Chapter 5: Revelations
Author's thanks at end
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'There are three sides to every story:
Yours,
Mine,
And the truth.'
- Chinese saying
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
A short stairway lead from the cobbled street to the tiny front-porch of the pale peach-coloured building that stood tall and narrow between the adjoining houses. Small square windows in the rough wall were covered by heavy wooden shutters, underneath which hang baskets carrying an assortment of different withered flowers.
'You can't just dash in there without any knowledge of the situation at hand.' Wesley gave her a reproachful stare that held a striking similarity to the ones her mom had used to flash her every time Buffy had hinted at the possibility of going clubbing that night.
'Watch me,' Buffy just slid out as a way of responding before pushing the car-door open.
To find it locked.
'We need some plan of action.' There was an agitated note to the Watcher's voice and Buffy unwillingly sunk back in her seat. As much as it was convenient to have Lucky Luke as a travel companion, she was beginning to tire of his tendency to treat her like a child. And considering it was day, simply chucking the vampires out of the windows struck her as a pretty decent plan.
'I do have a plan,' she told him. It came out sharper than she had intended; not that she cared too much. 'I go in there and do what I do best while you watch my back and do what you like best, which I presume involves putting small round things into demons.'
The gaze of the man opposite her did not even waver.
'Doesn't that strike you as rash? Thoughtless?'
That annoyed her.
'Please! I've actually been doing this a long time. Besides, anything that doesn't involve years of plotting and mapping and sketching out always seems to strike the Tea-Drinking type as rash.'
He snorted.
She wondered whether he was offended by this but when she looked at him, Buffy was rather surprised to find a soft smile playing at the corner of Wesley's mouth.
'That was exactly what Sp -' He broke off and suddenly became very busy pocketing his keys. 'Never mind,' he said, correctly interpreting her questioning silence.
'You are very weird,' she informed him offhandedly.
'Yes,' Wesley agreed thoughtfully. 'I suppose I am.' The seat creaked slightly as he shifted his weight to cast a glance at the demon, which was cowering on the floor of the backseats to avoid the rays of sunlight that waltzed gaily through the windows of the vehicle. 'Do you want to get off?'
In answer, one of the backdoors was kicked open and the vampire flung itself out into the bright daylight; its hair catching fire before it disappeared in the shadows of a narrow alley that ran too close between the houses to allow anything larger than a donkey to pass.
Buffy looked at Wesley, as a full magazine slipped back into the gun with a snap.
'Where did you get those things from?' she asked before adding in a smaller voice: 'Wolfram and Hart?'
Wesley was busy ruffling his pockets for extra ammunition and a moment went by in silence before he answered.
'No. It is his.'
'Angel's?' Buffy felt her brows contract in incomprehension.
'No,' Wesley repeated in a gruff mumble. 'The Big Bad's.'
'Oh,' she said, though to her it still did not make perfect sense. She would probably need the entire story before it did, she thought. 'Could I have some when we're through with this circus?'
Wesley offered her a wry half-smile, and she wondered whether it was a yes or a no but decided not to ask.
Buffy had pondered her entrance, she really had. It would have been nice with one of those funky machines that spat out sickly-sweet smelling fog or with a fake clap of thunder. She would even have gone for some accompaniment courtesy of Beethoven or Mozart if she could get nothing else.
All of this, obviously, was only fun if there was someone to notice the fog and the thunder and the swelling, inspirational music. But since the house was empty at the first and the second and the third glance, it would not really have mattered anyway.
'Bad guys?' she called tryingly into an empty room that was separated from the kitchen by nothing more than brick-built half-wall. As nothing moved following the sound of her voice, she allowed her eyes to take in her surroundings. The house was narrow and sparse in furniture; the few windows that disrupted the plain surface of the bare walls were all covered with shutters, tape and blankets, which only allowed thin streams of sunlight to slip into the dark and gloomy room.
It was obvious that someone had lived there long ago. A worn sofa stood along the half-wall, its short sturdy legs planted firmly upon the dusty and moth-eaten carpet and a couple of wooden chairs surrounded a lighter, rounded table in a corner. It was also obvious from the rotten grapes in the fruit bowl and the overturned plates on the floor that whoever had lived here they had suddenly taken off in a hurry.
That or they had been disturbed by company.
Buffy's gaze lingered momentarily on the dark blotch of dried blood on the carpet before she forced her eyes away and stepped into the kitchen, whose white tiles were covered in such thick layers of dust they appeared brownish grey. She could hear Wes rummage through the contents of the safe in the adjoining room, when she suddenly noticed how the dust had been disturbed at her feet, so the squared pattern of the grouped tiles stood out clearly among the dark surface of the dirty corners.
Bending her knees, she slowly lowered her body into a sitting position, extending her arms slowly, as her fingers brushed along the edge of one of the tiles. It tipped slightly at her touch and she closed her fingers around it and pulled. It slid away with a grating sound.
She stared for a moment as a circular handle of dark metal became visible before her hands began to work briskly, her fingers digging under the edge of the aligning tiles to pull them away. One of her nails broke but she did not care.
It was a wooden hatch, barely more than thirty inches wide.
She called out and felt the floor tremble slightly as Wesley came up behind her. The hatch slid open as Buffy jerked at the iron handle. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wesley drop to his knees beside her, his eyes examining the underground passage that had materialised underneath the kitchen floor.
'Nice,' he commented wryly.
Buffy allowed her body to slide through the open hatch and felt her feet connect with firm, even ground. Probably concrete, she thought. Behind her, she heard Wesley's feet land with a dull thump as she moved silently along the narrow passageway. It was dark; the only light spilled into the enclosed space through the hatch behind her and it was barely enough to allow her to see where the floor ended and the walls began. In front of her rose a ladder, ending just underneath another trapdoor in the ceiling, this one closed.
Buffy paused underneath it, listening for voices or any other sign of life and un-life from above, but nothing reached her ears but a hoarse, rattling sound. She blinked in confusion before recognising it as the breathing of someone in pain.
Wondering whether she would end of in some befuddled neighbour's kitchen, Buffy pushed the hatch open, stake clutched firmly in her raised hand, and heaved her body into the room.
It would have been as dark as the passageway she had just left behind, was it not for a thin seam of transparent sunlight that streamed into the room through the boards of wood that had been clumsily nailed across the window at the far wall. The fingers of daylight sneaked across the wooden floor (it was definitely not a kitchen, Buffy thought. More likely an old, reconstructed garden shed.), stopping just short of the slumping figure's legs.
It was Angel and his limp form was supported by iron manacles fastened to chains in the ceiling. They were tired tight around his wrists, seeming as though the only thing keeping him on his feet. At the sight of his maltreated chest and the hideous burns at the side of his throat and at his cheek, which were barely healed, she felt her mouth go dry; the left side of his face was so bloodied she could not decide the seriousness or the number of wounds. Strung up as he was, she could see every rib bulge underneath his gaunt skin.
'Angel!' Her legs felt very heavy and uncooperative as she ran to him.
He raised his face slightly, blinking. 'Buffy?' he mumbled, his voice husky.
She ran a hand down his right cheek in caress, her eyes for the first time taking in the sight of his face. His skin was more than pale; it was white against the blackness of his hair, which was damp with sweat. His lips, where they were not swollen and bloodied, had taken on a bluish hue like a child who has spent too much time in cold water. And the wound at the side of his throat looked like something had burned through the skin from within.
'Hi,' she murmured gently.
'Hi,' he whispered back hoarsely.
She ran a finger along his brow. 'You okay?'
He was breathing shallowly in small, wheezy gasps. He tilted his head slightly. 'I'm fine.' His head lolled to the side as he fainted.
Buffy had not heard Wesley follow her through the hatch but suddenly he stood behind her, cocking the gun before calmly aiming at the chains. The crack of the gun was followed by the wooden coating around the bullets exploding in a waterfall of tiny splinters; Buffy swiftly closed her eyes and bowed her head to protect her face from the miniature missiles that rained down over her and Angel. The second chain came off and Angel collapsed to the ground in a jumbled heap.
Buffy looked down at his unconscious form, noticing how even his hands was bleeding from an array of wounds. She wondered how many of those were because of wooden splinters following Wesley's trigger-happy rescue operation.
Said Watcher had just slipped an arm underneath Angel's shoulder and hoisted the vampire to his feet.
'I've got him,' he said. 'Get out.'
Ignoring her impulsion to deliver a snappy remark, Buffy turned on her heels and allowed her body to snake through the trapdoor, ignoring the ladder, her feet connecting lightly with the concrete flooring of the passage. Suddenly the walk from the ladder to the other trapdoor seemed much longer than it had done the first time. She could see the faint illumination of the kitchen reach into the tunnel ahead of her and she drew nearer, step by step; she listened intently, her heart doing a hysterical tap-dance in her throat, but neither voices nor the ruffling of feet reached her ears.
As she reached the trapdoor she grabbed the edge of the kitchen-floor above her and hoisted her body through the narrow space with ease. Angel appeared rather reluctant to make matters any easier for Wes, who gradually and laboriously succeeded in manoeuvring the unconscious body through the trapdoor to Buffy. Grabbing Angel's bare, lifeless arms she yanked him up and into the kitchen where he lay, eyes closed and skin pale, looking truly like a dead man.
Wesley had scarcely closed the hatch behind them, when the doors to the outdoors were slammed open, and vampires surged into the room, all heavily covered in thick blankets from head to toe.
Buffy froze. Beside her, Wes had paused half-way between picking Angel up by the shoulder.
For a moment their presence went unnoticed, while the creatures flung off the extra clothing, grumbling, muttering and cursing among themselves, while the smoke that rose from their bodies slowly stilled. Then one of them turned a ridged forehead their way and its yellow eyes widened in surprise.
'Chi siete voi?'
Wes suddenly had his hand raised, the gun seemingly materialising out of thin air and the vampire who had spoken shrieked, before its body drizzled to the floor in a cloud of dust and ash. The remaining vampires spun on their feet, staring as they recognised the ammunition. One of them stepped forward and Buffy noticed the spark of recognition in the eyes as its glance swept past her to linger on Wesley.
'Oh Dio!' it exclaimed, its voice strikingly un-raspy for a four-century old vampire. 'You again!' There was a twinge of exasperation in its voice though this was not as striking as its obvious playfulness. Cerbero looked at her. 'You're the slayer,' it said. Buffy felt a sarcastic reply on the tip of her tongue but was cut off as it went on, this time to Wesley. 'And you, a demon hunter. Why are you helping him?'
Without the support of Wesley's arm, Angel's body has slumped into a half-lying, half-sitting position against the wall.
Buffy glared in revulsion at the vampire less than two steps away from her.
'Ever heard the terms 'friends' or 'loyalty'?'
Cerbero did not get the chance to respond, as Wesley had aimed and fired, before it had even opened its mouth. Twisting his body with surprising agility and speed, Cerbero dodged the bullet, which struck a vampire right behind him and it crumbled to dust. Cerbero's eyes travelled from the patch of dust at his feet to Buffy's face with an indifferent air.
'Don't you Americano ever talk? It's always hit, punch, shoot, kill -'
Buffy was getting tired of the scenario. She had better things to do than to talk to some weirdo vampire Corleone, who obviously had far too much time on his hands.
'Are you done or can we move on to the slaying part?'
Cerbero clapped his hands together. 'Case in point.'
Buffy took a step forward, her fingers tightening around the smooth stake in her hand. She had anticipated the vampires move and dodged his blow, ducking and following through with a spinning kick. She felt her foot catch the side of its face and Cerbero spun on his feet, too quickly regaining his balance and sharp pain shot through Buffy's brain as his clenched fist connected forcefully with the front of her face. Through watering eyes, she saw his hand flying towards her face for a second time and her arm shot out by pure instinct, blocking the blow whilst her other hand landed heavily across the vampire's face.
She landed strike after strike at his jaw, forcing him backwards, and Cerbero staggered under her blows, staggered, stumbled, reeled...before finally falling to his knees at her feet. The stake came whizzing through the air but she steadied her hand an inch from the vampire's chest. 'Oh, almost forgot!' She grabbed him by the hair, forcing his head back so she could see his eyes. 'What's this weird horsy-thing that's out and about and what's your interest in it?'
She had expected an insincere answer. She was prepared for a violent reaction. What she had not anticipated was for Cerbero's face to go so pale it would have made her bed sheets proud.
'He's loose!' he whispered, his voice thick with fear.
This took her so much by surprise she unintentionally loosened her hold on his hair to take a couple of steps backwards.
'And so? What's your deal?'
Two more vampires had crumbled to dust under Wesley's artillery so, save Cerbero, only two remained. Seeing Buffy's reaction the ex-watcher paused and slowly lowered the gun.
Cerbero struggled to his feet. He looked at her in disbelief.
'You really don't know,' he hissed, shaking his head in incredulity.
The floor creaked beside her as Wesley stepped closer. 'Why did you want the book?'
Cerbero's ridged forehead turned to him, slowly and arduously like a snake before it strikes. But he answered honestly: 'To destroy it.'
Buffy blinked. 'Why?'
Cerbero slumped down in one of the armchairs. 'A couple of years back I stumbled across some texts mentioning an ancient book written in the tongue of the Evil One himself. It was said to hold the spirit of one of his most wrathful and vengeful fiends, a force so destructive it would swallow this reality until there is nothing but darkness.'
Buffy put her hand in the air. 'Erm, sorry to interrupt this mesmerising trip down memory lane, but technically, you are a demon. Apocalypses are your deal.'
Cerbero shot her a grim look. 'Says who?' he countered. 'I like this world as long as I manage to steer clear of any trouble. This has so far resulted in what, four-hundred enjoyable years? Well,' he lighted a cigar and placed it between his teeth. It wobbled energetically up and down as he spoke. 'I'm not big on major destructiveness. Never has been, probably never will be. However, it just so happened that an associate of mine was,' here he glowered at Angel whose chest was still rising and falling erratically, his eyes closed as the back of his head leant against the wall. 'I knew this thing would capture Angelus' interest sooner or later, and when my connections in the US informed me that the book was to be found in the very same town as held the residence of Angelus, I decided that I had to act swiftly.'
Wes stared at the vampire. 'Destroy them or the book before they had a chance to release this demon.'
'Exactly. That Angelus would be capable of such a feat, I did not doubt. His records speak quite clearly for themselves.'
'So you abducted him in the hope that he would tell you where the book could be found, thus preventing him from releasing this hellish evil.' Wesley's voice conveyed no emotions, and Buffy did not know what he was feeling upon hearing this. 'Yet, this was never Angel's intention. He was under the belief that the murders were occurring because someone wanted their hands on the book in order to indulge in the dark magic he assumed it to possess. So he took it to Italy to consult a former colleague in the matters of Djé-vàil and the subject of the texts.'
'But ended up releasing the demon.' Cerbero was cramming his head between his hands.
''Angel' released this thing?' Buffy glared at Wesley. See, there was something someone forgot to mention!
'Erm, yes,' Wesley muttered. 'Yes, I'm afraid he did.'
'Brilliant!' He shot her a look and she rolled her eyes. 'What, I can't be sarcastic?' She sat down on the edge of the small table. 'So what is this thing?'
'Sethek, I presume,' Wes said but Cerbero shook his head.
'I don't think so.' The long, slim fingers absent-mindedly pulled at a loose thread that sprouted from the left armrest of the chair. 'Sethek was an Egyptian god; if his spirit was haunting some ancient texts they would be unlikely to be written in Djé-vàil. What is more,' the vampire added, 'Sethek was yet another God of Death believing himself superior to all other deities. It is highly unlikely that he would strike a pact with Satana as it is said this demon has done.'
It was hard not to laugh at the expression on Wesley's face.
'Nevertheless this thing is still at large, killing and slaughtering its way southward,' Buffy said, not looking at her flustered companion. 'We don't know what it is, so I can't kill it. And to make matters even better it seems like it's our entire fault it's here in the first place.'
'Because you trusted a vampire with no greater desire than power and destruction, control.'
Buffy really did not like the twit. Why couldn't the vampires just stand still and be quiet and let her get on with her work? 'Check out the mirror image!'
'He took over Wolfram and Hart,' the vampire countered, whilst Buffy struggled to grasp just how the discussion had taken this turn.
'Could you get it through your concrete skull this is not Angelus, but Angel. He's got his soul!'
'Yeah, and I don't but I was not the one starting the final apocalypse either!' When the vampire got angry, he sounded remarkably like a spitting cat.
'Jeez, is there some kinda long-running popularity contest going on between you too?'
'That is a long story,' Wes said in a tone that effectively told them that the argument was over.
'Which you may have the pleasure of relating.' Cerbero stood up. 'I'm outta here.'
This did not seem to come as a surprise to Wesley. 'Where?'
'If the Apocalypse is starting here, I'm thinking Canada. Should take some time for it to reach so far, don't you think?'
'You are just gonna jump ship?'
He smiled at her, and the fangs made it look more like a leering grimace. 'Si, fior di bellezza. We can't all be champions for the final battle. Have a nice war.'
There could not be that many slayers who struck deals with vampires, Buffy thought. It was good to be special. She grimaced. 'What makes you think we're just gonna let you walk out of here?'
He simply flashed a toothy grin, his back arching into an overdramatic regal bow before he snatched his hat from the small three-legged table and turned to walk out into the daylight once more. The two remaining vamps flung a couple of blankets over their heads and after a last curious glance at Buffy and Wes they followed Cerbero through the door.
Angel's frenzied breathing had calmed to the odd hissing breath by the time Buffy and Wesley with combined strength succeeded in manoeuvring his body into the backseat of the former Watcher's tiny vehicle.
Buffy sat stiffly in her seat, staring straight out of the windscreen without truly seeing the cobbled road wind away before them. Wesley had had the good sense to bring a heavy woollen rug, and she had been careful to cover Angel's body from the merciless rays of sunlight that fell across the car seats.
His condition bothered her more than she should like, and it was not just the newly gained wounds. She could not understand how his friends had allowed him to lose so much weight; seeing him like that, pale, with ribs winding around his frame like thick ropes underneath the gaunt skin... it felt wrong.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Wesley shot her a sidelong glance.
'We have to let the others know we've found him.' The gearbox grunted in displeasure as Wesley forced the gear lever into second. 'Then we can either let him borrow a room there until sunset or take him back to the hotel.'
Buffy just nodded but remained silent. She was still trying to get her head around the part where the bad guy suddenly transformed into the hero and vice versa. Well, no one could ever claim that a life of vampire-slayage was boring.
Angel had regained consciousness by the time Wesley pulled up beside Giles' new hideout, which really made the whole pull-him-out-of-the-car-and-carry-him-to-the-front door part much easier. He was quite insistent on going himself, until he stumbled and got his hand singed from the sunlight when the rug slid off, and Buffy was allowed to support his shoulder. The familiar sensation of his body against hers was making Buffy's thoughts slightly slurred, and her head felt strangely light at the same time.
The moment the front door slammed shut behind her, she immediately withdrew her supporting arms, and Angel reeled into the nearest wall before regaining his balance.
Buffy had turned her back, when she felt Wesley's hand cover hers, just as her fingers closed around the doorknob to the door that opened into the study-room. She glared at him, but Wes silently chucked a shirt at Angel who caught it with an awkward expression on his face before he, still without a word, removed his hands from Buffy's and she pulled the door open.
The room was utterly deserted. A couple of books lay sprawled upon the table and loose papers were scattered all over the floor. For a second Buffy wondered whether they had been attacked but her racing heart slowed in relief at the sound of animated voices coming through the ceiling.
'We're home!' she called, and instantly the voices broke off and running feet thundered towards the stairs. 'And this bad guy he was really trying to save the world, and it was the good guys who released the demon, and it's all a very long story but he didn't think it was Sethek,' she finished as Willow joined Giles at the foot of the stairs. She stared at them. 'Where's Xander and Kennedy?'
'Uh...they're at work,' Willow said, gesturing with her arms. Buffy saw her eyes travel from hers, as the redhead sat eyes on Angel, who had not been slow to take a seat at the table. Being chained upright for more than twelve hours did tend to have that effect on people. 'Oh, hi Angel. You okay?'
Buffy was looking at Giles so did not see whether Angel had opened his mouth to respond when Giles cut him off.
'I've found something.' Her old Watcher had that sharp note in his voice that usually meant that 'something' was pretty close to 'apocalypse' and 'widespread death and destruction'. He was holding a book before his chest and she recognised it as the one Angel and Wesley had brought.
'The demon?' Wesley's voice inquired behind her.
Giles looked at them.
'It is not Sethek,' he said. 'And I dare say it is much, much worse.'
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A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed :-) I am not very happy with this chapter, nothing I did could make it work like I wanted, so yes, the bad guy is kinda goofy, but hey, he's not the real bad anyway, so who's caring?
Well, please review!!
Author's thanks at end
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'There are three sides to every story:
Yours,
Mine,
And the truth.'
- Chinese saying
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
A short stairway lead from the cobbled street to the tiny front-porch of the pale peach-coloured building that stood tall and narrow between the adjoining houses. Small square windows in the rough wall were covered by heavy wooden shutters, underneath which hang baskets carrying an assortment of different withered flowers.
'You can't just dash in there without any knowledge of the situation at hand.' Wesley gave her a reproachful stare that held a striking similarity to the ones her mom had used to flash her every time Buffy had hinted at the possibility of going clubbing that night.
'Watch me,' Buffy just slid out as a way of responding before pushing the car-door open.
To find it locked.
'We need some plan of action.' There was an agitated note to the Watcher's voice and Buffy unwillingly sunk back in her seat. As much as it was convenient to have Lucky Luke as a travel companion, she was beginning to tire of his tendency to treat her like a child. And considering it was day, simply chucking the vampires out of the windows struck her as a pretty decent plan.
'I do have a plan,' she told him. It came out sharper than she had intended; not that she cared too much. 'I go in there and do what I do best while you watch my back and do what you like best, which I presume involves putting small round things into demons.'
The gaze of the man opposite her did not even waver.
'Doesn't that strike you as rash? Thoughtless?'
That annoyed her.
'Please! I've actually been doing this a long time. Besides, anything that doesn't involve years of plotting and mapping and sketching out always seems to strike the Tea-Drinking type as rash.'
He snorted.
She wondered whether he was offended by this but when she looked at him, Buffy was rather surprised to find a soft smile playing at the corner of Wesley's mouth.
'That was exactly what Sp -' He broke off and suddenly became very busy pocketing his keys. 'Never mind,' he said, correctly interpreting her questioning silence.
'You are very weird,' she informed him offhandedly.
'Yes,' Wesley agreed thoughtfully. 'I suppose I am.' The seat creaked slightly as he shifted his weight to cast a glance at the demon, which was cowering on the floor of the backseats to avoid the rays of sunlight that waltzed gaily through the windows of the vehicle. 'Do you want to get off?'
In answer, one of the backdoors was kicked open and the vampire flung itself out into the bright daylight; its hair catching fire before it disappeared in the shadows of a narrow alley that ran too close between the houses to allow anything larger than a donkey to pass.
Buffy looked at Wesley, as a full magazine slipped back into the gun with a snap.
'Where did you get those things from?' she asked before adding in a smaller voice: 'Wolfram and Hart?'
Wesley was busy ruffling his pockets for extra ammunition and a moment went by in silence before he answered.
'No. It is his.'
'Angel's?' Buffy felt her brows contract in incomprehension.
'No,' Wesley repeated in a gruff mumble. 'The Big Bad's.'
'Oh,' she said, though to her it still did not make perfect sense. She would probably need the entire story before it did, she thought. 'Could I have some when we're through with this circus?'
Wesley offered her a wry half-smile, and she wondered whether it was a yes or a no but decided not to ask.
Buffy had pondered her entrance, she really had. It would have been nice with one of those funky machines that spat out sickly-sweet smelling fog or with a fake clap of thunder. She would even have gone for some accompaniment courtesy of Beethoven or Mozart if she could get nothing else.
All of this, obviously, was only fun if there was someone to notice the fog and the thunder and the swelling, inspirational music. But since the house was empty at the first and the second and the third glance, it would not really have mattered anyway.
'Bad guys?' she called tryingly into an empty room that was separated from the kitchen by nothing more than brick-built half-wall. As nothing moved following the sound of her voice, she allowed her eyes to take in her surroundings. The house was narrow and sparse in furniture; the few windows that disrupted the plain surface of the bare walls were all covered with shutters, tape and blankets, which only allowed thin streams of sunlight to slip into the dark and gloomy room.
It was obvious that someone had lived there long ago. A worn sofa stood along the half-wall, its short sturdy legs planted firmly upon the dusty and moth-eaten carpet and a couple of wooden chairs surrounded a lighter, rounded table in a corner. It was also obvious from the rotten grapes in the fruit bowl and the overturned plates on the floor that whoever had lived here they had suddenly taken off in a hurry.
That or they had been disturbed by company.
Buffy's gaze lingered momentarily on the dark blotch of dried blood on the carpet before she forced her eyes away and stepped into the kitchen, whose white tiles were covered in such thick layers of dust they appeared brownish grey. She could hear Wes rummage through the contents of the safe in the adjoining room, when she suddenly noticed how the dust had been disturbed at her feet, so the squared pattern of the grouped tiles stood out clearly among the dark surface of the dirty corners.
Bending her knees, she slowly lowered her body into a sitting position, extending her arms slowly, as her fingers brushed along the edge of one of the tiles. It tipped slightly at her touch and she closed her fingers around it and pulled. It slid away with a grating sound.
She stared for a moment as a circular handle of dark metal became visible before her hands began to work briskly, her fingers digging under the edge of the aligning tiles to pull them away. One of her nails broke but she did not care.
It was a wooden hatch, barely more than thirty inches wide.
She called out and felt the floor tremble slightly as Wesley came up behind her. The hatch slid open as Buffy jerked at the iron handle. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wesley drop to his knees beside her, his eyes examining the underground passage that had materialised underneath the kitchen floor.
'Nice,' he commented wryly.
Buffy allowed her body to slide through the open hatch and felt her feet connect with firm, even ground. Probably concrete, she thought. Behind her, she heard Wesley's feet land with a dull thump as she moved silently along the narrow passageway. It was dark; the only light spilled into the enclosed space through the hatch behind her and it was barely enough to allow her to see where the floor ended and the walls began. In front of her rose a ladder, ending just underneath another trapdoor in the ceiling, this one closed.
Buffy paused underneath it, listening for voices or any other sign of life and un-life from above, but nothing reached her ears but a hoarse, rattling sound. She blinked in confusion before recognising it as the breathing of someone in pain.
Wondering whether she would end of in some befuddled neighbour's kitchen, Buffy pushed the hatch open, stake clutched firmly in her raised hand, and heaved her body into the room.
It would have been as dark as the passageway she had just left behind, was it not for a thin seam of transparent sunlight that streamed into the room through the boards of wood that had been clumsily nailed across the window at the far wall. The fingers of daylight sneaked across the wooden floor (it was definitely not a kitchen, Buffy thought. More likely an old, reconstructed garden shed.), stopping just short of the slumping figure's legs.
It was Angel and his limp form was supported by iron manacles fastened to chains in the ceiling. They were tired tight around his wrists, seeming as though the only thing keeping him on his feet. At the sight of his maltreated chest and the hideous burns at the side of his throat and at his cheek, which were barely healed, she felt her mouth go dry; the left side of his face was so bloodied she could not decide the seriousness or the number of wounds. Strung up as he was, she could see every rib bulge underneath his gaunt skin.
'Angel!' Her legs felt very heavy and uncooperative as she ran to him.
He raised his face slightly, blinking. 'Buffy?' he mumbled, his voice husky.
She ran a hand down his right cheek in caress, her eyes for the first time taking in the sight of his face. His skin was more than pale; it was white against the blackness of his hair, which was damp with sweat. His lips, where they were not swollen and bloodied, had taken on a bluish hue like a child who has spent too much time in cold water. And the wound at the side of his throat looked like something had burned through the skin from within.
'Hi,' she murmured gently.
'Hi,' he whispered back hoarsely.
She ran a finger along his brow. 'You okay?'
He was breathing shallowly in small, wheezy gasps. He tilted his head slightly. 'I'm fine.' His head lolled to the side as he fainted.
Buffy had not heard Wesley follow her through the hatch but suddenly he stood behind her, cocking the gun before calmly aiming at the chains. The crack of the gun was followed by the wooden coating around the bullets exploding in a waterfall of tiny splinters; Buffy swiftly closed her eyes and bowed her head to protect her face from the miniature missiles that rained down over her and Angel. The second chain came off and Angel collapsed to the ground in a jumbled heap.
Buffy looked down at his unconscious form, noticing how even his hands was bleeding from an array of wounds. She wondered how many of those were because of wooden splinters following Wesley's trigger-happy rescue operation.
Said Watcher had just slipped an arm underneath Angel's shoulder and hoisted the vampire to his feet.
'I've got him,' he said. 'Get out.'
Ignoring her impulsion to deliver a snappy remark, Buffy turned on her heels and allowed her body to snake through the trapdoor, ignoring the ladder, her feet connecting lightly with the concrete flooring of the passage. Suddenly the walk from the ladder to the other trapdoor seemed much longer than it had done the first time. She could see the faint illumination of the kitchen reach into the tunnel ahead of her and she drew nearer, step by step; she listened intently, her heart doing a hysterical tap-dance in her throat, but neither voices nor the ruffling of feet reached her ears.
As she reached the trapdoor she grabbed the edge of the kitchen-floor above her and hoisted her body through the narrow space with ease. Angel appeared rather reluctant to make matters any easier for Wes, who gradually and laboriously succeeded in manoeuvring the unconscious body through the trapdoor to Buffy. Grabbing Angel's bare, lifeless arms she yanked him up and into the kitchen where he lay, eyes closed and skin pale, looking truly like a dead man.
Wesley had scarcely closed the hatch behind them, when the doors to the outdoors were slammed open, and vampires surged into the room, all heavily covered in thick blankets from head to toe.
Buffy froze. Beside her, Wes had paused half-way between picking Angel up by the shoulder.
For a moment their presence went unnoticed, while the creatures flung off the extra clothing, grumbling, muttering and cursing among themselves, while the smoke that rose from their bodies slowly stilled. Then one of them turned a ridged forehead their way and its yellow eyes widened in surprise.
'Chi siete voi?'
Wes suddenly had his hand raised, the gun seemingly materialising out of thin air and the vampire who had spoken shrieked, before its body drizzled to the floor in a cloud of dust and ash. The remaining vampires spun on their feet, staring as they recognised the ammunition. One of them stepped forward and Buffy noticed the spark of recognition in the eyes as its glance swept past her to linger on Wesley.
'Oh Dio!' it exclaimed, its voice strikingly un-raspy for a four-century old vampire. 'You again!' There was a twinge of exasperation in its voice though this was not as striking as its obvious playfulness. Cerbero looked at her. 'You're the slayer,' it said. Buffy felt a sarcastic reply on the tip of her tongue but was cut off as it went on, this time to Wesley. 'And you, a demon hunter. Why are you helping him?'
Without the support of Wesley's arm, Angel's body has slumped into a half-lying, half-sitting position against the wall.
Buffy glared in revulsion at the vampire less than two steps away from her.
'Ever heard the terms 'friends' or 'loyalty'?'
Cerbero did not get the chance to respond, as Wesley had aimed and fired, before it had even opened its mouth. Twisting his body with surprising agility and speed, Cerbero dodged the bullet, which struck a vampire right behind him and it crumbled to dust. Cerbero's eyes travelled from the patch of dust at his feet to Buffy's face with an indifferent air.
'Don't you Americano ever talk? It's always hit, punch, shoot, kill -'
Buffy was getting tired of the scenario. She had better things to do than to talk to some weirdo vampire Corleone, who obviously had far too much time on his hands.
'Are you done or can we move on to the slaying part?'
Cerbero clapped his hands together. 'Case in point.'
Buffy took a step forward, her fingers tightening around the smooth stake in her hand. She had anticipated the vampires move and dodged his blow, ducking and following through with a spinning kick. She felt her foot catch the side of its face and Cerbero spun on his feet, too quickly regaining his balance and sharp pain shot through Buffy's brain as his clenched fist connected forcefully with the front of her face. Through watering eyes, she saw his hand flying towards her face for a second time and her arm shot out by pure instinct, blocking the blow whilst her other hand landed heavily across the vampire's face.
She landed strike after strike at his jaw, forcing him backwards, and Cerbero staggered under her blows, staggered, stumbled, reeled...before finally falling to his knees at her feet. The stake came whizzing through the air but she steadied her hand an inch from the vampire's chest. 'Oh, almost forgot!' She grabbed him by the hair, forcing his head back so she could see his eyes. 'What's this weird horsy-thing that's out and about and what's your interest in it?'
She had expected an insincere answer. She was prepared for a violent reaction. What she had not anticipated was for Cerbero's face to go so pale it would have made her bed sheets proud.
'He's loose!' he whispered, his voice thick with fear.
This took her so much by surprise she unintentionally loosened her hold on his hair to take a couple of steps backwards.
'And so? What's your deal?'
Two more vampires had crumbled to dust under Wesley's artillery so, save Cerbero, only two remained. Seeing Buffy's reaction the ex-watcher paused and slowly lowered the gun.
Cerbero struggled to his feet. He looked at her in disbelief.
'You really don't know,' he hissed, shaking his head in incredulity.
The floor creaked beside her as Wesley stepped closer. 'Why did you want the book?'
Cerbero's ridged forehead turned to him, slowly and arduously like a snake before it strikes. But he answered honestly: 'To destroy it.'
Buffy blinked. 'Why?'
Cerbero slumped down in one of the armchairs. 'A couple of years back I stumbled across some texts mentioning an ancient book written in the tongue of the Evil One himself. It was said to hold the spirit of one of his most wrathful and vengeful fiends, a force so destructive it would swallow this reality until there is nothing but darkness.'
Buffy put her hand in the air. 'Erm, sorry to interrupt this mesmerising trip down memory lane, but technically, you are a demon. Apocalypses are your deal.'
Cerbero shot her a grim look. 'Says who?' he countered. 'I like this world as long as I manage to steer clear of any trouble. This has so far resulted in what, four-hundred enjoyable years? Well,' he lighted a cigar and placed it between his teeth. It wobbled energetically up and down as he spoke. 'I'm not big on major destructiveness. Never has been, probably never will be. However, it just so happened that an associate of mine was,' here he glowered at Angel whose chest was still rising and falling erratically, his eyes closed as the back of his head leant against the wall. 'I knew this thing would capture Angelus' interest sooner or later, and when my connections in the US informed me that the book was to be found in the very same town as held the residence of Angelus, I decided that I had to act swiftly.'
Wes stared at the vampire. 'Destroy them or the book before they had a chance to release this demon.'
'Exactly. That Angelus would be capable of such a feat, I did not doubt. His records speak quite clearly for themselves.'
'So you abducted him in the hope that he would tell you where the book could be found, thus preventing him from releasing this hellish evil.' Wesley's voice conveyed no emotions, and Buffy did not know what he was feeling upon hearing this. 'Yet, this was never Angel's intention. He was under the belief that the murders were occurring because someone wanted their hands on the book in order to indulge in the dark magic he assumed it to possess. So he took it to Italy to consult a former colleague in the matters of Djé-vàil and the subject of the texts.'
'But ended up releasing the demon.' Cerbero was cramming his head between his hands.
''Angel' released this thing?' Buffy glared at Wesley. See, there was something someone forgot to mention!
'Erm, yes,' Wesley muttered. 'Yes, I'm afraid he did.'
'Brilliant!' He shot her a look and she rolled her eyes. 'What, I can't be sarcastic?' She sat down on the edge of the small table. 'So what is this thing?'
'Sethek, I presume,' Wes said but Cerbero shook his head.
'I don't think so.' The long, slim fingers absent-mindedly pulled at a loose thread that sprouted from the left armrest of the chair. 'Sethek was an Egyptian god; if his spirit was haunting some ancient texts they would be unlikely to be written in Djé-vàil. What is more,' the vampire added, 'Sethek was yet another God of Death believing himself superior to all other deities. It is highly unlikely that he would strike a pact with Satana as it is said this demon has done.'
It was hard not to laugh at the expression on Wesley's face.
'Nevertheless this thing is still at large, killing and slaughtering its way southward,' Buffy said, not looking at her flustered companion. 'We don't know what it is, so I can't kill it. And to make matters even better it seems like it's our entire fault it's here in the first place.'
'Because you trusted a vampire with no greater desire than power and destruction, control.'
Buffy really did not like the twit. Why couldn't the vampires just stand still and be quiet and let her get on with her work? 'Check out the mirror image!'
'He took over Wolfram and Hart,' the vampire countered, whilst Buffy struggled to grasp just how the discussion had taken this turn.
'Could you get it through your concrete skull this is not Angelus, but Angel. He's got his soul!'
'Yeah, and I don't but I was not the one starting the final apocalypse either!' When the vampire got angry, he sounded remarkably like a spitting cat.
'Jeez, is there some kinda long-running popularity contest going on between you too?'
'That is a long story,' Wes said in a tone that effectively told them that the argument was over.
'Which you may have the pleasure of relating.' Cerbero stood up. 'I'm outta here.'
This did not seem to come as a surprise to Wesley. 'Where?'
'If the Apocalypse is starting here, I'm thinking Canada. Should take some time for it to reach so far, don't you think?'
'You are just gonna jump ship?'
He smiled at her, and the fangs made it look more like a leering grimace. 'Si, fior di bellezza. We can't all be champions for the final battle. Have a nice war.'
There could not be that many slayers who struck deals with vampires, Buffy thought. It was good to be special. She grimaced. 'What makes you think we're just gonna let you walk out of here?'
He simply flashed a toothy grin, his back arching into an overdramatic regal bow before he snatched his hat from the small three-legged table and turned to walk out into the daylight once more. The two remaining vamps flung a couple of blankets over their heads and after a last curious glance at Buffy and Wes they followed Cerbero through the door.
Angel's frenzied breathing had calmed to the odd hissing breath by the time Buffy and Wesley with combined strength succeeded in manoeuvring his body into the backseat of the former Watcher's tiny vehicle.
Buffy sat stiffly in her seat, staring straight out of the windscreen without truly seeing the cobbled road wind away before them. Wesley had had the good sense to bring a heavy woollen rug, and she had been careful to cover Angel's body from the merciless rays of sunlight that fell across the car seats.
His condition bothered her more than she should like, and it was not just the newly gained wounds. She could not understand how his friends had allowed him to lose so much weight; seeing him like that, pale, with ribs winding around his frame like thick ropes underneath the gaunt skin... it felt wrong.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Wesley shot her a sidelong glance.
'We have to let the others know we've found him.' The gearbox grunted in displeasure as Wesley forced the gear lever into second. 'Then we can either let him borrow a room there until sunset or take him back to the hotel.'
Buffy just nodded but remained silent. She was still trying to get her head around the part where the bad guy suddenly transformed into the hero and vice versa. Well, no one could ever claim that a life of vampire-slayage was boring.
Angel had regained consciousness by the time Wesley pulled up beside Giles' new hideout, which really made the whole pull-him-out-of-the-car-and-carry-him-to-the-front door part much easier. He was quite insistent on going himself, until he stumbled and got his hand singed from the sunlight when the rug slid off, and Buffy was allowed to support his shoulder. The familiar sensation of his body against hers was making Buffy's thoughts slightly slurred, and her head felt strangely light at the same time.
The moment the front door slammed shut behind her, she immediately withdrew her supporting arms, and Angel reeled into the nearest wall before regaining his balance.
Buffy had turned her back, when she felt Wesley's hand cover hers, just as her fingers closed around the doorknob to the door that opened into the study-room. She glared at him, but Wes silently chucked a shirt at Angel who caught it with an awkward expression on his face before he, still without a word, removed his hands from Buffy's and she pulled the door open.
The room was utterly deserted. A couple of books lay sprawled upon the table and loose papers were scattered all over the floor. For a second Buffy wondered whether they had been attacked but her racing heart slowed in relief at the sound of animated voices coming through the ceiling.
'We're home!' she called, and instantly the voices broke off and running feet thundered towards the stairs. 'And this bad guy he was really trying to save the world, and it was the good guys who released the demon, and it's all a very long story but he didn't think it was Sethek,' she finished as Willow joined Giles at the foot of the stairs. She stared at them. 'Where's Xander and Kennedy?'
'Uh...they're at work,' Willow said, gesturing with her arms. Buffy saw her eyes travel from hers, as the redhead sat eyes on Angel, who had not been slow to take a seat at the table. Being chained upright for more than twelve hours did tend to have that effect on people. 'Oh, hi Angel. You okay?'
Buffy was looking at Giles so did not see whether Angel had opened his mouth to respond when Giles cut him off.
'I've found something.' Her old Watcher had that sharp note in his voice that usually meant that 'something' was pretty close to 'apocalypse' and 'widespread death and destruction'. He was holding a book before his chest and she recognised it as the one Angel and Wesley had brought.
'The demon?' Wesley's voice inquired behind her.
Giles looked at them.
'It is not Sethek,' he said. 'And I dare say it is much, much worse.'
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A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed :-) I am not very happy with this chapter, nothing I did could make it work like I wanted, so yes, the bad guy is kinda goofy, but hey, he's not the real bad anyway, so who's caring?
Well, please review!!