At long last: Chapter 20. If you've been keeping up with my usual flow, you're going to be amazed at the plottyness in here. All sorts of stuff happens. And you'd better believe there's a good, oh, 15-20 chapters left in this story yet. Hope you stick around, and check out updates.
Speaking of updates, my other serial, "Of Blondes that Bite and Stab" has gotten a couple, and I've posted a couple new shorties.
Have fun.
~Star Mouse
@ @ @
Let us think, for a minute, on what a Watcher does, and what a Watcher is.
Watchers, good Watchers, read, write, puzzle, think, mull over, cogitate, theorize, conclude, and solve problems.
They are lovers of knowledge, in the slightly more amourous sense of the word. But at their core, they are fighters. They are the ones that preach about honour and really believe in what they're saying, but when it comes to protecting their young and their Slayer, they claw and bite and scratch and throw dirt and pull pipes out of the walls about beat evil about the head as the water sprays wildly about them. And for decorous people, they seem to always know exactly what to say to get in a hit below the belt.
They are animals, and they are fighters, but knowledge is their home.
And all animals seek home when they are afraid.
Giles and Marion both dived into Researchland with animalistic fervor, not really knowing what else to do, not really wanting to feel as helpless as they did. There had to be something, they both knew. There couldn't not be an answer. The books always held the answer.
And, yes. They were right. The answer was in the books.
Either one of them could have found it. They conducted separate quests, Marion of her library recently shipped from England, and Giles of his books at home and the Magic Box. But they both had the same book.
It was just chance that Giles read through his at 3am, and completely missed the implications of what he was reading.
Marion, who did her reading at a more reasonable hour, stopped breathing for a good minute, until the page started getting fuzzy.
@ @ @
Whump! "Urgh..." Poof!
Birdie nodded. "Nice. He never knew what hit him."
Dawn nodded. "Probably not." She paused. "Was he speaking Chinese?"
Birdie nodded. "Yeah, probably a tourist that got turned, or something. Who knows."
Dawn checked her watch. She had to get back to researching. "Do you think we can pack it up a little early tonight? I mean, I know we're the world's only defense against oblivion right now, but it's a school night..."
"Absolutely. Where'd we leave the duffel?"
@ @ @
Back at the Magic Box, again, Giles scanned shelves for things he may have missed before. And his gaze rested on the counter by the cash register. Odd.
There was a book lying open that he didn't remember reading.
He stumbled over, a bit impeded by the boxes of priceless ancient Spanish relics, Madrid fashions and novelty sombreros Anya had been sending back.
He squinted at the open page, and automatically translated the Latin. His eyebrows shot up on the fifth word, and stayed up for the rest of the paragraph.
"My word."
He snatched the slim book up from the counter and started reading aloud as he got more excited, bringing the text over to the lamp.
"...And one among their number shall fall standing, and they shall mass, and those who fight alone in dark shall fight together, for an army of the dead shall require the work of but six: The Vampire with the Soul, The Demon with the Soul, The Slayer, The Slayer. . .The Slayer. . . . and The ...Slayer."
He looked up at nothing, and then stuck a finger in the page, flipping back to the cover to see what the hell he was reading, and why he hadn't seen this before.
He would have laughed, if it wasn't so horribly ironic.
This was that drunken sod Grlarnkmkun's useless book.
His brow knit as he processed more of the prophesy.
"Army?"
"Rupes? Where the hell are you?"
Giles winced at the volume. "Spike, I'm right here."
"Oh, well then." The vampire stalked up through the basement access, brushing dust off his duster. He glared at the Watcher almost accusitorily.
"I've just been through the sewers, boyo, and you know what's down there?"
Giles shook his head. "I dare not hazard a guess."
"Germans. Mexicans. Puerto Ricans. Chinese. Phillipines. Turks. Brits. Canadians, man! We're overrun, and it's damn well not because of any open door policy I know about."
Giles spoke quietly staring past Spike into the distance. "No. They're massing. The army is massing."
Spike furrowed his brow. "Massing? What army?"
Giles turned away, waving the book over his shoulder. "This was forseen. There's a-a demon army, being gathered. !Oh, bloody hell, the Spaniards."
"Don't like Spaniards?"
"This is what Anya and Xander were talking about. Let's see..." Giles wanted his globe. It was comforting. "It'll take a month or so for them to get here, especially if they forgoe land travel for the Panama Canal... Anya and Xander saw the greater vampire population of Madrid board a vessel bound for the Hellmouth."
Spike bit his lip. "Rupes."
"Mm?"
"Who's army are they?"
@ @ @
"Miss Rosenberg?"
Willow's head shot up. "Yes."
She was sitting in a horrible green chair in a line of other horrible green chairs, and it was killing her but she couldn't bring herself to stand. The slightly overweight, bob~haired nurse smiled like a person that smiles all day because that's what she has to do to get through it.
"You said you wanted to be informed if there was any news..."
"Yes! What? What's happening?"
The nuse came closer, kneeling in front of Willow, still seated, and looking up at her. "The doctor wanted me to ask you... Now please don't take offense, we need to know-- Has Miss Summers been taking any steroids, or performance-enhancing drugs?"
Willow scrunched her eyebrows. "What? No."
"It's just, she's reacting oddly to the treatments, and drug use might expl--"
"Oddly? How oddly?"
"Well! She's been reacting well! There's no problem, at the moment. But she's healing much more swiftly than she . . . Well, than she has any right to be. Her bones are nearly knit, and it's only been a few weeks. We took her off the ventilator about an hour ago. I'd call it a miracle, if I didn't suspect something more. . . Chemical."
"No," Willow shook her head, a bit dazed. "No chemicals. Chemicals bad. Very very ...bad.Can I see her?"
"She's not awake. There's no point."
"She's still-- Will she wake up?"
The nurse swallowed. "We don't know. She hasn't shone any signs of coming out of it. We're keeping her on the IV, so she won't die, but we won't be able to measure the potential damage to her brain until she wakes."
Willow nodded, biting her lip as the tears came.
"Can I see her? Please?"
@ @ @
You know that stage when you're almost sure you have the answer, but not quite sure enough to risk getting anyone's hopes up? Like in math bingo, and you think you have a line, but you keep rechecking all the problems way past the point of sanity just to make sure their right?
Marion had reached that stage.
She needed to tell somebody, before she burst. But who? Spike wasn't really talking to anyone, going off and doing secretive vampire things on his own. Willow was way too high~strung right now as it was, and besides, she was at the hospital right now. And Giles. . . Ahem. A little portion of her was screaming My discovery! Mineminemine! The evil professor will not take the credit!
So she compromised, and actually did a rather stupid thing.
She confided her findings to Dawn.
The brunette was shaken by everything that had happened, yes, but was, Marion felt, quite nearly sane, and if she understood this garble, Dawn was the only one that really needed to know anyway. . .
"Trapped?"
"Yes. Inside her brain, or her soul, or whatever makes her tick. The demon pushed her down so it could manifest itself, and she got so weak, pushed down so far... She can't get out." Marion frowned. "I think."
Dawn creased her brow. "So that's it? She can't wake up, the end? That
can't be it. You wouldn't be telling me all this if there wasn't something I
could do, right? That can't be it!"
"No, that's not it. She can't free herself, but her body is healing. When
her body wakes, it will be the demon that stands it up. Not your sister."
"So you want me to be prepared to fight her."
"...no. I--. I want you to fight for her. I think there may be a way to bring her back."
Dawn raised her eyebrows. Go on, you stupid british twit. Marion ran a hand through her fluffy red~lighted hair.
"I found, in a book. .It's an account of someone stricken by a demon. Her daughter ...it's called mind~diving... She rescued her mother from the mental prison in which she'd been trapped by going in after her."
"A daughter?"
Marion nodded, and let her meaning sink in. "Someone of her blood, close to her and like her. According to the Watcher who observed it all, they would have to be very alike for the procedure to take at all."
Dawn shook her head. "You think I'm like Buffy?"
"From what I've been told, Dawn, you are Buffy. Made of her blood. You two were similar enough for her to take your place in death. Maybe that will work again."
The teenager stared at the wall for a second.
"Then I guess I should return the favor, huh?"
@ @ @
Birdy momentarily mistook the ringing phone for the microwave. She realized her mistake halfway to the unit, popcorn bowl in hand.
Odd. It was nearly midnight. Who could possibly be calling?
With good news, anyway.
"Hello?"
There was a sigh on the other line, then warm tones in an ancient tongue.
"Katherine. So it's really you there. You're safe."
The Slayer's heart beat a bit faster as she recognised the voice.
"Sanna!"
"Yes, little bird. It's that old man again. And you've become a Slayer! My my my."
"Pretty much what I was doing before, just different town. Is everything alright? The Jackels haven't--"
"No, they haven't. No, little birdie, I'm calling for you."
"Me?"
"There's a movement, Katherine. Vampires from all round here are gathering their things and heading directly towards you."
"Here? But," she narrowed her eyes. "Why now? It can't be just the Hellmouth. Are stars aligning or something?"
She could see the old man shake his head, white hair drifting about slower than the skull, like a cloud around his head.
"No, bird. Someone is calling them, and you had best be ware."
"I-- I will. Sanna, do you know anything else?" she asked, well aware of the phone bill that must be racking up during his long silences.
"I do not. But we will scour the books to find some further clue."
"Thank you, Sanna."
"Nothing, my bird."
She bit her lip. "...I miss you."
"And we miss you as well, Katherine McGregor."
There was a click and then a moment of silence before the phone went to hum.
The microwave beeped.
@ @ @
Boots crunch on glass, and kick rubble out of the way. The boots are followed into the torchlight by a dark grey pinstripe suit, and two pocketed hands, and a face, still partially shrouded in shadow. As minions mill around what is left of the Master's cave, the suit speaks.
"This is it? This is the invincible fortress you idiots were on about?"
The closest, and therefore currently most elevated minion seeks to respond.
"It, ah, it served the Master well, ...master."
"I don't believe it will serve me, however. Too small. Too dark." a nose not wrinkles, but ridges, "Too rank."
The vampire steps fully into the torchlight, and his face takes your breath away. No. It's not his face. It's ...his mouth. His eyes. The way he surveys everything like it's his and about to die. And disgusting.
"This place is disgusting." A half sigh. "But we need somewhere to hide the troops while they assemble. The local demons are starting to get suspicious already. Tell the others that this is home sweet home for a while, until we can locate ...more spacious accomadations."
"...and...you, Sire?"
"I will be lodging at the Sunnydale Buntil further notice."
@ @ @
Please review. You have no Idea how nice it is to know people are actually readinghtis thing. Well, unless you are also an author. Now that I think about it, most of you probably are, so . . . You know how good it feels. Let me in on the happy.
But only if you actually liked it, or have a suggestion.
Great. Now I'm gonna beat myself about the head for every review I don't get, 'cause if I hadn't said that, you would have reviewed and said something noncommital like 'good story. Keep updating' and we'd be done with it. Now it's like 'Gee, do I really like Star Mouse's story so much that I'd waste three seconds of my valuble time telling her so, after spending ten minutes reading her crap? I just don't know...'
Or maybe you're thinking, "What the hell is Star Mouse talking about? These AN's suck. What a crappy writer. I bet she babbles even more in person. I hope I never have the misfortune to meet her."
Okay, I'm really going to shut up now, before I accidently poke myself in the eye with a big stick.
~Star Mouse