Buffy and Angel arrived at the airfield shortly after Wesley collapsed, their car coming to a jolting halt just out of sight of the buildings. Angel turned off the engine and climbed out of the car, sticking to the trees even though it was well within his powers to be invisible to all onlookers. Buffy hung close by without being remotely aware of it.
"Angel?" she asked eventually. He answered her automatically, then scowled to himself when he remembered that she wouldn't hear. There were times when being a guardian angel really sucked.
"I can't see Wesley," she whispered to him. "Do you suppose he's inside?" She was edging closer to the hangars, and Angel fell into step behind her.
"Yes, probably." Once upon a time the Watcher would have hid outside, lurking, afraid of his own shadow, let alone what he might find inside the buildings. Since his alienation from the rest of the team, after what Angel preferred to think of merely as 'The Connor Incident', he seemed to have lost all fear. Death certainly had brought him no reason to rediscover it. He was a lone wolf, and waiting around outside, longing for Angel to arrive, was definitely not his style.
"I suppose he must have gone in." Oblivious to the answer that her question had just received, Buffy frowned in thought. "One question. If I send you in there to have a look around and see what's going on, how do you report back to me if Wesley isn't around?"
"Good point." Angel glanced skyward. "Any suggestions, Cordelia?" She didn't answer, and he scowled. Either she was choosing to ignore him, or she had wandered off to play Scrabble with Spike. It had become quite a passion between the two of them, and made her annoyingly unavailable from time to time.
"You're invisible. It's stupid not to take advantage of that." Buffy scowled, thinking hard. "Okay. Get over there, and make sure you can't be seen. If the coast is clear, call me over by waving something. That'll work, right? I should still be able to see something that you're holding?"
"I suppose." Plans floated into his mind at this suggestion. Might Buffy understand semaphore? Morse code? Couldn't he communicate with her by writing on a piece of paper? But there was no time to try it out now. Buffy dug around in her pockets and came up empty, then checked the car and found one of Dawn's old hair ribbons and a battered sun hat. Angel took the ribbon.
"I'll wave it high in the air," he told her, uselessly, then stuffed it into his pocket and took off for the hangars. He took his time, hiding for a moment in the rusted hulk of the one-winged aeroplane, just as Wesley had done before. It was unnecessary, for nobody would be able to see him, but to walk brazenly into the lion's den seemed foolhardy nonetheless. Keeping low, running as fast and as quietly as he could, he headed for the first of the hangars. It was empty, just as it had been when Wesley had first peered inside. In the second he saw the bags, and the symbols, and the cauldron on its crackling fire, but he didn't enter the room. This was proof that they had indeed come to the right place, but since he could see no sign of Wesley he didn't stop. Instead he went on to the third hangar, and peered through its windows with the same caution he had used in the days when he was still as visible as any regular inhabitant of planet Earth. He saw the desk, the claw marks; the general signs of habitation - and he saw the blue light that glowed around a slumped, indistinct, form. Almost forgetting to wave to Buffy with the hair ribbon, he broke open the padlock that kept the place closed, then heaved open the door. Wesley didn't move.
"Angel?" Buffy was beside him already; he had almost forgotten her remarkable speed. She didn't stay at his side for long, though. Not knowing where he was; not seeing his position from the ribbon crumpled in his hand; she ran straight through him, heading for Wesley. Angel followed her, an uneasy feeling in his stomach.
"Wes?" He crouched down beside his friend, next to Buffy who was doing the same thing. The ghost was all but transparent; a faint outline without colour, highlighted in the unnatural blue that surrounded him. He was lying on his back, so indistinct that it was hard to see whether his eyes were open or closed, and he didn't seem to be moving at all. "Wes?"
"Hey, Wesley. Come on, wake up." Buffy spoke far less gently, which Angel was inclined to think was probably a good thing. Wesley was not known for responding to kindness. Less of a good idea, though, was her attempt to shake the slumped form. "Wesley!"
"Come on, Wes." Angel leaned over the seemingly comatose ghost, but found that even he could not make contact. His hands passed straight through the transparent form, encountering only hard concrete beneath. "Damn it!"
"Angel?" The voice was weak, painfully so, but it seemed that some colour returned to Wesley's lips as he spoke. Faintly the pale head moved. "Buffy?"
"I guess there are drawbacks to being a ghost, huh." Buffy eyed the indistinct figure somewhat critically. "No offence, Wes, but you look awful."
"Walsh." Faint eyelashes fluttered, and beneath them a pair of surprisingly blue eyes gleamed suddenly into focus. "Henry Walsh. Angel, he's performing terrible magic."
"Yeah, we guessed that much. I saw his cauldron. I'll break in there, and empty it. Might help."
"It won't." Wesley's already vague form fluttered in an and out of focus, and he tried to sit up. "Can't fight it with brute force. Magic... fights magic."
"You know some kind of counter-spell?"
"I don't... Maybe." He drew in a deep, shuddering, and large unnecessary breath. "Angel... the Kra'ash. It's gone to kill another couple of girls. Walsh... I scared him. He wants to finish this quickly."
"That monster - don't dare correct me - has gone to kill another couple of girls?" Buffy was on her feet in an instant. "You know where it's gone?"
"No. I can..." He struggled again to sit up, fighting desperately against the blue light that seemed to be draining his strength. "I can find him. I did before."
"Don't get me wrong, Wes, but you don't look up to doing any of that." Buffy brushed the hair out of her eyes. "What happened?"
"Walsh got a little pissed off. I think." Finally making it to a sitting position, the weakened ghost stared up into the pillar of blue light holding him in place. "It's just magic, Buffy. I can do it."
"Yeah, sure Wes. Tonight? Tomorrow? Because there's another couple of girls who don't have that long. I have to find that creature, and I have to do it now."
"You'll never find it alone, Buffy." Angel looked back to Wesley. "She needs you."
"I know that!" Sounding angry for a second, Wesley glared at his friend. "I have to get out of here. He said there was a way, but I couldn't hold out."
"You think there's anything we can do?" Angel had never been much of one for magic, but he wanted to do what he could do help. Wesley shook his head.
"Not really. Just keep talking, the pair of you. When you came, it gave me something to focus on. Before, it was like everything was fading away."
"You know how much time we have? What's to stop this Walsh guy coming in here right now?" Buffy stood up to look out of the nearest window. "The place looks deserted. Did he go with his pet?"
"I don't know. I think he must have another place... another place around here somewhere. There are supplies he'll need for the spell that I haven't seen. Maybe a... a cellar?"
"Always possible." Angel made another attempt to touch Wesley, but failed. "Wes, this doesn't look good. Are you sure you can break out of here? If not, maybe Buffy should get back to town and see if she can find the Kra'ash with her own powers."
"It might not have gone back to town. There are other places where it can get what it needs. We can't risk wasting time losing her to some wild goose chase."
"Cordelia then. Maybe she can find the Kra'ash, and send Buffy to it."
"Cordelia can't transport people all over the countryside. She only has powers over us. Or... or I don't know. It's complicated, and The Powers change the rules, but... Angel, you know this." With a supreme effort, Wesley managed to get to his feet. Some colour faded back into his body, but he still looked considerably less substantial than he should have done. "Buffy..."
"What?" Rejoining them, she looked him up and down. "Boy, see-through is so not the colour for this season."
"I'll remember to take that up with my tailor." He wobbled dangerously, but instead of falling over, he vanished completely for several seconds. "Okay. Remind me not to do that again."
"What the hell was that?" Buffy circled him, apparently looking for further signs of vanishing. Wesley shook his head.
"Not entirely sure. But not good. All black, forever. Angel?"
"I'm here." Angel clapped him on the shoulder, or would have done had he been able to. Wesley seemed to appreciate the gesture anyway.
"If I disappear permanently, you and Buffy split up and go after the Kra'ash. Walsh can't kill the girls on his own, or at least not without a whole lot of effort. Deal with the Kra'ash first. Then, to end this... the cauldron..."
"Wes, you're not going to disappear." Not caring that she was interrupting a private conversation, Buffy came back around in front of the flickering ghost. "You do and we're screwed, from what I can see. You said only magic could stop Walsh. Well I'm not magician. Only witch I know - only witch I trust, anyway, is in Rio right now, busy fighting an outbreak of... I want to say... Kebab demons?"
"Kabobs? Nasty." For a second a pale shade of real colour flashed through Wesley's frame, the suggestion of indispensability dragging him back to himself. "Three feet tall, but they travel in packs. They can be lethal."
"Lectures. You see what I mean?" Buffy shook her head, her exasperation half joking and half real. "Wes, time's ticking by. Just get yourself out of there. You figured out how?"
"Back door." He closed his eyes. "I saw it just then."
"When you disappeared?" Angel didn't like the sound of that. "What was that?"
"Standing up exhausted me. I lost the fight. Got dragged out of myself. Oblivion or freedom, Angel."
"Wes..."
"It's the only way, at least for now. We don't have time to approach this... more logically. I'm weak. There's just nothing left to hold onto. I have to try this, or stay here forever, fading in and out."
"You're dead. Staying here can't hurt you."
"It might do. Angel, I have to find that Kra'ash, and the only way I can do that is to get out of here."
"You're talking about walking straight into oblivion, and hoping that you can find the way out!"
"Which is nothing you woudln't tried yourself."
"Wesley..." Angel looked over at Buffy, listening to one side of the argument with a frown on her face. "Tell him!"
"I can find my way back, Angel. Magic leaves trails, and if you know what you're doing you can follow them. I can be my own beacon." He smiled faintly. "It has to be better than staying here. I feel... it's like having Asian flu. With interest."
"Am I following this right?" Buffy often feigned an inability to understand what was going on, but in this instance, when she had only half the information, she really did feel out of her depth. "You overtaxed yourself, and it made you... what? Cease to exist? And now you're saying that the best way to break out of this... force-field thingy... is to cease to exist on purpose and hope that it won't be permanent?"
"Um..." Rather nonplussed by her summing up of the situation, Wesley nodded slowly. "I think so."
"Sounds insane."
"It is," Angel told her. Wesley looked from one to the other of them, then shrugged.
"We don't have any choice. Just stay here. Be here. It might help."
"Wes..." Angel wasn't sure what to say. He had tried to kill the Englishman himself - had truly wanted him dead. Had fought with him, argued with him, been infuriated by him, and had mourned him, briefly, before death had claimed him too. Goodness knew their relationship had been complicated, and difficult, and highly unconventional. It was one of the strangest relationships of his long and strange life - but it was also one of the best. Wesley would never understand that, though. Angel didn't think that the Watcher would ever fully appreciate that he was worth something to his colleagues. It simply wasn't in his psychological make up to think that way.
"It'll be alright, Angel." The ghost's smile didn't reach his eyes. He had that strange, distant look about him that he had always seemed to possess. He was thinking in terms of the job, Angel knew; as though that was what was the issue here, rather than his own safety. They both smiled rather flatly then. A second later Wesley was gone.
"You think this'll work?" asked Buffy. The column of blue light vanished, and Angel shook his head.
"Who knows?" He stared at the space before him, where Wesley had been just a second before. "Who knows."
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce knew darkness. He had been in darker places, and seen darker things, that most people knew even in their deepest nightmares. Darkness was his life. In the last few years he had been to places inside himself that had never known the light. Places of despair, misery, loneliness and pain, that marked the lowest points to which most men could fall. When Fred had died he had not believed that the world could ever grow darker than it had been for him then; that nothing could be more empty, more terrible, than his own mind and heart. Now, alone in the void to which he had voluntarily consigned himself, he had discovered that this was not true. This was true darkness. True, eternal, night.
Was this true death? It made a certain sense. He had heard the tale of Buffy's fluffy white place, and Angel's story of hell, but was this some other place? Some other destination for the dead? The inner circle of hell, or a purgatory to which those were sent who deserved neither heaven nor hell? Some place where the forgotten went - those that The Powers, or even God Himself, cared nothing for? He could see nothing in any direction; could hear nothing. It was a place of utter impenetrability, utter silence, utter loneliness. Just blackness. Blackness forever.
"Cordelia?" She might still be with him, somewhere. There was no answer though. She might leave him to make his own way on Earth; to fight his own battles and make his own mistakes; but if she knew that he was here, and if she could help him, he knew that she would not leave him alone. She was not here. He wandered forward, wondering how it might feel to spend an eternity in this place; to have to stay here, as he would undoubtedly have had to stay had The Powers, and Cordelia, not chosen to drag him back to the world to continue his old work. The idea of staying here forever made his head spin, but there was no sense in dwelling upon it. If this was where his soul had come to escape Walsh's trap, it made sense, in a way, that this was where it had naturally been drawn; that this was, therefore, where it naturally belonged. He must have been judged at some point, and been found to deserve such a fate. This was his world then; this was his ultimate destination. All the years on the Earth had led him to this. To darkness, such as no other had ever seen.
He tried walking. Tried walking one way and then another; tried running. He tried shouting, tried feeling for walls and a floor or a roof above his head. There was nothing. Nothing solid anywhere. Nothing real. It was like standing on the brink of insanity. An insanity that was all too familiar.
Fred's death; hours shut up in his office trying to understand the enigma that was Illyria; struggling to come to terms with the way that his world had changed; fighting to uncover the secrets of Illyria's nature, and world, and powers. Gradual, creeping madness that everybody had seen save himself; the world seen through the bottom of a bottle of whisky; nights seeking fights in dark alleys with monsters, vampires and even humans, all because he no longer knew if he wanted to carry on living. Darkness, in everything. A terrible ice that had chilled everything. No longer believing that there was any good in his own life; only in others. He hadn't thought twice about giving up his own life to make that last strike against evil; that last blow for all that was good and right in the world - but it had been a blow for the good of others, not for himself. It wasn't his world that he had been trying to save. He saw all of that now in a tumult of misery and pain such as he hadn't felt since his last days of life. So this was hell. This was his hell. This was where he belonged.
Except that it wasn't. Cordelia had shown him that, when she had dragged him back from the brink, and deposited him in the foyer of the hotel, with a sarcastic jibe about his clumsiness in getting killed. She had told him that there were things he could be doing; that he should be doing. Things that he must do, not only because the world needed him, but also because he needed him. He needed to claw his way back, and he needed to learn that all was not darkness. Even in this place; even in this world of emptiness and dismay, all could not be darkness. There was a door here. He remembered now. A door that led back to Angel and Buffy, waiting for him. Needing him. Two girls who were going to die, who were also waiting for him. Also needing him. A spell that only he could stop. Purpose. Focus. Reason. Light. And there it was, glowing faintly above him, just where it should always have been. The light that always lived even in the darkest places, if one only knew where to look. The light that had been given back to him now, in the shape of friendships regained, and comradeship restored. The light that was Angel, Cordy, Spike and Gunn. The reason why he had left that creeping insanity behind, in this place, when Cordelia had brought him back to the world.
He was moving. He didn't notice it at first, but he was moving towards the light. Upwards, forwards, left, right, there was no way of knowing. There was no direction here, only darkness and light, and a despair that was gradually giving way to hope. New hopes. A love for life that had come, ironically, only after death. All manner of new things. He lifted his head, looking now straight into the light, and seeing the world beyond it. Angel and Buffy in the hangar, waiting for him to come back to them. He didn't even notice when he crashed to earth beside them striking with unexpected force against the concrete floor. He didn't notice the pair of them, crouching over him, trying to make themselves heard above the volume of his own muttering. Only realised later that he was muttering in Latin, alternately shouting and whispering spells to create doors, whilst shouting his defiance at the world that had tried to suck him in. He gasped.
"Angel."
"And yay for the return of English." Buffy sat back on her heels. "How are you?"
"Still dead." He sat up rather groggily. "Which really should be helping to prevent this headache."
"I don't remember headaches when I was dead." Buffy shrugged. "But then I went to heaven. I was a good girl."
"I wasn't." He smiled, turning his eyes at last to look at Angel. Was that relief he saw in the vampire's eyes? Was that a smile that was so faintly colouring the usually so impassive face? He chose to decide that it was, and smiled back. Angel grinned.
"You really had me worried for a moment there." He reached out with one large hand, and hauled Wesley to his feet. "Where did you go?"
"Back where I came from." He straightened his clothing automatically. "And now I suppose I'd better find that Kra'ash."
"You really have changed." Buffy offered him a smile that was very much more pleasant than any she had bothered to send his way in the past. "No wonder Faith speaks so highly of you these days. I thought she was just being sarcastic."
"She is known for it." Wesley drew in a deep breath. "Alright, I've done this once, so maybe it won't be so difficult this time. Take a look around would you Angel? See if Walsh is anywhere nearby."
"Good idea." With a bittersweet little smile in Buffy's direction, the vampire disappeared. Wesley looked over at Buffy.
"I hope your car is good at high speeds."
"It's Italian. I don't think it functions under sixty miles an hour." She smiled again, rather more awkwardly this time. "Should I be apologising? Or something?"
"No." He smiled very faintly, and very ruefully. "I made a career out of being a jerk, Buffy. Fortunately there's something about Angel that rather tends to rub off. Anyway. I have to get to work." He turned away, already beginning the chanting that she had heard him use before, back in the town. It was fascinating to watch, just as it was fascinating to watch Willow at work; to see the lights and feel the power. With her own supernatural abilities, Buffy was much more sensitive to such things than ordinary people, and she could feel the frisson in the air that meant magic. Magic flowing, magic growing, magic being shaped by somebody who knew what they were doing. She watched him turn blue; watched lightening appear to crackle across his body. For a second he was transparent, and she could see right through him to the door and the dark airfield beyond; then slowly the lights faded, and the chanting stopped.
"Did it work?" she asked, with predictable lack of patience. He nodded, somewhat breathlessly.
"Quicker than last time, too. I must be making progress."
"Still not easy making magic when you're dead?"
"That's an understatement." He breathed out a long sigh. "You know, it's remarkable how exhausting all of this is. You'd think that death would leave one tireless, but it doesn't. Or not in my case, anyway. Needless to say Angel is still as resilient as ever."
"Bummer."
"Um... possibly." He rubbed his eyes. "Alright. The Kra'ash is at a farm, to the east of the town we just left. There are no women there, and he needs women. Young women. He must be there for a reason though. This thing can home in on prey like a shark homing in on a source of blood."
"The ladies of the house coming home from a night out?" Buffy shrugged. "Can you be any more specific about direction?"
"Main road. Then a track. Big red tractor, three elm trees." He rubbed his eyes again. "Be careful Buffy. It's probably no stronger than the creatures you've fought in the past, but don't forget that it does have intelligence. Treat it like one of the more cunning vampires, otherwise it might get the best of you."
"Will do." She nodded her thanks. "I'll be seeing you."
"Sooner rather than later, I hope. A Slayer might be a handy thing to have around if Walsh gets frisky."
"You'll do alright. You and Angel." She flashed him a brief smile. "So long."
"Good luck, Buffy." He watched her race off, admiring her easy speed. Seconds later her car engine roared into life, and he saw a flash of the headlights as the car sped away. Angel rematerialised shortly after, looking curious.
"Buffy gone?" he asked. Wesley nodded.
"I don't think she needs your help to deal with the Kra'ash. I need you here."
"Fine by me. I guess." Angel's eyes strayed to the disappearing gleam of the headlights, visible for a brief moment through one of the windows. "Though you're really nowhere near as pretty as Buffy. Sorry."
"Yes. Well I shall try to make up for my deficiencies in other ways." With a dry smile, Wesley headed for the door. "Did you find Walsh?"
"Bloke in a wheelchair? Looks like he was on the wrong end of a nuclear explosion? Yes. He's in a basement underneath the first hangar. Looks like it might have been an air raid shelter once. He's got a lot of equipment down there."
"I'm not surprised. The sort of magic he's into calls for a lot of preparation. A lot of equipment, books, ingredients. It's by no means your average 'bit of chanting and a wave of the hand' stuff."
"You know what he's after?"
"Not entirely. Just that the spell he plans to cast is a powerful one. I only know of it being performed once before, in a little English village in the fourteenth century. The man behind it all was rumoured to have been made immortal, or to have gained some impressive degree of invincibility. There are stories of the night being turned as bright as day, and of fire in the skies that could be seen many miles away. The man fell foul of the Watcher Council, who tried to have him killed. All of the agents that they sent against him failed. Most died, several vanished without trace. I forget how they dealt with him in the end."
'That's helpful."
"Yes. Sorry. If we can stop Walsh before he gets as far as casting the spell, though, it shouldn't matter." He stifled a yawn, exhausted by the various trials of the day. "If the worst comes to the worst, I'd hope to be able to find the details somewhere. I know my father has certain books about the incident. Old forbidden stuff copied from the Council library. I'd bet that Rupert Giles or one of his dubious contacts knows how to get hold of information in that line, too."
"Copies of forbidden texts? Because that's not at all reckless. Did the Council make a habit of keeping lots of copies of that kind of thing?"
"Not officially, no. It would never have been allowed. Unofficially, though, yes they did. My father took the originals of a lot of books and papers because he didn't trust the Council vaults. With good reason, given that he was far from the only person taking things from it. Others things that he wanted he had to make copies of, as the originals were too well protected. I remember once, shortly before I took up my post in Sunnydale, there was an incident in Spain. The team sent to deal with it requested one of the old forbidden books - a diary of a Watcher in the seventeenth century who was corrupted. Only problem was, nobody could find the damn thing. Turned out it had been destroyed in 1963, as its contents was considered too dangerous ever to be read. The records department made an unofficial plea to various senior staff, and found eight copies in private hands. A couple were copies that had been made back in the seventeenth century not long after the diary was actually written. The newest was made in 1963, probably by the man who had been detailed to destroy the book. If any Watcher ever tells you that he owns the only copy of something, don't believe him. Even if he thinks he's telling the truth, he probably won't be."
"I'm not sure whether that's reassuring or just plain frightening." Angel smiled. "Come on. If you're up to it, we have a plan to sabotage and a magician to fight."
"All in a day's work." Wesley nodded. "I'm ready. I just have to tell myself that I'm dead so I can't really be tired."
"Doesn't work, does it. I got back to the hotel a couple of days ago and found Gunn fast asleep in one of the chairs. He wouldn't believe that ghosts aren't supposed to need sleep."
"I think I sleep better now than I did when I was alive." Wesley led the way to the door, although he walked through the wall beside it, rather than using the door itself, so that he could continue to walk beside Angel. The vampire shot him a speculative stare.
"Did you sleep at all those last few days?"
"Few days, few weeks. I don't know. The only time I seemed to close my eyes was when I'd drunk so much I couldn't keep them open anymore." He looked towards the second hangar as they neared it. "How do you want to do this? Walsh first?"
"First? If we deal with him we won't need to do anything with that cauldron, will we?"
"It'll have to be neutralised. It has a power of a sort, so it can't just be left here."
"Then we can deal with it later. Walsh comes first. He looks like one good punch would finish him off, but it's not going to be that simple, is it."
"No. He's a very powerful man, and he has remarkable abilities. He must have been practising the arts for most of his life."
"I could stake him."
"And I could blast him with energy bolts or cut his head off with my sword - if it's having one of its corporeal days. I'm just not sure that either of us will get the chance. Like I said; he's a powerful man."
"Maybe. Not going to find out wandering around out here, though, are we." The vampire smiled a crooked smile. "Ready?"
"Probably not, no." Wesley returned the smile, rueful, tired, but determined. "For all we know, he's ready for us. He could know that we're coming."
"Can't kill us."
"No." Angel's comment won a real smile; one of the big, oddly innocent smiles of the kind that Wesley had not used in a long time. "No, he can't. I'm not going to feel guilty about the unfair advantage, though."
"You still think he can wipe the floor with us, don't you."
"Yes." Wesley nodded, with some considerable force. "Oh yes."
"Fair enough." His companion clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on then." And with a shared smile, as one, they disappeared.
The Kra'ash liked farms. It had come to that decision soon after arriving on Earth, and discovering the wonder that was sheep. They were just the right size for a meal, they came with a pleasant tasting woollen covering, and their hooves tingled nicely on the way down. It liked to visit the local farms every so often to sample the accumulated livestock, and cast longing glances at the humans that lived nearby. Walsh's instructions had been clear - no killing of humans except to fulfil the requirements of the spell - and every night he sent the Kra'ash to the town to find his victims. The Kra'ash was always obedient, and so every night it went to the town rather than to the farms that it loved, and every night the rural women, who looked so much more tasty to its hunter's eye, went unharmed. It gazed adoringly at them when it visited to steal their sheep, and they never knew how close they were to death. This time, though, there had been no instructions as to where to go to make the kills. Walsh had merely ordered his servant to get two girls quickly, and that had been all, so the Kra'ash had known straight away to where it would go. It stood now on the hillside above its favourite farm - the one with the biggest, plumpest sheep, and the most plentiful supply of the squawky little chickens with their tasty feather coats. Two human males were playing in the yard outside the farmhouse; miniature humans - juveniles, presumably - with coverings of the same woollen material as the sheep. The Kra'ash liked wool, but it didn't think that the miniature human males looked nearly as tasty as their four legged, hoofed livestock. It growled to itself, and wondered where the womenfolk were. They were usually there, feeding the chickens, thoughtfully filling them up with the golden corn that made such a satisfying garnish to the mind of the hungry Kra'ash. It was angry that they weren't here, because if they didn't show up soon it would have to go somewhere else. Time was too short to waste in waiting for them to arrive. It had so wanted the chance to find out what they tasted like, and if these were to be its last two victims, this would be its last such chance. It sniffed the air, and chewed thoughtfully upon a gorse bush, then went to chase the fish in the nearby river. It didn't understand the fish, for they seemed to make no sound, and they lived in the wet stuff it had come to know as water. The Kra'ash came from a world with no water, and the wetness of it was fascinating. It splashed happily at the fish for some minutes before it became aware, faintly, of an approaching noise. An engine, it thought. One of the noisy metal things that propelled human vehicles about the countryside. It wondered if the engine might be bringing the missing farm girls back from wherever they had gone, but when it padded back up the hillside towards the road, it saw that the car contained only one woman; and it was not one of those from the farm. It growled its disappointment. Time was running out; it had to get two girls sooner rather than later. Perhaps it had better grab this one now, and hope for the chance to get one of the farm girls later. One was better than none, after all. Grudgingly admitting this to itself, it watched as the noisy vehicle brought its obliging cargo closer and closer. It could see blonde hair now, which was something of a disappointment. Brunettes tasted better, in its opinion; the ones with light to middle brown hair, and preferably light brown eyes to match. Blondes didn't have nearly so much flavour, even when they were thoughtful enough to wrap themselves up in coverings of tasty wool.
Buffy saw the Kra'ash when she drew the car to a halt. It wasn't easy to hide yourself when you were seven feet tall, even when night still had a grip on the world. She feigned nonchalance though, hoping that the creature wouldn't realise it had been spotted. When Wesley had first told her of the creature's intelligence she hadn't paid much attention, but since then she had come to see him in a new light - and therefore had much more respect for his advice. If the Kra'ash was intelligent, at least to a degree, then it made sense to be that little bit more careful. Treat it like a vampire, he had suggested. One of the more cunning ones. Something a little more capable than the brainless, foot soldier type she tackled easily almost every night, that never posed much of a challenge to somebody with her strength and speed. It seemed unfair that something so large and strong should be allowed to have intelligence too, but she told herself that she could handle this. She always handled these things. She was the Slayer - it was the bad guy. That meant that she would kill it, to prevent it from killing anybody else. It was the way it had to be.
Climbing out of the car, she checked her weapons as surreptitiously as possible, then rolled her shoulders round to be sure that even the short drive from the airfield hadn't left her muscles too stiff. As Xander liked to point out at every available opportunity, she wasn't as young as she used to be. The thought made her smile, for she was not remotely bothered by any signs of ageing, and such comments were typical of Xander. Behind her she heard the faint rustling that told her she was being approached. A normal human would probably not have heard the scratch of claws on grass, but her senses were sharper than most. Surprised by the lack of noise made by such a big creature, she manoeuvred herself about until she could keep one eye on one of the wing mirrors of her car, watching the Kra'ash as it edged closer to her. It moved well, she had to admit that; the grace of a ballet dancer seemed to control the chunky body and the rippling muscle. She had her first close up view of the claws and the teeth, and let one hand tighten, briefly, on the handle of the long knife that she wore strapped to one leg. She had seen bigger teeth, bigger claws, bigger muscles, but one of the first lessons Giles had ever taught her was not to be complacent. She hadn't often listened, especially in those days, but it was a lesson she had learnt anyway. As the creature rushed at her, beginning to speed up, she moved away from the car to give herself more room to move. She could no longer see it, but she could hear it, and her hearing was more than early warning enough.
The Kra'ash suspected nothing. All it saw was a small blonde human woman, young enough to qualify as one of Walsh's sacrifices, moving casually away from her car. She didn't seem to have heard it, or seen it; she didn't scream, as the humans who saw him usually did. She made no sudden movements. Flexing its claws it reached out for her as it ran, already anticipating the kill; the taste of the blood; the satisfying sound of the crunch as it bit into her neck. With excitement adding to its speed, it lashed out, its yellowed claws gouging at the air - and with easy speed Buffy threw herself forward, going into a dive roll that carried her out of the creature's reach even before it had realised she had moved. It growled in a rage, turning with remarkable manoeuvrability to make another grab for her, and this time she didn't dodge aside. As it came she drew the long knife strapped to her leg, the blade glinting wickedly in the light of the half moon. The Kra'ash growled, and its eyes showed its fury as it came for her. It feinted to the left and she almost fell for the move, remembering just in time that she was not dealing with a mere monster. Making her own feint, to convince it that she had fallen for its move, she dodged aside just as it did the same thing, stabbing upwards with her knife to graze her opponent's suddenly unprotected flank. She barely scratched its skin, but it growled anyway, lashing out in an attempt to disarm her. She moved with the blow, hurling herself backwards in a flip that took her neatly out of its range whilst still allowing her to keep hold of her weapon. The Kra'ash came again, roaring now, the volume proving the extent of its rage. Buffy dodged around it, executing a text book cartwheel that took her around behind the beast far too quickly for it to be able to respond it time. She hit it with the point of the knife, roughly where its kidneys would have been had it been human, then stabbing again at one of its shoulders. It roared, swinging around with its arms outstretched, knocking the knife from her hand before she could recover herself. A pair of powerful knuckles scraped at her arm, throwing her off balance, and she had to fight to stay upright. She dodged; the Kra'ash did the same. She lunged; so did the Kra'ash. It was copying her every movement, staying with her to prevent her from recovering the knife. She was impressed; she couldn't fail to be. It learnt quickly, and its surprise at her readiness and her abilities had soon worn off. It almost seemed to be wearing a cruel, lop-sided smile when it came for her now. Its eyes gleamed, hot and bright and oddly calculating. She knew that it was trying to second-guess her next movement, running her previous actions through its mind in an attempt to predict what she would do next. Clever. Far too clever for her liking. Buffy preferred her clawed, fanged beasts to be the essentially brainless type, that relied on pure instinct and couldn't think for themselves. This Kra'ash, though; this was something different. This thing was definitely more than just a monster.
She let it come for her in the end; let it think that it was getting its way. It took effort to trip up on purpose without it looking too fake, but she managed it, lying on her back on the faintly damp ground as the creature came for her. She could smell its breath as it came; watched its ugly face loom up in her vision. It was big, it was strong; she knew all that as she had known it all along. Pretending to be half stunned, she lay as she had fallen, and only when it grabbed her ankle did she move, rolling to one side, using its grip upon her leg as leverage with which to spin her body around and lash out with the other leg. Her foot caught the Kra'ash on the side of the head, and with a yell it released her. She rolled over, onto its back, drawing out her faithful stake and sinking it up to half its length in the creature's neck. It roared and flung her off, watching with cold eyes as she flew through the air and crashed to the ground nearby. Her head struck something hard and sharp and she winced, but knew that she couldn't let it stop her. If she did then she would die, and so would at least one other girl. Then Walsh might well triumph, and who knew what would happen then? No; she could not have the luxury of even a moment's weakness. She was the Slayer. She couldn't let the bad guys win.
She was on her feet almost before she knew it, dodging two swiping blows that made her hair blow in the breeze of their passing. The Kra'ash yelped in surprise, but recovered quickly, compensating for her changed position and anticipating that she would move again. She was ready for it though, and as it came for her, she came for it, meeting it headlong. It was expecting trickery; more feinting; more dodging; and the straightforwardness of her attack confounded it. She had stabbed it in the arm pit with her stake before it had had a chance to react, and as it swiped desperately at her, she threw herself into a double flip that carried her over to where the knife had fallen. She heard the creature roar, and turned to meet it again, dropping low, rolling aside. One of its feet kicked up, catching her by surprise, for she had been concentrating too hard on watching its arms to remember about its feet as well. A set of claws caught her in the stomach, but she was still rolling and the blow was weakened by her movement away from it. All the same, two of the claws slashed at her shirt, and she felt the skin break beneath. Furious, she stabbed upwards with the knife even as her hands were closing about it; stabbing up, lashing out, slashing backwards and forwards and downwards and flipping up onto her feet all in the same inhumanly fast series of movements. The Kra'ash stumbled backwards, slipping and sliding in shock, and she followed it as fast as she could, keeping up the initiative with a series of further swipes and stabs and slashes that all struck home. She saw blood blossom out of the creature's chest, but she kept up the pressure. There was no sense in slackening up now. It was still hitting out at her, and several times its weakening arms hit her. Once she felt her own blood run; felt the sharp pain of claws biting deeply into her skin. She didn't let it stop her; she couldn't. Her blood was up; her mind was focused; her adrenalin was powering her onward. With all the strength she possessed, she redoubled her efforts and went for the creature again; and with a last jumbled tangle of roars, gasps and growls, it slid to the ground. She didn't let up. Stabbing it through the head, she drew back to deliver a powerful blow that severed its neck at the base. Dark blood poured onto the ground, splattering the trees and the earth as well as her shoes. She scowled at that, but consoled herself with thoughts of the wipes that she carried in her car. An emergency stain prevention kit, for the avoidance of permanent damage to her clothing. She might be the Slayer, but there was no reason why all of her clothes should bear the marks of battle. Superheroes had a right to look sharp too.
She didn't have time to bury the body of the Kra'ash, for she wanted to get back to the airfield, so throwing it into the back of her car, stuffing its extremities into position so that she could shut the doors, she kicked earth over the bloodstains on the ground and then climbed behind the wheel once again. She hadn't been gone long - she didn't think that she had been gone long. There was still Walsh to defeat though - the unknown sorcerer who had been the cause of all of this. She wondered if Angel and Wesley had dealt with him already. Was the mission already completed? Was the danger over? She would find out soon enough, she supposed. And switching on the engine, she turned the car back towards the road. One down, she thought with satisfaction. And that left one to go.