CHAPTER THREE
You've Gotta Have …
Oz stared pointedly at Willow as she once again reached for her buzzing phone.
"Maybe you can turn the ringer off for a bit, Will?"
Willow frowned at him, but nonetheless thumbed the phone into silent mode. "Sorry,"
she said with a smile. "Please, continue."
The two demons standing in the Spirit Square wore long, thick yellow silk robes. Ignoring the interruption, one of them reached a clawed hand into a leather satchel hanging from its shoulder, retrieved a manilla envelope, then pushed it across the cashier table towards Willow and Oz. Oz picked up the envelope, pulled back the flap, and eyed the sheaf of papers inside.
"What's this?" he asked.
"Our cataloguing of your stock earlier this month has piqued our interest," one of the demons replied in a quiet, sibilant hiss. "We wish to open negotiations."
"I believe you will find our offer extremely fair," the other demon hissed. Its sallow, not-quite-human features flexed and bulged in an odd fashion, almost as though it was breathing through the pores that dotted its flesh. "The vagaries of the market being what they are, time is of the essence. I'm sure you understand."
One of the Spirit Square's human customers glanced over in curiosity. At a return glance from one of the demons, the woman blanched and quickly exited.
"An offer already?" Willow squeaked. "We've only just met."
The demon turned away from the register to examine artifacts locked within a nearby glass cabinet. A few particularly ancient-appearing tomes, an oak carving in the shape of three interlocking triangles, a dagger forged during the Bronze Age, and other assorted odds and ends filled the case. "Please keep in mind that our offer is for the entire stock as presently constituted," it hissed. "Should you sell, loan, or otherwise remove any non-fungible items, we may have to re-appraise our interest."
"Time," the other demon repeated, "is of the essence."
"Thank you both," Oz said warmly. "My wife and I will talk it over, and we'll be in touch."
Oz nudged Willow in the side with his elbow.
"Yes, thank you," Willow added quickly.
The demons deferentially nodded, then exited the store. The Spirit Square felt empty after their departure. Oz took the envelope into the other room, moved his guitar from its resting place on a large rocking chair, and sat down to read. When Willow followed, she found him tapping one of the pieces of paper repeatedly with his finger.
"Look at the sale price," Oz said.
"You can't really be thinking about selling …"
"Willow," Oz said firmly, "look."
Willow sighed and stooped to read. As she bent, her back began to spasm; she quickly stood upright and placed her hand on the chair for support.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking," Oz said apologetically as he leapt up. "Can I get you anything? Do you want to sit down?"
"I'm pregnant, not paralyzed," Willow scolded. "Let me see that," she said as she took the proposal from him. The size of the purchase offer startled her, so she looked again. And then a third time. And a fourth. "This can't be right, can it?" she asked as she handed the papers back to Oz. "That's more than …"
"More than the Spirit Square's profits the entire time we've been open," Oz said. "More than we might see in the next five years."
"But Oz, this is our life. We built this together, here."
"Will," Oz replied as he rubbed her shoulder, "with this money we could build a life doing whatever we choose. If we want another occult store, we can open one. If we want to try something else, we can do that, too. And we could go anywhere in the world we wanted."
"Oz, I don't want to go anywhere. I like it here."
Her husband gazed at her a long moment, then glanced down at her stomach. Willow found herself instinctively covering her abdomen with her arms.
"We have someone else to think about now," Oz gently chided her. "Maybe Moonridge can get along fine without us. For a while, at least."
"Well, I don't want it to," Willow replied.
"We need to talk about this," Oz said. "I think we should close up early."
Willow settled into the rocking chair and checked her phone. "It's Buffy; she's called a lot. I think I have texts, too."
"Willow …" Oz said. He didn't sound angry, not really, but she recognized that it was as close as he ever came with her. Somehow, it was worse than yelling.
"We'll talk now," she promised as she slipped the phone back into her pocket.
. . . . . . . . .
"You know, as barren rock walls go, that has to be one of the most impressive I've seen in the last few years," Spike drawled laconically as he leaned back against his car and inserted a piece of chewing gum into his mouth. "This sight is definitely worth driving through a half mile of muddy trails and ruining last weekend's auto detail. Mind telling me what you dragged me up here for?"
Buffy patiently let Spike finish whining as she put her boot on the Challenger's fender and tightened her laces. "Look more carefully."
"At?"
Buffy began striding towards the canyon wall. They'd left Moonridge and kept driving east until they reached the outskirts of the canyon. After turning onto an unpaved road that wound through pine strands and streams dried to a mere trickle, Buffy had wondered for a time if she'd misremembered Giles's description of where the Vesparis hive was located.
But there it is.
"And just what am I supposed to be bloody looking …" Spike started to ask, and then he saw it. Above an oval, several hundred-foot reservoir nestled in the shade of the canyon wall, a series of similar shaped caves dotted the rock wall. Each hollow was perhaps ten feet in circumference, and each opening was covered by an amber, translucent substance. Spike pointed upwards. "I'm guessing that's the vegetarian demons Giles was telling you about?"
"Vesparis," Buffy corrected him. "And yeah, I'm thinking that's them." She began to circle around the blue-green water of the reservoir in an effort to move closer to the canyon wall. Rocks, sand, and thorny bushes dotted the landscape.
"Buffy, where are you going?"
She pointed up at the caves.
"Oh, bloody hell, Buffy," Spike protested as he grabbed his phone. "Shouldn't you have at least brought a big can of Raid? Or maybe a flamethrower?" Spike slid his cell back into the pocket of his leather coat. "I don't even have a signal out here."
"I never thought you'd be looking to call for back-up," Buffy said in a teasing voice. "You can head back if this is too intense for you."
Spike stiffened and hastened his pace. "Listen, little one, I was smashing down front doors long before you, before any version of you, was any more than a twinkle in your daddy's eye. You want to stroll right in? Well, I've got no place else to be today, so I might as well end up dead."
"That's the spirit," Buffy said as she stopped near the vertical slab of rock. "There's got to be a way in somewhere around here." She began to search the rock surface for any point of ingress.
Spike tapped her on the shoulder. "If you're done playing the ditzy blonde, I'm pretty sure these wasp demons can fly." He pointed up at several caves that lay open to the sky.
Buffy gazed upwards. "I don't suppose you have a ladder, or maybe some rope, back in the car?"
"Not rope for outdoor usage," Spike mumbled.
"What?"
Spike waved his hand dismissively. "Sorry. Don't have anything that would help."
Buffy felt around on the rock for a moment, then tested a handhold. "I'm thinking we can climb." She glanced up again. "Can't be more than twenty or thirty feet."
Without further preamble, Buffy began to scramble upwards. Her tank top and jeans scraped dirt and dust loose of the canyon wall as she steadily ascended. Spike appreciatively watched Buffy wriggle her way up the wall, then moved back in distaste as debris rained down around him.
"Bloody hell," he muttered as he stepped forward and ran his fingers along the rock. Upon finding a crack that seemed sturdy enough, he yanked himself upward.
I could have been in a nearly all-female class right about now.
Perhaps ten minutes later, he and Buffy had pulled themselves into the nearest empty cave. The rock had been neatly chiseled, or melted, into a surprisingly smooth half-sphere. Towards the rear, out of view of anyone who might be standing below, a tunnel perhaps six feet tall led upwards out of sight.
Buffy pulled out her cellphone.
"No signal, remember?" Spike reminded her.
Buffy thumbed on the flashlight mode and pointed the bright light down the tunnel. The walls, ceiling, and floor had the same smooth, melted appearance.
"Ah, good idea, that," he informed her.
hey started down the tunnel. It gradually ascended, though at irregular intervals similar shaped tunnels branched off and led downwards. They briefly considered exploring one, then reached the conclusion that any tunnel pointed downhill likely led to other exits from the hive. They saw no signs of life, Vesparis demon or otherwise, nor any signs of activity other than the tunnels themselves.
"How much longer are we going to wander through …" Spike's words trailed off as a soft green glow appeared on the tunnel wall.
Buffy switched off the light. "I'm thinking we're here."
They both looked at each other, then Spike drew a long knife from beneath his coat while Buffy retrieved a stake hanging from a sheath at the small of her back. The glossy wood of the weapon glowed oddly in the green glow.
Side by side, they cautiously proceeded forward. Ears alert for the sound of any movement, they steadily progressed until, at last, the tunnel opened into an enormous vertical shaft. Buffy and Spike peered upwards; far above their heads, a piercingly bright green orb hung suspended from a series of what appeared to be webbing. It was the apparent source of the glow that suffused the area. A spiral walkway carved from the rock twisted upwards along the walls of the fifty-foot wide shaft.
"Buffy, look," Spike said as he pointed at the wall lining the ascending path. A series of membrane-covered caves, similar, but smaller, to the ones visible from within the canyon, neatly lined the path. He walked over and tested the membrane with his hand. It was flexible, but thick, and attached solidly to the half-oval entrance. Spike tried to peer through the thick, yellow-amber material, but he couldn't make out whatever was inside.
"I'm thinking that's another Hellspot, right?" Buffy asked as she pointed upwards.
Spike nodded. "Most like." He looked over at her. "I'm guessing you want to check it out?"
"I want to check it out."
Buffy began following the winding path. Spike did his best to avoid touching the amber membranes as they slowly climbed upwards in a clockwise direction. They were perhaps two-thirds of the way to the top when a blindingly bright, painful flash of green light washed over them. Spike blinked his eyes in an attempt to clear his retinas of the seared after-image and instinctively reached out to lean against the wall. The membrane gave way to his weight, and he toppled inwards.
Not bothering to find his fallen knife, he scrambled to his feet with fists clinched and arms upraised while he hastily scanned the interior of the pocket for enemies. There was nothing inside except an oblong, desiccated, hollow spheroid in the corner of the room. Buffy raised an eyebrow and looked at him.
Spike sheepishly lowered his arms, unclenched his fists, and retrieved his knife. He tucked it back into its sheath.
Buffy crossed the room and poked at the odd object. "This is an egg, right?"
"Definitely an egg," Spike said as he pulled the membrane back and glanced back into the cavernous shaft. The sensation felt oddly similar to pulling back a drape. "Miss Buffy the Younger, I think you'd better have a look at this."
Buffy scowled at the nickname but nonetheless dutifully joined him.
"We've got company," Spike noted.
For the first time that day, Buffy felt a twinge of doubt that perhaps she'd been overly reckless. Along the walls of the hollow, both downwards and upwards as far as he could tell, the membranes were beginning to rustle and pull back as vaguely humanoid in shape, but definitely insect in anatomy, demons began to crowd onto the pathway. A few of them had already begun to flex wings in preparation of flight, while others stared, enraptured, at the green light of the Hellspot. The largest amongst them had to be close to eight feet tall, and their forelimbs and jaws were lined with thick yellow spines.
Spike yanked the membrane closed. "Now what?"
Buffy considered their options. "Those demons, they all emerged after the Hellspot flashed, right?"
"I think so, yeah," Spike replied. "Damn thing nearly blinded me. I'm still seeing spots every time I blink."
"I think that means the Vesparis are on a cycle," Buffy continued.
Spike's brow wrinkled in confusion. "A cycle?"
She nodded. "Yup. Now they're all awake … which isn't so great for us … but that means they'll all go back to sleep at some point. Together."
"And when might that be?" Spike growled. "I had things to do tonight."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Things to do? Like catching up on supernatural soap operas?"
Spike gritted his teeth in irritation but did not rebut the comment. "How long?" he asked again.
Buffy shrugged. "Well, it seems like they just woke up for the day … I'm guessing they'll go back to sleep when their day is over. Probably a dozen or so hours from now."
"We're going to be stuck here overnight?" Spike complained. "What, we're going to cower in here, is that it?"
"We could always storm out and die in a blaze of glory.
Spike snorted derisively. "Yeah, no thanks. I've spent enough time being dead, no desire to revisit the lifestyle anytime soon."
"So, we wait," Buffy continued. "After the Vesparis go back to sleep, whenever that might be, we climb up and see what can be done about that Hellspot."
"What can be done?" Spike asked suspiciously. "Didn't Giles give you that anti-Hellspot doohickey and spell?"
Buffy flashed a cheery smile. Just for a second, she looked exactly like the Buffy that Spike remembered from a very long time ago. "Nope, but I think the top of this cave is open to the sky. When we're high enough, I'll phone Giles. I'm sure he'll have an idea."
Spike stared at her incredulously. "Are you kidding me? What the hell kind of a plan was this?"
"I'm not the planning type," Buffy said as she kicked the egg fragments aside, sat, and leaned against the wall. "I'm more of the 'find out when we get there' type."
Spike rolled his eyes and drew a silver, screw-topped hip flask from his coat pocket. He held the spout to his lips, swallowed long and deeply, and luxuriated in the burning warmth of the whiskey flowing down his throat. Single malt could be tasted as a vampire, of course, but it could only be truly appreciated with a living digestive system.
Buffy watched Spike's lips curl around the flask's spout; the muscles of his jaw and throat rhythmically flexed while he drank. Spotting her gaze, Spike left the cap open and offered the flask to Buffy. She pulled a face at him and shook her head dismissively.
"Suit yourself," he informed her. He removed his jacket, neatly folded it into a bundle, then used it as a pillow as he lay down. "Lizards, wizards, and now wasps … I'm starting to really hate this town."
"Then why stay?"
Spike craned his neck from his makeshift pillow and looked at her. "Why not? I've been most everywhere, done more than any one person should have. At this point, one place is as good as any other. Besides, I've sorta put down roots here." He took another swig from the flask. "Since you're so keen on figuring out why I haven't left, let me ask you this: why are you still here?"
"Been asking myself that same question recently," Buffy admitted. "I feel like I've inherited a whole bunch of obligations that I never signed up for."
Inherited a whole bunch of friends, too," Spike reminded her. "Also, need I remind you that your world exploded in a big green fireball."
Buffy remained silent.
"Hey!" he barked. "Don't play that 'woe is me' game. You're alive, and that's what counts. I've seen Buffy Summers get pulled in and out of hell dimensions before and she's always ended up fine. Eventually."
"You know what, screw this," Buffy spat out angrily as she scrambled back to her feet. "I don't need a pep talk from the only-recently-not-undead, and I think I've changed my mind about waiting it out here."
In an uncharacteristically clumsy gesture, Buffy's foot slid on a fragment of egg. Her leg shot out from under her, and as her arms flailed for balance, Spike sat upright and caught her around the waist. For a few long moments, he supported her in his arms.
"I've got it, thanks," she snapped as she regained her balance and swatted his hands away.
"Just trying to keep you from falling over, is all," Spike said sourly as he laid back down. "If at some point you get tired of me saving you, just let me know. Also, please tell me you've thought better of storming out there and getting us killed?"
Buffy rolled her eyes as she retreated to the rear of the cave and sat back down. "Let's just keep a few feet of distance, shall we?"
Spike folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. "Whatever you say, love."
"What in the hell did this world's version of me ever see in you?" Buffy implored as she rubbed her forehead. "You're impossible."
Spike cracked one eye open at her. "Any other complaints, feel free to vent. Believe me, I've heard worse than you can dish out." He closed his eye again. "From you, as a matter of fact."
"There were good times, too, right?" Buffy asked. She tried to keep her voice casual, but Spike knew better. This was a topic he'd wager had been on her mind recently. "Most of what I've heard about all of you involves people dying, or battles being fought, or something terrible happening. Tell me about a happy memory."
"What kind of happy memories?" Spike asked.
"Anything."
"About us?" Spike probed. "About me and the other Buffy, is that what you really want to know?"
"Sure," Buffy said quietly.
Spike gathered his thoughts before he responded. "It was never right," he said flatly.
"But you love her."
"Loved," he corrected her. "Past tense. At some point, when all your best memories about someone are so twisted up with your worst memories about them that you can barely tell the difference, well, it's time to move on. I think maybe my heart had to start beating again before I figured that out."
"C'mon Spike, who do you think you're fooling?" Buffy scoffed.
"Believe what you want," he snapped. "Also, I get that you're curious, what with the whole interdimensional photocopy weirdness, but you don't see me asking about your exes. Maybe extend me the same courtesy?"
Buffy stared at him for a long time before she continued, "I should have come here alone."
"You know," Spike said, "you're going to get someone killed if you keep on like this."
"Like how?"
"Recklessly," Spike said matter-of-factly. "You think you don't care, and maybe you even believe it, but that'll change when the weeping starts, and the blame game begins."
"That happened, didn't it?" she asked. "In this world, I made decisions that got people killed, didn't I?"
"You did," Spike confirmed. He didn't sugarcoat the answer or attempt to dance around the topic, and she supposed she should be thankful for that. Getting a straight answer out of Giles on any sensitive topic of her past was downright impossible.
"Kennedy, right?"
Spike's voice was low and, for once, serious. "Where did you hear that name?"
"Some slayer named Faith is on her way …"
"Faith, yeah, I know her," Spike interrupted. "She was your friend, then your enemy, then your friend again."
"That seems to happen to me a lot."
Spike chuckled. "You're right about that."
Buffy continued, "Anyway, I heard Giles talking about Faith, and then he mentioned that most of the slayers won't talk to me … to Buffy. I got the impression that Kennedy was the reason why."
"Kennedy was only the most recent collateral damage of Buffy's, how do I put this, headstrong style of leadership," Spike informed her. "Not that I think she made the wrong call, mind you. If you ask me, Kennedy knew the risks, she volunteered, and what happened in New Orleans wasn't on Buffy."
"But the other slayers didn't see it that way?"
"They did not," Spike admitted. "Buffy might even agree with them"
"What happened?"
" I showed up after, didn't see it myself," Spike explained. "I think you'd best ask the source if you want the details. Besides …" Spike yawned, "… I'm ready for a nap."
"A nap actually sounds like a great idea," Buffy admitted. Then she realized she had nothing to lay her head on. "I seem to have forgotten my travel pillow. Got enough jacket to share?"
"What about a few feet of distance?" Spike retorted. He leered at her. "I've got an idea, just take off your tank top or jeans, whichever you prefer, and wad them up. Either should work just fine as a soft place to rest your noggin." He ignored her irritated expression and continued, "I vote for jeans."
"You really are just the worst," Buffy complained.
"Alternatively, you could lay your head in my lap," Spike offered.
Buffy extended two middle fingers towards him in reply.
"Suit yourself."
. . . . . . . . .
"Well, what did you think?" Richard Wilkins asked Joshua. As he had promised the crowd, he hadn't spoken for too long, just long enough to introduce himself, express the appropriate words of bereavement at the recent death of the Mayor and her family, and to sketch the broad outlines of his campaign.
Joshua, who was laying upon a couch in one of the smaller, less ostentatiously decorated rooms of the Valle dell'Ombra castle, looked up at him. "Sounded fine," he said. "The radio broadcast was really clear."
"The radio broadcast was really clear?" Richard Wilkins repeated disappointedly as he looked around the room. His eyes locked with the pant-suited, silver-skinned demoness named Mindy. "I ask my protégé what he thought of my big day, my first speech to my future constituents, and he tells me that the radio broadcast was really clear." He shook his head. "It's true, the youth simply have no interest in politics."
"I think they'll vote for you," Joshua offered.
Richard Wilkins smiled. "Well, I certainly hope so. I'd hate to think I'd gone through all this trouble for nothing.
A shadow seemed to flash through the room as a tall man in a black suit entered. He had neatly parted dark hair, wore a red tie bearing a golden clip shaped like a ram's head, and his neat, even teeth were a bright white as he smiled coldly at them.
"Sir … I mean, Richard, I apologize, I have no idea how this gentleman got in here," Mindy, squawked as she nervously side-stepped towards the door.
The mayor reached out and grabbed Joshua's arm as he leapt from the couch with fists clenched at his sides. "This isn't the time," Richard Wilkins hissed to Joshua as he turned to the stranger. "Eric, isn't it? At least, Eric Aurum, Attorney at Law is what you're calling yourself. I know better." He waved at Mindy. "Mindy, give us the room, please."
Mindy hurriedly shuffled out the door and closed it behind her.
"And what do you think you know?" the man asked in a decidedly uncurious tone.
"I know what you really are, why you came to Moonridge, and why you found your future wife, Dawn Summers, so irresistible."
Eric held up a hand warningly, "Keep my wife out of this, understood?"
"It's always tough when you develop real feelings, isn't it?" Richard Wilkins asked. "I mean, you've been alive thousands of years, but now your decision-making is being affected by emotions for a mortal woman? This is the kind of stuff they do so like to make movies about these days."
Eric pointed threateningly across the room. "Last warning: my wife is off-limits."
Joshua shook his arm free. "What now?"
"Now?" Richard Wilkins whispered. "Now we talk. I've been expecting this."
"Have you?" Eric interrupted. "And why might that be?"
"Wolfram & Hart represented me for decades. Many decades in fact. I was somewhat hurt they didn't reach out before now."
Eric frowned. "You represent a complication for most of our interests, Mr. Wilkins. You aren't supposed to be in this world, you know that, right?"
"Please, call me Richard," Richard Wilkins admonished as he thought about the question. "The way I see it, I'm here, I'm alive, and I have just a right to pursue my goals as anybody."
"And was one of those goals having the mayor of Moonridge, and her family, murdered?" Eric snapped.
"We didn't have anything to do with that!" Joshua heatedly replied.
Richard Wilkins shot him a warning glance, then turned back to Eric. "You'll have to excuse young Joshua. He can be headstrong in voicing his thoughts, although in this case, he's absolutely right. I promise you that neither I, nor anyone who works for me, murdered the mayor. Or her kids." He clucked his tongue unhappily. "Nasty business that. Just gives me the shivers when I think about it."
"You announce your candidacy for Moonridge's mayor the same day that the current mayor, the mayor who has been in our employ since her election, was butchered like livestock, and you expect me to believe it's a coincidence?"
Now it was Richard Wilkins's turn to smile coldly. "I suspect you've already looked into it, with your best diviners no doubt, and discovered that I had nothing to do with the mayor's death."
Eric stood silently for a long time before responding. "Maybe, but I'd wager you knew it was coming. If you lie to me …"
"You'll what?" the mayor scoffed. "In terms of leverage, need I remind you that I know your dirty little secret? One that not just your wife, but also the senior partners might be interested in learning? You've worked so hard all these years to see Illyria dead and now, at the cusp of that moment arriving, you're going to let your pride spoil everything? It seems to me that you'd be better served trying to strike a deal than issuing threats."
"What do you want?" Eric asked bluntly.
"Legal representation," Richard Wilkins replied as he spread his arms wide. "I see no reason why my former relationship with your firm cannot be renewed."
The dark-suited man shook his head. "The senior partners don't need a cast-off from a failed hell dimension."
A dark frown spread over Richard Wilkins's features. For the first time that he could remember, Joshua had the impression that his boss was actually angry.
"Are we going to bandy childish insults now, like we are common rabble?" Richard Wilkins snarled angrily. "Maybe I should taunt you with a reminder that your daughter's head still rots on display within the rebuilt Vahla Ha'nesh, right where Illyria the Merciless can gaze upon it whenever she wishes?"
Joshua at first thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, then he realized that rippling, undulating waves of blackness had appeared in the corners of the room. As he watched, shadows began to gather.
Richard Wilkins did not appear concerned. "Spare me the parlor tricks." The smile returned to his features. "I need a lawyer, and Wolfram & Hart is now short one mayor. This is a win-win for everyone."
Eric Aurum considered for a few long moments, then the blackness coalescing around him dissipated. "Very well. I need to know what our involvement would be, and what you intend. After that, I will make some calls."
Richard Wilkins nodded and smiled. "That's all I ask."
Joshua had heard most of his boss's plan before, in bits and pieces, but this was the first time he'd heard it laid out in its entirety, from beginning to end. If he was alive, he expected he would have been horrified. Instead, he just found himself increasingly thirsty. And bored. Bored, most of all.
When he was finished, Eric shook his head. "Your goal is unachievable. Maybe you haven't checked a calendar since arriving in this reality, but you missed your window. By years."
"There's more than one way to skin a cat, and I should know," Richard Wilkins replied with a grin and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. A puzzled expression briefly flitted over his features. "Huh. I just had the weirdest sense of déjà vu."
"I still fail to see why becoming mayor is such an integral part of your plan," Eric asked.
"That's because you haven't fully read through my campaign promises," Richard Wilkins replied. "The website goes live tonight, and I think you will find it very interesting reading."
"Very well," Eric said formally as he turned to go. "We'll be in touch."
"One more thing," Richard Wilkins called out.
Eric paused. "What?"
"I wanted to compliment you on your tie clip. I'm not sure I've ever seen one quite like it."
. . . . . . . . .
Kate Lockley opened the door to exit Moonridge Investigations at precisely the same moment that Buffy arrived. The two stared at each other without expression for a few seconds, then without bothering to exchange pleasantries they moved past one another.
Buffy entered the lobby to find Angel standing by the desk. "Who was that?" she asked in a voice that she hoped was suitably neutral. Angel opened his mouth to answer, but she waved her hand and cut him off. "You know what, never mind. We need to talk, right now. Is Xander here?"
"I'm here," Xander called out from his office. A few seconds later he trodded over to the couch and sat down. "Whatever you need to talk about, it can't be worse than what Angel and I saw this morning."
"Oh, I'm pretty sure mine is worse," Buffy replied.
Xander gestured at Angel. "Tell her, Angel. Tell her how the mayor and her family were killed."
Buffy's face went white. "Something happened to Mayor Ritter?"
"She's dead," Angel informed her somberly. "Along with her family. Buffy it was truly horrible. I don't know if I've seen anything worse."
"There's more," Xander said.
"More?" Buffy asked.
Angel nodded. "The killer, he left one of my old Angel Investigations cards at the scene. I think he's been looking for me, and I also think he's been killing Wolfram & Hart employees in the hopes they could point him in the right direction."
"That part about killing lawyers, I don't mind," Xander unhelpfully added.
Angel frowned at him. "You know, not every person who works at Wolfram & Hart is evil, per se."
"We need to get everyone down here, now," Buffy interrupted. "Like, right now. I don't know if I have the stomach to explain this more than once."
"Buffy, what is going on?" Angel asked.
"I can call Giles," Xander said as he thumbed at his phone.
Buffy's cell began to buzz. She fished it out of her pocket and checked the screen. "It's Willow, finally." She flicked her finger to accept the call.
A few moments later both Giles and Willow were on speaker.
"Buffy, I just saw your texts," Willow began. Her cell phone transmitted voice sounded tinny and strangely hollow. "Is everything all right?"
"Definitely not," Buffy informed her. "Giles, are you still there?"
"I'm still here. Buffy, what is this all about?"
Buffy continued, "Is Buffy, the other Buffy, with you? This is important and she needs to hear it." She gritted her teeth as she continued. "She's Moonridge's resident slayer, after all."
"She is … not here," Giles said vaguely.
Angel and Buffy glanced at each other. "Where is she?" Angel asked.
It seemed to take Giles an inordinately long amount of time to process the question. "To be honest, I'm not exactly sure."
"Well, that's just great," Xander complained. "Nice to see that Giles's Buffy monitoring skills haven't improved over the years."
The sound of Giles loudly clearing his throat emanated from Xander's cellphone speaker. "I beg your pardon?"
"My doppelBuffy will turn up," Buffy interrupted. "We've got a problem we need to talk about now."
"And what's that, Buff?" Willow asked.
Buffy took a deep breath. "I need you all to brace yourselves, because what I'm about to tell you is going to be difficult to believe. I saw it with my own eyes, and I barely believe it."
The front door of Moonridge Investigations swung open and Faith walked in. She looked dusty, dirty, and her gray-streaked chestnut hair was tousled and wind-blown. "You still love the theatrics, don't you B?" she asked Buffy with a sly grin. "Tell me, how is the world going to end this time?"
"Richard Wilkins is alive," Buffy informed them. "And I just watched him give a speech announcing his candidacy for mayor of Moonridge."
Xander, Angel, and Faith stared at Buffy in shock while Giles and Willow remained mute on the other end of their respective phone lines.
Faith folded her arms and fixed Buffy with an angry glare. "If that was supposed to be a joke, B, it wasn't funny."
"Buffy, Richard Wilkins died decades ago in an explosion," Giles unhelpfully reminded her.
"Yeah, I was there, Giles," Buffy snapped. "I remember. Nevertheless, he looked remarkably not-deceased about an hour ago. He was walking and talking, and not charred bits of snake demon, and everything."
Willow chimed in, "Guys, I can't see Buffy's face, so I can't tell if she's drunk, or high, or thirty days late for an April Fools' joke, or whatever."
"I'm voting, and hoping, for high," Oz added. "But I'll settle for just mistaken."
"Buffy can't be serious," Faith interrupted. "He's dead. I know he's dead." She looked wildly around the room. "He's absolutely, one hundred percent dead. Right?"
"I'm not joking, and although I wish I was, I'm not high either," Buffy said.
"Wait, was it him, or did it just look like him?" Xander suggested.
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Guys, Richard Wilkins is in Moonridge. Accept it and let's start figuring out what to do about it."
"Buffy," Angel said. "He's dead. And even if he wasn't dead, he was kind of a giant reptile monster at the end, not a man."
"Angel has a good point," Giles added. "Even if Mayor Wilkins somehow survived the explosion, the transformation that occurred at the time of his Ascension was permanent. It would be impossible for him to reverse the process, even assuming we somehow moved past how impossible it is for him to be alive."
"You mean like how it's impossible that there are two Buffys in Moonridge?" Oz asked. "That kind of impossible?"
Buffy, Angel, and Xander glanced at each other while the cell phones fell silent.
Faith narrowed her eyes in anger. "What did you idiots do?"
"Willow," Buffy asked quietly, "that portal spell you made into the Anyaverse, it closed, right?"
"Anya-what-now?" Faith asked.
Xander raised his hand. "I've got this one." He sat up straighter on the couch. "Faith, remember us telling you about that problem with Ethan Rayne, and the Hellmouth reopening, and all of that?"
"Yeah, I remember, Xander," Faith said. "What does that have to do with you morons resurrecting the creepiest fuck Sunnydale ever spawned?"
"Well," Xander continued, "in order to stop Ethan and rescue Dawn, we kind of had to open a portal into a dimension where there's still a Sunnydale. Oh, and I ran into myself, but younger and a vampire, and the high school wasn't all blown up, and then …"
"XANDER!" Faith yelled. "Get to the point!"
"Well, I'm thinking Richard Wilkins came into our world the same way that Buffy, the other Buffy, did," Xander finished.
"Through the portal," Willow added. "Oh … shit. Sorry, pardon my French."
"You have got to be kidding me," Faith said as she rubbed her eyes. "Well, we have to kill him, right?"
Buffy pointed at Faith. "I think she has the right idea."
"Maybe this version of the Mayor is about peace and harmony," Oz suggested. "Maybe he isn't all demonic and child-killer-y like the one we knew?"
Everyone stared silently at Buffy's phone.
"Yeah, he's probably evil," Oz mumbled.
"You guys figure out where and when we're killing Richard Wilkins, the creepy would-be father figure who came within an inch of completely ruining my life," Faith said as she swung the lobby door open. "Meanwhile, I've got about a thousand miles of motorcycle road grit I've got to wash off, and about a quart of Jim Beam to drink."
Angel nodded appreciatively. "Motorcycle, huh? Nice. Harley?"
Faith ignored Angel and glanced over at Xander. "I've got your address. Mind if I let myself in to shower and raid your liquor cabinet?"
"Sure …" Xander said hesitantly. "Key is under the front mat."
"You leave a key under the front mat? Really?" Buffy asked. "You know you live kind of a dangerous life, right?"
"If you run into Emmy, maybe just say you're an old friend?" Xander suggested hesitantly.
Faith rolled her eyes. "What, you afraid your girlfriend might think I'm an old fling?"
Xander hesitated for a moment. "Well …"
"Jesus Christ," Faith muttered as she slammed the door closed behind her.
"Why can't any of our mortal enemies ever just stay dead," Buffy complained as she rubbed her forehead. "Okay, Richard Wilkins is just a person, right? We can take him out, or at least lock him up. Heck, even if he's invulnerable, we can tackle him, tie him to an anchor and drop him to the bottom of the ocean."
"Well, that's the start of a plan," Angel said.
Xander rubbed his hands together. "Well, I vote for finding out where he is and doing all of that that. Or at least one of those things."
"Just us?" Angel asked.
"Not us," Oz said firmly.
"All of us except Oz and Willow, which I totally get, and totally support," Buffy added.
Giles cleared his throat forcefully again. "Buffy, even with your younger self and, I suppose, Spike … if need be, if Richard Wilkins is giving speeches in public he must have regathered at least some of his strength. After all, if he used the Anyaverse portal, he has been in our dimension since January. We should conduct research, perhaps investigate his base of operations, maybe even consider options besides a frontal assault."
"No way!" Buffy exclaimed. "He won't be expecting us to come right at him and we can't give him time to turn into a snake demon, or win the election, or anything."
"Why do I even bother …" Giles mumbled.
Angel hesitantly raised a hand. "What about the Watchers? We could give Andrew a call, see if maybe some Watchers or slayers are in the area? I could call Connor …"
"Or maybe the apocalytes?" Xander added.
"No apocalytes," Buffy, Giles, and Angel exclaimed simultaneously. "Connor is a maybe," Buffy added. "But tell him I don't want any of his ul-Thar creeps around."
"They're kind of a package deal, Buffy," Angel pointed out as he typed on his cell phone. "But I'll see what I can do."
"Guys, I'm not feeling the can-do spirit at the moment," Buffy announced. "What gives?"
"Buffy," Giles began delicately, "need I remind you that the last time we faced Richard Wilkins, many people died."
Willow joined in, "We had more allies then, plus we were …"
"Younger," Oz finished her sentence for her. "Also, and I really cannot stress this enough, the whole 'my wife is three months pregnant' factor is really diminishing my enthusiasm."
"Sweetheart," Willow whispered loudly enough that they could all hear her, "they get it."
"Well, Faith is already here," Buffy said. "Angel is going to call Connor, and Giles, fine, go ahead and call Andrew."
"If I must," Giles said as he sighed loudly. "But Buffy, it's going to be days before the Council might send assistance. And that's assuming that they are willing to let bygones be bygones."
"A few days, we can wait that long," Buffy added.
Angel rubbed at his chin. "Maybe we should form a second front?"
"How do you mean?" Giles asked.
Angel stared at the phone and pointedly did not meet Buffy's eyes. "I'm thinking that instead of conducting research in town, and putting everyone in harm's way, like we normally do, some of us leave Moonridge and see what they can find out somewhere safe."
"I like this idea," Oz announced.
Buffy's hand clenched at her sides. "And who did you have in mind?"
"Willow, obviously," Angel continued. "And that means Oz, plus, maybe Giles and … you."
Buffy did not bother try to hide the anger in her town. "Me? Have you lost your mind?"
"I imagine Richard Wilkins holds a grudge against all of us, Buffy, but you in particular are likely to be a target of his ire," Giles said. "Maybe it would be best, until we have formulated a plan, to have you temporarily relocate somewhere less visible."
Buffy leaned down next to Xander's phone. "Giles, you're about two seconds away from me hanging up on you."
"It's a second front, Buffy, not an evacuation," Angel protested.
"It sounds to me like you want the womenfolk to hide and tend to the livestock while the men ride off to war," Buffy retorted.
"Livestock?" Angel asked. "Why do I suddenly feel like I'm in a Lous L'Amour novel?"
"I've been catching up on Deadwood," Buffy heatedly explained as she fixed her gaze on Angel. "And you're going to be in a sleeping-on-the-couch novel if you don't knock this crap off right now."
"Guys," Willow said quietly, "one of our Buffys is missing, Faith is probably in shock, and we're all just a little bit on edge. Let's calm down, take a breath, and make a decision not to make any decisions right at this moment. I need to figure out what went wrong with the Anyaverse spell, Giles needs to call Andrew, and everyone … well, everyone just needs to take a chill pill."
"Will's right," Buffy admitted. "We'll be fine, we've got this, we just need to regroup."
"Meet here tomorrow?" Xander suggested. "High noon?"
With varying degrees of enthusiasm, everyone agreed.
. . . . . . . . .
"I don't want to get involved, not directly. I'm going tomorrow not to fight, not to do magic, but to help with research and to discuss what's happening," Willow protested as she steadfastly stared at the television and avoided Oz's accusatory glare. She had her feet propped on the battered coffee table and a tray loaded with a variety of snacks on her lap.
Will," Oz began, "we've talked about this. A lot. One thing always leads to another, and besides, if you're not going to fight, and you're not going to do magic … and you're not, right?"
Willow nodded. "I'm not."
Oz continued, "If you're not going to do those things, you can research and talk to Giles or Buffy just as easily anywhere as you can from home."
Willow idly toyed with TV remote. "I feel helpless."
Oz reached out and took her hand in his. "I think Angel had a good point, not that Buffy would ever listen. Maybe we should leave town for a bit?"
Willow snatched her hand away. "Leave town? Oz, Richard Wilkins is back from the dead! Where are we supposed to run to?"
"Anywhere," Oz replied.
"Maybe," Willow conceded, "but not tomorrow."
Oz nodded. "Fine, but we are going to talk about it." He took a deep breath. "We've got something else to talk about, too."
"What?"
"You know what. That offer. We never made a decision."
"What offer?"
Oz pursed his lips in irritation. "Will, you know I'm talking about the offer we received this morning to buy the Spirit Square."
"Oh. That offer."
Oz rubbed his eyes. "I'm starting to feel semantic satiation at the word 'offer.' It now holds no meaning for me. I hope you're happy."
Willow closed her eyes and reached for a nearby blanket. She pulled it over her body and tucked it around her neck. "Not tonight, okay sweetheart?"
Oz sat silently for a while before answering. "Okay. Not tonight. But soon?"
"Soon," she promised.
. . . . . . . . .
"Has Faith been in there the entire time?" Xander asked Emmy as they settled on his living room couch. He glanced towards the sound of a shower running. "I guess she doesn't know California is in the middle of a drought."
Emmy nodded in reply. "Yeah … and I'm not sure, but I think she might have been screaming … or crying … maybe both." She laid her head on Xander's shoulder and glanced up questioningly at his mismatched eyes. "How do you two know each other again?"
"Oh, we met in high school," Xander replied quickly.
