Part Fifty-one
Just outside the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. September 13, 2001
As Gwen Raiden walked up the garden path to her nominal place of employment, she had no idea how within the headquarters of Angel Investigations - the crap was about to hit the fan, big time.
The thief had mostly been bored over the last few days, even though she'd taken part in the plan to prevent the horrors of 9/11 from ever taking place. Part of Michael 'Red' Byrne's strike team aboard American Airlines Flight 77, mostly she'd just hung around at Dulles International Airport and then inside the cockpit after the plane had taken off, waiting for a fight that had never come.
{Can't believe I actually missed this place} Gwen thought to herself philosophically, heading towards the front doors of the hotel. {Hey, don't tell me I'm starting to get domesticated or something? Damn it, my reputation as a thief is gonna go straight down the drain!}
Miss Raiden didn't need to worry on that score, though, because it wasn't so much a place that she had missed rather than...a person. The one and only Charles Gunn. Demon fighter, vamp killer and potential boyfriend extraordinaire.
It still made Gwen feel uncomfortable, however, thinking of the black man that way. Because as things stood, their relationship was doomed before it even started; on account of they couldn't *do* any of the things two people normally did when finding themselves in 'that place'. Like it or not, their first kiss would also be their last one, after Gunn got killed by the electric shock emanating from her body.
The Electra Girl growled to herself unhappily, as she walked through into the lobby. She stopped at the entrance, looked around and saw that everyone was present. However, something didn't feel right to her.
Cordelia was sitting at her desk with a big scowl on her face. Wes and Gunn were at a table nearby, sneaking furtive glances at Cordelia as they pretended to be researching. The door to Angel's office was open and she could him sitting at his own desk, trying to look busy. Darla was on one the couches with her feet propped up, drinking out of a mug, with something of a smirk on her face.
Angel spoke up, "Cordy, can you please get me the phone number for Huber Storage?" Gwen noticed Wes and Gunn grimacing a little bit at that request.
At first Cordelia didn't say anything, her scowl just got fiercer. She then reached down into a drawer in the front desk and pulled out a phone book. She subsequently walked over to the door to Angel's office. With an angry look the woman lofted the phone book over her head, threw it directly into Angel's face and then the brunette seer quickly stomped back over to her desk, still scowling all the while.
Angel grunted as the phone book found its target. "Thank you, Cordelia!" the vampire called out after a few seconds, rubbing his nose as he did so.
Cordelia shook her head in anger. "Shut up, Angel! I'm still not talking to *you*. Not now, and maybe not ever again," she growled, glaring in the direction of the male vampire's office. Needless to say, she was still very upset after the events of the last 24 hours, where the former cheerleader had found out some very shocking things.
"Cordelia..." Wesley started to say nervously, he had stood up from the table and walked hesitantly towards her.
"I swear, Wesley, you better stay quiet - or I'll get out a bigger phone book and use you for target practice! 'Cause my arm isn't tired at all!" Cordelia shouted, sending her best 'Queen C' glare at the Englishman who quickly shut up and backed away.
"What the hell is going on here?!" Gwen demanded, as she walked towards the office door and all heads turned to face her.
"Hey, you're back!" Gunn sent the other seer for Angel Investigations a wide smile that Gwen instantly returned. "Missed you around here lately."
"Yes, definitely," the very pregnant Darla drawled, clutching her belly as she waddled over from the couch to lean against the front desk. She was no fool, and could tell how those two had moved a touch beyond the friendship stage.
"Well, thanks," Gwen said. "But I still want to know, what's going on? How come the princess just sent a beanball at the boss of this little outfit?"
"Because Angel knew. He knew all along that Xander was still alive, and he LIED to me about it all these years!" Cordelia practically screamed. She'd always had a major problem with regard to liars, as she'd once confessed to Wesley; Miss Chase's daddy issues had cost her her boyfriend back in the Sunnydale of 1998, and they looked set to cost her her job, here and now.
"Xander? Xander Harris?" Gwen asked with a stunned look on her face. { So she finally found out, huh. Now how did that happen? Damn, I knew it would happen sooner or later though... }
"Yeah, that's him," Cordelia replied, glaring at Angel - who had come out of his office and was very wisely staying silent. Then Miss Chase frowned, turning to look at Gwen. The vision girl couldn't recall ever mentioning a certain something to her work colleague. "Hey, how did you know his last name?"
Miss Raiden exhaled, knowing when the jig was up. "Because he was the one who originally sent me here, after he told me what was going on - when I started getting the visions."
Cordelia twisted around and started at Gwen in disbelief. Wesley and Gunn were looking surprised as well, even if Angel and Darla weren't, but Cordelia paid all of them no heed. "WHAT did you say?"
"I said, that guy sent me here to take over for you way back when," Gwen shrugged, bracing herself for the arrival of Hurricane Cordelia. "That's how I know who he is. I've known him for about a year now, as a matter of fact."
Sure enough, Cordelia didn't disappoint. She yelled angrily, "YOU BITCH!" as she charged forward. Most likely Cordy would have done something stupid too, from the look on her face, if Gunn and Wes hadn't managed to restrain her in time.
"Lemme go!" she demanded furiously, as the woman struggled to get loose.
"Not until y'all calm down, girl," Charles told her firmly. He grimaced as Cordelia kept struggling, "I said calm down!"
"Let her go," Gwen suddenly ordered him, grasping her hands together tightly.
"Are you sure that's wise?" Angel spoke up, looking worried at what was going on.
"If I were you, I'd quit while you're still behind, dear boy," Darla advised him with a big smirk on her face. She was enjoying herself immensely as, for her, this was all basically free entertainment.
As Wesley and Gunn released her, Cordelia glared at Gwen. The former Sunnydale girl felt a deep sense of bitter betrayal as she said, "You really are part of the gang now, huh? Even *you* knew the big secret! I was the only one who didn't. You lied to me, just like everyone else around here-"
"No. I didn't lie to you; I just didn't tell you everything," Miss Raiden said firmly, cutting the Chase woman off. "And given what Hall - Harris - said happened between you two guys when you were in high school, you have to admit. I had my reasons to do that."
The words struck Cordelia like a hammer blow, amplifying her misery and causing her to miss out on the 'Alexander Hall' reference. "Where is he? *Please*, tell me! I just wanna make it all up to Xander, somehow!" Miss Chase tried not to think of her ex-boyfriend Chuck at that moment, who had somehow known the truth long before she did and had broken up with her because of her real feelings for Xander.
"I don't know where the guy is these days," Gwen admitted simply. "That was part of the deal: no more direct contact. He just told me the situation, and then I came here." Gwen hesitated, and then decided not to mention anything about Siberian Trip Wire. And just to be safe, during that instant the Raiden woman decided not to tell the Siberians anything about this conversation either. Then she said, "He did sorta give me a message for you, so to speak..."
Cordelia's eyes lit up at once. "What? What did Xander say?"
Gwen frowned, trying to remember the exact words the former demon slave had said all those months ago. "Well, before we parted company I asked him what I was supposed to say if and when you ever learned the truth. And Harris said that this thing with you and me and the visions, it was nothing personal, just business. And as for the rest of it, he hesitated a bit before telling me not to bother saying anything - guy mentioned something about how the odds were that you'd never believe whatever I'd say at this point, anyway."
Cordelia got a strange feeling running down the back of her spine, after hearing that it was almost as if Xander was present in the room and the words were coming out of his own mouth. "Anything else I should know?"
Gwen sighed, figuring that if she had gone this far - she may as well spill everything at this point. She tuned to face Angel, "Go ahead. Tell her."
The ensouled vampire instantly shook his head in denial, knowing what Gwen was talking about. "That's *not* a good idea!"
"What's not a good idea?" Cordelia glowered at him.
"Hey, if you don't tell her, I will," Gwen engaged in a battle of wills with the head of the detective agency. "Damn it, Angel, she deserves to know about this! It's her life, after all!"
"What are you people talking about?" the brunette seer-slash-actress looked ready to pick up another phone book again at any moment.
"I think Gwen's right," Darla spoke up, as everyone turned to look at her. She had read Xander's letters to Angel as well, after all, and knew that Miss Chase had been destined to die by 2004 in the original history. "Cordelia deserves to know the truth, no matter how upsetting it'll be for her."
Angel glanced at Wesley and Gunn, but they were too smart to get involved in a matter like this right now. Giving up, he sat Cordelia down on the couch next to Darla and told her everything. He then sent Wesley to get Xander's letters for Cordelia to read, to prove everything he had just said was true.
Naturally, Miss Chase fainted and refused to wake up again for a *very* long time.
Main Street, Sunnydale. The same time
Buffy Summers was not in a good mood.
There were a number of reasons for this to be so. First and foremost, as the Chosen One she disliked feeling like a fool under any circumstances. Second, she disliked the idea that Josef Lemke - someone she liked and trusted, a man who had peripherally become part of her life over the last year or so - might actually be a spy for the people who Xander was currently associating with. Thirdly, she didn't know which was the best way to confront the shopkeeper about her suspicions without it ending up a complete debacle.
{ I mean, I can't just barge into the book store and threaten to beat him up if he doesn't start talking, } Buffy thought to herself, as she slowly walked in the direction of Willy's bar. { For one thing, if Josef really is an innocent bystander, he might just call the Sunnydale PD to have me arrested. And if he isn't, he'll report what he knows back to the evil spymasters and they'll know the jig is up. Either way, I don't get any closer to finding where Xander's been hidden these days. }
Willow and Tara had come up with some ideas, after Andrew had mentioned something about his favorite James Bond movie and whether or not they were all under surveillance right now. But that didn't help with the Slayer's developing feeling of helplessness, the idea that despite being the one to kick ass all the time and constantly save the world - she was powerless to help the person she had once called her best male friend.
And even if she could help, the man in question didn't want any such thing from her.
"I really gotta kill something already," Buffy muttered to herself, retreating into the most ancient form of Slayer therapy imaginable as she headed in the direction of the demon bar as fast as she could.
Great Russell Street, London, England. September 16, 2001
Within his office at the Council's HQ, Roger Wyndham-Pryce turned the page of the report he had been reading. A knock on the door caused him to look up at his assistant standing in the doorway.
"Sir, he's here," the man called Nigel said deferentially.
Pryce nodded. "Very well, send him in." He put down the report, and settled back into his chair.
A few seconds later, the assistant ushered in a man with a goatee. "Mr. Smithers, good of you to come." Pryce motioned for the new arrival to sit as Nigel exited the room.
"Well, it's not every day the leader of the Council that threw me out asks me to come back in."
Pryce nodded. "Yes, well, about that. The fact is, your rather ignominious exit from the organization was a matter concerning the previous leadership of the Watchers. There were those of us who felt that it was too hasty, and something of an overreaction."
"Ah, I see. I can also see where after careful consideration of oh, say, twelve years, one could jump to that conclusion."
Roger tried not to take it personally. He'd known this was going to be difficult, Travers had not engendered warm feelings for the Council in this man with his actions. "As you may know, there have been certain events leading to changes in the leadership and policies of the Council ever since February..."
"I've heard many things, old chap, ever since 1999 as a matter of fact. You lost a Slayer, and not the normal way either: she just didn't want to have anything to do with the Council anymore. Not to mention, the other Slayer located at the other Hellmouth is now operating at the sufferance of the American government?" Smithers asked.
"Times change," Pryce replied, trying to remain civil. "And you know as well as I do that the Council needs to be able to adapt to different circumstances."
"Indeed, and how is Travers adapting?" Roger's latest visitor suddenly seemed to be more interested in the conversation.
Pryce suppressed a sigh. The blasted sod truly wasn't making this easy for him. "Quentin is being forced to adapt. In a jail cell, of all things." Pryce saw how the other man tried and failed to suppress a smirk at hearing that. "However, we are not here to discuss his past decisions."
"Indeed, then what are we here to discuss?"
"Your new job, Mr. Smithers. One that I think you'll be quite unable to refuse, once I explain what exactly it entails."
Siberian Trip Wire Conference Center, Washington D.C. September 17, 2001
Xander Harris was a legend in the supernatural world. Ever since the previous week, he'd become a Marine officer. He had fought vampires, demons and monsters. He had saved countless lives. When he opened his mouth, it caused Presidents and world leaders to sit up and take notice.
Today, however, he was bored.
It was odd, as he was in a meeting that was addressing major issues, matters of life and death. But still, Xander was bored.
Cleburne had decided that the latest addition to the USMC needed to be more involved in the workings of the Siberians, now that he had an official military rank. So Xander had found himself in the meeting taking place to review what had happened ever since September 11.
That was this morning, granted. Harris had been able to basically observe and not participate too much in that meeting. But now he was into the second meeting of the day, and he was expected to be more involved. People were looking to him for his opinion, as this was a subject matter he had been living for years now.
The things that went bump in the night.
Bottom line? The 'vacation' for the supernatural after the events of 9/11 had come to an end. The Siberians has started up a weekly video teleconference among the various groups that were dealing with that fact. He was expected to be there and participate.
"This Ahluc demon is spending quite a bit of money a mite too freely, apparently. He has various vampires and demon lieutenants spreading out through New England," Siberian-slash-FBI agent Malcolm Fletcher was saying. "We haven't been able to find out what he's looking for yet, but whatever it is I think he wants it pretty badly."
Cleburne was taking notes. "Any ideas, Pryce?"
Roger Wyndham-Pryce looked out from one of the video screens. "If by that you mean do we know what the Ahluc's intentions are, I'm sorry to say that we do not. However, I have assigned many of our best researchers to the question as to what might be located in the New England area."
"So you'll read books?"
Pryce frowned. "More than just the library texts, of course. Prophecies, spells, scrolls..."
"Okay, then, lots of old papers for your grunts to read while you get your ducks in a row." Cleburne still was clearly somewhat miffed at the Watchers Council. "Monsignor Bentallo, how about the Church, can they help out?"
Another video screen had Bentallo sitting at his desk in Rome. "Yes, Colonel. I know the Special Office has some records concerning this demon. We will also see what records the Boston diocese might have as to what might be in New England, attracting his attention."
"Excellent." Cleburne looked at the agenda in front of him. "Well, I think that's all we need to cover for this week, so if there's nothing else-?"
"I do have one additional matter that I would like to raise," the head of the Council said from London.
Cleburne sighed softly, he had wanted to be done with the meeting early today. "Of course, and what would that be?"
"These meetings are good for information exchanges, as are the other sorts of meetings like our recent conference in Iceland. However, to facilitate matters even more efficiently I think we should explore an additional method of cooperation."
"And that would be?" Esther Marcum asked from where she was sitting.
"More direct interaction between our groups."
"By which you mean cell phones?" Cleburne said, not liking where this was headed.
"Of course not! I know for a fact that several organizations have had personnel attached to your organization, as liaisons and ambassadors so to speak. That's why I think we should explore the Watchers doing something similar."
"Oh, hell no!" Cleburne shot back at once.
"Why not, if I may ask? After all, Quentin Travers and all his associates are not in positions of responsibility in the Council anymore, and we *do* have resources and expertise that your organization is hard-pressed to match."
"Yeah, well, we've seen how they've been put to use in the past," Cleburne clearly wasn't budging on this.
"Again, I must point out all that was done under the authority of Quentin Travers. Come now, Colonel Cleburne, surely we cannot be held responsible for the actions of a previous administration any more than *you* can be held responsible for the actions of your organization's previous administrations?"
Cleburne was still frowning, but Esther managed to speak before he did. "Granted, but the colonel raises, in his own unique way, a valid point. We do have legitimate security concerns, particularly depending on the circumstances of the person who you might send."
"I agree, given what's happened in the past of course you would have concerns. After all, to my regret there have been similar difficulties with other groups besides yourselves. However, I have a candidate in mind for the job which I believe would be acceptable to all parties."
"Who would that be?" Esther again beat Cleburne in the race to speak.
"Alan Reginald Smithers."
That instantly elicited a laugh from Bentallo. "Colonel Cleburne, I must admit I'm looking forward to seeing your first meeting with him! And please allow me to be the first to reassure you that he is someone who would *never* be considered to be in the good graces of our old 'friend', Mr. Travers."
Not long afterwards
"This is a bad idea," Cleburne trailed after Esther just as Xander trailed after Cleburne on their way to the middle-aged woman's office.
"Yeah, personally I really don't want to give the Tweed Brigade that many chances to change their minds about me visiting them in a permanent manner. I know we're playing nice with them and all these days, but still," Xander pointed out.
Esther shook her head at the two men following her. "I understand the concern, but I believe you're both worried for nothing. We're talking about only one man, after all. One man who, from what Monsignor Bentallo tells us, is completely estranged from the Watchers thanks to the actions of Quentin Travers all those years ago. Not exactly someone you would expect they would send to perform a snatch and grab operation, wouldn't you say?"
"No. Unless you wanna lull someone into a false sense of security, that is," Cleburne declared.
"Really, Joshua. That's a state I have never associated with you," Esther chuckled. "Besides, he would be an invaluable asset in the field when you encounter something unknown. No need to call England for information."
"There's this thing, maybe you've heard of it, called a cell phone. It's great for getting information when you're out in the field."
Esther smirked at Cleburne's wisecrack. "Yes, I'm sure. It's a wonderful thing, as long as there's a convenient cell tower around...which, correct me if I'm mistaken, in our line of work is very often not the case?"
Cleburne frowned at Esther. Xander spoke up, "I understand what you're saying, I really do. And heck, maybe this guy will be another Giles and we'll get on great, but what if he isn't? I'm not happy practically giving them a free second shot at me."
Esther turned to Xander and her expression softened. "I know your history with the Watchers gives you a reason to be concerned. However, you know as well as I do that there's a new leadership in place there now, one who's supposedly learned from the mistakes of the past. Monsignor Bentallo vouches for them and their choice of envoy. Also, I am sure that the good colonel will be most diligent in looking for any signs of treachery. All things considered, Mr. Howard, I am sure this arrangement will turn out to be beneficial for all parties involved."
"You do realize that you just jinxed us, don't you?" Xander looked pessimistic at the mention of his current alias.
"You know, the kid's right," Cleburne said firmly. "We're doomed!"
"I think you both exaggerate."
Xander rolled his eyes. "Trust me, Mrs. Marcum, I know jinxes. And this has got 'jinx' written all over it."
Boston, Massachusetts. September 18, 2001
Xander shielded his eyes from the sunlight, as he walked down the steps from the Lear jet the next day. Cleburne was already on the tarmac walking to the car. Harris had to admit to himself that he still had rather ambivalent feelings about this city, as this was where Faith, his first ever lover, had been born. And even though she was gone now it still hurt to be reminded of the brunette Slayer, and what he had given up after deciding not to remain dead that night when Spike had shot him in the back.
Malcolm Fletcher, Siberian-slash-FBI agent, was standing next to the car and said, "Colonel, Gunny, Mr. Howard. Welcome to Boston."
"Fletcher, anything new?"
Fletcher smiled at Cleburne's question. "They haven't found what they're looking for yet."
"And how do we know this?"
Fletcher smiled again at Cleburne's question. "I'm glad you asked."
Abandoned warehouse, Boston. A short while later
They were in a room filled with video terminals. The group was looking at a screen which showed a picture of several demons sitting around a table. They appeared to be looking at several old scrolls and maps. Personally, Xander was reminded of a research party from the old days back in Sunnydale.
"So they were still looking when this was taken," Cleburne was staring at the monitor.
"They still are. This is real time footage, Colonel, not recorded."
Xander looked at the balding agent. "Where's the camera, some kind of remote location?"
Fletcher shook his head. "No, actually it's in the ceiling. The camera is barely the size of top of a pen. It blends right in, the demons haven't noticed the several weeks it's been in place."
"They simply missed it? That doesn't sound right. Does it have some kind of spell or something masking it?" Harris looked suspicious.
"No, the exact opposite. The demons do a spell every few days to make sure no one's using magic to spy on them, however they seem to completely overlook the mundane."
"I should have guessed," Xander shook his head.
"Do we have sound?" the Marine colonel demanded.
Fletcher reached down and headed a set of headphones to Cleburne. Joshua took them and listened for about thirty seconds. "They're frustrated. Good, we can use that."
Somewhere on the streets, near Boston Common. Later that night
The Bhanrglish demon walked down the sidewalk, going from spot of light to spot of light created from the streetlights. He shoved his fingers deeper and deeper into his jacket pockets. He looked up and saw the building he was headed for. He was almost to the door when he heard the voice.
"You're still alive?"
The demon stopped at that, and looked into the shadows where the voice from coming from. "What?"
"I heard *certain people* are upset with you, you hadn't come through on something or another. The Ahluc is saying you've been yanking his chain as well. It's not happy with you."
The demon took a step towards the voice.
"Hey, don't get too close. I don't want to be associated with you right now!" With that, there was the sound of shuffling feet and a figure hurried down the alleyway from the demon.
Elsewhere in Boston. A while later
The vampire made his way out of the demon bar, suppressing a curse as he did. He had lost a lot of kittens tonight at that poker game. He scanned the street, more out of habit than anything else, and noticed a dark van start up and turn on its lights. He started walking down the street, and saw the van pull into the street. Not exactly concerned, he pretty much expected it to pass him.
After a few seconds, the undead thing realized that the vehicle hadn't passed him yet. Suddenly suspicious, he turned around and saw the van was slowly moving up the street, as if following him.
"What the hell?" The vamp started towards the van. As he got close, it suddenly sped up and narrowly missed the soulless demon. He just barely jumped out of the way, and landed hard on the nearby pavement.
"I don't know what's going on, but someone is going to pay for that!" the vampire snarled in rage and annoyance.
Abandoned warehouse, Boston. A short while later
Cleburne watched the monitor in front of him. "This is great, it's almost like watching the late show on TV. Now if I only had some popcorn..."
Xander chuckled at the remark. "Want me to pop some in the microwave?"
Cleburne shook his head. "No, I'm trying to cut back on snacks. We've definitely shook them up."
Fletcher leaned over and looked at the screen. "Yeah, they're snapping at each other, but they haven't really gone for each other's throats yet. They're still at the snarling stage."
"You need to know each of their strengths and weaknesses. These are demons, after all, not your ordinary garden-variety human criminals."
The three turned and look at the source of the comment. Red, Oz and a man with a goatee were standing in the doorway. Xander stared at him, and the one who saw everything had a few moments to analyse the newcomer. The Englishman didn't seem threatening to his eagle eye, and so Harris relaxed slightly. { Hopefully, this'll be G-man version 2.0 after all... }
Cleburne sniffed. "You must be from the land of bad teeth and warm tea."
"I'm Alan Reginald Smithers," the Watcher introduced himself blandly.
"Aren't you a character on the Simpsons?" Xander asked with a slight smirk.
"That's Waylon Smithers," Oz observed.
"I'm the liaison from the Watchers Council. Apparently, they seem to think I can aid you," the man said in that same bland way.
Cleburne looked back to the video screen, provisionally reassured by his instincts telling him that Smithers wasn't a menace to Xander or this operation. "So who did you tick off to get sent here?"
"Quentin Travers."
Xander looked up in surprise at Smithers' comment. "You're on that guy's shit list?"
"Indeed. Colonel Cleburne, Monsignor Bentallo said to tell you that I drove Travers to drink on occasion."
"What did he drink?" Cleburne didn't look up from the screen.
"Scotch. Well, at first, anyway, although near the end there he was also drinking whiskey." Smithers looked over Cleburne's shoulder. "Ah, now this is interesting."
"And what exactly is interesting?" Red asked.
"Well, you've got Bhanrglish and Luminaje demons working together. Normally they can't get along, unless..."
"Unless?" Xander said.
"Well, they do both share a fondness for rock candy."
"Rock candy?"
"Yes, it has some kind of calming effect on them, something about the sugar content."
"Sugar, huh. And if the sugar is off?" Xander asked the new arrival.
"Mood swings, aggression, paranoia."
Xander looked at Cleburne. "We we can work with that."
Demon HQ, Boston. September 19, 2001
The Bhanrglish demon from the night before threw down the book. "Damn it, there's nothing here!" He reached over to the bowl in the middle of the table. "Hey, we're out of rock candy."
"There's more in the back," one of vampires said, not looking at the Bhanrglish.
"Well?"
"Well, what? What am I, room service? That's where it is, go get it yourself. I don't eat the stuff, since I actually prefer being on a liquid diet," the vampire wisecracked back.
"Damn vampires," the demon muttered to himself as he stomped off to the store room near the back. { Now where is it? } He looked around. { Oh, there it is. } The demon bent down and picked up the box. He was confused for a second, as the box looked like it had been moved a few inches from where he remembered it had last been. He then shook his head and took it into the main room.
In the alley behind the storehouse, Oz got into a grey van. Cleburne looked up from the crossword puzzle he was doing and said, "Good work, Wolfie, I guess all that time you spent hanging with Gwen Raiden is paying off."
Abandoned warehouse, Boston. A short while later
A short while later Cleburne and Oz walked back into the warehouse being used by the Siberians. Fletcher was looking at the monitor. "Welcome back, guys. Good news: they've gotten the doctored rock candy and are chowing down on it."
Cleburne looked at Smithers. "How long?"
"I'd give it about a day, that should get the last trace of the normal rock candy out of their system and let them start wearing on each other's nerves."
Vatican City, Rome, Italy. Later that day
Monsignor Bentallo turned the page of the book in front of him, as he sat behind the desk in his office. "And you found this in the literature of the archives?"
The priest standing in front of the desk nodded. "Yes, Monsignor. When I first noticed the similarities with what the Americans are reporting out of their Northeast, I considered it to be mere coincidence. However, the longer I reviewed the volume, the more I reconsidered my earlier position."
"I must admit that at first I too was surprised, however thinking about it, I can see your point." He reached and picked up his phone. "It seems that I am making this type of call to our friends in America more and more often, lately."
Abandoned warehouse, Boston. September 20, 2001
Cleburne's cell phone buzzed. He pulled out of the belt pouch. "Hello."
He listened for a few seconds. "I see. Well, that is interesting. You'll get the particulars to us? Great, talk to you later Esther." He disconnected the phone. The others looked at him in expectation.
"Well?" Xander asked.
"Cotton Mathers."
"Huh?" Xander said.
"Of course!" Smithers said in understanding, looking up from the table where he was reading.
"And again I say, huh?" Xander repeated.
"Cotton Mathers was a minister in the New England region during the early 1700s. He was also a respected author and a leading moralist of the time. Nowadays, he's mostly known for his involvement with the Salem witch trials," Smithers explained.
"Okay, so he liked to burn people at the stake," Xander commented.
Smithers shook his head as he continued to address the group. "Actually, no one was ever burned at the stake in Salem. Those that were executed were hung. However, the point is that what's not as well known outside the Watchers Council is how Mathers was also a demon hunter, and actually assisted the vampire Slayer of that generation upon one occasion."
"So he qualifies as a good guy, well - semi-good guy?" Cleburne said, changing his comment after Xander's glare at him.
Smithers nodded. "Indeed. In between 1699 and 1700, you see, the Slayer of that time was in New England. The reason being, there was a coven of witches which was looking to exact revenge for the so-called trials that took place at Salem. As you may know, in the main it was mostly innocents who were killed by the tribunals, but some witches were slaughtered as well. In any case, the diaries of her Watcher say the witches' plan appears to have been to cause a massacre in the towns that played a role in the trials."
"How were they going to do that?" Fletcher asked as he kept watching the monitor. "Gangs of vampires?"
"No, actually, the local authorities handled the vampire threat in a competent manner. By coincidence more than anything else, the paranoia about witchcraft had prepared them well for most supernatural threats, including the undead. Several attempts involving vampires and lesser demons were unsuccessful."
"So why was the Slayer there, if the locals had it under control?" Red asked.
"Well, the witches escalated the, uh, threat potential, I suppose you could call it. They contacted a demon warrior cult for assistance. And despite the odds, they were actually sent a true demon warrior from Europe."
"As opposed to a regular demon warrior?" Oz raised an eyebrow.
"This warrior was much more dangerous than the demons you - we - normally face. Although not an Old One, it was nonetheless a creature whose abilities were roughly on par with those of the Judge, or maybe even Acathla. It was far beyond the ability of the local authorities to handle," Alan told the group solemnly.
"So the Slayer was sent in to help?" Xander asked, his face betraying nothing.
"Yes, the Council dispatched her there immediately once they learned of the witches sending for the damned thing," Smithers answered Xander's question. "The Royal Governor had them contact Cotton Mathers. They tracked down the target, and learned that the demon was attempting to perform a ritual that would turn the other local demons into warriors like itself; most likely to create a scourge to wipe the planet clean of human beings. The Slayer, Mathers and the local militia attacked during the final stage of the procedure..." Smithers trailed off.
"Well, since we didn't have an army of super-demons overrunning Boston and then the rest of the world back then, I'm assuming they stopped the ritual in time," Cleburne commented.
"Indeed. But at the same time as when the attack took place, a new Slayer was called elsewhere."
That fact silenced the room.
"So what happened afterwards?" Oz spoke up first.
"After burying his charge, her Watcher returned to England and told the Council that the true demon warrior had been killed."
"Alright, well, that would explain the demons' interest in Cotton Mathers. Odds are they wanna learn how he and the Slayer killed the Big Bad back then," Cleburne cogitated.
"I would imagine so, Colonel Cleburne."
Fletcher frowned. "But why would it even matter now? Because that was over three hundred years ago, right?"
"Because these guys, they're looking into going for a repeat performance of what happened back then. And this time, they don't want anyone to spoil the show," Oz said with a burst of insight.
141 Embury Street, Los Angeles, California. The same time
For the past week Cordelia Chase had not left her apartment even once, apart from briefly going out to buy food and the other necessities. She had refused to talk to anybody from work either; the brunette woman had let anyone who banged on the front door keep doing so for as long as they liked, before they got tired of it and went away. For the too-persistent gentleman callers (in other words, Angel), Cordelia had let Phantom Dennis throw him out of the apartment head-first after the ensouled vampire broke in via one of the windows.
On account of Miss Chase was too busy thinking.
She had kept Xander's letters to Angel, and read them too many times to count by now. When Cordelia had read Harris's first letter, her heart had almost stopped after the line, "Angel, the odds are that Cordelia's gonna be dead by 2004, if she continues on with the path she's travelling right now."
It was most unpleasant to read about your possible upcoming death, granted. But Cordelia had instantly wondered, why? Why was she destined to die before her 24th birthday? Then she had read the next part:
"Look, what happened exactly is that I met this demon named Lorne in this place called Caritas; and believe it or not, I already knew who he was, as he's gonna be a good buddy to you and your little Fang Gang in the future. He read my destiny, and the green guy saw me in that other world with that goddamn eyepatch, paying my respects at her grave in LA around then. I'm guessing she's gonna have a vital role to play, to have been in the vision; so just in case I can't do anything about it, you do what you gotta do to save her in the future, okay?"
The emotions within Cordelia's mind at that point had been many and diverse. Cold, numb horror at the prospect of a one-eyed Xander standing over her grave while she was rotting underneath the earth. Curiosity over what role exactly she was destined to play in the grand scheme of things. And finally, strange as it seemed...a fiery warmth in the pit of her stomach that her ex-boyfriend still cared whether or not she lived or died.
There were other things in the first letter, such as Darla, Connor and the reappearance of Angelus during 2003, but they hadn't interested Cordelia too much at that point in time. Diving into the second letter, Cordy had impatiently skipped past the stuff regarding someone named Fred Burkle, before focusing on what was of most interest to her.
"You were supposed to go to Pylea after Cordelia. In the future I remember, she got sucked into there by some sort of vortex or something."
{ Ewww, } Cordy had thought to herself at the time. { Thank God that never happened! Doesn't exactly sound like fun, anyway. }
The next part of the letter had read, "I had four very interesting dream encounters with Anya, Willow, Buffy and Cordelia. And from what Dream Cordy said...I now think that someone or something was manipulating the situation during the original history, right from the start, when it comes to my ex and her 'gift'."
{ Manipulating me? } Cordy had asked herself at once. { Someone was - is - manipulating *me*? Like hell! NO ONE manipulates Cordelia Chase! }
"See, I know from Lorne's reading of me that Cordy would have died during 2004, after becoming your seer. And *something* wanted that to happen to Cordelia; well, maybe not for her to die per se, but it wanted her twisted and suffering...
And now, Gwen's getting the visions as well, and she could very well be a target for that too. Both Gwen and Cordy will need watching. I know that you'll do everything in your power to protect them; just please, be careful."
At that point, the tears had started to fall down Miss Chase's cheeks. She hadn't told anyone just how badly the visions had been hurting her before Gwen had more or less taken over her role as the seer of Angel Investigations, and the headaches and vision hangovers had finally subsided. { Oh my God, if Xander hadn't sent her here...then the damned vision things would have eventually *killed* me? No way! I couldn't have been that stupid not to seek help in getting rid of them, could I? }
"As I said, I don't who or what it was, if I did - me and several close friends would be paying it a visit. So, you need to keep an eye out for *anything* which might fit the bill. If you come across it and need or want some help, just ring.
Heck, even if you don't need help, call me anyway. 'Cause I want a piece of its ass, to be honest. It's out to hurt one of my girls, and I'm not gonna just let that slide!"
{ One of 'his girls'? One of *his* girls?! } Cordelia's heart had almost exploded from happiness after reading that. It simply didn't occur to her that Xander might have been referring to Gwen Raiden with that remark; maybe it was wishful thinking but for the former Sunnydale High cheerleader, there was only one person Harris could have meant with that description.
Well, besides Buffy and Willow maybe. Seeing as Faith didn't count anymore, God rest her soul.
{ He still cares about me, } Cordelia thought to herself, as she put the second letter aside after reading it for the umpteenth time. Clad only in her nightgown within the Silverlake apartment's bedroom, she then cogitated, { Deep down, despite all the crap we went through back then and all the baggage he's obviously still carrying around, I'm sure that Xander still cares about me. I *know* he does! So the situation isn't hopeless, at least not yet. All I have to do is find him.}
Then Miss Chase recalled all the warnings Angel had told her, that people who went looking for Xander Harris had a nasty habit of ending up dead. Both thanks to Xander's keepers and the other players out there. The vampire's remark that he knew of least nine people who had been killed that way was also a bit of a downer, but it wasn't enough to quench the desire Xander's ex-girlfriend had to find him ASAP.
{ There's got to be a way to track him down safely. And I won't rest till I find it! }
At that moment, somewhere up above in a higher dimension, Jasmine finally made a momentous decision about who would have the 'honor' of being her mother in about a year's time.
The Magic Box, Sunnydale, California. The same time
"Andrew, you are sadness personified. Because first of all, Lex Luthor and Superman are just fictional characters, and secondly, everyone knows that the Treasury edition of 'Superman Versus the Amazing Spider-Man' sucked beyond belief!" Jonathan shouted.
Andrew looked upset, and started to yell back at the diminutive Mr. Levinson. Willow and Tara looked embarrassed, and decided to stay well out of it. Buffy just shook her head and headed down to the basement, preferring to check inventory rather than listen to this. And Anya...wasn't there, luckily, for her to start yelling at both of them.
"That's enough!" Giles finally roared, at the end of his tether. "Both of you great ruddy pillocks! Either take it outside my store, or knock it off right now!"
"He started it!" both Jonathan and Andrew whined at the same time.
Giles refused to dignify that with an answer, preferring instead to polish his glasses in order to avoid looking at the two young men in question. { Xander, when you warned me in that letter not to leave Sunnydale like I apparently did in the original history, I'd wager you never suspected that I'd have to deal with *this*... }
The ex-Watcher was not in the best of moods, to be sure. The search for Xander had gotten precisely nowhere so far. No one could figure out a way to approach Josef Lemke safely. Plus, Dawn wanted a raise for working at the Magic Box, arguing that she was long past due for one and she had finished paying off the property damage at his condo from back in May, when she'd found out she was the Key.
"Um, Giles?" Willow asked, as Jonathan and Andrew went outside to continue their argument. "You got a special delivery here. It's post-marked Egypt?"
Rupert quickly came over and took the package from the redhead's hands. Slowly, carefully, Giles unpacked it to find a small urn inside. His breath caught at the sight of it, as the urn was quite beautiful in own way. { Good Lord, Anya finally tracked it down! }
"What is that?" Willow asked, able to feel the magical power coming from the urn in waves.
"Is, is it...? Giles, is this an Urn of Osiris?" Tara asked, shocked. She had heard of them during her research into the Egyptian and Roman pantheon of gods last year, as part of an essay for her ancient mythology class.
"What's an urn of Osiris?" Willow asked in confusion, staring between Giles and Tara.
"They're, um, th-they were said to be used to resurrect the dead in ancient Egypt," Miss Maclay stammered. "I don't know how, though, exactly."
"So what's one of them doing here? Giles, I don't get it," Willow still looked confused, and then felt a chill as Rupert stared at her.
"According to Xander, this is the last known Urn in existence. And the final thing the boy warned me about in his letters was how this needs to be destroyed," the middle-aged man said with a remote, detached air. He decided to leave forever unmentioned the part where Willow should *never* be allowed to get her hands on it.
Before either witch could react, Rupert threw the delicate urn hard down onto the floor, where it smashed apart into several pieces.
"NO!" both Willow and Tara cried, albeit for different reasons.
Unbeknownst to them and Giles, though, the British man's actions had luckily just put a serious crimp in Doc's insane plan to resurrect Glory; and so, just as luckily, the world would still be there tomorrow.
Somewhere on the streets of Boston. September 21, 2001
The Bhanrglish demon, the very same demon who had been the one to bring the Siberians' rock candy out of the storage room, walked out of the bar and wiped the blood from his lips as he did so. He seemed to be irritable all the time today, and he had gotten into a few fights because of it. He'd had to get out of the room they were using for research, before he started doing some real damage.
He looked around for a few seconds. Maybe going down to the store and getting some smokes would help. So he turned and started walking down the street towards his destination.
About two blocks down, the demon slowed down his pace and looked into a nearby alley. He could see some movement there. He looked closer, and to his concern it was one of the Luminaje demons. He moved so as to avoid detection.
The Luminaje was talking to someone, someone deeper in the alley within the shadows. He could make out the shape, it looked like a human. The conversation seemed to be wrapping up. The Luminaje took something from the other figure and then handed a sack over. He stuck whatever it was in his pocket and then the two of them turned away from each other, the Luminaje walking up the street and whoever or whatever he was talking to disappearing back further into the alley.
The Bhanrglish almost growled. "I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm going to find out!"
In the alley, Red kept walking away. The man cocked his head to the right, "Did he see all that?"
"Yeah, betcha he thought he was being all secret agent man or whatever, hiding in the shadows. He got a good look," Cleburne's voice said through the earpiece in Red's right ear, as he was the one who was playing the part of the disguised Luminaje demon. "I'd say he's good and wired by now, seeing things everywhere he looks."
Red half-smiled at that. "You're enjoying this a bit too much, Colonel. 'Course, I do have one question."
"What's that?"
Red looked into the sack. "What are we going to do with all these kittens?"
Demon HQ, Boston. Not long afterwards
The Bhanrglish demon shoved open the door. The doctored rock candy had permeated his entire system now, and the smokes hadn't helped at all. "What the hell are you up to with the humans?" the evil thing shouted at the Luminaje demon, who was sitting at the table with the other demons.
Under normal circumstances, an explanation would have been given and the situation would not escalate beyond raised voices. However, what with the altered rock candy in both their bodies, this was not normal circumstances.
"None of your damn business!" was the reply as the Luminaje demon stood up, books scattering on the table in front of him.
"Like hell it is, you filthy Lumie! You're selling us out, I know you are!" He took a swing at the Luminaje. A punch was returned, and the two were instantly tussling. A vampire pulled them apart though, before blood could be spilled.
"What the hell is your problem? We have to find that burial site, not beat the snot out of each other!" The vampire present as Bathory's liaison and representative had had his fill of all the demon feuding, so he shoved the Bhanrglish towards the door. "Go on, get out of here until you cool off!"
The Bhanrglish thought about arguing with him for a second, then thought better of it. Even in his agitated state, he knew better than to argue with someone with the backing of the Bloody Countess of Hungary.
In the room where the Siberians were watching the show, Xander spoke into a cell phone. "The pigeon is airborne."
In an alley near the demons' stronghold, Cleburne was sitting in the front of the van being used by the Siberians. "Understood, we'll net him when he comes out."
Abandoned warehouse, Boston. Not long afterwards
The Bhanrglish demon scowled as he looked around the small room. He yanked on the chain that kept him linked to the steel table, but to no avail. He was angry, and for good reason; he had been exiting the headquarters fuming when he had been shocked with a taser by someone in the alley. Next thing he knew, he was here in this room.
That had been over an hour ago. But suddenly the door leading into the room opened up and two men walked in. The demon snarled, "Damn humans, let me go!"
"No," the older of the two men said simply.
The demon rattled the chain. "When I get loose, I'll wrap this around your neck until your eyes bug out!"
"I like him. He thinks like you do, Mother Hen," Xander said. { And hopefully, we can use that to get the 411 outta him. }
Harris leaned back against the wall as Cleburne sat down in the chair opposite the demon. "Marvin mentioned that you get angry a lot."
"Marvin?" the demon demanded in confusion.
"Your Luminaje demon friend," Xander shrugged slightly. "No way we can pronounce his real name, y'know."
The demon frowned, falling victim to the Siberians' ploy. "Damn Lumie, he was the one who sold me out?!"
"No, you got pulled in because of what you were doing," Cleburne said truthfully, but in such a way that the Bhanrglish was sure that he was lying. "It was your own actions that put you in here, pal."
The Bhanrglish said with some more confusion, "Who are you?"
"Well, you could say that when the things in the night go bump, we're the ones who go bump right back," Xander said cheerfully, ignoring the glare Cleburne sent his way.
The Bhanrglish demon scowled at once, full of contemptuous disbelief after hearing that. "So what did the Lumie get? What did you pay him?"
Cleburne side-stepped the question. "We'll get to that. But first there are some other things we need to discuss. I mean, we can't have you running around Boston doing Lord knows what, scaring the civilians."
"What do I care about them?" the Bhanrglish snorted in contempt.
Xander just sighed, still leaning against the wall as the demon began ranting about many diverse topics, his freedom foremost amongst them. This was obviously going to be a *long* interrogation session.
Abandoned church, Sunnydale, California. The same time
Brother Feodor silently crossed himself, as he continued restoring and reconsecrating the same church Spike had almost killed Angel within in order to cure Drusilla...almost four years ago now. Not that any holy ground truly existed within the vicinity of the Hellmouth, but this was supposed to be a house of God and, too, the Abbot preferred to stay under the radar for the moment.
It had been nearly two weeks since the events of 9/11, and even though things had hardly gone back to normal in the U.S. its borders had been opened once more and the monk had finally managed to make it to Sunnydale. It wasn't until he'd arrived though that Brother Feodor, despite everything Xander had told him about the old home town, had realized just what kind of place it was.
The all-pervasive evil here was thick enough you could almost cut it with a knife. Even though Sunnydale had changed from the demon and vampire Shangri-La it had been just a few short years ago, that hadn't stopped the California Hellmouth from spewing out its evil supernatural energy all over the place; and so, this town would never be free of the malignant types who naturally gravitated to the place like moths to a flame.
Brother Feodor wiped his brow for a moment, looking at his surroundings. After the fire which had nearly destroyed the place back in 1997, Mayor Wilkins and City Hall had put some effort into restoring the church. This was thanks to the Hellmouth vibe which had made people pray hard enough to warrant more churches than were already present. But the project had been shelved before it was even halfway complete, supposedly because of budget cuts but actually because Richard Wilkins had suddenly developed other priorities.
The monk quickly got back to work, sending his thanks to the Lord up above for this lesson in humility. It felt good to work with his own two hands again for a while, too, rebuilding one of his Maker's residences this way.
Almost as good as finally catching a glimpse of Dawn Summers at the local Sunnydale Mall, and marvelling at his own handiwork from over a year ago.
Abandoned warehouse, Boston. An hour later
"DAMN YOU, HUMAN!" the Bhanrglish demon raged at one of his captors. He had grown livid and furious with being treated like a slave this way, unaware of the cosmic irony as Xander Harris just stared calmly at him. "RELEASE ME!"
The evil thing was subsequently even more infuriated when Xander just grinned and told him, "You forgot to say 'pretty please with sugar on top'. I mean, I heard on the grapevine that you guys like rock candy, right?"
The demon glared at Xander. "I can snap you in half like a toothpick. Want to see me do it?"
Xander laughed out loud. "So, no rock candy for you?"
Cleburne sat at the table, out of arm's reach of the demon, just to be safe. "Maybe if he behaves himself and tells us about the scheme."
"Ask your Lumie lackey!"
Cleburne sighed at the snarled reply. He looked up at Xander. "Kid, I'm getting too old for this. I don't have as much time as I used to."
"I can cure of the pain of aging."
Xander rolled his eyes at the demon's taunt. "Yeah, we get it, you're a big bad. I mean we know about your plan to attack that nursing home and elementary school. Nothing says being bad like the bodies of defenceless victims."
"What?" The demon straightened up in confusion. "I don't know what you're smoking, but I'm not that kind of demon-"
"Yeah, you're the cute and cuddly kind, love to play with kittens and all that," Cleburne replied.
"Well, you know what they do with kittens."
Cleburne grimaced at Xander's remark. "Yeah, what is it about kittens? That's just wrong."
"They're just cats. Food," the Bhanrglish snorted.
"Yeah, and those kids and old folks are just people you're going to kill," Xander shot back.
"I don't know what you're talking about! I wasn't planning to kill anyone at a-"
"Don't bother trying to deny it. We've got all the details. We know the plan. We know the places, times, the strength of your little bands and all the other little details," Cleburne tapped his fingers on a folder in front of him.
The Bhanrglish was annoyed enough to have lost all sense of judgement and discretion by this point. "Lies. Lies! You idiots, the Lumie lied to you-"
"What else would you be doing with the Lumie?" Cleburne asked.
"Looking for-" the demon caught himself just in time before blurting out the truth.
"Victims," Cleburne offered, after a few moments' silence. "You were looking for victims. You were gonna go out and scout your targets when we caught up with you."
The annoyance factor was steadily rising. "I already told you I wasn't planning to kill any old people or children! What are you, deaf?"
"Why should we believe you?" The demon glared at him, but Xander continued talking, "All we have to go on is your saying it's not so. You can deny it all you want, but until you give us a real explanation? We'll have to believe your friend Marvin."
"I'm no friend to a filthy Lumie!"
"And yet, he's here and you're the one going to Cuba."
"What?" The demon redirected his glare to Cleburne.
"Well, we can't let you go to run loose on the streets. We'll just have to ship you down to Guantanamo Bay."
"But you can't send me there! Your human courts won't allow it," the Bhanrglish couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Haven't you been following the news? Last week changed a lot of things," Cleburne snorted.
"What do I care?"
"The Patriot Act."
The Bhanrglish demon turned back to Xander who added, "In high school, you get taught about how Congress passes a law. Lots of times when a bill gets passed, though, a whole bunch of things gets added into the small print."
Cleburne took up the conversation. "Even if people find it, most of the time it's written in such a way that they can't tell what it means."
"Yeah, it's amazing how lawyers can twist words around to mean things that no one would even suspect. Of course, a judge can figure it out, once the lawyers point it out to them. I'd imagine you know about that, though, what with so many lawyers being demons," Harris snorted, recalling old adventures with Wolfram & Hart.
The Bhanrglish frowned and looked at Xander, as he and Cleburne bounced their comments back and forth between each other. { What are these two up to? }
"You see, the lawyers were planning that act for a long time. We planned ahead, knowing that there were things that we could do while everyone else was distracted. Now the terrorists are clearly what everyone was expecting us to imprison with the Patriot Act, but hey, some of the language applies to HSTs."
"HSTs?" Harris asked.
"Hostile sub-terrestrials," Joshua replied.
Xander made a face. "You know, I never liked that phrase, it somehow seems...demeaning."
Cleburne sighed. "Wasn't my choice of words, kid."
"Well, whose was it?"
"You met her once."
"Who-?" Xander paused for a second when he realized he was talking about Dr. Maggie Walsh, "Oh. HER."
"Well, anyway," Cleburne turned back to the Bhanrglish demon, who yet again had been swinging his head back and forth to try to follow the conversation. "The law now applies to you, whatever you may happen to think to the contrary. So, your little plan is something which will get you a life sentence in a small prison cell in the Caribbean."
"I'm told that there's gonna be a trial and everything."
"Military tribunals, actually," Cleburne corrected Xander's interjection.
"Okay, military tribunals, the point is just because you're demon doesn't mean you'll escape justice from your little mass murder scheme. And you know what? You need a name like your good buddy Marvin, I'm getting tired of saying 'hey you'. I think I'll call you...Herman," Xander nodded to himself. "Bottom line, Herman, I hope for your sake you know a good lawyer if you don't want to spend the rest of your life in an eight by ten foot cage!"
'Herman' looked around in growing confusion and panic, this was not going the way he'd expected at all. "Look, I already told you! I wasn't going to kill anyone-"
"So what were you doing? Convince us not to lock you up and throw away the key," Xander said, this was what he and Cleburne had been playing a bad cop-worse cop game on the demon for. He suddenly glared and growled, "Last chance, Herman, and I *sincerely* advise you to stop dicking around with us!"
'Herman' paused for a second, figuring there wouldn't be any harm in telling the truth selectively. "We, uh, I've just been looking for a body."
"Making your own, don't you mean?" Cleburne wisecracked.
"No, a body that you humans caused, one of ours."
Xander nodded. "Go on." He noticed the demon's hesitation and added wrathfully, "I'll see to it your cellmate in Gitmo will love playing mommy and daddy with you after the lights go out, I swear!"
"And you'll end up hanging yourself within six months, if you don't get shot trying to escape first," Cleburne promised him. "Talk!"
'Herman' finally cracked. The paranoia from the lack of rock candy, the stress and threat potential finally loosened his lips despite what he knew the Ahluc demon would do to him if it ever learned the truth. "It was a true demon warrior, back when this country was still a colony of the British. Some preacher and the Slayer killed him."
"We know about that, so, what - you wanted to find the body so you can learn how he died?" Cleburne asked.
'Herman' shook his head. "No, we want to find the body so that we can revive him."
The next day
Xander was sitting in the warehouse where the Siberians had set up their headquarters. He was watching the monitors showing the interior of the demons' headquarters, in their search for the true demon warrior's body. Next to him sat Cleburne, Smithers and Fletcher, all of whom were wearing headsets.
Since 'Herman' had told them what the demons were actually looking for, it had been decided that the organization had enough information that they could pull the plug on the whole operation. So they had been busy ever since last night, preparing to wrap things up. Now it was just down to watching the show.
Cleburne looked down at his watch. "Red, you and your team in place?"
"Roger that," came the answer over the headphone.
Cleburne nodded. "Go."
After a few seconds, the demons on the screen started looking and scurrying around. Several tried to flee the room, but they couldn't escape the armed soldiers who came rushing into the demon HQ. After a few seconds, the image showed some of the demons being rounded up by the soldiers, and others being shot and killed as they tried to fight back.
"Well, I'd say the floor show is concluded for the evening. The reviews will no doubt be published after a short period of time," Smithers commented.
Xander just frowned. Something about this whole thing just seemed to bug him a lot...
Abandoned warehouse, Boston. September 23, 2001
The Ahluc demon sat in the same room that the Bhanrglish demon had been interrogated within the day before. As matter of fact, he was handcuffed to the very same table, having been abducted from his lair after a rather nasty blitzkrieg attack by the forces of STW.
He didn't say anything as the door opened, and Cleburne, Xander and Smithers walked in. The three of them stood on the other side of the table. The silence lasted for a couple of minutes.
"You do know that I don't have to blink more than one or twice an hour, I take it?" the Ahluc demon asked in smug superiority.
"Well, we can leave this room, can you do that?" Xander asked.
The demon grunted in amusement. "A temporary situation, you're humans and can't hold one of us for long."
"Oh, you'd be surprised just how long we can hold you for these days," Cleburne commented. "Of course, you can determine just how long you're surprised for." That was answered by a snort. Cleburne continued, "Let's not play games. We know you were looking for that demon warrior's corpse. We know you were planning on trying to resurrect him. I suspect it was because you were tired of us kicking your tails."
The demon suddenly shifted his focus and stared at Xander. "I know you!"
Xander smiled back at him. "Well, I do get around, but hafta admit - I've never seen your ugly face before."
The Ahluc demon smiled. "Regardless, I know who and what you are, human. You've been busy, I see. My employer will no doubt be interested."
"So, you're telling us you're not the brains of this operation?" Cleburne did not like where this was going, and wanted to steer the conversation back to ground he was comfortable on.
"Indeed. And kindly spare us all the theatrics, because you will learn nothing else from me. Wait, let me guess - it was one of my research teams, wasn't it? You managed to turn one of the demon fools who I assigned to look for the burial site. I suppose it serves me right, relying on scum like that," the Ahluc nodded to himself.
"You need a name," Xander said reflectively. "How about 'Todd'? 'Cause you don't look like a 'Herman' or a 'Marvin' to me," the former demon slave briefly smirked.
"You're the cause of all this, everything that's happened here is because of you. So how does it feel?" 'Todd' fired back, ignoring everyone except Xander now.
Xander crossed his arms. "Well, stopping the bad guy makes me feel all tingly, so I guess I feel pretty good. What's it to you, Todd?"
'Todd' just continued to smile as he also crossed his arms. "She's coming, and she knows all about you - Timetripper."
Elsewhere in the warehouse. A while later
The Siberians hurried around, as preparations were made to leave the location they had used as a headquarters over the last few days. Xander and Oz were mostly just trying to stay out the way as the grunts packed up the machinery of the operation.
"He still won't talk?"
Cleburne had just walked in from the room where the Ahluc demon was being held, and looked up at Xander's question before he shook his head. "No, he's not said anything else ever since he started talking about 'her' and that she knew about you."
"Unnerving."
Cleburne and Harris both looked at Oz after his comment, and after a second Xander spoke up, "Yeah, that and it's also kinda scary. I don't like it that someone out there is a big fan, and she's turned out to be a stalker."
"The pitfalls of fame," groused Cleburne. "You may need to keep a lower profile for a little bit."
"I'm officially dead, Cleburne. How much lower profile can I get?" Xander demanded.
"Well, you have been seen on national TV lately," Oz answered.
"Okay, point. After we find the body, I'll avoid the cameras," Xander responded.
"We already have the body, actually."
"What?" Xander asked in response to Cleburne's comment.
"Remember when we had Gwen Raiden acquire certain papers from certain demon hunters from the 1930s?"
Xander thought for a second, that had been quite a few months ago after all. "Thunstone or something like that, right?"
Cleburne nodded. "Yeah, he went looking for the body. What's more, he found the location. The man didn't move it, but he put in place some wards so that it couldn't be disturbed; so, basically, all the bad guys' efforts were for nothing, right from the start." The Marine grinned, "Maybe we should tell our friends 'Herman' and 'Todd' that, I'd probably get a kick out of seeing the expressions on their faces."
"So now what?" Oz asked as Xander simply shook his head.
"Well, with the kid's stalker looking for the body, I don't want to risk the wards being the only thing preventing some kind of super-demon running around. Last time, it took the deaths of a Slayer and Lord knows how many good men to prevent it."
"We're gonna go get the body, then?"
Cleburne shook his head at Xander's question. "Already taken care of. Red took a team and recovered the merchandise a couple of hours ago, as soon as the mystics did their mojo to dissolve the wards. Right now, that dead demon is on a military transport headed straight to Warehouse 23."
"And him?" Xander nodded towards the interrogation room.
"Gitmo, at least for now. And depending on how stubborn he is, he may have to be moved elsewhere for us to get all those secrets out of his head."
The Summers gallery, Sunnydale, California. September 25, 2001
Joyce Summers clicked on the icon on the computer screen as she updated the inventory records for the gallery. Shipping was getting back to normal after the disruptions surrounding 9/11, which was of course good for the gallery's bottom line.
She glanced at the clock on her desk. She did some quick calculations in her head. Satisfied with her estimates, the middle-aged mom picked up the phone and dialled a number. Joyce wanted to make this phone call at the office and not the house, where she might be overheard.
"Hello, I'd like to book a plane ticket to Philadelphia."
Somewhere in southern Mexico. The same time
Baron Ivan Roja was not a happy vampire.
For the last two weeks, ever since leaving New York, it had just been one thing after another for him. His quest to learn everything there was to know about Alexander Harris and his friends had hit a few snags, especially in the face of Wolfram & Hart's plausibly deniable and carefully engineered obstruction. He supposed that it was understandable, given how they considered the miracle prophet to be their own private project, but it was also annoying.
Hopefully, they had learned their lesson after he'd feasted on a few of their bean counters in the City of Angels. But Baron Roja had eventually moved on after his sources had betrayed him to Angelus, or Angel as he preferred to go by nowadays.
The aristocratic European vampire had been sickened by the sight of the former legend, though. He could smell the soul within the Scourge of Europe, and witnessing him kill his own kind - for money, no less! - had made Ivan decide he'd not get anywhere in Los Angeles, especially after he'd also learned that Darla was likewise ensouled.
That was why he was now here, south of the border. Baron Roja had an appointment with the other half of the Gruesome Foursome, namely Spike and Drusilla.
"Oh look, 'tis the Red Baron," Dru's sing-song voice attracted Ivan's attention as she and her childe entered the room. "Whatever can he be here for?"
"Mistress Drusilla, you still look just as beautiful as you did when we last met," the older vampire took her hand and kissed it like an old-fashioned gentleman.
"Oy, that's enough o' that!" Spike cut in jealously, easily able to see how Drusilla was enjoying this demonstration of good manners. "Now what do you want? 'Cause last time we ran into you, mate, it was...what? 1894? '95? So why come looking for us now?"
"William. Still as...direct as ever, I see," the Hungarian vampire said with distaste. "Very well. I come seeking knowledge on behalf of the true Queen of the empire-"
"Oh, Satan's balls, not that bloody bitch Bathory!" Spike exploded in a sudden fury. He was in a bad mood thanks to this little blast from the past, and the fact that he and his girlfriend had been stuck in Mexico ever since September 11; it was too risky trying to enter the U.S. at the moment the usual vampire way. "Are you still following her around? Cut the bloody apron strings, mate, and stop acting as her effing puppet! Don't you have *any* self-respect anymore?"
"I come seeking knowledge of the human known as Alexander Harris, Mistress Drusilla," Baron Roja ignored the contemptuous look Spike was sending him, which only infuriated William the Bloody further. "I'm told you would have the information I seek."
"The wildcat?" Drusilla's expression instantly grew darker. "He's dangerous, he is, 'im and his pack. Be careful o' him, pet, 'cause he's the one who sees everything." She started swaying side to side, "He'll sprinkle your ashes to the four winds once he gets you in his sights, he will...just like what 'appened to your friends in Munich. The Bloody Countess will be so upset, poor thing..."
"Indeed? Then I will have to be most careful," Roja replied, slightly unnerved by this demonstration of Drusilla's otherworldly powers. "Do you happen to know where this so-called Timetripper is currently located, by any chance?"
"If she did, d'you think we'd sitting here right now instead of feasting on Droopy Boy's carcass?" Spike snarled. "Now push off, you damn git. We got things to do, besides answer your stupid bleeding questions!"
Baron Roja simply watched in silence as Spike stormed out of the room, dragging Drusilla along with him. { Hmm, yes. I suspect my queen will find all this rather...interesting. }
TBC...