Before leaving London proper, William pulled Xander’s car up to a curbside take away place to get them some fish and chips. The boy behind the counter had a sort of fresh-as-a-slice-of-lemon look: Doughy skin, shiny red hair that poked up like a bristle brush, and actual freckles. He may have been 17, but that would be stretching.
“That your girl?” he asked William while they waited for his order.
William followed the boy’s line of sight to Buffy, who was already asleep in the front seat.
“In an unspoken sense, yeah,” William said.
“Innit the way?” the boy asked. “Pretty girl. You want vinegar?”
“On mine, not hers,” he said.
“Where you headed?”
“Oh, Stonehenge,” William said, offhand.
“Place’s closed on Sundays. ’Sides, there’s a wet wind whipping up south. Promises a drencher. Big storms coming,” he said.
William looked out at the tumult of ash blue clouds building to the south. A bitter breeze whisked the humid air around him, sneaking up the sleeves of his jacket and the legs of his pants.
“Seems like,” William said. “But we’ll weather.”
The boy slipped their Styrofoam containers into a plastic bag. “We always do, don’t we?” he said, all boyish and chipper. “Plasticware and napkins in the pack. That’ll be 9 pounds 50.”
William slid currency across the counter and left. On the way back to the car, the strange feel to the air gave him a sense of inexplicable surreality. The closeness of the clouds gave him the creeps.
Buffy’s words sprung to mind, and he shuddered. So much at once. All of it coming for us.
~*~
“How long has it been?” Andrew asked.
“Twenty minutes,” Dawn lied. It seemed to settle him.
They had been in the catacombs a little over two hours, but Andrew had no concept of time anymore. Made no sense to worry him. His breathing wheezed, which worried her. She used her untried first aid training to stem the bleeding in his leg. The sound of his screaming still lingered like bruises in her ears. Didn’t seem as though he remembered, which, maybe again... not a good sign.
“This is like in Rome,” Andrew said. His speech was slurred and slow.
“Maybe it’s best if you don’t talk,” Dawn said.
“Why am I always the one who falls?” Andrew asked.
“If it makes you feel any better, it used to always be Xander,” Dawn told him. She was getting antsed. Giles and Xander were working on making a rope ladder so they could get down the rabbit hole. She doubted they could get Andrew back up that way. For that, they needed Willow. And she was still an hour away.
“I’m the weakest link,” Andrew said, quietly. “You should let me die.”
“What?” Dawn said. “Just... stop talking that way. Stop talking full stop.”
“It’s true. I should’ve died in Sunnydale. Been on time borrowed,” Andrew said. “Soon, it will be over for me. My life is fading, and all will be darkness. But you must carry on, Little One.”
“Oh God. Please hurry, Willow.”
The flashlight sputtered and went out. Andrew whimpered lightly.
“Told you. Darkness,” he said.
“Shhh.” Dawn felt around in the sudden blackness. “I didn’t conserve the batteries because we don’t need the light.”
“Death in a dark pit,” Andrew whined, his voice wavering. “I knew it. I’m gonna die like The English Patient girlfriend.”
“You are not going to die,” Dawn said. She found what she needed on the cave floor – a small flat pebble about the size of a nickel. “And we don’t need the flashlight. Illumis Solem,” she said. The stone glowed with a watery light that cast spangles around the cave.
“What...?” Andrew said, trying to raise his head.
“Stay down,” Dawn ordered. She chanted, softly, “Solem solara. Solem enai.”
The pebble lifted from her palm, emitting tiny sparks like a Fourth of July firecracker. She closed her eyes and pushed it. She could feel it, without feeling it, like it was connected to her. It sent shivers of thrill through her skin.
“Oh look,” Andrew said. “Particles and rays. Are you doing this?”
Dawn pushed a little harder, envisioning the stone in her mind. She willed it to burn brighter, to pulse and spin like a miniature sun. A twinge of pain formed between her eyes, like she was holding her breath too long under water. She bore down on it, on the pain and the connection. A sizzling sound filled her ears.
“It’s... um, Dawn?” Andrew said, sounding concerned. “It’s burning. Is it supposed to...”
“Hush now,” Dawn said, her voice alien and flat. She opened her eyes. She forced her breathing to level out.
The stone burned with the white-hotness of a welder’s torch, scorching twin afterimages on her corneas.
Further, she thought, pushing out. Pain throbbed in her ears. Her breathing rattled.
“Stop it, Dawn. You’re scaring me,” Andrew said.
The stone burst. The shock wave drove Dawn flat on her back. But when she opened her eyes, she could see.
“Look,” she said, amazed. She wiped her bloody nose.
“Look what you did,” Andrew said, also rightly amazed.
Scattered particles of the stone clung to the walls and ceiling of the cave. And with the brand new ambient lighting came new insight. There were seven cave mouths, outlined in a green-gold light. Above each was a symbol carved into the arch like a keystone. Not the Pictish symbols from the sealed doors in the archive, but another language – one she and Andrew had seen before.
“Andrew,” she whispered. “You’re a genius.”
“Wh-what?”
“The symbols. It’s the Sisters,” she said.
~*~
Instinct is a stupid thing.
When Angel first entered his rooms at the Royal London Hotel, his first instinct was to phone Buffy. Not that he could disclose anything from his meeting with Thellian. He wanted to hear her voice. That was all. Even if she wasn't home, perhaps she had a message recorded on their machine. But Angel ruled against it. More than likely, Giles would be the qualified party for formal voicemail messages.
Angel called Connor instead. Since coming to London, he made quick weekly calls to Stanford to check in. Still, as Angel dialed the number, he felt a pang of guilt for having thought of Connor as a second choice.
Connor answered the phone with, “Hey! End of the world, or Dad Moment?”
Angel chuckled. His demeanor smoothed the moment he heard Connor’s voice on the other end. “Go with the latter. How are things in Palo Alto?”
“Sunny. Warm. Girls wearing hoodies and shorts. What sense does that make?” Connor said.
“Do girls ever make sense?” Angel said.
“Wouldn’t be nearly as much fun if they did,” Connor said. “I’m serious about that whole end-of-the-world thing. You’ll keep me in the loop, right?”
“I won’t storm the castle without you,” Angel said.
“Hey, I’m thinking about going into law,” Connor said, breezily. “Follow in the old man’s footsteps.”
Angel felt something hard lodge in his throat. He coughed.
“Dad? I was joking,” Connor said.
Angel tried to swallow. “Not... funny,” he gulped.
“I’m going into education,” Connor said.
Angel spluttered. The something hard felt suddenly like stifling hot coals stuffed into his chest. Angel put a hand on his chest and came away with blistered fingers.
“Connor,” he croaked.
“Also kidding,” Connor laughed on the other end. “Sciences, all the way. Cross my heart. Nothing but serious study.”
Angel stumbled backward. He caught the edge of the bar just as his muscles spasmed. He made a strangled sound over the phone.
“Dad?” Connor said. “You okay?”
Angel fell to his knees. The phone skittered across the tile floor like a plastic crab. Angel flopped back against the wall. He tore at his shirt. The brand – the Circle of the Black Thorn – glowed with the brilliance of molten stone.
“Not yet,” Angel growled through clenched teeth. “Not the hell yet.”
~*~
Dawn, Buffy, William and Giles assembled together in the twinkle-lighted cavern when Xander finally led Willow down the rope ladder he had crafted. Buffy, William and Giles clustered together, talking quietly when Willow appeared. Andrew lay at the center of their circle. Under another set of circumstances, Dawn knew he would be basking in the collective concern. Under these circumstances, he was just a moaning, miserable mass in the bottom of a cave.
Willow knelt beside Andrew. She approached the situation like a battle-hardened field medic. She even brought her magics bag, which was like a cross between a doctor’s medical kit and a tackle box.
“Sorry I couldn’t make it sooner,” she said. She laid a cool hand on Andrew’s clammy forehead.
“It’s just good you’re here,” Buffy said. Willow caught a note of melancholy in Buffy’s voice. Not that it was misplaced. Hiding out in a dank catacomb with an injured friend was no way to pass a Sunday evening, but Willow sensed it was more than that.
Andrew’s eyelids fluttered. “Why couldn’t you, um, apparate or something?” he asked.
“Because I never went to Hogwarts, Sweetie,” she said. She began unpacking her components – an altar stone, her crystals and foci; mini-baggies filled with powdered herbs and dried insects.
“Noticing very much the absence of Kennedy,” Xander said. “She didn’t want to come with?”
Willow continued setting up the circle for a healing spell. “Kennedy’s not part of the group,” she said. She cleared her throat, and amended, “She’s taking Buffy’s patrol.”
Willow slipped a pouch on a white silk cord around Andrew’s neck.
“I should’ve had these ready for you,” Willow said. She removed two more from her witch’s bag.
Andrew looked down at it. “What is it?” he asked, shakily.
“Protection-y goodness. Like a mystical flu shot,” she said. She rose to her knees and looped one around Xander’s neck. “Made them on the train.”
Xander held his out and eyed it with his good eye. “Wow, Wil. I didn’t get you anything.”
Willow turned to Giles. “Put this on,” she told him. “Wear it always. Promise me.”
Giles slid the cord over his head.
“There’s not one for Spike,” Dawn said, quietly.
William, who was standing a distance away from the rest, glanced up but said nothing.
“Spike’s got protection of his own. Tara said they would need protecting,” Willow said.
Dawn’s eyes widened. Before she could say anything, Willow jumped in. “So, illumination spell. Your work?”
“Oh, yep. Just basic illumination,” Dawn said. “I tweaked it a little.”
“More like a lot,” Willow said, taking a very brief moment to admire the shimmering flecks of glittering light.
Dawn smiled.
“You should have seen it,” Andrew mused. “It was like when the Starship Enterprise went kablooey in Generations.”
“I’m almost ready to begin,” Willow said.
“Will it hurt?” Andrew whimpered.
“A little,” Willow admitted. Addressing the others, she said, “It’s gonna be on the tricky side, especially getting the bones all mendy. I’ll need stillness and quiet while I work.”
“We were just speaking of further exploring the caves,” Giles said, keeping a tight rein on his scholar ardor. “I have the guidebook right here. And the keystones are in Nephillim script, which adds a whole new dimension to the context of these catacombs. Actual Angelic writing. It alters the purpose of the whole construction...”
“Can you tone down the enthusiasm, Bert Lahr?” William said. “Boy’s got a jutting femur.”
“Right,” Giles said. He turned away. Buffy and William followed. Then Buffy turned back. She knelt down beside Willow.
“Faith called,” Buffy whispered.
“Faith?”
“She said a Priestess was coming,” Buffy said.
“A Priestess?” Willow said. “There was a Priestess mentioned in the spell paperwork Angel gave us. But she had to off herself to complete the spell.”
“Well, offing doesn’t always mean bright shiny light at the end of the tunnel where we’re concerned,” Buffy said.
Willow nodded. “We’ll look into it.”
Buffy gripped Willow’s shoulder before she left them. Xander and Dawn remained behind, for moral support. Dawn reached to take Andrew’s hand.
Willow closed her eyes, pushing all the straggling figments of thought from her mind.
“Now’s when I should bite down on something hard? Like a stick or a leather belt?” Andrew said.
Willow opened her eyes. “Spell Albuquerque,” she said.
“What?” Andrew said.
“Spell it.”
“A-L-B-E-K...”
Willow snapped the bone back in with a loud crack. Andrew screamed until he had no breath. And then he fainted.
~*~
Morna ripped a sheet of marble from the floor in her room and flung it against the door.
Lalaine pounded her fists bloody on the other side. Morna ignored her. She crouched, knees to her ears, tracing lines and shapes around her in the white dust.
“Morna,” Lalaine called. “Open the door, my darling.”
Morna bit into her thumb, then squeezed. A drop of ruby blood spilled into the dust. Morna mixed it, grunting with pleasure. She inscribed wide arcs in the blood and grime.
Downstairs, Thellian opened the door to their loft.
“Thellian!” Lalaine cried out, sounding desperate. She struggled against the door.
Thellian took the steps in three bounds. Together he and Lalaine edged the door open wide enough for them to slip in.
Morna looked up at them, hands powdered with dust and teeth bloody.
Lalaine stretched her long neck to the side, eyeing her sister with a mixture of curiosity and pity.
“The Circle,” Lalaine said, quietly. “She remembers...”
“And they’ve found it,” Thellian said. He pursed his lips. “It’s all a matter of time for us now.”
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