By Gabrielle Lawson
Harry opened her eyes. She turned the wheel sharply, and the car swerved back onto the right side of the road. She let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and tried to force her eyes to stay focused on the road.
What letter was she on? K? No, she'd gotten that one when she passed the QuikTrip. Besides, that was when she was going forward. J had tripped her up going backwards. Now she was doing both, alternating: A, Z, B, Y. And she'd gotten J off a Jeep that had passed as she was turning off the highway.
So it was Q. Served her right. Road signs were few and far between on the gravel roads this far from civilization. Did the names of trees count when playing the alphabet game by yourself to avoid falling asleep and crashing a friend's car forty miles from the nearest highway?
A sign. "Karly's General Store. 3 miles," it read.
"Why couldn't you sell antiques?!" she yelled, hoping the noise would help. But she'd had the radio turned up all the way for the last two hours. Noise wasn't good enough.
And then it hit her. Karlina. Karly. She'd made it. The drowsiness left her. She saw the store up ahead, a lone building surrounded by trees. A single gas pump stood to the right of the drive. The parking lot was big enough for three cars, though Harry doubted they ever got three customers at once. She pulled in and parked in the center space. Harry smiled when she saw the signs on the storefront. "Karly's General Store"; "Antiques"; "Movie rental"; "PO Boxes."
"Q, K, P, L, O, M, N," she recited before turning off the engine. "I win."
A young woman came out to greet her as she stepped out of the car. She was taller than Harry remembered, but that could have just been the shoes. Despite the rugged surroundings, the girl was wearing high heeled, knee-high, black velvet boots, a mini-skirt, and a short jacket. And, of course, it had been a few years.
She beamed. "Harriet Doyle, is that you?!" She ran down the wooden steps in front of the store and wrapped her arms around Harry without waiting for confirmation. "You haven't changed a bit."
Harry laughed. "You have, Karlina. What's with the outfit?"
Karlina let go, but kept her smile. "You never know when a handsome young bachelor is going to need a tank of gas. Come on in. Have a Coke and tell me everything." She led Harry up the steps and opened the door for her. "What's it been? Four years?"
Harry felt her stomach tighten, but accepted the can Karlina offered. She nodded. "You were so much younger then. I'm surprised you remember me."
"Comes with the genes," Karlina replied offering her a seat by the wood stove that sat in the center of the store. "So what have you been up to?"
"Traveling mostly," Harry replied. She took a sip and realized she was thirsty. She took a long drink before she set the can down on the little table between her and Karlina's chair. "But unfortunately, I don't have time to tell you everything."
Karlina became serious, her brows furrowed. "It's Francis, isn't it?"
Harry sighed. Karlina had been just as perceptive when she was only fourteen. Harry nodded. "But it's not what you think." Karlina's hand was resting on the table, and Harry took it. "I need to see your father."
Karlina didn't pull her hand away, but she straightened up in her chair. "What's going on, Harry?"
Harry really didn't have time to explain everything to Karlina. She would probably have to tell the girl's father and then the Elders, if he would agree to take her to them. "I need his help. I need him to take me to the Elders."
Karlina nearly jumped out of her seat. As it was, she bumped the little table. Harry caught the can before it fell off. "Do you know what you're asking?" Karlina asked. "They wouldn't see you last time. If not for Francis, they wouldn't have tolerated you at all!"
"I think they will this time," Harry told her. "Francis is in trouble. Will you help me?"
Karlina looked at her hand. "You're not wearing your ring," she observed. "No mark on your finger. You left him."
"Divorced." Harry had no intention of lying. "But that doesn't mean I stopped caring about him."
"It's not his drinking again?" Karlina asked. "There are hospitals for that."
"Not even close," Harry replied. "I really don't have time, Karlina. Trust me. Please."
Karlina sat back down, frowning, as she watched Harry closely. Please, Harry thought again. She'd need Karlina's father if she were ever going to get in.
Finally, Karlina sighed. "I gotta lock up."
It only took her a few minutes to secure the store. She gave Harry the key to the gas pump, and Harry locked it. She stopped at the car and grabbed the book from the back seat before meeting Karlina at the back of the store.
She stiffened, nearly dropping the book when she heard the low growl from the nearby trees. The growl rose into a full-throated scream that sent Harry's heart into her throat.
"Choro!" Karlina scolded. "Come out of there. You remember Harry."
The branches parted, and a tawny, full-grown mountain lion emerged. "That's Choro?!" she asked. "He's grown."
Choro sniffed her and then rubbed its face on her leg. "He tries to act all big and tough," Karlina said, smiling proudly as she rubbed the lion's ears, "but he's a pussy cat at heart." She started walking, and Harry and Choro dutifully followed.
The house was another mile into the wilderness, reachable only by foot or horseback, and Harry wished the weather hadn't been quite so agreeable. Horseback would have been faster. Still, she had more time with Karlina this way and spent the forty-minute walk telling of her travels.
The house was a rather nice cabin. Two stories, but still with that rustic look. "You might not want to mention the divorced part," Karlina warned as she reached for the door. She opened it, holding it open for Harry. "Dad!" she called out. "You'll never guess who's here!"
A deep voice grumbled loudly from the other room, "Darak norinim bracha!"
Karlina sighed and rolled her eyes. "It's not like he doesn't understand English," she complained. "Mom used to live here, too." Still, she tilted her head and changed, letting her spikes show.
"He loved her," Harry said, knowing exactly what she was talking about, even if she had divorced Francis. "The death of a spouse hits you hard. Everyone deals with it differently."
She, herself, had found herself yelling at Angel that he deserved punishment more than Francis. To his credit, Angel understood it was mostly her grief talking. Sadly, he'd even agreed with her. It ended with him holding her as she sobbed. She woke up later that night to find herself tucked in on the couch, her wedding photo still clutched in her hand. (read vignette)
"It's been five years," Karlina held, sounding like the little girl Harry remembered. But her father was coming and she dropped it. "Garr, cadno dar filjam."
"Harriet Doyle," Hherom said, dipping his head in greeting.
"Seranim, Hherom," Harry replied, inclining her own head. Her Brachen was rusty; she hadn't used it outside of research in over three years.
"What brings you?" Hherom asked, still speaking his native tongue.
"I need your help," she told him, hoping she had the grammar right. "Francis needs your help."
"Your husband does not want my help."
Hherom was of average height for a Brachen, but that put him more than a foot higher than Harry. It was hard not to be intimidated. Still, she was resolute. Francis needed this. "He doesn't have a choice," she said. "He's in the Nether."
Hherom froze, but only for a moment. His stern countenance returned quickly. "Then he is already gone, and you are no longer a concern of ours. Send her away, Karlina."
Thankfully, Karlina wasn't afraid of disobeying her father. "What's the Nether?" she asked.
Harry stood her ground, unwilling to give up. "He's not dead."
Karlina spun around, dropping the spikes and falling back into English. "Dead?! You didn't say anything about dead!"
Harry stayed with Brachen. It was Hherom she had to convince. "He's not dead," she repeated. "I've seen him. He's split between here and there. The Scourge sent him there to feed the Devourer. That was in November."
Hherom turned away from her. "I know little of the Nether. Only that it is a place of darkness and torment," he said, softening his voice. "I can't help you."
Harry chanced a step toward him. "You can take me to the Elders. They know of the Nether. They know how to stop the Devourer."
Karlina threw up her hands in frustration. "What's the Devourer?!"
Hherom turned, ignoring his daughter. "If you are wrong," he growled, "we both die."
"Daddy?"
Karlina was scared. Harry was, too, but she refused to show it. "I'm not wrong. Francis is the doorway. The Devourer is coming."
Hherom approached his daughter, taking both her shoulders in his big hands. "Stay in the house, Veris Na," he said, calling her his Little One.
Karlina wrapped her arms around him and pressed her head to his chest. "You won't tell me, will you?"
Hherom lifted Karlina's head and brushed her hair back from her face. "You have your mother's eyes."
Karlina changed again and switched languages. "I have yours, too."
"Stay here," Hherom repeated, pulling away from her embrace. He turned to Harry. "Come."
As they stepped out onto the path, Harry knew why the Brachen had banished the Devourer: They loved their children.
It was nearly noon now and everyone was awake. Cordelia had beamed when she heard his voice. Buffy seemed relieved. She wouldn't have to repeat anymore. Spike, though, had decided it was worse hearing a disembodied voice than having to look in a mirror to see him.
Doyle almost forgot about the Oracles and the all-too-real nightmares in the simple joy of speaking and being heard. But when Willow offered to make sandwiches, he remembered his empty, aching stomach. He stepped outside where he wouldn't have to watch.
He sat down on the concrete steps and tried not to think of ham and cheese or even peanut butter and jelly. His self-debate over white and wheat bread was interrupted, however, when the door opened and Cordelia emerged.
"Doyle?" she asked. "Are you out here?"
"On the steps, Princess" he answered, scooting over to offer her a seat. She had started to walk that way, but she hesitated. "I'm on the left," he told her.
She looked relieved and sat on the right side. She was beautiful, but then he'd thought that from the moment he saw her running toward the car with Angel after nearly being vampire food. That night, she'd been dressed to impress. But the next day she had showed up at the office in jeans and an oversized shirt, and he'd thought her even more gorgeous then.
"You're staring at me, aren't you?" she asked, catching him by surprise.
Doyle gave her his best mischievous grin, regardless of whether she could see it or not. "I can't help myself," he replied.
She blushed and offered him a momentary smile. But then it was gone, and she looked in his direction. "You don't have to say you're sorry."
The constant ache in his stomach moved up to his chest. He'd forgotten that she had heard him. But he hadn't forgotten that he had hurt her. "Yes, I do," he said. "I didn't know about the visions."
She stood up, hands on her hips and eyes flashing. "You didn't?"
Doyle wasn't quite sure what she was upset about. "Um, no." He didn't know what else to say. "I wouldn't have wished that pain on you."
That seemed to help. She relaxed her stance and sat down again. She didn't look at him though. "Well, that's good, but. . . ."
Doyle leaned closer to her. "But what?"
She bit her bottom lip and turned her head a bit. "Well, there was this empathy demon--"
Doyle felt his face flush with anger. "The one that tried to auction you off."
Now she turned toward him. "You know about that?"
"I came in just before he grabbed you," Doyle said, barely controlling his anger, "before he said all those terrible things."
She smiled a little at him. "Before he went all evil, he said some pretty nice things. He said maybe you chose me, trusted me with the responsibility, and gave me the one thing you had of value."
Doyle did like the sound of that, but he also knew what a vision felt like. "I kissed you," he told her, "because I thought I'd never have another chance." She melted at that. "But maybe the rest was subconscious," he added. "Because I can't think of anyone else I'd trust more."
She held up a hand toward him. "I wish I could touch you," she said.
Doyle touched his hand to hers, just to where it started to tingle. "You already have."
It had taken Hherom fifteen minutes to convince them to even open the door to Harry. Harry had waited outside rehearsing to herself. But she hadn't expected the welcome she received.
Four strong Brachen arms held her merely human ones, forcing her to fold over her knees even as they forced her to kneel. Hherom, though larger, was in the same position. A bulky man in a gray hood, imposing even by Brachen standards, stood just to her left. He had a broad-headed ax, and Harry didn't doubt what it was for. They'd even pulled her hair forward for her.
One of the Elders' servants came forward and retrieved the book from where it had fallen at Harry's knees.
She tried not to lift her head much, but she wanted to see if they'd open it to the page she had marked, the page that told the story of Moren and the defeat of the darkness that devoured children. She'd found the story just before Cordelia realized she was dreaming what Francis saw. It was more detailed than the legend Giles had found. But it couldn't tell her everything.
The Elders--there were thirteen of them--mumbled and argued among themselves until Harry felt her fingers go numb.
Finally, one stood directly in front of Hherom. "Why do you bring this human to us?" he roared, implying punishment if the right answer wasn't given.
"One of the children, her husband, needs our help," Hherom said, speaking of Francis in the way the full-bloods always spoke of half-breeds. "The Devourer has him."
"And you think this child is the Promised of Moren?"
Hherom was at a loss. Harry hadn't told him enough to argue her case. "I know he is," Harry said.
Stunned silence filled the chamber. The Elder in front of Hherom looked at the tall one beside Harry, and that one raised his ax. The Elder nodded, and Harry rushed to speak, even as the ax came down. "He was taken in November!"
She had closed her eyes, so she didn't see the Elder raise his hand. She did feel the cold, sharp metal on the back of her neck and the warm tickle of blood as it slowly dripped to the floor.
"How do you know Lo'oran still has him?"
Harry couldn't lift her head without the ax cutting farther into her. "He told us last night."
That caused a murmur. "We are giving you a chance to speak," the Elder warned. "Use it wisely."
The weight on her neck lifted, and her arms were dropped. Harry lifted her head, noting that Hherom had not been released. She still knelt though. Deference was important at this stage.
"Francis, my husband, is one of your children,” she began, just as she'd rehearsed. “He never knew his father, but he is half Brachen. He works with a vampire, a vampire with a soul. Francis has visions of people who need help, and he and the vampire try to help them. In November, he had a vision of Lister children. They went to help and learned the Scourge was after them." She remembered every detail as Angel had told it to her. "They put the children on a ship, but the Scourge found them. Angel, the vampire, fought those who got on board, but the Scourge locked everyone in the cargo hold and lowered in a weapon, a Beacon of light that would kill anything with human blood. Angel was going to jump over and disable it, knowing that he would be killed by the light. Francis took his place. The Listers said he was their Promised One. He disabled the Beacon and disappeared in its light.
"But he didn't die," she continued, concentrating on just the one Elder. "He's still here, in this world."
"You told Hherom he was in the Nether," the Elder accused.
"He is," Harry held. "His body was transported to the Nether, but part of him is here, seeking help from the Slayer. She sees and hears him."
The Elder considered that for a few moments, while the others muttered to each other behind him. Finally, they decided. "He is a spirit, an apparition," the Elder concluded, looking toward the executioner, who raised the ax over Hherom. "You waste our time."
"He moves between this world and the Nether," Harry explained quickly. "He described a dark place with walls of black and red. A black mist with red eyes is devouring him. Someone else saw it, too."
The Elder held up his hand, freezing the executioner in mid-arc.
Harry kept going, feeling she was making an impact now. "When Francis died," she explained, "his visions were given to another. Now when she sleeps, she sees what Francis sees. She sees Lo'oran. And she sees Francis there. Last night when she asked him about this, he saw both this world and the Nether. Moren said his Promised would exist in both worlds."
The Elder waved the executioner away and the ax was lowered, without touching Hherom. “The Lister are simplistic people,” he said, full of contempt. “The Promised One is not personal savior to a handful of children.” Harry wasn't sure if that meant she'd convinced him or not. “You called him a doorway,” the Elder spoke again.
“Francis, in this world, found the Scourge in a meeting,” she told him. “The speaker said that in two days--tomorrow night--their leader would emerge and the Cleansing would begin. Francis, in this world, is starving. In the Nether, he is weak and injured. He's dying. I think he'll be dead tomorrow night. I think that's how Lo'oran will emerge.”
The murmur was louder, more urgent now. She sensed fear in some of the voices. She chanced a glance at Hherom, who gave her the slightest tilt of his head in affirmation. The Elder returned to the rest of the group and joined in the argument. Harry could only understand a fraction of what they said, and she assumed they were using a more archaic dialect, something akin to Catholic priests speaking in Latin so that congregation members wouldn't understand. They were at it for perhaps another twenty minutes. Enough that Harry's legs were prickling with pins and needles. Her ankle cramped and she really wanted to at least switch positions. But the executioner still stood at the ready, and she didn't want to jeopardize her case simply on discomfort.
Finally, one of the Elders emerged and the murmur quieted. He wasn't the same one. This one was younger, taller, with broad shoulders and long fingernails like claws on his hands. “Moren said many things of the Promised One before he died. He would be a danger as well as the solution. Moren promised many things. He did not promise victory.” Harry's heart sank at that, though she still believed Francis was the one. The Elder surprised her with his next words. “I will go with you to the Valley of the Sun,” he said, even though she hadn't told him just where Francis was. “I will judge if the child you speak of is the Promised of Moren. If he is not, you and those who have helped you will forfeit your lives.”
Harry looked to Hherom, who hadn't even wanted to help her. She had brought him here. And perhaps they would include Karlina who had brought her to Hherom. Their lives were hanging on her theory that Francis was the Promised One. Was she being sentimental? Was her grief at his death making her see more than there really was? Was she risking more lives for Francis's one? Would he even want that?
Hherom shook off the hands that held him and stood. “I offer my life,” he declared to the Elders, “and the life of my daughter. If this human is right, and nothing is done, my daughter is already dead and without her, I cannot live.”
Harry felt a lump in her throat, but choked it away. No vulnerability. She had to at least appear to believe fully. She had to stand with him for what he was offering her. She stood, ignoring the stiffness in her left ankle. “He is the Promised One,” she said.
The Elder dropped his head once to her and then bowed to the rest of the Elders. Hherom took Harry's arm and led her to the door with the Elder following behind them.
"How about this for an idea," Spike said, startling everyone. "Seeing as how we've been getting' all chummy lately, why don't you let me drum up some help? I know a few local blood-drinkers who would be positively tickled to have a shot at these Scourge blokes."
Doyle thought maybe the hunger was making him dizzy. Spike being helpful just didn't sound right.
Buffy raised her eyebrows. "We've been 'getting all chummy' because you'd starve if we didn't."
“And because the only things you can fight are demons,” Willow added.
"Why would vampires--present company excepted--help us fight an army of demons?" Xander asked.
Angel gave the answer, "Because vampires are the lowest form of half-breed."
“Speak for yourself, Nancy-boy!” Spike snapped.
Angel ignored him, a pensive look on his face. "Doyle, you said the half-demons fight them."
Doyle was starting to see what they were getting at, but it seemed a long shot. "Yeah," he said, "but they usually end up dead. You thinkin' of putting together an army of your own?"
Angel turned up the corner of his lips just slightly. "Something like that."
"I can maybe see half-demons," Willow said. "But vampires and Buffy, side by side?"
"Army," Buffy said, staring forward like a deer caught in headlights.
"Buffy?" Giles said.
She looked at him. "Riley's in the army."
Spike stood up, indignant. "No! Those butchers did this to me."
"Did what to you exactly?" Doyle asked, curious now.
"Kidnapped me, kept me locked up like a lab rat. They take vampires and demons and do experiments on them."
Doyle didn't exactly mind that Spike had lost his bite, but still something bothered him. "What would they do to half-demons?"
"They wouldn't even know," Buffy reassured him, "even if they could see you."
"Not all of them can pass for human," Angel told her. "The Listers couldn't."
"We'll need the help," Buffy reminded them. "If I'm going to stop this leader of theirs, someone is going to have to hold off the Scourge."
"So which do we go with?" Xander asked. "Vampires, demons, or GI Joe?"
Willow sat up straighter, smiling at Buffy. "Well, since we already know Riley. . . ." Doyle got the feeling there was something between Riley and Buffy. He looked at Angel, but he didn't seem to have noticed. Either that or he was hiding it well.
"The Initiative and Buffy are not exactly on the best terms," Giles argued.
"If there are half-demons around here," Angel put in, "they must keep to themselves. They'd probably be neutral on the Slayer issue. At least until we can convince them that she's on their side."
They debated the merits of each group for a while, some more animated than others. Doyle actually got dizzy following the conversation. He put two fingers in the corner of his mouth and whistled loudly. That got their attention.
"How many are we talking about?" he asked, looking first to Buffy.
She shook her head. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "Maybe a dozen. Or two. I never got a good count. They kind of keep secret, too. But they have guns!"
"Vampires?" Doyle asked Spike.
Spike looked at Buffy. "More than a dozen," he said, snarling in contempt. "What's your point?"
"My point is I saw at least a hundred well-trained, fanatical demons," Doyle answered. "Ya can't fight them with a couple of dozen of anybody."
"We could ask them all," Willow suggested.
"And what's to keep the soldier boys from dragging the vampires away?" Spike pointed out as he sat down again.
Xander eyed Spike, "And what's to keep the vamps from biting us human-types? They're not usually the type to uphold their end of a bargain."
"How many were killed by the Scourge last night?" Angel asked.
Cordelia answered that. "I saw at least three."
"I think I heard at least one more," Doyle added.
"Could be more," Angel continued. "Let them know what they're up against. They might even welcome us helping them."
"And if the soldiers didn't know about the vampires. . . ." Xander added.
Willow had an idea about that, too. "What if they had orders to ignore vampires for a day?"
"How do we give them orders?" Buffy asked. "I know we could get Riley to go along, but what if his commanding officer doesn't agree?"
Willow went to the table where her computer was set up. "They were sent out when the Gentlemen came,” Willow asked, tapping at the keyboard, "right? And when those demons were going to open the hellmouth."
Doyle joined her, looking over her shoulder.
"What have you got, Will?" Buffy wondered.
She'd typed a headline. 'The Leader comes!' She added tomorrow's date. "If they know there's a big threat," she said, changing the formatting until it started to look like a flyer, "maybe they'll want to send the boys out to play hero." She spun the screen around for the others to see. "We could put it in another language, something weird but translatable without too much trouble."
Xander squinted and shook his head. "And pass them out on campus?"
"No," Buffy said, getting the idea. "We pass them out on a demon."
Plans were made, and teams assigned. Cordelia volunteered to go with Doyle in search of any nearby half-demon populations. Most of the others would be doing the same, though in different areas around town. Buffy would recruit Riley, and Giles would wait at the house for that. Spike and Angel would go to the vampires, and neither looked entirely happy with that arrangement.
The two of them wouldn't be leaving until after sunset, and Cordelia wanted a chance to talk to Angel alone before the others were ready to leave. She waited until Giles pulled out a city map and started showing Doyle the less desirable parts of town, the places where people could be overlooked. She snagged Angel's arm and led him quietly upstairs. To his credit, he didn't ask her what she wanted until they'd reached the bedroom at the top.
"What's wrong?" he asked, closing the door.
She decided to give him a chance to come clean before she got angry with him. "What was that about the Oracles?" Cordelia asked in return.
Angel took a breath and she noted that she could actually see him try to close himself off. "You might as well start talking. You told Doyle they said he was dead. I was there, remember?"
He stepped back against the door, head lowered. "You were asleep," he said, finally realizing that she'd heard the whole exchange. "I don't know who they are exactly. But they have some link to the Powers That Be. They watch," he explained. "They don't generally interfere."
"I know who they are," Cordelia stated, surprising him into looking up at her. "Doyle told me how they turned back time for you, took away your day with Buffy--and might I add that you've been handling being around her rather well?"
Angel gave her a pointed stare, but he did offer a response. "I'm here for Doyle. Nothing is going to get in the way of that."
Cordelia turned serious again. "Because he's supposed to die, and you're not supposed to interfere."
Angel didn't exactly answer that. "I've been waiting for them to send you a vision to try and draw me back to LA"
"You think they'd do that?" Cordelia asked. "I mean, aren't they supposed to be the good guys?"
"When I asked them to bring Doyle back, they said it was selfish. 'The war rages on.'"
Cordelia threw up her hands. "Well, it sounds like it's going to wage right here in Sunnydale."
"Which means the Slayer could probably handle things," Angel went on.
"But Doyle gets lost in the ensuing chaos."
"Which is why we're going to interfere."
Cordelia nodded. He had the same look of determination in his eye as when he had come to Russell Winters and saved her in the process. "What if I do have a vision?"
Angel took her arm and opened the door. "Let's hope they're not that selfish."
Buffy waved when she saw him. He smiled and, without realizing it, her own face lit up. She rose from the bench and waited for him. The shuttle would arrive in two minutes, if it stuck to its usual schedule of lateness.
His hair hung down over one of his eyes and it swayed with each step. He had a brightness about him so different from Angel.
She hadn't meant to think of Angel. She liked Riley; she really did. She might even love him, though she wasn't going to be too quick to jump to that conclusion anymore. She still loved Angel, though. She probably always would. She just couldn't be with him for reasons neither of them could change. So she'd allowed herself to have other possibilities, and Riley was turning out to be a good one at that, despite what he did for a living.
He kissed her cheek when he reached her. "Do you always put your homework off until Sunday evening?" he asked, still smiling. "I could have come to your room."
The shuttle was coming, so Buffy pulled him over to the stop. "Actually, we're going to meet Willow. She needs help, too."
He squinted at her, one side of his mouth turned up. "Now Willow does not strike me as someone who puts off her homework to the last minute. It's only reading anyway."
The shuttle's door opened, and Buffy stepped in. Riley hesitated, though he seemed more amused than accusing. "But you're not carrying any books."
"I left them with Giles," Buffy told him. His half-smile went away then and he joined her on the shuttle bus.
They found two seats on one side of the bus. "You haven't been in all weekend," he mentioned, keeping his voice low so no one else would hear. "Is something going on I should know about?"
Buffy didn't lower her voice as much. "I wouldn't have asked for study help if I didn't think you would know about it."
He straightened up in the seat. "But you went to Giles for help before asking me."
"He's Giles," she replied, offering him her most innocent smile.
"You can always come to me for help, Buffy," he scolded lightly, and Buffy wondered if she'd really hurt his feelings. But she couldn't explain everything there on the bus, and he knew that.
"For some things," she replied, "I go to Giles."
His eyebrows dropped a little, but he otherwise accepted that. They didn't talk much the rest of the trip. Buffy stood up as the shuttle came to a stop. She noted he kept a wary eye out as they walked, peering into the shadows.
"We're not on the bus anymore," Riley said.
"Let's just get to Giles' first, okay?" It was just one more block anyway. They arrived at Giles' complex and she started down the stairs.
Riley noticed. "You're either trying to scare someone off or letting them know we're coming"
Buffy hadn't meant to be that obvious. She decided not to reply to that though and instead knocked on Giles' door. The door opened quickly and Giles motioned them inside.
"Good to see you, Riley," Giles said, offering him a seat on the couch. Angel was already sitting in one of the chairs and he stood. Giles introduced him. "This is Angel."
Angel offered a hand. His face was unreadable. "I'm glad you could come."
Riley shook his hand, nodding, though he still seemed uncertain. "Riley," he said, rubbing his fingers together, "but I get the feeling you already knew that. Do I get to know now why I came?"
Giles sat down across from him. "To be blunt, we need your help."
All question disappeared from Riley's face. "I'd be glad to help in any way I--"
"We need your friends' help, too," Buffy added, "your commando friends. The Initiative."
Riley leaned back, letting out a long breath. "I'm a dead man,” he said, for perhaps the fifteenth time since she found out what he did for a living. “What happened to secret?”
“End of the world takes precedence,” Giles argued.
“End of the world?” He sat up again.
“As we know it,” Angel added. “So are you game?”
“I can't promise anything of that nature,” Riley said. “I don't give orders.”
Buffy frowned at him. “Lilac?”
Riley blushed. “I mean, I give orders, but I don't give the orders."
"We have a plan for that," Buffy assured him.
But Giles held up a hand before she could launch into it. "Perhaps we should start at the beginning."
Buffy gave Riley a slightly embarrassed grin. "Right." She sat down herself and decided on the best place to start. "There's this guy named Doyle. . . ."
Doyle wasn't sure he liked the plan. He wasn't confident about anyone's chances in a fight with the Scourge, not even a Slayer's. He could still see the faces of the Brachen he hadn't helped, the smashed furniture, the tiny shoes covered in blood. And, of course, the Beacon.
He had less confidence in vampires keeping their word. Vampires without souls anyway. Most of them were fairly selfish, not really caring if others of their kind were in danger.
But he didn't see much in the way of options either. They had to stop the leader of the Scourge, which apparently was Doyle's own personal demon. To do that, they had to fight the Scourge who had vowed to stop Buffy. While they still hadn't figured out how to deal with the one demon, the army of demons was a given, and a more tangible one at that. They could be fought, if only there weren't so many of them.
So allies was the plan. Allies that couldn't necessarily be trusted. Most of them couldn't even be told about each other.
The only part Doyle liked about the plan, and he saw 'like' as a relative term in this case, was his part: the half-demons. They wouldn't have to worry so much about the vampires, since the latter didn't generally like demon blood. If they could pass for human, they wouldn't have to worry about Buffy's soldier friend and his men. Of course, they'd still have the Scourge, but that made it all the more likely that the half-demons themselves could be considered trustworthy. That is, if they could ever find any.
"This is Sunnydale," Cordelia said. "We have demons all the time. One of our friends is a werewolf. There's bound to be half-demons around here."
Doyle looked over at her. “Which friend was a werewolf?”
She checked for him in her mirror. “Oz.”
Now that was surprising. He'd met Oz, and he hadn't seen werewolf in him at all. Well, she had said 'was.' “He's not anymore?”
She frowned. “He still is, I guess. He's just not around anymore. Buffy said he had this thing with another werewolf and like, totally freaked. Then he just took off after that. Kind of like Angel, I guess.”
“Speaking of people who aren't here,” he said, “where's Harry?” No one had said anything up to now, though he had noticed her absence.
“Don't know,” Cordelia answered. “She left sometime during our last trip to, well, you know. She took Angel's car. Haven't heard from her since. Here we go!” She could switch gears so quickly. “Broken down buildings. Boarded up windows. Welcome to the sparkling wonder that is Sunnydale.”
“Good place to hide as any,” Doyle commented, focusing on the problem at hand, though he still wondered about his ex. The building before him wasn't as tall as the one in LA where the Listers had been hiding, but otherwise, it was fairly similar. It was the third neighborhood they'd been to. Doyle had to be back before much longer. He still had to lead Riley to the Scourge—or rather, lead the Scourge to Riley. If Buffy had convinced him to help. “I'll check first. Wait here.”
She nodded and he tried the stairs. But they were slats, not solid. He tried a tentative step through the wall, on ground level, but he was able to lower his foot farther than the ground. Had to be something below. He walked around the building and finally found an entrance from an alley in the back. Good concrete steps led down to a doorway blocked with worn cardboard boxes and a homeless guy. He looked human enough. So Doyle stepped over him without speaking so as not to catch the man's attention. The boxes caused his legs to tingle, but it was nothing compared with what the door did. Solid metal passing through him. While it wasn't painful, it wasn't exactly comfortable. But it was an interesting sensation watching the inside of metal pass his eyes.
It was dark on the other side. There was a large contraption in the center of the room. Its pilot light gave little illumination but Doyle didn't need that. He changed, letting the demon form take over, and sniffed. Rats mostly, and trash. But nothing human had been down there in a while. Nothing demon either as far as he could smell. He turned back around to leave. Then he stopped. He thought about the trash smell. Some of it was old, really putrid. But some of it was fresh. Pizza. Fruit not quite rotten yet. Bread not moldy. Someone had been here, the scent was just covered by the stench. He knelt down and sniffed the pizza box since someone would have had to handle it. Not human, but definitely not rat. He'd found them. He tried the stairs that led upward, but they, too, were slats, wood with nothing but refuse underneath. He'd have to get Cordelia.
"Cordy," she heard Doyle's voice. "Over here, by the stairs." Cordelia lived with a ghost, and she liked hearing his voice again, but she still found it disconcerting when she couldn't see the source of the voice. She held up the little mirror as she walked and finally spotted him at the base of the stairs leading to the building. "They're in there," he told her. "But I can't go in. You'll have to."
Great, she thought. What if these people weren't as friendly as the Listers? She didn't let it show though. Doyle had enough to worry about. She nodded and started up the stairs.
"Bring them down here so they can see me," Doyle called after her. "I can help convince them."
"If you can find a window with actual glass in it," she returned, slipping in the door. It was dark inside. No electricity. The place looked abandoned. The remains of broken furniture and cobwebs. But there were signs of life. The dust on the floor had been disturbed by footprints, for one.
"Hello?" she called out tentatively. "My name is Cordelia. I come in peace." She hadn't meant to sound like a character from a bad science fiction movie. She kept moving, peering into each dark hallway off the lobby.
Harry was the one who should have been doing this. She was the one who studied demons. Cordelia didn't know her very well, but she didn't seem the type to run off on Doyle like that. Well, at least not when his life was in danger. And she didn't seem like a car thief either. Cordelia thought maybe Harry knew something she didn't tell everyone else. She hoped it was something good. They only had one more night, and they still hadn't found a way to fight the black mist that was killing Doyle.
She heard a noise. Wood creaking. It was above her. The stairs were at the other end of the lobby.
She wished Doyle could come with her. "I'm not going to hurt you!" she called. "And I'd really appreciate it if you didn't hurt me," she added quietly as she started up the stairs. The boards creaked beneath her with every step. They would know she was coming up. They could set a trap for her.
She stopped at the first landing, trying a different tack. "I'm not with the Scourge," she called out, "if that's what you're worried about. I'm just a human. I have a friend downstairs though. He's half-demon. Brachen. He's the Promised One." If they were Listers, that was sure to work. And maybe other clans had heard of that prophecy, too.
As her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, she thought she saw a shadow at the top of the next flight.
"He saved the Listers from the Scourge in LA" she added, speaking now to the shadow, which reminded her too much of the mist.
"Then he can't be downstairs." The shadow moved a bit closer and the stairway creaked. It had a deep voice, so she guessed it was a male. "The Brachen is dead."
Cordelia's pulse quickened with a mixture of pride and bad memories. They'd heard of him, of what he'd done.
"Not exactly dead," she told him. "Come down and I'll introduce you."
"If he is not dead," the shadow man countered, "have him come up."
"I said 'not exactly dead,'" Cordelia reminded him. "Which comes with some drawbacks. He sort of . . . falls . . . through stuff."
The shadow didn't speak right away, but Cordelia thought she heard whispers flutter down the stairwell.
Then there was another voice. "What's his name?"
She recognized the voice. But it didn't make any sense that it should be here. "Doyle," she answered. “Allan Francis Doyle.”
“Francis?” a familiar voice repeated with a wry tone, “And I thought my name was bad.”
Another shadow appeared beside the first. It was shorter with a bushy head. "Rieff?" she asked. "Is that you?"
He stepped a few steps down until she could see him better. "Hi," was all he said.
"What are you doing here?" Cordelia scolded. He was supposed to be safe on Briole with his family.
"Spreading the word," he answered. "My dad jumped the gun a bit, it turns out."
"What do you mean?"
He came down further and sat on the steps. "The Promised One," he replied. "The century isn't over yet, and you'd think someone with a whole prophecy would do more than save twenty half-breeds from an army like the Scourge."
Cordelia felt slighted, even though Angel had said the same thing. "Then Doyle isn't the Promised One?" After what he had done, he deserved to be.
"If I thought that, I wouldn't have come back."
Cordelia was confused. "So he is?"
"The Scourge is still out there," Rieff said. "And if he's really downstairs, then he must be the Promised One. He just hasn't fulfilled the prophecy yet."
"How about when the leader of the Scourge is defeated tomorrow night?" Cordelia offered, wondering just how close their own theories were to the Lister prophecies.
Rieff nodded, but he frowned, "And the Promised One dies in battle."
Cordelia felt a stabbing pain in her chest. "Dies?"
He nodded again. "It's all pretty cryptic, but that's what a lot of the scholars get out of it."
"Well, maybe your prophets didn't take his friends into account," Cordelia countered.
Rieff grinned. "I didn't see my name in there anywhere."
Cordelia held out a hand. "Come down. I'm pretty sure he won't be glad to see you."
Rieff stood and followed her down the stairs. "I know why I'm in Sunnydale, but how did you know to come here?"
"I used to live here," Cordelia replied, ducking under a cobweb that hung in her path. "Well, not here specifically, of course, I mean who do I look like? No offense. Doyle came here to get Buffy's help. He's outside."
"Who's Buffy?" Rieff held open the door for her.
"Vampire Slayer.” Cordelia stopped on the sidewalk and faced the street. She held up the mirror and panned it around looking at the building behind her.
"What are you doing?" Rieff whispered.
"Looking for Doyle," she answered. "Another one of the drawbacks."
"You're aimin' too high, Princess," Doyle said. "I had to get off my feet. I found a window. Glass and everything."
Cordelia turned around and looked for low windows, with glass. Rieff spotted it first, but then, he had been living here. She pulled him over to it and knelt down until she could see Doyle's reflection. "I found someone," she told him.
"Someone who should be safe with his family," Doyle added.
Rieff was still kneeling, wide-eyed with hero-worship. "Wow," he stammered, "it's, um, good to see you. I didn't get to thank you, not really, not for what you did."
Doyle turned to him, and Cordelia couldn't see his face anymore. "So in your undying gratitude you came back here to get yourself killed. If my foot wouldn't go right through you, I'd plant it in your keister."
Rieff just smiled. "I came back because of the prophecies. You made a believer out of me. You're going to need help. The Scourge is going to try and stop you. You'll need someone to hold them off."
Cordelia decided this part of the plan was going to be easier than anyone thought. "How much help are we talking about?"
“I'm tellin' you, I'm done with her." Spike argued, “Dumped her like a hot potato, I did.”
"Really?" Angel was hardly convinced. "That what you tell everybody?"
"It's true!" the blonde vampire insisted. “Got all clingy and blubbery on me. It was quite pathetic really.”
"Sounds like the two of you are perfect for each other."
Spike snorted, “Yeah, right, like you're this big expert on relationships. Wasn't that Buffy's new beau back at Giles' place? Wholesome looking chap, isn't he? Hear he's pretty spiffy with a stun-gun, too.”
Angel's face darkened and his brow furrowed, “I would have thought that you knew that from first-hand information. But you didn't even see the guy who shot you, did you?”
"Shut your trap," Spike spat, kicking at the grass. "We're here. Let's see if I haven't completely worn out my welcome." He moved the bushes aside and started in. Angel followed, but stayed back out of sight.
The reaction was instantaneous. "Spike!" It was a girl's voice, no older than Buffy, but less mature. "If you came looking for your stuff, you can forget it, I burned it. I thought I told you not to come back here." She was angry.
"Things have changed, Harm. I'm a new man," Spike said calmly. Then more urgently, "Now put that silly stick away and hear me out."
"I don't have to hear you out," she held. "I threw you out."
Angel decided it was a good time to step in. She had Spike backed up against a wall as it was.
Spike saw him and pointed his direction. "Hear him out then."
Harmony--Wasn't she one of Cordelia's friends?--relaxed her grip on the stake she held above her shoulder. She looked Angel over and let her hand fall to her side. "You brought me a present?" she asked Spike without taking her eyes off Angel. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips.
Spike rolled his eyes. "He's a vampire, you bloody idiot. And not even a very good one, at that."
Harmony frowned then cocked her head to one side. "But he's cute. A lot cuter than you. What's the problem, handsome," she asked, addressing Angel for the first time, “you can't kill either?”
Spike pulled himself off the wall and straightened his coat. "He can," Spike replied, in a sing-song manner, "he just chooses not to because the poof's got a soul."
Angel ignored Spike's mocking. "We're here because of the Scourge," he said.
"Well you can't hide here," she declared immediately. "I am not taking him back." She pointed to Spike.
"Take me back?!" Spike was indignant. "You've got one hell of a lot of nerve, you bubble-headed bimbo! I ought to stake you."
Harmony narrowed her eyes and lifted her stake again. "You already staked me," she threw back at him.
Angel sighed and covered Harmony's hand with his own. That had always been Spike's problem. He lacked focus. "We're not here to hide. And no one is staking anyone."
She didn't put the stake down. "Then what do you want?" she asked.
"Your help," Spike admitted, eyes rolling up toward the ceiling.
"And a few introductions," Angel said. "We're going to fight the Scourge."
Harmony dropped the hand with the stake and raised the other hand to her mouth. She turned around and her shoulders began to shake.
Spike leaned toward Angel. "She's laughing at us," he smirked.
Harmony didn't wait for Angel to reply to that. "Have you seen those guys?" she asked, still stifling her laughter. "They've got, like, this whole army."
"And they kill vampires," Angel added. "Which is why we're raising our own army."
Her eyebrows went up. "Of vampires? What about the Slayer?"
"She isn't all that popular with the Scourge either," Spike told.
"We thought we might . . .," Angel hesitated, "work with the Slayer."
She didn't bother to hide her laughter that time. “Work with the Slayer? The Vampire Slayer?”
“It's a common enemy thing, Harm,” Spike argued. “We work together one time and deliver a legendary ass-whipping. Everybody gets what they want, namely dead demons, then it's back to all the blood-drinking and heart-staking your empty little head can handle.”
“And you want me to introduce you to other vampires,” she asked Angel, still giggling, “to get them to agree to this?”
“That's the idea,” he said. He wasn't thrilled with this idea in the first place. Vampires couldn't be trusted. They worked too much on the pleasure principle. They didn't necessarily possess a sense of honor. They worked for themselves and occasionally for others, but only in return for something. “Just think, a whole night, from sundown to sunrise with no Slayer to worry about.”
“But there's a demon army to worry about,” she reminded him.
“You can't hide,” Angel told her. “They'd find you. I know. I've seen them. I've even fought them. You can try and fight them or you can die. We'll have others fighting, too. Half-demons. With the Slayer and her group, we can win.”
“If we don't win,” Spike took over, “they're going to get stronger. Their leader is going to pop up tomorrow night and start feastin' on impure demons. Including us, Harm. And even if you do manage to hide from them, there won't be anything left to eat, will there?”
“Um, helloo!” she raised her hand and rolled her eyes distastefully, “You are such a doofus. We don't eat half-demons.” She paused, eyeing him with even greater disgust, “At least I don't.”
“Forget about the half-demons then, Harm, and think about the humans,” Spike tilted his head down and looked up at her from under serious brows, “Because after tomorrow night, the Leader of the Scourge is going on a humanity campaign.”
She wasn't laughing anymore. “We'd starve?”
Spike gave her a salacious smile. “Trust me, love, it's no bloody fun.”
Harmony frowned and sat down on the edge of her bed, her cocky demeanor suddenly subdued, “I think I know where to find some help.”
Cordelia had wanted Rieff to come back with them, but the boy had insisted that he go and speak to the others, those who had returned with him to recruit willing fighters from the area. He'd given her some journals though, notes on the prophecies which spoke of the battle to come. Had he real arms, Doyle would have offered to carry them for her, but as it was, he had just enough energy to walk. He was tired now, more than the day before. The sidewalk at his feet seemed to sway, but he knew that was just his eyes. He was dizzy. And he still had to go back out again. He almost wished it were tomorrow night, just so he could know it would all be over soon. He would sleep, one way or the other.
No, he'd promised Cordelia. There was only one way. He would make it back to this world, as one whole person, somehow. Maybe there was something in the journals to tell him how.
“Do you think Angel had it this easy with the vampires?” Cordelia asked. He could tell she was nervous. He hadn't spoken much since they left Rieff. She was just trying to fill the silence.
He was too tired, too hungry, too dizzy to speak, but he did for her sake. “He couldn't have. He had to go with Spike. I got lucky. I had you.”
She blushed and he decided he liked that better than when she would roll her eyes and insult him. And yet, he had to admit he missed the challenge in that somewhat. Apparently, the way to a girl's heart was in dying for her. While it was faster than slowly wearing her down with charm, it was costly and not a little painful. And one usually didn't get the girl afterward. Not unless one happened to be split between two dimensions--which was painful in its own right--and have connections to a Slayer.
“What are you thinking?”
He couldn't tell her that he was musing on his own death or amazing facsimile thereof. “That I missed you,” he told her instead. It was still the truth. Just a different spin on his actual thoughts.
“Me, too.” She'd lowered her voice, but he knew she meant it. He'd seen her crying, heard her listening to that Enya CD or watching the commercial over and over.
He looked up and saw that they had arrived. Buffy was waiting for them at the top of the stairs that led to the courtyard. She waved as they walked up and held out a hand to help him. She could see what Cordelia couldn't. She looked concerned. “Tired?” she asked.
After they'd walked in, Doyle addressed Cordelia, “Princess, why don't you fill Giles in? I need to talk with Buffy for a bit.”
She turned up one side of her mouth, but she nodded and met Giles at the table. Buffy's eyebrows folded down, but Doyle ignored her for the moment. He didn't release her hand, and walked her toward the bathroom. He stepped through the side of the bathtub and sat down, facing the side. He pointed to the faucet. “Can you turn it on, please?”
“Oh!” Buffy said. “We should have thought of this sooner.” She turned the faucet and water started to fall. She even put the stopper in so it would fill up around him. “Let me know if it's too hot. Or cold.”
Doyle was too worn out to answer. Besides the temperature was okay. He pulled up his knees and folded his arms over them so he could rest his head.
“Don't fall asleep,” Buffy warned. “Fill me in. What did you find?”
“Rieff,” Doyle answered, keeping his head down.
“You found a reef?” Buffy sounded confused. “In the middle of Sunnydale?”
Doyle found the strength to give a soft chuckle. “No Rieff, one of the Listers we saved.” He had to take breaths between the words.
“Oh,” she still sounded confused. “Isn't he supposed to be somewhere else? Safe like?”
Doyle nodded, as much as one could when one's head was on one's knees. “He came back. He's been studying prophecy. Seems I'm not done yet. He even knows about the 'great battle' tomorrow. He's been recruiting for it.”
“That's good news!” Buffy exclaimed. But her enthusiasm, if one could tell from the sound of her voice, was short-lived. “You don't seem happy.”
He lifted his head and looked at her. “If Rieff hadn't run off, I wouldn't have followed him. His family wouldn't have been waiting for us. They would have left on time. No one would have had to do what I did.”
Buffy sat down on the side of the tub and turned sideways with one leg flat on edge. “Not that time maybe. But there still would have been a Scourge and a Beacon. Others would have been killed or sent to the Nether to have the life sucked out of them. It just wouldn't have been the Listers, and it wouldn't have been you.”
Doyle dropped his head again. “Not to sound too selfish or anything, but I wouldn't have minded not being included in the story. This hasn't exactly been easy. Someone else could be the Promised One. I wouldn't have minded.”
“I know,” she said, and Doyle felt she did, to a point. “I didn't ask to be the Slayer either. I'd much rather have been a cheerleader and prom queen.”
Doyle let the corners of his lips turn up as he looked at her. She had the look of a cheerleader. But that didn't equal up. “No offense, but it's not quite the same. You're stronger for being Chosen. I'm weak. And transparent. No one even heard me until two days ago. Have you ever felt so hungry you feel sick?” He waited for her nod. “I passed that months ago. Now it just hurts and threatens to swallow me up. I'm tired-–exhausted--but I can't sleep. When I do, it's just like it was right at the end, when I couldn't keep myself from screaming any longer. It's like that all the time. Months of that. It's too much.”
She didn't say anything. She just put her hand on the back of his head and slowly lowered it to her leg, letting him rest there. Doyle dropped his legs into the water and let himself rest. Her hand stayed on his hair, stroking it gently. It felt good to have someone touch him. She probably didn't know how much that meant to him. “Just don't fall asleep,” she said. “You're better off here.”
He could have done so, easily, just by closing his eyes. But he knew what was waiting for him there. He knew Buffy was right. Slow starvation and exhaustion here was better than that. So he kept his eyes open and watched the ripples in the water that weren't the least bit disturbed in their course by his presence.
He wasn't sure how long they stayed that way before he heard the bathroom door open and felt her fingers lift from his hair. Giles spoke as he lifted his head, "Buffy, it's time."
Buffy nodded and Giles disappeared again. "Last outing of the night," she said, standing and offering her hand again. "I promise."
Doyle offered her a reassuring smile he didn't quite feel. He took her hand and felt he had to rely on her strength too much just to stand. "Thanks for the rest," he said, stepping out of the water. "I'm good to go."
She gave him a pouting frown that told him she was skeptical. But she didn't say anything as she turned off the faucet. She held his arm and helped him walk though. They only had an hour to meet up with Riley who was purposely leading his group farther toward the docks.
It took them nearly the whole hour and Doyle was tired again. But he had spotted Riley's group. They, of course, hadn't spotted him. He returned to Buffy and told her they were at the spot she and Riley had agreed upon earlier. Near the docks but further in toward the city. Now they just had to find the Scourge. Doyle knew where their headquarters was, but it was fairly distant and he really hoped he didn't have to go that far again tonight. It was already going to be a very long walk back to Giles' place.
Buffy walked about twenty paces behind him. She had promised to always keep him in sight. Doyle wasn't worried for himself though. The Scourge couldn't see him. They couldn't hurt him. Not as he was. But they could kill her if too many of them should go after her. The plan was to break off only a small group.
Fortunately, Doyle didn't have to go far. He'd started in the direction of their headquarters, but he'd only gone perhaps a half a mile when he heard them. He turned up a block and caught sight of them marching away.
Doyle motioned for Buffy to catch up with him. "Just missed 'em," he told her, pointing in the direction they had gone.
She didn't have time to respond. Just as the echoes of the jackboots melted away, four people emerged from hiding and started running in the opposite direction. Doyle felt his pulse increase. Two of the four were short and held the hands of the taller ones. They ran close to the buildings and kept looking back over their shoulders with glowing gold eyes.
Then one of the children screamed. Doyle stepped into the street to get a better look. Three uniformed demons had stayed behind in ambush. One of them had one of the children held off the ground by one arm. Another held the mother by the waist, pushing her forward with his other hand to keep her quill-like hair from jabbing him. The third ran after the two who remained.
"Buffy!" Doyle cried. He ran toward the mother and screaming child, forgetting his own exhaustion and his intangibility. They must have heard him though because the demon with the child looked up to find the source of his voice. Seeing nothing, he returned his attention to his captives.
The father, now carrying his child, was running in Doyle's direction. Doyle froze when he saw the demon reaching only a hand's width from the man's collar. Doyle heard a snap and felt something solid and thin pierce his shoulder. As quickly as he noticed it, it was exiting his chest and flying into the skull of the demon which had nearly overtaken the father. The demon flopped forward onto the sidewalk with a short arrow protruding from the side of his head. Doyle turned to see Buffy reloading her crossbow. She motioned the father past her.
Buffy stepped into the street with Doyle as the man disappeared into the alley. They both faced the two with the captives.
The demon was watching again, but now he had the child by the neck, her legs kicking furiously and her long fingers wrapped around his arms. The mother cried piteously and reached out toward her child.
"I've only got one more," Buffy whispered.
"Save the child," Doyle told her, knowing the mother would want it that way.
"So this is the Slayer," the demon with the child taunted. He lifted the child higher, using her to block his face and torso.
"I can't," Buffy whispered back. She took a few steps forward.
"I'll distract him," Doyle offered, starting to run again. He had to reach them before the demon snapped the little girl's neck. He ran to the side of them, away from the mother. "Over here, ya big, ugly scab-fest."
The demon turned toward the voice just enough. The arrow caught him in the ribs just beneath his right arm. He hurled the girl away, and Doyle watched helplessly as she hit the pavement with an audible crack.
Buffy lunged at the other, but that demon was quicker. He swept the knife Doyle hadn't even been aware he had across the woman's throat and let her fall gurgling to the street. Then he tackled Buffy. There was only the one left, and Doyle didn't doubt that she could take him. But they needed him alive. For Riley. Buffy didn't run right away though. She stayed to pound him a bit while Doyle went straight to the little girl.
She wasn't moving. There was blood beneath her head. He couldn't see if she was breathing because she was lying face down. “Little girl,” he called to her, hoping to wake her. It was all he could do. But she didn't move.
Buffy was gone when he looked up, and so was the last demon. But the girl wasn't moving. The mother had also stopped moving. “Please, wake up, darlin'” he called to her.
There was movement, just not by the little girl in front of him. Two forms moved out of one of the buildings. The father and other child. They slowly moved his way. Doyle placed his hand into the girl's chest where her heart was. He felt movement there, the tingle changing rhythmically. But it was faint and slow. “Hurry!” he called to the father. “I can't help her.”
The father hesitated, hearing the voice. “Hurry!” Doyle shouted again, hoping to shake the man into listening anyway.
It worked. The man came and knelt down beside his daughter. But he couldn't touch her either. His long fingers hovered uncertainly over her still form. "What can I do?" he begged, gold cat-slit eyes looking for the person belonging to the voice.
Doyle removed his hand. The tingle he'd felt, her heart through his hand, had stopped changing. Like her mother, the girl was dead. "Save your son," Doyle told him. "Get out of here before they come back."
The man's eyes glowed wide, moving from his daughter to his wife. He hesitated in uncertainty and Doyle knew what he was thinking. He couldn't just leave them there, lying in the street. But he had his son to think about. The boy was crying, clutching to his father's sleeve. He was even younger than the girl.
“Save the boy,” Doyle told him again.
And the man stood. He picked up the boy but didn't walk away. “Where can we go?” he asked. “They'll find us.”
Doyle told him where Cordelia had found Rieff. It wasn't necessarily safe, but it was better. The man thanked the air that talked to him and left.
Doyle stood and found his legs shaky and unstable. He collapsed again. How many more were in the buildings behind him? He felt hollowed out from hunger and ineffectualness. Had he arms he could have caught her. As it was, all he could do was sit there watching the blood pool beneath the girl's tiny body with the guilty knowledge that they'd bought him a few moments' respite from the monster in his dreams. The price was too high.
Buffy watched as they caught him. She'd let him chase her, past the buildings where she'd spotted the rest of the family. Half-demons. Vampires didn't generally have families. And their eyes didn't glow like that. She'd given the demon enough of a beating to slow him down. She'd wanted to kill him straight out. She hoped whatever Riley's people did to him would be painful. She thought of the woman and the little girl. And of Doyle, whom she'd left there unable to do anything.
The demon had chased her all the way to Riley's position. Its determination was its undoing. Had it given up, it might have gone back to catch the father and child. But it had kept after her. Buffy had ducked around a corner and into a building just across from Riley. He'd seen her and flashed a red beam of light at her. The demon was down before he could decide which way she'd gone. Riley emerged from his hiding place, talking into his radio. He was joined by three others in less than a minute.
The demon was bound and his head covered. As he was lifted from the ground, one of the other commandos noticed a folded piece of paper beneath him. He picked it up, opened it, showed it to Riley. Riley shook his head, gesturing at the paper. He didn't understand it. They'd take it with them back to base where it could be translated.
All according to the plan. All except that family. Buffy watched Riley and the others leave. She moved to another window, one near the alley, and waited for Doyle.
He never came. She waited ten more minutes and saw no one enter the alley.
She found him back where she'd left him. Sitting beside the little girl. The girl hadn't moved. Doyle didn't even look up when she touched his shoulder.
“I sent the father away,” he mumbled. “He couldn't do anything either.”
She squatted down beside him. "You tried," she told him. “We'll stop them tomorrow night.”
“One night,” Doyle sighed. “One night and she might have had a life.”
Buffy didn't know what to say to make him feel better. She didn't feel particularly good either. So she didn't say anything. She hooked her arm in his and stood him up. They walked back to Giles' together without saying another word.
On to Chapter 4
Send feedback to inheildi@gmail.com The MIDI file is Enya's Watermark courtesy of Enya: the lost souls midi archive Back to Fan Fiction. Back to my main page.
The MIDI file is Enya's Watermark courtesy of Enya: the lost souls midi archive
Back to Fan Fiction. Back to my main page.