Chapter Eight
"I think setting up in San Francisco is better," Faith said. "Bigger city, bigger problems. Unless there's a hellmouth in Stanford?" She blinked innocently at Doyle.
He frowned. "No. But it's closer to Connor."
Faith shrugged. "He's not the only fighter. He'll be here in the summers, and he can come up on weekends when he's in the mood. If we find a place on the south side, it'll only be about an hour's trip."
They sat at the hotel room's desk, tiny pieces of paper with the hotel's crest scattered across its surface. Faith twirled a pen in one hand, leaning back in the desk chair, her boots crossed over the papers on which Doyle had made painstaking calculations for rent, start-up capital, and utilities. The Irishman half-sat, half-lay in an armchair, his chin resting on his chest. Elena had fled to the shower, eager to wash away the grime of her night on the street. Connor had gone home hours ago.
Faith dropped the pen and swore. She couldn't reach it from the chair, so she leaned forward and snatched another off the desk, leaving the first one on the floor.
"He won't be able to go out every night," Doyle said. "He needs to stay focused on school."
Faith rolled her eyes. "You sound like his mom. I'm not gonna jeopardize his schooling, laddie." Doyle shot her a dark look, which she ignored. "Boy should finish his college. One of us needs to have a real education."
"Hey!" Doyle protested, sitting up a little in his chair. "I used to be a teacher, for your information."
Faith stopped twirling the pen. "Yeah? What'd you teach?"
"Third grade."
Faith smirked. "Man, you just get wussier and wussier."
He threw a pen at her. She caught it with her free hand and proceeded to twirl it as well, performing a miniature baton act.
"One of these days you're going to have to tell me about when you killed someone," Doyle said.
She nearly dropped a pen, but covered by pointing it at him. "Hey—if you could work with Angel, you can work with me."
Doyle raised his hands in surrender. "I'm not saying I can't."
"It's his fault I'm a goody-two-shoes now, anyway," she went on. She stabbed the pen at him again. "And you have to tell me how you know that letting someone die feels the same as killing them yourself."
"Deal," he said.
"Just not now."
"No," he agreed. "Not now."
She resumed twirling the pens. "We've got all of Wesley's books," she said, getting back to business. "So at least we'll have some resources. If any of us can read them."
"Maybe Connor can take a course in Ancient Demonic Languages."
Faith snorted. Her eyes drifted to the window and the buildings outside painted in the red light of the sunset. She frowned, and her boots thumped onto the floor. It would be dark soon, and Katie hadn't come back, not even to pick up her things. Faith stood and crossed to the bedside stand. She picked up her stake and slid it into her back pocket.
Doyle leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. "Going somewhere?"
"To find Katie," she answered. She wasn't sure where or how, but she had to try.
"Ah," Doyle said. "I was wondering about her." Faith gave him a look, and he smiled. "You heard about me, I heard about you. And I, uh, saw you in the Phoenix bus station. We took the same bus to L.A."
Faith blinked, then shook her head and laughed quietly. "Guess we were going to meet up one way or another, huh?"
"Guess so," he said. As Faith shrugged into her jacket, he asked, "Why'd she leave?"
Faith paused in the act of pulling her hair free of the collar. "She saw things in black and white, and then found out they were really gray. She didn't like it." She flipped her hair free and straightened her jacket.
The sound of the shower stopped, and Doyle tilted his head in the direction of the bathroom door. "And Elena? She's still here."
Faith's smile was more revealing than she intended it to be, but she couldn't take it back now. "I don't think anything is black for Elena. Tell her where I've gone?"
He nodded and she turned toward the door. Her hand was on the knob when she heard him shout. She whirled to see him fall forward out of his chair, his hands fisted in his hair. He landed on his shoulder, and by the time the rest of his body hit the ground, she was next to him. She pulled him into a semi-upright position and held onto his shoulders, steadying him as the vision swept through him in waves.
After only a few seconds, his fingers relaxed and he opened his eyes.
"I know where she is," he gasped. One of his hands groped until it found her forearm, his grip strong enough to actually hurt.
"Where?" she whispered.
"Connor's."
Faith burst through the hotel doors, Doyle and a still-dripping Elena close behind her. "How much time?" she shouted, pausing on the sidewalk.
"I don't know," Doyle answered. "All I saw was the bloody big knife she was carrying."
"Then we assume that means now." Faith scanned the street, looking for a cab, then gave up and began to run.
"Hey!" Doyle yelped. He wouldn't be able to keep up, but she couldn't worry about that now. She could hear Elena behind her, could almost see the younger girl's hair flying behind her in wet tangles. It was only fifteen blocks to Connor's apartment, a little over a mile. Running flat out, she and Elena should be able to get there in just over three minutes.
She hoped that was fast enough.
They dodged through traffic, Faith leaping over the hood of a Civic at one point. As they turned the corner, only three blocks from Connor's Faith slammed into a man. The force of the impact sent him flying backwards, screaming. Faith spun, trying to keep her balance, and Elena's hair whipped her in the face as the younger girl sprinted past. As the man hit the pavement, Faith completed her spin and picked up her pace, a few steps behind Elena. She didn't look back.
They reached the parking lot of Connor's complex, and Elena slowed, letting Faith take the lead. Faith looked up, her eyes searching for Connor's door. She found it just as it exploded into splinters.
Connor flew through the door, staggered the three steps across the walkway, and flipped over the banister. He tumbled through the air, falling three stories to land on his back on the roof of a Buick. The windows exploded outward, one piece flying far enough to slice Faith's cheek several yards away. Connor rolled off the car and onto the pavement.
She was close enough to hear him groan as he tried to push himself off the ground, collapsing twice before he made it to his hands and knees. She skidded to a stop next to him, reaching for him, but Elena's cry stopped her.
"Katie!"
Faith looked back up. Katie leaned over the banister, one hand resting almost casually on it. With a slight bounce, she vaulted over the edge and landed in a crouch a few feet from Faith. Her lip was bleeding, and in her left hand was an ornate knife Faith had never seen before. The tip was red.
Faith straightened.
"Hey, Faith," Katie said.
Faith matched her conversational tone. "What're you doing, Katie?"
"My job."
Connor had made it to his knees, one arm pressed against his stomach. Blood stained the front of his shirt.
Faith glanced at him. "I don't see how killing a boy is your job."
Katie pointed the knife in her hand at Connor. "It is with him. I've seen what he's done, Faith. I've seen what he is. Did you know he tried to blow up a sporting goods store? Hostages and everything."
Faith didn't have time to be shocked or horrified; her past didn't give her the right, anyway. "That's a pretty toy," she said, nodding at the knife in the other girl's hand. "Where'd you get it?"
Katie drew back a bit, her eyes narrowed. "Norberry," she admitted.
Faith laughed. "You believed him?"
"He showed me their file on your little Connor here," Katie spat, "including a video of the store's security feed. Completely nuts."
"That was before," Connor said, his voice rough.
"Exactly," Katie said. "It what's you really are. What you'll be again when the mojo wears off."
Connor pushed himself to his feet.
"You all right?" Faith asked without taking her eyes off Katie.
"Yeah," he grunted. "It's shallow. Just bleeding a lot."
Elena pulled Connor back a few steps. Katie shifted her grip on her knife and moved to follow, but Faith stepped in front of her.
"You can't believe anything Wolfram and Hart tells you. They're just using you to get rid of Connor."
"Yeah, well I'm okay with that," Katie gritted. "Their goal happens to align with mine in this case."
"They are evil," Faith stressed. "If you do this, you're helping the bad guys."
"You're a murderer!" Katie screamed, waving the knife. "Who am I helping when I help you? I can't believe anything you say, either! You've lied to us—who's that?"
Faith heard a car door slam and then footsteps, but didn't turn from Katie to look. Elena said, "This is Doyle."
"Doyle?" Katie repeated.
"Our new half-Irish, half-demon prophet," Faith explained.
Katie paled, and her breathing sped up. "More demons? Why don't you just open a demon bar and serve up human snacks?" The tone of her voice crept higher with each word.
Doyle started to speak, but Faith held out a hand, stopping him. "Maybe when I retire," she said. "But until then, I'm going to keep doing what I've been doing the whole time you've known me: fighting the fight. As a good guy. And these are good guys, too."
Katie shook her head and took a step forward, her eyes on Connor.
"Katie," Elena said, moving to stand beside Faith, "none of us are what we were. Faith, Connor. Me, you. You stole cars."
"I never killed anyone!" Katie shouted. "I never hurt anybody!"
"Are you sure?" Elena asked. "Maybe the cars you stole were sold to people who used them to make drive-by shootings. Maybe a family, because they had no car, had to make their children walk to school, and the children were kidnapped or killed."
"You don't know that!" Katie screamed. She paused, collecting herself, her knuckles white on the knife. "That's all hypothetical. And if it did happen, it wasn't my fault. I had no control over it. But this—" She pointed at Connor, then at Doyle. "—this I can control. I'm a Slayer. They're demons. End of story."
"No," Faith said. "Beginning of story. Not all demons are bad, just like not all humans are good. Most are somewhere in between. I'm proof of that. We're all proof of that."
Katie's whole body shook with her head. "I can't accept that."
Faith shrugged. "Then I'm sorry."
She turned the shrug into a punch, catching Katie in the jaw. The taller girl spun, recovering quickly, but not quickly enough to stop Faith's boot from impacting her ribs.
Then it became a whirl of limbs, instinct, and training. Katie fought desperately, angrily, a style Faith knew well. She was forced to focus most of her energy and attention on avoiding Katie's knife, dodging and spinning, slipping in blows when she could. As they fought, she caught glimpses of the others. Doyle supported Connor, who looked battered but alert, ready to reenter the fray if needed. Elena stood a step in front of them, feet spread and stake in hand, the look on her face a tortured mix of emotions.
Katie's blade bit through Faith's jacket, slicing her arm. Faith caught her knife wrist in her other hand, spun down the length of Katie's arm, and slammed her elbow into the taller girl's nose. The force of the blow sent Katie staggering backward, and Faith adjusted her grip on the other Slayer's wrist, forcing the joint to overextend. A spasm ran through Katie's fingers, and their grip on the knife loosened. Faith wrenched it out of her hand, then grabbed the still off-balance girl by the throat and slammed her into a nearby van, the knife poised over her heart.
They stayed in that position for eight long seconds, staring at each other. Faith's hand twitched, remembering the feel of the blade sliding through human flesh and longing to feel it again. Katie's eyes were large and dark, and Faith realized the ragged breathing echoing in her ears was her own.
She lowered the knife but kept her grip on Katie's throat.
"You've got a choice," she said, her voice hoarse. "You can leave, go it alone. Live alone, fight alone, die alone. Or you can stay with us." She paused. "Your family."
She could feel Katie's pulse beneath her fingers. After ten beats, Katie took a deep, shuddering breath, and her eyes filled with tears. She began to cry, deep, silent sobs that shook her frame. Faith dropped the knife and pulled the younger Slayer into her arms.
As they sank to the pavement, a small pair of arms joined Faith's, encircling Katie, and a masculine hand settled on each of her shoulders. Faith looked up, her eyes moving from Elena's face to Doyle's to Connor's, and her mind was filled with memories of a different rain-soaked alley: not where a champion had died, but where a Slayer had been born.