Wood led Andrew into darkening depths, dragging him at times, until the flailing Andrew could hear murmurous voices ahead.
Luxe twisted Andrew’s already tender wrist back the wrong way, just as Robin Wood had done in the
chamber above. A thin breathy squeak escaped from Andrew’s throat.
“It is the mark of Kimaris,” Luxe said, grinning. “He will suit your purposes.”
Wood said, “The battle’s going well upstairs.”
Luxe looked Wood over, eyes narrowed contemptuously. “Really. You look a bit singed, Monsieur Wood.”
“Witches cast an impressive spell, but when I left, your Priestess was handling the clean up,” Wood said.
“Bon,” Luxe said. “And the Slayer?”
Wood dipped his head. “We think she’s gone to the Circle.”
Luxe looked over his shoulder at Thellian and grinned. “You were right, of course.”
Thellian turned his eyes upon Andrew. “Of course,” he said. “Return to the battle. You know what to do
with those who remain. Do not kill them, Robin. They are valuable to us only if they live.”
“All right,” Wood said. He nodded once to Luxe before disappearing into shadows.
Andrew locked his knees and wrenched his wrist away from Luxe’s grasp. He staggered away before
collapsing in the dust outside of Thellian’s flashlight beam.
“Stay…” he croaked, choking on his tears. “Stay away from me.”
“A feisty one,” Thellian said, flatly. “Why am I not surprised?”
Luxe knelt like a man trying to coax a puppy out from beneath a truck. “Here, boy,” he said. “You should
consider yourself fortunate. Unlike your friends you are going to survive this battle.”
Andrew scuttled deeper into shadow. He covered his head with his arms. “She said, she said, she said,”
Andrew said, rocking himself.
Luxe clucked his tongue. “What did she say to you? What promise did she make?”
Andrew craned his head around so that the light caught on the lenses of his glasses. “She said it’s a mark of protection.”
“Ah, but it is,” Luxe said, exuberant. “That is why you are coming with us. We need a gate and boarding
pass. You are the boarding pass.”
“What?” Andrew breathed.
“There are other worlds than this,” Thellian explained.
Andrew sat down hard, his back to the cave wall. Luxe inched forward on his haunches. He reached into his
jacket to produce a thin metal case.
“I knew you were a smoker,” Andrew sneered. “Your hair is frizzy and your skin is all Leatherface.”
Luxe narrowed his eyes. He popped the latch on the case, revealing several folded sheets of yellowed paper.
“Oh,” Andrew said, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Heh. Well, good. That’s good. Smoking’ll kill you. And you can always use a crème rinse for your…”
“Fermez la bouche, Monsieur Wells,” Luxe snapped.
“Ooh. I don’t speak French, see,” Andrew said nervously. “Habla Espanol?”
Luxe kneaded his fists. “Shut up, Andrew,” he said, “This case contains a spell, which you will translate for us.”
Andrew shook his head. “You do it. You’re the Kimaris.”
At this, Luxe’s fine featured face split into a hideous grin that turned his glimmering eyes to pools of pitch.
“You will do it,” he spat. “Or I will pluck out your eyes and…”
“Feed them to me?” Andrew said, surprised by his boldness. “I don’t think so, Inspector Clouseau. I have
protection from more than one super powerful woman. You can’t touch me.”
“He is stalling,” Thellian said from behind Luxe. He sounded very far away.
“Oui,” Luxe said. He placed the open case on the cave floor between himself and Andrew. “Would you care to test your theory?”
Andrew kicked at the case, spraying powder-fine dust into Luxe’s face. “Test this.”
“Very well,” Luxe said, leering.
Luxe rushed Andrew. He twisted Andrew’s tattooed wrist above his head and tacked it to the solid rock wall with a foot-long Kimaris blade.
Andrew screamed. He writhed on the floor, stifled and blind from the pain. Luxe straddled his body. He slapped Andrew, jarring him back to consciousness. Andrew gripped Luxe’s shoulder with his free hand in a weak attempt to push the demon away. But the Kimaris was stronger. Andrew knew he couldn’t win. There was no way he could Obi Wan out of this one.
Luxe’s face loomed like a Kabouki mask above him. “You will read this spell, Monsieur Wells, because it is Nighna’s fault I cannot read it myself. You see, I succumbed to her trickery once, just like you. Now I am an exile, bound to this plane. But this mark –,” Luxe leaned heavily on the handle of the dagger, digging its thick blade deeper into the tattoo on Andrew’s wrist. Andrew howled. His eyes lolled liquidly in their sockets, “This mark is my safe passage back to Hell.”
Luxe released the knife and sat back on his haunches. Andrew dangled like a beached fish twisting on a hook.
He could feel the steel grinding between the bones in his wrist. He felt warm blood trickling down into his
shirtsleeve and down the side of his back. But still, he shook his head.
“No. I won’t. Buffy’ll kill Angel,” he said. His voice croaked dryly in his throat. “Your boss’ll be dust. So no
persimmons for you…”
Luxe’s expression seemed to soften. He unfolded the page of parchment with the gentleness of a maestro
unveiling his newest masterpiece. “I thought you might say something like that,” Luxe said, quietly. “But in
fact, you must read the spell. I will not die in this conflict, Monsieur. Whether Slayer or vampire wins, I am a demon. If I do not pass through the gateway that this spell will open, I will make certain that those you love will pay.”
Andrew opened his mouth to speak, but Luxe continued before Andrew could manage a syllable.
“I have had a spy in your house all these months,” Luxe said. Andrew looked even more ashen. “Ah yes. I know all about your fondness for the younger Summers girl. I can hurt her, Andrew. The pain you feel now. It is nothing compared to what I can do to her.”
Andrew ground his teeth, trying to feel or see or think beyond the pain. It radiated downward now to his
elbow in bright, blinding spikes of agony. He turned his face to his arm, feeling nausea sweep over him. He wavered in and out of consciousness, like a swimmer near drowning. It was possible, he knew, that the others were already dead. But if not, he knew Luxe would make good on those promises. He had Andrew quite literally up against a wall.
“All right,” Andrew whined. With his free hand, he swiped away his tears. “All right. I’ll do it.”
Thellian joined Luxe on the floor before Andrew. The flashlight’s beam burned into Andrew’s retinas and he
recoiled. The knife bit deeper into the flesh of his wrist and he sank deeper into sickened swooniness. With
both men crouching over Andrew, they did not see the girl enter the room behind them.
She said, “Let the boy go.”
Andrew thought at first that he imagined this new, gruffly feminine voice. But then he watched as both
Thellian and Luxe turned almost in slow motion to face her.
“For centuries I have waited for this moment,” she said. “I have watched you from my shadows, and listened, waiting with the patience of angels…”
Andrew heard the sound of footsteps grinding over the fine sand toward them.
“I had hoped it would never come to this,” she continued, the sound of her deliberate footsteps punctuating her words. “That I would never have to choose a side. The side of my father… Or the side of my mother.”
The woman stepped into the ring of light cast by Thellian’s flashlight. Not a woman, at least not the one
Andrew expected to see, but a girl. She parted her matted hair to reveal a pair of eyes like twin green wells that contained the sea.
Thellian took one faltering step backward.
“Morna,” Thellian mouthed, so quiet it was close to prayer.
The girl brought her hands together, palm over her fist. She said, “Pater, quod absit adimpleo hoc.”
Andrew closed his eyes in relief. Through his tears, he murmured the translation like a mantra to himself:
“Father, I cannot let you do this.”
“Oh God no. Dad,” Connor said. He removed his coat in a feeble attempt to stem the flow of his father’s blood.
Beneath them, the droplets of Angel’s blood on the Circle began to meld with the stone. A soft blue light
emanated from within, growing stronger with every drop that spilled.
Angel patted Connor’s hand, but pushed the bloodied jacket away. He stared hard at Connor for a long while,
then said, “I am sorry.”
Connor struggled, fighting back tears. He watched the dark stain of his father’s blood as it spread across the
heart of the Circle. The light within it grew brighter with each passing second, turning now to a marbled
watery blue that sent spangles of wavering light through the chamber.
“Don’t do that. Don’t apologize,” Connor managed at last. “You saved the world.”
Angel cringed against the pain. “I can’t take from you to save my own…Our children, Buffy."
"Shhh," Buffy said. "Angel..."
He looked up at them. "You are my blood, my heart and my soul. I didn't see...” Angel groaned. “The Circle...
it’s draining me. You should... go.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Connor protested. Angel tried to shrug him off, but he was right. The Circle was
weakening him. Connor tried again to pull Angel to his feet. He cried out, “You’ve done enough. It doesn’t
need all of your blood.”
“You’re right,” Angel growled. “Get out of here.”
Far below, they felt rather than heard a distant rumble.
William leapt to his feet. “Time to fly, little bird,” he said.
Buffy stood on uncertain legs. Another, stronger tremor shook the chamber.
“Angel...” Buffy said.
“Go. I don’t want you to see the way this ends,” he said. “Connor. Go with them. I don’t know what this will
do to you.”
The marbled blue of The Circle raced outward along its intricate traceries. When its outmost arcs were
complete, the Circle ignited, illuminated from within like sunlight through a sheet of ice, sending forth sprays of blue-white sparks. This time, the ground quaked with enough force to send them sprawling.
William didn’t wait any longer. He pushed Buffy ahead of him and they darted across the Circle toward the cliff wall through which he and Connor had come.
Buffy detoured to the outcrop of rock long enough to pick up her Scythe. When she did, she and William looked back to see Connor kneeling beside his father.
“I can’t,” Connor said. Angel replied but their voices were slipping away under the thunderous sound beneath them.
William hesitated. He glanced at Buffy. “Wait,” he said.
When Connor felt William’s hands on his shoulders, the boy made no move to shrug away.
“Connor,” William said. He knelt beside him, gripped his shoulders and nudged the boy to his feet. “Let’s go.”
Angel locked eyes with William. The relief in them was undeniable. William nodded once, then guided Connor with brisk deliberate steps away from the Circle, away from Angel.
William and Connor joined Buffy at the base of the slope. Connor half-turned. William stopped him.
“No looking back,” William said.
But the words were like a spell, commanding them all to take one last look. Angel had now lain down on the
stone. A pearlescent shimmer hung in the air above him, coalescing like tendrils of fog. The bands and swirls of the triskele sparkled, glowing white hot like molten silver.
“Goodbye, Angel,” Buffy said.
As if in response, the ground beneath them pitched, sending down a shower of loose stones like pebbles down in a slide. The three started from their momentary daze to realize that the cavern was coming down around them.
“Climb!” Buffy ordered. She reached for the first likely foothold she could find and hoisted her body up. She
moved quickly up the cliff face, hunkering down with every tremor.
Connor, moving like a zombie, followed Buffy’s lead with William close behind him. Two minutes later, they
crested the ridge, panting and ragged with bloody scrapes. Buffy tugged William to his feet.
“This way,” he shouted. The earth buckled and surged like a fitful sea. Connor dropped to one knee. When he
did, he glimpsed of the Circle chamber, and an image that would remain with him forever.
The Circle erupted. Connor watched in mute horror as a column of fierce blue light burst from the center of
the Circle punching through the stone ceiling of the cavern.
Connor staggered backward in shock. When his eyes cleared, he clambered to the edge of the ridge in a
desperate but futile last attempt to somehow save his father. His ability to see was cut mercifully short as
chunks of rock from the chamber rained down upon them.
“You speak?” Thellian said.
“I speak,” Morna told him. “I speak. I watch. I listen. And I am patient. Just like you. But I am losing my
patience, Father. I said, let the boy go.”
Andrew watched them, holding his breath, until Luxe ground the dagger deeper into the cave wall.
All of his life, Andrew took his bones for granted. They were like the Easter Island Heads and the toy prize in
Cracker Jacks. Even though he knew they existed, he had never seen them. But now, with Luxe pressing down on him, he felt beyond doubt the presence each separate bone in his wrist and forearm grinding against the steel of the Kimaris blade.
“Read the spell, Monsieur Wells,” Luxe whispered. “Forget the girl. She cannot save you.”
His vision doubled as he strained to read the faint, faded letters on the page. Andrew focused so hard on the portal spell, he barely heard the exchange between Thellian and the vampire girl called Morna. He only hoped that she could manage to kill them both before he read the full incantation. Andrew dragged it out as best he could, but with the blade sitting uncomfortably between his bones and the blood loss, he knew it was a race he probably wouldn't win.
Andrew read the first line, breathlessly articulating the chunky syllables of each Kimaris word. Luxe watched
him closely, his hand resting heavily on the haft of the dagger, ready to twist or jostle it if Andrew breathed
one hint of a mistake. Andrew knew the spell would be successful after the recitation of that first line. Behind
him, where the blood dripped down from the mark Nighna had inscribed on his wrist, the wall began to fade and grow insubstantial, like a sponge. An effusive gray light poured through the stone.
“Good. Good,” Luxe said, wiping sweat from his neck. “Keep reading.”
Andrew rubbed at his nose. His insides slipped and looped like a Tilt-a-Whirl. He pressed his eyes tight to
squeeze out the tears and proceeded to read the next line.
But he stopped short. Over Luxe’s shoulder, Andrew spied a flicker of movement. Morna had been steadily
advancing on Thellian, speaking in her guttural yet girlish tones. The flash that got his attention was the
sudden bright gleam of the weapon she now waved at Thellian. Following Andrew’s gaze, Luxe twisted his head around to watch as well, granting Andrew a temporary reprieve from spell reading.
Thellian, for his part, remained shaken, not stirred. He glanced at Morna’s dagger but remained nonplussed.
Until she started speaking.
She said, “All this time, you thought the Slayer was to blame, Thellian. She opened the vein of the Slayer’s line, let all their blood spill to the earth. They were a threat, ’tis true. But not your undoing. I was here, you see. Two thousand years ago, with my mother and the merlin – Damas was his name – and together we sealed the Circle. Don’t you see?”
Thellian nodded grimly. He wore a pitying expression on his face, like a man who has just found a wounded deer beyond saving. “I see that your mother took great risk with her youngest daughter,” he said. “Sealing the
Circle with your blood. It would make you hunted by all of demonkind.”
“I was already hunted, Thellus. My mother was the Slayer,” Morna said. She stood in front of him, her bare
feet almost toe to toe with his expensive Italian shoes. She looked way up at him, the way a child looks up at
the falling rain. To Andrew, she seemed perilously small before the formidable figure of Thellian. They stood thus, the father staring down into the eyes of the daughter, for a long still moment.
Luxe shook his head, dragging himself free. “Read,” he breathed through clenched teeth.
Andrew felt drowsy now despite the adrenaline pumping in his veins. His fingers felt numb, like he wore caps of candle wax over the tips. He focused on the lines of the spell, but it was harder to see the words. The lines of text kept scrolling out of focus.
“I can’t,” Andrew moaned. His head drooped.
Luxe leaned on the knife, sending fresh evidence of Andrew’s wrist bones to his brain. Andrew screamed, but only a miniscule squeak passed from his lips.
The small yet very sober vampire girl absorbed Thellian’s entire attention. He kept his hands fixedly at his side.
“I sealed the Circle,” Morna said, her lips twitching into a portentous grin. “I am a Slayer’s child. And you, my
vampire father… Until you made me, you had made no other. I am your first disciple. Your First. To undo the
Circle’s magic, to kill the Slayers, you would have to go through me.”
The earth suddenly shook beneath them. Thellian seized the girl by her arms, shoving her backward. Luxe lost his balance and fell across Andrew’s legs. In that brief moment, Andrew realized he had no intention of passing through the portal with Luxe. The dim edges of a plan emerged in his brain and he grasped for them. With his free hand, Andrew clutched the spell. He began a rapid recitation, sputtering and stammering in his haste.
Morna continued talking. She was lost beyond the flashlight beam now, but her voice seemed to fill the cavern.
Andrew listened to her peripherally, all of his thoughts focused on the spell and the yawning maw that opened in the wall beside him, threatening to suck them down.
“My sister died among the Slayers,” Morna shouted.
“Morna, stop,” Thellian said. It was the first and only moment of ruffledness that Andrew would see in Thellian.
“It’s true. And now you and I will die,” she went on mercilessly. “It is over, Thellian.”
Andrew spoke the final words of the enchantment in one over-exerted breath.
Luxe patted Andrew’s forehead. “Not over,” Luxe said, getting to his feet. “Just beginning.”
The cave wall and part of the floor fell away. A draft surged through the chamber, tugging at their clothing
and hair. Dizzy and delirious, Andrew peered down into the hole he had just opened. Dark. Devoid of warmth and light. Not a place he wanted to spend all of eternity. It only strengthened Andrew’s resolve.
Thellian, not letting his guard down, glanced askance at Luxe. He smiled like a man who never had any doubts that his plan could fail. He backed toward Andrew, scanning the shadows for Morna.
The earth leapt shockingly forward, rising up to meet them like a standing wave. Luxe and Thellian crumpled in a tangle of limbs. Morna streaked forward, a bright white slash in the dark. She fell upon Thellian, fingers hooked like talons, her dagger raised to strike. Luxe twisted. He shoved them both into the gaping portal.
They disappeared without a sound into the lightless abyss.
Andrew turned his tired eyes upon Luxe. He fixed him with what he hoped was a look of bald terror. Andrew
figured he achieved the desired affect when Luxe smiled, seeming to drink in Andrew’s suffering. Luxe lifted Thellian’s abandoned flashlight. He touched it to his temple. “And now it is our turn,” Luxe said.
Luxe bore down upon him with a stunning swiftness, but Andrew was ready. With his right hand, Andrew
reached for the Kimaris blade. In one quick motion, he swept the knife from the wall. His bleeding left arm fell
useless to his side. But Andrew held the weapon in his good hand. It was his key to freedom.
Andrew closed his eyes. He muttered to himself, “If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine…”
Another tremor shook the chamber. Luxe tumbled headlong toward the portal. He seized Andrew’s left arm just above the mark, ready to take Andrew down with him. But Luxe spiraled over the edge in mute
astonishment as Andrew chopped off his own hand.
Angel heard them leave. But he did not feel alone. Beneath him, the chamber floor swelled and swayed like a restless sea. The motion soothed him. He could feel the Circle’s energy pulsing in him, through him, like breath and heartbeat restored.
Angel opened his eyes. Traces of light moved through his veins, illuminating them like a network of wires
beneath his skin. He saw the luminescent vapor above him, felt its warmth on his face. The scent of it was like late summer apples, like the earthy perfume of evening after a day of much needed rain.
A line drifted up to him from the depths of his soul: “All our bitterness, tinged with sweet.”
It was fitting that he remember this line, once spoken by Drusilla, who had once been the object of his
demented obsession. He could hear her, and feel her, the girl he had tortured and destroyed.
Angel understood. In his final moments, he realized. He got it.
It was not death, but mercy. In a way, Thellian had been right all along.
Grant them mercy.
When the Circle burst forth, Angel felt no pain.
The radiance filled him, and the chamber around him, blinding, effacing, opening the chamber to the world beyond.
In that light, Angel found what he had always sought.
Angel was free.
When the first tremor shook the upper chamber, Giles fell. The battle had turned to a nightmare of claws and
teeth up until then. But the tremor seemed to signify something to the vampires. Whether Buffy or Angel had triumphed, the vampire army spent four seconds trying to sort out their basic fight-or-flight wiring.
The Scoobies were well into flight mode. Giles, on hands and knees, scrambled to Maya, who was just regaining consciousness. She opened her eyes. All she saw was dozens of legs towering like very active trees around her. The nearest pair belonged to Xander. He stood protectively above her, his brave legs fending off the resurgent vampire legs.
Giles gripped Maya’s hands.
“Maya, can you stand?” he yelled at her. She saw his mouth moving, but heard no sound. Maya shook her head.
When she did, her ear drums popped. Her head felt like a lime in a press. In a rush, the bone-grinding crunch and clangor of the battle surged over her.
Giles shook her. “Can you stand?” he asked. His forearms were bloody. A gash on the top of his head spread blood along his part.
“I-I think so,” she said. She scanned the area for others. Dawn was on one knee nearby, fighting off two
vampires with her sword. A vampire had ripped spectacular claw marks into her neck.
Giles lifted her chin, pulling her attention to him. “Good,” he said slowly. “We’re leaving.”
Xander glanced down at them, relieved. The earth lurched. Xander fell face first into the attacking vampire
mob. The pack bowled over, sprawling and kicking and clawing.
“No!” Maya yelled. In her mind, she leapt to her feet. Her body lurched while her mind raced to figure out the inconsistency.
“You’re recovering from the…” Giles began. A vampire latched onto his shoulders from behind. Sank his fangs into the back of Giles’ neck. Giles looked annoyed at first, then realizing what was happening, began to scream.
Maya lay on her back, kicking at the vampire’s shoulder, trying to dislodge him. A hand clamped her wrist. Pulled her backward. She twisted to free herself. Another vampire loomed high above her. He brought a heavy black boot down upon her breastbone. Her breath exploded from her lungs. Showers of white sparks lit up behind her eyes.
“Maya!” A girl’s voice.
Maya rolled her head painfully to the side. Anjelica, crouching, called to her. Her words didn’t meet the
movements of her mouth. The vampires were lifting Maya’s body like a sack of wet cloth. Anjelica rolled
forward, moving with unexpected grace. Maya didn’t get what was happening until the vampire holding her
aloft suddenly stiffened then evaporated. Maya dropped to the cave floor.
Nearby, Oz had pulled off a similar rescue for Xander. Anjelica, Xander and Oz converged to save Giles from
the back-sucking vampire. They scrabbled over a low rock ridge and crouched together, at least relatively
unexposed.
They were losing ground.
“Dawn!” Giles called.
She ignored them, still fighting. Her attackers were unarmed, but bearing down on her. She couldn’t risk the heads-up.
“Where’s Willow?” Oz panted, still wolfed out.
“Last I saw, she was with Faith and MK,” Xander said. He pointed. “Over there… somewhere.”
“There are so many,” Maya said. “We’re so outnumbered.”
Anjelica nodded, determined. “As long as we fight, we win. Keep fighting.”
“No, we have to get out,” Giles said.
“Leave? But how…?” Anjelica asked.
“We climb,” Giles said. “Oz. Xander. You provide cover while the others scale the rope ladder and get to
safety.”
“That’s the worst plan ever,” Xander hissed. “They’ll be completely exposed.”
“What part of collapsing cavern do you misunderstand?” Giles yelled. His voice was hoarse. “The tremors…” he
began. He struggled to cling to the remnants of reason. “They mean that the Circle has... And the vampires are still here.”
“Slayers are still here, too,” Anjelica said firmly. She looked into the faces around her. “At least, this one still is.”
The cave floor rocked violently. A building, rushing howl filled the chamber. The vampires, with their
heightened senses, sensed what was up and chose that moment to flee. A column of thunderous light lanced first through the cave floor and then the ceiling above. Needle thin rays sliced the air, threading through the heart of each vampire, lacing them together like gruesome beads on a string. This held the vampires paralyzed for a handful of seconds before turning them all into shimmering clouds of ash.
The burst of energy dissipated, leaving the cavern eerily bright and calm.
Dawn coughed convulsively, choking on the dust as it settled around her. She got to her feet.
“She did it,” Dawn said to herself. She craned her head, blinking against the sudden brilliant sunlight that spilled into the chamber. Lorne, who was lying on his back several meters away, lifted his head and peered cautiously around.
“Did we live?” he asked, rubbing his forehead. “Are we dead yet?”
Willow stood up. She was on the other side of the chasm, nearly invisible in the swirling motes of sunlit dust.
“Xander? Dawn?” she called. Her voice was tiny and echo-y.
“Willow!” Xander covered his mouth with shaking hands. Giles leaned way forward, forehead to his knees.
His shoulders rose with a huge sobbing sigh of relief.
Dawn turned a deliberate circle, scanning the shadows for the others. She saw Xander and Maya, Oz, Anjelica and Giles. Willow knelt with Faith, and MK gazed dazedly around from behind an outcrop of stones near them. Lorne was getting up and coming toward her.
“Where are the others?” Dawn asked. “Where are Buffy and Spike? Where’s Andrew?”
She locked eyes with Lorne, as if holding him accountable.
“Where are they?” she demanded. Tears welled in her panic-stricken eyes.
Lorne pulled a cheetah-print handkerchief from his lapel. He passed it to Dawn. She shoved past him, walking hard and fast toward Xander.
“Where are they?” she yelled. She halted, looking lost. “Buffy!” she called out. She pressed her hand
gingerly to the gash at the base of her throat, as if feeling the sting of it for the first time. Her fingers came
away bloody. She stared at her hands. Before she fell, Xander caught her. He eased her onto the ground.
But her question hung over them, pervasive as the raw autumn air that swept down on them.
Xander didn't know the answer.
Buffy opened her eyes. She had buried her face against his chest, and awoke with her senses enveloped in the scent and warmth of his skin. She looked down at their entwined arms and could not see where his body ended and hers began. But she knew they were safe. They were together, and safe.
“It’s over,” she whispered. She felt him nuzzle deeper against her neck. His eyes opened. She felt his lashes tickling her skin.
William raised his head. A splash of watery sunlight fell across the wall behind her. For a moment, his
thoughts jumbled like a car crash. He expected to find bed, curtains, pillows – things he associated now with
sunlight and morning – but instead found the coarse detritus of solid rock.
William moved with care, afraid that he might disturb the precarious notion that they had somehow survived.
“Are you…?”
“Fine,” Buffy said, nodding. She flashed him a fragile smile, one of equal parts relief and regret.
Behind them, the loose stones shifted, sending a shower of pebbles cascading across the cave floor. They heard a muffled groan, followed by the scrape-y noise of something pushing against the rocks.
“Connor,” Buffy said.
They parted quickly, scrambling for the loosely piled boulders partially blocking the passageway.
“Connor!” William called.
“I’m here,” the boy answered.
“Are you mashed?” Buffy asked.
There was a slight pause. “Barely mashed,” Connor answered. “I hear voices.”
Buffy looked concerned. “Are your ears ringing?” she asked. “Vision blurry? Are there demons?”
“No. No. I think I hear Dawn,” Connor said.
“Dawn!” Buffy ran at the wall, looking frantically for a way to scale it. "She survived. William!"
William got in front of her. “Buffy,” he said calmly. “We can get out that way. Safer.” He pointed up the
path that snaked into the dark behind her.
Buffy pressed her fingertips to her temples, clearly fuddled. “She’s okay. If Connor can hear her, that must
mean she’s okay,” she said.
“Right,” William said. “She’s a tough sort.”
Buffy’s eyes gleamed. Sunlight and brisk autumn air swirled around them. Like William, she had trouble
reconciling the light with the dark. It left her with the surreal feeling of jittery exhilaration.
“It’s over,” she repeated.
“Really is.” William watched her, head cocked to the side. After a moment’s pause, he called out again to
Connor.
“Can you get out that way?” William asked.
They held their breath, waiting for his response. “I think so,” Connor said. “Yes.” More silence. Then he
said, “The Circle’s gone. My dad… he really did it.”
William faced her. “All our bitterness tinged with sweet,” he said. With his arm, he encircled her shoulders.
“Let’s go home,” Buffy said.
Seconds slid into hours into days in Andrew’s mind. First the earth bounced him about like a grain of rice on a trampoline, then it teased him with a sharp wedge of buttery light that looked and felt like sunrays, but could not possibly be sunrays.
He had wrapped his bloody stump in his jacket. He hated the word stump. It bounded back and forth in his
brain like a game of Pong. Stump stump stumpity stump. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the
mockery of daylight, thinking that his life was on its way to ending. No dancing schnauzers or gates of gold.
Just dismemberment and a head full of ugly, clunky Middle English words.
Miraculously, Andrew felt no pain. It was shock talking, and by now, Andrew was fully attentive. He floated, aware that he was bleeding, aware that he would die. And he was okay with that.
So when he felt arms lifting him, pulling him upright, he felt dimly put out by the interference.
“Andrew.”
Andrew’s head lolled sideways. Familiar face, but the name slid right off.
“I have a stump,” Andrew told the face. He raised his arm in a half-salute.
“Oh God. That’s a lot of blood.” Another voice.
Andrew wrenched his head to the other side. Another
familiar face.
“It’s okay,” Andrew said to that face. “I don’t need it.”
“He’s in shock,” the first face said.
“We need to get him out of here,” said the second face.
“But I’m dying,” Andrew told them.
“Not yet, you aren’t,” said the first face.
Arms under him, dragging him away from the triangle of deceptive light. Andrew struggled, flapping his weightless limbs in a vain attempt to return to the warm fuzzy glow, even if it wasn’t really real.
“I’ll show them,” he said. His eyes slipped closed. Andrew fainted dead away.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Warning: character death.