Part Forty-three
Great Russell Street, London, England. May 19, 2001
Roger Wyndham-Pryce sat at his desk, looking worried.
In front of him was a report sent from one of the moles the Council had within the Vatican, about a special meeting Monsignor Randall Bentallo had had - with both the Pope, and one Cardinal Ratzinger.
There had been mention of prophecies, and signs. Of miracles taking place, and the Catholic Church's role in what was to come.
From his other sources, Roger also knew about what had happened with Xander Harris a few days ago. The rumors had started flying thick and fast, especially with the death of that child Pryce had met in Iceland not long ago; and it made the Watcher uncomfortable, thinking about all the possible ramifications of that act.
It also made him uncomfortable to think of how much of this information was now out in the open, so to speak. Apparently that ridiculous website, the one calling Harris 'The Timetripper', had somehow stumbled onto the latest news regarding the Slayer's former friend - and the number of 'hits' there, had skyrocketed this past week...
Suddenly, the head of the Council's private line rang. Pryce raised an eyebrow, as he answered the phone; he hadn't expected the few who knew the number to ring him right now...
"Wyndham-Pryce."
"Colonel Cleburne? How the devil did you get this number?"
"Very well, if you say so. Now, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"
"Ah, interesting. The Order of Tacos? Oh, you mean the Order of Taraka! Yes, of course we...did he indeed? I wasn't aware of Mr. Osbourne knowing anything about them...ah, yes, of course - forgive me. I remember now the entries in Rupert's Watcher diaries, nearly four years ago. And I'd imagine getting shot by one of their assassins, *would* leave quite an impression on the young man..."
"Yes, in this new spirit of cooperation between our two organizations, whatever information we have on them is yours. As I recall The Writings Of Dramius, Volume Six would be what you're after...oh, yes. What? Well, I suppose we could fast-courier them to you if you...why do you need them right now?"
"Ah...William the Bloody and his sire, Drusilla. Yes, yes, I understand completely. Well, I can contact Samuel Zabuto in Cleveland - he has a copy of the Writings, I'm sure. You can? Well, tell your operative that I'll be calling Mr. Zabuto in a few minutes, to give my permission for him to make a copy of the relevant parts of the book for you..."
Washington, D.C. A short while later
"So then, we're sure these Spike and Drusilla characters aren't in Chicago anymore?"
Esther nodded in response to U.S. Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld's question. "Yes, there's been no sign of them in the city for two days."
"They couldn't just be laying low somewhere?" Rumsfeld continued reviewing the document on the desk in front of him.
"I very much doubt it. Cleburne has scoured the entire demon underworld quite effectively, this past week or so. My information is that a large number of hostile demons and vampires have fled the city, to escape his attention. Chicago should be very safe for humans, demon-wise that is, at least for the immediate future."
Rumsfeld sighed and leaned back. "Cleburne loose in an American city, huh? Weinberger warned me about him, kept going on about Beirut and how it almost enraged our Arab allies."
"Well, in this case, that's not exactly a worry," Esther replied, with her mouth curling up slightly. "The demons can't really complain all that much, can they?"
"True. And since Illinois is going to vote Democrat anyway..." Esther raised an eyebrow at Rumsfeld's remark, however he went on, "This report from Canada is the real thing, then?"
"Yes, the Vancouver police matched the sketches we sent them with the witness descriptions. Spike and Drusilla definitely went to Canada."
"Any reason to believe they're still in Vancouver?" Rumsfeld asked.
A shrug. "Not really. The witnesses placed them only at the airport, and then only for a short period of time. Most likely, they just caught another cargo plane bound for destination unknown. There were several international flights leaving the airport, at about that time."
"Great, so this bloodhunt has now gone international," Rumsfeld observed.
"It was that right from the beginning. Weitz isn't going to give up, until he's gotten his vengeance upon them," Marcum replied tellingly.
"Yes, he has quite a bit of experience hunting fugitives down on a world-wide scale, doesn't he? However, for now, we have more urgent concerns. This Order of Taraka crowd - I don't like the idea of them getting mixed up with al-Qaeda."
The black woman looked thoughtful. "We're working on confirming the connection. And we don't want to rattle any terrorist cages till after September 11; the Order, on the other hand..."
"Yes, it'll be good for Mr. Weitz and Colonel Cleburne to have an outlet for their aggression at the present time," Rumsfeld commented. "Consider it authorized, the moment POTUS gives the okay."
Munich, Germany. Later that day
"Guten tag, mein herr," the representative from the Order of Taraka said politely, as he finished threading his way through the crowded room.
The terrorist instantly scowled and hissed, "Speak not to me in either the tongue of the Great Satan, or its fawning lapdog of an ally! Your reputation precedes you - and you can speak *my* language, I'm sure!"
{Humans,} the human-looking demon thought to itself, resisting the urge to roll its eyes. {I just pray that the day you all kill each other off, comes very quickly!} "Very well," the new arrival said as he switched to fluent if archaic Arabic, and sat down at the table. "And it is my pleasure to inform you, that your assigned task has been completed." {And not for the reasons you will no doubt think - you arrogant, fanatical fool!}
"So, then, the infidel mutant child is dead?"
"Yes, as contracted for. There were some complications, but the job was nonetheless carried out in full," the Order of Takara representative said to the bearded Arab sitting across the table from him.
The terrorist then proceeded to defile the holy religion of Islam, by giving profuse whispered thanks to Allah over the murder of an innocent. "Good, we are most pleased. You did well, for demons and infidels!" the Arab student then said in a snarky tone of voice. "It seems beneficial, then, to use demons like yourselves to fight the Great Satan. If we need you again, we will be in touch!" He then stood up and walked away.
"Religious fanatics. Well, at least their money is good."
The Tarakan assassin quickly paid the bill - human food didn't agree well with him - and then walked out of the restaurant as well. And as he walked down the street, the shape-shifter didn't see a man looking at him from a third story window.
"You get all that?" the man asked in German, as he moved away from the window.
"Yes," the other man in the apartment answered in English, as he hunched over a recording console. "Came in crystal clear."
The first man smiled for a moment. "They've left the restaurant. Follow them both, and report where they go. Do not get spotted," he then said into a walkie-talkie. Fingering the Star of David hanging around his throat, the secret agent then muttered, "First we learn all we can, then we avenge what they've done."
Carle Foundation Hospital, Urbana, Illinois. The same time
The grey-skinned humanoid made his way silently into the office within the hospital. He started opening filing cabinets, and methodically going through them. He paused when he heard a noise outside the office; but after about a minute or so, he started searching again.
A direct approach would not have worked here, that much was clear. These humans, despite what some other demons thought, were competent - and it would have been foolish to try anything that they could have detected and retaliated against. A direct attack on this well-guarded hospital would have only called attention to him and his kind.
And they weren't ready for that.
However, patience was something his species was very good at.
After all, they had been hiding ever since humans had taken over this world, so long ago. They could afford to wait, for they knew that one day - the entire planet would be theirs again.
So they could use the indirect approach for this little episode, and very cunningly at that.
The doctor here was the object of their focus of attack. Nothing dramatic, just a strong suggestion spell; the idea that he might want to examine that mystery patient a little bit more intensely than usual, had been planted.
Afterwards, the M.D. had rationalized it as a desire for studying an increased rate of healing - that might be adapted to help the others of his species. And no one would really mind if some biological samples for research and testing weren't destroyed or confiscated, he had convinced himself. The fool.
The demon, whose index finger was longer than his middle finger, and who had met with the Immortal and Elizabeth Bathory over three months ago, smiled as he opened the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet - and found what he was looking for.
Four blood samples, stored in special self-chilling and anti-coagulating containers.
He reached down, and took two of the vials. The doctor would think he'd only taken two lots of the special fluid, the suggestion spell would see to that. And if the other humans ever found out what the idiot had done, they would think he had been acting entirely on his own.
Meanwhile, he and his people would have these two vials of the blood. This would allow them to plan and prepare their return. The grey-skinned humanoid closed the cabinet, and stood back. He heard movement again from outside the office.
And yet a few seconds later, when the door opened and the doctor entered his private domain, the room was completely empty.
Georgetown, Washington D.C. The next day
Eli Weitz sat in Esther's office, with both Esther Marcum and Joshua Cleburne present. He sipped a cup of tea slowly, and then looked at the two Americans. "You no doubt know, just as we do, that the Order of Taraka was hired by al-Qaeda to undertake this attack. We videotaped the meeting between their contact people yesterday."
"Yeah, signal intercepts got the same information. They apparently wanted a face to face to confirm it. Damn sloppy of them, in my opinion," Cleburne said with a shrug.
"So we start planning to retaliate, then," Weitz said, staring at his companions carefully.
"Yes and no," Esther said, a pained look on her face.
Weitz frowned at that answer, not liking the implications. "Care to explain?"
"The Order is going to be hit, and hit *damned* hard, within the next month or so. I suspect they're about to encounter something that they haven't encountered in a long time," Cleburne said.
Weitz didn't have a problem with that. "I couldn't help noticing you didn't say anything about al-Qaeda," the old man noted.
"There are reasons why we don't want to spook them right now," Esther explained.
Weitz raised an eyebrow at that. "And what reasons are these? After all, they are definitely trying to spook *you*. They would love to attack you here."
"We know," Cleburne said, inwardly grimacing at the irony.
"And yet you don't hit back?" Weitz said. "Rachael deserves justice!" he suddenly growled, suddenly not looking like someone's grandfather - but more like an avenging angel, out for blood.
"No arguments there. We just want you to avoid doing anything to al-Qaeda for the next few months, old man. I'm asking you as a Marine," Cleburne said.
Weitz looked thoughtful for a second. "To delay a response only encourages further attacks. You of all men should know this, Joshua Elijah. As soon as everything is in place, you should attack."
"There are other factors in place here," Esther tried to explain.
"What other factors? Why should these animals have a moment's respite?" Weitz demanded.
Esther and Cleburne exchanged a glance. Cleburne spoke first, "You're lucky I figured out beforehand how it would go down like this, and managed to get clearance from Rumsfeld for you to hear the big secret. But look, old man, this information doesn't leave the room - is that clear? No one else, and that includes your people back home, can learn yet about what I have to say."
Weitz was clearly getting frustrated. "I can't promise that."
"You need to, or you stay in the dark about it, along with everyone else that isn't part of Siberian Trip Wire. Because it's the big holy secret we've been guarding for the last few years, old man. It's the reason we're doing...everything. Believe me, it's not something that will bring harm to Israel, and in fact, I suspect it'll rebound greatly in her interests, during the near future," Cleburne said with great intensity as he leaned forward.
"You trust me?" Weitz said simply, his old eyes boring into Joshua's.
"Yes," Cleburne said before Esther could answer, and she sent him a glance of annoyance.
"You appear most confident of your facts, *Colonel*. Very well then, tell me your secret and your reasons for keeping it secret. When I'm convinced, as you seem to think I will be, then none of it leaks out of this room, ever."
"Good enough," Cleburne said. "Okay, then we're agreed."
"Cleburne!" Esther said sharply.
Joshua just ignored Mrs. Marcum as he started talking, "September 11, old man, everything comes back to September 11."
STW hospital, Leesburg, Virginia. May 22, 2001
Xander Harris was not in a good mood.
He had been in the hospital now for over a week, and it was threatening to drive the young man batty. And not just from the enforced lack of physical activity during the day.
But from the dreams at night, as well.
Luckily, his nightmares concerning Rachael's death had mercifully started to fade, and Harris had thanked whatever or whoever was responsible for that small mercy. But now, other dreams had started to take their place. Just last night, Xander had dreamed of a gathered crowd on a hill, not far from a desert.
And just before he had woken up, the former slave had heard a loud booming male voice proclaim, "QUID EST VERITAS?!"
It was starting to make him think that *something* was definitely up; and Harris didn't like that, in any way shape or form.
Thing was, the former Slayerette hadn't forgotten what the Transuding Furies had said in LA, back when he had walked into Wolfram & Hart to rescue Faith's soul; that he was special, and that he had a destiny to fulfill. At the time, he'd had his mind on other things, but now?
Well, Xander definitely got the feeling that he was being *primed* for something. Guided, shepherded, even *manipulated* as it were. And as said, this scarred survivor didn't like that; Harris knew enough about himself to understand that he was no hero, no champion of a cause like Buffy and Angel. And whoever was trying to force him into that mold, had one hell of a rude awakening coming.
Xander put down the fork on his meal tray, as he leaned back in the hospital bed in frustration. "Every time I wind up in a hospital, Fred, the food sucks! It's like a great cosmic truth, no matter where I go."
"I don't know about that, the food on the Wasp was pretty good. I loved going to the hospital mess there! They had delicious tacos," the Texan woman said in reply, as she tried to maintain an upbeat attitude.
Xander and Oz looked at Fred, and the werewolf just raised an eyebrow. Xander just grimaced; normally he would have smiled, but right now he just wasn't in the mood. "Well, it woulda been better than whatever you'd been eating in the Pylean forests, I guess."
Now Oz and Fred exchanged a look. "That's right," Fred said quickly. "I couldn't make tacos there, tried to for years - but on the Wasp, they had everything. I even had ice cream!"
Xander closed his eyes. "What's the word on Spike and Drusilla?"
"Cleburne says they got to Canada. From there, he's not sure. The black suits are looking hard for them," Oz said, not surprised at the change in subject.
"Well, that figures. Thing is, though - that gruesome twosome is *real* gifted at hiding! But then, they're also like cockroaches; I figure they'll scuttle back out into the light before too long," Xander responded, a hard look on his face.
"No one can hide forever," Oz said simply.
"Yeah, and when they finally come out from behind the refrigerator - I'll be there. I'll find Spike, and I'll deal with him. Hell, he spent enough time with me living in my basement, I think I have a good idea of how the bleached wonder and his crazy bitch might operate."
"Your basement?" Fred asked in disbelief.
Xander opened his eyes at that. "Sorry. That was back in the original history, Fred - it never happened here."
Oz raised an eyebrow again, interested as always in references to that other world. "You'll probably want to share some of your insights with Cleburne and his people, then. They've got the resources to put them to use."
Xander nodded. "Yeah, I know, they've got all the fancy gizmos they need to eavesdrop on two vampires having a conversation in Timbuktu! And I've already spoken to a few people - actually, my main concern now is to make sure they don't cut me out of the loop, when they close in for the kill."
Fred decided to change the subject herself. "The Wizard was here earlier today. Y'all have a good talk?"
"Yeah, Irving's worried I might be falling behind on my studies. Wanted to check in and make sure I wasn't neglecting my book learning," Xander replied laconically.
"So how are your studies coming along?" Fred asked eagerly. "If you want, I can help on some of the physics and mathematics problems. I know a little about those subjects!"
Xander finally chuckled at that; he knew that Fred was pretty much back at genius level regarding that sort of thing nowadays, after recovering from her little sojourn to another dimension five years ago. The Wizard had told him that her knowledge base was Nobel Prize-level stuff, and only her absence had prevented her from becoming well known within the physics field. "Fred, come on, we all know you could write books on those subjects."
Fred smiled shyly and blushed at that. "No, no, I don't know that much. I mean, I wrote some articles and papers after Professor Seidel advised me, but that's it."
"Don't sell yourself short, Fred," Xander said simply. "Life's too short for that sort of thing. Take it from someone who knows."
"You mean that, Xander? I mean, you really think that I'm that good?" Fred said excitedly.
"Of course. I mean I wouldn't lie to you about that, you're one of my girls," Xander said automatically. But when what he had said registered internally, the young man frowned and could almost be visibly seen to fall into a bad mood.
"Xander, what's wrong?" Fred asked at once. His expression suddenly reminded the short brunette of something she'd witnessed a few days ago, when Harris was talking in his sleep; angrily mumbling something about not being the Zeppo anymore - whatever that meant - to some dream woman, who had remained nameless.
Oz didn't have to ask though, he could figure out what had put Xander into a foul mood like this. And it saddened him that his best friend had yet to put the past behind him this way.
"Nothing, really. Uh, look guys, if you don't mind - I need to get some rest," Xander replied. "Can you two come back later tonight, maybe?"
Both musician and scientist knew a dodge when they heard one. But not wanting to force the issue, they just nodded and quickly filed out of the room
1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. May 23, 2001
"Hello, Dawn. May I come in?" Rupert Giles asked, as he knocked on the opening door of Dawn's bedroom.
"Whatever," Dawn said in an irritated tone of voice, as she lay face down on her bed.
Giles advanced, and pulled out the chair at Dawn's desk. He placed it next to the bed, and then parked his ass down upon it. "Well, um, how's school going?"
"School is school, Giles," Dawn replied without looking up.
The former Watcher inwardly sighed. "Joyce tells me that there have been some problems, lately?"
Dawn scowled. "Whatever." she said again.
"Dawn, I know you've received some shocking news recently," Giles started to say.
Dawn rolled over and looked at Giles. "Giles, I'm not real, I'm the Key! As in, not a human?"
"Dawn," Rupert said impatiently.
"Come on, Giles, why should a little old glowing ball of energy *really* worry about what goes on in school? I mean, I've been thinking about this ever since Buffy and I talked that night in the graveyard..."
She kept going, even if the British man had opened his mouth to reply. "I mean, do I even have a soul?"
That stopped the British Watcher short. "Every human being has a soul, theoretically."
"So - you're telling me that those monks *manufactured* one for me? I don't, like, think that's possible - I mean, they're not God! Bottom line, what'll happen when I die? Revert back to the big green ball of energy I once was? Or will my essence go off to Heaven or Hell? What, Big Knowledge Guy?"
The Englishman had been wondering the same thing, but still didn't have an answer. "I don't know."
The brunette snorted. "All right then, lemme ask you this - what advice can my guidance counselor give, for a glowing ball of energy currently in human form? It's not like there are careers out there for things like that! Okay, maybe in an NBA all-star game, it would save 'em a heap on the special effects budget! Let's face it; when I grow up, I have no future," Dawn sighed and turned back around.
"Dawn Summers!"
Dawn found herself jerked around, and now facing a red-faced Giles. "I will not tolerate that attitude, young lady! You are a human being. You are *not* a glowing ball of energy! Not anymore. You are the daughter of Joyce Summers, and younger sister of Buffy Summers. You're human, and I have that on the highest authority - Xander's! So start acting like what you are!"
Dawn blinked at Giles' outburst, then she frowned. "Hey, where do you get off yelling at me like that? You're not my father. Heck, technically I don't even have a dad!"
"Well, I might become..." Giles stopped himself. He collected his thoughts for a second, before starting again in a calmer voice. "Look, I care for and about you and your whole family, Dawn. Just because I-I-I'm not your biological father, that doesn't mean I can't love you and your sister like one! And I am not going to just stand by, and let your sulking upset your mother this way. I've seen that sort of thing happen before with others, and it never ends well."
Dawn was taken aback by the strength of Giles' words. And she suddenly felt a bit guilty as well, about Joyce; the young teenager still found it hard to think of the woman as 'mom' again, at least so far. "Well, betcha they never had to deal with not being real."
"They dealt with horrible things, things they had done," Giles responded. "Things they had done to others." He sighed. "Did, did Buffy ever tell you about 'Ripper'?"
Dawn frowned, not remembering the 'Band Candy' incident in detail. "I've heard the name, I think, but I don't recall details. Why?"
Giles took a deep breath. "What I'm about to tell you, Dawn, I'm also going to ask you to keep in confidence. Joyce and Buffy already know this story, but it was always thought you were too young to hear it - now however, I-I think this is no longer the case. So, shall I begin?"
Dawn just nodded, full of curiosity, as Rupert took off his glasses and briefly looked down. "Back in the early 1970s, Dawn, I wasn't a very nice person. I, I know I can appear incredibly stuffy, British and long-winded at times, but back then - I, ah, I was heavily into black magicks, and summoning demons."
The Key's eyes went wide, but Giles continued on. "Eventually I saw the error of my ways, after the group I was with - well, one of our number was killed during an episode of sorts. And back towards the end of 1997 - when was it, the beginning of November? - ah, basically, my past came back to haunt me. The demon Eyghon showed up here in Sunnydale, having killed quite a few of my former comrades-in-crime. It then very nearly killed-"
"Oh, wait, I remember this now! I overheard Buffy and Willow talking about it back then, their computer teacher. Ms. Calendar, I think her name was?" Ms. Summers broke in excitedly, but then her face dropped as she remembered further details.
"Yes, that damned thing nearly killed her as well. And it was all my fault; if I had just done something about it beforehand, things might never have gotten that far. But luckily, Angel was there to destroy that sleepwalker demon."
A deep breath. "Angel has also had to deal with what he did in the past, just as I have. Buffy has had to deal with what happened to one of those who chose to help her. We've all had to deal with dark things, at one time or another; it's part of growing up, being human."
Giles took another breath before continuing, "Dawn, I know you received a, a major shock recently. And I can hardly even imagine the impact that it's had on you. But, what I'm truly concerned with is the here and now! And here, today, you're a real, live, breathing young teenager. And from what your mother tells me, one who really needs to straighten up right quick, at school."
The Key squirmed on her bed, just like the rebellious adolescent she now was. "Giles, come on! I kinda deserve a little leeway, don't ya think-?" Dawn whined to the de facto father figure in her life.
"No, you've already gotten all the leeway you're going to get," the Brit replied in a no-nonsense tone.
"How do you mean?" Dawn asked.
"Who was it that broke into my house, hmm? Then rifled through my personal papers, damaged my property? You're not that good a thief, you know," Rupert observed.
Dawn blushed at that, but quickly fired back, "Hey, you can't blame me for that!"
"Then who *should* I blame, precisely? Buffy, for being the Slayer and your chosen guardian? Xander, for being cursed with the knowledge of the future and writing those letters? Myself, for going on a walk with your mother that day? No, my girl, the responsibility lies exclusively with you. I have every reason in the world to hold you accountable, both morally and legally," Giles said firmly. "As a matter of fact, I shall have to discuss this with your mother; about how much of your pay at the Magic Box will go into covering the cost of repairs."
"You wouldn't!" Dawn said in horror, and then sending him a patented Summers pouting look.
"Dawn, please. Your sister has been exposing me to that look for nearly five years, and thus I have grown completely immune to it! You're wasting your time, trying that one on me."
Dawn frowned at Giles' response, huffing and crossing her arms. "Fine! But this isn't over."
Giles just smirked to himself, as he left the room. {My word, but I think I'm *finally* getting the hang of dealing with the Summers women.}
The Englishman wouldn't have been so smug, though, if he had looked back and noticed what Dawn was doing.
For the female teen had grabbed something off her desk, and was about to throw at his departing back in fit of childish pique - when luckily, Dawn calmed down and thought to herself, {No, better not. I'd probably just get all my pay docked completely.}
The Escalante Desert, near the Modena part of Utah. Later that evening
The woman paused for a second, trying to catch her breath. She couldn't pause long, though, her fear wouldn't let her. She looked back from where she had come. Next to her, her two companions also caught their breath briefly.
Her car had broken down and she had abandoned back down the road. She could see it illuminated by the lights of their pursuers, whatever they were.
"Come on, Sharon, we have to go!" one of the other whispered in panicked tones.
She nodded and start running crouched over, hoping that the pursuers wouldn't spot her. Her two friends followed after her. She used her left hand to balance herself as she skittered down the side of the rock they had been on top of.
"What are they?" Kelli said, as she followed Sharon.
"They, they weren't human; did you see them?" That was Jasmine, as she also followed.
Sharon shook her head. "I don't know what they are. I just know I don't want to be caught by them." She could hear her pursuers around the car. She wondered what her dad would say about the damage to the vehicle. Then she hoped she would *live* to be able to hear what her dad had to say about it.
She ran in that crouching manner for a few minutes, hoping to avoid being seen. She then stopped and looked around. "The highway should be somewhere up ahead."
Kelli was looking panicked. "Why? I mean, the road just changed while you were driving on it, becoming something else. That wasn't any road I've seen before."
"Roads don't just change."
"That one did." That was Jasmine.
"The highway is up ahead." Sharon said firmly, hoping that the panic she was fighting off wasn't noticeable.
Kelli looked like she was going to argue, but before she could say anything, there was a howling noise cold enough to chill one's blood. All three girls looked back in terror to where the howling was coming from.
"Wolves! They've got wolves!" Jasmine said.
"That doesn't sound like any wolf I've ever heard before," Kelli snapped. "That's something else altogether!"
Other beasts joined in the howling of the first one. The howling seemed to surround the women, causing them to look around in panic.
"We've got to get out of here, we've got to go!" Jasmine cried.
"Come on!" Sharon said, motioning for the others to follow her as she skidded down the face of the rock they were on. After a few seconds, Jasmine and Kelli followed. They headed in the direction where the howling was the least audible. As they ran, they could hear the scuttling of inhuman feet.
The three of them picked up the pace, Kelli stumbled and Sharon grabbed her arm and pulled her up. They continued running to catch up with Jasmine. Sharon looked back and blanched. She could see several shadows and shapes headed towards her. She picked up the pace, pushing Jasmine as she did. "Hurry!" she blurted out.
"I am!" Jasmine said in a panicked tone. A few feet in front of them, Kelli fell down, screaming as she did. Sharon and Jasmine ran down the rock slope to where Kelli was.
"Get up!"
Kelli flopped around a little bit. "I can't! I twisted my ankle."
Sharon reached down to help Kelli up, and then looked around. "Look, there's the road and the grass is back to normal. We can get to the road, we can find help." Sharon looked at Jasmine. "Come on, help her." Jasmine hesitated for a second. "Come on!" Sharon shouted, not worrying about being overheard any longer.
Shrugging, Jasmine reached down and grabbed Kelli's arm. The two of them started to help Kelli limp forward. The three ran or hobbled the best as they could. All around them, the sounds of moving creatures could be heard.
Sharon stumbled as Jasmine stopped. "Don't stop!" she said urgently. But then she looked up and saw why Jasmine had stopped. Ahead of them, between them and the road, were five creatures that had to be monsters. "No," she whispered.
"Humans, you shouldn't have come here. But since you couldn't get far enough away..." The lead monster grinned and started advancing. "You should stay for dinner." The others started advancing. More demons came into sight.
"Come on!" Sharon said and started pulling Kelli. She looked over to see Jasmine standing frozen crying. Sharon swallowed, realizing they wouldn't get out of this alive.
The lead demon suddenly stopped and blinked. He looked down at his chest which had a rather large arrow protruding from it. "That's wrong," he said, before he fell to his knees and then toppled face down.
More arrows started flying at the other demons, suddenly the sounds of horses galloping and war shouts drowned the noise of the demons.
Sharon looked around, as what looked like knights on horseback started galloping around them - and attacking the monsters.
Not far away. A short while later
Sharon pulled the blanket tight against her, now sitting on the back of an ambulance. She was sitting in the middle, between Kelli and Jasmine. Around them men were moving around, the fight between them and the demons having ended awhile go. The knights had vanished, only to be replaced by men who appeared to be military or law enforcement in plain clothes. A group of paramedics had also arrived and examined the three of them.
"Don't worry, it's not coffee." Looking up, Sharon saw a man holding out to her a cup with steam coming out of it. "Still, it's something warm to drink."
She took the cup and tasted it. It was hot chocolate. "Thank you." The man nodded. "What happened?" Sharon asked after a few moments.
"Shouldn't you be the one to tell me that?"
She chuckled, glancing at Kelli and Jasmine. They both shook their heads, and so Sharon said, "We were coming back from a rodeo, but we were running late. We didn't want to break curfew. So we tried taking a shortcut, hoping to make it in time back to St. George. " She took a breath. "It seemed to work for a while, but then the road changed - and not just the road, there were weird trees along the road. The road felt like it was made of stone not paved. We knew were lost."
"I can imagine that was pretty disconcerting."
"Yeah. We saw what we thought was a diner on the side of the road. We pulled in to get directions." She paused for a second, visibly shivering. "We thought they were people at first, however when we got a closer look? They weren't." She kept silent for a few seconds. "We drove off as quickly as we could. They followed us in these weird cars that looked like eggs on wheels. Then our car got wrecked, so we ran for it as fast as we could. The desert changed back to normal while we were running, but they kept chasing us. I thought we were dead for sure. Then those men who looked like something from out of the Middle Ages showed up."
The silence lasted for about a minute this time. The man finally spoke. "I see. I should mention some friends of ours would normally handle something like this, but they had something come up; something bad. So they asked us to look into this matter, and had some friends of theirs to come along to help."
"The knights?"
"That is actually part of their name, oddly enough. They took to dealing with the demons, and that was what they were by the way, quite well. They sent them scurrying back home, well - those that survived. It's hard to explain exactly what happened, the Wizard said something about an Einstein-Rosen bridge. Had trouble grasping myself it, until he explained bad things might be coming out of it. That part I got. Oh, I'm Chalmers, by the way."
"I'm Sharon." She looked out at the men milling around the ambulance and the various official-looking vehicles. "You're a Danite, aren't you?"
Chalmers chuckled this time. "Haven't you heard? The Danites haven't existed in over a hundred years."
"Whatever. What now?"
"Let's talk about that." Off in the distance, the sun started to rise.
STW hospital, Leesburg, Virginia. Not long after sunrise
Xander buttoned up his shirt, in his hospital room; the dreams having already been long since dismissed from his concerns. The last few days, the doctors of Siberian Trip Wire had been overseeing his recovery and also taking the opportunity to perform tests on him.
Harris knew that there had been a great deal of surprise on how quick he had recovered from Spike's gunshot wounds. And he still hadn't told anyone about his afterlife experience involving Faith, Rachael and the older man called Enoch; Xander knew in his heart what had happened, he just didn't know the specifics.
That was why he really didn't want the Siberian doctors sniffing around too much into what he had experienced, at least not just yet. He knew at some point that he would have to tell them, but for now, Xander just didn't want to.
Still, he couldn't really refuse their attentions when the doctors came to examine him. So the young man underwent their tests, and held his tongue.
A few of the doctors had frowned during the tests, and made some notes on their damned clipboards. Most of them hadn't answered Xander's questions. A few others *had* answered them; however, "we don't know what it means" or variations of the theme had been their reply. There had been one or two "you're getting better, but we can't explain why" replies as well.
Bottom line, Xander didn't know if he should be relieved or concerned by that. But for now, he just accepted it, like he accepted a lot of other things about his current situation. Five years of slavery can make you very adaptable, after all.
The door to the examining room opened, and the child genius Irving Hollins walked in; followed by a middle-aged man in a lab coat.
"So, Mr. Wizard, what's the word? Have I become the real-life version of Wolverine, or something like that?" Xander asked Hollins.
The child shook his head, as the older doctor just looked disapproving over Xander's flippancy. "No, no; there are no mutant superhero genes within you, I'm afraid. Basically, from everything we can tell, you appear to be a perfectly normal adult of human stock." Hollins paused and glanced back at his companion. "Unfortunately, we just don't have an explanation for your incredibly fast recovery from what happened in Urbana."
The doctor spoke up, "We've gone over the test results five times. Everything checks out normal, right down the line, Lt. Howard."
Xander finished buttoning his shirt. "Right, so, where's that leave us?"
Hollins sat down in a chair, directly opposite from the examining table that Xander was sitting on. "Well, I'm not sure. We know that *something* caused your rapid healing. As I said once before, most likely it was connected in some way to when you drank from the Holy Grail in England. However, we cannot as yet figure out the connection. If I may use an analogy, it bears resemblance to the situation of a typical passenger on a jet plane; he knows that the thrust of the engines somehow cause the plane to fly, but he is ignorant of the physics of flight that explain how this happens."
Xander raised an eyebrow at that. "Not quite what I meant." He paused, standing up before continuing. "Still, since I'm not some kind of mutant or male Slayer or whatever now, it turning out I'm just some kind of version of a jetliner that confuses the average traveler - I was wondering where I go from here?"
Suddenly Harris scowled, seeing the lab coat open his mouth. {And so help me God, if you even *suggest* anything like turning me into some sorta experimental animal...}
Hollins smiled, missing Xander's expression. "Of course, forgive me; I was still thinking about the test results. Well, the doctors say you're able to leave the hospital, so we can depart here whenever you're ready. But Colonel Cleburne feels you need some downtime, before getting back in the field. Physical rehab has been arranged for you."
"So basically, I've been benched," Xander said grimly, dismissing the M.D. from his thoughts now.
Hollins shook his head. "Only till you're fully back up to speed. Anyone who was wounded in the way you were, would need time to be sure they're ready to go back into the field. There's nothing discriminatory about it, if that was what you were thinking."
"And who decides when I'm ready to return?" Xander asked softly. Thinking about Spike and Dru, of course.
"Joshua will. Not to worry, he won't keep you out of the field for a moment longer than necessary; believe it or not, you've become too valuable to his plans for it to be otherwise. In the meantime, Monsignor Bentallo wants to meet with us. He says he's found some new prophecies that apparently we need to know about."
Xander groaned and rolled his eyes. "Oh, great! Prophecies are never good, Irving, trust me on that."
Siberian Trip Wire Conference Center, Washington D.C. May 25, 2001
Xander walked into the conference room, with Hollins following behind him. Sitting at the conference table in the middle of the room was Monsignor Bentallo, Esther Marcum and Colonel Cleburne. Bentallo had an anxious look on his face, while Cleburne looked to be in a bad mood.
Which, in Xander's book, was never a good sign.
Harris then took a seat opposite from Bentallo. He instantly realized though the sunlight from the window would blind him in the seat he had chosen, so he stood back up and moved down two seats to avoid the glare. Hollins took a seat next to Xander, on the opposite side of the table from the others.
Before anyone else could speak, Xander looked at the Marine colonel. "Spike and Drusilla. Care to tell me about the efforts going into making them the contents of a dust buster?"
Cleburne took a breath before responding. "Sorry, kid, but like Wolfie told ya - they dodged us in Canada. By the time we realized they were there, those two had already motored out of Vancouver. We've had several reports on them since then, of varying reliability. Guess the bottom line is, they've gone underground completely. We're doing everything we can to get a bead on them; both us, and the Mossad. Also, we're getting ready to pay our compliments on the Order of Taraka. They were the moving force behind the assassination attempt, after all."
"I remember those guys from Sunnydale," Xander said emotionlessly. He viciously repressed the memories of what had happened in the basement of the Summers home with Cordelia Chase; much preferring to contemplate stomping Norman the Bug Man's buggy bits to death, in that abandoned church.
"Yes, well, according to my sources? Spike failing to pay them for what went down back then, that was what they used to get him to do their dirty work, on this one. So the Israelis and U.S. are going to remove them as a factor in the world," Cleburne explained.
"I want in on it," Xander said in that same flat tone of voice.
Esther, Bentallo and Hollins looked at each other. Cleburne just stared straight at Xander, "I understand completely. You will be there. My word as a Marine."
Xander nodded once, and then turned to the others. "Okay then, campers. Let's hear now what bad news we have on the prophecy front, shall we?"
"Not necessarily bad news, my son," Bentallo said. "Just an explanation for certain things told to you recently."
"And that would be what?" Xander asked.
"In your vision quest last month, your guide sent word for us to research Longinus. Ever since then, our people at the Vatican have been cross-referencing that information with several prophecies and writings in the special vaults," Bentallo answered.
"And who was he?" Xander asked.
"Legend has it that he was the Roman soldier who pierced Christ's side with his spear, during the Crucifixion. That is why he is the one most closely connected with the story of the Spear of Destiny, the weapon used to wound Jesus on the cross," Bentallo explained.
"Uh-oh," Xander said slowly, as his stomach started sinking. "Wanna mention then how this connects to me?"
Bentallo looked at Xander and then continued, "Several prophecies and writings refer to the Spear playing a pivotal role in a battle against 'the evil that came before everything'. While that description is of course incredibly vague, we now think that they refer to the First Evil. It is written the Spear was hidden long ago, and needs to be found now." Bentallo paused.
"Go on," Xander prompted the Catholic official.
He nodded and read off a piece of paper in front of him. "The Spear shall be hidden from view, confused with many pretenders. The one who is of time, but not of his time, shall be the one who finds the Spear and gives it sustenance."
Xander shook his head. "Me, and that sounds like some roundabout way of meaning me, has to go find this Spear thing? Don't I have enough to do right now?"
"What can I say, you're damn popular kid. I mean come on, you've got groupies!" Cleburne wisecracked.
Xander shot him a dirty look. "Maybe I should start a fan club and cash in on it, then. You know, send in five bucks and get the secret decoder ring."
"Sustenance. He gives sustenance to the Spear. What does that mean?" Hollins asked, ignoring the interplay between the former Scooby and the Marine.
"I don't know," Bentallo answered. "Keep in mind, due to the extreme rush on this work, the phrasing may not be completely properly translated. And some of the writings are contradictory; one in fact talks about the vampire Slayer using the Spear! There are references to witches and demons. There's one scroll describing how she, but not saying who exactly, will use the spear only after the red witch blesses it. However, they all agree that a man out of time, so to speak, will be the one to find the Spear."
Xander rolled his eyes, suddenly reminded of the Slayer scythe. "The Slayer, huh? *Please* let it be Kennedy," he muttered. Then the man thought to himself, {And the red witch? Betcha that means Willow.}
Then Harris spoke up in a louder tone, "So basically, I get to play Indiana Jones? Well, guess it coulda been worse. Any idea where this Spear is?"
"Well, there are many rumors and claims with regard to the Spear. There have been claims that an artifact in Rome is the weapon we seek; and there is also a spear in Vienna that is claimed to be *the* Spear. We will have to determine which spear, if either of them, is the real one. And since the prophecies talk about the Spear being found, personally I believe that neither will be what we seek. There is a vast amount of information supposedly about the Spear, some of it extremely fanciful," Bentallo explained.
"Fanciful? Fanciful? Monsignor, we're talking about a spear that was around for the Crucifixion! And that was nearly 2,000 years ago! I think we passed fanciful three exits ago," Cleburne said.
"And we haven't even mentioned Hitler and the Nazis yet," Hollins observed wryly.
"Excuse me?" Esther said.
"There is a rather large body of published historical data, regarding Nazi interest in the Spear of Destiny. And then we have Napoleon supposedly seizing the Spear, when he took Vienna in 1805. Even the Holy Roman Empire is said to have held it for a while. What? I read a book about it when I was bored, several years ago," Hollins said, in response to looks he was getting from the others in the conference room.
Xander shook his head. "Ya know what? Vampires and demons are easy, old hat even. But this is starting to sound just plain complicated and scary," the young man observed.
TBC...