Disclaimer: see chapter 1
Author's note: there will be some sort of climatic chapter very soon .
Death Awaits: chapter 13 - The Scent of Lilies
"Explosives," Xander says. "Blow 'em up."
There is silence, and everyone looks at everyone else.
"Hmmm," says Giles, thoughtfully.
"We've done it before," Buffy points out, and glances at me. "The high school," she adds.
"I could maybe source the explosives for you," Riley offers, and Buffy squeezes his hand.
"Plant them in daylight," Buffy expands, "and then boom!"
"Lots of dust," Willow finishes. "I like it."
"B - but," stammers Tara, and we all watch her. She frowns and looks down at her skirt. "But, can we really blow up a building?"
"Been there, done that, got the graduation robes," Xander reiterates. "Giles knows how."
"But won't someone . catch us?" Tara says. Willow smiles fondly at her girlfriend.
"We could blow them up too," Anya suggests, perching on the edge of Xander's chair. I gather she arrived while I was still unconscious.
"This is Sunnydale," Buffy says. "The cops are useless. We'll be fine."
"Riley, how quickly can you get the materials?" Giles asks. Riley shrugs.
"Give me twenty-four hours, max."
Giles rubs at his forehead. "Okay. Right. In that case, we'll set the explosives tomorrow during the day. For now, I want one fighter and one magic-user here with Mike, throughout the day and night. Can we set up a barrier on the door?"
"Of this room?" Willow says, and glances at Tara.
"I - I think so," Tara nods. Giles smiles at them wearily.
"Do it, and then go home. First watch will be Anya and Xander. Change over at," he glances at his watch, "at three this afternoon. Myself and Tara. At seven, Buffy and Willow."
"Because they're more likely to come this evening," Buffy says, meeting her Watcher's eyes. "Okay. Good plan."
Riley fidgets, and eventually speaks. "Can't I do a watch?"
"You'll be getting the bomb," Buffy says kindly. "Plus, your head. You're supposed to be resting." She smiles at him.
Suddenly the room is a flurry of activity, as Willow and Tara, with some advice from Anya, move chairs, close the blind, turn off the electric lights, and, in the new gloom, chant a simple spell which throws up a blue barrier in the doorway. "That'll stop anything not human," Willow says with satisfaction, and we watch as the blue fades to nothing.
They begin to file out. Xander hurries off to fetch "supplies" for the first watch. Giles pauses until the room is almost empty. "If they come, call me, Mike," he says softly.
"I'm . thank you," I say, lost for anything more meaningful to tell this kind, wise man. Giles smiles, and then turns quickly and leaves.
Anya swings her legs on her chair. "I'm bored already," she tells me.
I wriggle to a better sitting position and lean back against my pillows. "Tell me about being a vengeance demon," I say, and the girl grins and starts up her stories.
I listen with half an ear to Anya for most of the afternoon. Xander sits, eats, and exchanges embarrassed smiles with me as his girlfriend gives us detailed descriptions of acts of vengeance. To be honest, many of them are rather too detailed for my taste, coming so soon . but I manage to tune her out after a little while, and let myself drift away with hazy memories of England, of playing tennis with Wesley on summer afternoons, of visiting Oxford with him one day in May to watch the rowing and sitting on the riverbank amidst a horde of undergraduates, drinking Pimm's and reflecting on how different my own dissatisfied university days had been from his.
At three Giles and Tara return, Tara with a pile of work from college, and Giles with a pile of books and a journal, and they settle to silent study. I appreciate the quiet, and manage to sleep a little before waking with a start only thirty minutes later, thinking I heard the buzz of a chainsaw. Giles frowns and goes to fetch tea. At some point the nurses bring me a sandwich and some more pills, check that I am comfortable and hydrated, and hurry away again.
Seven o' clock comes, and Tara and Giles are replaced by Buffy and Willow. Buffy has a large bag which clanks as she puts it down, and when she is settled she pulls out a knife and some pieces of wood and settles down to carving stakes with a concentrated expression on her face. Willow sits cross-legged in a chair next to my bed and reads from a magic book for a while before putting it down and asking questions about the Council, questions which I find I don't mind answering. An hour passes, then two, and then we hear footsteps down the corridor, which has become somewhat quieter now night has fallen. Buffy and Willow exchange glances, and Buffy puts down her knife and finds a completed stake.
The footsteps slow as they get to my room, and come to a halt. The door is pushed open, and then there is a buzz and a flash of energy as my visitor tries to come into the room. Buffy is on her feet, stake poised.
"I brought you some flowers," Luc Tarpeau says from behind the barrier, holding a bouquet of white lilies. He looks cool and calm, as if he had expected the magical protection. He examines me for a moment, and then turns his gaze on Buffy and Willow, and bows at each of them. "Mademoiselle Summers, mademoiselle . Rosenberg, I believe I was told?"
"Just the Slayer to you," Buffy says coldly. "Now you can't get in, so why not hurry off and tell Angel to get out of my town?"
The Breton puts out a hand and touches the barrier carefully. "No, I can't get in, but neither can you stay in there indefinitely, and I'm sure your friends are out and about somewhere. Possibly planning something new for us?"
"Do as she says," I say with an effort. "Just leave, now."
He smiles, and shrugs in a very Gallic way. "It's not my decision, monsieur Fletcher, as I think you're probably aware. I'll certainly let Angelus know that you're not exactly improving swiftly. He'll be delighted." The flowers sail through the barrier and land on my bed. "We had thought of chocolates or something," Luc Tarpeau adds, "but we thought that you'd suspect us of having poisoned them, or some such silly thing. Darla suggested lilies instead, as we certainly won't stay around for your funerals." His smile drops, and he fixes me with those grey eyes. "Flowers now. La mort - later. A bientot."
He is gone, swiftly and silently, and we are left with the cloying smell of lilies.
"So that's the Breton," Buffy says, sitting back down heavily. "Polite."
"Lethal," I say, my headache starting up again, throbbing in my temples and around my swollen eye. "Can you throw these away?"
Willow looks at the lilies, and then with a glance at Buffy, she waves a hand at them and mutters, "Incendia!" They vanish in a puff of smoke and a flash of flame, leaving the bedspread unharmed.
But we can still smell them, and as we settle for the remainder of their watch, that sickly scent hangs over my head like a ghastly reminder of what might yet come.
Author's note: there will be some sort of climatic chapter very soon .
Death Awaits: chapter 13 - The Scent of Lilies
"Explosives," Xander says. "Blow 'em up."
There is silence, and everyone looks at everyone else.
"Hmmm," says Giles, thoughtfully.
"We've done it before," Buffy points out, and glances at me. "The high school," she adds.
"I could maybe source the explosives for you," Riley offers, and Buffy squeezes his hand.
"Plant them in daylight," Buffy expands, "and then boom!"
"Lots of dust," Willow finishes. "I like it."
"B - but," stammers Tara, and we all watch her. She frowns and looks down at her skirt. "But, can we really blow up a building?"
"Been there, done that, got the graduation robes," Xander reiterates. "Giles knows how."
"But won't someone . catch us?" Tara says. Willow smiles fondly at her girlfriend.
"We could blow them up too," Anya suggests, perching on the edge of Xander's chair. I gather she arrived while I was still unconscious.
"This is Sunnydale," Buffy says. "The cops are useless. We'll be fine."
"Riley, how quickly can you get the materials?" Giles asks. Riley shrugs.
"Give me twenty-four hours, max."
Giles rubs at his forehead. "Okay. Right. In that case, we'll set the explosives tomorrow during the day. For now, I want one fighter and one magic-user here with Mike, throughout the day and night. Can we set up a barrier on the door?"
"Of this room?" Willow says, and glances at Tara.
"I - I think so," Tara nods. Giles smiles at them wearily.
"Do it, and then go home. First watch will be Anya and Xander. Change over at," he glances at his watch, "at three this afternoon. Myself and Tara. At seven, Buffy and Willow."
"Because they're more likely to come this evening," Buffy says, meeting her Watcher's eyes. "Okay. Good plan."
Riley fidgets, and eventually speaks. "Can't I do a watch?"
"You'll be getting the bomb," Buffy says kindly. "Plus, your head. You're supposed to be resting." She smiles at him.
Suddenly the room is a flurry of activity, as Willow and Tara, with some advice from Anya, move chairs, close the blind, turn off the electric lights, and, in the new gloom, chant a simple spell which throws up a blue barrier in the doorway. "That'll stop anything not human," Willow says with satisfaction, and we watch as the blue fades to nothing.
They begin to file out. Xander hurries off to fetch "supplies" for the first watch. Giles pauses until the room is almost empty. "If they come, call me, Mike," he says softly.
"I'm . thank you," I say, lost for anything more meaningful to tell this kind, wise man. Giles smiles, and then turns quickly and leaves.
Anya swings her legs on her chair. "I'm bored already," she tells me.
I wriggle to a better sitting position and lean back against my pillows. "Tell me about being a vengeance demon," I say, and the girl grins and starts up her stories.
I listen with half an ear to Anya for most of the afternoon. Xander sits, eats, and exchanges embarrassed smiles with me as his girlfriend gives us detailed descriptions of acts of vengeance. To be honest, many of them are rather too detailed for my taste, coming so soon . but I manage to tune her out after a little while, and let myself drift away with hazy memories of England, of playing tennis with Wesley on summer afternoons, of visiting Oxford with him one day in May to watch the rowing and sitting on the riverbank amidst a horde of undergraduates, drinking Pimm's and reflecting on how different my own dissatisfied university days had been from his.
At three Giles and Tara return, Tara with a pile of work from college, and Giles with a pile of books and a journal, and they settle to silent study. I appreciate the quiet, and manage to sleep a little before waking with a start only thirty minutes later, thinking I heard the buzz of a chainsaw. Giles frowns and goes to fetch tea. At some point the nurses bring me a sandwich and some more pills, check that I am comfortable and hydrated, and hurry away again.
Seven o' clock comes, and Tara and Giles are replaced by Buffy and Willow. Buffy has a large bag which clanks as she puts it down, and when she is settled she pulls out a knife and some pieces of wood and settles down to carving stakes with a concentrated expression on her face. Willow sits cross-legged in a chair next to my bed and reads from a magic book for a while before putting it down and asking questions about the Council, questions which I find I don't mind answering. An hour passes, then two, and then we hear footsteps down the corridor, which has become somewhat quieter now night has fallen. Buffy and Willow exchange glances, and Buffy puts down her knife and finds a completed stake.
The footsteps slow as they get to my room, and come to a halt. The door is pushed open, and then there is a buzz and a flash of energy as my visitor tries to come into the room. Buffy is on her feet, stake poised.
"I brought you some flowers," Luc Tarpeau says from behind the barrier, holding a bouquet of white lilies. He looks cool and calm, as if he had expected the magical protection. He examines me for a moment, and then turns his gaze on Buffy and Willow, and bows at each of them. "Mademoiselle Summers, mademoiselle . Rosenberg, I believe I was told?"
"Just the Slayer to you," Buffy says coldly. "Now you can't get in, so why not hurry off and tell Angel to get out of my town?"
The Breton puts out a hand and touches the barrier carefully. "No, I can't get in, but neither can you stay in there indefinitely, and I'm sure your friends are out and about somewhere. Possibly planning something new for us?"
"Do as she says," I say with an effort. "Just leave, now."
He smiles, and shrugs in a very Gallic way. "It's not my decision, monsieur Fletcher, as I think you're probably aware. I'll certainly let Angelus know that you're not exactly improving swiftly. He'll be delighted." The flowers sail through the barrier and land on my bed. "We had thought of chocolates or something," Luc Tarpeau adds, "but we thought that you'd suspect us of having poisoned them, or some such silly thing. Darla suggested lilies instead, as we certainly won't stay around for your funerals." His smile drops, and he fixes me with those grey eyes. "Flowers now. La mort - later. A bientot."
He is gone, swiftly and silently, and we are left with the cloying smell of lilies.
"So that's the Breton," Buffy says, sitting back down heavily. "Polite."
"Lethal," I say, my headache starting up again, throbbing in my temples and around my swollen eye. "Can you throw these away?"
Willow looks at the lilies, and then with a glance at Buffy, she waves a hand at them and mutters, "Incendia!" They vanish in a puff of smoke and a flash of flame, leaving the bedspread unharmed.
But we can still smell them, and as we settle for the remainder of their watch, that sickly scent hangs over my head like a ghastly reminder of what might yet come.