Joyce was anxious. She sat waiting in the food court at the mall for Spike to show up again, knowing that while she was the one that had pushed for them to go ahead and carry out the plan that night, she herself felt nowhere near ready.
Her fingers drummed incessantly against the sticky counter top of the table at which she was sitting. The untouched plate of food that she had bought for lunch had been pushed into the centre of the table to slowly turn cold. This is for Buffy. You can do it for your baby girl.
She tried to ignore the way her stomach rolled in nerves, the way her hands grew cold and clammy and her eyes couldn’t settle on one object for too long. Stop it. You are a grown woman and have done nothing wrong. Spike is the one stealing the phone.
Joyce suppressed the small nervous and slightly hysterical giggle that threatened to bubble from her lips and wiped her hands over her face in an effort to calm herself before her eyes once more went back to surveying her surroundings.
The flash of white-blonde hair caught her eye in the distance as the crowd parted and she felt warm prickles break out over her skin.
Swallowing deeply, Joyce watched as Spike strode confidently towards her, his posture casual and relaxed as if this were the sort of thing he did on a daily basis. That’s probably because he practically does. He’s been doing stuff like this for over a century. Whatever the reason, he didn’t look like someone who had just stolen a phone.
For a brief almost fleeting moment she had the wonderful though that maybe he hadn’t done it and that they would have to make do with using one of their own phones, despite the fact that they knew the Council had them bugged and would be on to their whole set up faster than ants on a cupcake. That thought was quickly discarded as Spike smiled and sat down opposite her.
“’lo Joyce.” She managed a nervous smile but couldn’t bring herself to open her mouth. He smiled gently at her. “Relax ducks, it’s all fine. Nothing went wrong and the lass probably won’t realise her phone’s gone until she gets home anyway.”
Joyce watched uncomfortably as he casually picked up the fork and began eating her untouched lunch. She was itching to get out of the store and away from the crime to which she felt she was an accomplice.
“I can’t see why we can’t just use a payphone,” she finally blurted out as her nerves finally got the better of her, knowing the answer to that already. The call needed to be made from the general area and any of the phones and surrounding payphones were being monitored by the Council.
Spike smiled at her and pushed himself up from the table, leaving the now empty plate and fork to remain on the table. Joyce sighed at his understanding look and stood up, picking up her bag as she went.
“For Buffy,” she said softly to herself as she tried to walk out of the food court without looking too guilty as they passed mall security.
“For Buffy,” Spike agreed.
Xander sat crouched in the bushes, ten feet away from the apartment complex that held Buffy, waiting for the hands on his watch to tick over to the hour. Ten more minutes to go. Ten minutes until their plan was put into action. Fifteen minutes until Joyce made the call to the local authorities.
Xander reached up and fingered the pendant that sat around his neck. It was simple enough—a rune carved into a small rock that had been smoothed and shaped so it was a flat, circular disc. It had been secured around his neck by a thin leather strap.
A small nick had been made on his index finger and his blood rubbed into the carving while Giles had muttered some ancient words of another language under his breath. For a few seconds afterwards, it had glowed brilliantly before fading once again and leaving the pendant warm.
So long as it stayed warm and wasn’t removed from his neck, he would be protected against being detected by any security measures the building would have and from the prying eyes of neighbours that might report him to the local police.
He looked down at his watch again. Seven minutes to go. Picking up the canisters of fuel from beside him, he crept out from the bushes slowly.
A quick locator spell had been performed over a map of the complex to ascertain whether Buffy was indeed in there and exactly where she was being held, as well as to see what parts of the building weren’t being used. This section of the building was deserted and therefore their target spot for the decoy that would get them into the building while remaining free of human casualties.
Xander crept up to the side of the building and peered in one of the lower windows. “All clear,” he muttered to himself as he drew back his elbow and sent it careening into the glass. He cursed silently when it impacted but didn’t shatter.
He paused and waited to see if anyone had heard the thump before drawing his arm back and hitting it again. He startled at the amount of noise it made as it shattered and he stopped again as he waited to see if anyone inside had noticed.
He checked his watch again. Five minutes till the hour.
Taking a deep breath he punched out the rest of the shards of glass that had remained stuck in the frame. Reaching down beside him, he picked up one of the fuel canisters and let it drop inside before pulling himself in as well.
The room he had entered was small and clearly a bedroom though it showed no signs of being lived in. Xander let out a sign of relief and quickly crossed to shut the door before running a small amount of the fuel down its wood and onto the carpet in front of it.
Looking around quickly he spied the bed cover and pulled it off spreading it across the floor and dousing it with the petrol. He did the same with the sheets on the bed, leaving one to hang out the window slightly before he emptied the rest of the canister into the room and climbed out the window again.
The second canister was sitting on the ground where he had left it and he made quick work of drenching the outside of the building with its contents.
One minute to go.
He walked back over to the bushes and pulled out the flame thrower he had stolen only a few hours before from the only army base they had in Sunnydale. He donned the pack and took a deep breath before glancing down at his watch one last time.
Six o’clock, half an hour till sunset.
Taking aim at the fuel drenched building, Xander pulled the trigger and let out a burst of flames.
The fuel ignited immediately with a whoosh that had him stumbling backwards to shield his eyes. He stayed long enough to make sure that it was well lit before quickly taking off down the street at a run after dumping the flame thrower in a previously agreed upon location.
The others, minus Joyce and Willow, were waiting in Joyce’s jeep just a few blocks down the street and Xander closed his eyes in relief as he saw them and gave them the signal that his job had been done. The vehicle pulled out from the curb a few minutes later and drove off in the direction from which he had come, as he set off back for the house on Revello drive.
Joyce looked at her watch. She was seated in Giles car a block away from where Buffy was being kept. It was five minutes past six, and Joyce pulled out the stolen mobile phone.
Dialling the emergency number she held the phone to her ear.
“Hello? I need help! I have to report a fire!” she said in a panicked voice that wasn’t entirely faked. “An apartment complex is on fire on the corner of…”
Willow sat in front of her computer in the Summers’ living room. The clock which has previously been hanging on the wall had been removed and was presently sitting on the table directly next to her lap top as she nervously waited for her time to come.
Five minutes past six o’clock. Joyce had made the phone call.
Willow chewed her lip nervously as she glanced at her computer. It would take Sunnydale’s finest roughly ten minutes to get to the fire. That left her six minutes until she set off the alarm inside the building.
Of all the people they knew who were inside, it was Travers and Hank that they had to be most wary of. They couldn’t be made aware that anything was amiss until the last minute. If they were to put the fire out magically before the authorities arrived, all hope of rescuing Buffy could be ruined. So Willow sat and waited for the clock to show the time to be eleven minutes past six.
Already, the others would be preparing to enter through the back where the fading sun was in no danger of dusting Spike and their easiest point of entry lay. For once, Willow wished she was there with them instead of sitting alone in a house waiting to set off an alarm that would create bedlam within the complex. It was unnaturally quiet except for the steady ticking of the clock that lay on the desk before her.
Xander will be here soon, she thought as she glanced to the centre of the room where the furniture had been cleared and a circle had been marked out with the blood of a lamb. Xander would be coming home to get married to Buffy. If they can get her out a small part of her mind spoke.
She glanced at the clock again. It was eleven minutes past six. Showtime.
Willow put her hands to the keyboard of her computer and began typing in the commands that would set off the alarms inside the apartment complex.
Her task finished, she sat back in her seat and put her hands over her face just as the front door opened and Xander stepped in. They looked at one another and nodded.
“Everything running smoothly?” he asked in a dull, worried voice.
She nodded.
“Everything is right on time.”
Buffy lay sedately on her cot as the door to her cage was opened and she was dragged out from inside. She felt so weak—weak and cold. Her flesh felt like it was covered in goose bumps and her eyelids felt too heavy to even bother opening, so she let whoever had her carry her to wherever she was going.
Her tongue ran across her teeth as she swallowed and she was vaguely surprised to find she was in her demon visage as her tongue was nicked on one of her small fangs. Her own blood pooled in her mouth and she groaned as her stomach protested in hunger.
The trip was short and she soon found herself being lowered onto the ground.
“She looks unwell.” Buffy vaguely heard someone say from above her head. The voice sounded familiar and she fought to open her eyes to see who it was.
“It is just a side effect of what I have been feeding her,” another voice answered. Her father. “Better that she is in this state where she is unable to escape than fighting us every step of the way.”
Her body shuddered in protest as everything suddenly came rushing back to her. Her father and Travers. What they were going to do. NO! her mind shouted, even as her body could find no more strength than to utter a small groan.
“Very well,” Travers spoke before there was a short pause in which nobody spoke, and then “do you smell something burning?”
There was another small pause in which he presumably sniffed the air. “The kitchen staff has probably burnt dinner again,” Hank replied in an off-handed voice. “Go ahead and enter the circle with her. Nobody else needs to be present for this besides the three of us.”
Buffy wanted to cry out in protest about what was about to happen, yet she was powerless to stop it. Why am I so weak? What have they done to me? Tears of fear and frustration welled under her closed eyelids and slid down her face.
She heard her father chuckle till his voice was just above her right ear. “Are you ready to become Mrs. Buffy Travers, daughter?”
Oh god, please help me! she screamed mentally, as she tried once more to open her eyes or move her body from the prone position she was stretched out in along the floor. She managed to crack her eyes open enough to glare at him. Her father chuckled at her and walked around to the other side of the circle.
Oh please! Anything! As if answering her prayers, an alarm suddenly went off in the building and the sprinklers in the ceiling began to let out streams of icy cold water.
Her body jerked in surprised at the temperature change and she listened to her father and Travers complaining and questioning each other angrily.
“What the fuck is going on?” Hank yelled as the water broke out. He could hear the sound of sirens in the distance over the wailing of the alarm. “It’s the fire alarm!”
Travers swore under his breath as he looked across the circle at the prone figure of the girl that would be the catalyst for his growth into the power for which he had been destined. A power he wasn’t about to let slip from his grasp.
He was so close.
“Keep going,” he ground out as he levelled his hard gaze on Buffy’s figure. “It will be put out, get on with it!”
For a second, Hank looked as if he were about to refuse, instead he turned back so he was facing the circle and opened his arms as he began to chant.
Inside Buffy wanted to die. With no strength left within her to defend herself, there was no possible hope of getting out of this situation. She heard the melodic sounds of her father’s voice as he chanted out the ritual and she felt the first pulse of magic wash over her.