective circle drawn with chalk that was supposed to be mixed in the blood of virgins, candles, and a bit of posturing. He didn't think the shop had said chalk, and also didn't think he'd have time to draw the circle properly, even if he didn't try to bind Jarlaxle…

: Knowing Jarlaxle, he might just decide that getting you back to your world would have had repaid the favor. However, I'd try, but I'd have to leave you for a minute – Jarlaxle just put up anti-summoning blockages around his Plane, so I'd have to visit it personally. Can you survive for a minute? It'd be a hassle to find a new host on an unfamiliar world. : Meri seemed to smirk at him.

: At the most I'd bloody well just run away, luv. : Constantine pointed out, hoping that he would be allowed to, : And hope it takes more than a friggin' minute for the gate to open. :

There was a snarl from inside the shop, and a crash. Constantine got to the doorway, and saw Spike dodging balls of fire. The shop was in flames now, except for a five-metre radius around Dawn and the Gate. The panther, having heeded his call for help, was also providing a moving target to distract Dawn-Lloth, who had temporarily forgotten about Constantine. Grimacing, he decided to leave them to it and sneaked back outside to sit down painfully – all his wounds were giving him hell now as Meri left to get Jarlaxle. Closing his eyes, he listened to the curses and the growls from inside the burning shop, assuring his battered conscience that in his current state, crawling inside the shop to engage in feats of bravery would be worse than useless. At least they were still alive.

**

"Bloody hell!" Spike cursed, as a bolt of fire caught him in the side like a hit with a hammer, spinning him onto the ground. Frantically, he rolled, trying to put out the flames, and was, for the first time since he'd given it to her, thankful that Buffy had his coat. If he had wheedled it back from her, it would have been in a sorry state by the end of this.

From what he could see, Constantine was out of it, so it was just him and Constantine's panther. The creature was incredibly fast, but the first time it got engulfed by flames, it had emerged unscathed. This seemed to infuriate Dawn-Lloth, and so she was concentrating her attention on the panther – not that she didn't occasionally take shots at him.

He wondered why she was doing this. It wasn't even as if he and one panther had the ability to stop her from forming the portal, so why didn't she get on with it first and then squash them later?

The answer, Spike realized, as he ducked another small fireball, was in her expression. She delighted in cruelty, even petty cruelty like this, expending he precious energy trying to wear them out and burn them alive, as well as the chaos this created. Her role as a bloodthirsty Goddess of chaos, as described earlier to the Scooby Gang by Constantine, was all that she knew how to play, and it seemed that the role had consumed her to an extent that she did what she would have been expected to do – try and kill them – before other, more prudent things. It was quite frightening to realize – that all that Lloth was – was what others had made and expected of her, and for a moment Spike felt compassion for this creature caught in a web of belief.

Dawn-Lloth saw his pity, and shrieked in sudden rage, as she seemed to realize what he had understood of her, an unanticipated epiphany that shook her world into shards of anguish, the anguish of an animal caught in a cage without any hope of freedom. The glass windows splintered outwards with tinkling crashes, and Spike was slammed against the wall, caught up in a wave of unseen energy. His head hit something with a loud crack, and he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

**

Nalfein lay with his eyes closed on the bed of heavy quilts which had served as his bed ever since he had come to this new earth, though he was not asleep as his lover was, cradled in his arms. The mage watched his beloved's friends try to fight against the Breaking and the ascendance of Lloth, and felt amusement mingled with sorrow and anticipation. Amusement at their seemingly pitiful attempts to stop a Goddess – it was quite obvious even from the Wizard's Eye that Lloth was but toying with them. Sorrow at his beloved's reaction if she knew that her friends had died while she was not there to bravely – but foolishly – try to join and help them. Anticipation at the prospect of having her solely to himself when her world ended in fire and tears.

He considered alternatives. Now that he had removed the crypt to the void between planes he was relatively free to move it to others. He could invent excuses – someone had set off certain wards, something had gone wrong – he need not tell Willow what had happened on her world to necessitate a removal – and in time she would accept it, happy in her ignorance. He could even engineer a move to a plane like hers where she had never existed, such that she was free to rebuild friendships and believe that it was the same earth, just that there were some magical problems. That was one problem with using magic – one tended to see the causes and solutions of problems solely in magical terms without considering other options.

However, if by some happy chance her friends actually managed to extricate themselves from the Breaking and save their world – then he supposed he would return them there. If need be he would simply openly take all the blame for their disappearance, confident in the knowledge that he could effect it such that Willow would not reject him because of it for very long.

"Willow? Willow?" A stuttering, faraway human male voice echoed around the crypt. "Are you there?"

Nalfein frowned, and activated one of the spying spells he had set near the last location of the crypt with a thought. More of Willow's friends – engaged in some sort of spell, no doubt the one that actually managed to call her from this far. He applauded their perseverance with the contemptuous amusement of one much more superior on the magical scale.

"Willow?" the voice grew louder. His beloved murmured in his arms, stirring, and he quickly cast a spell of sleep on her. Anxiously, he listened until her breathing calmed again, and then he carefully laid her onto the quilts and sighed. The voice was getting annoying.

"Willow? Buffy, Anya – you have to help me call her… I think I'm… we're close."

Nalfein rolled over gracefully and picked up his staff, which was next to the quilts. Much as he disliked having to get up from his bed at this point in time, he had to direct the mental calls of Willow's friends elsewhere. It was improbable that they had enough power to break his spells on the crypt and forcibly bring it back, but they might be able to project information to Willow – which would be inconvenient.

Behind him, Willow continued to sleep peacefully, unaware of the circumstances that had befallen her friends.

**

Meri took the form of a hawk-sized version of her true form and flew quickly through the Planes of Hell, ignoring its denizens and reveling in her power, bright, long blue plumes of flame trailing behind her like a comet's tail. Here on the Otherworlds, if unchained to any hosts as she was now, her power was considerable, and none of the demons wished to pick a fight. Those in her way got out of it as if they had intended to do so, and glared at the fast-disappearing streak of blue fire with envy and hatred. To exist even for a while on a Material Plane was to taste, for even a moment, the elixir of true life, and although Meri's power was lessened when she was on the same plane as a host, she felt it was worth it. Even if the only life she could experience then were stolen sensations from the host, always a mortal through whom she could not channel her full power, or risk her host's destruction.

She swept on and finally entered the vast plane that was her destination.

It had changed considerably. The city of this Plane seemed to have been rebuilt into the likeness of a drow city – slender, beautiful, dark architecture wreathed in faerie fire, domes, spires, towers, pyramids, arches, castles, squat houses, snaking walls, uneven alleys. From this height, the multitude of denizens appeared to resemble tiny dots of black ants. For a moment Meri hesitated, wondering if she had accidentally flown too far and through the Planes to the Underdark of Toril instead, until she looked beyond and around her, at the dark red, barren wasteland of the outskirts.

Resolutely, she flew on over the walls. Drow-like sentries with leathery dragon's wings flew up to challenge her – then hesitated and turned away, deciding not to look for trouble. Still, she approached one of them. "Where is Jarlaxle?" she snapped.

"The temple," the 'drow' replied. Meri nodded curt thanks.

The temple was an incongruous, mismatched building in the midst of such elegant architecture. Meri realized that it seemed to have been based on several buildings called 'churches' on Constantine's world that she had seen in his thoughts, vague and half-remembered images. Bells of different sizes and shape began to sing in a relatively pleasant carillon as she approached on wings of flame, and she landed at the entrance, assuming the form of a dark elven female dressed in a blue gown of shifting blue colors.

When in Hell, do as the demons will.

The guards at the door admitted her, and she found herself in a high-ceilinged chamber with many neat rows of wooden benches to her left and right. She stood on a long tapestry with red as its predominant color, depicting the fall of angels from heaven, and she smirked to herself at the exquisite irony as she approached the altar of black stone and all the strange structures and sculptures behind it. Above it all was a finely crafted stained glass of a dark elf with two sets of wings, one set that of raven's wings, the other, black bat's wings.

Jarlaxle sat at the first row of benches, feet up on the rail in front. He seemed to be reading a book resembling the Bible, and gave no indication that he had heard Meri's approach, though the phoenix knew better. The Demon Prince had not changed a single bit of his flamboyant appearance that he had worn when he was mortal and a dark elf. The wide-brimmed purple hat still sported three long diatryma feathers that draped over the bench behind. His ruby-red eye-patch covered one two perfectly sound eyes, and over his well-made leather jerkin, black boots, long gloves and muscled arms he wore a large and curious assortment of jewelry – necklaces, medallions, pendants, chains, bangles, rings, bracelets, armlets – that scraped and jangled against each other when he moved – or when he wished, were totally silent. His cape of shimmering colors flowed like so many frozen rainbows down his back to pool on the ground.

"Greetings, Prince Jarlaxle," Meri said, bowing, when she was within a respectful distance.

Jarlaxle got up from his seat with the grace of a cat, then perched himself on the railing, his feet now resting on the bench. "Greetings to you, Lady Meridian," he replied dryly. "What may I do for you?"

"Lloth the Spider Queen is set to open a Gate to Hell and enter the Material Plane, where she would… "

"I know," Jarlaxle interrupted. "There are several demons and gods who have attempted to do that."

"Well, for this one… "

"There are a few new rules on this Plane," Jarlaxle said with ironic awareness, "Not only in this city, but also for the Abyss here. Those who, without my leave, try to wander onto other Planes at this point in time will have their power confiscated and distributed to those who are still… loyal to me."

Jarlaxle smiled at Meri's look of astonishment at his audacity that changed to an amused respect. "I see. More of your little games, Prince Jarlaxle?" She waved her hand at her surroundings.

"You wound me, Lady Meridian," Jarlaxle chuckled. "This is one of my steps towards evening up the score with the opposition, and you call it a little game?"

"Nevertheless, it is quite clever, though my host still cannot grasp its meaning."

"Your host? Ah, John Constantine," Jarlaxle mused. "I rather liked him."

"Liked, Jarlaxle?"

"Do not worry yourself – he still lives." Jarlaxle's smile now turned malicious. "I will allow Lloth until the final stages of the Breaking – and then I will take her power from her. That would be my revenge of her – of the society of her making which has given me so much pain when I was mortal." He added conscientiously, "A last reminder to her that even the smallest of pawns can overturn a Queen."

Without the power implied from the words, Meridian would have thought this announcement pompous at best, dangerously pretentious at worst. Now she watched with the disembodied admiration of a being far removed from the ageless struggle of the Heavens against the Hells at a new player's curious skill in the game, and wondered what her host would make of it.

"It is not long now," Jarlaxle said thoughtfully. "You might like to go back at this moment, for her unmaking will be rather explosive."

Meridian bowed, and backed out as quickly as possible. Soon she was flying swiftly back through the planes, cursing the teleport blocks on Hell, and hoping that she would be in time.

The atmosphere seemed to grow heavier as she neared the Material Plane.

**

"Finally!" Constantine muttered as again, around him, there flared the shape of a phoenix. Meridian quickly appraised him of what Jarlaxle had said, and he nodded. "We have to get Spike."

Quickly he got into the shop, allowed Meridian to use a wing to scoop up the vampire, then turned and ran for it, calling mentally for the panther to withdraw at the same time. Meri used him to cast a Globe of Darkness on the vampire's form, to avoid Spike from being incinerated by the sun. From behind him there was triumphant laughter, and then, as he reached the other side of the road and deposited the unconscious Spike in the shade of a building, calling off the Globe, a loud and powerful explosion that knocked him off his feet. "Bloody hell!"

Of the Magic Box and the few buildings around it, there was now only a smoking crater, in the middle of which was Dawn, unscathed and looking around with amazement.

"Dawn? Luv?" Constantine called from the road, and she clambered out of the crater and ran to him in relief at hearing a familiar voice, though she stopped in horror when she neared them. Spike was badly burned; flesh blistered or blackening at portions, though his vampiric healing would suffice if he got some rest and blood. Constantine's arm drooped at an odd angle, and he touched his ribs gingerly, wincing.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice escalating an octave. "Where's Buffy? What happened to you and Spike? A demon?"

"Long story, luv – but they're safe," Constantine, wincing, reassured her. At least, he hoped so. Surely they wouldn't be so stupid as to try and attack a dark elven mage, would they?

Dawn glanced back at where the Magic Box had been, then her hands flew to her mouth as she belatedly realized the full extent (to her) of what the crater meant. "Oh my god! Giles is so going to freak! Please tell me it's not my fault!"

**

Nalfein was surprised – Willow's friends had prevailed, and Lloth had been driven off or even destroyed, making it safe for him to return Willow to her plane. He lifted the sleep spell from her and kissed her leisurely until he felt her respond and smile into the kiss.

Pulling back he greeted her sleepy grin with a wink, then he leaned it and murmured into her ear, "You friends are waiting for you."

This took a few moments to sink into Willow's sleep-fogged brain, which Nalfein took advantage of to suck at her ear lobe, then Willow squeaked. "What! Oh… why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"We were somewhat preoccupied," Nalfein chuckled at her when she blushed. Delightful.

"How did you know they were… are they outside the crypt?"

"Spells led them to believe the crypt was not where they thought it was."

"They must have been worried! What did you do that for?" Willow glared at him.

"You look beautiful when you're angry." He bent forward to kiss her, but she ducked away. "Very well. Though I considered leaving the silencer spells off and allowing you to rouse the area with your cries… "

"Oh." Willow blushed again.

"And then allowing any creature to happen along and try to check on… "

"Stop!" Willow was sure that the color of her cheeks would rival a tomato's hue. "I suppose we'd better go out and meet them."

"We?" Nalfein pretended surprise.

"Yeah." Willow smiled at him shyly. "I think it's about time they knew about us."

Somehow that gave him a mixed feeling of pleasure and disquiet. Her friends were sure to suspect other motives of him from keeping the crypt away – but dared he hope she was beginning to accept him fully?

If she did discover the truth of the incident – well then, he would just have to make sure she would not.

"Nalfein, where are my jeans?"

The dark elf lay on the quilts and chuckled, admiring the sight of his lover, distinctly underclad, muttering darkly to herself as she looked for clothes casually discarded in their tryst.

Humans were startling creatures.

--

Notes and References:

Synchronicity: I've never really understood this bit of Constantine's magic, but it seems that he uses synchronicity, also known as the synchronicity highway/freeway, and can somehow manipulate time and space such that if he wants to, he can skip himself from place to place with surprising speed. I.e. from several hundred miles away to an airport, get through customs without anyone checking him and so on. In the previous story 'Hollow Years', synchronicity and Toril (the world of the Forgotten Realms)'s magic were warring, so both occasionally surged to its full strength in Constantine. The full-strength synchronicity allowed him to engage in things like hand-to-hand fighting without getting hit once – as he would never be in the same spot for very long.

Jarlaxle and Lloth: Jarlaxle was born as a third son of the House Baenre, the top-ranking House of Menzoberranzan, which meant that he was supposed to have been given as a sacrifice to Lloth when he was born. Somehow, probably through the instigation of his Arch Mage brother Gromph, he wasn't – but he turned into a rogue drow, supposedly Houseless rogue who founded a largely-male mercenary band still occasionally downtrodden by priestesses. Jarlaxle does not seem to have as much of a hatred of Lloth and her priestesses as Zaknafein, a purported friend, but it is probably still there, as in the hearts of most males in a Lloth-dominated drow society.