Chapter 8
Convergence
Sunnydale – May 9th
The Seventh Speaker of the Circle approached the abandoned mansion confidently. The looming façade frowned down on her like a broken, aged old giant. It seemed to gaze at her through broken windows half-boarded up, winking at her in malicious glee. The flickering shadows moving across its surface seemed to change its visage from moment to moment, like emotions cascading across a huge, vile bug collector examining its prized new butterfly.
The Seventh Speaker was unimpressed by the place. While the locals seemed to run past it in hidden dread of its inner evil, she knew it for what it was. It was a broken down old home that had played host to untold atrocities and housed a nest of vile demons. As such, it was simply a place, and its inhabitants were no threat to her.
She climbed the stairs without hesitation, looking up directly into the eyes that stared at her from the shadows. She knew where they were even if they stayed hidden. She wanted them to know that – to know that she possessed the power to annihilate them all with a flick of her wrist. She held the unseen gaze of the vampire in the shadows of the upper floor until it averted its eyes. She knew when that had happened, just as she knew many more things. She wielded great magic, and she was secure in its power.
She waited at the door without knocking. They would know that she was here; she would not debase herself by knocking and requesting entrance. They would invite her in; they would beg her to enter and speak to them. They knew that if they didn't, the penalty would be swift and final.
Just as she predicted, the door opened and a scrawny undead corpse dressed in a ragged sweater that smelled sharply of decay bowed low to her. He gestured her in, growling something she took to be an invitation, but came out more like a frightened squeak. She stepped into the musty hall of the once grand home.
The home had, indeed, been grand once. In the early days of Sunnydale, it had belonged to a prosperous merchant and his family. He had entertained here – friends, strangers, the elite of California. He had been well loved by all, except for his own son. His son had hated him.
The reasons were lost to history. Some would argue that old man was unapproachable, or too critical, or that he didn't hug his son enough. Others would argue that the boy had been born without a soul at all, which was probably closer to the truth. Such births were uncommon, but they happened; the results were usually both terrible and tragic. Whatever the cause, the boy allowed hatred and envy to smolder inside for years.
It was at that time in his life when he came to know about the darker side of Sunnydale and its inhabitants. In the terrible glory of the Hellmouth he had found the power and desire to destroy his father. He had also found many among Sunnydale's underside to help him.
No one quite knew what had happened that terrible night – the night he had called upon the darkest powers to grant him glory and vengeance. But the house had been abandoned ever since; the smell of blood never seemed to leave the air. Not even demolition crews had been able to complete the task of destroying it. And so it stood, empty and ancient and evil. It was a perfect home for demons.
The Seventh Speaker detected the odor of blood in one small compartment of her brain the same way as one might note that the sky is blue or the grass is green; it was a thought to be registered and quickly forgotten, for it had no real bearing on anything else that needed to be done. She walked through, noting the shrinking shadows of left over evil that crawled along the walls, just as one might see the passing foot traffic on the street. She was here to talk to the current residents, nothing more.
Entering the parlor, she found them lounged about on bits of flotsam – a moth eaten couch, a mildewed beanbag chair. They cowered at her as she stood before them, attempting to sink into the bits of furniture they inhabited. She smiled at them – a smile that only made them cower more.
"Good evening, worms," she said. "I have a change in your little job."
"Change?" they asked suspiciously.
"A simple one, really. I don't care about the girl any longer."
They hissed at this. One of them began to rise, but a small movement of her wrist was enough of a threat to send him scurrying back to his place.
"You can have any girl you want when the job is done – I'll make sure you have the power to simply charm them into your lovely home." She smiled ingratiatingly. She knew it was a lie, and she was sure that they knew it was a lie as well. But they had little choice but to obey her. "Instead, I want you to kill someone."
They seemed slightly more pleased with this turn of events. "Who?" they asked. "Yes, tell us who."
"Another vampire – one named Spike. Find him; kill him. Preferably while she's watching."
"We don't kill our own, not even for you," one said bravely. His eyes darted back and forth to his comrades, hoping they would stand with him should it come to a fight.
"Oh, but he'd kill you," she replied smoothly. "He calls the girl 'sweet-cheeks' and says that 'he'd do anything for her.' Oh, you'll kill him all right – not because I asked you to, but because he deserves to die."
With that pronouncement, she turned and left the house. The light of dawn was just touching the street as she exited. She had timed her visit to forestall any thought of pursuit they might have. She was quite pleased with herself.
She had recruited this band of vampires from Sacramento – close enough to be convenient but isolated enough to not have a good lay of the land here in Sunnydale. She had gone to their lair and slaughtered their master with the flick of her hand. A handful of spells later and they were bound to her, slaves to be disposed of as she saw fit. They were tools for her use.
Her original plan had been for them to attempt to kidnap Buffy. She had first considered having them try to kill the Slayer, but there was always an off chance that they might succeed at that through sheer dumb luck. Instead, she had prohibited them from killing her – a prohibition designed to ensure their own destruction. And if they had somehow succeeded in kidnapping her, she could always fall back on others to free the girl. She didn't want Buffy harmed, she wanted her to wonder who was behind a plot against her.
The discovery that she was friendly with Spike had put a crinkle in her plans. Any old vampire would not have been a problem, but this particular vampire was. She knew all about Spike, all about his potential. What she had not known was how close he was to the Slayer. Spike needed to be eliminated. Suddenly, she realized that she could kill two birds with one stone. Get rid of Spike, and the Slayer will wonder who was behind it. Spike's own words had proved to be exactly the force she needed to get willing cooperation from her slaves. Too bad she had to take his words out of context; it would have been a much bigger delight if he really did like the Slayer.
It was all going perfectly.
* * *
"Congressman, there's something you should see." The demon, Ray, held up a computer printout and waited for Congressman Greene to get off the phone. He stood patiently as the Congressman chatted through an issue with one of his donors, assuring him that he would do all he could and thanking the donor for his generous support. After a few moments of chatting, he hung up the phone and waved Ray in.
"What is it?" he asked, gesturing to the paper.
Ray handed over the printout. "You asked me to flag any requests that came in regarding The Initiative. I've managed to get most of the sources flagged, including the sub-committee database. Looks like we got a hit."
The Congressman looked over the paper. "Congressional aide, huh? Former CIA operative. What's the number trace here?"
"That's the only phone call he got that seemed out of the ordinary. It may be nothing, but I kinda figured that a call out of the blue from an odd place followed by a query on a secure database was somewhat suspicious."
The Congressman nodded slowly in agreement. "True enough. So, somebody made a call from a phone booth in Sunnydale. Simple, untraceable. What did the aide do?"
"Haven't figured that out that. Probably didn't call, though. Best guess would be an encrypted email from a public service. No hopes of tracing that." Ray shrugged.
"Okay, so what do we know about who's who in Sunnydale?" the congressman asked, tossing the paper back to Ray.
"Not nearly enough," Ray said. "Might I make a suggestion?"
"Shoot."
"Why don't we add Sunnydale to our tour itinerary. I'm set to announce a revised schedule tomorrow, anyway. We could add it to the list and then poke around while we're there."
"Won't that be tipping our hand a bit?" the congressman asked.
"Well, it is in the district," Ray said, rubbing his jaw. "Besides, it might upset their plans to know we're planning a visit."
The congressman thought for a long moment. "All right, add it. I've needed to check on things in Sunnydale for a while. I think the visit will be good for checking on both constituencies – demons and humans."
"You got it, boss," Ray said, walking out of the office.
* * *
Benjamin Cook knocked on the Major's door and waited to be beckoned inside. He glanced down at his handheld which contained the information he had requested from and old CIA buddy. The information about the demon Spike would be of interest to MacKenzie, which is exactly why he was bringing it to Sheffield first.
Sheffield waved Cook in, who handed him the small computer. Sheffield raised an eyebrow at the information, but made no other comment. He handed the computer back to Cook. "Ben, why did you ask for this?"
"MacKenzie's orders, sir. I thought that you should see it first, though."
Sheffield didn't respond to this. He simply thought for a moment and then nodded once. "Mr. Cook, while this information is interesting, Spike's threat status is none of our concern. I didn't ask because we don't need to know. Delete this information at once, and do not disclose it to anyone else. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Sir!" Cook responded.
"And Mr. Cook, if Captain MacKenzie has any more intelligence requests, please direct him to me. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Sir!" Cook responded once again. This time, though, he had to suppress a smile. He didn't like MacKenzie, and was rather overjoyed to know that he had gotten him in trouble with the Major.
"Dismissed," Sheffield said and watched Cook exit. The information was, indeed, interesting. The Americans had, supposedly, neutered the vampire and eliminated him as a threat. Sheffield, however, did not concur with their sentiment. Until this assignment, he hadn't believed in demons. Now he saw them for what they were – a threat to humanity in any form. Spike was fair game in his book.
* * *
After classes, Willow and Tara reported to the Magic Box as ordered. Madame LaFusce began immediately drilling them on spell basics. What is the primary use of belladonna? What is the Latin name of the two-faced god Janus? How does one harvest nightshade?
Had it been a written test, both girls would likely have done fine. However, Madame LaFusce insisted on oral responses. Willow was able to adapt adequately to this challenge, but poor Tara began to flounder immediately. In the best of circumstances, the painfully shy Tara stuttered. Under the iron gaze of Madame LaFusce, every mistake compounded upon itself making the situation worse and worse.
For her part, Willow was becoming increasingly angry. She didn't like the way Madame LaFusce was treating her love, and she was slowly losing control of her emotions. With each answer she gave Madame LaFusce, her tone become more and more defiant. With each edge of defiance, Madame LaFusce asked harder and harder questions. Giles, watching the proceedings, was sure it was going to erupt into violence.
Finally, though, the quizzing ended. Madame LaFusce scribbled a long sheaf of notes at the end, leaving the two young women standing there silently. When she was done, she looked up at them. "Barely acceptable," she said coarsely.
Willow was about to protest, but Tara placed a restraining hand on her arm. Madame LaFusce stood up abruptly and turned to Giles. "I hesitate to think what might have happened had they been tested any earlier than this. Had you any fewer brains, it would have been an unmitigated disaster." Giles, who had been about to offer some explanation, swallowed his words in shock.
"However," she continued, before anyone else could speak, "the Trial will be held tomorrow as planned. I have made arrangements at this address." She passed Giles a folded slip of paper. "Do try to be there on time." Abruptly, she turned and left.
Giles, Willow and Tara were left dumbfounded and openmouthed. "Who's idea was it to catch flies?" Buffy asked as she looked in on them. "I saw Madame LaFusce leave. Apparently she left you all monument-like."
Giles recovered first, shaking off his shock. "Yes, well. The good news is that the Trial will be held tomorrow as planned."
"And the bad news?"
"I'm not sure my nerves can take it." He left them, shaking his head and muttering to himself.
"Well, I guess tomorrow's the day," said Willow, little realizing that it had the potential to be the last day of her life.
