Heal Me
Part 6
By Gem
Holtz watched the blonde-haired young woman descend the staircase. Her steps were quick and light, her carriage self-assured. She did not lack for spirit, this slayer; it would almost be a pity if she had to die. Still, he'd faced greater pities than that in his long day, and die she would, if the need arose.
The choice was hers.
"Buffy," Dawn said to the approaching slayer, "this guy has some sort of vampire problem. He says someone sent him here for help."
Buffy laughed nervously, glancing from Dawn to Holtz as she cleared the last step and engulfed her sister's shoulders in a protective embrace.
"Dawnie, you really shouldn't joke like that. Somebody's going to take you seriously one of these days." She looked sternly into the younger girl's eyes as she carefully said, "Vampires? You know there's no such thing as vampires." Buffy switched her penetrating gaze to Holtz, sizing him up as she continued. "Dawn and I have a little game that we play...a game that we played when we were little, that is...about vampires and witches and, well, all sort of bump-in-the-night stuff."
"Please be at ease." Holtz's voice was smooth and warm, the better to soothe a conscience as guilty as this slayer's must be. "I too have experienced the unholy presence of the walking dead."
"That's zombies," Dawn pointed out, trying to be helpful. "Vampires are the walking undead."
Buffy grimaced at Dawn, but she let her arm relax its protective embrace. "She's really something, huh?" she asked Holtz. "My little dictionary of the damned."
Dawn drew herself up to her full height, looking down on her older sister as she asked, "Just who are you calling 'little'?"
"I am most sorry to intrude upon your evening," Holtz swiftly interjected. Time to get back to the business at hand. "I find myself with a most difficult dilemma, and I was told by a friend that you might be able to provide me with some assistance in resolving it."
"Who's the friend and what kind of problem is he so nicely sending my way?" Buffy asked suspiciously. "I'm not exactly 'Buffy for Hire' or anything."
"No, that's Angel." Dawn leaned against the banister, preparing for a good story.
Buffy glanced sharply at her younger sister again, suddenly wary of mentioning her lover's name in this stranger's presence. She couldn't put her finger on the why of it yet, but the man made her uneasy.
"Dawn, why don't you go up and check on the baby?" the Slayer suggested. "I put him in the trunk until I can finish his bath."
"It's not really a trunk," Dawn said, seeing their guest's eyes widen at Buffy's comment. "Well, it is, but it's not like we close the lid or anything. See we don't have a crib and Con..."
"Dawn," Buffy interrupted, "could you please go and check on him? Now."
"But Willow..."
"Is totally wiped and was going to bed right after her shower," Buffy finished for her. "And come to think of it..."
"I'm going; I'm going," Dawn said hastily.
Holtz let the sisterly bickering wash over him; he was too busy disguising his triumphant glee to give them any heed.
The child. Justine had been telling the truth; the vampire had left his child here. Holtz had not believed Angelus would make it so easy; he had thought to deal with the girl alone first, and then retrieve the child in the ensuing uproar. But he was here; Angelus intended to use his offspring to win back his deluded lover, and what better way than to allow her full possession of him for a time?
Now that time belonged to him, Holtz gloated.
* * * * *
Buffy watched Dawn slowly climb the stairs, waiting until the younger girl had rounded the corner before she turned her attention back to Holtz.
"I'm sorry," the Slayer said, waving at the top of the stairs. "It's a little crazy around here, well, always...but tonight especially."
"I did not realize you had a new babe...baby," he corrected himself quickly, "in the house. Perhaps I should come back?" He let his voice drop off suggestively as he took a step towards the door.
"No, it's okay." She shrugged. "We'll manage. And he's not exactly new...just a little new to us."
"An adopted child, and at your tender age. How very...charitable...of you."
"He's not..." Buffy eyed him sharply and decided in mid-protest to switch to a less dangerous topic. "He's not what you came here to talk about. So what is?"
"Ah yes, my vampire problem. Could we perhaps sit down to discuss it?" He glanced back at the dimly lit living room.
"I think we can talk better right here," she said firmly. "I don't have long to chat anyway."
"Of course," he murmured. "The duties of a new mother."
She flushed slightly, but did not correct him. "Vampires," she prompted. "You keep edging up on the subject and then running away after you ring the bell."
He smiled gently, sensing she was being humorous, though the reference escaped him. Bell? What bell? Ah well, no matter.
"They are fearsome creatures, are they not?" he asked instead. "Some more so than others."
"And your friend suggested you stop by to tell me this?" Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Do you know who I am?"
"You are the slayer," Holtz answered promptly.
Buffy touched the tip of her nose with her index finger. "Got it in one. And you would be..."
"You are the vampire slayer," Holtz continued as though she hadn't spoken, "who gave her heart to a demon and allowed him to flourish among his dark companions."
"Yeah, that's what I figured," she said with a sigh. "Most people don't drop in to casually chat about vampires; they're usually looking for one in particular." She looked at him narrowly. "Why Angel?"
"Angelus," he corrected her.
She felt a chill chase down her spine and outward to every extremity, though she wasn't sure if it was her slayer sense or her heart setting off the alarms at the sound of Angel's old name. It didn't really matter to her where the warning was coming from, though; the message was clear. This was way more than the average threat to her beloved, as though she faced even those with equanimity.
"Okay," she said slowly, biding her time as she fished for information, "so we're talking the bad old days here. Great, nineteen questions left. Or are you going to make it easy and tell me why you're looking for him?"
"It is you that I seek, my dear, just as I have said."
A sudden thudding of fist against wood on her front door postponed her quest for an answer that actually answered something.
* * * * *
Angel pressed his foot to the accelerator, urging the Belvedere to go just a little bit faster than its already excessive speed. He was wrong; he was sure he was wrong. They were all sure he was wrong. But if he was right...
"Angel, man, if we go any faster we're gonna need an air traffic controller to get us down." Gunn leaned forward from the back seat and laid a tentative hand on Angel's shoulder. "Ease up a little. Not all of us are already dead."
Angel's shoulder stiffened beneath the restraint, light though it was, but he backed off marginally on the gas pedal.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Maybe it would have been better if I'd come alone."
The way he wanted to; the way he'd tried to.
"Of course not, Angel," Wesley said heartily. "We decided, remember? One for all and all for one."
"For one what, is what I'd like to know," Gunn said, leaning back into his seat and slipping an arm around Fred's shoulders. "Do you really think that Holtz followed you to this Sunnydale place?"
"I don't know. But I couldn't get through on the phone, and he's missing, and..."
"We never said he was missing," Cordy said. "We said we haven't seen him, which used to be considered a good thing." She brushed her hand over her hair, trying in vain to smooth it down. It didn't seem to matter how short she cut it; Angel's car always trashed her best styling efforts.
Angel changed lanes, zooming past a white SUV that insisted on adhering to legal speed limits. "What it comes down to," he said, "is that we don't know where he is, but he could very easily know where I've been." Angel glanced quickly at Cordy as he explained himself for at least the twelfth time. "Even if he doesn't know Connor is still there, he could be going after Buffy."
"And we're what? Going to protect him from her?" Cordelia huffed an impatient sigh before she took pity on her friend. "If you think Buffy can't beat up Holtz, love really is blind."
"He's human," Angel answered sharply. "That makes a difference."
"See, I've never understood that." Lorne took Gunn's place hanging over the back of the front seat. "Maybe it's just the demon in me, but I must confess I take a little offense to the 'humans first' attitude in this dimension."
Cordelia made another futile attempt to smooth her hair, nearly knocking Wesley's glasses out onto the highway with her elbow.
"You mean because they roll out the welcome mats for humans back in Pylea? Try looking at things from my stall in the cow barn for a change."
She flung her arms down into her lap and growled in frustration. No wonder Angel used industrial-strength hair gel.
"I never said Pylea was the known as the hospitality planet," Lorne huffed, sliding back in his seat. "I was merely making an observation."
"Trust me, when you've had to wear a cattle prod as a choker, you lose all respect for the demons' point of view."
"And it's my fault you don't have the neck for large jewelry?"
Angel ground his teeth and focused on the road ahead, trying to tune out all the distractions that accompanied him. He didn't really care whether his friends were with him or not; the only thing that mattered was reaching Buffy and Connor. He had to make sure his family was safe.
He had to get home.
* * * * *
"Spike," Buffy said flatly, leaning against the frame of the open front door. She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at her second uninvited guest of the evening. "Doesn't anybody stay home on a Tuesday night anymore?"
The vampire cocked his head to the side and smiled winsomely. "What can I say? I missed you."
Buffy's lips twisted in a sour reflection of his grin. "So exactly what part of 'darken-my-door-again-and-you'll-be-nothing-but-a-burp-from-my-hepa- filter' didn't you understand? I know it wasn't 'burp'."
"Rules have changed, luv," he replied, waggling his index finger in her face. "Ward's gone back to LA and left the Beav all by her lonesome."
"Even for you that's disgusting, Spike." She shivered at the unwelcome imagery. "And on so many levels."
His voice deepened, slipping from flirtation to foreplay before she could say 'cold shower.'
"You didn't used to think so."
Buffy sighed and straightened up. "Actually I did; I just didn't want to talk to you long enough to tell you so. And you know, come to think of it, I still don't." She started to close the door.
"You're gonna be sorry for turning me away," Spike called out hastily. "I can still help you."
Buffy stopped the door just shy of closing, then pulled it open far enough to allow him to see her face. "You want to be helpful?" she demanded. "Tell me one thing: do you recognize this guy?" She stepped out of Spike's way to allow him to see the unnamed guest in her living room.
Spike shot a fleeting glance at the stranger, and then returned his attention to his preferred object of attention.
"Can't say as I do, pet. But if he's bothering you..." Spike let his voice trail off suggestively as he flexed a leather-clad bicep.
Buffy shook her head as another tiny sigh escaped her. The funny way he talked, the use of Angel's old name, and now the lack of recognition on Spike's part...it all fit the timeline. Damn.
"Go home, Spike," she said wearily. "He's human; the best you can do is annoy him to death. And even if there was something else...I still wouldn't ask you for help."
"Have I ever refused?" He held up a hand in front of Buffy's face before her jaw could rise again to form a retort. "Yeah, well, old times there are best forgotten. You need me, pet; you just don't want to admit it. I'm the only one you could ever really count on. The only one who really understands what makes your ticker tick."
"Once upon a time I was desperate enough to buy that line, Spike." She looked him straight in the eye, her own hazel depths finally clear of the anger and fear that had bedeviled her as much as Spike. "But the truth is, I just needed to find someone deader than I was, and you fit the bill. Inside and out."
She shut the door in the face of the angry vampire without another word. Turning around, she leaned back against the heavy wooden door for support.
"So, Mr. Holtz, where were we?"
* * * * *
Inwardly Holtz applauded. She was a bright little thing, in most respects. He had to admire Angelus' taste in women...at least in this century.
"I was about to convince a very beautiful...and very confused...young vampire slayer to do her sacred duty and rid the world of the most vicious vampire ever to darken its face."
Or kill her; one would serve his purpose as well as the other, if not better.
"Darn!" Buffy snapped her fingers. "And here I thought you were here to talk about Angel. Guess the joke's on me."
"It will be a deadly joke indeed if you do not join me, my dear. Whatever sweet words the vampire may have plied you with, he is nothing but an animal. One day, when you feel most secure, he will turn on you."
"And you'll be right there to protect me?" she guessed. "Aren't you the hero type? Ready to stand up against the big bad vamp just for little old me, who you never met before today." She slapped her flattened palm against her breast. "That's just so touching; they ought to make that into a movie or something. Really. Do you have an agent?"
"You will not stand with me." He didn't phrase it as a question; there was no point. He had seen the answer in her eyes the moment she uttered the beast's name.
"I stand with him," she said coolly, dropping both hands to her sides as they formed into fists. "Always."
"Then you will die."
Buffy smiled, a slow bone-chilling smile that sent an unexpected shiver down Holtz's spine.
"I guess somebody didn't finish his homework," she drawled. "Cause if you did, you'd know you have to do a whole lot better than that in the way of threats."
* * * * *
Dawn slipped into the bathroom, choking slightly on the steam left over from Willow's long shower. She knew the pacifier was in here; she'd seen it on the counter that morning, right next to the hand lotion. Why it was in here, she didn't know. But Connor was fussing, and if she didn't find him a pacifier soon she'd never be able to creep back to the top of the stairs and listen in on the conversation going on downstairs.
Wait, there it was, hiding behind the mouthwash. Correction: behind Angel's mouthwash, since he had some weird hang-up about everybody swigging out of the same bottle. Like the germs they carried could ever hurt him. Dawn sniffed at the insult as her hand closed over the pacifier.
Just in time, she thought, hearing Connor's whimper through the open bedroom door. Any minute now that whimper would turn into a full-throated wail that would do a banshee proud.
"I'm coming, Connor," she called quickly, hurrying cross the hall and into the dimly lit bedroom.
* * * * *
"You don't know him," Buffy insisted yet again. She was getting tired of repeating herself, but Holtz was apparently deaf to all but the voices in his own head. "You know the demon; I know the man."
Holtz smiled, a distinctly pitying smile that grated on the Slayer's nerves.
"You see what you want to see," he said smoothly, "and for you it goes no deeper than the dead flesh upon his bones. You see beauty in the form and assume it springs from within."
"I know it does."
"You need it to be so," Holtz countered, "but he is so far from the perfection that you believe that..."
Buffy's exclamation cut off the rest of his speech. "Perfection? You think that I think Angel's perfect? Please. I've spent the last week of my life living with the man and let me tell you, perfect he is not." She rested one hand on her hip and raised the other to begin enumerating her lover's sins.
"He hogs the covers, and then blames me because he says I kick in my sleep and chase him over to the edge of the bed. He's always putting his cold feet against mine in the middle of the night and," she paused for a moment, and then reluctantly curled her index finger back against her palm. "Okay," she sighed, "I guess I can't hold the cold feet against him. But he's a total nazi when it comes to where you're supposed to squeeze the toothpaste tube, and he spends way too much time fixing his hair for a guy who can't even see the end result."
"Most amusing," Holtz said dryly. "I am certain you will keep Angelus laughing until the very moment he snaps your neck. Beyond even. That is, of course, if I am not forced to kill you first. It really is up to you."
"And that's another thing," Buffy complained. "You actually think you can beat me, don't you? I mean you look at me and you see a slayer, but you still think that a spiteful little Popsicle like you can take me."
"You are not a true slayer," Holtz replied flatly. "You could not be and let the beast live. I will be victorious."
"Yeah, uh huh." Buffy raised a doubtful eyebrow to accompany her scathing tone. "So do you think Angel could beat you? Even though he's supposed to be some major force of evil and you're Frosty the Snow-White Knight?"
"A vampire commands unholy strength, but ultimately the cause of the just will prevail. Whether I live to see it or not is of no matter."
"So that would be a yes. You think Angel could beat you, but you could beat me...even though you're looking at the only human who's ever beaten him? Do the math."
She smiled at the look of apprehension that darted across his face, but her victory was short-lived. A moment later a scream echoed down from the second floor.
"Buffy!" Dawn shrieked.
"Hold that thought," she advised Holtz before she turned on her heel and vaulted up the staircase.
He followed at a much slower pace, quietly humming a lullaby.
* * * * *
Buffy barreled into her bedroom as picture after picture of disaster flashed through her head. Connor falling; Connor choking; Connor just ceasing to breathe for no apparent reason...her own breath stopped at the last image. No, he was okay; he had to be okay. She would make him okay, no matter what it took.
She almost slammed into Dawn in the darkened bedroom as her sister frantically back-pedaled towards the door, trying to tug Connor out of the arms of a strange young woman. A moment later a half-asleep Willow plowed into Buffy's back, pushing all four girls, and the baby they struggled over, towards the open window.
Over the course of the week some necessary rearrangements had taken place in Buffy's bedroom, clearing space for two additional people to share it with her. The majority of her stuffed animal collection now resided in Dawn's room, the weapons were locked up downstairs in a plain but functional metal chest, and her slayer trunk had been moved to the side of the bed, no longer providing a barrier between the door and the open window.
Mr. Pointy, however, had escaped Buffy's cleaning efforts and remained partially hidden by the bed-skirt. Justine's left foot landed on the lovingly carved, and heavily polished, stake as she attempted to regain her balance. Kendra's pride and joy rolled under the uneven pressure, throwing Justine's weight backwards as her arms opened wide to cushion her fall.
"Connor!" Buffy screamed, in concert with Willow and Dawn. Six arms reached out to grab the falling child, and though Dawn was the closest the Slayer's hands stretched past her to snatch the falling child in mid- plummet. Buffy clung to the wailing baby for an instant, reassuring herself of his temporary safety, before thrusting him into Dawn's arms.
"Take Connor to your room and try to keep him quiet," she said tersely. "Lock the door and don't come out until I come for you." She thought of Holtz, waiting downstairs, and she thought of the planning that must have gone into this night. Things were far from at an end. "Until Angel or I come for you," she hastily amended.
Dawn awkwardly shifted Connor to her shoulder so that she could clutch Buffy's arm with her free hand. "Angel? But he's not even here...why would..."
"Just go!" Buffy growled, pushing her sister towards the open doorway. Before Dawn could protest further, Buffy had turned away to face Justine, who was slowly getting to her feet. A moment later the slayer heard the sound of a door slamming, and she breathed a sigh of relief. The pawns had been removed; now the real battle could begin.
* * * * *
Holtz scanned the hallway as he rounded the top of the stairs: one half- open door at the end of the corridor, and four closed ones ranged before it. He could hear the sound of voices coming from the opened room, but the noise held no interest for him. Justine had many talents, the greatest of which was a distaste for needless conversation. If she had possession of the child she would have already left the scene.
The so-called slayer, the traitor to her heritage, obviously maintained control of the room, and that meant the child would have been sent elsewhere. All he had to do was pick the right door while Angelus' playmate and Justine tried to convince each other of the rightness of their cause, and the depth of their passion for it.
The first knob turned under his hand with ease; probably not the right one. Still, the slayer could be wilier than she appeared, and at worst there might be weapons to be obtained within. Nothing would go to waste in this war: not time or effort or a good stout stick. One day, one glorious day, a stout stick would be the greatest prize of them all.
A stout stick and, Jesu willing, a filial hand to drive it into Angelus' chest.
* * * * *
Justine took her time standing up, gauging her odds at rushing the two other girls and beating them to the stairs. Not good. The window held more promise but she could easily get caught in the branches if she tried to climb down the handy tree, and jumping off of a second story roof held its own dangers. Her best chance seemed to lie with Holtz, and thus, with stalling.
"You don't understand," she began. "You need to let me take the kid; I'm here to rescue him." More or less, she admitted silently.
Buffy laughed sharply. "Rescue? From people who love him and take care of him? You're all heart."
"No, from a vampire." This girl couldn't be as stupid as she sounded; it had to be an act. "I know what you are, and you know what will happen to that baby if I don't get him away from Angelus."
"I know what will happen to you if you try," Buffy countered, her voice menacingly calm.
"He's a vampire," Justine insisted. "They kill people...for food, for fun, hell, for something to do on a Saturday night. Haven't you ever lost somebody you loved to one of them? Because I have; that's how I know what they are."
"You're lecturing me on vampire etiquette? You've never actually looked up my job description, have you?"
"Look, just let me have the kid and you and Angelus can live whatever lies you want." Justine glanced from one hostile face to the other, trying to project sincerity. "We don't need for things to get bloody."
Buffy smiled coldly. "I think we do," the slayer corrected her intruder.
A spell, Willow thought; one little spell to freeze this girl in her tracks. Paralyze her arms so that she couldn't pick Connor up. Paralyze her legs so that she couldn't run away with him. Paralyze her breathing so that she couldn't...
"No," Willow whimpered. She couldn't; she mustn't. If she gave in this once, all the months of self-denial would be for nothing, and Tara would be lost to her forever.
Buffy didn't hear Willow's soft cry; she was focusing on the stranger, trying to read her intentions, beyond the obvious ones. The Slayer took a step to the side, changing the angle of her attack and forcing Justine to back away from the open window and towards the corner formed by the bed and the wall.
"You came into my home," Buffy continued calmly, as though every nerve in her body wasn't screaming for her to throw this girl out the window and race back to Connor and Dawn. "You and your pal downstairs threatened my boyfriend, and my baby, and you think you're setting the rules?" Another step forward, the words rolling out of her subconscious without even registering as she stalked her would-be assailant. "If you get to walk out of this alive...and don't think because you're human it's a gimme...but if you do, it will be because you haven't actually harmed anyone yet."
"We're saving that baby," Justine insisted. "Angelus is a monster...and you must be one too if you've had the power to kill him all along and you never used it. A slayer!" She spat on the carpet to expel the bad flavor of the word. "You're not even human!"
"That tears it," Buffy snarled, launching herself at Justine.
Willow stepped back to remove herself from the fray; she sensed Buffy had the situation well in hand even without magickal assistance. That was a good thing, she reassured herself. One thought teased at the edge of her consciousness, however; both Buffy and the girl had referred to a partner in the kidnapping attempt. If there was another intruder, was she, or he, still downstairs? Still somewhere in the house?
* * * * *
As he moved from one door to the next, Holtz heard the sounds of battle only as background noise; a fitting accompaniment to his holy war. Who won or lost that particular skirmish was of small concern to him; the important thing now was to get the child out while Justine finished off the Slayer. He had no doubt...well, very little doubt, at least...that his Chosen One would be successful. No one knew better than he: righteous wrath was a powerful weapon.
And a wooden chair, applied with downward force to an old lock, wasn't such a bad weapon either.
* * * * *
"Buffy," the witch called out anxiously.
Buffy grunted as one of Justine's boots connected with her abdomen. The red-haired stranger was better trained than most humans her age, and very determined...for someone who was so completely wrong.
"Kinda busy now, Will," the Slayer muttered, aiming her heel at the stranger's chin.
"Is there someone else in the house?"
Buffy's heel connected with Justine's chin, making a sickening snap that almost covered up the sound of wood slamming against wood now echoing down the hallway. The intruder dropped to the floor without an outcry as the Slayer whirled to face the hallway framed by her partially opened door.
"Tie her up, Will," she ordered tersely. "I still have Holtz to deal with."
* * * * *
Dawn had heard the dull thuds coming from down the hall and tried to soothe Connor. These were noises he would have to grow accustomed to, given the family into which he had been born.
But when the teenager felt the pounding resound against the walls framing her own door, and heard the lock that stood guard between them and danger begin to pull away from the wood, it was all she could do to keep from joining in the baby's helpless whimpers.
* * * * *
Buffy darted into the hall in time to see Holtz shove open the remains of Dawn's door and step inside her sister's room. The Slayer bolted down towards her sister, never looking back to see if Willow was obeying her instructions, or caring if she'd left her best friend to immobilize a corpse. Connor and Dawn were the priorities.
The room was empty, save for Holtz, when Buffy ran in. Her eyes moved rapidly from one corner to the next, but there was no sign of Dawn or Connor. She knew in an instant where they must be, and prayed that she was right. She needed room to deal with Holtz, and she didn't want either her sister or the baby she had come to love so dearly to see what that dealing would encompass.
"This is the part where you give up and walk away, Holtz," she said, forcing the panic from her voice. She had to remain perfectly calm to get through this; there was no margin for error, and no time for pity. "You're not going to hurt him and neither is your little friend."
Holtz turned to look at her, his gaze revealing a tranquility Buffy could only dream about...if insanity was 'the new black' of the season, that is.
"I will not harm the babe," he said softly. Reassuringly. "I'm only going to kill you, you poor deluded girl." A smile flitted across his face. "I would have spared you if you had only joined me, but it really is better this way. When Angelus returns, he will find his woman dead..."
"His woman?" she interrupted. "You time-traveled two hundred years into the future just to listen to bad country music?"
"And his son lost to him forever," Holtz continued over her comments, "just as I found upon my return home one winter's eve. It's all so..."
"Not happening," she finished for him, shaking her head. "So very not happening."
He frowned, his eighteenth century mind lost in the modern wilderness of her grammatical structure. "I was going to say 'symmetrical.' Very symmetrical."
"See now you're talking math terminology," she complained, "and that always makes me cranky."
Holtz had retained the shattered remnants of the chair in his fists; he now wielded them as swords, slashing at Buffy with the jagged edges. She had thought it would be easy to get them away from him, but the madness of grief gave him an unexpected edge. Holtz had no regard for his own life or future; all he cared about was making Angel suffer, through Buffy's death or Connor's loss. He took foolish chances Buffy would not have expected, and used her surprise against her.
The fight edged closer to the closet door, behind which Buffy knew that Dawn and Connor were waiting for her to save them.
* * * * *
Willow finished tying the last knot around the intruder's ankles and bound the other end of the torn sheet to the bed frame. The girl was still unconscious, and from the looks of her swollen jaw she wouldn't be able to scream for help from her companion, but Willow tucked the edge of a clean sock in her mouth to be on the safe side. It wasn't as good of a job as Buffy would have done, but Willow had done her best to make the would-be kidnapper secure. Now it was time to help Buffy more directly.
Willow had heard of Holtz; Angel had explained his situation very clearly when he told the story of Connor's birth. The witch had felt Angel's guilt over the death of Holtz's family, and she could see that in some ways the vampire almost admired his enemy. So did Willow...in some ways. Just not in ways that would agree to Holtz bursting into their home and hurting Angel's son. Or any of the rest of them, for that matter.
Buffy could undoubtedly kill him, and if she felt the threat to Connor was sufficient she probably would; Willow harbored none of Giles' illusions about Buffy's ethics when it came down to protecting those she loved. But a dead Holtz could become a live Holtz just as easily as Buffy herself had resumed breath and pulse. Someone had brought him here, and any someone who could bring a man two hundred years into the future could bring him backwards a day for a do-over if he failed to survive.
Of course, that all depended on the illusory someone being able to find Holtz.
* * * * *
Given a few moments to measure her opponent's skill and lay out a plan of attack, Buffy would easily have been able to edge Holtz away from the closet door that shielded Dawn and Connor from his wrath. That same wrath, however, precluded preparation of any sort; survival was the watchword of the day.
Holtz fought not like a demon, but like a desperate man, which made him much more dangerous. When Buffy managed to divest him of the broken remains of the chair, he snatched another one from in front of Dawn's desk and began slashing it in the air to keep the Slayer at bay. When she wrested that from his control, he yanked the drawers from Dawn's dresser and used those as weapons. No item was too small or insignificant to escape - not the trashcan, not schoolbooks, not even the nail polish bottles that lay scattered on the top of the dresser.
"Hey!" she snapped, swatting at the bottles barraging her like so many armored flies. "Quit it with the bottle rockets. I get the message; I won't let Connor spend all his birthday money on junk."
Gradually, one painstaking footstep at a time, Buffy was able to get between Holtz and the closet door, but it was due more to dogged determination than slayerly skill. Nothing in her years of doing battle against the various forces of darkness had prepared her for an enemy who believed so firmly in his cause that he would pepper her forehead with bottles of perfume to hammer home his point.
"I will have," he panted, "the child. You will not...stop...me."
She kicked up and out, aiming for high on his chest. "You want a baby," she growled, "make love, not war."
She hissed with disappointment when Holtz stumbled and fell, only to drag himself to his feet yet again. No matter how many times she knocked him over, he always managed to reset himself like a homicidal bowling pin.
"He belongs to me!" The sole unbroken lamp in the room joined its compatriots in the mosaic of broken glass on the floor as an exclamation point to Holtz's cry, but not before it rebounded off of the slayer's skull.
The lamp stunned her momentarily, long enough for Holtz to start to circle back to the closet door. When Buffy realized what was happening, she mentally threw off her kid gloves. She had been trying to defeat Holtz without killing him; he was human and to use her destiny-driven powers to defeat him would be the same as murder. But in the instant she saw him stagger towards the wall, she realized that nothing short of his own death would stop him from taking Connor...and nothing short of her own death would make her permit that to happen.
One arm swiped across her forehead, clearing the blood away before it dripped into her eyes. The other hand curled tightly in upon itself, forming a fist that could flatten a vampire with only a marginal effort.
She had no idea what it could do against a human being when exercised without restraint.
* * * * *
Willow ran into the hallway in time to see Holtz flying out of Dawn's bedroom and into wall opposite the door. Buffy was on him an instant later, hauling him to his feet only to throw him down all over again, this time at the end of the hallway. Holtz managed a half-crouching stance before the slayer reached him at the top of the stairs; Willow had the uneasy feeling Buffy moved more slowly this time because she wanted him to fight back just a little while she finished him off.
"Buffy, wait!" the witch called anxiously.
It was too late; Holtz was already on his way down the staircase, head first.
"I can't stop now, Will," Buffy said breathlessly. She turned up her palms, though it sounded as though the decision had been wrenched from her, not offered up willingly to fate. "It's either him or Connor."
"But you don't have to kill him," Willow insisted. "I have a better way. A permanent way."
Buffy drew in a huge lungful of air, trying to recoup her depleted resources. "And death isn't...no, guess not." She shook her head sharply, her wary eyes watching Holtz at the foot of the stairs for any signs of returning consciousness. "We don't have time for you to boot up, though, Will, and I really don't think it would..."
"No, not computer help. Magick." Willow took a few hesitant steps towards her shocked friend. "I know I said I wouldn't any more, but I know of a spell...I found it when...well, that doesn't matter. But I learned it by heart and I know it will work. I know it."
Buffy knew she should refuse; her qualms over killing Holtz were nothing compared to the potential for disaster if Willow indulged her own dark side. But Holtz, damn his fanatical self, was already starting to stir on the floor below. Options, and time, were at a minimum.
"Do what you have to," the Slayer said. Holtz had forced all their hands, and there was no turning back now.
"Okay," Willow agreed breathlessly. "But when I say 'Now!' you have to back off. I don't want you caught in the crossfire."
Buffy started down the steps at a trot. "Can't promise anything," she called over her shoulder.
"Buffy, you have to!" Willow leaned over the banister, clutching it the wood so hard it began to numb her fingertips. "I don't know what will happen if you get caught in the middle."
Buffy stopped her forward momentum long enough to glance back up at Willow. The Slayer's face was calm and composed, so much so that it sent a wave of reminiscent fear through her best friend's heart. Buffy had looked just like this the night they fought Glory. The night Buffy died.
"I'll try, Will," Buffy said steadily, as though she and Willow had all the time in the world for philosophical discussions about life and death. "But if we don't stop Holtz for good, nothing else will matter anyway. Not to me."
* * * * *
Angel swore as the Belvedere's headlights picked out a sign by the side of the road. Sunnydale 40 miles. Forty miles. That translated to at least a half-hour, maybe more. The closer he got to the town that used to be home...that once again was home, thanks to Buffy...the colder and tighter the feeling in his chest became. What had once been a possibility was now a certainty - something was going very wrong. And with forty miles to go, there was every chance he would not be there in time to make it go right.
* * * * *
Willow began the chant as Buffy hauled Holtz to his feet. It didn't appear the man should have much fight left in him, but seeing the slayer so close to him again had obviously recharged his batteries. He was back in his knock-knock with the knick-knacks phase, snatching at any random curios he could reach to swing at Buffy's face. She concentrated on keeping him busy, listening with half an ear to Willow's voice as it grew progressively more strident. She wasn't catching on to the exact meaning of the spell, Latin still not being her favorite dead language, but she did recognize the words 'tempus' and 'corpus' in the rhythmic flow of the incantation.
'Corpus' was a not a word she could easily forget.
Buffy could feel the instant the air changed. Something crackled, but it was not so much a sound as a feeling; a sensation of immense power surging through an area of space not quite large enough to fit it. Suddenly the show became auditory as well, a rumble growing in the air above Holtz's head.
Buffy glanced up, and froze at the sight of a silvery swirl of clouds forming just below the living room ceiling, spiraling outwards in an ever- increasing circle of destruction. For an instant she saw the gaping hole of Acathla's mouth, and the lightning flashes shooting out from Glory's doorway to hell. She didn't even need to hear Willow shout "Now!" to know this was the time for all good slayers to decamp in the aid of their own self-preservation, but her momentary distraction had cost her dearly.
Holtz was too far gone in his quest to let anything divert him now. He didn't hear the witch chanting her spell, he didn't feel the earth trembling beneath his feet, and he had no idea of the circle of doom coalescing just above his own exposed head. He saw, and heard, and felt, only the traitorous girl trying to destroy him for the sake of Angelus. And in the instant he saw her shift her gaze upwards, he slipped his bloodied hands around her throat and tightened.
* * * * *
Willow was one with the vortex. Its power radiated from the center of her being, and though she had not moved from her post at the top of the stairs, from its core she could see the struggle that raged in the living room. She was the vortex, and it was she, until the time came to spin the web loose upon its prey.
She screamed, "Now!" at the top of her lungs, but in the instant before she lost all connection to the maelstrom she could see it was already too late. Buffy's attention had been drawn inexorably to the vortex, and Holtz had seized the advantage. Willow knew he couldn't possibly have the strength left to strangle Buffy, or even seriously injure her.
Holtz wasn't the danger now.
It was time that was the issue; time for Buffy to get far enough back to escape the pull of the fold Willow had opened in time itself. Ironically, it was a lack of the same that had prevented Willow from telling Buffy of the slayer's unique vulnerability to this spell. A spell cast to send Holtz back to the second in the flow of time when his molecules had escaped it.
What would it do to a body pulled forcibly back into the flow of time after it had left that dimension naturally?
* * * * *
The vortex spiraled outward with monstrous speed, and then swooped down just as fast, engulfing both the man and woman who struggled beneath it. There was a hideous wail - of man, of woman, perhaps of time itself - and then the vortex was gone, leaving only a brief shimmer in the air to mark that it had ever existed.
"Buffy!" Willow shrieked, running for the stairs.
* * * * *
To Be Continued
Part 6
By Gem
Holtz watched the blonde-haired young woman descend the staircase. Her steps were quick and light, her carriage self-assured. She did not lack for spirit, this slayer; it would almost be a pity if she had to die. Still, he'd faced greater pities than that in his long day, and die she would, if the need arose.
The choice was hers.
"Buffy," Dawn said to the approaching slayer, "this guy has some sort of vampire problem. He says someone sent him here for help."
Buffy laughed nervously, glancing from Dawn to Holtz as she cleared the last step and engulfed her sister's shoulders in a protective embrace.
"Dawnie, you really shouldn't joke like that. Somebody's going to take you seriously one of these days." She looked sternly into the younger girl's eyes as she carefully said, "Vampires? You know there's no such thing as vampires." Buffy switched her penetrating gaze to Holtz, sizing him up as she continued. "Dawn and I have a little game that we play...a game that we played when we were little, that is...about vampires and witches and, well, all sort of bump-in-the-night stuff."
"Please be at ease." Holtz's voice was smooth and warm, the better to soothe a conscience as guilty as this slayer's must be. "I too have experienced the unholy presence of the walking dead."
"That's zombies," Dawn pointed out, trying to be helpful. "Vampires are the walking undead."
Buffy grimaced at Dawn, but she let her arm relax its protective embrace. "She's really something, huh?" she asked Holtz. "My little dictionary of the damned."
Dawn drew herself up to her full height, looking down on her older sister as she asked, "Just who are you calling 'little'?"
"I am most sorry to intrude upon your evening," Holtz swiftly interjected. Time to get back to the business at hand. "I find myself with a most difficult dilemma, and I was told by a friend that you might be able to provide me with some assistance in resolving it."
"Who's the friend and what kind of problem is he so nicely sending my way?" Buffy asked suspiciously. "I'm not exactly 'Buffy for Hire' or anything."
"No, that's Angel." Dawn leaned against the banister, preparing for a good story.
Buffy glanced sharply at her younger sister again, suddenly wary of mentioning her lover's name in this stranger's presence. She couldn't put her finger on the why of it yet, but the man made her uneasy.
"Dawn, why don't you go up and check on the baby?" the Slayer suggested. "I put him in the trunk until I can finish his bath."
"It's not really a trunk," Dawn said, seeing their guest's eyes widen at Buffy's comment. "Well, it is, but it's not like we close the lid or anything. See we don't have a crib and Con..."
"Dawn," Buffy interrupted, "could you please go and check on him? Now."
"But Willow..."
"Is totally wiped and was going to bed right after her shower," Buffy finished for her. "And come to think of it..."
"I'm going; I'm going," Dawn said hastily.
Holtz let the sisterly bickering wash over him; he was too busy disguising his triumphant glee to give them any heed.
The child. Justine had been telling the truth; the vampire had left his child here. Holtz had not believed Angelus would make it so easy; he had thought to deal with the girl alone first, and then retrieve the child in the ensuing uproar. But he was here; Angelus intended to use his offspring to win back his deluded lover, and what better way than to allow her full possession of him for a time?
Now that time belonged to him, Holtz gloated.
* * * * *
Buffy watched Dawn slowly climb the stairs, waiting until the younger girl had rounded the corner before she turned her attention back to Holtz.
"I'm sorry," the Slayer said, waving at the top of the stairs. "It's a little crazy around here, well, always...but tonight especially."
"I did not realize you had a new babe...baby," he corrected himself quickly, "in the house. Perhaps I should come back?" He let his voice drop off suggestively as he took a step towards the door.
"No, it's okay." She shrugged. "We'll manage. And he's not exactly new...just a little new to us."
"An adopted child, and at your tender age. How very...charitable...of you."
"He's not..." Buffy eyed him sharply and decided in mid-protest to switch to a less dangerous topic. "He's not what you came here to talk about. So what is?"
"Ah yes, my vampire problem. Could we perhaps sit down to discuss it?" He glanced back at the dimly lit living room.
"I think we can talk better right here," she said firmly. "I don't have long to chat anyway."
"Of course," he murmured. "The duties of a new mother."
She flushed slightly, but did not correct him. "Vampires," she prompted. "You keep edging up on the subject and then running away after you ring the bell."
He smiled gently, sensing she was being humorous, though the reference escaped him. Bell? What bell? Ah well, no matter.
"They are fearsome creatures, are they not?" he asked instead. "Some more so than others."
"And your friend suggested you stop by to tell me this?" Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Do you know who I am?"
"You are the slayer," Holtz answered promptly.
Buffy touched the tip of her nose with her index finger. "Got it in one. And you would be..."
"You are the vampire slayer," Holtz continued as though she hadn't spoken, "who gave her heart to a demon and allowed him to flourish among his dark companions."
"Yeah, that's what I figured," she said with a sigh. "Most people don't drop in to casually chat about vampires; they're usually looking for one in particular." She looked at him narrowly. "Why Angel?"
"Angelus," he corrected her.
She felt a chill chase down her spine and outward to every extremity, though she wasn't sure if it was her slayer sense or her heart setting off the alarms at the sound of Angel's old name. It didn't really matter to her where the warning was coming from, though; the message was clear. This was way more than the average threat to her beloved, as though she faced even those with equanimity.
"Okay," she said slowly, biding her time as she fished for information, "so we're talking the bad old days here. Great, nineteen questions left. Or are you going to make it easy and tell me why you're looking for him?"
"It is you that I seek, my dear, just as I have said."
A sudden thudding of fist against wood on her front door postponed her quest for an answer that actually answered something.
* * * * *
Angel pressed his foot to the accelerator, urging the Belvedere to go just a little bit faster than its already excessive speed. He was wrong; he was sure he was wrong. They were all sure he was wrong. But if he was right...
"Angel, man, if we go any faster we're gonna need an air traffic controller to get us down." Gunn leaned forward from the back seat and laid a tentative hand on Angel's shoulder. "Ease up a little. Not all of us are already dead."
Angel's shoulder stiffened beneath the restraint, light though it was, but he backed off marginally on the gas pedal.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Maybe it would have been better if I'd come alone."
The way he wanted to; the way he'd tried to.
"Of course not, Angel," Wesley said heartily. "We decided, remember? One for all and all for one."
"For one what, is what I'd like to know," Gunn said, leaning back into his seat and slipping an arm around Fred's shoulders. "Do you really think that Holtz followed you to this Sunnydale place?"
"I don't know. But I couldn't get through on the phone, and he's missing, and..."
"We never said he was missing," Cordy said. "We said we haven't seen him, which used to be considered a good thing." She brushed her hand over her hair, trying in vain to smooth it down. It didn't seem to matter how short she cut it; Angel's car always trashed her best styling efforts.
Angel changed lanes, zooming past a white SUV that insisted on adhering to legal speed limits. "What it comes down to," he said, "is that we don't know where he is, but he could very easily know where I've been." Angel glanced quickly at Cordy as he explained himself for at least the twelfth time. "Even if he doesn't know Connor is still there, he could be going after Buffy."
"And we're what? Going to protect him from her?" Cordelia huffed an impatient sigh before she took pity on her friend. "If you think Buffy can't beat up Holtz, love really is blind."
"He's human," Angel answered sharply. "That makes a difference."
"See, I've never understood that." Lorne took Gunn's place hanging over the back of the front seat. "Maybe it's just the demon in me, but I must confess I take a little offense to the 'humans first' attitude in this dimension."
Cordelia made another futile attempt to smooth her hair, nearly knocking Wesley's glasses out onto the highway with her elbow.
"You mean because they roll out the welcome mats for humans back in Pylea? Try looking at things from my stall in the cow barn for a change."
She flung her arms down into her lap and growled in frustration. No wonder Angel used industrial-strength hair gel.
"I never said Pylea was the known as the hospitality planet," Lorne huffed, sliding back in his seat. "I was merely making an observation."
"Trust me, when you've had to wear a cattle prod as a choker, you lose all respect for the demons' point of view."
"And it's my fault you don't have the neck for large jewelry?"
Angel ground his teeth and focused on the road ahead, trying to tune out all the distractions that accompanied him. He didn't really care whether his friends were with him or not; the only thing that mattered was reaching Buffy and Connor. He had to make sure his family was safe.
He had to get home.
* * * * *
"Spike," Buffy said flatly, leaning against the frame of the open front door. She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at her second uninvited guest of the evening. "Doesn't anybody stay home on a Tuesday night anymore?"
The vampire cocked his head to the side and smiled winsomely. "What can I say? I missed you."
Buffy's lips twisted in a sour reflection of his grin. "So exactly what part of 'darken-my-door-again-and-you'll-be-nothing-but-a-burp-from-my-hepa- filter' didn't you understand? I know it wasn't 'burp'."
"Rules have changed, luv," he replied, waggling his index finger in her face. "Ward's gone back to LA and left the Beav all by her lonesome."
"Even for you that's disgusting, Spike." She shivered at the unwelcome imagery. "And on so many levels."
His voice deepened, slipping from flirtation to foreplay before she could say 'cold shower.'
"You didn't used to think so."
Buffy sighed and straightened up. "Actually I did; I just didn't want to talk to you long enough to tell you so. And you know, come to think of it, I still don't." She started to close the door.
"You're gonna be sorry for turning me away," Spike called out hastily. "I can still help you."
Buffy stopped the door just shy of closing, then pulled it open far enough to allow him to see her face. "You want to be helpful?" she demanded. "Tell me one thing: do you recognize this guy?" She stepped out of Spike's way to allow him to see the unnamed guest in her living room.
Spike shot a fleeting glance at the stranger, and then returned his attention to his preferred object of attention.
"Can't say as I do, pet. But if he's bothering you..." Spike let his voice trail off suggestively as he flexed a leather-clad bicep.
Buffy shook her head as another tiny sigh escaped her. The funny way he talked, the use of Angel's old name, and now the lack of recognition on Spike's part...it all fit the timeline. Damn.
"Go home, Spike," she said wearily. "He's human; the best you can do is annoy him to death. And even if there was something else...I still wouldn't ask you for help."
"Have I ever refused?" He held up a hand in front of Buffy's face before her jaw could rise again to form a retort. "Yeah, well, old times there are best forgotten. You need me, pet; you just don't want to admit it. I'm the only one you could ever really count on. The only one who really understands what makes your ticker tick."
"Once upon a time I was desperate enough to buy that line, Spike." She looked him straight in the eye, her own hazel depths finally clear of the anger and fear that had bedeviled her as much as Spike. "But the truth is, I just needed to find someone deader than I was, and you fit the bill. Inside and out."
She shut the door in the face of the angry vampire without another word. Turning around, she leaned back against the heavy wooden door for support.
"So, Mr. Holtz, where were we?"
* * * * *
Inwardly Holtz applauded. She was a bright little thing, in most respects. He had to admire Angelus' taste in women...at least in this century.
"I was about to convince a very beautiful...and very confused...young vampire slayer to do her sacred duty and rid the world of the most vicious vampire ever to darken its face."
Or kill her; one would serve his purpose as well as the other, if not better.
"Darn!" Buffy snapped her fingers. "And here I thought you were here to talk about Angel. Guess the joke's on me."
"It will be a deadly joke indeed if you do not join me, my dear. Whatever sweet words the vampire may have plied you with, he is nothing but an animal. One day, when you feel most secure, he will turn on you."
"And you'll be right there to protect me?" she guessed. "Aren't you the hero type? Ready to stand up against the big bad vamp just for little old me, who you never met before today." She slapped her flattened palm against her breast. "That's just so touching; they ought to make that into a movie or something. Really. Do you have an agent?"
"You will not stand with me." He didn't phrase it as a question; there was no point. He had seen the answer in her eyes the moment she uttered the beast's name.
"I stand with him," she said coolly, dropping both hands to her sides as they formed into fists. "Always."
"Then you will die."
Buffy smiled, a slow bone-chilling smile that sent an unexpected shiver down Holtz's spine.
"I guess somebody didn't finish his homework," she drawled. "Cause if you did, you'd know you have to do a whole lot better than that in the way of threats."
* * * * *
Dawn slipped into the bathroom, choking slightly on the steam left over from Willow's long shower. She knew the pacifier was in here; she'd seen it on the counter that morning, right next to the hand lotion. Why it was in here, she didn't know. But Connor was fussing, and if she didn't find him a pacifier soon she'd never be able to creep back to the top of the stairs and listen in on the conversation going on downstairs.
Wait, there it was, hiding behind the mouthwash. Correction: behind Angel's mouthwash, since he had some weird hang-up about everybody swigging out of the same bottle. Like the germs they carried could ever hurt him. Dawn sniffed at the insult as her hand closed over the pacifier.
Just in time, she thought, hearing Connor's whimper through the open bedroom door. Any minute now that whimper would turn into a full-throated wail that would do a banshee proud.
"I'm coming, Connor," she called quickly, hurrying cross the hall and into the dimly lit bedroom.
* * * * *
"You don't know him," Buffy insisted yet again. She was getting tired of repeating herself, but Holtz was apparently deaf to all but the voices in his own head. "You know the demon; I know the man."
Holtz smiled, a distinctly pitying smile that grated on the Slayer's nerves.
"You see what you want to see," he said smoothly, "and for you it goes no deeper than the dead flesh upon his bones. You see beauty in the form and assume it springs from within."
"I know it does."
"You need it to be so," Holtz countered, "but he is so far from the perfection that you believe that..."
Buffy's exclamation cut off the rest of his speech. "Perfection? You think that I think Angel's perfect? Please. I've spent the last week of my life living with the man and let me tell you, perfect he is not." She rested one hand on her hip and raised the other to begin enumerating her lover's sins.
"He hogs the covers, and then blames me because he says I kick in my sleep and chase him over to the edge of the bed. He's always putting his cold feet against mine in the middle of the night and," she paused for a moment, and then reluctantly curled her index finger back against her palm. "Okay," she sighed, "I guess I can't hold the cold feet against him. But he's a total nazi when it comes to where you're supposed to squeeze the toothpaste tube, and he spends way too much time fixing his hair for a guy who can't even see the end result."
"Most amusing," Holtz said dryly. "I am certain you will keep Angelus laughing until the very moment he snaps your neck. Beyond even. That is, of course, if I am not forced to kill you first. It really is up to you."
"And that's another thing," Buffy complained. "You actually think you can beat me, don't you? I mean you look at me and you see a slayer, but you still think that a spiteful little Popsicle like you can take me."
"You are not a true slayer," Holtz replied flatly. "You could not be and let the beast live. I will be victorious."
"Yeah, uh huh." Buffy raised a doubtful eyebrow to accompany her scathing tone. "So do you think Angel could beat you? Even though he's supposed to be some major force of evil and you're Frosty the Snow-White Knight?"
"A vampire commands unholy strength, but ultimately the cause of the just will prevail. Whether I live to see it or not is of no matter."
"So that would be a yes. You think Angel could beat you, but you could beat me...even though you're looking at the only human who's ever beaten him? Do the math."
She smiled at the look of apprehension that darted across his face, but her victory was short-lived. A moment later a scream echoed down from the second floor.
"Buffy!" Dawn shrieked.
"Hold that thought," she advised Holtz before she turned on her heel and vaulted up the staircase.
He followed at a much slower pace, quietly humming a lullaby.
* * * * *
Buffy barreled into her bedroom as picture after picture of disaster flashed through her head. Connor falling; Connor choking; Connor just ceasing to breathe for no apparent reason...her own breath stopped at the last image. No, he was okay; he had to be okay. She would make him okay, no matter what it took.
She almost slammed into Dawn in the darkened bedroom as her sister frantically back-pedaled towards the door, trying to tug Connor out of the arms of a strange young woman. A moment later a half-asleep Willow plowed into Buffy's back, pushing all four girls, and the baby they struggled over, towards the open window.
Over the course of the week some necessary rearrangements had taken place in Buffy's bedroom, clearing space for two additional people to share it with her. The majority of her stuffed animal collection now resided in Dawn's room, the weapons were locked up downstairs in a plain but functional metal chest, and her slayer trunk had been moved to the side of the bed, no longer providing a barrier between the door and the open window.
Mr. Pointy, however, had escaped Buffy's cleaning efforts and remained partially hidden by the bed-skirt. Justine's left foot landed on the lovingly carved, and heavily polished, stake as she attempted to regain her balance. Kendra's pride and joy rolled under the uneven pressure, throwing Justine's weight backwards as her arms opened wide to cushion her fall.
"Connor!" Buffy screamed, in concert with Willow and Dawn. Six arms reached out to grab the falling child, and though Dawn was the closest the Slayer's hands stretched past her to snatch the falling child in mid- plummet. Buffy clung to the wailing baby for an instant, reassuring herself of his temporary safety, before thrusting him into Dawn's arms.
"Take Connor to your room and try to keep him quiet," she said tersely. "Lock the door and don't come out until I come for you." She thought of Holtz, waiting downstairs, and she thought of the planning that must have gone into this night. Things were far from at an end. "Until Angel or I come for you," she hastily amended.
Dawn awkwardly shifted Connor to her shoulder so that she could clutch Buffy's arm with her free hand. "Angel? But he's not even here...why would..."
"Just go!" Buffy growled, pushing her sister towards the open doorway. Before Dawn could protest further, Buffy had turned away to face Justine, who was slowly getting to her feet. A moment later the slayer heard the sound of a door slamming, and she breathed a sigh of relief. The pawns had been removed; now the real battle could begin.
* * * * *
Holtz scanned the hallway as he rounded the top of the stairs: one half- open door at the end of the corridor, and four closed ones ranged before it. He could hear the sound of voices coming from the opened room, but the noise held no interest for him. Justine had many talents, the greatest of which was a distaste for needless conversation. If she had possession of the child she would have already left the scene.
The so-called slayer, the traitor to her heritage, obviously maintained control of the room, and that meant the child would have been sent elsewhere. All he had to do was pick the right door while Angelus' playmate and Justine tried to convince each other of the rightness of their cause, and the depth of their passion for it.
The first knob turned under his hand with ease; probably not the right one. Still, the slayer could be wilier than she appeared, and at worst there might be weapons to be obtained within. Nothing would go to waste in this war: not time or effort or a good stout stick. One day, one glorious day, a stout stick would be the greatest prize of them all.
A stout stick and, Jesu willing, a filial hand to drive it into Angelus' chest.
* * * * *
Justine took her time standing up, gauging her odds at rushing the two other girls and beating them to the stairs. Not good. The window held more promise but she could easily get caught in the branches if she tried to climb down the handy tree, and jumping off of a second story roof held its own dangers. Her best chance seemed to lie with Holtz, and thus, with stalling.
"You don't understand," she began. "You need to let me take the kid; I'm here to rescue him." More or less, she admitted silently.
Buffy laughed sharply. "Rescue? From people who love him and take care of him? You're all heart."
"No, from a vampire." This girl couldn't be as stupid as she sounded; it had to be an act. "I know what you are, and you know what will happen to that baby if I don't get him away from Angelus."
"I know what will happen to you if you try," Buffy countered, her voice menacingly calm.
"He's a vampire," Justine insisted. "They kill people...for food, for fun, hell, for something to do on a Saturday night. Haven't you ever lost somebody you loved to one of them? Because I have; that's how I know what they are."
"You're lecturing me on vampire etiquette? You've never actually looked up my job description, have you?"
"Look, just let me have the kid and you and Angelus can live whatever lies you want." Justine glanced from one hostile face to the other, trying to project sincerity. "We don't need for things to get bloody."
Buffy smiled coldly. "I think we do," the slayer corrected her intruder.
A spell, Willow thought; one little spell to freeze this girl in her tracks. Paralyze her arms so that she couldn't pick Connor up. Paralyze her legs so that she couldn't run away with him. Paralyze her breathing so that she couldn't...
"No," Willow whimpered. She couldn't; she mustn't. If she gave in this once, all the months of self-denial would be for nothing, and Tara would be lost to her forever.
Buffy didn't hear Willow's soft cry; she was focusing on the stranger, trying to read her intentions, beyond the obvious ones. The Slayer took a step to the side, changing the angle of her attack and forcing Justine to back away from the open window and towards the corner formed by the bed and the wall.
"You came into my home," Buffy continued calmly, as though every nerve in her body wasn't screaming for her to throw this girl out the window and race back to Connor and Dawn. "You and your pal downstairs threatened my boyfriend, and my baby, and you think you're setting the rules?" Another step forward, the words rolling out of her subconscious without even registering as she stalked her would-be assailant. "If you get to walk out of this alive...and don't think because you're human it's a gimme...but if you do, it will be because you haven't actually harmed anyone yet."
"We're saving that baby," Justine insisted. "Angelus is a monster...and you must be one too if you've had the power to kill him all along and you never used it. A slayer!" She spat on the carpet to expel the bad flavor of the word. "You're not even human!"
"That tears it," Buffy snarled, launching herself at Justine.
Willow stepped back to remove herself from the fray; she sensed Buffy had the situation well in hand even without magickal assistance. That was a good thing, she reassured herself. One thought teased at the edge of her consciousness, however; both Buffy and the girl had referred to a partner in the kidnapping attempt. If there was another intruder, was she, or he, still downstairs? Still somewhere in the house?
* * * * *
As he moved from one door to the next, Holtz heard the sounds of battle only as background noise; a fitting accompaniment to his holy war. Who won or lost that particular skirmish was of small concern to him; the important thing now was to get the child out while Justine finished off the Slayer. He had no doubt...well, very little doubt, at least...that his Chosen One would be successful. No one knew better than he: righteous wrath was a powerful weapon.
And a wooden chair, applied with downward force to an old lock, wasn't such a bad weapon either.
* * * * *
"Buffy," the witch called out anxiously.
Buffy grunted as one of Justine's boots connected with her abdomen. The red-haired stranger was better trained than most humans her age, and very determined...for someone who was so completely wrong.
"Kinda busy now, Will," the Slayer muttered, aiming her heel at the stranger's chin.
"Is there someone else in the house?"
Buffy's heel connected with Justine's chin, making a sickening snap that almost covered up the sound of wood slamming against wood now echoing down the hallway. The intruder dropped to the floor without an outcry as the Slayer whirled to face the hallway framed by her partially opened door.
"Tie her up, Will," she ordered tersely. "I still have Holtz to deal with."
* * * * *
Dawn had heard the dull thuds coming from down the hall and tried to soothe Connor. These were noises he would have to grow accustomed to, given the family into which he had been born.
But when the teenager felt the pounding resound against the walls framing her own door, and heard the lock that stood guard between them and danger begin to pull away from the wood, it was all she could do to keep from joining in the baby's helpless whimpers.
* * * * *
Buffy darted into the hall in time to see Holtz shove open the remains of Dawn's door and step inside her sister's room. The Slayer bolted down towards her sister, never looking back to see if Willow was obeying her instructions, or caring if she'd left her best friend to immobilize a corpse. Connor and Dawn were the priorities.
The room was empty, save for Holtz, when Buffy ran in. Her eyes moved rapidly from one corner to the next, but there was no sign of Dawn or Connor. She knew in an instant where they must be, and prayed that she was right. She needed room to deal with Holtz, and she didn't want either her sister or the baby she had come to love so dearly to see what that dealing would encompass.
"This is the part where you give up and walk away, Holtz," she said, forcing the panic from her voice. She had to remain perfectly calm to get through this; there was no margin for error, and no time for pity. "You're not going to hurt him and neither is your little friend."
Holtz turned to look at her, his gaze revealing a tranquility Buffy could only dream about...if insanity was 'the new black' of the season, that is.
"I will not harm the babe," he said softly. Reassuringly. "I'm only going to kill you, you poor deluded girl." A smile flitted across his face. "I would have spared you if you had only joined me, but it really is better this way. When Angelus returns, he will find his woman dead..."
"His woman?" she interrupted. "You time-traveled two hundred years into the future just to listen to bad country music?"
"And his son lost to him forever," Holtz continued over her comments, "just as I found upon my return home one winter's eve. It's all so..."
"Not happening," she finished for him, shaking her head. "So very not happening."
He frowned, his eighteenth century mind lost in the modern wilderness of her grammatical structure. "I was going to say 'symmetrical.' Very symmetrical."
"See now you're talking math terminology," she complained, "and that always makes me cranky."
Holtz had retained the shattered remnants of the chair in his fists; he now wielded them as swords, slashing at Buffy with the jagged edges. She had thought it would be easy to get them away from him, but the madness of grief gave him an unexpected edge. Holtz had no regard for his own life or future; all he cared about was making Angel suffer, through Buffy's death or Connor's loss. He took foolish chances Buffy would not have expected, and used her surprise against her.
The fight edged closer to the closet door, behind which Buffy knew that Dawn and Connor were waiting for her to save them.
* * * * *
Willow finished tying the last knot around the intruder's ankles and bound the other end of the torn sheet to the bed frame. The girl was still unconscious, and from the looks of her swollen jaw she wouldn't be able to scream for help from her companion, but Willow tucked the edge of a clean sock in her mouth to be on the safe side. It wasn't as good of a job as Buffy would have done, but Willow had done her best to make the would-be kidnapper secure. Now it was time to help Buffy more directly.
Willow had heard of Holtz; Angel had explained his situation very clearly when he told the story of Connor's birth. The witch had felt Angel's guilt over the death of Holtz's family, and she could see that in some ways the vampire almost admired his enemy. So did Willow...in some ways. Just not in ways that would agree to Holtz bursting into their home and hurting Angel's son. Or any of the rest of them, for that matter.
Buffy could undoubtedly kill him, and if she felt the threat to Connor was sufficient she probably would; Willow harbored none of Giles' illusions about Buffy's ethics when it came down to protecting those she loved. But a dead Holtz could become a live Holtz just as easily as Buffy herself had resumed breath and pulse. Someone had brought him here, and any someone who could bring a man two hundred years into the future could bring him backwards a day for a do-over if he failed to survive.
Of course, that all depended on the illusory someone being able to find Holtz.
* * * * *
Given a few moments to measure her opponent's skill and lay out a plan of attack, Buffy would easily have been able to edge Holtz away from the closet door that shielded Dawn and Connor from his wrath. That same wrath, however, precluded preparation of any sort; survival was the watchword of the day.
Holtz fought not like a demon, but like a desperate man, which made him much more dangerous. When Buffy managed to divest him of the broken remains of the chair, he snatched another one from in front of Dawn's desk and began slashing it in the air to keep the Slayer at bay. When she wrested that from his control, he yanked the drawers from Dawn's dresser and used those as weapons. No item was too small or insignificant to escape - not the trashcan, not schoolbooks, not even the nail polish bottles that lay scattered on the top of the dresser.
"Hey!" she snapped, swatting at the bottles barraging her like so many armored flies. "Quit it with the bottle rockets. I get the message; I won't let Connor spend all his birthday money on junk."
Gradually, one painstaking footstep at a time, Buffy was able to get between Holtz and the closet door, but it was due more to dogged determination than slayerly skill. Nothing in her years of doing battle against the various forces of darkness had prepared her for an enemy who believed so firmly in his cause that he would pepper her forehead with bottles of perfume to hammer home his point.
"I will have," he panted, "the child. You will not...stop...me."
She kicked up and out, aiming for high on his chest. "You want a baby," she growled, "make love, not war."
She hissed with disappointment when Holtz stumbled and fell, only to drag himself to his feet yet again. No matter how many times she knocked him over, he always managed to reset himself like a homicidal bowling pin.
"He belongs to me!" The sole unbroken lamp in the room joined its compatriots in the mosaic of broken glass on the floor as an exclamation point to Holtz's cry, but not before it rebounded off of the slayer's skull.
The lamp stunned her momentarily, long enough for Holtz to start to circle back to the closet door. When Buffy realized what was happening, she mentally threw off her kid gloves. She had been trying to defeat Holtz without killing him; he was human and to use her destiny-driven powers to defeat him would be the same as murder. But in the instant she saw him stagger towards the wall, she realized that nothing short of his own death would stop him from taking Connor...and nothing short of her own death would make her permit that to happen.
One arm swiped across her forehead, clearing the blood away before it dripped into her eyes. The other hand curled tightly in upon itself, forming a fist that could flatten a vampire with only a marginal effort.
She had no idea what it could do against a human being when exercised without restraint.
* * * * *
Willow ran into the hallway in time to see Holtz flying out of Dawn's bedroom and into wall opposite the door. Buffy was on him an instant later, hauling him to his feet only to throw him down all over again, this time at the end of the hallway. Holtz managed a half-crouching stance before the slayer reached him at the top of the stairs; Willow had the uneasy feeling Buffy moved more slowly this time because she wanted him to fight back just a little while she finished him off.
"Buffy, wait!" the witch called anxiously.
It was too late; Holtz was already on his way down the staircase, head first.
"I can't stop now, Will," Buffy said breathlessly. She turned up her palms, though it sounded as though the decision had been wrenched from her, not offered up willingly to fate. "It's either him or Connor."
"But you don't have to kill him," Willow insisted. "I have a better way. A permanent way."
Buffy drew in a huge lungful of air, trying to recoup her depleted resources. "And death isn't...no, guess not." She shook her head sharply, her wary eyes watching Holtz at the foot of the stairs for any signs of returning consciousness. "We don't have time for you to boot up, though, Will, and I really don't think it would..."
"No, not computer help. Magick." Willow took a few hesitant steps towards her shocked friend. "I know I said I wouldn't any more, but I know of a spell...I found it when...well, that doesn't matter. But I learned it by heart and I know it will work. I know it."
Buffy knew she should refuse; her qualms over killing Holtz were nothing compared to the potential for disaster if Willow indulged her own dark side. But Holtz, damn his fanatical self, was already starting to stir on the floor below. Options, and time, were at a minimum.
"Do what you have to," the Slayer said. Holtz had forced all their hands, and there was no turning back now.
"Okay," Willow agreed breathlessly. "But when I say 'Now!' you have to back off. I don't want you caught in the crossfire."
Buffy started down the steps at a trot. "Can't promise anything," she called over her shoulder.
"Buffy, you have to!" Willow leaned over the banister, clutching it the wood so hard it began to numb her fingertips. "I don't know what will happen if you get caught in the middle."
Buffy stopped her forward momentum long enough to glance back up at Willow. The Slayer's face was calm and composed, so much so that it sent a wave of reminiscent fear through her best friend's heart. Buffy had looked just like this the night they fought Glory. The night Buffy died.
"I'll try, Will," Buffy said steadily, as though she and Willow had all the time in the world for philosophical discussions about life and death. "But if we don't stop Holtz for good, nothing else will matter anyway. Not to me."
* * * * *
Angel swore as the Belvedere's headlights picked out a sign by the side of the road. Sunnydale 40 miles. Forty miles. That translated to at least a half-hour, maybe more. The closer he got to the town that used to be home...that once again was home, thanks to Buffy...the colder and tighter the feeling in his chest became. What had once been a possibility was now a certainty - something was going very wrong. And with forty miles to go, there was every chance he would not be there in time to make it go right.
* * * * *
Willow began the chant as Buffy hauled Holtz to his feet. It didn't appear the man should have much fight left in him, but seeing the slayer so close to him again had obviously recharged his batteries. He was back in his knock-knock with the knick-knacks phase, snatching at any random curios he could reach to swing at Buffy's face. She concentrated on keeping him busy, listening with half an ear to Willow's voice as it grew progressively more strident. She wasn't catching on to the exact meaning of the spell, Latin still not being her favorite dead language, but she did recognize the words 'tempus' and 'corpus' in the rhythmic flow of the incantation.
'Corpus' was a not a word she could easily forget.
Buffy could feel the instant the air changed. Something crackled, but it was not so much a sound as a feeling; a sensation of immense power surging through an area of space not quite large enough to fit it. Suddenly the show became auditory as well, a rumble growing in the air above Holtz's head.
Buffy glanced up, and froze at the sight of a silvery swirl of clouds forming just below the living room ceiling, spiraling outwards in an ever- increasing circle of destruction. For an instant she saw the gaping hole of Acathla's mouth, and the lightning flashes shooting out from Glory's doorway to hell. She didn't even need to hear Willow shout "Now!" to know this was the time for all good slayers to decamp in the aid of their own self-preservation, but her momentary distraction had cost her dearly.
Holtz was too far gone in his quest to let anything divert him now. He didn't hear the witch chanting her spell, he didn't feel the earth trembling beneath his feet, and he had no idea of the circle of doom coalescing just above his own exposed head. He saw, and heard, and felt, only the traitorous girl trying to destroy him for the sake of Angelus. And in the instant he saw her shift her gaze upwards, he slipped his bloodied hands around her throat and tightened.
* * * * *
Willow was one with the vortex. Its power radiated from the center of her being, and though she had not moved from her post at the top of the stairs, from its core she could see the struggle that raged in the living room. She was the vortex, and it was she, until the time came to spin the web loose upon its prey.
She screamed, "Now!" at the top of her lungs, but in the instant before she lost all connection to the maelstrom she could see it was already too late. Buffy's attention had been drawn inexorably to the vortex, and Holtz had seized the advantage. Willow knew he couldn't possibly have the strength left to strangle Buffy, or even seriously injure her.
Holtz wasn't the danger now.
It was time that was the issue; time for Buffy to get far enough back to escape the pull of the fold Willow had opened in time itself. Ironically, it was a lack of the same that had prevented Willow from telling Buffy of the slayer's unique vulnerability to this spell. A spell cast to send Holtz back to the second in the flow of time when his molecules had escaped it.
What would it do to a body pulled forcibly back into the flow of time after it had left that dimension naturally?
* * * * *
The vortex spiraled outward with monstrous speed, and then swooped down just as fast, engulfing both the man and woman who struggled beneath it. There was a hideous wail - of man, of woman, perhaps of time itself - and then the vortex was gone, leaving only a brief shimmer in the air to mark that it had ever existed.
"Buffy!" Willow shrieked, running for the stairs.
* * * * *
To Be Continued