Willow propped against the pillows on her Westbury bed with the papers Angel had given them spread out across the Queen Anne’s Lace bedspread. She held her notebook on her knee, busily annotating and highlighting key points from the collected documents.
Trouble was, there were so many. And some of them were in languages she had never seen. This was so much a Scooby project and not just a Willow project. She needed her favorite trio of Watchers to wade through it. She made a sticky note – ‘See Andrew on Translation’ – and attached it to the topmost file in the Possible Demonic Tongue batch.
Once she had the papers sorted into sundry stacks, Willow felt progress being made. Manageable chunks: Spell Components, Ritual Steps, Thellian, the aforementioned Possible Demonic Tongues, and the shortest stack, Geographic Locations. She was focused. Organized. Mind like a steel drum. Or was it guitar? Either way, she had a handle on this thing. She had a system. They could figure it all out with just a little planning and know-how.
Organized...
Willow tugged forward the stack of papers on this Thellian character. She skimmed over the records, highlighting important dates and facts in lime green.
When Kennedy entered, Willow didn’t look up from her page. Kennedy was accustomed to Willow in research mode. These days, it seemed like Willow’s only mode.
Kennedy deliberately shut the door behind her. “Babe,” she said. “You need a break and a decent snogging.”
“Uh-huh,” Willow said. She turned the first page face down on the bed, continued to read.
“It’s snowing outside, actually,” Kennedy said. “We should get naked and roll in it like dogs.”
“Hmm,” Willow said.
Kennedy came to stand at the bedside. She crossed her arms. “I’m pregnant, Willow,” Kennedy said.
“Yep,” Willow said. She scribbled a note in the margin, but never looked up.
“Yeah. Andrew’s the father,” Kennedy said, feeling tension rising under her shoulder blades. “Actually, Andrew, his freaky demon ex and I were having this torrid threesome affair, so the baby is this mixed up hybrid spawn of demon, lesbian and geek. After the child’s born, I’m planning on moving to Key West to pursue a career as a fishing guide, and you’re not hearing a damn word I’m saying, are you?”
Willow turned over another page. “This Thellian guy,” Willow mumbled, furiously marking a passage. “He’s... ancient. At least 2,000 years. What does it take for a vampire to live so long? I mean, he must be some kind of brainiac to survive all that change and chaos. Or just, maybe extremely lucky. Or both? I wonder if Giles knows more.”
Willow whipped off another sticky note, scribbled her question for Giles, and affixed it to the page.
“Willow,” Kennedy said.
Willow continued to read.
Kennedy climbed onto the bed. Her knee crinkled the edge of the Spell Components stack.
“Hey!” Willow said. “Watch it. I’m organizing here.”
Kennedy scoffed. Willow moved the stack, smoothed the wrinkles, and continued to read.
“No, Willow. Don’t shut me out,” Kennedy said. She took Willow’s chin in her hand, turned her face to meet hers. “You need a break.”
“I can’t, Kennedy. I need to get a handle on this spell. I need to find out if we can reverse it. Buffy needs...”
Kennedy snorted. “Buffy needs?” she said. “Know what I think? Buffy has a whole house load of people catering to Buffy needs.”
“I’m telling you, I don’t need a break,” Willow said.
“What about my needs, Willow?” Kennedy said. She sat back on her heels. “I live with you all. Share my space with people who whine and annoy, who eat all of my Doritos and take up my training space when I’m working. And why? For what? So you can completely ignore me on the first afternoon we’ve had together in weeks.”
Willow stared blankly at Kennedy. She said, “Are you saying I should take a few minutes off from trying to save the world because you want alone time?”
Kennedy made a disgusted sound. “We should have a few minutes, Wil. The world’s not ending tomorrow,” she said.
“We don’t know that,” Willow said. “We
don’t know much of anything. Right now, it’s world of darkness, Kennedy, and all I know is that my friends need me. Tara said that Giles, Xander and...”
Kennedy held up her hand. “Hold up. Who?”
Willow hesitated. Then, “T-Tara said.”
Kennedy shook her head slowly. “Unbelievable.”
“It’s not what it looks like,” Willow began. “Tara’s my... she’s my avatar. Once in a while. When I’m astrally projecting. Like a spirit guide.”
Kennedy held up her hands. “Your Lesbian Lover’s Still Hung Up on Her Dead Girlfriend Who’s Now Her Astral Guide on the next episode of Tricia. How can I compete with that?”
Willow reeled as if Kennedy had slapped her. “You think this is a competition? Some kind of game? Tara came to me with information...”
“And, what? Your avatar couldn’t take the form of – I don’t know – a raven, or a jaguar, or maybe Frida Kahlo?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Willow said, bewildered.
“It means,” Kennedy said, “you shut me out. You all do. You have this enormous back history, and all these self-referential inside jokes which you use to make me feel like an outsider. Quaint, exclusive Scooby commune.”
“No, Kennedy. No. That is your perspective only,” Willow said, in a measured tone. “Look at Spike and Andrew. You think they just folded in the mix like good little semi-sweet morsels? They didn’t. Difference is, they tend to not complain as much when things don’t go their way.”
Kennedy hopped back from the bed. Her eyes flashed. When she spoke, her voice sharpened to a razor edge. “Willow, you better listen to me. Changes are coming and I know it. I’m prepared. You better believe it’s my way that will win.”
Willow cut her off. “See what I mean? You think you have all the answers, Kennedy. None of us do. Not yet. We can’t blaze in to a gunfight and learn two seconds into it that we forgot to load our guns. I believe in Buffy. I know in her heart she wants us all to come through this alive...”
She paused, realizing a heartbeat too late that she had said too much.
Kennedy licked her teeth. She said, “You think I don’t.”
Willow lowered her eyes. After a long moment, she said, “I really don’t know.”
“Great,” Kennedy said. “That’s... great.”
Willow and Kennedy spent the next few minutes not speaking and not looking at one another.
“Look, Willow...” Kennedy said. Willow’s cell phone on the bedside table began to ring. The tone was Coldplay’s Yellow – Xander’s ring. Willow answered it immediately.
Kennedy rolled her eyes.
“Who what?” Willow asked. “Slow down, Xander. I can barely hear you. What happened?”
Kennedy headed for the door. Before leaving, she looked back at Willow, who was now frantically scribbling in her notebook.
“All right,” Willow said. “Rope. Got it. I’ll be there. Just tell them to hang on.”
Kennedy glared. Under her breath she said, “It’s always something”
~*~
“Faith? Faith, hello?” Buffy yelled into the receiver. She clicked the talk button repeatedly, but there was only dial tone.
“Well, what did she say?” William asked her.
“She’s coming,” Buffy said.
“Faith’s coming. Hardly worth a panic, luv.”
Buffy looked up at him. “Not her,” she said. “Someone else. A Priestess? Do we know anyone Priestess-y?”
William looked first confused, then alarmed. “Did she say where she was?” he asked.
Buffy stared at the phone. “No,” she said. “What’s the number to dial back?”
“Star 69,” he said.
“That’s US. We need UK,” she said. Her hands were shaking.
“Oh. Right. Try 1439,” he offered.
Buffy dialed. Got a recording telling her that the number was incomplete.
“Damn it. That’s not it,” she said.
“1141.”
Dialed. Received same message.
“Also not it.”
William rolled his eyes. “All right. 1139.”
“Are you just spouting random numbers?”
“I don’t know the bloody phone system,” he snapped. “Dial an operator. Or, fire marshal. Dial the American Embassy...”
Buffy switched the phone off. She gulped down several deep breaths. “I’m too scattered,” she said. “I can’t think. I can’t breathe.”
“Maybe you should lie down,” he said.
Buffy scowled. The phone rang in her hand. She started so badly she almost dropped it.
“Faith?” she answered.
“Buffy. It’s Willow.”
Buffy knew Willow’s worry voice. “Oh my God. Has something happened to Dawn?”
“What is it?” William said. Buffy turned away.
“It’s Andrew,” Willow said. “There was a cave-in at the archive. He’s trapped. Xander says it may be pretty serious.”
“Giles?” Buffy asked. “What about Giles?”
“He’s fine. Buffy, they need us,” Willow said.
“We’ll leave right away. It’s two hours for us by car,” Buffy said.
“Three for me by train. I can meet you there,” Willow said.
When Buffy ended the conversation with Willow, she rocked forward on the balls of her feet. William steadied her.
“Is it the Niblet?” he asked.
“Andrew,” she said.
“I’ll drive,” he said. He took the plastic test wand from her hand. “Might want to... hide this.”
Buffy closed her eyes. “So much at once,” she whispered. “All of it coming for us.”
“Here, now,” William said. “Let’s not think of it. We’ll go rescue the little boy. You can rest on the way.”
~*~
Thellian was Roman blond, born many centuries before invading Moors overtook his homelands. He remembered Herodotus and Sophocles. They had been his teachers in a time when demons still held sway with Emperor and Pharaoh, even if the Demon Age had cycled to its ungainly end.
Even now, Thellian recalled the shapes of his countries, the boundaries drawn to bind up lands and the people within. As a young man, he would lie in the sun and trace the lines with his fingers. He thought them permanent, fixed and immutable.
How things had changed...
Angel arrived at Triumvirate precisely five minutes early. From his place in the loft, Thellian observed his entrance with calculated curiosity.
Thellian gleaned from him all he needed to know in the few seconds Angel took to cross the main floor. Angel was injured. He was anxious and confused.
None of this was outward, of course. Angel’s comportment disclosed nothing beyond what was expected of the role he played. Thellian had a way of sensing things, of reading people. It was a gift.
The maitre ’d showed Angel to Thellian’s table. He did not stand to greet him.
“Thellian,” Angel said, keeping a cool, professional tone.
“Please sit, Angel,” Thellian said. “It is still Angel, correct?” he asked, knowing full well that it was.
Angel took his seat, but did not respond. What amazed him about Thellian was how young he seemed. Angel had met one other master vampire, and that was, well, The Master. That guy looked like a 1920s Nosferatu reject in a rubber mask. Thellian, otherhand-wise, had the makings of an Ivy League all star athlete. The only betraying factor was the intensity of his eyes. Angel made a weird association between them and the swirling clouds of a van Gogh painting.
Thellian signaled for the maitre ’d to leave them. Once the door was sealed, Thellian reclined in his chair.
“Why are we meeting, Angel?” Thellian asked.
“You are the one who arranged this,” Angel answered.
Thellian laced his fingers. “I know that. Tell me why.”
Angel sat back. “You crave the company of other long-lived vampires because no one else on this earth can relate...”
Thellian smiled. “Wrong answer. Good if you’re an Anne Rice fan. But wrong,” he said.
“You aren’t a client of Wolfram & Hart,” Angel said.
“Indeed not,” Thellian said. “I have no need for lawyers. Mine own counsel do I keep. But you already knew that.”
Angel was intrigued. He tried not to let it show.
“It’s the Shanshu, then,” Angel said. “You want to know which side I’ll choose.”
“All of demonkind awaits the answer to that question,” Thellian said.
Angel felt flattered. If he had been human, he would have blushed. “All of demonkind, huh?” he said.
Thellian leaned forward. “It all hinges on you, doesn’t it? Which only makes it worse, knowing that your every choice could influence the lives of millions. Millions, Angel. You realize this makes you very powerful.”
Angel studied Thellian’s face for any sign of derision but found none. “You want to know how I’m going to use it,” Angel said.
“I already know,” Thellian said.
“I think you’re wasting my time.”
“Your intent is to take down Wolfram & Hart from within. Finish what you started in LA. You must know they suspect that,” Thellian said.
“If they found me suspect, why would they hand back my all-access pass to the absolute power package?” Angel asked.
“Why were you released from hell, Angel?”
“High marks in behavior,” Angel quipped.
Thellian went on as though he hadn’t heard Angel. “Who signed the parole orders? You have no doubt asked yourself these questions. Maybe you even found sufficient answer.”
“I have.”
“They are all lies, Angel. You have been a fool, played from the moment the gypsies cursed you with your soul,” Thellian said.
“I’ve heard enough,” Angel said, getting up from his chair.
Thellian simply watched Angel from behind his intensely grave eyes. He bore himself with a calm, confident sense of sympathetic grace. Angel found it at once settling and disconcerting.
“The prophecy...” Angel began.
“Existed before you were cursed,” Thellian said.
“They were watching?” Angel said.
“They are always watching.”
Angel looked around the room, suddenly picturing hidden cameras and recording devices in floral arrangements, flatware and sprinklers.
Thellian’s blond brows arched. “You have no cause to fear within these walls. Wolfram & Hart is my enemy also.”
Angel re-took his seat opposite Thellian.
“Wolfram & Hart deals in the fatal rush for wealth and power,” Thellian said. “That path cannot sustain us.”
“And you think I’ll buy that you want to take them down?” Angel asked.
Thellian leaned in, eyes sparkling like twin sapphires in the candlelight. “Is it a soul that makes one good or evil? This world is peopled by wretched men who have committed acts of atrocity, yet all have their precious souls. I may not have a soul, Angel. But I am not an evil man.”
Drawn in, Angel asked, “What is your plan?”
Thellian sat back. “You think I will just lay them out for you. Outline them in PowerPoint Presentation, perhaps? Give you a memo with bullet points?” He chuckled, lightly. “No. I must first know where you stand.”
Angel watched Thellian carefully, looking now for traces of a set-up or signs of weakness. He found nothing but Thellian’s earnest face.
“And the Slayers?” Angel asked.
“Their movements do not concern me,” Thellian said.
“What do you want, Thellian?” Angel asked.
Thellian smiled as though Angel finally asked the right question.
“I want to save the world,” he said.
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