A sigh of relief escaped Buffy's chapped lips as the last of the medical pokers and prodders finally exited her stuffy hospital room. The Slayer had accepted the medical testing with increasing frustration as everyone kept fussing over her seemingly miraculous recover. All the teen wanted was a few minutes alone with her mother but her wishes meant nothing in the wake of the medical barrage she had to suffer before the amazed professionals were willing to give her any peace.
Finally, the recovering teen found a quiet chance to breath and to think without all sorts of beeping overriding her thoughts.
"Can we dim the lights?" she asked her mother in a husky voice. The tone was an improvement over the rasping sounds Buffy spoke earlier but her throat still showed the effects of the assault and subsequent medical interventions.
Joyce offered the large plastic container of ice water to her daughter to help sooth her throat. With shaking hands, Buffy took the drink and rapidly slurped the chilled liquid. The water soothed her vocal chords slightly and filled her grumbling stomach. While she drank, Antonio moved across the room and dimmed the lights. Despite her battered condition, the young woman easily tracked the stranger's progress. Her stomach clenched as she wondered if he was a friend or a foe.
"Who's the suit?" Buffy whispered to her mom as she nodded slightly towards the still hovering detective.
Joyce smiled as she glanced at Antonio. She smoothed her hand along Buffy's disheveled hair as she answered.
"He's Detective Ricci with the Sunnydale police department. He's the man who found you in the alley."
"He saved your life," Joyce added softly as she again gently touched her daughter on the cheek. Overwhelmed by the emotional relief of having Buffy conscious and seemingly herself despite everything that happened to her, Joyce cannot help but physically reassure herself that her daughter was still there. The warmth of Buffy's skin and the softness of her hair soothed her mother's nerves as her fingertips confirmed her daughter's continued life.
Buffy glanced towards the dark-haired police officer and offered him a soft smile and a nod.
"Thank you," she intoned.
The detective stepped closer to the hospital bed. An almost apologetic glimmer haunted his eyes as he asked the injured teen a few questions.
"Do you remember what happened to you on Friday night?" Antonio inquired in a voice laced with compassion and designed to encourage crime victims to share information with him. His years as a police officer and then detective in Pittsburgh had allowed him a chance to hone his interview skills and the older man assumed that the Summers women would be more responsive to him asking about the assault than one of his colleagues.
"I got hit in the head?" Buffy tried to flippantly answer although she quickly noted that neither her mother nor the officer seemed amused. The forced sparkle fled her green eyes.
"I was attacked," the teen answered somberly.
"In the alley behind the diner?"
"Yes."
"How did you end up in the alley?"
"I was using it as a short cut," Buffy answered honestly.
"But I thought you were going to the Bronze for the dance," Joyce interrupted. "The Bronze is in the other direction from our house."
Buffy glanced at her mom and lied with practiced ease.
"I went to the school first. I was supposed to meet Willow there."
"Why was Willow at the school?" questioned Joyce. The haggard mother knew her daughter's friend was dedicated to her school work but she could not imagine a teenage girl not wanting to attend a dance. "Wasn't she going to the Spring Fling too?"
Buffy shook her head. The teen was so focused on her mother that she forgot for a moment about the police officer who was watching her closely as she spun her partial fabrication.
"She was doing a project with Mr. Giles and Ms. Calender."
Joyce seemed to accept this answer as plausible and she patted Buffy on the arm one again.
Detective Ricci's instincts warned him that something was off with the teen's story, but he wasn't sure what was triggering the response.
"Did you see who attacked you?" he prompted.
Buffy shrugged slightly and offered a mild grimace.
"Some guys."
Antonio caught the teen's eyes with his own and attempted to convey how sorry he was pressing for the answers but he continued the questions anyway.
"Do you know how many?"
Despite the discomfort to her body, Buffy pulled her legs towards her chest. She wrapped her arms around her blanket covered knees. Her new position emphasized just how delicate a person the teen was in stature. It also reminded Antonio of how young she was. For a moment, Buffy's haunted greenish eyes shifted to the bleak, dark eyes of his daughter. A hint of accusation shimmered in the envisioned glance until the illusion cleared and the officer once more locked gaze with the injured teen.
Buffy's eyes lowered as she muttered that there were more than four but that she wasn't sure how many exactly. Detective Ricci tried to press for more details but all Buffy would say was that they looked like average guys. The teen couldn't even give any descriptions on age, skin tone or hair color. She explained that she only saw them for a second before the pain flashed in her head. The teen insisted that she remembered nothing else.
"Buffy, besides striking your head, do you know what else they did to you?" Antonio probed gently. He watched as Buffy's hands seemed to clench ever so slightly and her breath hitched before she looked the police officer in the eyes and lied.
"No. I don't remember anything else. There was a flash then it was black then I woke up here."
Joyce started to fuss over her daughter once more and Antonio realized that not matter what was Buffy's underlying reason for her fabrication that he was not going to hear any more truth from the victim. Resigned that the assault would likely end up just another unsolved case in a city that excelled in ignored or strangely explained crime, he quietly withdrew from the room as the teen started pestering her mother about when she could go home.
Rupert glanced at the two teens entrenched on his couch. One delicately extracted small bites of moo goo gai pan from her white take-out box while the other scooped forkfuls servings of pork lo mein into his mouth. The librarian's grudgingly given affection for his companions showed in his tired smile. Without Willow's morning invasion, the now exiled British man would have spent the day drowning his sorrows with hard spirits and beating himself with self recrimination. Instead of pickling his liver and bruising his soul, Giles spent the day quietly sharing stories about his slayer and hearing tales from her grieving best friends. It had been a far more meaningful and healing experience than the alternative would have been.
Despite his shocking termination, the ex-Watcher welcomed Willow's suggestion that they contact Xander and invite him to spend the day with them also. The equally saddened teen had arrived in time for lunch and quickly entrenched himself on the sofa with his childhood best friend.
Giles flipped the switch on another lamp in his living room. The addition helped combat the slowly growing gloom that settled into the flat as twilight approached. The older man opened his mouth to suggest that he give his guests a ride home when an insistent pounding interrupted his thought. Willow and Xander jumped at the unexpected assault. The three shared nervous expressions before Giles moved to answer the summons. The ex-Watcher palmed a smooth stake from the long table in his entryway right before he opened the door.
"Okay, so the global chatter has exploded," Jenny announced as she barged past the startled librarian. She shoved several folders at the immobile Brit but retained a single orange one for herself. "Things have been absolutely crazy with speculation being bandied across geological, political, and even religious lines."
The smartly attired neo-pagan breezed into the librarian's space as if she owned it. Unlike the other occupants, Jenny's hair and clothes showed care for her appearance. Her dark burgundy lipstick was flawless as was the rest of her make up. Her dark blue pumps which perfectly matched her dark skirt and cardigan sweater clicked across Gile's floor as she moved further into his home. She barely noticed the surroundings in the excitement over her discovery. She continued to ramble about portends and unexpected signs while Rupert closed the door and followed her silently into the living room.
"It's all there," Ms. Calender emphasized with a sweep of her hand towards the folders in Giles' arms. She barely paused in her speech to glance at the two teens on the couch who were watching her with wide eyes and almost identical expressions. They both appeared overwhelmed by her forceful appearance. Jenny offered them a quick smile.
"Hi Willow. Xander," she offered before focusing her attention back on the stymied British man. "I think that you need to contact your associates and make sure that they understand how important this is. Friday the thirteenth in not just superstitious nonsense," Jenny stressed as she attempted to convince the reticent man to see her point.
"There has never been absolute and conclusive evidence that Friday the thirteenth carries any more significance than Thursday the twelfth or Saturday the fourteenth," countered Giles as he set the colored folders on his coffee table before continuing. "Of course, thirteen has long been considered unlucky. Even as far back as 1772 BC the Babylonian Code of Hammurabi omitted the number thirteen in its list of laws."
Giles stilled for a moment before moving towards his bookcase.
"The number twelve is historically considered the number of completeness," Giles rambled to himself as if he had forgotten his audience. "Thirteen has often been seen as an outlier. There are 12 months of the year, 12 gods of Olympus, 12 hours of the clock, 12 tribes of Israel, 12 Apostles of Jesus, 12 Descendants of Muhammad Imams. Historically, twelve is perfect so thirteen would be considered an abandonment of perfection. Evil in comparison."
Rupert pulled a thick, embossed book from the overfilled shelves. He flipped quickly through the reference material before finding what he desired. The gentleman returned to the others. He placed the heavy book open to a handwritten entry with an elaborate ink drawing of twelve glorious beings feasting. Giles taps the thirteenth figure standing near the table. He had no seat available and menacing trails of black doom swirled around his feet. The blackness seemed poised like a collection of vipers in order to attack the twelve seated men.
"The Norse have a myth about Loptr, the air being, the god of mischief, evil and turmoil, crashing a party of twelve of Odin's friends and causing mayhem."
"And here, I thought Loki was the mischief-maker" Xander joked with a silly grin.
Both Jenny and Willow stared at the teen as if he grew a second head, but Giles' expression of rapt amazement eclipsed their looks.
"Quite right," Giles proclaimed with a proud smile. "They are different names for the same being. I never realized that you held an interested in Norse mythology, Xander."
Sheepishly, the teen ducked head and he shrugged.
"Um, not really, just lots of time reading comic books and wishing I had a big magical hammer to beat up bullies."
The light in Giles' eyes dimmed in disappointment.
"Oh, so what is happening on the thirteenth?" Willow prompted in an attempt to save Xander from further embarrassment.
"Well," Ms Calender explained as she shoved aside Giles' heavy book to reveal her color coordinated web research. The librarian dove forward to save the ancient text from sliding to the floor. He huffed in annoyance as he set the book safely aside.
"All my information seems to point to something brewing in Delhi," the computer teacher expressed quickly.
She opened the red folder.
"Rings of fire or burning borders seem to be the main component in most of the information."
Giles took a couple of the sheets from the red folder. There were small excerpts mentioning the destruction in a variety of languages and contexts. The researcher frowned as he asked why the computer teacher felt it centered in Delhi.
"Well, you said that the council reported that the new slayer was in India. Here," she explained as she pulled another folder from the pile. She handed the yellow folder to him. This one contained a number of mentions of rising power and light in the darkness. There was even one that mentioned the rise of an elemental power to combat its brother element.
"I assumed that the power of light was the new slayer."
Giles nodded to convey his understanding and agreement.
For another ten minutes, the teens and librarian listened to the additional information that Jenny had to share. Finally, she had reviewed the information in all the folders save the one she had not handed to Giles. It remained unopened and alone beside Jenny's foot. It leaned against the leg of the plush chair where she had taken her seat. Giles collected the information and offered to share it with the council right away. He planned to call his friend Robson at the council and overnight the data directly to him. Rupert correctly believed that the information would be taken more seriously from Robson than from himself. After he straightened the collection of folders, Giles held his hand towards Jenny to receive the remaining one.
"Oh, no that one isn't part of the Thirteenth stuff," Jenny stated as she pulled the orange folder against her chest. She smiled nervously. "I think this one has to do with us."
She immediately had a captive audience.
Pressing her lips together, Ms. Calendar opened the folder and extracted the single piece of paper protected inside it. She took a deep breath to steel her nerves.
"I believe this has something to do with Buffy," she hesitantly offered.
"Why?" Willow prompted as she glanced first at Xander and then Giles. A sad acceptance had settled in the librarian's eyes but a touch of hope birthed in Xander's expression.
"It is from Brother Luca."
Giles nodded encouragingly, but Ms. Calender had to explain who the monk was to the two teens. She shared the information about his foreknowledge of the anointed one to the students before sharing her newest discovery.
"I believe that Brother Luca is dead and that this is his last global sending. It was released from what I believe was a delayed delivery program. As far as I can tell after following the trail and tags, this was written on Friday night around the same time that Buffy disappeared. I had to translate it from Italian but the first phase of my new linguistic program seemed to have done a decent job."
Jenny took another breath and began to read.
"Angels watch and Demons do but The Daughter shall do instead of watch. Grace returned. The Fatling discarded. With Judgement, the Cat, gifted the first for The Mother, the last for The Father and seven for the Stains. Darkness takes me; may God have mercy on my soul."
Giles took a deep breath as his eyes met Jenny's dark ones. She offered him silent encouragement with her confident expression.
"Divine intervention?" he whispered with a pained hope in his suddenly choked voiced.
Jenny nodded emphatically.
"Grace returned."
Giles turned his back on his guests. They watched the slight shake of his shoulders as Willow grasped Xander's hand. Momentarily unaware of his continued audience, Rupert paced across the room while pulling his glasses from his face. Dropping them on his desk the ex-Watcher pinched the bridge of his nose and swiped away the tears pooling in his eyes. "Dear lord," he muttered to himself.
Spike smelled the cloying call of coppery goodness long before he saw the body. Unerringly, the dark clad vampire stormed down the carpeted hallway and flung open the door. The blond sighed despite the lack of need for the additional oxygen. Instead, he used the moment to gather what little patience he possessed.
"Dru, luv," he stated in the barely contained frustration tone that parents have used for years on their wayward children when they had tried their last nerve and were one misbehavior away from a blistering rant and possibly even a pained bottom.
"You found me," Drusilla cooed as she rose from her crouched position on the floor. The limp body of her latest victim thumped as it fell lifelessly to the ground at her feet. The vampire's long, diaphanous gown was splattered with streaks of blood and soft, happy sounds of pleasure slipped from her blood stained lips as she skipped over the forgotten body and twirled around the large state room.
"We discussed this, Dru" her lover reminded as he resisted the urge to yell at his now dancing princess. "We can't leave a trail of bodies the entire way across the Atlantic, Pet. Folks will become suspicious."
Drusilla's ridged forehead and feral eyes shifted to her softer human guise.
"But my tummy was rumble-y," she pleaded as she rubbed her hands across her stomach. Her motion left behind a smeared, bloody hand print on her already stained gown. "And I didn't like my room. There was no where for Miss Edith or your Princess to lay her head."
"That's because it was a sodding storage closet, Dru. It wasn't a state room."
Drusilla swept her hand towards the nicely appointed luxury accommodations of their current location.
"But now your Princess has a bed," she giggled before tossing herself on the comfortable queen sized mattress. "Mummy deserves a bed. Not a hole in the wall."
Spike took another unneeded breath then smiled lovingly at his companion.
"You're right, Luv. My lovely lady deserves a lovely place to rest her pretty noggin."
The male glanced about the room. Dead bodies not withstanding, it was a far cry better accommodation than their original hiding place for the voyage. He was happy to see that there were blinds to cover the windowed door to the private balcony. Hoisting the dead body of the original room holder over his shoulder, Spike headed for the ship-side terrace. Once on the balcony, the vampire stripped the corpse of his wallet, wedding band, and watch before tossing the body into the darkness where it found its rest in the dark cold ocean waters.
Spike reentered the state room and moved towards Drusilla's second victim.
"This ones still alive," the male demon stated as he lifted the disheveled but still attractive woman from the floor. Her head lulled to the side to reveal the large bruise where his lover had struck the woman. "You still hungry, Pet?"
"Mummy's insides are all happy and humming," his dark goddess murmured as she wriggled from her stained dress and under the sheets and comforter on the bed. She tossed the bloody garment onto the floor without a thought to who would clean the mess. Her undergarments quickly followed.
"Right then," Spike replied before drawing forth his demon and sinking his fangs into the tasty treat in his arms. While he drank, one arm cradled his victim against his body as his free hand divested her of jewelry. When this victim too was empty, Spike tossed the lifeless shell into the sea to join her husband. After stripping his clothes and ensuring that the blinds were shut and the door to the cabin was locked, Spike slid into the plush comfort beside Drusilla. He drew her cool body against his own.
"You can't do this again," he warned in a soft whisper into his lover's dark tresses. "The trip will take a week, Luv. Only catch and release until we reach New York. Promise me," Spike pleaded as he stroked his fingers over her smooth pale shoulder. The younger vampire could not stand the thought of being trapped at sea with an angry mob. They had barely escaped Prague with his wicked plum's life; he would not allow her to be endangered like that again.
"But that's so long to wait," pouted Drusilla as she shifted in his arms so that she could see his expressive eyes.
"We would have been there already if you had gotten on the sodding plane," he answered with just a hint of frustration leaking into his voice. The male vampire had tried repeatedly to coax his lover onto a flight to New York City but she had resisted with the tenacity to shame the most stubborn mule.
"Too soon, my Precious William," she countered in a sing-song voice that Spike realized meant she was thinking about things she had seen inside her own head. "If we arrive too soon, our dance card won't be filled."
"I'll dance every dance with you," Spike promised gently as his hand stroked his lover's hip. She moaned softly under the caress.
Suddenly, Drusilla's eyes flew open wide and banished the pleasure of his touch. Fear coiled in her stomach as she clutched at her pale companion.
"How much do you love me?" she desperately demanded as her hands clenched his shoulders and her dark eyes searched his light ones for the truth.
"I would lay the world to waste for you and let you dance in its bloody entrails," he promised earnestly. "I would pluck the moon from the sky for you to hold in your hand and wear in a crown if you wished it."
Drusilla stared at Spike and an answering knot of fear began to tangle in his stomach.
"Will you give me the sun, My Sweet William?"
"You're a bit allergic to the sun, Pet," the male vampire reminded his lover.
Drusilla's face clouded and her lower lip protruded into a petulant pout.
"Ashes, Ashes, we all fall down," she sang for a moment before her expression cleared once more.
"If it doesn't burn, can I have the sun?" Drusilla pleaded like a small child who cannot imagine a happy life without the new toy on the shelf.
Despite the knotted fear rapidly hardening to a huge lump of staggering dread, the blond Brit nodded. "If you can ever hold it without dusting, Dru, I will give you the blessed sun," he promised softly.
"I'm the princess and your my knight," she whispered contentedly against his chest as the last of the tension eased from her body.
"Of course you would give me my wish, My Spike," she practically purred as she nestled securely into his embrace. Her motions stilled as sleep pulled at her. Into the silence of the predawn, she whispered one last statement before falling to slumber. The delivery chased all thought of sleep from her companion's tired body. Fear, something he normally reveled in causing, gripped the blond vampire in its discomforting embrace. He shuddered as she whispered "We must prepare; Grace is coming."