I'm in the process of moving from Michigan to Chicago, so updates may be a bit fewer and farther between. Here's an extra-long chapter to tide you over. Lots of scene jumping, so watch the line breaks (:
As always, recognizable quotes, characters, and plotpoints are the property of Joss and Co. and are coming mostly from Season 2's Halloween. Let me know what you think!
Willow watched in confusion as a blonde and black blur blew past her, tearing up the street hell bent for leather. Had that been…? No. Couldn't be. It was Halloween, all the creepy crawlies were supposed to stay at home for the night. Not that it kept the creeps from coming out. She'd gotten more than a few wolf whistles as she trotted up the street for the Bronze, and although they did give her a bit of a confidence boost, it was still a little weird. Ok, a lot weird, especially for her.
Willow shook her head and quickened her steps. Not the time. No, she needed to find Xander and then they needed to find Buffy. And hopefully Giles was handling the rest. They could do this, they could get through this; it was only one night, and they'd faced down so much worse. It was just that… well, she felt terribly alone tonight. Without her best friends at her side, without a tactile connection to the world, she felt adrift. Searching the street, her eyes lit on the doorway of the club, and the one person in the world who could anchor her.
"Xander," she breathed. Breaking into a run, she was at his side in an instant, standing beneath the doorway of a shop across from the Bronze.
"The civilian has been delivered to the medic and is receiving care," he reported when she approached.
"Good," she sighed. She had been worried about the little girl, though more for Buffy's sake than her own. If the child had been badly hurt; maimed, scarred, or God forbid killed… well she didn't want to think what that would do to their friend. Buffy's entire being was keyed to protect people, to help them, and Willow just couldn't see how she would survive being the bad guy.
"We should keep moving," Xander said, looking around the deserted street as he gripped his rifle in his hands. "We're exposed here; we need to find a more defensible position, higher ground."
"Change of plans," Willow explained quickly. "Giles knows who's behind all this. He's on his way to take care of it right now."
"Is this… Giles capable of defusing such a widespread threat?"
"Giles is…" Willow frowned. How could she explain this in a way a soldier would understand? "Giles is like our commander. He knows everything there is to know, and if he doesn't know it, he knows how to figure it out so that he does… know it." Xander was looking at her like she was crazy again so she huffed and crossed her arms. "Look, Giles is our General and he's given us our orders. We're supposed to find Angel and make sure Buffy is safe, then wait until this spell is over."
"Then let's move out."
"Ok," Willow agreed. "Buffy said Angel's apartment is close to the Bronze. They can't be far away."
They were far closer than she thought.
Buffy came back to herself in a daze, her hands clawing at her chest, her lungs heaving. As the pain faded away so did her panic, replaced by a strange lightness almost like euphoria as she stilled and looked about her. Everything was different, but it was all still the same. The stars were glowing above her head with a brilliance she had never seen before, the sky a rich, deep blue studded with diamonds. Realizing that she had been holding her breath, she inhaled deeply, drawing in a dozen scents that looped and swirled in her head, none stronger than that of hot, sticky, salty blood.
Climbing to her feet, she looked down with a mild disinterest and disgust at the vampire curled up at her feet. His blood was already coagulating, thick and messy on the side of his neck. She recognized her bite mark there, the shape of her mouth, and it brought a strange mix of emotions up in her throat. Angelus groaned lightly, his eyes squeezed shut, his hands still between his thighs as he drew his knees up tight to his chest. Buffy cocked her head and contemplated killing him. He was weak, lying there, allowing himself to be vulnerable before…
Suddenly Buffy whipped around, listening intently to the sounds emanating from the club. The dark presence that had once been just a shadow in the back of her mind was fully in the driver's seat, filling up her head with sinister whispers and delightfully vicious musings. Her attention turned like switch, her interest in Angelus gone like it had never existed, everything in her tuned to the dozens of beating hearts and sweating bodies inside the building behind her. Everything that she was leapt forward, pulling her up the alleyway towards the back door, towards the life that pounded away to the beat of the music just beyond the wall.
Without a backwards glance, Buffy disappeared inside the Bronze, daintily licking blood from her fingertips. In her demon guise, her senses screamed; her ears ringing with the music, dozens of beating hearts, her nose flooded with the tang of sweat and lust, her eyes seeking even in the dim light. She felt scattered, like a child in a candy store, wanting to dart madly back and forth between flavors, surrounded by a carnival ride of sweet treats. Bearing her fangs in wickedly sinful smile, she slunk to the very center of the dance floor where she stood with her head tipped back, eyes closed and arms out. Alone in a sea of bodies, she let herself be buffeted from every side by crowd, the movement of the dancers, the sweet, primal pounding of their blood.
Buffy swayed with the rhythm, her entire body thrumming with the life around her. She felt odd, separated from it like she was no longer a part of the world she stood in, but she was enjoying being surrounded by it. Immensely so. A small smile flickered over her lips. She felt like she was drowning, beautifully drowning, and it...
Buffy was jarred from her reveling when a pair of saline-enhanced double D's bounced into her, knocking her off her balance and bringing a snarl bubbling up out of her throat. Spinning on her heel, she bared her fangs as she growled nastily, the girl who'd invaded her space taking a step back and raising an eyebrow in her direction.
"Um, excuse you?" Harmony sniped, putting her hands on her hips. "And like, ew? What are you supposed to be?"
Suddenly Cordelia appeared at Harmony's side, her eyes wide as she took in the angry, golden-eyed Slayer in front of her. Grabbing Harmony's arm, she tugged hard, trying to pull her back. "Uh, Harmony, let's not be mean to the angry vampire girl!" she stammered, smiling brightly at Buffy as if to placate her. "Let's uh, let's just go."
"Why?" Harmony demanded, resisting Cordelia's efforts to pull her by taking another step towards Buffy. "It's not my fault! She bumped into me! And really?" she asked, turning to Buffy with a raised eyebrow. "A vampire? Aren't you supposed to like, kill them? And people are saying my costume is tasteless." Buffy's eyes didn't waver for a moment to take in Harmony's shiny, fake-leather cat suit. They stayed locked firmly on her neck. "Pretty cheap if you ask me. I mean, pleather pants? And could those teeth be any more…"
Harmony never had the chance to finish her thought. Something hot and dark had boiled up in Buffy, her brain shutting off and some baser instinct taking over. Reaching out, she grabbed a fistful of Harmony's long blonde hair and jerked her forward, twisting her head violently to the side and sinking her fangs deep into the girl's neck.
The world faded away for Buffy. She could hear a couple of high pitched screams but they were fuzzy, like she had pillows pressed to her ears, and she could feel the bucking and wrenching of the body in her arms, but nothing mattered so much as the salty, coppery liquid pouring into her mouth and bursting on her tongue. It was heaven, it was nirvana, it was paradise, and she had never tasted anything like it. As she sucked and pulled at the bite under her mouth, lapping at the blood the welled forth, she could feel the heartbeat under her lips slowing, stuttering, faltering as she pulled Harmony's life out forcefully through her jugular vein. A hand latched on to her upper arm and tried to jerk her away but Buffy was having none of it, lashing out blindly in her bloodlust and backhanding whatever dared touch her as she fed.
Cordelia went flying backwards, her body colliding headfirst with the back wall of the club. Pain exploded in her skull, wracking down through her shoulders and her spine as she slumped down to the floor. Her vision went spotty, her last thought that of Buffy draining the life out of her friend. A few screams rang in her head, but by and large the ever-oblivious Sunnydalites remained unaware of the killing going on dead center in their midst. Gasping in agony, Cordelia glanced up at the little red box on the wall above her head, so close but so far away. Reaching up with a trembling hand, she hooked her fingers over the lever and pulled. Her world went black.
The shop appeared dark and deserted when Giles stepped silently inside, the door clacking terribly loudly in the silence as is swung shut behind him. He took a few steps further into the clutter, shelves tipped here and there, piles of fabric and plastic, the remnants of now worthless costumes, piled over the floor. He briefly debated calling out, giving a good old 'anybody home?' but quickly discarded the idea. He knew first hand that any advantage he had should be pressed in this instance.
Quietly, he moved aside a curtain that hung over a doorway, slipping through into an empty spare room at the back of the shop. In the center of the small space sat a low wooden table, topped with the stone bust of a god, its eyes glowing an eerie green in the dark.
"Janus," Giles muttered to himself, circling slowly closer to the statue, wracking his brain for all he knew of the Roman effigy. "The division of self. Male and female, light and dark…"
"Chunky and creamy!" A voice declared, startling him to a stop. From the deep black corner of the room stepped the figure of Ethan Rayne, a slim, gray haired man whose face showed evidence of the years and of the harsh realities of the magiks in which he dabbled. "Oh no, sorry," he continued, his voice mocking. "That's peanut butter."
"Hello Ethan," Giles replied steadily. Holding himself carefully, his eyes took in everything they could, analyzing the situation for both threat and solution.
"Hello Ripper," Ethan replied, not half so tense. "What?" he jeered, "No hug? Aren't you pleased to see your old mate?"
"Just surprised I didn't guess it was you," Giles intoned heavily, beginning to circle around slowly, keeping the table between himself and the other man. "This Halloween stunt stinks of Ethan Rayne."
"Yes it does doesn't it?" Ethan smiled. "Don't wish to blow my own trumpet but it's genius. The very embodiment of 'be careful what you wish for.' Hmm."
Edging ever closer, Giles watched his friend hum with pleasure, could see the light in his eye that always glinted merrily away when he was tickled with himself. It had always been a tell of Ethan's; the man had no discretion. He could look no more like that cat who stole the cream than if he had a twitching tail. Once that look would have lit a fire in his own chest, had a surge of heat flowing through his veins in anticipation of the mischief to come. Now it turned his stomach.
"It's sick!" he declared. "Brutal." Giles thought of his Slayer, the terrible predicament she was in. "And it harms the innocent."
Ethan scoffed. "Yes, and you the champion of the innocent and all things pure and good Rupert." He turned back to face him, a sly look in his dark eyes. "I know who you are Rupert," he murmured silkily. "What you're capable of."
Giles smirked. He struck like a viper, quick and hard, and almost too fast to see, driving his fist into Ethan's nose and feeling the crunch of shattered cartilage. The man cried out, dropping to his knees as his hands came up over his face, blood spurting out between his fingers.
"If you really knew me Ethan," Giles spoke softly, drawing a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his hands, "You would know better than to come here. You would know better than to bring harm to my Slayer."
"Ah yes, you're the Watcher now," Ethan said thickly around his broken nose as he climbed to his feet.
"Break the spell Ethan," Giles warned. "Leave here. And never come back."
"I was so hoping that she would wander through," Ethan continued, ignoring the implied threat. "Curious little thing isn't she, your Slayer? There's darkness in her. Should be interesting to see how she comes out on the other side of this."
Eyes flashing, Giles channeled all of his anger into hitting Ethan again, dealing him a vicious blow to the abdomen. Doubling over, he gasped for air, winded and in terrible pain, but Giles did not relent, kicking the man viciously in the ribs.
"And you said… the Ripper was long gone!" Ethan choked, his arms tight around is torso as he curled up on his side.
"Tell me how to stop the spell!" Giles demanded a second time.
"Janus," he gasped, nodding in the general direction of the table with closed eyes. "Break the statue."
Moving quickly, Giles stepped over to the table and lifted the statue high above his head. He could feel the power of it in his hands, the tingling of his blood that shot down through his arms from his fingertips, and for just a moment, he felt the Ripper clawing at him, whispering in his ear. Gritting his teeth, he rose up on his toes and brought the statue smashing down to the floor, splitting it into pieces with a thunderous crack.
Relief was almost instantaneous, like the passing of the storm. It was as if the very weight of the air had been lifted, the spell blown away on the damp winds as order was restored. Giles heaved a tremendous sigh, his fear and anxiety sweeping away as the tension melted from his shoulders. It was done. Finished. The spell was broken. There was only one thing left to do. Turning back around in the dark, he sidestepped the table and found himself staring at the empty floor, the only evidence left of a scuffle the smears of blood spattered on the floor. Ethan Rayne was gone.
Willow fell into her body with a jarring thump, panicked and disoriented as she fought the thin cloth that held her twisted and tangled atop the floorboards. Only seconds ago she had been with Xander, searching a side street near the Bronze for any windowless buildings that might be Angel's apartment. Now, she was alone and trapped, her arms practically pinned to her sides by the snarled fabric. A loud tearing sound freed her, and she found herself once again lying on her side beneath a glaring porch light, struggling out of the remains of her ghost costume. Climbing unsteadily to her feet, she looked around the deserted street, still a bit shaky in her body. Reaching out, she gripped the railing in her fist, smiling widely as the splintery wood dug into her palm. She was herself again. Her wonderful, corporeal self. Giles had broken the spell.
A wide smile split Willow's face. She could feel again. Could touch again. No more invisibility for this girl! Striding down the porch steps, Willow balled the sheet into a knot and pitched it into a trashcan. A jaunty swing in her step, she crossed the street and headed home. Unnoticed to her, a young, red-haired boy in a zebra striped van waiting at the crosswalk reached out to turn down his music.
"Who is that girl?"
A screeching, wailing siren screamed in Buffy's ears, causing her to drop the rapidly failing body in her arms. As the hideous noise drilled into her head she was bombarded by sensation, thrown roughly back into panicked reality from the calm state of her focused bloodlust. Screams ran out all around, people knocking her left and right as they ran for the exits. Lights flashed on, temporarily blinding eyes meant for seeing in the dark, and icy cold water rained down from the sprinkler system onto her flushed, heated skin. Panicked, frightened, and confused, Buffy let the mob carry her towards the exit and out into the street, where she quickly and quietly slunk away. It was time to find a place to hole up, a place to sleep a wait out the sun. A safe place. She knew just the cemetery.
Xander came to himself confused and immensely relieved. He remembered where he'd been, what he'd done, but it was like it hadn't been him. Like he'd just been… a passenger in his own body, watching from a distance. Looking around, he realized that Willow wasn't with him, and he could only hope that she'd gone back to wherever her body'd been left. And Buffy? Well, he just prayed that Angel had done his part and kept her safe.
Somewhere behind him, a fire alarm began to wail, alerting him to the fact that he was standing alone in a deserted street in the dark, and Halloween or no Halloween, this was still the Hellmouth. If tonight taught them anything, it was that here, rules didn't apply. Stake-less, without a real gun, and no longer in possession of his super-soldier knowledge or confidence, what else could he do but get home until the sun rose? What more than wait for morning to find his friends?
And so the fourth and final member of the Slayer's gang went his way, for the moment unaware of the terrible fate that each now faced. Thrown to the four corners of the city, adiversity would now come from every side, the consequences of this night stretching far out into the dark.