Chapter 13: "The Power's Psychotic Pokemon"
Night passed, and then a day. No new dream, just a repeat of the last one. Faith went slowly buggy, doing her best to do it quietly so she didn't drag anyone else buggy with her. She worked out with Blade and Abby, learned and practiced shooting and gun handling with King, and went over all the information and bits and pieces until they blurred together in her mind's eye. Said 'augghhh!' a lot in her head, and decided it really should be an actual word in the dictionary.
Time crawled for her, but things happened anyway. Wes dug up several possible locations both weak enough and old-powerful enough to be a potential locus point. She rode out in the day and examined them minutely, memorizing them so she'd know the terrain if needed. Possible times, based on potential relevance to conditions for something they were only guessing at, really. Wolfram & Hart's contacts managed to get hold of files on Doren's effects, and discovered evidence of enough notes and scrawled diagrams to suggest she'd "clicked" it correctly. Also enough evidence to suggest he'd undergone a major personality and habit change some time before reappearing as Arlen. IWC people, after a more exhaustive search of the vicinities around the areas, confirmed evidence of similar designs not at, but reasonably near the two Hellmouths No other ones spiked and ebbed.
The occasional call to or from Dawn kept her sane. She hoped that they weren't destroying Dawn's sanity.
Spent time talking with Abby, Blade, and Hannibal. Or rather... Faith, Abby and King talked, Blade mostly watched and listened, and occasionally tossed in an observation or brief comment.
Wesley finished enough of his prep work and research to leave the majority of his library and resources and schedule a flight from LA. Faith jotted down the times and details and thrust them absently at King as she wandered past.
She destroyed yet another punching bag, and threw her hands up in disgust and went vampire bar patrolling with Blade, Abby and King. She moved with frustrated, concentrated savagery in every line, and death walked beside her. After the first couple of haunts, a generalized sentiment of "Holy fuck!" went out, and licks and familiars became quiet and scarce afterwards.
Hunting with Blade, watching him work, was... educational. In more ways than one. As she'd expected, the big man was concentrated dangerous in action: Big Bad on the half shell, and made Angelus look like an amateur. As she'd expected as well, it was obvious he lived for the hunt, as she did. What she hadn't expected was that he was... fun. Evidently the normal taciturnity was his way of conserving: all of his expressiveness came out in battle. She hid a laugh at the sight of him firing off a lip-curled half-smile and a gallows humour quip at a thoroughly nonplussed vampire just before ashing him...
She broke from Blade's crew once it got quiet, hit a few scattered demon lairs on her own in a brief thunderclap of mayhem, and finally wound down a bit. She ended up at Perditions drinking beer and trading 'So a slayer, a vampire and a priest wander into this bar... ' jokes with Vince and the massive bartender until far past the wolf hours, then made her way back.
More than a few things that go bump in the alleys decided somewhere along that line that if this continued, she was going to have to either be assassinated or placated, and it was noted that assassins hadn't had much luck with her in the past. And, as it was considered to be just a bit unhealthy to upset Wolfram & Hart's new Los Angeles CEO, overt noises along those lines found themselves quashed quietly by various of the real movers. Some feelers were put out in that direction just for forms sake, but otherwise the supernatural underground began quietly shaking itself out looking for information.
...
Morning brought another rerun. Nothing new though, just variants on the same, and Faith decided that meant she either had the right track, or else was so hopelessly off that the dream faeries had given up and were bludgeoning her with repetition in a futile hope of sparking a neuron.
She growled and made vows if that proved the case to return the favor. Large bludgeon. With spikes.
Running the dream through her mind's eye, she reflected over coffee and a box of danishes that her best - only - friends were vampires both actual and ex, dhampir, comatose ex-cheerleader, a sarcastic Brit, assorted demons, the odd slayer, a blonde echo, and something that had once been an ancient green ball of energy. And books. She decided she hoped at least the gods had a sense of humour, because she wasn't finding it amusing.
Text message from someone she didn't recognize, but vaguely recalled as possibly being one of the demon lords she'd terrorized with Abby gave her some reassurance. evidently, an artist living in Boulder had been killed last night with unreleased police info indicating similarities to the other murders. She checked the name and ran it through Google, and when she saw the gallery, she made a mental note to have Wes cross reference it with the publisher's client list he'd hopefully obtained.
She didn't really need the confirmation by that point, but it'd be nice.
Clock was definitely ticking now. Just depending on how long it took for the power moving through what had once been Doren to perform whatever rituals he needed to draw his final piece through, and then make it here. She chewed a fingernail down and then went to beat on something in the gym. Hannibal begged off on an offer to spar with her with his hands palm out and edged carefully around her until he could escape safely out of sight. She growled and maxed out the weight machines.
Wesley's flight came in and Hannibal ventured off to retrieve him, sarcasm banks set at max. They returned joking comfortably with each other, amazingly. She made introductions to the others, noting they seemed to click reasonably well. Well... at least Wes, Abby, and King clicked ok. Blade's sum total of reaction was "Faith's friend, right?" with a microscopically raised eyebrow; a nod was returned, and he went completely unreadable.
Wes scrutinized him carefully for a moment, said "Blade? The Daywalker?" pause, blink "I always thought you were a myth."
Snort, "Not hardly."
"Quite." Nod. "Right, then."
No one died from it, so she counted it as a victory of sorts for the Good.
They went to work, cross referencing everything, and making sure all of the parts fit. She looked over Wes' shoulder at the notes and designs he and Fred had tentatively worked up, and the potential times. Narrowed down their map and calculated probabilities of how long it'd take to make it from Boulder to here, and cross referenced it with times and dates. She managed to lose herself in the details, discussion, and arguments, and finally relaxed a bit.
"Let's see... " Open books stacked around him, Wes glared at the computer screen like it was being purposely malevolent. "What you're looking for is a sending, basically, I gather."
"Yeah. Only for mind/self, not body." She frowned. "Combined with a linking to draw everything together."
"Quite." He frowned. "Hrmmm."
"Hrmmm?"
"Do the others involved need to have similar circles at their end?"
"Arrgh! You're asking me?!" She leaned back, arms crossed and glared at the layout while she considered. Closed her eyes and looked it it from the inner senses, finally. "Hrrmm."
"No," she said, finally. "Would help, but it's not necessary As I'm the focal... focii? as long as they're receptive, when I go, it'll draw everyone to me." She sighed. "Where ever that happens to be. Going to be seriously annoyed if I take a wrong turn into Narnia or somewhere."
"Ha. Quite."
She extended a finger to the screen. "Need smaller circles contained within, arrayed around the central one I'll be lying in. Linking all. For the cards. I think... " She raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.
"Ah. Yes." He studied the layout for a bit. "That would make sense... as much as any of this procedure does."
He started to open his mouth and she held up a finger, "Yes. I know you're not a wizard and spell creation isn't your gig. We've had this discussion already." She laughed.
"Ha. Multiple times, I believe," He looked rueful and rubbed his eyes. "I'll redesign it to fit."
"Cool." Faith cocked her head looking at the list of times, dates, and various hypothetical conjunctions on the other monitor. "Hrrm."
"Hrmmm?" in unison, yet, from Wes, Abby and King.
"Smart asses," she snorted. "You idiots practiced that, right?"
"Why yes."
"I have a host of friends. A veritable host of friends." She grinned.
"And you'd trade them in on a dog and shoot the dog," King supplied.
"Ha! Not quite, but tempting." She cocked an eyebrow. Studied the problem and ran it through her mind again. Watched Blade watching them as he quietly studied relations between Wes and her, the interplay between them and his 'kids' as she still thought of them. He met her eyes and gave her one of those ghostly half smiles and a slight movement that might be a nod.
After a time, she shrugged almost to herself and asked, "Ok... what's the closest of these to 1am within the time frame it'd take him/it to get here from Boulder and set up? We'll do it that way."
"1am?" Wes looked as if the sudden curve tossed him off the tracks.
"Start of the Wolf Hours." At his inquiring look, she supplied: "Midnight's 'the Witching Hour', right?" He nodded. "Wolf Hours are that time of the wee hours of the night between 1am and dawn where you lay awake staring at the ceiling, unable to get to sleep, while your inner demons eat at you?" He nodded. "Also usually when dreaming cycles tend to run for those of you who can actually sleep."
Blank looks and she shrugged. "Hey - it seems to resonate, and since we're dealing with something that doesn't fit normal magic, we may as well run with the dreams angle, right?"
"Absence of hard clues, 'resonates' is as good as a signpost," Hannibal put in. Then smacked himself in the forehead. "Oi... I just made a suggestion involving 'magic'. I think my brain just melted. And it's all your fault," he glared at Faith and Wes, who looked sympathetic and completely un-contrite.
"There there. You'll never miss it," Faith supplied. "This gets much easier without one."
"Ha ha. I'm going to go shoot things."
"O.K." she stretched. "Closest match, allowing travel time."
Abby shrugged and highlighted the closest match. "There. Tomorrow night, 2:43am"
"Cool. We run with it. I'll fill in the troops."
"Aye aye, skipper." Abby quirked a smile at the jittery Faith. "We'll set up the rest."
...
Dawn was easiest, followed by Angel and crew. Dawn merely listened to part of the explanation and reasoning, then cut in with a "Hold. When, what time?" and said she'd be awake, and would pass it on to the other involved party. And then clicked off to start on that, in case it took awhile to catch Xan in a place with cell reception. Minor discussion with Angel and Gunn, but in the end it was pro forma: all of them agreed to be set and waiting.
She left coordinating time zones to them with a mere caution to do so... time/date lines had never made sense to her and she was afraid of screwing it up.
Vi and Giles, naturally were the hardest. G, anyway. After some tactical discussion, Vi finally agreed she'd be in place and ready, with slayer teams arrayed around the city on alert for just in case. Giles had more argument, ranging from timing to techniques, until Faith finally cut in, shaken and exasperated: "Giles."
"Ah... yes?"
"Trust or don't. That's what it comes down to. If you have a better plan, or a better interpretation of the dreams and data, shoot now. Otherwise... make a decision. In or out. This is the best I can do: it's either right or wrong. Rather have you with, but if not... " She paused, searching for words, "Then not. This arguing is killing me inside. I don't know for certain, because there is no 'certain', and doubting myself is bad enough. Hard enough."
She sighed heavily. "Giles... I'm about to drag everyone I know out on a limb for a dream, and I don't know if I'm about to saw it off behind us or not."
"... Ah, yes. Quite." He sighed, "Very well."
"Cool." She clicked off and went back to her cooling steak.
"Friends." She muttered under her breath. "Can't live with 'em, can't make jerky out of 'em without the cops getting bent. No wonder B was always a fruitcake."
She headed back to the compound after deactivating her council phone, and lost herself in shooting practice with King for the rest of the day while Wes and Abby worked. Waiting until well after dark to leave to attempt to set up the final bit of what she would be laughingly calling a 'plan'... if only the laughter didn't hurt.
'I have a Plan,' she thought. 'I just wish I had an escape route...'
...
Was well after one when she made it to Perditions, parking the bike a block away and walking up the rest of it. This was the part of things she really wasn't sure about, and it ate at what was left of her self-confidence after the argument with Giles.
Knew the minute she opened the door and slipped in that something was wrong, knew it by the relative emptiness of the place and the quiet. Knew it by the way the big bartender was carefully polishing the same spot on the bar top with both hands in sight.
Knew even before looking back towards Vince's usual table and seeing the four thug-things there arrayed to either side of another, and the flat, expressionless, demon look on the normally smiling mob demon's face.
She went slayer then, all vestiges of Faith submerging as she ghosted up behind the little gathering, careful to stay out from directly in front of Vince. One of the red bodyguards met her eyes glancingly and gave a barest nod as she came up.
"We're a bit concerned, Vince." That would be the center one of the visitors. Human looking, but about as human to her senses as Angelus on a bad day. "All this crap's bad for business. It's got some people disturbed."
One of his people noticed her then, and nudged the human-looking one. He turned to her a bit and his eyes widened slightly. Recovered fast and grinned, all oozing confidence again, and turned his head back slightly to Vince. "See? That's just what I'm talking about. Rumors that you're running with the Slayer and all friendly like."
He turned back to her and inclined his head slightly. "Slayer. No offense," he said, that last in a voice dripping sarcasm.
"Scum." She smiled back, and the bodyguards around him stiffened a bit more. "None taken."
"Slayer and demon boss, Vince. Isn't right." He snickered, "Has people wondering if you remember who your real friends are."
'Caught leaning' was the phrase from baseball, Faith vaguely remembered, and wasn't sure where she'd picked it up from. Too much of his awareness, and that of his guard thugs was on the slayer behind him and to one side, and not enough on business. The blast came up through the table top, splintering it and was followed by another, and he was falling back, staggered, and all hell broke loose.
She reached out and up to the suited bodyguard nearest her, grabbed a head and chin and twisted full strength and over the sickening wet crack saw the one next to him lurch as something impacted on him. Was vaguely aware that one of Vince's men had a pistol in hand and had caused the lurching, but she was moving by then.
Another one had turned back with a gun out and was shooting, but too late - one of Vince's people fired a shot that sent bits and pieces of head all over. There was another blast and the remaining one lurched and staggered just as Faith's sword edge caught him under the chin and his head rolled, and then they were all standing and there were bodies on the floor.
Kronenen raised up from his seat with the sawed off still in one hand and stood, looking down on the human looking one. Not so human looking anymore, and still twitching. Shotgun leveled and there was another blast and the twitching stopped.
"I know who my friends are," Vince said, quietly. "And you ain't one of them."
They looked around. "Shit." One of Vince's red demon guards was down, eyes open and glassy, and another was holding his arm while his side leaked ichor. Vince nodded to one of the unwounded ones who took him by the shoulder and started moving him to the back.
He looked around, "Crap. Anyone know if he has a woman, or any family?" When one of the others nodded, he said, "Make sure she doesn't have to worry about money or nuthin'." He spit. "And get this crap off of my floor. Dump it at its owner's place and make sure they know where it came from."
Vince turned back to Faith, saying, "Damn, Slayer."
"Sorry."
He snorted. "What for? For distracting them? Would have been a lot more of us dead, otherwise."
"No." She jerked her head at the dead red demon. "For causing that."
"Happens," he shrugged. "Not this, then the next time some idiot decided he needed more action and wanted mine. No sweat."
She shrugged and made an aimless gesture, still not satisfied. But dropping it. "I came here to ask you for something, but I changed my mind." She turned to the door.
"Hey. Slayer." She turned her head back, slightly. "Ask."
"You sure... ?" He just looked at her, until finally she nodded. "Let's not do it standing in gunk and bodies though."
He grinned and led the way to the bar. "I kind of wanted to do this in private," she said.
Vince looked around at the few people dragging bodies, and at the empty place - customers had split when the death broke out. "B'yarj. You weren't here and didn't see or hear nuthin'." He grinned, "Shoot."
She sighed and took the beer B'yarj handed her and laid out what she thought was going on. Finished up with a rough outline of what she had in mind.
"Hrmm. Weird He looked thoughtful, "So what do you need from me?"
"You said you weren't running, and that this was 'your town' too." She met his eyes. "You mean that?"
He nodded. "So. But what do you need, Slayer."
"This is the place, and the time I need you there. Can you be there with as many of your men that feel the same way, and that you'd trust at your back in the thick and the dark and the mean?"
"Heh. Just how thick, dark, and mean you expecting, Slayer?"
"End of the world as we know it, Vince."
"And I was feeling fine til now." He snickered. "We'll be there."
She nodded and looked around, and at the ichor-stains by his table. "Good. Don't die, Thug." And left.