The Game by SLynn
Chapter 4: The Rules
It was already a quarter to four. In a few more hours it would be dark, Buffy had hoped to have found all the cards by now, but they were stumped.
'Only enemies speak the truth; friends and lovers lie endlessly, caught in the web of duty.'
They'd come up with dozens of possible locations for the next card, from City Hall for the reference to speaking and enemies, to the near by Army fort for the reference to duty; nothing seemed right.
"Okay, it's getting late, really late," Buffy said, clearly agitated "unless someone has anything new, and I mean anything, I'm just going to have to start driving around out there asking random strangers if they've seen anything odd."
"That might not be such a bad idea," Giles said, still gazing at the four cards laid out in order of acquisition on the table.
Startled that her idea had been agreed to, at first she didn't know what to say.
"Alright, I'll just get the keys and go I don't know where."
Before she could leave, Willow stood up.
"Oh!"
Buffy ran back to the table.
"Good oh or bad oh?" she asked, as they all stood staring at her.
"Good oh, I think."
"Well?" Anya asked.
"Couldn't it be the mansion?"
They all thought about it. Certainly they'd seen a lot of friends and enemies there.
Soon everyone was talking, giving their own opinion on the newest location linked to the quote. Willow and Tara on the pro mansion side, Anya and Giles on the con.
Buffy remained quiet. The mansion, why hadn't she thought of it.
'…friends and lovers lie endlessly, caught in the web of duty.'
It had to be, and she knew what it was talking about. Xander, Angelus and what could have been the end of the world.
"It is the mansion," she said, barely above a whisper, unconsciously nodding her agreement.
As her friends continued to argue, Buffy left. Before they knew she was gone, she was half to where she knew she'd find the next card.
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Twenty minutes after Buffy had left the shop, the others heard the familiarity of the front bell ringing.
"Buffy, we thought you'd call?" Willow said, rushing to the front of the shop.
It wasn't Buffy.
Willow's face immediately showed her dislike. It didn't matter, Constance was indifferent.
"What, no hello for an old friend?"
"What do you want?"
"I've come to see how the slayer's support staff is getting along."
By now the others had gathered toward the front of the store.
"She told you all about our nice little chat in the church, right?"
"What Buffy does and does not tell us is not your concern," Giles said, stepping up to stand a little in front of Willow, in case Constance became a threat.
"But it does. It's part of the game. She goes and gets the information, and then comes back and fills the rest of you in. It's part of the fun."
Only Giles and Willow stared back at her. Anya and Tara, still lingering, looked away.
"I thought you'd like to know in particular Anya," Constance said, casually gliding between the watcher and the witch to her, "he is your boyfriend."
Anya put on a face of defiance.
"If Buffy didn't tell us then I'm sure," a slight pause, and then again, "I know there's a good reason."
"Oh, and there was. Would you like to hear it?"
Anya looked first at Tara, and then back at Giles and Willow.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Constance said, shaking her finger, "no fair cheating and asking for help."
"No, I don't want to know," Anya said, her voice firm, but her eyes wavering.
"Perfectly understandable," she said after a moment as she turned and walked back toward the front of the shop, "I mean I wouldn't want to hear about the man I loved, in pain, and crying out another woman's name. But I guess Buffy had a good reason for not telling you that."
That was enough for her. Anya turned and ran to the back room in tears.
"We know what you are," Willow, enraged, practically yelled at the woman as she made it to the door. Willow didn't like Anya much, but that had been cruel, "who you are."
"You know who I am?" Constance laughed, "I told you who I am. But do you mean that I was a slayer? Please. Like I didn't know you'd find that out."
She shut the door and walked back to them. Her tone grew dark, as did her eyes.
"Buffy felt it from almost the moment we met. Xander too. They both recognized what was familiar about me, albeit on a subconscious level. You needed a book to tell you that? You're playing the game, but you don't fully know the rules yet, do you? I am not merely a slayer possessed by power, I'm beyond that. I am beyond anything you've ever dreamed of."
"If you're so powerful, how come you don't just take what you want? Why are you going through all of this if you only want her dead?" Willow asked, not willing to back down.
"I don't think this is the best approach." Giles half-whispered to her.
Unblinking, Willow waited for her answer.
"So, the slayer needs a witch to fight her battles for her? I thought that was a big no-no in the council's eyes. Certainly, when I was slaying, it wouldn't have been tolerated. Witches' were the very thing we fought against."
Willow clenched her teeth, but said nothing.
"That's right, we use to burn witches. We still should. It's the only way to properly cleanse their foul spirits."
Still nothing.
"Yes, Europe really knew how to throw a party. Once, sometimes twice a month, we'd light up a big, witch-burning bonfire."
"It's not going to work," Willow said slowly, almost to herself.
"Now, you want to know the real irony. Where I lived, it was the other way around. The witches were throwing the bonfire parties in the New World. Young, old, righteous, heathen, didn't matter as long as they weren't part of the coven."
"I don't believe you."
Constance smiled at her, happy to have finally hit a nerve.
"Oh, you don't have to believe me. I'm telling the truth. I lived it. They hung every watcher and slayer sent over. Except for me. But I evened the score."
It took three long strides for Constance to come face-to-face with her. She held her gaze for a moment and then turning to speak directly into her ear she whispered, "Are you angry with me? Don't you want to lash out? Hurt me? Come on witch, show your temper. Show your friends what you're really made of."
Willow, with visible effort, said nothing. But she held the woman's gaze.
"Impressive," she said, just loud enough for Willow to hear.
"You didn't answer my question," Willow said after a brief pause, "why don't you just take what you want."
"Because that's not in the rules."
Before Willow could blink or respond, the bell had rung Constance's exit.
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Buffy had called to let them know she had found the card, much where she thought it would be. Reception being bad, she hadn't said much else, other then she was on her way back.
Since Constance's departure, Tara had gone to console Anya, while Willow and Giles had nothing more to do then wait. Neither had felt much like talking, but Giles was doing some serious re-thinking of the situation. He dove back into the archive and it was much as he supposed. No, feared. There was no mention of a game of any sort within the file.
Of the council members killed eight of the twelve were present at her reappearance fifty to sixty years after her supposed death. The other four, it seems, she merely ran into over the course of the next three hundred years. She had recognized them as council members and killed them for it. No mention of stalking and terrorizing, just murder.
Two of the watchers death's happened much the same way. They were apparently not in charge of any slayers at the time. The two after that she killed also after simply coming across them; she also killed the slayers they worked with. The records do not note which was killed first, just merely that they were killed. Again, no stalking, terrorizing, or even delay, just murder. And if there was a delay, it was only long enough for the watcher to lead her to the slayer, or vise versa.
The last slayer she killed however was different. Her name was Genevieve. She was a slayer from Paris, France circa 1890. She had, like Buffy, garnered herself quite a reputation as a slayer. Demons, vampires and all sorts seemed to flock to her power, only to be cut down. This time it seems Constance didn't just happen upon her accidentally. It was as if she, like most things evil, sought her out. She tormented the girl almost continuously for over a year, killing her first watcher and then the next two the council sent. After the death of her third watcher, Genevieve hung herself. Although Constance hadn't actually killed the slayer, her death is still listed as having been caused by her. But still, the archive had no mention of any game she had played.
'She has to want more then just Buffy dead. Willow is right, it doesn't make sense to go through all of this trouble,' he thought.
Giles was pulled from his thoughts by Buffy's return.
"Okay, card number five is completely lost on me," she said, trying to sound positive, "but I stopped for dinner. I figure we need to keep up our strength, right?"
Willow half smiled at her, and then looked away, pain visible on her face.
"What happened?" Buffy said seriously.
"We've had company," was all Willow could manage, her eyes still turned down.
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She was back. The funny thing was that this time, he didn't really care. She was too late. He almost wanted to laugh. He held back though; even if he thought it was funny, she wouldn't. He might not care anymore, but that wasn't how he wanted it to happen. Xander still had enough sense about him to know not to provoke her.
'Not provoke her,' he thought, 'because I've done such a job keeping on her good side until know.'
That was it, he couldn't help it. He laughed. It came out more like a gargle, but he didn't have the energy for an all out belly laugh.
She was still just standing there, staring at him. He seemed oblivious to the fact that he was sitting in a still expanding pool of blood.
"Looks like I haven't been keeping up my end of the deal," she said, kneeling in front of him.
Xander could barely see her, although she couldn't have been more then a foot from his face. He was dying. Since she'd left the last time, he'd felt it. It was like a cold fog, creeping up around him. He had been afraid. He didn't want to die, nobody wanted to die. Soon though, as it became more and more a reality, he accepted it. What surprised him was that it didn't hurt, he just got colder and the world got fainter.
For the last half hour or so, he'd struggled just to stay awake. He had wanted to be awake as long as possible so that he could remember all of the good times he'd had with his friends; even that was becoming difficult. Xander wanted his last thoughts to be of them so that maybe they'd know and be a bit easier about it.
"Now I've done it," he said out loud, not really meaning to. His voice a hoarse whisper, having been strained repeatedly during the day.
Constance just smiled at him.
"No," she said running her hand down his face. He flinched, not from any pain, just a reflex. "I'm not going to hurt you. I need you alive."
He just stared back at her. His eyes were dim, but he was still holding on.
"I got back just in time," she said, "but you've lost a lot of blood. I should have fixed this before I left. I didn't realize you were such a bleeder."
She gently wrapped her hand around his forearm. He winced, slightly, in pain. It was the first he'd felt in hours. Slowly, his arm started to pull itself back together. Next she fixed his leg. That took longer, and by the time she'd finished, Xander had felt his head begin to clear, but he was still weak. After that she held a glass up to his mouth and demanded he drink. It tasted awful, but he was pretty sure she wouldn't fix him up just to poison him. The last thing she did was to drag him to the other side of the room and lay him down on the floor with a blanket. Then, without another word, she left.
He didn't know how long she'd been gone. He'd been sleeping heavily when the sound of the door slamming shut startled him awake.
"Comfy?" she asked, smiling down at him.
He didn't really know what he should say, so he said nothing. She set down a bucket next to his head.
"I want you to clean up this mess," she said, indicating what he could only guess was his blood on the floor across the room.
Xander didn't know what to think, so he did what he thought she wanted and reached out for the bucket. He was shocked when she kicked his hand away with her boot.
"I'm just kidding," she laughed, which frightened him more, "don't you know a joke when you hear one?"
Xander didn't move. She'd never "kidded" with him.
"Seriously though, stand up," her voice conveyed the fact that she was no longer kidding.
He did, as quickly as he could. His bones might have healed, but he was still sore.
"Turn around and take off your shirt."
Xander just stood still. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
"Is that a joke too?" Xander finally managed, the words barely coming out.
"No," she said coolly, "do it."
Xander tried hard to remain calm. He turned around and began to fumble with his shirt buttons. His hands had begun shaking, so it took him much longer then it should have.
'Oh God, please don't let this be happening,' was all he could think.
He held his shirt in his left hand, his right still felt weak from the twisting. He hadn't even got his arm fully extended before she snatched it from him. Although facing the wall, he could feel her staring at him. She gently placed her hand on the back of his neck causing him to shudder involuntarily.
"Xander," she leaned in, whispering in his ear, "are you afraid of me?"
He didn't answer her. He couldn't, he was terrified.
With a violent push, she pinned him to the wall.
"I asked you a question," she whispered again, this time her voice was colder, and she was still talking directly into his ear.
"Yes," he answered quietly.
"Good."
After what felt like hours, he heard her getting something from the bucket. The next thing he felt was cold water being applied to his skin. He was trying hard not to tremble, but having very little success.
"The slayer will be here soon. She can't see you like this?"
Her left hand slid from the back of his neck to his left shoulder; with a sponge in her right hand, she washed the blood from his arm and side. Every part of him was tense from the contact.
"So tell me," she said, her voice a little more like how he was use to hearing it, "are you and the slayer intimate?"
"No," he said, harsher and louder then it ever had been. Then he knew was smart.
"What's the matter, she doesn't want you?"
Xander kept quiet.
"I don't see why she wouldn't," she said. Without looking at her, he could tell she was wearing that same smug smile. "I gave up that sort of thing a long time ago, but you might just make me change my mind."
Xander still remained quiet. After a moment he heard her drop the sponge she'd been using into the bucket.
"Here," she said, tossing a clean shirt at his feet, "I'll be back later."
As he reached down to pick the shirt up, she stopped almost as an afterthought and turned back toward him.
"Have that cleaned up before I get back," she said, pointing to the blood stain across the room.