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I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it.
By Marcus L. Rowland
VII
So I go over to the Madison house with Dawn and the Slayer. For some reason Willow doesn't want to come, she and this Amy disagreed about something the last time they met, Anyanka has customers and can't leave the store, and Xander's sulking. Think he got the idea the girls were laughing at him, can't imagine why.
On the way over Dawn tells me about Amy Madison. Seems she's another witch, got Willow into a lot of trouble a few months ago. Willow doesn't want to have anything to do with her in case she gets tempted to turn her into a rat again.
"Again?"
"Again. Amy was a rat for nearly four years, she cast a spell and Willow couldn't undo it. Wasn't very grateful when Willow finally fixed it. She got Willow into stuff..." Dawn trailed off, and I guessed things had been bad. What was that about killing someone?
"So what's the plan?" I ask the Slayer.
"The plan is we ring the doorbell, see Mister Madison, and get the statuette if he still has it. If he hasn't my guess is that Amy has it, and is planning to use it. That or her mom's soul is controlling her again, she gave us a lot of grief a few weeks before we first met you."
"Good morning," says the Slayer, "Mister Madison, I don't know if you remember me?"
"Amy's friend? One of the ones that..."
"Dealt with your wife. Yes. This is my sister Dawn."
She doesn't introduce me, and I stay quiet until we know the score.
"It's been a long while, but I wouldn't forget you. You saved Amy, saved both of us."
"Is Amy around?"
"She's living in college. Why, is something wrong?"
"We're not sure. We're trying to trace something from the old Sunnydale High; the cheerleading trophy that was awarded to your wife."
"That thing? Hasn't cheerleading caused enough problems already?"
"We think that some of her magic may be trapped inside it."
"Oh..."
"The police record says it was recovered with some stolen property and returned to you a couple of months ago."
"Yes.. just trying to think what I did with the damn thing. Should have known it'd be trouble."
"Does Amy have it?"
"No, I don't think so; she was off with her friends when the police called, and I didn't think it was a good idea to mention it to her. It's somewhere in the basement, I think, I put a load of junk down there after Amy went back to college, things she didn't want any more, I have an idea that I put it in one of the boxes. Sooner or later I ought to take it all to the Goodwill shop."
"Would you mind if we took a look?"
"Sure. And if there's anything else you'd like just ask me."
"Kinda creepy down here," I say.
"Shut up, Sid," says Dawn, sifting through one of the boxes.
"Could be anything. Spiders, maybe even rats."
"Amy's in college," says the Slayer, then "Hey! Sweet Valley High books. Dawn, you want?"
"Kinda old for that now," says Dawn. "Any Anne Rice? Or a first edition Harry Potter would be nice, we could sell it on eBay and solve most of our money problems."
"You're spending way too much time with Anya," says the Slayer. "If we find anything like that we tell mister Madison, it's his stuff. After that marriage and that kid he deserves a bit of luck."
"I guess. What was she really like?"
"Catherine? You never met her, did you? Controlling and manipulative, and she pretty much took over Amy's life..."
"Who could that remind me of?" mutters Dawn, and the Slayer pretends not to have heard.
Eventually they find the trophy, behind a stack of boxes. It's standing on its own in a chalk circle with some odd symbols around it, and seems to be glowing slightly.
"I don't like the look of this," says Buffy, and reaches for her cell-phone. Dawn looks at it, and seems to zone out, like her mind is somewhere else, and starts to walk towards the circle. "Hey, Slayer," I shout, slapping Dawn's face, "give me a hand here."
She helps me haul Dawn away, and she seems to recover once she's out of sight of the trophy. "Looks like Amy's Evil Mom is home," says the Slayer.
I see something move behind them and shout "So's evil dad! Duck!" Good thing that Slayers have good reflexes - she pushes Dawn down, and the shovel he's swinging goes past above their heads.
It's a long time since I've seen a Slayer fight, and as always it's a thing of beauty. For about five seconds. She ducks under the next swing, grabs his arm and twists so that the shovel ends up stuck into a wooden beam, then slugs him so hard his false teeth fall out. He's out cold, and she catches him before he hits his head on the wall or the floor.
"Now that's gross," says the Slayer, looking at the teeth. "Should have realised that there was something off there, he recognised me before I said who I was, and I never really met the guy. That was his body, but Catherine was in the driver's seat."
"What do we do now?" asks Dawn.
"Get the hell out of here, take him with us, and call for backup. Willow ought to be able to deal with this without getting possessed, I'd much rather leave it to someone who knows what she's doing."
"Are you sure Willow can handle this?" asks Dawn.
"I'm pretty sure she'll know if she can't. Worse comes to worse, we get Xander to bury it deep, plenty of concrete being poured around Sunnydale. Sid, well done on spotting what Catherine was up to, and for warning us just now. I'll take back all the pencil sharpener jokes."
"No problem, toots, cos' what I've got for you is bigger than a pencil."
"Dawn, what did we do with the circular saw?"
"Okay," I say, "point taken. Jeez, what happened to your sense of humour lately?"
"Seven years of slaying."
Xander drives Willow over about tweny minutes later, meanwhile we've been sitting in the car with Amy's dad, who seems to be more or less back to normal apart from the bruises. He's mumbling a little because he doesn't currently have any teeth, Buffy left them in the basement when we bailed, and it's just as well because that guy can swear really imaginatively when he puts his mind to it. Hopefully Dawn isn't taking it all in, but I wouldn't place bets. I think that I'm freaking him out more than the possession did, but once he's convinced that it isn't the witch controlling me he calms down.
Willow and Buffy go in, wearing a couple of protective amulets apiece, and come out a few minutes later with the trophy wrapped in a cloth with little silver star and planet symbols on it.
"What's that," I ask, "some sort of astrological mojo?"
"Don't be silly," says Willow, "it's a Harry Potter junior wizard cloak from the stock Anya keeps for the kiddies. Think I'm going to take something valuable down into all that dust? The charm's in this thing's eyes, if you can't see them it can't possess you."
"What do we do with it now?" asks Buffy.
"I think Xander can help with that. You've got welding equipment at your site, haven't you?"
"Sure," says Xander. "Gonna melt it? What'll happen to her soul?"
"We have to contain the soul while you melt the statue, confine it and drain her mojo. There's no way I can bring her back, but maybe we can send her on to wherever her soul ought to be going."
"Sounds good to me. I'll drop you guys at the shop, come back with the gear. Do you have something to melt it on, a fireproof mat or whatever?"
"Damn, didn't think of that."
"No problemo, I'll bring a concrete paving slab, that ought to do."
An hour or so later Willow has the statue ready in the back room of the shop; she's covered the head with a little steel cup, and it's standing on the concrete slab. Around it is a pentagram made out of glass tubes, each about eighteen inches long, with a lot of complicated wiring connecting them, linked to a big battery and a wooden box full of electrical machinery, which is well away from the rest of the equipment. It's an antique, about a hundred years old, but when Willow presses some switches the box hums and vibrates then the tubes start to glow blue. She backs off quickly, and as instructed we all stay well clear.
"Wow!" says Dawn, "Retro much? Where'd you get the weird science show?"
Willow smiles. "Carnacki mark five electric pentacle, made in Britain around nineteen-ten. He was a psychic detective, didn't have much magical power of his own so he built gadgets that boosted them. This baby, or one like it, kept out some major demons. Ought to keep Catherine in pretty well."
"Don't break it," says Anya nervously, "that's a collector's item and they don't make the tubes any more."
"Oh yeah," says Willow, "that reminds me. Wear these gloves and this apron while you're working, Xander, and keep your welding goggles on at all times."
Willow gives him a heavy apron, and the biggest and thickest gloves I've ever seen outside a catcher's mitt.
"What's this for, Will, keep the magic from hurting me?"
"Not really. Those are really old tubes, Xander, and I'm pretty sure that they're giving off low-level X-rays as well as hard ultraviolet. Carnacki died of cancer. There's lead in the apron and the gloves, ought to keep you safe."
Everyone backs away some more, and Xander tapes the welding torch to a length of pipe, so that he doesn't have to get too close. Then he lights up and sets to work.
"Start at the head and work your way down," says Willow, "it's hollow, ought to melt pretty quickly."
"No problemo."
I'll say this for him, he handles a welding torch well, and when all's said and done what goes wrong isn't actually his fault. About three minutes after he starts the head starts to sag back; before he can change the position of the torch the neck comes apart and the head falls off, still in its little cup, and bounces off to one side. The cup stops, but the head rolls clear and bounces into one of the tubes, breaking it. There's a bang, and the pentacle stops glowing.
A glowing ball of light about the size of an egg floats up from the head, and we can hear it laughing as it flies off through one of the windows, with a little voice shouting "I will have my revenge! Revenge!"
"Oh boy," says Xander. "Thing about evil witches, they always have to have the last word."
"Let's hope it is the last," says the Slayer. "I've got a nasty feeling she doesn't think so."
"I think you can be sure it isn't," I say, "because I'm still here, and if the mission was over I think I'd be heading back upstairs."
To Be Continued