TWENTY-SIX
* * *
Four of them.
Walking.
They were close now. It was night, the world a darkness that was more than simply an absence of light. It was a darkness that was itself palpable, real, physical. It was a darkness that you could feel, that even after all their battles in darkness, against things of darkness, still made them uneasy.
Even Spike, though he would not say it.
They were close now.
They had tracked the black van by magic, and by the impressions of its wheels in the mud. Tracked it here, along this small road that wound out of Sunnydale, away from the lights of town. Tracking the three stooges, though no one was calling them that now.
Close.
"I feel them," Tara said quietly. "I can feel her too. She's afraid."
"Where?" asked Buffy.
"Ahead."
There was light ahead, up there. You could just see it now in the gloom. Light and motion among the tall trees.
"All right," Buffy said. "You all know what you have to do?"
They nodded.
It was a simple plan. Buffy and Spike were the heavies. Even though none of the three men they expected to face were a match for them in a fight, the rescuers were in no mood to compromise, and they knew their enemy might have surprises. Buffy and Spike would go in, neutralize them, and Xander and Tara would find and release Willow. Simple as that.
If Warren or Jonathan or Andrew got in the way, you take them down. It doesn't matter how or whether or not they ever get up again. Understand?
That was the plan.
It was still quiet in the woods. They split up, and Buffy and Spike moved off toward the light.
#
The van was there, the black van that had stalked them, that was filled with who knew what. It was parked and locked up; a glance through the windows showed that it was empty.
Spike looked at Buffy, wordlessly slipped a stiletto from his boot, expertly punctured all four tires, poke poke poke poke. The escaping air hissed as they moved again in the direction of the light.
Motion there. The light grew.
Figures.
In a circle.
Four figures.
Buffy saw them and recognized them.
Warren, standing perfectly still, holding a large candle. Jonathan opposite him, holding one likewise. Andrew at a third point, robed, raising his hands to the heavens.
And between them, Willow.
#
She was bound, hand and foot, hog-tied. There was wax on her, dripping from the candles. Her mouth was open, and as Andrew spoke she whimpered in fear, tried and failed to struggle against her bonds.
Buffy saw as a drop of wax fell from Warren's candle and hit her cheek.
And then the slayer was charging forward.
* * *
Four of them.
Walking.
They were close now. It was night, the world a darkness that was more than simply an absence of light. It was a darkness that was itself palpable, real, physical. It was a darkness that you could feel, that even after all their battles in darkness, against things of darkness, still made them uneasy.
Even Spike, though he would not say it.
They were close now.
They had tracked the black van by magic, and by the impressions of its wheels in the mud. Tracked it here, along this small road that wound out of Sunnydale, away from the lights of town. Tracking the three stooges, though no one was calling them that now.
Close.
"I feel them," Tara said quietly. "I can feel her too. She's afraid."
"Where?" asked Buffy.
"Ahead."
There was light ahead, up there. You could just see it now in the gloom. Light and motion among the tall trees.
"All right," Buffy said. "You all know what you have to do?"
They nodded.
It was a simple plan. Buffy and Spike were the heavies. Even though none of the three men they expected to face were a match for them in a fight, the rescuers were in no mood to compromise, and they knew their enemy might have surprises. Buffy and Spike would go in, neutralize them, and Xander and Tara would find and release Willow. Simple as that.
If Warren or Jonathan or Andrew got in the way, you take them down. It doesn't matter how or whether or not they ever get up again. Understand?
That was the plan.
It was still quiet in the woods. They split up, and Buffy and Spike moved off toward the light.
#
The van was there, the black van that had stalked them, that was filled with who knew what. It was parked and locked up; a glance through the windows showed that it was empty.
Spike looked at Buffy, wordlessly slipped a stiletto from his boot, expertly punctured all four tires, poke poke poke poke. The escaping air hissed as they moved again in the direction of the light.
Motion there. The light grew.
Figures.
In a circle.
Four figures.
Buffy saw them and recognized them.
Warren, standing perfectly still, holding a large candle. Jonathan opposite him, holding one likewise. Andrew at a third point, robed, raising his hands to the heavens.
And between them, Willow.
#
She was bound, hand and foot, hog-tied. There was wax on her, dripping from the candles. Her mouth was open, and as Andrew spoke she whimpered in fear, tried and failed to struggle against her bonds.
Buffy saw as a drop of wax fell from Warren's candle and hit her cheek.
And then the slayer was charging forward.
