Chapter Seven – Shadows' Waiting

Willow slept like the dead on a couch just beside the fireplace. The three girls – Hannah, Dyrenicia, and Rocio – were thumbing through books so old they looked like they belong in the British Museum, or on a movie set somewhere.

"You knew this was for real, and you didn't say anything?" Elliot asked Fin.

Fin gave him a measured stare. "You know, every now and then, I have ta remind the rest of you that you just don't get what it was like growin' up Black in the ghetto. Most things you take my word on, no questions asked. But vamps? You'da thrown Huang at me after you'd put me on the rubber gun squad."

"How'd you know about Slayers?" Wood asked.

"There were stories, when I was growing up, about a lady who looked out for all of us. There were monsters out in the street. We knew that, though most of us figured it was just another type of pimp or dealer. I's walkin' home one night and got jumped. Saw his face and froze. Then that lady, she showed up, and she took care a' things. Never seen anything like it before or since. Lady moved like lightnin'. She put a piece a' wood through the guy's chest, and he was dust. Then she chewed me out for being out so late an' walked me home. Never forgot about her, even though I never told no one."

"That was my mother," Wood said quietly.

"She was a good lady," Fin nodded at him.

"Yeah," Wood agreed. "She was."

"So what have we got?" Fin asked, looking over the table.

"Map of the rooms where Liv was grabbed," Stabler explained. "A lot of this is going over my head – magic spells and the like."

"Who've we got?" Fin asked, checking the outline of the basement and its rooms. Stabler had a good memory for the layout of the place, but he hadn't gotten through any of the doorways of the large room, save one.

"You and me, Giles, two Slayers, a redheaded witch, Wood, and Xander," Stabler recited.

"We should get Cragen and Munch, too," Fin said, considering the map. It would be a bitch to get into that room. The vestibule was a handy place for one defender to stop a whole bunch of invaders. The room beyond had seven doorways leading off to God only knew what. They needed more people.

"You think they're going to show up to fight vamps and a deranged magician with a taste for serial killing?" Stabler asked.

"I think Munch would show up just to prove he was right about something. Cragen'll come because it's us. We can convince him when he gets there."

"CSU still there?"

"Last I heard, and they were having troubles of their own. Don't think it'd be too hard to get them cleared out."

"Giles," Stabler called, "what else do we need?"

"Taking care of that now, Detective," he answered, pulling the zipper of a duffel bag closed and then coming over. "I agree with you that Harper is most likely holding Olivia in these rooms, in some fashion, but it may very well be in some sort of dimensional enclave."

There was a pause while Stabler and Tutuola regarded him.

"Let's try that again, in small words," Stabler said.

"A…a vest pocket dimension," Giles amended. "Accessible by Harper when he is on his home ground, and he may very well now have the capability of dumping something out of there onto a place of his choosing."

Stabler closed his eyes. "That would explain why the death scenes were hours old in a place where people had been through in the last half hour."

"Exactly."

"So how do we get in?"

"I won't know for sure until we get there, but I suspect we'll need to lure him out, bind him, and then find a way in."

"How long is this going to take?" Stabler asked.

"Detective, I don't know."

Stabler grimaced and tapped the table with his knuckles. "Okay, let's get everyone together and packed up. I want to be down there before the hour is out."

While Tara was there, it was still dark. She couldn't see the walls she'd come to know so well, but she could see Tara, who sat beside her as though in a private world of her own warm sunlight. Olivia closed her eyes. She was tired. Tired of being cold, tired of being naked, tired of worrying when she was going to take the next hit and what would happen at the end of it. She couldn't help but remember Holly sobbing. "It's all my fault," the girl had cried. What? Was it really something that had happened or something Holly believed had happened, lost in the delirium of whatever it was Derek Harper was doing?

He was watching her, she knew. The walls that seemed so solid to her were transparent to him. She wondered what he made of her talking to thin air. She doubted he could see either Anya or Tara. If he only saw her talking quietly to nothing, did he think he was wearing her down? And what if – here her mind almost refused to complete the thought – what if Anya and Tara were figments of Harper's magic? What if they weren't really help? What if it was some way to wear her down even further? She knew how strong she was, and she didn't think she could take that on top of everything else.

"Tara," she whispered, hoping that Harper couldn't hear everything she said as well as see everything she did, "Giles said that Harper was using the deaths of Slayers to open something called a Hellmouth. What happens if I die?"

Tara looked at her, worry in her eyes. "Well, that only happens if you trigger the spell, and it takes you giving yourself a fatal injury with that specific dagger."

So, if she died by another cause, it would be okay. At least no one else would get killed. Of course, if worst came to worst, she didn't have any handy was of killing herself. Maybe suicide-by-bad-guy, so long as she didn't use his dagger.

When she realized what she was thinking, she sighed and put her head on her knees. Anya had said she was doing well because she hadn't actively considered suicide. Well, now she had. Was that another point in Harper's favor, or in hers? Because if it came to that, she'd make sure to screw him over as best she could. She wrapped her arms around her legs, trying to pretend she was warm.

"Tara, Willow and Giles both said that I was a Slayer. What does that mean?"

"I'll show you," she said. "But, I'll have to leave after."

Liv nodded in acknowledgement, unsure if she were trying to speed things up or trying to distract herself from what was happening. Tara reached over to her, touched her forehead, and a story of incredible dimension blossomed in Olivia's mind.

6:09 p.m.
SVU Squadroom

"Captain," Munch yelled across the room, holding a receiver in his hands, "Fin's asking for you."

"Transfer him to my office," Cragen answered, closing the door behind him. He picked up the extension as soon as the light hit. "Fin, what've you got?"

"Yeah, Cap'n, I'm with Elliot now, and we've got a lead on Liv."

"Spill," Cragen ordered. It was the first good thing he'd heard in hours.

"Okay, Cap, this is gonna be weird, and I'm gonna ask you to put your faith in me and Elliot on this one, because I'm not gonna be able to explain it properly on the paperwork."

Cragen took a deep breath. There was, he knew, a very good chance that his career would be over, along with Stabler's, if they didn't get Olivia back – even if they did get her back in less than good shape. It was time, he thought, to start taking some risks.

"You got it, Fin," he answered. "What do you need?"

"You and John meet us down at the spot where Liv was grabbed. Get the CSU out of there, but in an orderly fashion – like they're takin' some kind of break. Right now, what we know points to anyone in those rooms being in danger. When you come down – just the two of you – bring all the riot gear you can lay hand on."

Cragen opened his mouth to ask what in holy hell was going on and remembered that he'd promised to have faith in two of his detectives, no matter how crazy it sounded.

"Okay, we'll be down there in half an hour."

"See you there, Cap," Fin answered before hanging up.

Cragen set the receiver back in its cradle and stared at the phone for a long moment. He'd heard other senior cops occasionally talk about the one event that made or broke their career or about the cases that were, in cop parlance, "Chinatown" – inexplicable – or the cases that made good cops put their badges down and walk away. He didn't think he'd ever heard one with a case that combined all three.

Out in the squad room, he gestured to John to come over. When John was close enough for them not to be overheard, he bent his head towards him and said, "grab your stuff, John, at meet me at the gear locker downstairs. Do it quiet."

John raised his eyebrows, gave a thoughtful frown and wandered off in the general direction of his desk. Cragen had no doubt that while John would be the soul of discretion, there would be a great deal of internal hand-rubbing and glee at the thought of finally getting to be part of a conspiracy.

"Let's load 'em up," Stabler shouted.

People were moving, getting piles of weapons and accoutrements sorted out into final distribution. Buffy kept an eye on it all, clearly used to being the general of her forces. There had been a very brief meeting between him, the senior Slayer, and Giles, where they agreed that while Stabler was in charge of general strategy, Buffy ordered the troops. Willow was the focus. They had to get her in the room long enough to start pulling apart Harper's defenses. Buffy and Faith were point guards, the rest of them were backup, keeping any and all things thrown at them from reaching Willow. From there, if there was a God in heaven, Stabler would be the one to go in after Liv.

"It breaks down like this," Stabler laid out, "mission – which is Liv – comes first. Everything can be sacrificed to that. Then team. Then self. Everyone and everything else comes a very distant last place."

"We're used to working along those lines," Buffy answered, "even if we haven't always spelled it out like that."

Xander approached him with a scabbarded weapon. Stabler took it, pulled it free and looked down the length of a lethally sharp machete. He couldn't begin to imagine the kind of damage he could wreak with this thing. Then he saw Xander hand Buffy a long, two-handled sword, and spoke before he could stifle himself.

"She gets a sword?"

Giles gave him a dry look. "She's far less likely to cut off her own head with it, Detective."

Stabler glanced back at his weapon. "Point taken."

Fin had taken a baseball bat and a sharpened mop handle. No one was bothering with guns. It hadn't taken much explanation to point out all the things that could go wrong with a gun when a wizard had his sights set on you. Besides, not even silver bullets would take out a vamp, which they were expecting plenty of.

"Detective?" It was Faith, just behind his elbow. She had pulled her hair back and was wearing something long sleeved and form fitting. She held out a small bundle to him.

"What's this?"

She shrugged, still terribly uncomfortable around him, though he'd noticed she'd gone straight to Wood and let him put his arm around her.
"Red told me that Detective Benson is about my size. I figure, if you make it in, she's probably going to need a new set of clothes."

It was a pair of jeans and a blue flannel shirt. They were both old, faded, and softer than down. He looked up and met her eyes.

"Thanks, Faith."

"Not a problem," and she immediately backed away.

"Detective," Giles called.

"Yeah?"

"Do you have a cross or a crucifix?"

"And a St. Michael's medallion."

"Very well," Giles nodded. "I think we're ready."

She expected to be alone when the vision Tara gave her ended. Her head was still filled with the smell of dry sand under a hot sun and the feeling of a wooden stake in her hand. The bulk of what she'd seen pressed against all that had happened in the previous hours, and she felt renewed. She was strong, she was alive, she was a Slayer, and she had an idea of just how vital that was. She wanted to stand and demand that Harper face her.

"Time's running out," a new voice said.

Liv opened her eyes and saw the third woman she'd expected. Shorter than her, small boned, shoulder length dark hair and eyes that would have danced with mischief had the circumstances been different, this woman held her hands before her as if trying to stop herself from gesturing with fear.

"Ghost of Torture Future?" Liv asked.

"Jenny Calendar," she answered, "and I have three gifts to give you, but the clock is ticking, and it's winding down."

The name tickled the inside of her head. She'd heard it before but couldn't place it. A contact of Harper's? Something Giles had said? If she'd had her notebook on her, she would have flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for. Instead, she stood, aware that it had gotten darker again. She couldn't see the walls or the floor. She could see Calendar, but it was as though they stood outside at night.

"What are the rules?" she asked her new visitor.

"I can't kill anyone," Jenny explained. "I can't bring anyone back to life or tell anyone anything. The gift has to be just for you. It can't be a physical item."

"That's a lot of limits," Liv met her eyes.

"I don't make the rules," Jenny answered, "but I wanted to be here to help."

"I appreciate that," Liv said, taking a step closer, "and here's the first thing I want…"

When Cragen and Munch arrived, CSU had already begun packing up. Normally, they would stay on a crime scene until all the evidence had been identified, processed, and sent on its way. The faces of the techs leaving the scene, though, left Cragen with no doubt that something terrible and strange was going on.

"Captain," the sergeant on scene greeted him. He looked like he'd been pulled backward through a knothole. "I've been told to turn the scene over to you."

"Yeah," Cragen nodded. "Get your men out of here. We'll let you know when it's safe to return."

The sergeant leaned in a little bit and spoke in a quiet voice. "Captain, you and I both know this is irregular as hell, and if I thought I had a chance of getting an hour's sleep tonight, I might worry about it. Don't even tell me what you think is going on, because I don't want to know. Just let me know when to be back here and what you want me to tell the powers that be."

"Thanks, Hinojosa," Cragen answered, patting the sergeant on the shoulder. "I'll let you know as soon as I get things figured out."

He and Munch both dumped their loads of flak vests, night sticks, helmets, and shields on the floor of the main basement.

"When did Fin say he'd get here with Elliot?" John asked.

"We're here," Elliot answered, stepping into the space.

"Jesus, Elliot," Cragen turned, "where the hell did you come from?"

He paused when he saw all the people with his detectives.

"Jeffe, I know you said you'd put me in lock up if I put a toe out of line," Stabler started, stepping forward.

"Forget it," Cragen snapped. "I just spent the better part of an entire day digging up bupkus on a man who apparently hasn't existed in the last two years. I'm willing to go out on a limb here. I'm not willing to leave Olivia twisting in the wind any longer."

Stabler nodded. "Okay, here's the deal: everything Giles told us was on the up and up."

Cragen's eyes darted over to where Rupert Giles stood, carrying several duffel bags on his shoulders. With him, Cragen figured, were Faith Lehane, Buffy Summers, Willow Rosenberg, Xander Harris, and one other man he couldn't identify.

"Olivia's a Slayer. Harper has been killing them off for the past few years, building up some kind of mystical power base so he can open a gateway into Hell and party in the world's wreckage. Giles and the others came here to try to find a friend, our first vic, and to prevent any other killings. He tried to warn us, but we didn't believe him. Olivia was grabbed here because it's Harper's desmesne, his place of power. He's torturing her, trying to break her so that she kills herself and triggers his spell."

There was a long moment of silence as Cragen gazed at him over the wreckage of both their careers. It was John who broke the silence.

"El, not that any of us want to come out and say you've had a psychotic break with reality, but there's an old aphorism: extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof. Let's see some backup for your theory."

Stabler glanced over his right shoulder. "Willow?"

The redhead stepped forward. "Okay, but I do this, and we'll trigger every defense this guy has. He's going to throw it all at us."

"You heard the lady," Stabler announced. "Weapons out and at ready."

It took less than a minute, and Cragen found himself facing a small mob of citizens, criminals, a former suspect, and a soon-to-be ex-cop armed to the teeth with what looked like medieval weaponry. Most especially, his eye was caught by what the trim little blonde was carrying – some sort of cross between a battle ax, a stave, and a sword.

"Scuse me, Captain," the man he hadn't figured out yet, stepped past him, completing a defensive perimeter between Cragen and the door into the sub-basement.

"You are?" he asked.

"Robin Wood. You could say I'm playing guard tonight."

"You should probably get a vest, a shield, and a nightstick at the very least," Stabler told him.

Feeling like he was being played for a fool by a man he'd trusted for years, Cragen did as he was told, as did John and Fin. Stabler had already pulled a jacket on. Cragen knew he kept on in his trunk. He'd also strapped a machete to his waist and leg, and there were several sharpened wooden stakes tucked into his belt.

"Buffy," he called, "it's all yours."

"Okay," she spoke up. "I want my point in place with back up. As soon as Willow gives the word, you're in through the doorway. Dust anything you see. Keep your back to the wall and don't let anything get behind you. Giles, Stabler, Robin, Xander, get your flares out. Everyone ready?"

There was a murmur of agreement, and Cragen felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. Whatever this was – crazy, insane, impossible – it was real. Each of the men Buffy named took out a foot long stick, broke off the cap on one end and Robin flicked a lighter they each touched their stick to. The room was filled in violent red light.

"Willow?" Buffy asked.

"Let's do this," her best friend replied.

She stepped into the center of the main basement, ten feet from the door into the sub-basement, and folded down until she could touch the linoleum with her hands while keeping her feet under her. Xander and Wood took position to either side, just ahead of her. Buffy and Faith took their places on either side of the doorway, each holding a naked sword. Stabler stood to one side of Faith, Giles to the side of Buffy. Fin took his place beside Cragen and Munch.

"Keep your eyes open and stay out of the shadows, guys," he said. "It's gonna get crazy."

Willow pressed her hands down to the linoleum, and sudden streamers of lightning ran out from them, racing past the people, up the walls, covering the ceilings. They widened, flashed, and a crack of thunder grabbed everyone by their breastbone and shook them violently. The lightning hit the doorway like vines accelerating under an incredible sun, flared, intensified, and broke through.

"GO!" Willow shouted.

Buffy and Faith darted through the doorway, swords ready. Stabler and Giles followed.

Munch looked at his partner, Fin, who was as stoic as ever, and then at his captain.

"That's good enough for me," he said, grabbing a shield.

"Me, too," Cragen answered.

"…strength," Olivia said to herself, tracing the grain of a tabletop she had spent far too long looking at. "Strength to make it through this."
She was in one of the interrogation rooms, by herself. There was no work on the table, which meant she hadn't stayed late and spread out on an available surface. There were people behind the one-way mirror. She could hear the mutterings of their discussions. Soundproofing had never been great.

Tired, again. Why was she so tired? Why did her head hurt so much? Why hadn't she just gone home at the end of the day? She had just said something. It was important. Why couldn't she remember what it was about? Where the hell was Elliot?

Cragen opened the door and stepped through, followed by Huang. They were both grim. She sat up, trying to figure out what was going on and not coming up with anything. Neither of them greeted her. They took seats at the table and set down some file folders.

"Detective," Cragen began, "you've been made aware of your rights. You can have a lawyer and a union rep here at any time."

She sat back, baffled. "Cap, what's going on?"

She felt Huang's eyes on her, measuring her actions and reactions, making plausible theories based on what he saw, deciding if she fit the criteria for one thing or another.

Cragen looked up at her, eyes filled with pain. "Don't, Olivia. Please don't. I think you owe me more than some dumb show."

"Olivia," Huang said gently, "we've been to your apartment with a search warrant. We found everything we were looking for. This is not an interrogation. The ADA will be here shortly, and we need to decide what to do with you."

She watched them, eyes wide, completely at a loss. After a moment of silence, Cragen shook his head.

"This is my fault. I should have seen this coming. Your changes in behavior, the cases you fumbled, the tension between you and Elliot."

He knew. He knew about her and Elliot. She flushed red with embarrassment, hating that she would have to explain herself, that – at best – there would be a disciplinary note added to her file and she and Elliot would be assigned to new partners, probably in a new squad. She didn't want to think about what the worst would be.

"Captain, it was a one time thing. We were both under a lot of stress, and-"

"DON'T YOU LIE TO ME, DETECTIVE!" Cragen slammed his fists on the desk.

She rocked back in her chair, shocked. Cragen opened a file folder and spread photos in front of her, photos of victims, raped and strangled, posed and covered as though the killer had tried to make things all right for them after their deaths.

"Six women, detective," Cragen grated. "Dead by your hand, soaked in forensic evidence implicating your partner."

She looked down at the photos again and overturned her chair, trying to get away from them.

"No," she swore, holding her hand out, palm down. "No, I did not do that, Captain. I wouldn't."

She pressed herself back against the wall, unable to get any further away from the pictures, from her captain.

"Don't even play that game with me," Cragen snarled, coming around the table at her. "All the times match, all the women can be linked through you just as easily as Elliot. I've seen the files on your computer, Liv."

He stood right beside her, crowding her against the wall. She had never seen him so angry – not with perp, not with a detective who'd screwed something up.

"Thirty years on the force, Olivia, and I've never seen anything like this, never even heard anything like this. SVU is over. Every conviction we've ever gotten is going to be called into question. Elliot's career is over. Even after we get him released and the convictions vacated, he'll never work as a cop again."

She tried to turn her face away from him, but he followed her line of sight, not giving her a chance. "I didn't," she gasped.

"I loved you like a daughter!" he roared. "Things went bad between you and your partner, you could have come to me!"

Bad, a voice whispered at her. Things had gone bad between her and Elliot, as bad as they could possibly get. Images flashed into her mind, of Elliot, of pain and humiliation, of rage. They were things that couldn't have happened, not with Elliot. He wouldn't…do that to her.

"Get out of my head!" she screamed, putting her fists to her temples.

There were hands on her elbows, leading her away from the wall and back to the chair. She resisted a little, but Huang was speaking to her in a soft, calming voice.

"Captain," he looked up from her to her boss, "she's almost completely dissociated from what she's done."

"I don't care if she's got five people running around in her head selling Amway," Cragen put his hands on the table and leaned over. "She stands trial for what she did. Elliot spent a month on death row before we could clear him."

She could feel him – Elliot – in her mind, sliding long, greedy fingers into her memories and prying things out to use against her, and she howled.

"NOOOOOO! Don't!"

Pain lit her brain up, forward and back, but neither Cragen nor Huang seemed to notice when she convulsed. Her head hit the tabletop, stunning her for a long moment, leaving her gasping for air. There were tears on her cheeks. Her face was wet, and her nose was filling up. She wiped her eyes, trying to pull herself together, trying to find the core of her strength. When she looked up, both Cragen and Huang were sitting again, across the table from her. Between them stood a woman holding her hands out, trying to reassure her, but no noise came from her when she spoke. Olivia knew her, but couldn't place her, and neither of the men paid any notice.

"Olivia," Cragen said in a calm voice, "there's one thing you can do to clear this all up, make it better, make it up to the rest of us."

She pressed the inside of her wrists to her eyes and took a long shuddering breath.

"What?"

"This."

She put her arms down to see what he had pushed across the table. It was a dagger, silver and ornate with a black leather grip. The cross grip was smooth and curved, curling up on one end and down on the other. At the point where the slender blade met the guard, there was a round symbol, one she'd seen a hundred times and feared. She looked at the blade, starting to shiver. Cragen gazed at her, the meaning in his gesture perfectly clear.

"It's a valid choice," Huang said when she looked at him.

The woman stood behind them, beseeching with her hands out, palms up.

"You did this, Liv," Cragen said. "It's your fault. You can make up for it."

She wept, putting her head in her hands. "I did not do this," she sobbed.

"You did," Huang assured her. "Six women dead, Elliot in prison on death row, countless others betrayed by you…it's all your fault, Olivia."

"I don't remember," she cried. "I need to remember!"

The woman standing behind Cragen and Huang slipped through them and grabbed Olivia's hands across the table.

"Remember," Jenny said.

There was a blinding flash of white, burning her eyes, and she heard voices – not Cragen's or Huang's, but two men she didn't recognize.

"They're inside, Lord, with the witch child."

"Then stop them," the other raged. "Tear them to pieces. I'll be done with the bitch in a minute."