The Ruby Slippers
Part 5
By Gem
& PJ
The Scoobies were gathered around the table when she walked into the Magic Box, as Buffy had known they would be. Willow was bent low over a book, showing something to Tara, while Xander was trying to impress Anya with his skill at tossing doughnut holes into his mouth. Giles paced rapidly from the table to the counter and back, trying to outrun Anya's lecture on the proper pricing of sale items, yet never quite making good on his escape.
For them it was just another quiet evening spent with friends, trying to avert the apocalypse of the week.
Buffy paused in the doorway, door still held open by her hand. She was fighting a wild urge to run, to head straight home and pull Angel's leather jacket from its hiding place in the back of her closet and bury herself in its scent. It not only reminded her of him, but of times that seemed so much simpler than now. Times when they at least had each other, even if the world was falling apart or blowing up at their feet.
"Buffy, you're back."
Too late to run now. She was always too late.
"Yeah, I'm back Giles." She smiled faintly at him, touched by the genuine pleasure in his voice.
"Wesley must have given you the message right away...and you must have broken several speed limits to get here." Giles' eyes narrowed as he approached her. "Did everything go all right in LA?" He tactfully refrained from asking her about Angel specifically; he wasn't sure how much the others knew.
Buffy caught her breath; she wasn't ready for this. To lie would take more energy than she could muster, and the truth was out of the question until Glory had been dispatched.
"I can't talk about LA right now, Giles," she said carefully. "When this is all done, I promise I'll tell you." She looked over at the table, seeing her friends' faces cloud with concern at her tone. "I'll tell all of you. But not yet."
"Buffy, are you okay?" Willow half-rose from her chair, until Buffy motioned for her to stay where she was.
"Buffy, if you need to talk...Glory has done nothing to place anyone in immediate danger. She can wait." Giles took a few steps closer to Buffy and reached out to touch her shoulder. She neatly sidestepped his gesture and moved to the center of the room, leaving a seriously apprehensive Watcher in her wake.
"She's waited too long already," Buffy insisted. "I want this done. Now." The only empty seat she spied was next to Willow, but Buffy had to force herself to take it. Her best friend's concern was almost palpable; it radiated from her in waves that pummeled at Buffy. The Slayer's skin crawled with the effort to sit calmly amongst her friends, the sole bearer of knowledge that would forever taint her world, and by extension theirs.
"Very well," Giles sighed. "But I do expect a better answer when Glory is defeated."
"And just how do we do that?" Buffy turned her head to Willow, carefully composing her features to limit the number of warning flares she set off.
"First we need to explain what Glory is, Buffy." Giles began to pace again, falling into standard lecture mode. "I finally received a call back from the Watcher's Council early this morning. Very early, I'm afraid. They take outrageous advantage of the time difference." He grimaced at the thought of his long lost night's sleep. "I would have told you about it when you called...but you were somewhat in a hurry."
"And still am," she said impatiently. "What's the word?"
"The word was 'no' at first, I'm afraid," he answered apologetically. After the past five years, he had become accustomed to interruptions. "They were trying to lay down conditions; they even wanted to subject you to some silly tests to make sure you were 'worthy' of the knowledge. I did as you asked, however, and reminded them that if they tied their Warrior's hands in the fight against evil, they were going to have to fight evil themselves." Giles chuckled, remembering the variety of outraged sputters that ensued in the wake of his 'suggestion'. "After a bit of hemming and hawing, not to mention out-and-out threatening, they 'ponied up,' as the saying goes."
"Let the saying go wherever it wants, just tell me what kind of demon she is."
"In point of fact, she's not precisely a demon," he said reluctantly.
Off came the glasses and the cleaning ritual commenced. In Buffy's book, that was never a good sign. She sat up a little straighter and carefully removed the edge from her tone.
"What is she, precisely?"
"She's, well, she's a god."
"Dess, goddess. The Council had it wrong." Tara chimed in helpfully. She shrank back in her seat when she suddenly found herself the focus of the room's attention, particularly that of an affronted former employee of the firm in question.
"I beg your pardon?"
That the 'firm' in question had fired him mattered little when the censure came from an outsider. Centuries of tradition and decades of service to the cause lent the simple phrase more than enough frost to send Tara frantically scrambling for an olive branch.
"I don't mean they were wrong exactly," she said nervously, "well, except that they were in the, you know, strict sense of the word. The word 'god,' that is. I mean, if we're going to assign gender labels to a being who probably doesn't actually have sexual organs, shouldn't we be, umm, be staring at someone else for a change so I can find a rock to crawl under?"
"Giles is just upset you pointed it out first, Tara. You know he likes to hold it over us that his English is better than ours because it's actually English English." Anya had not forgotten Giles' escape from her sales lecture, and she wasn't about to let him off easy for it.
"Yes, well, in any event, she is apparently a deity, not a demon." Giles gave in with a sigh and slipped his glasses on again. "Of the Norse variety, if that makes any difference."
"Which, according to Anya, it doesn't." Willow pushed the book in front of her over to Buffy, pointing to an illustration on the open page. "See, lightning bolts and balls of fire are pretty much standard issue, no matter what language the people are praying to you in."
"And those prayers are apparently the key, again, if Anya is to be believed." Giles glanced pointedly at Xander until the younger man relinquished the chair next to Anya. The Watcher sat down with a scarcely disguised sigh of relief; it had been a long night.
"Hey, what do you mean by that?" Anya snapped, glaring at her boss. "I happen to be very truthful. Usually you people are telling me I'm too truthful."
"I believe the word we use is 'tactless'," Willow said softly.
Giles hastened to pour oil on the waters he himself had troubled. "No one is questioning your veracity, Anya, merely...exhibiting pleased surprise at the range of your knowledge."
Xander rested his hands on Anya's shoulders and gave them a slight squeeze.
"That's my girl. Tell me she wasn't paying attention to someone other than herself for at least a few of those eleven centuries."
"Can we get back to the point, please? How do I kill a god?" Buffy glanced at Tara, seeing the word forming on the witch's lips. "Dess," she finished firmly.
Tara smiled in quiet satisfaction.
"It all comes down to belief." Willow was also grateful to abandon the pointless argument. "Anya pointed out that gods, and goddesses..."
"With all due respect to Tara's undeniably valid grammatical correction, as well as our current politically correct culture, may we please just refer to them as gods, in the interests of brevity?"
Xander looked at Giles in amazement. "And that sentence would be a good example?"
"Gods," Willow said with biting emphasis, "are created by man, not the other way around."
Xander speedily backed away from the table, retreating to the counter as he waved his finger at his best friend. "Okay, I know we live in sunny Southern California and all, but I am so not standing next to you when and if we ever get another thunderstorm."
"Oh there are forces of good and evil in the universe," Anya quickly added, "but humans are the ones who personified them and endowed them with separate characteristics and powers. In a very real sense, humans gave each god the strength that he possesses by believing that he possesses it."
Xander's shaking finger transferred its wrath to Anya. "You too, missy. From here on out you carry your own umbrella."
"So Glory exists because people believe she exists," Buffy mused slowly. "But then why does she need...this key she seems to need? And how does knowing all this help us?"
This was good, she thought; she was focusing. She was getting the job done. Take that, PTB's.
"We think she needs the key because it's pure energy," Tara said eagerly. "Once upon a time the gods,'' she threw a sidelong glance at Giles, "could depend on belief to generate all the power that they needed. But as other religions developed and people abandoned their old gods for new ones, or for none at all, the gods themselves began to die. But with the key, Glory wouldn't be dependent on followers, or sacrifices, for her energy."
"And as for how it helps us, well, Tara likes to call it the "Tinkerbell Syndrome'." Willow beamed proudly at her lover.
"Which, by the way, I totally objected to," Xander said quickly. "Everyone knows Tink was a fairy, not a god, or even a goddess." He seems to shrink down inside of himself when he felt the heat of all their eyes turn upon him. "Of course the fact that she's not real has a little something to do with it too," he finished weakly.
"Glory is real enough, that's for sure." Buffy rubbed her forehead, trying to force some blood into her overtired brain. "So am I supposed to tie her believers' hands together so they can't clap as I kill her?"
"No, that's what Willow and I will be doing. You just have to keep her busy." Tara smiled shyly, grateful to be an integral part of a Scooby plan at last.
"Keep her busy? Oh, that should be fun. And how exactly are you and Willow going to be doing the bondage?" She heard a movement from the counter and raised her hand. "Not one word, Xander."
Willow smirked at the shamefaced Xander. "Anya knew of a spell for disenchanting people from false gods and prophets. I guess they used to use it in the winter instead of the old burning heretics at the stake solution. You know, to save on firewood."
The witch's smile faltered when she realized Buffy was not responding in kind. Taking a deep breath, Willow got back to the business at hand. "We've done some checking, and it should work just as well on demons."
"It will, trust me. It's amazing what information you can pick up at a medieval party when you're allergic to mead. It's the honey, you see. Even as a demon it gave me hives." Anya's smile turned to a pout when she realized no one was interested in her unusual infirmity, not even Xander. As usual, her attempts to bond with the humans, this time through the sharing of weaknesses, had fallen short of the mark.
"But does Glory count as a false god? She does have real powers; I've seen them. I mean, what is a false god? Did they skip registration or something?"
It was amazing the effort it now took to come up with a flip comment that once would have rolled off her tongue.
"Buffy, please." Giles shook his head at her. "You're obviously quite tired, but you must focus. This is important."
She could feel the anger flare up inside of her, and then just as swiftly die out. She'd accomplished her goal, hadn't she? No one saw beneath the shell, and that was the way it would stay until, and unless, she was ready.
"Buffy, just trust us. This will work." Willow patted Buffy's hand, mistakenly believing it was reassurance about Glory that Buffy needed. "You fight Glory, Tara and I will make with the mojo to weaken her and the guys will fight off any of Glory's followers that try to stop us. It can't miss."
Buffy could think of a thousand ways it could miss, starting with Glory killing her before the spell was halfway out of her friend's mouth. But there didn't seem to be many options anymore, and she needed to eliminate Glory. Once the god...dess was dispatched, Dawn would be safe and Buffy would have nothing more to chain her to Sunnydale, or anywhere else in the world.
Assuming Glory didn't solve her problems for her with one ball of fire from her well-manicured hands.
"When?" Buffy sighed, hoping it would be soon.
"We were thinking tomorrow, but perhaps you should get some more rest beforehand. As I said, there is no hurry now." Giles reached across the table to clasp Buffy's hand. This time, she did not pull away.
"No, Giles. If you're ready, then I'm ready. I want this over with as soon as humanly, or inhumanly possible."
"Life to lead, huh Buff?"
Xander's genial smile was met with a pale reflection of the same.
"Something like that, Xand."
* * * * *
Glory was not happy. And when Glory was not happy, the world trembled in fear.
Or at least the world did if it knew what was good for it.
The trouble started, as usual, with the stupid Slayer. Glory's incompetent mouth-breathing minions had reported seeing several robed figures leaving the Slayer's house carrying a small wooden crate, escorted by a vampire with a bad dye-job. The party made its way to the Watcher's shop, where they were greeted at the door by the Slayer herself. Everyone went inside for a few minutes, and then the Slayer, the vampire, the Watcher and the monks piled into two cars and drove down to a warehouse near the docks.
It was at that point that Glory's annoying beeper had gone off, interrupting a much- needed full-body massage.
So here she was, scoping out a crummy old warehouse, kinks only half-worked out of her body and a run in her stockings.
The things a girl had to do to acquire dominion over the universe.
* * * * *
The warehouse was dark when Glory and her followers entered. She looked around for the Slayer, or the monks, or, most importantly the box that held The Key.
Nothing. Only darkness and mildew smells and little scrabbling sounds that just had to be rats.
Suddenly a light flared in the center of the warehouse. It was the Slayer, holding what looked like an electric tiki-torch in one hand and a sword in the other.
"Oh please, spare me the drama," Glory snorted. "I'm here for my key. Hand it over and we can all be home in time to catch 'Sex and the City'."
Buffy smiled slowly, lightly tapping her torch on the concrete floor. The lights came up all over the warehouse, revealing the remainder of the Slayer's followers ranged behind her.
"I think you're going to be little pile of goddess bits long before show time, Glory."
Buffy could feel the tension within her ease now that the moment was at hand. At last something she could lose herself in. When all else had forsaken her, there was always the battle to give her purpose.
"Normally I'd say if you picked up your toys and went home, we could forget all the bloody stuff." Buffy took a step towards Glory. "But I'm in a really bad mood today, and I need someone to pound on. And, unfortunately for you, I've decided dusting vampires just won't scratch the itch." She flung the torch into the corner and hefted her sword.
"Fine." Glory shrugged. "I haven't killed a Slayer in a while. Might as well keep my name out there; it's so hard to get your rep back once you lose it." She cocked her head and rested one hand on her hip. "But maybe you know more than I do about reputations? From the reading I've been doing about you, the whole vamp tramp thing, I'd say yes."
"I think that's our cue," Willow said nervously, shooting a glance at the eerily still Slayer.
After a frozen moment, spent picturing how many ways she could reduce Glory to a quivering heap of flashily-clad divinity in payment for her last comment, Buffy nodded her head to Willow.
It was time.
Willow and Tara began chanting, reading from the spell Anya wrote out for them. Giles motioned Spike and Xander to join him as they took up positions around Willow and Tara.
Buffy swung the sword experimentally, testing its weight in her hand. "You know, I'm really sorry you have to die with a run in your stocking," she glanced pointedly at Glory's exposed shin, "but I hope you don't mind if we just move things along here. I have better things to do."
Glory tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder. "Give it your best, little girl. When this is over, and I have The Key, I'll make sure to write a nice note to your mother about how bravely you died. And I won't even tell her you were out past your bedtime."
Minions advanced on Slayerettes, Glory advanced on Buffy and the battle commenced. Buffy fought hard with the sword, taking wide cuts at Glory, but even in high-heels the goddess moved too quickly to catch more than the tip of the blade. Glory used no weapons, other than her hands, but they seemed to be more than sufficient. Buffy was flung repeatedly against the walls, or dashed to the floor like a discarded china plate. Several times the Slayerettes were forced to retreat, not from the force of Glory's battling minions, but to avoid a flying Slayer.
"Any time now Will," Buffy grunted, rising unsteadily to her feet after yet another up close and personal experience with the floor.
"Hold fast, Buffy," Giles called to her as he beat back another of Glory's pet demons. "I think she's weakening."
It didn't feel like it from Buffy's perspective. Each blow from the goddess' red lacquer-tipped hands radiated power, and inflicted pain. Perhaps Glory was growing weaker, but not so quickly as the Slayer.
Buffy felt sail through the air one more time, striking her head against the concrete wall before slowly sliding down to the floor in a boneless lump. For a moment she saw only darkness, and she welcomed it. She couldn't do this anymore.
Suddenly she felt a presence. There were no sounds, no sudden miraculous visions of light in front of her, just a shiver in her soul. A shiver that only one other presence could inspire.
"Angel?" she called out as she shook her weary head to clear her vision.
No Angel, only Glory coming at her with her own sword. Buffy threw herself to the side, narrowly escaping the blade. The Slayer scrambled to her feet, panting heavily, and circled round Glory. She needed a weapon, and she needed one fast. Out of the corner of her eye Buffy spied a length of pipe laying on the floor; an inelegant weapon, but handy. She ducked down to avoid another swing of the sword and grabbed the pipe as she rose.
The first blow from the pipe should not have done much damage, but unaccountably Glory stumbled. Then she stumbled again.
The goddess glanced wildly around the room for her followers, but they had abandoned the attack on the Scoobies and were all drifting towards the door.
"Stop!" she cried out. "You are my people, I am your goddess. I am Glorificus and you are mine to command."
The demons were obviously frightened by her tone, but it only made them move more quickly to the exit and safety.
Glory stamped her foot, almost losing her balance as the weakened leg touched ground. "I said stop! I can't be a goddess without worshippers; it just doesn't work that way!"
"That's kind of the point, Glory," Buffy said softly, casually swinging her pipe in the air. "They've been awakened and you're losing your power source. I won't give you The Key and you're not going to last long enough to find some other poor dumb souls to suck dry for their energy. You're through."
Buffy began wielding the pipe in earnest now. Glory tried to fight her off with the sword, but eventually her nerveless hands could no longer grasp the pommel. When it clattered to the floor, Buffy stopped to pick it up.
"You know, I'm not a real big fan of conventional weapons, but this has a nice feel to it," she commented, starting to slash the sword closer and closer to Glory. "And I think it will read much better in the mythology textbooks than you getting whacked by a lead pipe," the blade sang across Glory's right arm, "in the conservatory," and then it scored her left side, "by Miss Scarlett."
And on towards what passed for Glory's heart, no longer defended by her wounded arms. Slowly, slowly, Buffy reminded herself. All the suffering the goddess had caused, all that stolen time spent trying to defeat her instead of being with...it all deserved a lengthy payback.
"Buffy, I think the spell can take care of the rest," Giles called from behind her.
"No," she replied with an icy calm. "You never know what evil things can come back if you don't kill them right the first time. I'm not taking any chances."
She drove Glory back against a wall, the goddess stumbling as she retreated from the shining blade. Glory made one final abortive attempt to escape her fate, throwing herself forward and past Buffy. One last thrust of the sword, aimed at Glory's chest, pierced her side instead.
The goddess sprawled on the ground, her body finally drained of all semblance of life. Buffy watched her steadily, waiting for signs of regeneration or resurrection, but there were none. Glory was just an empty shell lying motionless on the floor...until she collapsed into a pile of dust.
A moment later a blast of wind shot up from under Glory's remains. The ashes were caught in a cyclone, swirling upward in a funnel cloud until the particles stretched from floor to ceiling. Then, as quickly as the wind rose, it died away and the ashes plummeted to earth in a column.
Leaving a marble statue of Glory on the warehouse floor.
* * * * *
"I had no idea the collapse of her power base would create such an effect. It's really quite extraordinary," Giles murmured as he drew closer to the statue. "Don't you think so, Buffy?" He paused, and then looked around. "Buffy?"
She was at the far end of the warehouse, wandering from one side to the other with her head tilted to the side as though listening for something. Giles hurried over to her, thinking perhaps she was hearing the sound of approaching demons, or possibly police cars.
"Buffy, is there something wrong?"
He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she shrugged off his hand and slipped out of his reach. She knew Giles meant well, but he could not help her now. Only one person could, and only if he was really here.
"Angel?" she whispered.
"Buffy, what on earth...is Angel here?" Giles looked around the cavernous warehouse for the vampire in question, but all he saw were Buffy's friends, and Spike. "I didn't see him during the battle. Did he slip away again without saying goodbye?"
"Did who slip away again?" Xander asked as he joined Giles in Buffy- watching.
"Buffy said she saw Angel here, but I saw no sign of him myself. Did you?"
Xander shook his head, motioning the others to come join the discussion. "Nope, not so much as an over-gelled hair on his head. Anyone else see Rain on My Parade Man?"
There was a universal chorus of 'no,' and then all were silent as they watched Buffy scour the warehouse for Angel. Finally Willow could no longer stand by and watch.
"Buffy, he's not here," she called out. "No one else saw him; are you sure it was him?"
"You wouldn't have seen him," Buffy answered absently.
"Okay, Dead Boy is now the Invisible Man? Talk about your change of images."
Buffy whirled around to glare at Xander. "Don't you ever call him that again Xander."
Xander held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry, didn't mean to strike a nerve or anything, but I've been calling him that for a couple of years now. Old habits die hard, kind of like old vampires." He smiled at his own joke, until he saw the frozen look on Buffy's face. "Hey, Buff, what is it?"
She took one last, slow look around the warehouse.
"He's gone," she said softly as she sank to her knees. "I thought I could feel him...I did feel him and I thought maybe he'd come back to me in some way...but he's really gone."
"He's been gone for months, pet. Why the search mission now?" Spike strolled over closer to her, trying to project casual disinterest as he posed his question. Angel, he growled under his breath, always sodding Angel she went on about.
"He's dead," she answered bleakly.
She would not cry, she would not cry, she told herself fiercely. Later, alone, she could cry, but not now and not here.
"Buffy, when?" Willow whispered. "Is that why you went to LA?"
"Were you in...did you see him before it happened?" Giles wanted to take her in his arms immediately, but she seemed unbearably fragile, as though she might shatter at the slightest touch.
Buffy shook her head, too spent to answer him in words. She had felt Angel; she was certain he had been here. Now, though, there was only emptiness.
An instant later they were all surrounding her, reaching out hands to pull her up and draw her into the shelter of their loving arms. She accepted the hands up, and submitted to the embraces; she had no more fight left in her to drive them off.
"Let's go home, Buffy," Giles suggested, gently guiding her toward the door.
Home. The word gnawed at her, taunting her with images that could never take form or substance. Deep inside she wanted to weep for that lost reality, but all that emerged from her throat was a sharp laugh.
Home. Without Angel. Now there was a joke.
* * * * *
To Be Continued
Part 5
By Gem
& PJ
The Scoobies were gathered around the table when she walked into the Magic Box, as Buffy had known they would be. Willow was bent low over a book, showing something to Tara, while Xander was trying to impress Anya with his skill at tossing doughnut holes into his mouth. Giles paced rapidly from the table to the counter and back, trying to outrun Anya's lecture on the proper pricing of sale items, yet never quite making good on his escape.
For them it was just another quiet evening spent with friends, trying to avert the apocalypse of the week.
Buffy paused in the doorway, door still held open by her hand. She was fighting a wild urge to run, to head straight home and pull Angel's leather jacket from its hiding place in the back of her closet and bury herself in its scent. It not only reminded her of him, but of times that seemed so much simpler than now. Times when they at least had each other, even if the world was falling apart or blowing up at their feet.
"Buffy, you're back."
Too late to run now. She was always too late.
"Yeah, I'm back Giles." She smiled faintly at him, touched by the genuine pleasure in his voice.
"Wesley must have given you the message right away...and you must have broken several speed limits to get here." Giles' eyes narrowed as he approached her. "Did everything go all right in LA?" He tactfully refrained from asking her about Angel specifically; he wasn't sure how much the others knew.
Buffy caught her breath; she wasn't ready for this. To lie would take more energy than she could muster, and the truth was out of the question until Glory had been dispatched.
"I can't talk about LA right now, Giles," she said carefully. "When this is all done, I promise I'll tell you." She looked over at the table, seeing her friends' faces cloud with concern at her tone. "I'll tell all of you. But not yet."
"Buffy, are you okay?" Willow half-rose from her chair, until Buffy motioned for her to stay where she was.
"Buffy, if you need to talk...Glory has done nothing to place anyone in immediate danger. She can wait." Giles took a few steps closer to Buffy and reached out to touch her shoulder. She neatly sidestepped his gesture and moved to the center of the room, leaving a seriously apprehensive Watcher in her wake.
"She's waited too long already," Buffy insisted. "I want this done. Now." The only empty seat she spied was next to Willow, but Buffy had to force herself to take it. Her best friend's concern was almost palpable; it radiated from her in waves that pummeled at Buffy. The Slayer's skin crawled with the effort to sit calmly amongst her friends, the sole bearer of knowledge that would forever taint her world, and by extension theirs.
"Very well," Giles sighed. "But I do expect a better answer when Glory is defeated."
"And just how do we do that?" Buffy turned her head to Willow, carefully composing her features to limit the number of warning flares she set off.
"First we need to explain what Glory is, Buffy." Giles began to pace again, falling into standard lecture mode. "I finally received a call back from the Watcher's Council early this morning. Very early, I'm afraid. They take outrageous advantage of the time difference." He grimaced at the thought of his long lost night's sleep. "I would have told you about it when you called...but you were somewhat in a hurry."
"And still am," she said impatiently. "What's the word?"
"The word was 'no' at first, I'm afraid," he answered apologetically. After the past five years, he had become accustomed to interruptions. "They were trying to lay down conditions; they even wanted to subject you to some silly tests to make sure you were 'worthy' of the knowledge. I did as you asked, however, and reminded them that if they tied their Warrior's hands in the fight against evil, they were going to have to fight evil themselves." Giles chuckled, remembering the variety of outraged sputters that ensued in the wake of his 'suggestion'. "After a bit of hemming and hawing, not to mention out-and-out threatening, they 'ponied up,' as the saying goes."
"Let the saying go wherever it wants, just tell me what kind of demon she is."
"In point of fact, she's not precisely a demon," he said reluctantly.
Off came the glasses and the cleaning ritual commenced. In Buffy's book, that was never a good sign. She sat up a little straighter and carefully removed the edge from her tone.
"What is she, precisely?"
"She's, well, she's a god."
"Dess, goddess. The Council had it wrong." Tara chimed in helpfully. She shrank back in her seat when she suddenly found herself the focus of the room's attention, particularly that of an affronted former employee of the firm in question.
"I beg your pardon?"
That the 'firm' in question had fired him mattered little when the censure came from an outsider. Centuries of tradition and decades of service to the cause lent the simple phrase more than enough frost to send Tara frantically scrambling for an olive branch.
"I don't mean they were wrong exactly," she said nervously, "well, except that they were in the, you know, strict sense of the word. The word 'god,' that is. I mean, if we're going to assign gender labels to a being who probably doesn't actually have sexual organs, shouldn't we be, umm, be staring at someone else for a change so I can find a rock to crawl under?"
"Giles is just upset you pointed it out first, Tara. You know he likes to hold it over us that his English is better than ours because it's actually English English." Anya had not forgotten Giles' escape from her sales lecture, and she wasn't about to let him off easy for it.
"Yes, well, in any event, she is apparently a deity, not a demon." Giles gave in with a sigh and slipped his glasses on again. "Of the Norse variety, if that makes any difference."
"Which, according to Anya, it doesn't." Willow pushed the book in front of her over to Buffy, pointing to an illustration on the open page. "See, lightning bolts and balls of fire are pretty much standard issue, no matter what language the people are praying to you in."
"And those prayers are apparently the key, again, if Anya is to be believed." Giles glanced pointedly at Xander until the younger man relinquished the chair next to Anya. The Watcher sat down with a scarcely disguised sigh of relief; it had been a long night.
"Hey, what do you mean by that?" Anya snapped, glaring at her boss. "I happen to be very truthful. Usually you people are telling me I'm too truthful."
"I believe the word we use is 'tactless'," Willow said softly.
Giles hastened to pour oil on the waters he himself had troubled. "No one is questioning your veracity, Anya, merely...exhibiting pleased surprise at the range of your knowledge."
Xander rested his hands on Anya's shoulders and gave them a slight squeeze.
"That's my girl. Tell me she wasn't paying attention to someone other than herself for at least a few of those eleven centuries."
"Can we get back to the point, please? How do I kill a god?" Buffy glanced at Tara, seeing the word forming on the witch's lips. "Dess," she finished firmly.
Tara smiled in quiet satisfaction.
"It all comes down to belief." Willow was also grateful to abandon the pointless argument. "Anya pointed out that gods, and goddesses..."
"With all due respect to Tara's undeniably valid grammatical correction, as well as our current politically correct culture, may we please just refer to them as gods, in the interests of brevity?"
Xander looked at Giles in amazement. "And that sentence would be a good example?"
"Gods," Willow said with biting emphasis, "are created by man, not the other way around."
Xander speedily backed away from the table, retreating to the counter as he waved his finger at his best friend. "Okay, I know we live in sunny Southern California and all, but I am so not standing next to you when and if we ever get another thunderstorm."
"Oh there are forces of good and evil in the universe," Anya quickly added, "but humans are the ones who personified them and endowed them with separate characteristics and powers. In a very real sense, humans gave each god the strength that he possesses by believing that he possesses it."
Xander's shaking finger transferred its wrath to Anya. "You too, missy. From here on out you carry your own umbrella."
"So Glory exists because people believe she exists," Buffy mused slowly. "But then why does she need...this key she seems to need? And how does knowing all this help us?"
This was good, she thought; she was focusing. She was getting the job done. Take that, PTB's.
"We think she needs the key because it's pure energy," Tara said eagerly. "Once upon a time the gods,'' she threw a sidelong glance at Giles, "could depend on belief to generate all the power that they needed. But as other religions developed and people abandoned their old gods for new ones, or for none at all, the gods themselves began to die. But with the key, Glory wouldn't be dependent on followers, or sacrifices, for her energy."
"And as for how it helps us, well, Tara likes to call it the "Tinkerbell Syndrome'." Willow beamed proudly at her lover.
"Which, by the way, I totally objected to," Xander said quickly. "Everyone knows Tink was a fairy, not a god, or even a goddess." He seems to shrink down inside of himself when he felt the heat of all their eyes turn upon him. "Of course the fact that she's not real has a little something to do with it too," he finished weakly.
"Glory is real enough, that's for sure." Buffy rubbed her forehead, trying to force some blood into her overtired brain. "So am I supposed to tie her believers' hands together so they can't clap as I kill her?"
"No, that's what Willow and I will be doing. You just have to keep her busy." Tara smiled shyly, grateful to be an integral part of a Scooby plan at last.
"Keep her busy? Oh, that should be fun. And how exactly are you and Willow going to be doing the bondage?" She heard a movement from the counter and raised her hand. "Not one word, Xander."
Willow smirked at the shamefaced Xander. "Anya knew of a spell for disenchanting people from false gods and prophets. I guess they used to use it in the winter instead of the old burning heretics at the stake solution. You know, to save on firewood."
The witch's smile faltered when she realized Buffy was not responding in kind. Taking a deep breath, Willow got back to the business at hand. "We've done some checking, and it should work just as well on demons."
"It will, trust me. It's amazing what information you can pick up at a medieval party when you're allergic to mead. It's the honey, you see. Even as a demon it gave me hives." Anya's smile turned to a pout when she realized no one was interested in her unusual infirmity, not even Xander. As usual, her attempts to bond with the humans, this time through the sharing of weaknesses, had fallen short of the mark.
"But does Glory count as a false god? She does have real powers; I've seen them. I mean, what is a false god? Did they skip registration or something?"
It was amazing the effort it now took to come up with a flip comment that once would have rolled off her tongue.
"Buffy, please." Giles shook his head at her. "You're obviously quite tired, but you must focus. This is important."
She could feel the anger flare up inside of her, and then just as swiftly die out. She'd accomplished her goal, hadn't she? No one saw beneath the shell, and that was the way it would stay until, and unless, she was ready.
"Buffy, just trust us. This will work." Willow patted Buffy's hand, mistakenly believing it was reassurance about Glory that Buffy needed. "You fight Glory, Tara and I will make with the mojo to weaken her and the guys will fight off any of Glory's followers that try to stop us. It can't miss."
Buffy could think of a thousand ways it could miss, starting with Glory killing her before the spell was halfway out of her friend's mouth. But there didn't seem to be many options anymore, and she needed to eliminate Glory. Once the god...dess was dispatched, Dawn would be safe and Buffy would have nothing more to chain her to Sunnydale, or anywhere else in the world.
Assuming Glory didn't solve her problems for her with one ball of fire from her well-manicured hands.
"When?" Buffy sighed, hoping it would be soon.
"We were thinking tomorrow, but perhaps you should get some more rest beforehand. As I said, there is no hurry now." Giles reached across the table to clasp Buffy's hand. This time, she did not pull away.
"No, Giles. If you're ready, then I'm ready. I want this over with as soon as humanly, or inhumanly possible."
"Life to lead, huh Buff?"
Xander's genial smile was met with a pale reflection of the same.
"Something like that, Xand."
* * * * *
Glory was not happy. And when Glory was not happy, the world trembled in fear.
Or at least the world did if it knew what was good for it.
The trouble started, as usual, with the stupid Slayer. Glory's incompetent mouth-breathing minions had reported seeing several robed figures leaving the Slayer's house carrying a small wooden crate, escorted by a vampire with a bad dye-job. The party made its way to the Watcher's shop, where they were greeted at the door by the Slayer herself. Everyone went inside for a few minutes, and then the Slayer, the vampire, the Watcher and the monks piled into two cars and drove down to a warehouse near the docks.
It was at that point that Glory's annoying beeper had gone off, interrupting a much- needed full-body massage.
So here she was, scoping out a crummy old warehouse, kinks only half-worked out of her body and a run in her stockings.
The things a girl had to do to acquire dominion over the universe.
* * * * *
The warehouse was dark when Glory and her followers entered. She looked around for the Slayer, or the monks, or, most importantly the box that held The Key.
Nothing. Only darkness and mildew smells and little scrabbling sounds that just had to be rats.
Suddenly a light flared in the center of the warehouse. It was the Slayer, holding what looked like an electric tiki-torch in one hand and a sword in the other.
"Oh please, spare me the drama," Glory snorted. "I'm here for my key. Hand it over and we can all be home in time to catch 'Sex and the City'."
Buffy smiled slowly, lightly tapping her torch on the concrete floor. The lights came up all over the warehouse, revealing the remainder of the Slayer's followers ranged behind her.
"I think you're going to be little pile of goddess bits long before show time, Glory."
Buffy could feel the tension within her ease now that the moment was at hand. At last something she could lose herself in. When all else had forsaken her, there was always the battle to give her purpose.
"Normally I'd say if you picked up your toys and went home, we could forget all the bloody stuff." Buffy took a step towards Glory. "But I'm in a really bad mood today, and I need someone to pound on. And, unfortunately for you, I've decided dusting vampires just won't scratch the itch." She flung the torch into the corner and hefted her sword.
"Fine." Glory shrugged. "I haven't killed a Slayer in a while. Might as well keep my name out there; it's so hard to get your rep back once you lose it." She cocked her head and rested one hand on her hip. "But maybe you know more than I do about reputations? From the reading I've been doing about you, the whole vamp tramp thing, I'd say yes."
"I think that's our cue," Willow said nervously, shooting a glance at the eerily still Slayer.
After a frozen moment, spent picturing how many ways she could reduce Glory to a quivering heap of flashily-clad divinity in payment for her last comment, Buffy nodded her head to Willow.
It was time.
Willow and Tara began chanting, reading from the spell Anya wrote out for them. Giles motioned Spike and Xander to join him as they took up positions around Willow and Tara.
Buffy swung the sword experimentally, testing its weight in her hand. "You know, I'm really sorry you have to die with a run in your stocking," she glanced pointedly at Glory's exposed shin, "but I hope you don't mind if we just move things along here. I have better things to do."
Glory tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder. "Give it your best, little girl. When this is over, and I have The Key, I'll make sure to write a nice note to your mother about how bravely you died. And I won't even tell her you were out past your bedtime."
Minions advanced on Slayerettes, Glory advanced on Buffy and the battle commenced. Buffy fought hard with the sword, taking wide cuts at Glory, but even in high-heels the goddess moved too quickly to catch more than the tip of the blade. Glory used no weapons, other than her hands, but they seemed to be more than sufficient. Buffy was flung repeatedly against the walls, or dashed to the floor like a discarded china plate. Several times the Slayerettes were forced to retreat, not from the force of Glory's battling minions, but to avoid a flying Slayer.
"Any time now Will," Buffy grunted, rising unsteadily to her feet after yet another up close and personal experience with the floor.
"Hold fast, Buffy," Giles called to her as he beat back another of Glory's pet demons. "I think she's weakening."
It didn't feel like it from Buffy's perspective. Each blow from the goddess' red lacquer-tipped hands radiated power, and inflicted pain. Perhaps Glory was growing weaker, but not so quickly as the Slayer.
Buffy felt sail through the air one more time, striking her head against the concrete wall before slowly sliding down to the floor in a boneless lump. For a moment she saw only darkness, and she welcomed it. She couldn't do this anymore.
Suddenly she felt a presence. There were no sounds, no sudden miraculous visions of light in front of her, just a shiver in her soul. A shiver that only one other presence could inspire.
"Angel?" she called out as she shook her weary head to clear her vision.
No Angel, only Glory coming at her with her own sword. Buffy threw herself to the side, narrowly escaping the blade. The Slayer scrambled to her feet, panting heavily, and circled round Glory. She needed a weapon, and she needed one fast. Out of the corner of her eye Buffy spied a length of pipe laying on the floor; an inelegant weapon, but handy. She ducked down to avoid another swing of the sword and grabbed the pipe as she rose.
The first blow from the pipe should not have done much damage, but unaccountably Glory stumbled. Then she stumbled again.
The goddess glanced wildly around the room for her followers, but they had abandoned the attack on the Scoobies and were all drifting towards the door.
"Stop!" she cried out. "You are my people, I am your goddess. I am Glorificus and you are mine to command."
The demons were obviously frightened by her tone, but it only made them move more quickly to the exit and safety.
Glory stamped her foot, almost losing her balance as the weakened leg touched ground. "I said stop! I can't be a goddess without worshippers; it just doesn't work that way!"
"That's kind of the point, Glory," Buffy said softly, casually swinging her pipe in the air. "They've been awakened and you're losing your power source. I won't give you The Key and you're not going to last long enough to find some other poor dumb souls to suck dry for their energy. You're through."
Buffy began wielding the pipe in earnest now. Glory tried to fight her off with the sword, but eventually her nerveless hands could no longer grasp the pommel. When it clattered to the floor, Buffy stopped to pick it up.
"You know, I'm not a real big fan of conventional weapons, but this has a nice feel to it," she commented, starting to slash the sword closer and closer to Glory. "And I think it will read much better in the mythology textbooks than you getting whacked by a lead pipe," the blade sang across Glory's right arm, "in the conservatory," and then it scored her left side, "by Miss Scarlett."
And on towards what passed for Glory's heart, no longer defended by her wounded arms. Slowly, slowly, Buffy reminded herself. All the suffering the goddess had caused, all that stolen time spent trying to defeat her instead of being with...it all deserved a lengthy payback.
"Buffy, I think the spell can take care of the rest," Giles called from behind her.
"No," she replied with an icy calm. "You never know what evil things can come back if you don't kill them right the first time. I'm not taking any chances."
She drove Glory back against a wall, the goddess stumbling as she retreated from the shining blade. Glory made one final abortive attempt to escape her fate, throwing herself forward and past Buffy. One last thrust of the sword, aimed at Glory's chest, pierced her side instead.
The goddess sprawled on the ground, her body finally drained of all semblance of life. Buffy watched her steadily, waiting for signs of regeneration or resurrection, but there were none. Glory was just an empty shell lying motionless on the floor...until she collapsed into a pile of dust.
A moment later a blast of wind shot up from under Glory's remains. The ashes were caught in a cyclone, swirling upward in a funnel cloud until the particles stretched from floor to ceiling. Then, as quickly as the wind rose, it died away and the ashes plummeted to earth in a column.
Leaving a marble statue of Glory on the warehouse floor.
* * * * *
"I had no idea the collapse of her power base would create such an effect. It's really quite extraordinary," Giles murmured as he drew closer to the statue. "Don't you think so, Buffy?" He paused, and then looked around. "Buffy?"
She was at the far end of the warehouse, wandering from one side to the other with her head tilted to the side as though listening for something. Giles hurried over to her, thinking perhaps she was hearing the sound of approaching demons, or possibly police cars.
"Buffy, is there something wrong?"
He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she shrugged off his hand and slipped out of his reach. She knew Giles meant well, but he could not help her now. Only one person could, and only if he was really here.
"Angel?" she whispered.
"Buffy, what on earth...is Angel here?" Giles looked around the cavernous warehouse for the vampire in question, but all he saw were Buffy's friends, and Spike. "I didn't see him during the battle. Did he slip away again without saying goodbye?"
"Did who slip away again?" Xander asked as he joined Giles in Buffy- watching.
"Buffy said she saw Angel here, but I saw no sign of him myself. Did you?"
Xander shook his head, motioning the others to come join the discussion. "Nope, not so much as an over-gelled hair on his head. Anyone else see Rain on My Parade Man?"
There was a universal chorus of 'no,' and then all were silent as they watched Buffy scour the warehouse for Angel. Finally Willow could no longer stand by and watch.
"Buffy, he's not here," she called out. "No one else saw him; are you sure it was him?"
"You wouldn't have seen him," Buffy answered absently.
"Okay, Dead Boy is now the Invisible Man? Talk about your change of images."
Buffy whirled around to glare at Xander. "Don't you ever call him that again Xander."
Xander held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry, didn't mean to strike a nerve or anything, but I've been calling him that for a couple of years now. Old habits die hard, kind of like old vampires." He smiled at his own joke, until he saw the frozen look on Buffy's face. "Hey, Buff, what is it?"
She took one last, slow look around the warehouse.
"He's gone," she said softly as she sank to her knees. "I thought I could feel him...I did feel him and I thought maybe he'd come back to me in some way...but he's really gone."
"He's been gone for months, pet. Why the search mission now?" Spike strolled over closer to her, trying to project casual disinterest as he posed his question. Angel, he growled under his breath, always sodding Angel she went on about.
"He's dead," she answered bleakly.
She would not cry, she would not cry, she told herself fiercely. Later, alone, she could cry, but not now and not here.
"Buffy, when?" Willow whispered. "Is that why you went to LA?"
"Were you in...did you see him before it happened?" Giles wanted to take her in his arms immediately, but she seemed unbearably fragile, as though she might shatter at the slightest touch.
Buffy shook her head, too spent to answer him in words. She had felt Angel; she was certain he had been here. Now, though, there was only emptiness.
An instant later they were all surrounding her, reaching out hands to pull her up and draw her into the shelter of their loving arms. She accepted the hands up, and submitted to the embraces; she had no more fight left in her to drive them off.
"Let's go home, Buffy," Giles suggested, gently guiding her toward the door.
Home. The word gnawed at her, taunting her with images that could never take form or substance. Deep inside she wanted to weep for that lost reality, but all that emerged from her throat was a sharp laugh.
Home. Without Angel. Now there was a joke.
* * * * *
To Be Continued
