CHAPTER TWO
Hellmouth Roads, Take Me Home
Damn, I forgot to close the curtains
The harsh sunlight streaming through the motel room's open window made sleep impossible. Faith carefully extricated herself from beneath a burly, tattooed arm attached to a loudly snoring form that lay next to her, threw back the blanket of the not-particularly-comfortable king size bed, and slid to her feet. A vein throbbed fiercely in her temple as she tried to ignore the start of a vicious hangover.
She stepped over a second sleeping man on the way to the shower. She luxuriated beneath the hot water, closed her eyes, and tried unsuccessfully to will the rhythmic pulsing in her head to go away. When the shower had restored her to some semblance of vitality, she roughly toweled herself off then searched in vain for a toothbrush. After finding none, she roughly scrubbed toothpaste on her gums and teeth using a finger, then washed her mouth out with water from a none-too-clean looking glass. Faith took stock of herself in the mirror for a few minutes. The energetic night and a few too many tequila shooters had given the creases in her brow and the lines of her crow's feet a particularly ragged edge that morning. Silver streaks glinted in her brown hair. Buffy was vain enough to hassle with hair dyes and salons, she never bothered. Miraculously, she spotted her hair tie lying on the bathroom floor. After stooping to retrieve it, she quickly pulled her hair back into a ponytail.
She slowly opened the bathroom door so as not to wake the room's sleeping occupants. After a few minutes of searching, she found her bra draped over a nearby lamp, her jeans crumpled in a ball at the foot of the bed, her shirt lying on a nearby dresser, and her boots tucked beneath a chair. Her panties appeared to have vanished into the ether, but at least her thick leather jacket was lying near the motel room door. The excruciating beams of sunlight bore down mercilessly through the window as she tugged her clothes on.
Her phone beeped with an incoming text just as she opened the door to leave. Faith winced as the sleeping man on the bed began to toss and turn at the unexpected sound; she hastily stepped outside and quietly swung the door closed. The phone continued to beep. She yanked it from her jacket pocket and checked the incoming text.
Andrew
She hadn't tolerated an assigned handler in nearly a decade, not since New Orleans, but she did keep in touch with Andrew and a few of the more tolerable Watchers, along with the slayers she felt she could trust.
You in Moonridge yet?
Not till this afternoon.
Please let me know how everyone is doing. The Council hasn't received any news about Buffy, either Buffy, since January. You were supposed to be there months ago to check on them!
Was busy. Gotta go. Long ride ahead.
She tucked the phone away, fished her keys out of the pocket of her jacket, then headed out into Barstow's late morning sun. The motel's three stories of faded beige paint rose on either side of her. The neat rows of numbered doors were chipped and worn from years of use, and the roof was missing more tiles than she could count.
Goddamn is this depressing.
She had just reached the parking lot when she heard the patter of bare feet behind her. Instinctively she stiffened, then slowly turned to find that one of the men she'd met the night before had followed her outside.
"Sorry I woke you, Brent" she said with whatever semblance of meager cheeriness she could muster. "Had a lot of fun last night." She paused for a moment as she searched for the right words. "Thanks."
Thanks?!
"It's Brett," the shirtless, tall man wearing jeans and a thick gold chain around his neck said by way of correction. "I hope you weren't just going to leave without saying nuthin'?"
She shrugged. "Looks that way."
Faith watched as the man rubbed at his blond, neatly trimmed stubble. The sharp lines of his jaw and the rippling movements of his abs might have piqued her interest if not for the hangover looming over her every waking thought.
He stepped closer and grinned. "Damn woman, when you said you were more than the two of us could handle, I thought it was just pillow talk."
Faith turned and resumed walking. "At least I left you both in one piece."
He hurried to trod beside her. "C'mon wildcat, where you going? At least let me buy you breakfast?"
"Breakfast?" she scoffed. "What, you think we're going steady now? It was fun, but I've got places to be."
He laid a hand on her arm. She stiffened and he immediately yanked it away as though he'd just been burnt.
"Hey now, I didn't mean nothing by that," he said quickly. "It's just …"
Faith glanced back at him. "Just what?"
"Well, I just want to see you again, is all," the man said sheepishly. "Can I have your number?"
"Don't have a phone," she replied brusquely.
Brett reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small garment made of wispy pink silk. "What about these?" he asked with a smirk as he twirled her panties on his index finger. "I'll tell you what, you give me your number and I'll give these back. Now that's an even trade, ain't it?"
Faith reached the black, chrome, and steel Harley parked near the motel's front desk, slid her leg over the seat, and sat down. "Consider them a souvenir."
He sheepishly tucked the undergarments back in his pocket. "At least tell me when you'll be in town again?"
"Probably never," she replied in an indifferent tone. "But you never know."
She gripped the throttle, turned the key, and fired up the ignition. The low rumble of the bike's engine echoed throughout the parking lot, and also through her aching skull.
Sure would be great if that slayer healing could kick in right about now.
"Nice bike," Brett said appreciatively.
Faith shrugged. "I guess. Isn't mine."
She put the motorcycle in gear and with a squeal of tires roared out of the motel parking lot and headed towards the highway.
. . . . . . . . .
Richard Wilkins the self-styled Fourth stared over the battlements of the Valle dell'Ombra castle. The vineyard had been closed to visitors for nearly a month and a half, ostensibly for repairs, in actuality so that he could have a suitably spacious, and uncomfortably ostentatious, base of operations. The vineyard's staff, to the extent they still had conscious minds capable of thought, had no objection to the hordes of people, demons, and various strains of undead now lodging and working in most of the available space.
It had been a busy time. So many cities to visit, so many acquaintances who needed to be informed of his arrival, so many debts to either call in or reaffirm, and so much learn about this world. He'd missed over twenty years, after all. Still, some things never changed. People, whatever their country of or dimension of origin, still had the same goals, and politics … well, the faces may come and go, but politics never changed.
"What was it like?" Joshua asked from within the shadows of a nearby tower.
The question startled him from his reverie. He took a sip of coffee from a mug that one of the more thoughtful slaves had prepared for him and glanced towards the tall, red-haired figure that had spoken. Joshua seemed older, though of course he physically couldn't have aged a day.
"What was what like?" he asked cheerily in reply. While there was still a ways to go, the taciturn, surly young man … no, young vampire … he'd met months ago had grown calmer, less prone to outbursts, and most importantly, more tractable.
"Sunnydale," Joshua said as he nodded towards the enormous crater that Richard Wilkins had been staring at. "I'd like to hear about it."
Oh," he replied. "It was like most cities, I guess, except it had an energy, it had a hum to it. You knew when you were there that something was different."
"Because of the Hellmouth?"
He shrugged. "That was part of it, but Sunnydale had a history. If there's one thing you don't get much of in California, it's history. Got everything else, maybe too much of everything else if you ask me, but history? Well, that's rare in these parts." He sighed. "I miss it." He patted the castle wall. "But that's why we're here. There's some powerful bits of old Sunnydale floating around in Moonridge, and by gum if we're not going to take advantage of it."
He turned away from the view and joined Joshua inside the tower. He slipped the thick wooden door closed and began to descend. As they neared the second floor of the castle, a room filled with rows of desks stacked with computers, monitors, and printers came into view. A silver skinned demon with red hair and needle-sharp teeth scurried to speak with him as soon as he'd descended.
"Sir, all the preparations have been made for this afternoon."
"Mindy, if I've told you once I've told you a thousand times, please, call me Richard," he smiled at her. "If I have to tell you again, I just might have your tongue pulled out." He laughed heartily and cheerily.
Mindy gulped and turned a paler shade of silver. "Well, Richard," the name sounded awkward and nervous coming from her lips, "sound system, marketing material, everything has been arranged."
He nodded. "Good, good. You know, logistics are everything. The warrior may get the glory, but the clerk who makes the shipping arrangement is the one who wins, or loses, wars."
Mindy blinked a few times then nodded.
"And how about the store?" he asked. "That miserable little shop selling trinkets, and smelly herbs, and postcards, and everything else a young wizard might need if he didn't care about acquiring real power. Have we made an offer?"
"Soon, si … Richard," Mindy replied as she caught her near misstep of vocabulary mid-word. "We have only just confirmed that the Valknut is part of their inventory."
"Excellent," he replied with a nod. "When will we make the offer to buy?"
Mindy checked a clipboard she was holding. "We should have the funds available and the contract drafted before the end of the month."
He frowned for a moment. "I was hoping sooner, but I understand." The smile returned. "No later than the end of this month or heads will roll," he said cheerily. "I'm serious by the way. And we'd be starting with yours."
"Of course," Mindy squeaked as she backed away. "Let me know when you'd like to leave for the speech."
He checked his watch. "Oh, not for a few hours yet. I'm waiting for a new arrival in town to finish with a favor I asked him." He patted Joshua on the shoulder. "When you take care of the details, the little stuff falls into place. Now, how many hours did we spend trying to figure out a way to eliminate my competition without drawing the wrong kind of attention?"
"Too many," Joshua replied.
"And now look what happened," he said with glee. "Someone with a very unique skillset, and with a very common grudge against a certain ex-vampire with a soul, is willing to come to Moonridge and lend a helping hand … and knife … in exchange for information. We keep the peace, we don't bring attention to ourselves, and the job still gets done."
"If you say so," Joshua replied nonchalantly.
Richard Wilkins stared at him sternly. "Now, I'm trying to teach you something. It's an important lesson. Can you figure out what it is?"
"Don't get your own hands dirty unless you have to?"
Richard Wilkins laughed long and loudly. "Well, that's true, but it isn't quite what I mean. No, the lesson here is to stay flexible. Use every tool at your disposal and don't be afraid to think outside the box."
"Are you sure he'll actually do it?" Joshua asked. "I mean, it's an entire family."
"Have a little faith," Richard Wilkins replied. "I consider myself an excellent judge of character, and I know a killer when I see one. He'll get the job done, I guarantee it."
. . . . . . . . .
Moonridge Investigations occupied a multi-room suite just a few minutes from City Hall. Two of the three offices had an eclectic mix of furniture chosen by their respective owners while the third was filled with crates of weapons, various mystical supplies, the office's networking rack, and several large cabinets filled with files and binders. The windowed lobby was large enough to fit a lengthy couch along one side; a front desk occupied the other half of the room. While Xander had preferred a more modern look with neutral paint tones and tiled floors, Angel's taste preferences had won out; the office was furnished with light, yellow carpets, burnished wood, and was painted a cream color that sparkled subtly with a faint touch of gold. A small kitchen with a plain circular table, two folding chairs, a fridge and an automated coffee machine was tucked away in one corner.
Angel had spread maps along the lobby desk in order to chart recent vampire attacks when Xander opened the front door and stepped inside. Angel briefly glanced at the ornate wooden clock on the wall.
He's finally here.
"It's almost ten o'clock," Angel said neutrally as he jotted another small X on a map. He hoped that by mapping attacks he'd be able to spot a pattern.
Xander shrugged and laid a box of donuts on the lobby desk. "Like you've never been a late riser."
Angel, fighting back his irritation, rummaged through the box until he found a jelly-filled donut. He took a bite and let the cherry flavor linger on his tongue. The raw strength of the sensation to his now-living taste buds was nearly overpowering.
How did I ever live without this?
"You okay there, big guy?" Xander asked as he plopped down on the couch. "You look like you just had an orgasm in your mouth." He held up a hand. "Wait a moment, that didn't come out right."
Angel consumed the rest of the donut in two large bites and decided to overlook Xander's tardiness. That wasn't much he could do about it anyway. That was the difference between a partner and an employee.
"Before I forget," Xander said as he made a futile attempt to wipe a smear of jelly off his collared, pale blue shirt, "a gal came by to see you yesterday. Young. Pretty."
I hadn't been expecting any appointments.
"Who was she?"
Xander shrugged. "She didn't leave her name."
"Well, can you offer any description besides 'pretty?'"
Xander thought for a moment. "About Buffy's height, Latina, I think. Brown hair. I know she wasn't a demon."
"Anything else?"
The glass of the office's front door swung open.
Xander ignored the door and continued, "Like I said, she was pretty. She said she'd come back later."
"Who was pretty?" Buffy asked as she stepped into the office.
"Xander didn't get her name," Angel complained. "I hope she didn't need our help."
"Didn't seem that urgent," Xander said defensively.
Buffy walked over to Angel and gave him a hug. "We don't want the pretty ones as clients anyway, right babe?" Buffy's words had a barely detectible bite to them. "
"Right," Angel answered sheepishly.
"Ooh, donuts!" Buffy exclaimed with delight as she ruffled through the box. She snagged a chocolate donut and pulled it free. "Sweetie pie, can I bend your ear for a few minutes?" She smiled at Angel.
Xander lay on the couch and propped his feet up one of the armrests. "Don't mind me, I'm just the guy paying the rent till we start turning a profit."
Angel shot a wounded glance towards Xander. "Hey, things are picking up!"
"Angel, dearest, we can let Xander relax and use your office," Buffy suggested. Without waiting for a confirmation, she vanished into one of the doorways.
Angel glanced over at Xander.
"Uh oh," Xander quietly whispered. Then he interlaced his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
Angel stepped into his office and sat down at the large, brown leather chair sitting behind an ancient wooden desk. He did his best not to fidget.
"What's on your mind?" he asked nervously.
Buffy swung the door closed.
Gulp.
She sat down on one of the two chairs on the opposite side of the desk and leaned forward. "I was hoping you'd bring it up on your own, but it's been over a week since we found that Hellspot at the opera house. I want to talk about what happened."
"What happened?" Angel said.
She frowned at him. "Don't play coy. We wasted a lot of mental energy, and precious minutes of champagne drinking time, arguing over whether I should be a part of what your small, independently owned business was doing."
"We couldn't discuss this at home?" Angel asked.
Buffy shook her head. "I was going to, but then I realized, 'this is business.'" The frown vanished and was replaced by a suspiciously cheery grin. "More specifically, it's your business. So, I realized we should talk business in the business where you do your business."
He looked at her in confusion. "What?"
Buffy waved her hand. "Never mind. What I'm trying to say is, I want to come work here."
"Here?" Angel asked incredulously. "With me and Xander? Buffy, I know the school board decided not to give you your counselor job back, but I thought you were looking into appealing their decision?"
"Why?" Buffy asked with a touch of bitterness. "Even if they took me back, thanks to Joshua everyone would think I'm an axe-wielding maniac." She gestured at the rows of files stacked in the corner of Angel's office. "This is what you do, and I can help. It's where I belong. Honestly, I don't know why it didn't occur to me sooner." She leaned back and looked up at him.
Because you were a slayer before.
Angel thought the words, but he knew better than to voice them. His mouth hung open as he searched for the right response.
Buffy crossed her arms and pursed her lips at him. "I think what you're trying to say is: 'Buffy, love of my life, we'd love to have you on the team and we've got an office all ready for you.'"
"The third office is filled with stuff," Angel protested weakly.
Buffy forced a smile. "We'll do some redecorating."
"Buffy, I don't know," Angel said hesitantly. "This is dangerous. I don't want you to …"
She held up a hand, "If you say you don't want me to get hurt, I will scream. That's always been a risk, nothing has changed."
"Except that you're …" Angel's words trailed off.
"Human?" Buffy completed the sentence for him. "I am. Just like Xander is."
Angel glanced at the door. "Xander's different now. You know that."
"He can spot demons with a magic eye, not leap tall buildings in a single bound!" Buffy snapped. She took a deep breath and lowered her voice. "What about Wesley and Cordelia? How about that buddy you told me about, Charles Gunn? And Fred Burkle, you're telling me I would be in any more danger than she was? Regular ol' humans, all of them, just like me."
Angel looked at her a long time. "Buffy," he said quietly. "Do you want to know what every single one of those people, people I cared deeply about, have in common?"
"Angel …"
"They're all dead," he said sadly. "Or for some of them, worse than dead. I had to watch while what's left of Fred turned Gunn and Wesley into dead puppets that dance on her strings."
Buffy leaned forward and clasped one of his hands in hers. She noticed that Angel's prominent brow was beaded with sweat and his face was flushed with emotion. After she'd felt his cold body in her arms so many times she wondered if she'd ever get used to seeing him gleam with the trappings of life. She shook herself free from the intrusive thought and replied in what she hoped was a suitably delicate and understanding manner, "None of that is going to happen to me. If it will calm your manly protective sensibilities, I promise you that I won't insist that I run point on dangerous ops."
"Run point on dangerous ops?" Angel asked as he blinked in surprise at how easily the jargon rattled off her tongue. "You enlist in the reserves while I wasn't looking?"
"I've been watching SEAL Team," Buffy admitted, "too much free time." She tightened her grip on his hand. "That's why I want to come work with you. Plus, that way we'd get to spend even more time together!"
"Buffy, while I appreciate this newfound desire to roleplay as Veronica Mars, I'm not sure if …" Upon seeing her face fall, an idea occurred to him. "Then again, Xander and I were just talking about hiring a recep …" Buffy snatched her hand away and he caught himself before he finished the sentence, "hiring someone to meet with clients and help us with research here in the office." The idea appealed somewhat to him; he hated answering phones. "Would you like to try something like that?"
"Angel, sweetheart," Buffy said through gritted teeth. "I don't want to work for you as your secretary, I want to work with you. Unless you plan on chaining me up, I'm going to keep fighting the good fight, so it might as well be here where we can be together. I may not be a slayer, but I want, no, I need to be part of what you're doing. The secret informants, the shady dives, the overly friendly covens, all of it."
Angel tilted his head and looked at her doubtfully. "Overly friendly covens? Just what is it you think Xander and I do here?"
"You know what I mean!"
Angel grabbed a sheaf of papers and held them up. "Buffy, most of my days consist of sitting at this desk and reading. You could be a big help and do a lot of good without stalking through graveyards."
"Angel, I know that we've both been through a lot of changes and that everything is scary and new, but I can't have you keep bursting into tears at the thought of me coming to harm."
"I have never burst into tears!"
The door to Angel's office swung open and Xander poked his head in.
Buffy ignored Xander's presence and carried on, "I'm not going to sit at home and tend to a flock of cats. Or herd. Or whatever you call a bunch of 'em."
"I'm pretty sure the appropriate collective noun for cats isn't 'flock,'" Xander offered, "I believe it's called a 'spinster.' You would be tending to a spinster of cats, Buffy."
Angel forced himself not to smile or laugh.
"Did you need something, Xander" Buffy asked tersely.
"You have your ringer off again," Xander complained as he pointed at Angel's phone. "A cop is on the line, wants to talk to you."
"What cop?"
Xander shrugged. "Didn't get his name."
"We really need to work on your message-taking," Angel complained.
Xander gestured back at the lobby. "Emmy's here. We were about to go grab some brunch."
Angel looked at the small wooden clock on the wall of his office. "You've only been here about fifteen minutes."
"Let me know if you two want to join us," Xander said as he closed the door.
Angel noticed the light blinking on his phone. "I should take this," he told Buffy.
She propped her feet up on his desk. "Go ahead. I'll wait."
. . . . . . . . .
Xander returned to Moonridge Investigations' lobby to find Emmy craned over Angel's collection of maps. Her honey-blonde hair cascaded over both shoulders as she examined the various markings. While the angle didn't afford him a view of her face, he could imagine her large, hazel-green eyes squinting in thought while she pursed her lips in concentration.
"What are you in the mood for?" he asked cheerily.
Emmy looked up at him and smiled. Her teeth sparkled in the sunlight streaming in through the window. Her blouse covered the ridge of reddish-brown scales that tracked the creset of her back, a legacy of a Prajjian demon grandparent, but his eye could still see them glowing faintly through the thin fabric. To his delight he had discovered that the scales were wonderfully sensitive to a gentle touch.
"You guys looking for buried treasure?" Emmy asked as she tapped one of the charts.
Xander shook his head. "Angel's looking for vampire nests, or any pattern really."
Emmy glanced down and frowned. "These are attacks? People got hurt here."
Xander grabbed another donut before he answered. "Yup."
"Xander, I know almost all of these places. We've walked to most of them."
He paused before taking a bite. "Yeah, I know."
She looked at him worriedly. "Doesn't this scare you?"
He swallowed hastily. "Sometimes. You gotta remember, though," he pointed at his left eye, "now I can see them coming."
Emmy rolled her eyes and stepped away from the desk. "You guys are so blasé about all of this, and I don't know how you do it."
"Well, sweetheart," Xander began, "in fairness, three days a week you commute to a pocket dimension and help Dr. Hu graft demon organs into humans, so both our jobs have their quirks."
She smiled again as she gave him a quick hug. "I guess that's true." Emmy stepped back and looked up at him. "Speaking of Dr. Hu, I just found out you cancelled another appointment. That's the third time. Xander, what's going on?"
"Oh, I haven't noticed any symptoms for a while," Xander explained in a tone of feigned casualness.
Emmy tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. "Really? Your eye hasn't been glowing? No sensation of heat? Not even when you're angry?"
"I haven't noticed anything like that."
"Uh huh."
She definitely doesn't buy it.
Emmy crossed her arms. "I've made you an appointment for next month."
"I feel fine, really!" Xander protested.
"The appointment is in a few weeks and you're going," Emmy stated firmly. "That's all there is to it."
Xander tried very hard not to sound like he was whining. "Emmy …" he whined.
"Xander," she said sharply. "I mean it. If you cancel again, you and I are going to have problems."
He glanced sheepishly downwards. "Do you mean that?"
She nodded with a concerned look on her face. "I do."
"Fine, I'll be there."
The door to Angel's office swung open as the former vampire stepped hurriedly into the lobby.
"What's up partner?" Xander asked. "You're looking a bit flustered."
It was true. Angel's face was flushed, and he looked nervous.
I miss the pallor. You always knew where you stood with the pallor.
"You're going to have to skip brunch," Angel informed him. "That cop who called? There's been a murder … murders, actually … bad ones, and we need to head over."
"Now?" Xander asked.
Angel nodded. "Now."
"We usually aren't Moonridge P.D.'s first choice," Xander noted. "Why this time?"
Angel's face was grim and unsmiling as he walked towards the front door. "An Angel Investigations business card was tacked to the wall above one of the victims."
Xander looked at Emmy. "Sorry sweetheart, raincheck?"
She nodded. "I understand."
Buffy stepped out of Angel's office. "Maybe we should all go?" She glanced at Emmy. "I don't suppose you've been teaming up with Xander and Angel on occasion, have you?"
While Buffy's tone was casual, Angel had the distinct impression that the question was anything but.
Emmy shook her head. "Oh no, no. I worry enough about Xander as it is. All of this," she gestured at the maps, "scares the hell out of me."
Angel fished his keys out of the pocket of his overcoat and reached for the door. He still insisted on wearing the heavy black garment despite it being entirely unsuited for sunny days. "We really need to leave," he informed Xander as he swung the door open.
Xander moved to follow.
"Angel," Buffy said sharply.
Angel paused with the door half-open. "Yes?"
Buffy took a deep breath before she continued. "I have an errand I need to run, so you and Xander check this one out by yourselves, but we're going to finish that conversation. Understood?"
"Absolutely," Angel replied as he and Xander stepped outside.
As the door swung closed, Emmy and Buffy turned to stare at each other. The office had settled into an abandoned-feeling stillness.
"Am I the only one who feels very much like the little wife at the moment, except without the engagement bling?" Buffy asked.
Emmy giggled softly before she replied. "No, it isn't just you."
. . . . . . . . .
It was the cop bent over, hands on her knees, and vomiting on the front lawn that first gave Angel pause as he glided his black sedan to the curb. He shared a glance with Xander, then they both surveyed their surroundings through the tinted window of the car. He'd been meaning to have the now unnecessary light-blocking coating removed, but he'd found certain old habits had died hard. He still found himself flinching reflexively as he stepped into a brightly lit day, still found himself surprised at the sensation of his own heart beating from exertion, and he couldn't help but hesitate at the doorjamb before entering homes. At least the thirst for blood, the unending gnawing desire to just give in to the horrible thing that crouched on his soul, was gone.
There had to be at least a dozen police cruisers parked haphazardly in front of a palatial, dual level home. Whispering, scared neighbors clustered and stared from behind the yellow caution tape that cordoned off the roadway and front lawn. A few ambulances were parked in front of the house, but there didn't seem to be any hurry to provide medical care. No visible stretchers, no patients being visible within the interior of the ambulances, the vehicles simply sat there, lights off and sirens silent.
No survivors.
"Angel, what the hell are we doing here?" Xander asked as he stared raptly through the front window. "Are you sure maybe your old business card wasn't just lying around somewhere?"
"I don't think so," Angel replied as he watched the vomiting officer stand up and wipe her mouth. A fellow officer patted her on the back comfortingly. "I've got a feeling there's something off about these killings."
"And why do you think that?" Xander asked he unbuckled his seatbelt.
Angel correspondingly unfastened his seatbelt and opened the door. "Because if that wasn't the case, we wouldn't be here."
He stepped out of the car, took care to ensure his black overcoat was free of the door, then slammed it closed and moved forward. The throng of curious neighbors stepped aside to allow him to pass. When he reached the caution tape, he paused, caught the gaze of a uniformed cop, and locked eyes until the officer moved closer.
"You need something?" the stout, florid-faced officer asked. His forehead was beaded with sweat.
"I'm looking for Captain Quinn," Angel replied.
The officer snorted derisively as he gestured at his surroundings. "Take a glance around you, pal. The captain is kind of busy right now. Make an appointment with him at the station, I'm thinking he'll probably be free sometime next year. Maybe." The officer turned to go.
"Hey," Xander snarled as he reached for the man's sleeve.
Angel grabbed Xander's forearm just in time. For a moment his partner flexed as though he meant to wrench his arm away, then the officer turned back towards them. Xander let his arm drop to his side.
A tall, black man in a light gray suit bellowed from across the lawn. "Angel? Mr. Harris?" He waved them over. "Officer Glenn, let them through."
"You sure?" the heavyset cop yelled in reply.
The tall man stepped closer. He had a captain's badge tucked into the front pocket of his shirt.
A captain at a murder scene? What the hell happened here?
"I'm sure," the captain said as he lifted up the caution tape. Angel and Xander ducked beneath and followed he began walking towards the house.
"Captain Quinn …" Angel started to say.
"Just Quinn is fine."
"Quinn," Angel tried again, "we met a month or so ago, right? When that club high on PCP decided to play dress up and terrorize a few houses?"
Quinn stopped on the front porch of the house and glanced at Angel. "PCP and costumes … I guess that's as good a story as any." He stepped through the propped-open front door.
Angel and Xander followed him inside. The interior of the house was tastefully, and expensively, decorated. Original artworks lined the walls above white marble floors, dark wood and leather furniture abounded, and beneath the high-ceilinged entryway a circular stairway led upstairs. A swarm of cops took photographs and measurements while they whispered in hushed tones.
Xander spoke first once they were inside. "I guess it's good to be the mayor," he said in an appreciative tone as he examined a particularly expensive looking sculpture tucked into a small alcove.
The cops nearby fell silent while Quinn frowned deeply. "Not today it wasn't." One of the other officers chimed in, "Not a good day to be Mayor Ritter's husband or one of her kids, either."
"Quinn," Angel asked, "what happened here?"
The man looked upstairs. "Go see for yourself. I've seen all I can stomach, but I've let them know you boys are okay to take a look. Just don't touch anything."
"Bodies?" Xander asked. "Plural?"
The captain looked at him. "Go up and take a look for yourself."
The blood-drenched horror show awaiting them in the master bedroom was all Xander needed to see before he headed back downstairs, his face white and his hands clenched into fists. Angel did, indeed, spot an Angel Investigations business card pinned above a vivisected, posed corpse that one of the forensic photographers informed him was the mayor. Angel forced himself to gaze for a few seconds into the rooms of the mayor's two children before he followed Xander downstairs.
Xander looked at him with a flushed face and glassy, shocked eyes. "The kids, too?"
Angel nodded somberly. "Yeah."
"I need a moment." Xander turned and walked outside.
Quinn watched him leave, then stepped closer to Angel. "Look, I don't want to play any fucking games here, okay?"
Angel nodded. "Me neither."
The captain glanced around and noted the cops standing within earshot. He waved for Angel to follow, then found a quiet spot on the side of the house for them to chat.
"I'm old enough to remember Sunnydale had shit like this," Quinn said quietly. "And you may not look it, but you're old enough to remember it too, right?"
Angel decided to equivocate. "I'm not sure what you mean."
Quinn stepped closer, "I thought we weren't going to play any games," he snapped. "Look, my men are desperate for some sort of explanation as to who, or what, would do that to a woman and her family." Quinn wiped at his forehead. "The deputy mayor is holed up in a hotel with a swat team surrounding him for fuck's sake. Work with me here, Angel."
"What do you want from me?" Angel asked.
"For starters, why was your business card left a few feet above the mayor's severed head?"
Angel shook his head. "No idea. And that was an old card anyway. Angel Investigations closed decades ago."
Quinn's jaw clenched with anger. "They're sending a detective from downtown to help, someone who's apparently used to this kind of shit. I told her about you, and she seemed to know all about you and your friends. She also seemed to think you'd have answers, but so far, I feel like I'm hearing nothing except bullshit."
Angel felt his stomach lurch as he realized which detective the captain was likely referring to. "I don't know why Detective Lockley would think that," Angel replied.
The captain glowered at him and said nothing.
"Look, honestly, I have no idea what happened here," Angel continued. "My partner and I, we look into … unusual … crimes, it's true, but this," Angel gestured towards the house, "this isn't something I've seen before."
"Was it a person?" Quinn asked quietly. "Did a human do this?"
"I think so," Angel replied. "Pretty sure, anyway."
"What do you mean, 'you think so?'"
Angel measured his words before answering. "The kind of … things … that might have done this, I would have expected parts of the bodies to have been eaten or taken, but despite being in pieces, the corpses are otherwise intact."
Captain Quinn stared at him silently for a few long moments before speaking. "Jesus fucking Christ, man."
Angel did not reply.
Quinn's phone began buzzing in his pocket. He retrieved it, glanced at the screen, then looked at Angel. "I've got to take this. Do I have to resort to tired cliches and tell you not to leave town?"
"Don't worry," Angel replied. "I'm not going anywhere."
He found Xander, looking pale and drawn, leaning against his car.
"Angel," Xander began, "who, or what, would do that a family?"
"It was human," Angel said. "Or at least it's in the body of one."
"Are you sure?"
Angel nodded.
"We're going to find this guy, right?"
Angel nodded again as he opened the car door and sat down. "I think we'd better, because if we don't, I'm pretty sure he's going to find us."
"Why do you say that?" Xander asked he joined him in the sedan.
"I think that business card was a message. He's hunting me, and that probably means you, too," Angel explained.
"Man, do I hate being popular," Xander muttered as Angel started the car.
. . . . . . . . .
"Buffy, it isn't about being … as you so eloquently put it, a 'scared little bitch,' it's about researching the threat instead of rushing in headlong with no plan and no clue as to what we're facing." Giles removed his glasses and patted the stack of books on the dining room table.
Buffy, arms crossed, continued leaning against the doorframe as she responded, "You said the Vespa are like big wasps, right? How tough can bug demons be?" she asked impatiently.
"Vesparis demons, Buffy," Giles corrected her. "There hasn't been a nest in California since …"
Buffy raised a hand and interrupted him. "If you say, 'since the Sunnydale Hellspot was closed,' I swear to god, I am going to start screaming. I am sick to death of my life feeling like a twenty-year old 'greatest hits' album of Buffy's past adventures."
Giles slipped his glasses back over his nose. "Speaking to your predecessor Buffy might be useful. As far as I know, she's the last slayer to confront a Vesparis hive."
Buffy walked over to the dining room table and leaned over with her hands braced on the wood. "She can't help, not with this. Not anymore. And, frankly, I'm tired of your pretending that she can. How many more sparring sessions am I going to have to pull my punches before you cut her loose?"
Giles frowned at her in irritation. "There is more to being a slayer than raw strength, Buffy. Friendships, learning from and leaning on each other, is how we've all made it this far, and she has knowledge that you can use."
"She's not a slayer," Buffy pointed out again. "I can handle this on my own."
Buffy's voice, posture, and the sentiment of her words echoed through Giles's memories like bubbles in a cauldron. He found himself starting to chuckle. "You know who you sound like right now?"
Buffy stood up and pointed towards the front door. "If you say it, so help me I am walking out that …"
The door swung open.
At first Giles was happy for the interruption, then he saw the blond hair, black leather jacket, and familiar pinched expression of an unhappy Spike.
Oh, bollocks.
"Spike, I will have you know the doorbell works just fine," Giles snapped angrily as Spike strode into the dining room. "In a pinch, guests can also knock. Calling ahead is even better."
"Tried that, neither of you were picking up," Spike snapped as he walked into the dining room. "I assume you two haven't turned on the news today?"
Buffy and Giles reached for their cellphones simultaneously.
"What happened?" Buffy asked in a voice that sounded suspiciously like excitement.
"It's the mayor," Giles said as he browsed through a local news site. "She's been murdered." He read further. "Along with her entire family."
"Not just murdered," Spike added. "It probably won't be in the papers, but the bloke I was talking to told me she and her kids were hacked up. Sounds pretty heinous."
"Even by your standards?" Buffy asked flippantly.
Spike grimaced as he replied. "Even by my old standards, yeah."
"Vampires?" Giles asked.
Spike shook his head. "Nope. Maybe Angelus at his worst could have been this creative, but they were killed in their own homes, during daylight."
"The Vesparis," Buffy said as she stood upright. "Could this be them?"
Giles shook his head. "Not likely, but one of their human acolytes … maybe."
"People worship wasp demons?" Buffy asked incredulously.
Giles nodded. "People tend to worship anything that's more than human. Or less than human, come to think of it."
"The what-now?" Spike asked.
"Hive of wasp-demons have taken up residence in Moonridge canyon," Buffy explained. "Giles thinks they're probably clustering around a hellspot."
Spike stared at Giles. "Were you going to fill the rest of us in?"
"Us?" Giles asked. "Spike, while we all appreciate your occasional assistance, I don't seem to recall there being an 'us' when it comes to slayer activities in Moonridge."
Spike looked at Giles, then at Buffy. His jaw muscles clenched in anger and his eyes narrowed. Giles was sure that ex-vampire was about to explode in a petulant display of irritation, then Spike surprised him.
"Look," Spike said in a surprisingly calm tone, "I heard about the mayor, Buffy wasn't picking up her cell, and I thought I'd check in." He backed out of the dining room and towards the front door. "You both clearly have better things to do, and I've got a Modern Women's Lit class to audit, so I'll leave you two be."
He spun away with a borderline theatrical flourish and left as abruptly as he had arrived.
To Giles's surprise, Buffy moved to follow him.
"And where are you going?" Giles asked.
"Today was supposed to be about research, right?" Buffy asked. "Well, I'm going to try some field research."
Giles rose from the table and held out an imploring hand. "Buffy, the mayor has been murdered. I think we should contact Angel and Xander and find out if …"
Buffy slammed the door closed behind her as she followed Spike outside.
Giles, suddenly feeling very old and very tired, sat back down. He heard the soft patter of Olivia's feet as she walked downstairs and joined him in the dining room. Giles found her warm smile immediately comforting.
"Did I hear Spike?" Olivia asked as she laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Unfortunately, yes."
Olivia glanced toward the front door. "Where did he and Buffy go?"
Giles shrugged his shoulders. "I haven't the foggiest idea."
"Oh," Olivia said simply. She smiled cheerfully. "Did you have a chance to tell Buffy that we bought her a ticket for that July graduation dance?"
Giles stared up at her. "It hadn't come up."
. . . . . . . . .
Spike watched in silence as Buffy pulled open the door of his black Challenger and settled into the passenger seat.
"Seatbelt," he reminded her as he started the engine.
She shot him an annoyed look as she clipped on the belt.
As he pulled away from Giles's house he glanced over at Buffy. "Did you have a burning urge to come discuss The Awakening with my classmates?"
Buffy shook her head. "I had something else in mind."
"Yeah, I had a feeling that might be the case."
. . . . . . . . .
"Looks like Buffy forgot to lock the door behind her when she left," Angel said in irritation as he and Xander walked into Moonridge's office. The now-stale donuts sat in their box on the lobby desk and all of the lights had been left on.
"Could have been Emmy," Xander said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go see if I have a bottle of scotch somewhere."
As Angel reached for his office door, a tingle ran up his spine.
Someone is in there.
He sniffed at the air. A super sensitive nose, for good or for ill, was one of his vampiric abilities that had survived his return to mortality. He recognized the scent of a very particular hair conditioner almost instantly.
Shit.
Well, he might as well get this over with. He swung the door open to find Kate Lockley sitting at his desk as she rifled through a stack of his files. Her gray-streaked blonde hair was tied into a neat bun and her light blue suit appeared freshly pressed. Her white blouse was so heavily starched he suspected it would crackle if bent. She leaned back in the chair as he closed the door behind him.
"Kate," he said flatly. "Did you pick my office's lock?"
"The landlord let me in when I flashed the badge," she explained. "I'm a bit surprised to see you; I expected you'd keep later hours."
Angel, feeling oddly out of place in his own office, sat down at one of the chairs.
"Shouldn't you be at the mayor's house? The captain sounded like he expected you."
Kate closed the open file in front of her. "Oh, I'll definitely check it out, but I figured I might find the killer more quickly if I came and spoke to you first."
"You think I know who killed the mayor and her family?"
Kate nodded, a glint of anger in her eyes. "You're goddamned right I think you know who did it. Hell, you'd be the prime suspect if all the murders hadn't taken places in people's homes." She snorted. "Fat chance you had that many invites."
Angel tilted his head in surprise. "All the murders? As in plural? The captain didn't mention that."
Kate leaned forward and steepled her hands on the desk. "Believe it or not, Angel, the police are the ones who are actually doing a real job here. We don't report to you."
"Then why are you here, Kate?"
She glanced over at the thin rays of light leaking in through a shuttered window. "The most vicious serial killer I've ever heard of pinned your business card above a dead body." She redirected her eyes back to him. "Like I said, if anyone has answers, it's you."
He shook his head before he replied, "That wasn't what I meant."
"Then what do you mean?"
"I mean why are you here?" Angel asked. "From our last conversation, it seemed like you not only wanted nothing to do with me, you didn't want anything to do with Moonridge, either."
"I'm here because I was sent," Kate replied. "No other reason."
Angel shrugged disbelievingly. "You? Out of all the detectives available? Why send you?"
"Why'd they send me?" Kate asked angrily with narrowed eyes. "Angel, how can you ask me that?"
"Because I have no idea?"
"Goddammit, Angel, you should know why they sent me." Kate took a deep breath. "Let's rewind a few months, long before Mayor Ritter, her husband, and her two kids were butchered. A woman named Catherine Madison, who has been missing for over twenty years, was found burnt to a crisp in the wreckage of a 1957 Bel Air convertible at the bottom of Sunnydale Crater. That car was registered to Alexander Harris, a gentleman who I know is a friend of yours, and Mr. Harris conveniently reported the Bel Air stolen the night before Catherine Madison's body was found."
"At least now Catherine Madison's family can give her a proper burial," Angel said flippantly.
"Cut the crap, Angel," Kate snapped.
Angel shrugged. "Missing people are found all the time, and sometimes they aren't found alive. Doesn't sound that unusual to me."
"Missing persons do frequently turn up dead, especially when they've been missing for decades, but do you know what forensics found when they analyzed the body?"
"No," Angel admitted.
"They discovered that the body was that of a middle-aged woman even though Catherine Madison would be well into her sixties."
"That's curious."
Kate frowned. "Even more curious is the fact that Ms. Madison died in January of this year wearing nothing except clothes manufactured decades ago."
"Maybe she liked to shop in vintage stores," Angel suggested flippantly.
Kate scowled and lowered her voice to an angry hiss. "Angel, I'm not an idiot, so please don't treat me like one. The department sent me to investigate Mayor Ritter's murder because this case is a fucking freakshow and my being willing to take on freakshow assignments is the only reason I've got a detective badge. Do you know what my coworkers call me when they think I can't hear?"
"No, can't say that I do," Angel carefully replied in a neutral tone.
"They call me Scully."
Angel frowned. "Well, that doesn't make any sense, Mulder was the one who believed in the supernatural, not Scully."
"Angel, you'd better start sharing with me what the hell happened that night your buddy Alexander Harris lost track of his Bel Air, because Moonridge hasn't been the same since."
"Kate, whatever you believe happened with Catherine Madison, I promise you that it has nothing to do with Mayor Ritter," Angel tried to explain.
She moved in closer, fury still glinting in her eyes. "That cold case evidence you begged me for a few months ago? That sample you told me related to a meaningless vampire attack? I double-checked that file, and that murder was only a few years after Catherine Madison disappeared. Did you know something was going to happen to Sandy Rosenthal in the Bronze the night she was killed? Did you know a killer was going to begin carving up people all over Southern California when you called me? Why did Moonridge PD receive a year's worth of 911 calls the night of a high school's twenty-year reunion? Give me some goddamned answers, Angel. Who is killing these people, and what does it have to do with whatever it is you've been up to?"
Angel quickly shook his head. "These murders are completely unrelated, I swear."
Kate continued, "Over the last six months the 'freakshow reports' for Moonridge have become nonstop. Unexplained neck wounds, kidnappings, except there's no ransom note, and emergency lines are inundated with reports of folks in costumes trespassing where they shouldn't be. Except you and I know they aren't wearing costumes, are they, Angel?" Kate's face drew tight with anger. "All the unexplained nightmare shit that used to plague Sunnydale is happening again, and I know you're right in the middle of it." Kate leaned in closer still. "Angel, trust is really hard to come by where you're concerned, but I'm giving you a chance to come clean. Tell me the truth. Who did this?"
He sighed heavily. "Kate, I almost don't know where to begin, but I can tell you that I don't know who killed that family."
Kate's eyes widened in shock as she stared at him intently, then she stood, walked around the desk, and examined his face.
"What?" Angel asked in confusion. "What are you looking at?"
Kate covered her mouth with a trembling hand. "Angel …"
"Yes?"
Kate lowered her arm. "I'm pretty sure you're sweating, and I'm even more sure that you need a shave."
Angel found himself at a sudden loss for words. "Kate, I …"
Kate turned, flung open the shutters, and spun back to look at him. The sunlight flooded the office through the now open window. Angel tried to force a smile.
"Angel," Kate asked breathlessly, "are you alive?"
He nodded. "Yes."
Kate stood, mouth agape, and said nothing.
"Kate?" he asked quietly. "Are you okay?"
"Angel," she said as she wiped at one eye, "you told me so many times it was impossible. All those months we were together, fighting a war at night and avoiding the sun during the day, I guess you were lying? Just one more lie to pile up with all the rest?"
"Now wait a minute," he snapped, "this possibility wasn't something I ever knew about, I swear it, Kate."
"You swear it … that's rich," she snorted angrily. "When did this happen? Were you … were you alive when you met me in January? And you said nothing?"
He shook his head. "No, it happened later."
"Let me guess, the night Catherine Madison reappeared out of thin air?"
Angel nodded.
Kate took a deep breath before she continued, "I don't know what to say, Angel. You're human."
He almost corrected her on that point, after all, he wasn't human … not really, then he decided there were more pressing concerns. "Not a lot of people know about this, Kate," he said softly.
"About you being alive?"
He nodded. "Yeah, and it's information I only want people I trust to have."
Unexpectedly, Kate began fishing through one of her pockets. She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and unfolded it onto Angel's desk. "Could you trust them?"
Angel glanced down to find a list of names printed on the paper; he recognized them all.
"Kate, what is this?"
"They worked for Wolfram & Hart, right?" Kate asked hurriedly. "Or, according to their paychecks, one of a couple dozen subsidiaries owned by your former employer?"
"They did," Angel confirmed. "I knew them all."
Kate tapped the list with her forefinger. "You want to know what else they have in common besides working for a demonic law firm?"
Angel nodded.
"They're all dead," Kate snapped. "By the same guy that carved up Moonridge's mayor."
"They're dead?" Angel blinked in surprise. "You're sure?"
"Oh, I'm sure. Saw some of the bodies myself. And I'm also sure I know why they're dead." Kate pointed at Angel. "The killer, he was looking for you. It wasn't until today that I made the connection."
"I'm not sure I follow."
Kate smiled at him coldly. "Humanity has dulled your wits, Angel. Don't you get it? He was killing your former coworkers one by one in the hopes someone could point him in your direction."
Angel thought for a moment. "The business card … he left the card so that I'd know he found me."
"Bingo," Kate replied.
"But why kill Moonridge's mayor? Or her family? They have nothing to do with Wolfram & Hart, or with me."
Kate shrugged. "Not sure about that, but it's definitely the same psycho."
Angel pointed at the printed list. "Can I keep that?"
"Sure."
Angel grabbed the list and tucked into a pocket. "Now what, Kate?"
Kate crossed her arms. "Let's keep things simple, Angel. We both want the guy who did this, right?"
"Absolutely."
"Whoever or whatever he is, he's got a grudge against you. That means you probably knew him. Anything you can remember that might help?"
Angel scratched at his jaw thoughtfully. "He's human, I can tell you that."
Kate nodded. "That's a bit surprising, but okay. Anything else?"
"I can also tell you he had familiarity with the occult," Angel offered. "If he didn't, he wouldn't have been able to kill a Wolfram & Hart employee without setting off wards and magically triggered insurance policies. He must have some way of shielding himself from the senior partners' view."
"I was hoping you might have something resembling a name to offer."
Angel shook his head. "Sorry, Kate. I don't know who's doing this."
"We're done here then." Kate pushed away from the desk and began moving towards the door.
Angel held up a hand. "Wait a second."
Kate paused. "What?"
"Despite everything, it's good to see you again," he said hesitantly. Kate's facial expression didn't change. "I didn't like how we left things a few months ago. Look, I'm sorry, Kate. I'm glad to see you, and I'm glad to be working with you again."
"Oh, we're not working together on this, Angel," Kate said as she swung the door open. "I can't trust you."
"Oh, c'mon."
"If you have something that can help me catch this guy, give me a call. Otherwise, I don't want to hear from you. Ever."
"Kate …" Angel started to say, then she was gone.
. . . . . . . . .
"Are you stalking me?" Dawn asked angrily as she pushed her grocery cart past Buffy and continued down the frozen food aisle.
Buffy moved to follow. "I wouldn't put it that way … I just happen to know you usually shop on Sunday afternoons, that's all."
Dawn narrowed her eyes.
"We needed to talk," Buffy explained.
"If I wanted to talk, I'd pick up the phone," Dawn said as she continued staring straight ahead. "Do you realize that when I saw you a few moments ago, I had to double check to make sure it was you. Can you imagine how sick and twisted it feels to worry about your own sister's dimensional doppelganger wanting to chat?"
"I actually feel kind of flattered that you might have mistaken me for an eighteen-year old," Buffy admitted.
Dawn's eyes opened wide at the comment. She held up a hand, coughed to stifle a giggle, then began rifling through one of the refrigerated displays in an effort to hide the moment of mirth.
"Dawn," Buffy said quietly. "Please, it's been months; let's discuss what happened. Everybody wants to know if you're okay. We miss you."
Dawn's hands were trembling as she placed a box of frozen ice cream cones into her cart. "Buffy, do you know that I have nightmares every night? That I have every night since … you know."
At least she's talking.
"I'm sorry, Dawn. Tell me about the nightmares."
Dawn looked at her with glassy, wet eyes. "A blackness swallowing everything, a gun in my hand, a dead woman, blood everywhere … every night since January. Eric and the twins probably think I'm losing my mind."
"Dawn, we've been there. I've been there."
Dawn shook her head. "Not like this."
Buffy risked laying a hand on Dawn's forearm while she moved through the checkout stand. "I get it, I really do. So does everyone else."
Dawn wiped at her eyes as she paid for the groceries. "I just want it to be over."
The cashier shot Dawn a puzzled look as he pushed the groceries towards the bagger.
"I know you do, Dawn," Buffy said. "I think we all do."
Dawn began pushing her bag-filled cart towards the store's large glass double door. The doors swung open and Dawn, Buffy in tow, continued towards her car. A section of the parking lot had been cordoned off and a shaded, raised stage had been tucked into one corner. A series of rolled banners lined the stage, undoubtedly set to be an unfurled at a conveniently climactic moment. Buffy turned away as she heard Dawn addressing her.
"Do you know what I thought, Buffy?" Dawn asked. "I thought, I was so sure, that finally, finally, you, and maybe everyone else, would be done with it all." Dawn opened her car door and looked at Buffy. "Are you done with it then? All of it?"
Don't lie to her.
"For the most part, yes," Buffy replied. "Willow and Oz are done completely, for real this time, I think. Angel and Xander do have their new business, and Giles is helping …"
Dawn cut her off mid-sentence.
"Xander," Dawn snarled angrily, "How the hell could you have let him …" Dawn's voice trailed off as she slowly stood upright. The bag she was holding slid from her hand.
"Dawn!" Buffy yelled as she moved to catch the bag. A few months ago, she'd have been able to snatch it out of mid-air with scarcely an effort. Now, she was too slow, the coordination wasn't quite there, and her grasping hand missed by at least a foot as the bag crashed to the black asphalt. Groceries spilled out to lay on the parking lot beneath the hot sun.
"Here, let me help," Buffy stooped and began to reach for a package. Mid-reach she realized that Dawn was staring off into the distance at something.
Curious, Buffy ignored the fallen groceries for a moment and turned her head in the direction Dawn was staring. On the far side of the parking lot, around the erected stage, a crowd had formed, with more people streaming in from the sidewalks and the parking lot. A thin, middle-aged man with reddish hair streaked with gray stood and waved as he stepped behind a microphone set at the front of the platform.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for taking a few minutes out of this beautiful day to hear what I have to say," the man said in a saccharinely sweet, familiar, voice as he smiled at the assembled crowd. "I promise, I won't take up too much of your beach time," he said as he winked.
Chuckles and light applause sounded from the audience.
"Buffy, it can't be," Dawn said with horror as she raised a hand to her mouth.
Buffy, not caring about asphalt stains on her khaki pants, knelt and hastily scooped up the groceries. She shoved the now-filled bag into the back of Dawn's car and grabbed her sister by the shoulder.
"Dawn," she said heatedly. There was no response. Buffy tightened her grip and resorted to yelling, "DAWN!"
Dawn, her face ashen white, looked at her. "What is happening?"
Buffy opened Dawn's car door and half-shoved, half-cajoled Dawn into the driver's seat. "Dawn, go home. I'll call when I find out if this is real, or if it's … something else."
"Buffy, I can see him standing right there!" Dawn howled. "He's dead, we know he's dead, right?" Dawn gripped the steering wheel tightly as she looked up at her. "I know they're not my memories, not really, but it happened, I know it happened? Wasn't he blown to little snake bits?"
"He was," Buffy said as she reached for the door. "Now go home. Please."
She slammed the door closed and waited for Dawn to start the engine and pull out of the parking lot.
The late Richard Wilkins continued his sickeningly calm-sounding speech as Buffy worked her way towards the front of the stage.
It's him.
It wasn't possible, but it was him. A man dead more than two decades, a man who hadn't even been a man when he died, was standing right in front of her, giving a speech to a rapt crowd.
"My friends, on a more serious note, I considered cancelling today's event in light of the tragedy that has befallen Moonridge," Richard Wilkins said as he affected a drawn expression of grief. "Even though I disagreed with Mayor Ritter's politics, even though I felt I was the best choice to guide Moonridge into its future, I considered whether it was in bad taste to speak today, considering what just happened to her and her family this very morning." Richard Wilkins shook his head sadly. "It's simply an unspeakable tragedy."
Buffy blinked in surprise.
What happened to our mayor?
Richard Wilkins affected a face of steely resolve as he gestured at the crowd. "And then I realized that now, more than ever, Moonridge needs me. Therefore, just as my father once stood before you, and as others in my family have before him, I stand in front of you today and announce my candidacy for mayor." He made a gesture towards the side of the stage; red, white and blue banners unfurled to reveal a host of slogans bearing, via various phrases, one simple message:
RICHARD WILKINS IV, FOR MAYOR
NOVEMBER
Buffy's head swam while her stomach lurched and churned in horror. She felt a wave of nausea wash over her as she forced herself closer to the stage.
And then Richard Wilkins saw her.
He recovered quickly, but she spotted the momentary glint of recognition. His eyes narrowed and his mask of genial normalcy slipped for a fraction of a second.
He continued his oration, "Moonridge, like Sunnydale before it, has problems," he intoned as he fixed Buffy with a steely glare. "I'll say plainly what the elected officials of this town have been ignoring this entire year; this town has become a haven for monsters."
Scared murmurs and whispers of agreement began to circulate amongst the audience.
"Monsters," Richard Wilkins continued, "in our very midst. And I have every belief that … summer's … days will bring more of them." He shot another piercing glance in Buffy's direction. "My father knew these monsters all too well, and as many of you know, he died standing up against them." The man stood taller and pointed towards the crowd. "But that isn't going to happen to me," he promised. "When elected, I will make sure that those who threaten the safety of our community hear one message loud and clear: you can either leave Moonridge willingly or I will arrange your departure for you."
The whispers and murmurs turned into hearty and pronounced applause as the mayor's face once again erupted into a wide smile.
Buffy had seen and heard enough. Texting everyone while jogging back to Angel and Xander's office was difficult, but not, as it turned out, not impossible.
