Chapter Thirty Two
Craig wandered around the house, restlessly passing from one room to another. He’d helped Cameron to his bed when their mom had gone down to see Spike, and after sitting on the bed opposite and watching Cam groan and twitch for a few moments before drifting off to an exhausted sleep, Craig went in search of his aunt. He knew better than to try to go to talk to his mom about what was happening to Spike, she’d likely chew his head off – Willow was a much safer bet.
A safer bet perhaps, but not any easier to talk to given that she was currently sat on a cushion in the middle of the large airy living room meditating. His hand was just touching the door to the basement, about to risk life and limb by going down to see what was happening, when the telephone rang.
Frowning as he walked towards the landline handset, Craig wondered who it could be. He picked it up and said cautiously, “Hello?”
“Craig? It’s Maurice.”
“Maurice! What’s wrong?” Craig’s heart rate increased – he wasn’t sure just how much more bad he could take.
The old man’s rich chuckle came down the wire. “Just thought I’d check in and see how you all are. Don’t worry; we’ve been very cloak and dagger. I’m calling from a payphone a few streets away from the hotel.”
Easing himself into a chair as relief made his knees weak, Craig said, “Where do I start? How are you and Dora?”
“We’re fine, thanks, son. Dora’s fretting over the house and cottage being empty but we won’t leave until we get the all clear from your mother.”
“Sorry about all this. I bet you wished that you’d taken down the sign for vacancies now.”
“Not at all! I’m having the time of my life. I knew those buggers up at the Initiative were up to no good. I just hope that you manage to bring them down.”
Craig thought of the mess that Spike was in, the physical trauma his brother was going through and the mental anguish of both his mom and Willow, and couldn’t see how they could bring down a house made of playing cards right now, let alone an organisation as well structured as that place.
“Are you still there?” Maurice asked.
“What? Oh, yeah. Sorry.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” It would have been convincing if his voice hadn’t had a bit of a quiver to it.
“Craig, tell me! I might be able to help.”
“It’s just…well... Spike’s all screwed up and hasn’t been out of the cage yet. But he told us that if Cam drinks his blood he might be cured—”
“That’s fantastic!”
“But Mom’s in a mess – I don’t think anybody really knows what to do.” To his horror, hot tears pricked at his eyes and his voice was thick with emotion when he spoke again. “It’s all so…so hard. I thought we’d get him out and…and that things would be better, you know?”
“I know, son. You’ve all been through a lot. You sound exhausted. When did you last sleep properly?”
“Oh…I dunno…”
“You need to get some rest. Things will be better when you have.”
Craig wasn’t so sure but he mumbled his agreement and was pleased when Maurice hung up soon afterwards. Back in the kitchen, he sat down at the table and rested his head on his folded arms. Maurice was right. He was tired. Maybe if he put his head down for a minute. With a sigh, he drifted off to sleep.
*~*~*~*
Maurice walked slowly back to the hotel. He was deep in thought as he walked through the foyer on his way to the elevator and wasn’t sure what it was that drew his attention to the two men standing at the front desk. Perhaps it was their posture that gave away their military background, but he slowed down and strained to hear what they were saying.
“I fully understand the need for confidentiality but we need to contact them urgently,” a tall muscular man was saying.
Out of the corner of his eye Maurice saw the man put something on the desk and slide it towards the receptionist.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said the woman firmly. “I was telling you the truth when I said we have no one by the name Carmichael staying here.”
Maurice’s heart missed a beat.
“Ma’am, please look at the photograph. Have you seen this couple?”
Heart now hammering in his chest, Maurice forced himself not to speed up as he approached the lift.
“No, sir. I have not.”
With a trembling hand, Maurice pressed the button to call the elevator and to his utter relief it opened immediately. He selected the button for his floor before turning around and then as the door closed, he pushed another couple of buttons to make the elevator stop at different floors to camouflage the one he’d originally selected.
When they’d selected a hotel, they had chosen a large one in the centre of London for the anonymity it could provide. Dora had booked it over the telephone using her maiden name, paying cash in advance for the room when she arrived. As far as the hotel knew, Dora was there alone.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Maurice slid his key card into the slot; at the green light he opened the door, slipped inside and closed it quietly behind him.
Dora leapt to her feet when she saw him. “Maurice! Are they alright?”
“They’re not great, but as far as I could tell, not in any immediate danger. I wish I could say the same for us.”
Gripping his arm, she said, “They’ve found us!”
“It’s alright, love.” Maurice wrapped his arms around her. “They’re asking for the Carmichaels, but they have a photograph and I think it would be best for us to move on.”
“I’ll call Willow.” Dora pulled out of his embrace and picked up the telephone. She dialled for an outside line and then the number of the safe house, no longer needing to avoid using it from where they were staying.
Craig answered and as soon as Dora explained their situation, he ran to get Willow, knowing she wouldn’t mind her meditation being interrupted by such an emergency. Willow hurried to the phone, snatching the handset up from the table, she said, “Co-ordinates.”
Dora told her.
By the time the phone had stopped rattling in its cradle she’d disappeared.
“That is just so cool.” Craig gazed in awe at the empty room.
“What is?”
Craig spun around to see his brother in the doorway. His face was pale but he smiled and wheeled himself further into the room.
“Hey. How’re you feeling?”
“Well the pain’s gone. Still got pins and needles though.” Cam couldn’t resist looking down and moving his legs. “What were you talking about?”
“Aunt Willow. She’s gone to get the Carmichaels. Maurice overheard someone from the Initiative asking for them at the front desk.”
A sudden wind swirled about the room, and Craig grabbed the handles on Cameron’s wheelchair, pulling him sharply backwards. “Better get out of the way!”
It wasn’t a moment too soon, as Willow and a very dazed looking Dora appeared where they’d been standing.
“She needs a cup of sweet tea,” said Willow, easing Dora into a chair, before disappearing again.
“Oh, my.” Dora’s hands fluttered at her throat as she tried to take in what had happened.
Craig put the kettle on and got three mugs out of the cupboard. Maurice and Willow would also be needing one soon.
“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” said Cam, not moving closer so that he wouldn’t be in the way when Willow returned.
“It’s like…well; I don’t know what it’s like.” Dora shook her head, at a loss as to how to describe what she was feeling.
“I always think that Douglas Adams got it right when in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy Ford Prefect told Arthur Dent that being teleported was like being drunk.”
Dora stared at him blankly.
Grinning, Cam added, “Arthur said, ‘what’s so unpleasant about being drunk?’”
“Ask a glass of water that,” said Craig.
All three laughed.
“That’s exactly it,” said Dora.
Soon Maurice was standing with Willow just in front of the sink.
“Good God!” Maurice gripped the edge of the table. “That is …”
“Like being drunk?” said Dora, winking at the boys.
Neither Willow nor Maurice understood why the three of them burst out laughing.
*~*~*~*
Riley was a hundred yards away from the van when the door burst open and one of the computer techs leapt out.
“Sir! Sir!”
Riley ground his teeth together – what part of covert ops did this fool not understand? But before he could reach out and crush the idiot’s windpipe, the man continued.
“There’s been a magical disturbance…”
“Lower your voice, boy, and get back in the vehicle.”
At Riley’s words the man paled, snapped his jaw shut in an almost comical manner and jumped back into the van as quickly as he’d leapt out. Riley couldn’t help but smirk at the reaction.
Still got it.
He climbed in the van, slammed the door shut and as he lowered himself into a seat, said, “Explain.”
The tech turned the computer screen round so that Riley could see the display and then tapped at it.
“See, this spike here? That shows that there was something magical in the area. Something big.”
Riley leaned forwards. “Like teleportation big?”
Nodding rapidly, the tech said, “Definitely. It came from the hotel, sir. Twice. Can’t say what floor though.”
“Dammit! Riley slammed his fist on the seat’s arm hard with enough force that the vampire restrained beside him, whimpered and leaned away. “We’ll get Four-twenty-seven in to confirm it was them.”
“It’s daylight, sir,” said the tech.
“I’m well aware of that, Jacobs, but I need confirmation. If you bloody techs delivered what you promised then we’d have daylight proof Trackers and Hunters, wouldn’t we?”
“I just work the computers, sir. I’m not in the labs.” Jacobs’ voice trembled.
“Still a freaking tech though. You said the signal peaked twice? How much time between the two?”
Jacobs knew where this was going. “Um…not long, sir.”
“Exactly how long is not long?”
Riley’s face was close enough to Jacobs’ that he could feel the officer’s breath on his skin.
“Two minutes and eight point one seconds, sir.”
“And you didn’t think to inform me when the first signal occurred?”
Looking anywhere but at Riley, Jacobs said, “You said radio silence, sir.”
Riley’s hand snaked out and grabbed Jacobs’ shirt just below his throat. “Except for emergency, you stupid pile of crap! Two minutes and we might have got one of them!” Letting go of Jacobs with a shove that had the man almost fall out of his seat, Riley turned to the Tracker. “I hope you’re fast enough.”
As he released the vampire from its shackles and turned on its vision, Riley ordered the van to pull up as close to the hotel’s from door as possible. Shoving open the sliding door, Riley got out and beckoned the vampire out of its seat. The trembling creature crouched just out of the reach of the sunlight.
“See those doors?” Riley inclined his head.
Four-twenty-seven nodded.
“Run!”
The tracker practically flew out of the transporter and crashed through the doors with barely as wisp of smoke. Riley jogged after him.
“Damn, that’s one good Tracker.”
Awaiting further instructions, Four-twenty-seven was causing quite a stir. Although the use of Trackers was now well-known, few people had actually seen what one looked like, and Four-twenty-seven struggled to remain calm as the people in the foyer squealed and shrieked when they saw his inhuman high tech eyes. His fangs itched to show as his hatred for the vampire who’d ruined his eyes increased.
“It’s alright,” said Riley, stepping next to the Tracker. “No cause for alarm. It’s just a routine exercise. Nothing to fear.” He put a hand on the Tracker’s arm. “Do your job.”
Without hesitation, Four-twenty-seven strode to the line of elevators and waited until Riley pressed the button to call it. When the pair was inside it, Riley pressed each for each floor and watched the Tracker carefully when the doors opened. Four-twenty-seven remained immobile until the third floor, then it jogged out of the elevator, along the corridor to the left and halted in front of door number 312.
“Kick it down,” Riley ordered.
One swift kick from the vampire had the door burst open and hang lopsidedly on its one remaining hinge. Four-twenty-seven picked up a shirt that hung over the back of a chair and sniffed it. He looked at Riley and nodded, then with a grin tore the shirt to shreds, knowing he’d be punished for it but unable to help himself, the smell of his quarry always got him over-excited.
“Cut it out.”
Riley gave the Tracker a burst from the chip. Four-twenty-seven grunted and let the tattered remains of the shirt flutter to the carpet. Furious at being so close and yet now back to square one, Riley gave out a roar of frustration and upended the vanity unit. Taking a deep breath, he took out his cell phone and with the image of Mark and Lilah running through his mind he called Maggie Walsh.
*~*~*~*
“Go get your mom, honey,” said Willow to Craig. “She needs to know about this.”
“I’ll go,” said Cam, spinning his wheelchair around without waiting for an answer.
As he left he heard Maurice say, “Is what the vampire told you true? Will the boy be able to walk again?”
“We hope so,” said Willow. “But it is a very painful process for him.”
Anything further was lost as Cam went into the elevator and descended to the basement.
The smile he had on his face faded when he saw his mother and Spike. Buffy was leaning against the bars of the cage, quietly weeping and Spike…Spike was on his haunches as immobile as a statue staring straight ahead.
“Uh…Mom?”
Sniffing and wiping her eyes, Buffy glanced up. “Hey, baby.”
Pushing himself closer, Cam said, “What’s wrong?”
“How about everything?” She groaned as she got to her feet and arched her back as she stretched. “While you were…after you’d taken the blood, Willow gave Spike his soul back.” She looked at Spike for a moment and then back to her son. “It’s a very traumatic thing for a vampire to deal with, and I think that after all he’d been through that it just too much for him.” She bit back a sob. “I think we might have lost him forever.”
Alarmed by his mom’s defeated tone, Cam reached out and took her hand. “Don’t give up on him, Mom. Spike’s tough. He’ll deal. But we’ve got to do something about the Initiative. They can’t get away with what they’re doing. It’s not right!”
“I know, Cam, but it’s just…I’m so tired…”
Cam yanked on her arm. “Spike’s having to deal with his soul so you’ll just have to deal with being tired! Willow brought Maurice and Dora here, the Initiative are hunting humans now, Mom, and not just us. We need you to do something or it’s all just for nothing!”
Bending to put her arms around Cam in a brief embrace, she said, “You’re right. I’ve got to be strong.” She sniffed a couple of times and then glanced back at Spike.
“Go upstairs, Mom. I’ll watch over Spike.”
“You’re a good kid.” Buffy ruffled his hair, then straightened her spine and strode out of the basement.
“I’m not a kid,” muttered Cam.
He stared at Spike, who’d taken no interest in his arrival up to now.
“Got Mom a bit more motivated, so what will it take to make you fight back?” A bit more than a pep talk I think.
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