Chapter 8 – Shadows' Waiting

They were inside the sub-basement, and it looked nothing like what Stabler had seen. As Willow stepped inside, a ball of light formed between her hands and expanded outward, swamping everyone. As it hit the floor, the walls, and the ceilings, all that Stabler had been sure were there, dissolved.

The space was three times as large. The walls were black stone, as was the floor. On the floor, patterns of blood, paint, dust, and other things he couldn't begin to identify scrawled out the symbol he'd seen on those dead girls. Only this time, it was twenty feet across. It was also on the far wall, where the hallway he'd run down to find Maureen had been. This sign, however, wasn't painted, but looked to be carved into the stone. That wasn't what his attention was riveted to.

CSU had set up lights throughout the space, plugged into a bundle of extension cords. All of them left turned on, even that large a space should have been as bright as the daylight outside, but shadows swam from the corners of the room, the doorways that lead off in each direction, and the curve of the ceiling. The shadows reached for them, and with the shadows came at least two score vampires.

Willow faltered, stumbling in pain. "He's hurting her!"

That was all Elliot needed to know as the first vamp reached him. Buffy and Faith had both testified that most of the vamps they'd encountered were young. The one who reached for him certainly hadn't ever tried hand-to-hand combat with a cop. It was strong as hell, but Elliot didn't give it a chance to connect. He ducked beneath one fist, jammed the lit end of his flare into its right eye, and when it screamed, he brought the machete around in an arc that went clean through its neck.

There was a second when he felt the weight of the head tug on his flare as the body toppled, and then it exploded into dust.
He had a second to look around before the next one came at him. He caught a glimpse of Buffy, five feet up in the air, spinning into a kick that knocked a vampire into two others, throwing a stake with her off hand and dusting a fourth. Faith had the weapon he'd seen Buffy with earlier – they must have traded off – and she worked with a flashy style as she staked one vamp with the handle, turned, twisted, and decapitated a second that thought it was sneaking up on her.

The other vamp was on him. It had been a woman once, some stylish midtown maven of a certain age before something had put the bit on her. She clawed at him, hissing and snarling with fangs extended. He pushed the tip of the machete through its throat until it grated on vertebra, swept its legs out from under it, and shoved it down, letting his weight behind the blade sever its spine, dusting it.

As he got to his feet, he felt the restraints he'd kept on himself crumble, and an unholy rage filled him. These things were between him and his partner. They had hurt, killed, countless innocents. There was no court in the world that could cope with them, and he was in the company of those who slew them whenever the opportunity came to hand. Not one of them would leave this room as anything other than the contents of a dustpan.

She sat up in bed, gasping.

"Liv? You okay?" Elliot asked, stepping out of the bathroom, toweling his hair.

"Yeah," she replied, taking a deep breath. "Just a nightmare."

"Been having a lot of those lately," he commented, sliding his towel over the bar and then picking his trousers up from a chair. "You going to be okay tonight?"

"Yeah," she nodded, and found herself looking around for her clock. When was it?

Elliot sat on the bed, his back to her as he pulled on his pants. The clock at her bedside said it was nearly midnight, but for some reason that didn't make any sense.

"Elliot, what day is it?"

He turned and looked at her. "It's Sunday, Liv. We got called out on that homicide this morning, remember? I brought you home."

She remembered that, but she also remembered Monday and some of Tuesday, it seemed like. She lost her train of thought when Elliot stood, grabbed his shirt, and pulled it on.

"You're leaving?" she asked, and suddenly hated herself for asking. She'd never asked a man to stay the night if he looked like he wanted out.

"Yeah, Liv. I need a full night's sleep, especially after today, especially considering the hours we'll put in tomorrow."

She got to her feet, suddenly mindful of the fact that he was dressed while she was still naked. That was nothing next to the confusion in her head. Why was she so sure that it wasn't Sunday? That she and Elliot had made love – not once – but five times over two nights?

"You didn't go home," she said, trying to get her head to clear out. "You stayed, and when I woke up from that dream, you held me."

Elliot sighed and rubbed the back of his head before putting his hands on his hips. "Look, Liv, if you need me to stay tonight, just say so. I'll stay. It's just that that's not what I was looking for when we came up here."

"What were you…"

"You were tired, you were upset," he made a gesture with his hand. "I wanted to make sure you got home okay, and then, you looked up with that 'fuck me' expression, and I…." He stopped and took a deep breath. "Look, Liv, it was pity, okay? It was a mistake, and I don't want it to mess up our investigation."

She reeled, as if he had ripped a strip of skin off of her. "That's not the way it was," she said. She knew it wasn't. He had come back to bed and folded her in his arms and continued kissing her, tasting her, until she had fallen asleep.

Elliot took a deep breath, looking as though he was trying to control his temper.

"Elliot, what is going on?" she asked, stepping up to him.

He looked down at her, and a cynical little smile played on his lips. "Christ, Liv, you really are a mess, you know that? I've been carrying you since day one. You're a worthless cop. Now I find out you're worthless in bed. Could we just call this 'over' and go back to the way things were?"

She recoiled from him, anger and disgust roiling in the pit of her stomach. "Who the hell are you to say that to me?" she demanded.

He gazed at her, apparently amused by her reaction.

"Go to hell!" she yelled, inches from his face.

He caught her by the arm. "Now, see, this would have been good. You're a hell of a lot sexier like this." His voice dipped lower and he leaned over her, his hand tightening painfully on her arm.

She automatically knocked his hand away. "Get the hell out of my apartment, Stabler."

He didn't. He stepped up to her, until they were almost touching. "Let's do it again, Liv. Get a little crazy, huh? See if you can stay angry like that."

She shoved him back. "I said, get out."

He backhanded her so hard, he knocked her down onto the bed, and for a stunned second, she froze in shock. It wasn't long, but it was long enough for him to straddle her, put a hand under her jaw to force her head up, and pull out a knife. No, it wasn't a knife; it was a dagger. She'd seen it before.

"What, not angry?" he asked. "That's okay. Fear works just as well."

He dragged the tip of the dagger down her cheek, scratching her. "I'm going to devour you, bitch. When I'm done with you, there will barely be enough left to you for your friends to bury."

She arched against him, trying to get some leverage for her legs.

"Elliot, no," she squirmed, pushing at him. "Stop. Don't do this."

He laughed.

And at the same second, she remembered, hearing his voice as if he were speaking against her ear. "Liv," he had said, "you say no anytime, I stop. Okay?"

This wasn't Elliot.

She grabbed his right arm and twisted until she felt the bones snap under her fingers. His eyes went wide with shock, and his mouth opened. The dagger dropped out of his hand, and she put a foot against his chest and shoved with all her strength. He flew across the room, hitting the door and splintering it. She got to her feet and picked up the dagger as he slid down to the floor.

"Harper," she said, knowing exactly who she was facing, even if he wore the face of her partner.

He made it to hand and knees, panting, holding his arm against his chest.

"You bitch," he screamed. "I'll feed your corpse to the dogs."

"You can try," she said.

He rushed her, fist raised to smash her as hard as he could. She stepped aside, keeping the dagger in her hand low, and let him run himself onto it. It sank into his stomach with no resistance. His eyes bulged out, and he collapsed. She lowered him down to the floor, astonished at how strong she felt. She could have picked him up one handed if she'd wanted.

When she pulled her hand away, it was crimson with blood. Harper looked up at her with Elliot's face. His expression was disbelieving. She felt the carpet under her feet turn to stone, and they were standing in the cell she'd been in since Tuesday morning, though she had no idea how long that had been. Elliot's face faded, and she was looking at the adult version of the boy she'd seen in the Harper family photographs – pale skin, dark hair, eyes such a light blue they looked like a wolf's. With a horrible, throaty noise, he pulled the dagger out of his body.

"You're not going to win, whore," he said.

There were shadows leaking out of eyes and mouth. He looked like he was growing thinner.

"Vitam tuam voro," he spat.

Moving far, far faster than he had any right to, he lunged for her, his hands spattering blood and shadows. She moved, but he grabbed her hand, yanked her down, and took her head with both his hands.

"VITAM TUAM VORO!"

Darkness stabbed into her, ripping her apart, and she screamed.

Willow screamed, full throated and agonized, collapsing to the floor. A vamp moved for her, but Xander grabbed it around the neck and shoulder long enough for Giles to stake it. Stabler looked up from the pile of dust he'd just made in time to see Giles, Xander, and Faith regroup around Willow, protecting her until she could pull herself together.

Fin and John were working the left side of the room – Fin knocking them down with long-armed poundings from the baseball bat that would have killed a normal man, and John coming in with the sharpened mop handle and staking with cold accuracy. Cragen and Wood had paired off as well. Buffy and Faith ranged all over the room. They had all been told not to worry about the Slayers. The Slayers would stay out of their way and take care of anything in their paths.

In the span of a few minutes, they had destroyed the vampire cadre sent against him. Stabler didn't even know how many he'd dusted. It was more than a few. It wasn't enough.

"Willow?" he yelled.

She was sobbing, trying to get a handle on whatever had come through her link to Liv. "She's alive," she called back. "But it's bad."

Faith took off the last vamp's head with a backswing of the battle ax.

"Reform!" Buffy yelled, coming back from the far wall. "We've got company."

There had to be a dozen flares scattered around, battling the shadows and spreading maybe half the light they were supposed to. On the far wall, the symbol twisted, pulled in on itself, and opened up. Shadow flowed out like fog, and a man stepped through. They were looking at their perp.

"You think you can win?" Harper yelled. "I ate your little friend, devoured her. She was the best yet."

"Then you're a dead man," Cragen said, stepping up to stand with Stabler.

"Mess with one cop," Fin said, "you mess with all of us."

"Mess with one Slayer," Buffy continued, "you're messing with all of us."

"And lemme tell you," Faith added, "you really don't want to be doing that."

The ten of them stood in a ragged line, facing the shadow mage. He laughed, something that came out almost as an obscene giggle.

"He's mine," Willow said, straightening up.

Harper moved, throwing his hands forward as a tangle of darkness exploded from them. Willow didn't move. She just murmured something, and the tangles hit a shield of scintillating white light, spattering to either side.

"You think you can steal lives?" Willow asked. "Terrorize and kill and dismember, and no one will stop you?"

She spread her arms and hands out, and from each finger tip, a beam of light snaked out like a living thing. They twisted, turned, and then went straight for him.

It was impossible to turn away, and impossible to watch, as the shadow and the light fought. Each time a tendril and a tangle met, a flash blinded those who watched. It took surprisingly little time, though, before the tendrils of light reached Harper, wrapped around him, darted into his mouth, his eyes, and his ears, bound him, and broke the shadows apart into motes that dissolved into nothingness.
Harper, arms pinned to his side, naked of shadow, and as brightly lit as a surgical patient, fell to his knees, struggling. He was swathed in light. The beams seemed as tangible as rope, different thicknesses binding him until he could only grimace, his eyes darting from face to face.

Giles stepped around Willow, hands dipping into the bag he carried, its strap across his chest. He pulled out a handful of green herbs and some chalk. While Willow held Harper, the two of them still clearly struggling, one against the other, Giles drew a circle around Harper, smudging it in places with the herbs, muttering something under his breath. He went around once, completing the circle. He went around a second time, embellishing the circle with different colors of chalk, writing signs around the edge, and speaking new words. He went around a third time, setting out coins of gold and silver that caught the light and flashed like winking eyes. Finally, he stood behind Harper, spoke a long, fluid sentence in a language Stabler had never heard before, and brought his hands together in a clap. When they met, the clap was silent, but the air in the room flexed, and the rest of the shadows snapped out of existence, leaving them standing in an appallingly well-lit dungeon.

"He's bound," Giles announced.

Willow relaxed, letting her hands fall to her sides. She sank slowly to the floor, supported by Wood and Faith.

It was dark. It was dark, and she was cold, aching with cold, but she couldn't even shiver to try to warm herself. Staring blindly into the darkness, she felt tears spill out of her eyes, over the bridge of her nose and down the other cheek. She could move, but she didn't want to. It hurt too much. Everything hurt too much.

She was pretty sure she was dying.

"Liv," Jenny touched her hand, stroked her forehead. "Don't let go, Liv. Help's on the way."

"I can't see," Olivia said. "Is it still dark?"

"No, baby," Jenny said. "He hurt you, badly enough that you can't see."

"Is the world going to end?"

"No," Jenny answered. "He screwed up. You didn't try to kill yourself. You almost killed him. So, even though he hurt you, he can't use you to open the Hellmouth."

"Good," Liv whispered, aware that her voice had faded. "Jenny, you still have one gift for me?"

"Yes," Jenny said, and Liv realized she was crying.

"I'd like to see, please. If Elliot makes it in time, I want to see him."

"He'll make it," Jenny whispered and kissed Liv on the forehead.

When Jenny sat up, Liv could see. There was no more darkness. The room was still black stone, but there was light coming in from behind her. It wasn't very bright, but that was all right. Her eyes ached with the little light there was. And it was all right that it was still black stone, though she knew it wasn't real.

Jenny slid around and picked up Liv's head, to pillow it on her leg. She took Liv's hand and held it.

"You're not alone, Olivia," Jenny said.

"I never was," Liv murmured. "Thank you."

"Don't let go," she repeated. "He'll be here in time. Just don't let go."

Stabler sheathed the machete at his side and joined Giles and Willow.

"What now?" he asked. "How do I get in to find Liv?"

He hadn't realized Giles could throw spells around. It was probably a good thing, as Willow looked like ten miles of badly paved road. While they crouched down beside her, Buffy checked the others, making sure every wound was tended to.

"It's relatively simple," Giles said. "We need to cast a disguise on you so that you appear to be the shadow mage."

"Harper," Stabler said, unwilling to give the perp any sort of title.

"Harper," Giles agreed.

"He's sloppy," Willow said, so tired her words slurred a bit. "If it weren't for the fact that he had no discipline, no focus to his spells, I wouldn't have been able to beat him on his own turf."

Stabler and Giles looked over to the circle, still lit as brightly as a Saharan noon, where Harper was bound hand, foot, and mouth. Harper stared off into the distance, not looking at anyone or anything, probably seeing only the fantasies in his own twisted mind.

"Okay, but I get in there, and Liv sees that guy?" Stabler asked.

"You'll have to figure out some way to convince her it's you," Giles said. "If you drop the disguise while you're in there, you won't be able to resume it, and you'll be trapped."

"Okay, let's do this."

He and Giles helped Willow to her feet. Giles rummaged in his duffel, pulling out new items – candles, more chalk, and a mirror. He began sketching a new circle on the stone floor, setting out the cardinal points after referring to a compass, and drawing a pentacle. Munch stepped up to them as Giles continued to work.

"I'd just like it noted for the record that I was right about this," he said.

It was said with his usual sang-froid tone of voice, but he had a gash across his forehead, a deep bruise where one vamp had tried to throttle him, and scratches on both hands from the melee.

"So noted," Stabler smiled at him.

Cragen and Fin joined them.

"Elliot," Cragen said, meeting his eyes, "I don't care what shape you find her in, you bring her back to us, okay?"

"You got it, Jeffe," Stabler nodded.

"Stay strong, man," Fin offered him a hand, which Stabler clasped. Munch and Cragen added theirs.

"Why couldn't we have had cops like that in Sunnydale?" Xander asked. "Our job would have been a hell of a lot easier."

"Big snake mayor?" Buffy answered. "Pretty hard to get promoted to detective when the mayor is a fan of infant sacrifice to the Dark Ones."

"Elliot," Giles called. "We're ready for you."

He stepped into the circle, which was now connected to Harper's circle by a series of interconnected circles, loops, and swirls. Resting in the very middle twist was the mirror. Spread out among the remaining design were several candles, flames flickering almost invisibly in the brightly lit room. He tried to follow the drawing, but like the design back in Willow's room, they twisted away from his eyes and made it impossible. Giles stepped back to stand on one side. Willow took the other side. They both raised their hands, and a new beam of light fell directly on to him, warm and comforting. The beam split, curled, and turned dark. The dark tendrils, which should have been shadows but weren't, grew towards him, stretched, wrapped around him, and sank into his skin. The world outside his circle shifted, growing imperceptibly taller and altering tone in some indefinable way.

Willow snuffed the candles with a wave of her hand, and the shadows blew apart.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God," Cragen breathed.

"I'm going to second that sentiment," Munch added. "Jew and all."

Stabler looked down at his hands, and realized that not only were they a different shape, the skin paler, the hair darker, but his clothes had changed as well. When he looked over at Cragen, he saw he stood a couple of inches shorter than he had.

"Good job," he said, and his voice sounded wrong – higher, pitched forward in his throat and mouth.

"Too good," Giles said, quietly. Worry was writ large on his face.

"What's wrong?" Elliot asked.

"We took Harper's appearance from him," Willow said. "Remember how when you told me about Liv, I told you about Tara? That was equal. This shouldn't have been. It would have been just good enough to get you in and out."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that he's been using your appearance," Giles said. "Most likely, he appeared as you to Olivia while he was torturing her."

The pain had started to fade, and she was relieved, but she knew it wasn't a good thing. She was tired, so tired. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep, but she was aware that it wouldn't be sleep she fell into. A line from a Shakespeare play she'd studied in high school played through her mind in fragmented loops. To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream. To make one's quietus with a bare bodkin. Mr. Hopkins, the English teacher, had explained that a bodkin was a kind of dagger.

Jenny stroked her hair and continued to talk to her, though Liv couldn't follow the train of her words. She suspected it didn't really matter too much. It was kind of her to stay. Was she breaking the rules? She'd given Olivia the last of her three gifts. She was supposed to return now, to wherever she had come from, but she hadn't. Then Jenny looked up, jerking slightly.

"Liv," she breathed, "he's here. You have to trust me. It's Elliot. It doesn't look like him, but it is. He's here."

But Liv didn't move. She was glad he was there, but she was too tired.

Elliot stepped through the portal, feeling a jolt close to vertigo, and a pressuring wrongness from the place he'd entered. Light filtered in through the portal, enough that he could see a large circle inscribed into the rock. Inside the circle was Olivia, lying with her back to him, curled up in fetal position, barely breathing. Her right hand was tucked under her left arm, and he could see the fingers were smeared with blood. Her own?

He ran for her, and collided with the circle, almost falling down. There was a barrier, from the outer edge of the circle running up to the ceiling. It was invisible and impenetrable.

"Liv?" he called. "Olivia!"

He pounded on the barrier, but his fists hitting made no sound, and he understood that Olivia couldn't hear him. He could see her face, a little bit, from this much closer. There was blood on her temple and in her hair, and a wicked bruise on her cheekbone. She stared blankly ahead.

"OLIVIA!" he screamed.

"Olivia!" Jenny yelled at her. "You have to get up. He's here. He can't reach you without your help. Now get up!"
But she was just so tired, so cold. All she wanted to do was rest. She closed her eyes.

"OLIVIA!" he sank to his knees and pounded further on the barrier, though he knew it did no good.

"Olivia, don't do this!" Jenny yelled. "I can't do it for you. You have to."

She started to weep. Why couldn't they just let her rest.

"Don't do this, Liv," Elliot begged. "Don't let it be this way. Don't leave me by myself, partner. I need you."

"HE NEEDS YOU!" Jenny screamed at her. "Get up!"

She grabbed Liv by the shoulders. "I never got to say goodbye to him. I never got to tell him how much I loved him, and he found me like I was a broken doll. Don't you do this to him."

She turned onto her back, weeping, and Elliot moaned in pain for her sake. She was starved, broken, and alone, and he couldn't reach her.

"Come on, Liv," he whispered through gritted teeth. "You're the strongest person I know. You can do it."

"You can do it!" Jenny said, weeping with her. "You're a Slayer. You're strong. You stood up to him more than anyone else ever had. PLEASE!"

She opened her eyes and saw the black stone wall and the ceiling. It wasn't really there, she thought. Elliot was on the other side. Jenny took her hand between both of her own.

"You can do it, Liv. You're strong."

She was strong. She remembered all of it – every psychic knife Harper had stabbed into her. She remembered every time Elliot had touched her, the words he had whispered in her ear as he held her, slid into her. She remembered the squadroom, the conspiracies Munch obsessed over, the time Fin had looked up when she'd arrived at the scene of a homicide and said "nice dress," giving her a hard time that she'd had to leave a date. She remembered, and she knew she could see.

She turned toward the wall, knowing it wasn't really there, and she saw the man kneeling beside her. It was Harper.

It wasn't Harper.

It was Elliot.

He saw her eyes open and turn towards him, focus on him, and his heart almost stopped.

"Come on," he whispered. "Come on, Liv."

She reached out to him, felt the barrier between them, thought to herself "screw Harper," and pushed through it with all her remaining strength.

Her hand came through the barrier, and he grabbed, pulled her through, across the floor, and into his arms. She convulsed, and then her arms went around his neck and she hugged him, weakly, but she hugged him, sobbing. He held her for a second that stretched out forever, then kissed her lips.

He sat, leaning Olivia on one knee and holding her with the opposite arm. He reached out for the bundle of clothes that Faith had given him.

"Come on, Liv," he said, "we're getting you out of here."

"Harper," she whispered.

"In custody," he answered, whipping out the shirt.

Gently, but as quickly as he could, he pulled the sleeves onto her arms. She had a dozen defensive wounds on each forearm. Her hands were bruised like she'd been in a barfight. He pulled the shirt over her bare breasts, where there were still more bruises, and buttoned it up to her collarbone.

"He was…" she whispered, "he was inside me."

He had to steel himself not to flinch. He'd heard far too many vics describe the act of penetration that way.

"He was inside my head," she wept. "He took something, ripped it away from me."

Elliot stopped, took her face in his hands and turned it towards him.

"Olivia, you listen to me," he said softly, "whatever it takes, I will help make this right for you. I've got people outside waiting to help, and I will not let anyone hurt you."

She believed him, though tears still slipped down her cheeks.

He grabbed the jeans, pulled Liv up so that she laid against his chest, and started the process of pulling each pant leg onto hers. She was too pale, too cold, too limp. He had to get her out of there back to where Willow and Giles could help her. He lifted her hips to get the jeans over them. They were too big by inches. She had lost five or ten pounds, and she'd never had the extra to spare. He zipped and buttoned the jeans, stood, picked her up in his arms and made for the portal.

"Ostium aperi!" he yelled the words Giles had given him.

The portal opened, and he stepped out, Olivia in his arms.

Cragen, Munch, and Tutuola met him within two steps.

"Dear God," Cragen said, checking Liv's face. "Over here."

They had arranged a pallet to lay her on, and Elliot put her down as carefully as he could. Willow sat at Liv's head and touched her fingertips to Liv's temples.

"The blood?" Cragen looked up at him.

"Not hers," Elliot answered. "She's got bruises and scratches, but no deep injuries. Giles, can you get this goddamn spell off me?"

"Step in the circle," Giles said, pointing him in the direction.

As he did, he spared a look for Harper, who was staring at Olivia's unconscious body with violent hatred.

"Wait," Stabler told him, "we'll take care of you too."

Harper looked up at him, saw his eyes, and visibly shrank away.

Giles clapped his hands, which sounded like it normally should, and gestured for Stabler to step out.

"That's it?" he asked. And apparently it was, as he could tell he was his normal height, and his voice sounded right again.

When he walked back to Liv's side, the tenor had changed.

"What?" he asked.

Everyone looked up to him, including Willow, who was crying.

"What is it?"

"Elliot, she's dying," Willow answered.