Chapter Eight
As a little girl in Texas, Fred had always liked the game of hide-and-seek. When playing it as a child, she had always won, always stayed silent the longest, always found the best places to hide. Although the other children teased her about her gangly, thin limbs and tiny frame, they had to admit that Fred was the undisputed champion of hide-and-seek. She was the best.
Fred's love of the game had been slightly diminished in Pylea, where the penalty for being caught was death. She had gotten better at hiding, but the thrill had disappeared and been replaced by terror. However, Pylea had seemed so much like a dream that Fred had treated it a little like a game, never knowing when it was over, never giving herself up, but always thinking: just a bit longer, just a few more hiding spots, and then it'll all be over and I'll win. Life had become one everlasting game.
Two years ago, when Wesley had been infected by Billy, Fred had lost her passion for hide-and-seek once and for all. Being chased through an empty hotel—the ultimate place for hide-and-seek—by a madman with an axe was enough to cause Fred to hate the game.
Still, she had good memories from childhood.
The best place for hide-and-seek, Fred remembered, was at her friend Annie's house. The old farmhouse had once been a plantation home, and the basement was enormous; it twisted and turned beneath the ground for what seemed like miles, to the eyes of an eight-year-old child. Annie's parents had finished the basement with cupboards and rooms and beds and tables, and there was no limit to the places where a kid could hide. Fred recalled the dinner parties, playing in the black dark of the basement with the other children while the grown-ups were upstairs. There was something thrilling about hiding, curling up as small as she could, holding her breath when the seeker came close, the fear of being caught and the adrenaline rush that came with it all.
Now, being stalked by Illyria through her own soul's house, was nothing like that. There was nothing thrilling about this game.
This was sheer terror pounding through Fred's veins. This was knowing that there was nowhere to hide. This was the ultimate game, and the price for being caught was the loss of all hope, and the loss of her soul forever. The biggest price of all. Even with Billy, Fred had had some shred of hope that the infection would wear off; this was the final game, and this would only end when someone died.
Fred tried to breathe as silently as she could, knowing that it was useless to hide. Illyria was playing with Fred for her own amusement, hunting her prey before killing it.
Tracking Fred like she was an animal.
Fred felt anger begin to mix with the fear in her heart. She survived for five years in a place where she was nothing better than a cow; why was she allowing Illyria to win so quickly this time?
Because Illyria can kill me by just thinking about it, Fred answered herself. Because I really have no chance.
Something stupid rose in her heart, something that wanted to be heroic and courageous. It was like a thorn in Fred's brain, itching.
Why don't you try?
Stop it, Fred told herself. No. There's no chance for me. I can't beat Illyria; she's so powerful. I wouldn't last five minutes.
You don't know that. Wesley said you had to kill her.
I know that! I don't know how!
Try.
Fred looked around. She was in the living room, crouching behind a couch. Fred realized that she had only been here once, when she had been exploring. And she had seen that sword on the wall.
Fred crept up to the mantle and pulled the scabbard from its holder on the wall, unsheathing the blade as quietly as she could. Fred had seen Wesley battle many times with a sword, and knew a little about swordplay, but she wasn't very good at fencing. Not like Wes was.
If only I had his help, Fred thought.
" Do you really think you can fight back?"
Fred turned around to see Illyria standing behind her. She gripped the sword.
" I'm going to try, Illyria," Fred replied, forcing all shakiness from her voice. " I'm going to try."
In the next moment, Fred found herself staring at the ground, reeling from Illyria's punch.
" Stupid Fred," Illyria said softly. Fred jumped onto her feet just in time to parry a blow from the sword of blue flames. " Your kind never did have any sense. Always so weak…I still can't believe that you rule this world."
Fred swept her hair away from her face and got ready to defend herself again. " Yeah, well," she replied. " I find that some of them are pretty weak, myself…but you've forgotten one thing."
Illyria looked smug as they circled one another. " Really?"
" Yes," Fred said. " We also have heart. And that counters weakness any day of the week."
The next she knew, Illyria had charged her again, and the battle began.
.
Wake up, Wesley.
No, he said stubbornly, covering his eyes with his arm against the white light of his soul's house, trying to block out the mysterious voice that was forcing him back to consciousness. I don't want to.
Winifred needs you, Wesley. She needs your help; you must wake up.
No! I can't help her! Wes cried. Even though the yell echoed in the stark white emptiness, Wes didn't feel his lips move.
You can. You must. Her fate—and yours, as well—depends on this. Wake up now. Winifred needs your help. Awake now, Wesley.
.
Wes' eyes snapped open, and he inhaled with a gasp, the air sharp in his lungs. He was still lying on the carpet of Fred's bedroom, and Illyria's body lay nearby.
Wes slowly crawled over to the body, watching it carefully. Illyria's eyes were closed, and every so often she twitched a little. Her hair was changing colour, alternately brown and blue.
Oh no, Wes realized. She's gone inside herself to kill Fred. They're fighting right at this moment.
Oh, Fred…I can't help you. You're too far away.
Fred's voice came back to him, delved from the recesses of memory to surface on his skin like a song. Four words that he was not aware he had received.
All is not lost.
All is not lost.
It gave him some hope.
Then, as Wesley was sitting up, he had an idea.
It stood to reason that if Fred could go inside Wesley's soul, then Wes could go into Fred's. He knew that Fred had risked destroying her soul's house to go to him, but she was largely imprisoned by the Kei-An Box. Wesley would not have that trouble.
Wes sat back. Fred had the key to the inner workings of the Kei-An Box; she could unlock the door once she had killed Illyria. Wesley's job lay in destroying the Box itself with the Eye of Animus once Fred had sprung the lock from the inside. They needed to work together, unlocking and destroying the Box at almost exactly the same time.
Wes crawled over to his jacket and pulled out the Eye of Animus, placing it on the back of his left hand and feeling the vines of gold curl themselves around his hand. Then, Wesley took a deep breath and placed his right hand on Illyria's chest, where her heart would be (was, he reminded himself, because Fred's heart was there), closed his eyes, and called to her without words.
Fred? Fred, where are you? I'm trying to find you, Fred.
He heard the answer, strained and paused. Wesley…Wesley, I need your help.
Then Wes felt a distinct tug behind his heart, and he fell out of the world and into Fred's soul.
.
Fred and Illyria moved together through the halls of the house, dueling, their swords clashing. Fred was usually able to block the demon's strikes, but she already had one cut on her shoulder and another deep scratch on her stomach; blood was steadily discolouring her shirt. Fred knew that she was unfairly matched; she was beginning to breathe heavily with the effort, but Illyria hadn't broken a sweat—nor would she, Fred guessed, for a long while. The blue demon was enjoying the fight, enjoying playing with Fred, and her eyes were burning like twin blue fires.
Lost for a split second in her thoughts, Fred missed Illyria's attack and immediately felt pain sear across her collarbone, above her heartbeat. Gasping, Fred managed to keep a hold on her sword as she pressed her other hand to the wound, feeling blood seep through the thin fabric of her T-shirt and begin to soak her breasts. Her fingers were sticky and coated with blood when she pulled them away.
Illyria smiled. " You cannot win, Fred. Stop trying."
Fred wiped her hand on her jeans and met Illyria's eyes. " I have to," she replied, watching the demon carefully. " I have to try, because Wesley needs to know that I love him, and the only way to tell him is the kill you and get my body back."
Illyria lunged quickly, and Fred knocked her sword down and away. " You are so weak," the demon said.
" You keep saying that," Fred answered, blocking two successive strikes and trying for an attack at Illyria's midsection, which was barred. " But I'm still here."
Illyria glared. " That will change very soon."
Fred stopped suddenly, bringing her sword down by her side and meeting her opponent's eyes. " You love him," she whispered, shocked with realization.
Illyria froze. " You assume that I have emotions."
Fred shook her head. " Illyria, you love him. That is why you won't let me have this body back. You can't stand the thought of Wesley being mine."
Illyria's anger suddenly flared in her eyes, and Fred barely had time to block the onslaught of attacks from Illyria's sword. She felt her blade suddenly ripped from her hand, and heard it skitter away across the woodwork. Illyria's hand came up to Fred's neck and tightened, lifting Fred off the floor.
" I told you that you're weak," Illyria whispered menacingly. " And now you will pay for your mistake."
.
The first thing that Wesley noticed was the rumbling.
The floor of the farmhouse's living room was visibly shaking beneath his feet, and for a second Wesley wondered if Los Angeles was experiencing an earthquake at that moment. However, then Wes noticed the cracks in the walls and floors and objects, cracks that appeared out of nowhere and seemed to be full of white light. The house was falling apart, literally dissolving because of Illyria's presence. Fred's soul was dying.
Looking up, Wes stifled back a gasp of horror as he saw Illyria holding a blood-soaked Fred off the floor by her neck, choking her.
Overcome by shock and rage, Wesley conjured a fire spell before he even thought about it. Charging towards the two women, he threw the fireball at Illyria as fiercely as he could. Illyria was knocked backwards by the force of the hit; she dropped Fred and staggered back. Fred scrambled for her sword as she tried to regain the oxygen she had lost, coughing raggedly as she gasped for air.
Wesley ran for Fred's crumpled form, falling to his knees and sliding across the floor to her. Throwing his arms around her, Wes brought his lips to Fred's ear, adrenaline pounding through his veins.
" The house is going to collapse," he murmured. " You have to force the energy outwards, out of your body, or else it will kill you. Force it out; don't let it get to you, no matter what she does."
Fred nodded; however, before she could respond, Illyria's spell hit Wesley with a force that sent him flying across the room. He hit the opposite wall and landed in a heap on the floor; the wall crumbled slowly and then fell, showering Wes with plaster and causing Fred to scream.
" What did you do to him?" she cried at Illyria, struggling to her feet. The ancient goddess shrugged.
" This is our fight. He is not to interfere."
Fred's anger overcame her and she charged at Illyria, brandishing her sword. Fred actually hit her, slashing Illyria's stomach before the demon blocked her and forced Fred up against the wall, their swords crossing.
Fred was breathing heavily. " Not so weak anymore, am I?" she asked softly. " You won't kill me yet."
Illyria tilted her head. " No," she replied, and looked upwards, transforming herself. Suddenly Fred found herself staring in disbelief at her look-alike, bloodstains and all. Illyria-Fred smiled chillingly. " No, Fred. I won't kill you; Wesley will."