CHAPTER 8
DETENTE
"Dawn. Call me back," Buffy said in as neutral a tone as she could manage. She thumbed at her cell phone screen and ended the message.
Willow did her best to sound optimistic. "No luck?"
Buffy shook her head. "Dawn hasn't talked to me since I happened to mention, just mention, that maybe it was a little weird that Eric's firm handled the buyout offer for the Spirit Square."
"Not even a 'don't text me' text?"
"Nope," Buffy confirmed. "Not even three little dots to show she might have been thinking about typing me a response."
Willow continued, "Wilkins was a shock, so I get it, but on the other hand it's been months now. … you'd think Dawn would have calmed down a little bit."
Buffy pensively stared out the passenger window. "When did my sister get so difficult?"
Willow's brow furrowed. "This is the point of the conversation where I think I'm supposed to say, 'she's always been difficult,' but honestly Buff, Dawn's behavior is getting to be a little strange even for her. Maybe it's time for an intervention?"
Buffy chuckled. "Yeah, I'm sure that would go great. We could say something like, 'You know Dawn, we're aware that you're hyper-sensitive about, like, your entire past and all of our lives, and you would die before you'd let your husband or kids know what you've gotten up to, but we think you need to start being okay with reality.'"
"You're right … I can't imagine that going well," Willow admitted as she turned into a large parking lot. Neatly trimmed hedges and manicured strips of lawn lay between gleaming white buildings sporting immaculately polished windows, shiny aluminum flag poles, and looming over the entire complex was a tall clocktower that had 'Moonridge' etched across the bottom of the clockface. Willow pulled into one of the empty spots and left the car idling.
"Here's my stop," Buffy said as she turned and grabbed a file folder from the backseat.
Willow unbuckled her seatbelt and glanced questioningly at Buffy. "Want company?"
Buffy quickly shook her head. "I got this. You don't think Wilkins's goons are going to attack me in City Hall in broad daylight, do you?"
Willow pondered the question.
"I'll be fine," Buffy promised as she opened the door, clutched the folder to her chest, and stepped out into the sun. She closed the door and waved to Willow through the window.
Willow half-heartedly waved her hand a few times in response.
Buffy wove her way through the rows of cars until she reached a set of gray granite steps that led upwards to a wide set of white double doors topped by a half oval window. Columns made of the same gray stone rose on either side of the building's portico and held aloft a stately balcony.
She climbed the steps, opened a door, and stepped inside. In contrast to the stifling heat and humidity of the parking lot, the interior was cold and the air had a dry, crisp feel to it. As Buffy watched the men and women in business suits traverse the lobby, she felt underdressed in her loose blouse, khaki pants, and sandals.
"Excuse me, miss," she asked of a woman wearing what appeared to be the blue uniform of building staff. "Where is the election office?"
"Downstairs, make a left, second window," the woman replied.
"Thank …"
The woman had already turned and continued on her way before Buffy could finish the expression of gratitude.
She navigated down the steps, made the indicated left turn, then ducked into a small alcove. Two thick, square windows were set in the far wall, and beneath each window was a sliding metal tray and a low-slung wooden chair. Only one of the two windows was occupied; an unsmiling, stout woman with graying hair and thick bifocals peered through the glass at her.
Buffy sat down in one of the chairs. When the woman on the other side didn't verbally acknowledge her presence, she leaned towards a series of dotted holes in the middle of the window and cheerily spoke, "Good morning."
The woman's expression did not change as she responded, "This is the election administration window. If you were looking for a marriage certificate, that office is on the third floor."
Buffy flinched at the comment.
Oh, she really hit a nerve with that one.
Buffy leaned forward and read the nametag.
Gertrude? Really? This place has to be evil.
Gertrude's lips tightened into a thin white line as she glanced down at Buffy. "Can I help you with something?"
"As a matter of fact, Gertrude, you can," Buffy said as she forced herself to smile. She opened the file folder, removed a binder-clipped stack of paper, and set it in the metal drawer.
Gertrude glanced down at the papers but made no move to retract the drawer. "What are those?"
"My application for the November mayoral election, along with my nomination sheets bearing one thousand and seven hard-earned signatures." Buffy tapped the papers. "Me and a lot of friends had to sweettalk a lot of people for those. Please don't lose 'em."
When Gertrude still didn't make any effort to retrieve the paperwork, Buffy extended her arm and closed the drawer. One of the binder clips caught on the metal edge of the slot, popped loose with a loud twang, bounced off a few surfaces, then struck Gertrude directly in the forehead.
"Sorry about that," Buffy apologized as she cringed in embarrassment.
Gertrude rubbed her forehead, then finally collected the sheaf of pages. She examined the first page, then frowned and held it up to the glass. "The first signature is just 'Angel.' The full name of the nominator must be included, or the signature is invalid."
"That's his entire name," Buffy said as sweetly as she could manage. "It's dramatically idiosyncratic, and frankly always struck me as kind of an ego thing, but that's his only name. Angel."
Gertrude blinked a few times, then slowly repeated herself as if speaking to a child, "The first and last name of the nominator must be included."
"Yeah, I think you may have mentioned that a moment ago," Buffy muttered. An idea occurred to her. "Let me see that page, please?"
Gertrude silently inserted the paper in the drawer. Buffy retrieved the page, pressed it against the glass, then grabbed a pen from within the file folder and quickly scribbled 'Summers' next to Angel's name.
Ha, looks like you took my last name, Angel! How progressive of you.
Buffy slid the page once more into the metal tray, and an echoing krak resounded through the small space as she slammed the drawer closed a little harder than she meant to.
Gertrude retrieved the sheet and glanced at it again. "You can't write-in nomination information on behalf of someone else. That makes it invalid." Gertrude picked up a red marker and made a small notation next to Angel's name.
"I still have one thousand and six other signatures," Buffy snapped. "Gertrude, my pregnant friend is waiting outside, so if you could check my paperwork and sign me up for the election, I'd appreciate it."
"Sign you up?" Gertrude asked as she began flipping through the stacked pages. "This isn't like being in the PTA, Ms. Summers, it's mayor of an entire city. Have you ever run for office?"
"Do we know each other, or something?" Buffy asked impatiently. "I'm used to people sometimes not liking me all that much, but it's typically from folks I've met before."
"My husband is on the school board," Gertrude answered primly.
Oh.
"Oh," Buffy replied. "Then I guess he probably told you all about the … the …" Words escaped her.
"The axe incident?" Gertrude unhelpfully suggested.
Buffy snapped her now empty file folder closed. "Not the term I'd choose."
Gertrude harrumphed on the far side of the glass as she continued slowly flipping through the pages.
"Anyone else submit candidacy paperwork?" Buffy asked.
Gertrude answered that particular question immediately. "Nope. Not even the Deputy Mayor is running." She glanced up at Buffy. "Just you and Mr. Richard Wilkins."
"Mano a mano," Buffy said softly.
Gertrude reached into a cubbyhole and grabbed a large, ornate stamp. She pressed the stamp firmly onto the first page of Buffy's nomination paperwork, then inserted that page into a nearby photocopier, ran a copy, and then finally slid the printed sheet to Buffy. The echo of the drawer's clanging once again rang throughout the alcove.
"Thanks," Buffy said as she clutched the paper to her chest and stood. "I hope you'll keep an open mind about my candidacy."
Gertrude did not reply.
Buffy waited in awkward silence for a few seconds, then backed into the hallway and retreated her steps through City Hall, the parking lot, and finally to Willow's car.
"How'd it go?" Willow asked. "Any issues?"
Buffy smiled innocently. "Couldn't have been easier."
. . . . . . . . .
Now this is what a slayer is supposed to be doing.
Faith leapt and grabbed one of the thick wooden beams that ran along the length of the barn. A few of the nearby horses whinnied and stomped their hooves in fright as she deftly swung over the outstretched arms of the approaching vampire, dropped down behind it, then whirled and adroitly thrust her stake. She didn't bother to watch the vampire explode in a cloud of dust; she'd seen it plenty of times before.
She cooed softly to one of the frantic, red-eyed horses. "Calm down, they're both dead," she reassured the frightened animal. Her words seemed to have no effect; foam frothed from the horse's mouth as it darted about. A loud clanging noise resounded through the open air of the barn as one of the other horses pounded its forelimbs against the metal door of its stall.
Faith plugged her ears and trod across freshly laid hay until she reached a trapdoor that yawned open near the barn's wide, red-painted double doors. She peered down into the darkness … nothing appeared to be moving, and she didn't hear the sounds of any furtive movements.
Not a bad place for a nest.
In some respects, it was genius. How often would anyone be climbing down to check the basement of a barn? Screams, and eventually, the rotting aroma of whoever the nesting vamps dragged down into the shadows, would be camouflaged by the sounds and smells of the horses.
Once upon a time, Wesley or Giles would have begged me to be cautious. A vampire is at its most dangerous in its nest, the place in which it makes its home.
She ignored the ladder and dropped down into the basement. The ceiling was lower than she'd expected, but not so low that she couldn't stand upright. Saddles, bridles, and other assorted equestrian equipment were hung upon the walls, while several low tables and bales of hay, likely used as seats, occupied the majority of the interior space, although Faith did spot a few unlabeled barrels in the far corner.
Beer? Unlikely … probably something like oats.
The third vampire, far more cautious than the first two she'd dispatched, emerged from the shadows swinging a chain attached to a dreadful looking spiked apparatus that Faith desperately hoped wasn't intended to be used on horses.
She nimbly dodged to the side, moved to kick the vampire in the head as it surged by her, then stumbled when her foot slipped on a half-dried, suspiciously red, liquid. Her blow had no force behind it, and the vampire quickly shook it off and leapt on her.
The vamp grabbed her forearm and pushed her back until she fell across one of the tables. The weight of the creature pinned her against the wood, and the creature's feral yellow eyes blazed in the darkness as the jagged shards of its teeth snapped inches from her neck. Faith grasped the vampire around the neck with her free hand while she tried to shake her other arm loose from its grasp.
This one is stronger than the others … if they had worked together, they might have stood a chance.
The vampire screamed in pain as she raised her knee into its groin, a technique that tended to be as effective on male vamps as it was on the human variety, and took advantage of the distraction to pull her arm free. A moment later the wooden point of the stake lanced through the creature's heart and, mid-howl, the vamp exploded into a choking cloud of dust.
Freed of the creature's pinning weight, Faith coughed a few times then stood upright. She tucked the stake into the back of her jeans and craned her neck back and forth until her neck satisfyingly cracked.
One more nest bites the dust.
She briefly searched the basement until she was satisfied that it was empty of both vamps and human prisoners, then climbed the ladder. Faith futilely tried once more to calm the still frenzied horses, then slipped out of the barn and closed the doors behind her. The citrus orchards and rows of strawberries lent a pleasant smell to the night air.
Faith followed a dirt path back towards the main highway until she spotted her motorcycle. The bike was right where she'd left it, parked near a small sign advertising fresh farm produce. The sign was adorned with a faded painting of strawberries.
Three women were waiting for her. A pale brunette leaned against the Harley, an invasion of motorcyclist space that earned a frown from Faith, while a redhead sporting a pixie cut sat on a low wooden fence next to a dusky gal with long grey hair at least a decade older than the other two. All three of the newcomers were lean, and their body language and movements had a watchful economy of movement and presence to them that instinctively made Faith think of a predator at rest.
I probably look like that, too.
"Faith," Colleen said warmly as she smiled, stepped away from the bike, and walked over to embrace Faith in a hug. "It's been too long." Faith usually wasn't a hugger, but she made an exception for Colleen. There weren't that many slayers left who had survived the battle at Sunnydale High. Hell, nearly half the potentials Buffy had activated were dead.
"Colleen, it's great to see you again," Faith replied as she gently, but firmly, extricated herself from the diminutive brunette's grasp. Colleen's features had toughened over the years, but she still looked young. "And good to see you both, also," Faith called out to the two slayers still seated on the fence.
Dana, the dusky-skinned woman with the ponytail, slowly uncurled her jean-clad legs from the fence and stood upright. "Been looking for you," she said brusquely.
Jess ran a hand through her short red hair and remained seated. "Thought you were supposed to be patrolling with one of the other slayers."
"You know who she is," Faith chided Jess. "That other slayer I was patrolling with tonight is named Buffy."
The three newcomers frowned at the mention of the name.
"The younger Buffy, right?" Colleen asked. "If you and Andrew were serious about what you were saying, I mean. Honestly, two Buffys? Your story kind of sounded a bit crazy."
"I can assure you none of us are crazy," Faith said with a sigh. "Though lately it's been kind of feeling that way."
"What's she like, the new Buffy?" Colleen asked. "I've never met anyone from another universe … other than demons, I guess."
Faith considered the question. "Grumpy … got a chip on her shoulder and a bit of a temper. Doesn't talk all that much, and she's a lot less chatty during the slaying than the first Buffy I met." Faith smiled. "Questionable twentieth century goth wardrobe choices aside, I like her."
"Where is this grumpy, younger Buffy?" the redhead interrupted.
Faith glanced over and caught the woman's eye. "Your name is Jess, right? I think we met once a long time ago."
"Probably," Jess replied tersely.
"Faith," Colleen said in a more polite tone, "where is the Buffy you were patrolling with?"
Faith gestured towards the lights in the distance. "She's still back in Moonridge. I had a lead on a nest, I followed it."
"What kind of lead?" Dana asked in a clipped, flat tone.
Faith did her best to keep a leash on her temper as she began to experience the unpleasant sensation that she was being interrogated. "The kind of lead where a guy has too much to drink at a bar and starts talking about how he hears weird noises at night under his barn, but he's too scared to go check it out."
"You were patrolling at a bar?" Jess asked incredulously.
"I go wherever I think I can find useful information," Faith snapped. "Now, I've got a question of my own. I'm about five miles outside of Moonridge in the middle of nowhere: how the hell did you find me?"
Colleen held up her cellphone. "Encrypted tracking devices on the phones the Watchers gave us," she reminded Faith. "We just followed the signal."
Faith rubbed her forehead. "Jesus Christ, I'd forgotten about that."
"Maybe you give us a heads up about what's going on here," Dana suggested. "We've heard a lot of stories about this town besides the twin Buffys."
Colleen interjected, "Vampires with souls, vampires with souls who aren't vampires anymore, Hellmouths reopening, how much of this is true?"
"All of it," Faith said sharply. "I've got a lot to catch you guys up on if you want to make yourself useful."
"Make ourselves useful?" Jess finally stood up from the fence. "You don't sound very thankful for a slayer we traveled a couple thousand miles to help," she snapped in anger. Dana laid a hand on Jess's shoulder, and the younger woman calmed down.
Faith caught the gesture.
I guess I know who wears the strap-on in that relationship.
"Hey, thanks for coming!" Faith said in a tone dripping with forced cheeriness. "Shit's bad down here, like, old school, not seen for a long time, bad, and I appreciate the help. I know not a lot of slayers would have made the trip, even if it took you a few weeks to get here."
"We drove," Colleen explained as she gestured towards a dark minivan parked a couple dozen yards up the highway. "Some of what we brought they don't let you fly with."
Faith snorted. "I know how that goes."
"Of course, we came, Faith," Dana said forcefully. "A lot of slayers have forgotten what we're supposed to be about, but we haven't."
"The Watchers kind of forbid us from helping you, but we came anyway," Colleen admitted. "I doubt any of them besides Andrew will be willing to have anything to do with Moonridge."
"The Watchers forbid it, or Todd Wells-Clarke forbid it?" Faith asked. Andrew's husband, who Faith had always considered a condescending prick, was the putative next head of the Watchers Council.
"You know how it is with the Council and Buffy … the original Buffy," Colleen explained. "It's awkward."
"Awkward?" Jess asked heatedly. She began slowly reciting names of dead slayers … when she reached Kennedy's name, Faith interrupted her.
"I get it. A lot of slayers and potentials have died fighting with Buffy, but if we're going to get anything done in Moonridge, we've got to work together."
"People get killed in battle … slayers, of all people, understand that," Dana replied. She leaned close enough for Faith to catch the glint of moonlight in her silvery grey ponytail. "It's how some of them died when they were fighting alongside Buffy Summers that's the problem."
"That and the company she keeps," Jess added. "I mean, how many vampires has Buffy fucked and how many evil witches does she have hanging around?"
Dana remained stoic, while Colleen flinched at the coarseness of the language.
Faith turned to fix Dana with a baleful eye. "Didn't Angel and Spike save your ass once? You going to let your missus talk about them like that?"
"That's true about Angel and Spike," Dana admitted begrudgingly. "It was a long time ago, and I wasn't in much of a condition to remember some of it, but Angel and Spike did help … despite my not going easy on either of them."
"Fine, they're good vampires, or ex-vampires, or whatever they are now," Jess interjected. "That doesn't wipe away what they've done in the past."
"This conversation is growing really unproductive," Faith said as she walked over to her bike and sat down. "Like I said, thanks for coming, but if this is the way it's going to be, I'm not so sure you should have made the trip."
Colleen put a hand on the motorcycle's handlebars. "Faith, we came for you. At least try to understand where we're coming from."
Faith paused a moment. "I promise you that Richard Wilkins's people aren't arguing with each other. That guy is pure evil like the kind they taught you about back in Sunday School; he'll gut you like a fish and smile at you the entire time."
"So, we kill him?" Jess asked with a shrug. "Make a quick end to it? Even if he's human, it sounds like he's got it coming."
Dana eyed Faith questioningly. "Somehow, I have a feeling if it was that easy, he'd already be dead."
"How tough is this guy?" Colleen asked Faith.
"He'll have an army," Faith answered quickly. "And he's a sorcerer, or warlock, or whatever, of the worst kind. Guy turned himself into a giant snake demon once."
Colleen gulped nervously.
"Then why hasn't he attacked?" Dana asked. "Why not wipe out the opposition before you can call in reinforcements.
Dana knows which questions to ask.
"For one, we think he's busy with something, and it has to do with an election for mayor in November," Faith replied. "Buffy, the original Buffy, is trying to keep that from happening."
"An election?" Jess asked with a confused expression. "We're monster slayers, not monster-election-preventers."
Faith shrugged. "One thing at a time. Right now, my job, and your volunteer efforts, involve killing every vamp and hostile demon we can find while we try to figure out what Wilkins is up to."
"That explains why you're not attacking," Dana pointed out, "but not why thisWilkins isn't."
Faith hesitated, then continued, "We're not killing each other outright because we've agreed to a truce. At least, a truce until we figure out how to beat him."
The group fell silent for several long moments.
"A truce," Collen said disbelievingly. "With an evil wizard who once turned himself into a giant snake demon?"
"Just for now," Faith explained hastily. "Until we're ready."
Dana nodded thoughtfully. "A truce, for the moment, might be a smart idea. There's no faster way for a slayer to end up dead than rushing in somewhere unprepared." She turned and looked at the barn Faith had exited only a few minutes before.
"Why the hell would this Wilkins guy agree to a truce?" Jess asked. "From what I heard, he has to hate pretty much all of you."
Working with Jess is going to be real fun.
"Angel brokered some sort of magically binding peace treaty a long time ago," Faith explained with all the patience she could muster, "it's complicated, and Buffy thinks it's a good idea."
"Buffy again," Jess snapped. "She isn't a slayer … what do you think we should do, Faith?"
"I agree with Buffy," Faith replied immediately. "We aren't ready for all-out war yet."
Colleen, Jess, and Dana looked at each other before Colleen spoke, "So for now, we're just going to patrol and kill random vamps and demons while Richard Wilkins, the guy we're here to stop, runs for office?"
Faith smiled. "Hey, I like killing vamps and demons. Beats working for a living."
For the first time in the conversation all four of them smiled and chuckled.
Dana nodded. "Fair enough. We'll follow your lead."
Goddamn right you will.
"Got a place to stay?" Faith asked. Internally, she prayed they wouldn't need to crash at Xander's.
"Andrew set us up with a condo near the center of town," Dana explained. "We'll be good there."
Thank god.
At the discussion of their joint living situation, Faith noticed Colleen purse her lips and affect a sour expression.
The expression 'three's company' comes to mind.
"I need to catch up with Buffy," Faith announced as she slid her key into the motorcycle's ignition. "We can meet tomorrow, go over patrols, and I'll bring you up to speed on Moonridge."
"One more thing," Jess called out. "You want to work together, fine, but we don't take orders from the Sunnydale Slayer."
Dana grimaced at Jess's comment while Faith bristled immediately.
That fucking does it.
Faith lowered the kickstand, swung her legs off the bike, and began stalking towards Jess. The red-haired woman narrowed her eyes, tightened her hands into fists, and stepped away from Dana.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Colleen cried out as she stepped between Faith and Jess. She laid her hands on Faith's shoulders. "Hold on a moment."
Colleen turned her head to gaze at Jess. "We just got here. Let's keep an open mind, okay?"
Dana turned her head, quietly muttered a few words, and Jess relaxed and unclenched her hands. "Fine," she said. "Let's see how it goes."
Faith continued to stare angrily at Jess for a few long moments, then returned to the bike and sat down. "I'd stick together," she recommended as the motorcycle engine roared to life. "I've got a feeling that things in Moonridge are only going to get worse from here."
. . . . . . . . .
"We have to stop meeting like this," Angel remarked as he followed Kate up the steps of a Moonridge University sorority house. Police swarmed in the front yard, neighbors huddled near yellow caution tape that had been strung around the building, and reporters wielding microphones clustered around news vans and spoke in hushed, serious tones while cameras broadcast their every word.
Kate rolled her eyes at him. "Very funny, Angel. I know you've had a few hundred years to get used to massacres, so maybe it's easy for you to joke, but try to remember that a dozen families found out today that their daughters are never coming home from college."
Well … I feel like an asshole.
They both walked through the propped open door of the sorority, and though Angel's senses weren't quite as keen as they once were, he immediately recognized the smell of death and blood. He followed as Kate led him to a cramped, neon-lit stairwell. They descended the narrow wooden steps until, eventually, they emerged into a surprisingly large basement featuring a bar, several blood-stained mattresses, a variety of beer-related wall decorations, and an open closet on the far wall from which an abhorrent stench emanated.
Angel pointed towards the closet door. "That's where I presume you found the bodies?"
"You presume right," Kate confirmed. "A bunch of coeds and a few boyfriends, all drained of most of their blood, all in various stages of decomposition."
"You mentioned there were survivors?"
Kate's brow furrowed. "Two of them. They're near catatonic, which isn't surprising considering what they've been through, and when they do talk, most of the department thinks their stories of blood-sucking monsters is just the trauma talking." She stared knowingly at Angel. "But you and I know better, don't we?"
"This doesn't feel the same as the other murders you've worked in Moonridge," Angel observed as he glanced around the basement. "A sorority? Survivors? This wasn't the same killer who's been stalking me, this is someone … something … else. Probably several of them."
"You're right," Kate agreed. "This was a nest, not a serial killer."
Angel glanced around in confusion. "I've seen …" he stepped closer and lowered his voice to a whisper … "vampire nests before, Kate. Is this some sort of not-so-subtle suggestion that we're not doing enough patrolling? I promise you, if we'd known about what was happening here, we would have done something."
Kate tone was curt and abrupt as she replied, "I'm not blaming you for this, Angel, but I am concerned about how bad things are going to get. It's June, summer break, the sorority was at least half empty … that means this vampire nest could have been at it for a month, maybe longer, without any of your people realizing? Angel, how long until this happens again?"
"We'll look for the vampires that did this, like we always do," Angel assured her. "We're doing everything we can."
Kate took a deep breath before she replied. "Angel we're getting off track. Honestly, I brought you here for a very specific reason."
Angel blinked at her in confusion. "And what might that be?"
"I need to be sure about something," she said without further explanation.
Angel's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Sure about …" he suddenly realized what she wanted, "ah, I get it."
"You were always better at this than me," Kate admitted.
Angel shifted his coat out of the way as he crouched and checked the floor of the basement. A few of the forensic photographers watched in curiosity as he ran his hand along the stained hardwood, at times examined the color and texture of bits of debris, and occasionally tasted the tip of his finger. Eventually, close to the bar, he found what he was looking for.
Ash.
"Dusted," Angel confirmed as he stood up. "At least two vamps, maybe three."
"But it wasn't you guys that cleared this nest?" Kate asked.
Angel slowly shook his head. "Patrols have been nonstop for the last month, but I think something like this," he gestured towards the charnel room that reeked of decaying corpses, "would have been mentioned." A thought occurred to him. "We did have some new slayers roll into town, could have been them. I'll check."
As soon as the words left his lips, Angel noticed something else on the ground. He lowered himself once more into a crouch and poked at a greyish-pink lump.
"What is it?" Kate asked.
Angel left the wad of gum on the floor and stood back up. "It wasn't a slayer that took out this nest," he muttered in irritation.
"Turf war between vamps?" Kate asked. "Some worse monster? Like that one thing back in L.A. that massacred nearly an entire square block before we torched it?"
"Nope," Angel said with a grimace. "It was a creature far more annoying. It was Spike."
"Spike?" Kate asked in disbelief. "You're kidding me. I barely knew the guy, but from everything you've ever said, I wouldn't expect him to be the do-good-ing type. Why would he take on a nest?"
"People change," Angel said begrudgingly. "Then again, who knows why Spike does what he does. Maybe they insulted his favorite hair stylist, or something."
"He could have at least given you guys a head's up," Kate remarked as she and Angel retraced their steps back up the stairs. "Let these kids have a decent burial before the smell reached a neighbor's house."
"Like I said, who the hell knows why Spike acts the way he does," Angel remarked as he followed Kate through the front door and onto the patio.
Kate stopped on the sidewalk and looked at him. "I could say that about a lot of people."
Angel gave her a mocking salute, then began to back away. "Well, Kate, it's been fun, as always. Keep in touch."
"Angel," Kate said firmly. "Can we talk for a bit?"
He stopped. "I thought these weren't going to be social calls?" he reminded her. "What now?"
"It's getting worse, isn't it?"
He stared silently at her.
"Do me the courtesy of not pretending you don't know what I'm talking about," she crisply requested. "Moonridge P.D. had to put up tents behind the coroner's office and bring in military-grade portable air conditioners. Makeshift morgues, Angel, in this little slice of suburbia? When will whatever is happening here going to stop?
"I don't know," he admitted. "If we lose, maybe it won't be getting better. Maybe it'll get a lot worse."
Kate glanced at the sorority house. "What about our other case? Mayor Ritter and her family were buried months ago and I'm no closer to finding the son of a bitch who did it." She turned back to him. "Any new leads?"
"No," Angel confessed, "and I'm starting to wonder if he's even still in town."
"Maybe Spike killed him, too?"
Angel chuckled gloomily. "I doubt we got that lucky. He's still out there … somewhere."
"And you still think it's a man? Not one of those something else?"
Angel nodded. "I do."
Kate curtly gestured towards the sorority house. "I need to go back inside."
Maybe I should make the effort … see if I can thaw her out a bit?
"If you need anything, Kate, just give me a call," Angel offered.
Kate fixed him with an icy stare and frowned. "The only thing I need, Angel, is for you to do better at your job, or hobby, or destiny, or whatever the hell you're calling it these days. Text me if you can think of something useful."
"I will," Angel promised.
No thaw yet.
Kate entered the house, vanished from sight, and Angel retreated to his car.
"Always such a pleasure …" he mumbled to himself as he started the engine.
What are the chances that Xander has actually shown up to work?
. . . . . . . . .
He set down the long-distance microphone and lowered the blinds of the small RV in which he sat.
"New special people arriving in town?" he mused aloud as he stared in the direction of where Angel and Kate had been conversing. "And these oh-so-special folks are on your side, Angel? How interesting."
A few more notations were made in the logbook, then he laid the journal next to the microphone and sat back to think. He was on his third such volume since he'd arrived in Moonridge … there were just so many details of Angel's life that he wanted to learn about.
. . . . . . . . .
As Dawn once again peeked through the curtains of her front window, Xander finally asked, "What are you looking for? Expecting a wine of the month delivery? Cause if so, I could use a glass."
Dawn released the fabric and turned towards him. "Lately, I've had a feeling I'm being watched. You know what I mean?"
"All the time," Xander said a tone of indifference. "Comes with the territory." He made a show of demonstrating his lack of concern by dramatically yawning and stretching. "You get used to it." A thought occurred to him. "I'll talk to Giles, though, maybe add your street to the patrols."
"I'm sure it's nothing," Dawn said quickly as she joined him on the couch.
They both sat there silently, neither looking at the other.
"Xander," Dawn said quietly.
Xander lowered his voice to a melodramatic growl. "Dawn."
"We could have just chatted over the phone. What's up?"
"Why does anything have to be up for me to want to visit!" Xander protested as he stood and began pacing. "Besides, from what I hear, you don't like cellphone calls very much these days."
"I know you aren't here to talk about me and Buffy," Dawn admonished him.
"I could be," Xander said thoughtfully. "I mean, hasn't this crap between you two gone on long enough."
Dawn felt her patience begin to wane.
Xander must have caught the change in her mood. "Fine," he admitted. "I'm not here to discuss Buffy."
"Your eye," she guessed.
Xander blinked at her in surprise. "How'd you know?"
"Emmy," Dawn admitted.
He rubbed his forehead. "What happened to demonic doctor-patient confidentiality?"
"You can talk to her, you know," Dawn said. "She's tougher than you think. You may believe you're protecting her, but all you're really doing is keeping the two of you apart. If you care about her, then trust her."
"I trust her!" Xander squawked. He forced himself to calm down. "It's just …"
"You don't want to scare her?" she suggested. "Or maybe you're afraid that opening up will make her think you're weak? That admitting your own worries will emascula …"
He held up a hand. "Enough. I got it. Maybe, just maybe, it's a little bit of option 'd' … all of the above."
"You seem fine," Dawn said as she looked him over. "Maybe whatever was going on with the transplant is over?"
"It's not over," Xander said in a hushed tone. "I can feel it slowly growing, changing me bit by bit. You remember how Oz used to always talk about how he had to be careful, that he couldn't ever really let himself get angry, particularly when it was that time of the month?"
Dawn nodded.
"Now I get it," he admitted. "I thought it sounded exciting, like it made you dangerous. But it's kind of like a curse, too."
Dawn reached out and grasped his hand. Xander ceased pacing and looked down at her. "Maybe talk to Oz?" she suggested. "Sounds like he might understand."
"I can't talk to Oz," Xander muttered as he pulled his hand back and resumed pacing. "He's retired. If anything, we should all be leaving Oz and Willow alone. Heck, most of you guys should be leaving Moonridge."
Dawn cocked her head and appraised Xander. "There really is something going on with you, isn't there?"
"I'm beginning to wonder how much of me, is me," he explained.
"It's an eye, not a new body."
Xander fixed her with his mismatched gaze, and something in his posture ran a chill down her spine. "Dr. Hu found something else."
A clutching, clawing fear began to scrabble at Dawn's innards. She found herself frightened beyond reason, and part of her wanted to scream and beg for Xander not to continue.
What are you doing? This is Xander.
She shook off the sensation, stood up, and walked over to him. "Xander, it's me. If you want to talk about anything, I'm here."
"You don't even want to hear one of us say the word 'vampire,' Dawn," he pointed out.
Dawn waved her hand. "This isn't about my problems, it's about yours. Secrets eat you up alive, I know that better than anyone. You've got to have someone you can share your secrets with, or you'll go crazy."
"Have you shared the story of some of our secret misadventures with Eric?" Xander asked defensively. When he saw Dawn tense up, he immediately regretted his choice of words. "Hey, that was uncalled for. I'm sorry."
She wiped at her eyes before replying. "Emmy is part demon. She already started off as part of … of our world, for lack of a better term. Eric would have me committed if I told him I spent years battling demons and that my sister is … was … a vampire hunter."
"Where are Eric and the kids?" Xander asked as he looked around.
"Ice cream after school," Dawn replied. "And don't try to change the subject. Tell me what's up, or I'll have to beat it out of you." She made a fist and mockingly punched him in the shoulder.
Xander sat back down on the couch and stared down at the floor. "It's a memory spell," he admitted. "Dr. Hu thinks someone cast it on me."
Dawn gasped in surprise. "No! Are you sure?"
"He's pretty sure, but I don't know … maybe I should maybe get a second opinion." Xander scratched at his chin.
"Who cast the spell? And what memories?"
Xander shook his head. "No idea. The only details I got from the doc was that it probably happened in the last year or two." Xander hesitated a moment before continuing. "Dawn, it's a memory spell … we kind of have a history with those. You don't think … Willow? Maybe?"
Dawn immediately shook her head. "Willow? Are you kidding me? Fooling around with that kind of magic nearly wrecked her life."
"I thought, maybe it could have been a mistake?" Xander asked. "Something Willow didn't mean to do?"
Dawn raised her a hand as a thought occurred to her. "Hold on a second, I think we're forgetting something," she said as she curled her hand into a fist and gestured with her thumb towards her chest. "I'm the biggest memory-mucker any of you have ever seen, maybe the biggest that's ever existed. Couldn't your doctor have found in your brain whatever those monks did to make everyone believe I'm a real person?"
Xander frowned at her. "Dawn, you are a real person."
"You know what I mean."
He ran a hand along a silver-streaked temple. "I asked Dr. Hu about that, but he thinks the spell is more recent."
"Get a second opinion," Dawn said confidently. "I mean, c'mon, it's too much of a coincidence. It has to be me."
Xander sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes to the heaven. "Not everything is about you, Dawn."
They both looked at each other a moment and then erupted in laughter.
"You're probably right," Xander admitted. "It probably is about you."
"Of course," she said with a grin.
Xander stood up. "I should get to the office. Put in at least a few hours with the partner."
Dawn stood up and gave him a hug. "I'm glad you came over."
He hugged her back. "I am, too."
When they finished the embrace, Xander lingered by the door with his hand on the knob. "I was serious about having someone keep an eye on your street, by the way. Bad mojo is afoot in Moonridge, and if you think you're being watched, Faith or one of the other slayers will have to start patrolling here." A thought occurred to him. "You know, you could still have Willow or Giles put some wards up around here? Couldn't hurt."
"No magic!" she snapped with a far harsher inflection than she had intended. She held up a hand in apology. "Sorry, I'm just a little on edge. Thanks, Xander. Really."
Xander nodded as he pulled the door open. "One more thing," he added. "Could you maybe not mention the memory spell to anyone else?"
"What did I just tell you about not keeping secrets!"
He sheepishly looked away. "I know, I know, but for now, just keep this 'Xander's head has been messed with' between us."
"Okay," Dawn said. "But talk to Emmy."
"I will," Xander promised as he closed the door.
Dawn waited a few minutes, then began peering through the blinds again.
. . . . . . . . .
"Counselor, I appreciate the reality of the situation, I really do, but clients don't expect to pay the arm-and-a-leg prices charged by Wolfram & Hart to be lectured on reality. No, what I expect is that my well compensated law firm will bring the hellfire and brimstone until I get what I want."
Wilkins listened to the voice on the other end of the phone for a moment, then put his hand over the receiver and glanced at Allan and Joshua.
"This guy, let me tell you," Wilkins said dispiritedly. He removed his hand and lifted the receiver back to his ear. "The calendar has rolled over into June. Sure, the election is still five months away, but every day that I don't own the Spirit Square is a day that the Valknut may be sold, or stolen, or just plain go missing This is a rather unique item, it's not as though I can have Allan go online and order a spare." He leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk. "Can you not get this done? Do I need to start taking a direct hand?"
Richard Wilkins's face slowly darkened as he listened to the voice on the other end of the receiver for a long while. "Look, Eric," he finally replied, "I feel we're close enough that I can call you Eric, is that alright?" He didn't wait for an answer before continuing, "I do distinctly recall that I agreed to invoke the truce and remain hands-off with Ms. Buffy Summers and her friends. Implied as part of that agreement, however, was the implicit promise that you would accomplish certain tasks for me."
He leaned back in his chair and placed his feet upon the dark mahogany desk. "Need I remind you that those tasks remain unaccomplished? I still do not own that wretched little store, Moonridge remains infested with slayers hellbent on massacring my pool of potential employees, and, somewhat amusingly, Buffy Summers represents my opponent in November's election." He smiled broadly. You gotta admire her spirit, though. Gal's got gumption."
An angry voice loud enough for all in the room to hear emanated from the phone. Wilkins put his feet down and frowned as he pressed the phone tightly against his ear. "Eric, don't play that sentimental, family man crap with me. After you warned me a few months ago to leave your 'wife' out of your affairs, I did some digging. You've got a lot of chutzpah acting the part of the aggrieved spouse."
Wilkins once again waited until the voice on the other end of the line had finished before continuing.
"Oh, is that what you're worried about?" he replied skeptically. "I think you're mostly worried that your employers might find out what you've really been up to here in Moonridge, but be that as it may, your secret is safe with me, Eric. For now." He briefly examined his fingernails before continuing. "But I want progress, do you hear me?"
Wilkins briefly listened to the response.
"Fair enough."
He set down the phone and shook his head. "The field of legal representation just isn't what it used to be."
Joshua looked up from where he'd been lounging on a nearby couch. "Should we do something about these slayers?"
Wilkins's brow wrinkled in thought. "I gathered from my conversation with our friend in the Watchers Council that these slayers are rogues, or the closest thing to it … no real Council affiliation. Let them do their little patrol routine for now."
"What about Mr. Aurum?" Allan asked as he fidgeted near one of the castle's windows. "Should we be concerned that his activities in Moonridge might threaten your campaign?"
"I don't think it'll be an issue," Wilkins replied. "Eric's after Illyria, and Illyria doesn't concern me." He snorted derisively. "Illyria the Merciless, now there's a name without a hint of style."
"Could he actually defeat an Old One?"
"Defeat Illyria?" Wilkins replied thoughtfully. "Maybe … actually, probably. But killing Illyria wouldn't be the end of it, her death would just cause a bigger problem for our esteemed counsel."
"How?"
"Illyria is fully vested with Wolfram & Hart, and that means our Mr. Eric Aurum, attorney at law, would have to deal with the Senior Partners. He shook his head dismissively. "He wouldn't stand a chance."
"Then what is he doing?"
"I don't know what his endgame is," Wilkins admitted, "but I'm sure it'll be quite the show."
. . . . . . . . .
Angel had time to undress, shower, change into sweatpants and a loose tank top, and pour himself a glass of water while Buffy continued her conversation with Giles. He was ten minutes into a television program before Buffy finally clicked off the call and joined him on the living room couch.
He dutifully paused the show and looked over at her. "Want to chat?"
Buffy nodded. "Guess who arrived in town?"
Angel's heart missed a beat. "Do I even want to know?"
Upon seeing the panicked expression on his face, Buffy hastily moved to explain, "Oh, nobody bad this time. Those three slayers … Dana, Jess, and Colleen, showed up in the wee hours of the morning. Faith talked with them."
"Dana," Angel said with a grimace, "now those are some unpleasant memories."
Buffy nodded. "You're telling me. After half a year of dealing with her crazy ass, I wish I'd just let you and Wolfram & Hart keep her."
"Are you going to meet with these new slayers? Tell them what's what around here?"
Buffy wanly smiled before replying. "Doesn't sound like our newest arrivals are members of the Sunnydale Slayer fan club. Giles thinks I should let them settle in before I go say howdy."
"I really can't stand this pariah crap the other slayers pull with you," Angel said as he rubbed the back of his neck, "but it'll be great for Cleveland to have the help."
Buffy whacked him lightly on the shoulder. "You did not just call her Cleveland; you know she hates that nickname."
"Fine," Angel said with an impudent grin. "Younger Buffy it is."
Buffy whacked him again. "You bastard."
When she moved to playfully strike him a third time, Angel reached out and lightly caught her wrist. When Buffy didn't pull away, he leaned in and kissed her long and deeply. His other hand had just begun to stray towards the bottom of her shirt when she abruptly brushed his reaching fingers aside, broke off the embrace, and grabbed the remote control.
"Maybe later," Buffy said with an impish smile. "For now, I need to decompress with some soaps."
"Sure …" Angel replied as he leaned back and tried to hide his disappointment.
"Want to hear about my day?" Buffy said cheerfully as she began flipped through channels.
Before Angel could comment, she continued.
"Willow set up a Q and A on some dorky website devoted to Moonridge, and I ended up responding to online questions for hours," Buffy explained. "I swear, nearly every post was either a request that I discuss supernatural rumors I can't talk about, or a gross comment about my body."
"At least they're engaging," Angel said encouragingly. "It would have been a lot worse if no one showed any interest."
"That's true," Buffy admitted. She settled on a viewing selection with the click of a button.
"The O.C.?" Angel asked Buffy in disbelief as he stared at the television. "Didn't you watch that a million years ago?"
"It's comfort food," Buffy explained as she tucked her feet beneath her and curled next to him. "Besides, it's been long enough that I've forgotten most of it."
As the show's opening song began to blare, Angel thought he saw Buffy glance, for the briefest of moments, up towards the loft in which her training equipment was slowly accumulating dust.
