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chapter six - quarks

“You look older, Angel,” said the Zeklar demon. “Living in this dimension must be arduous, even for the likes of you.” It chuckled; a snorting sound that spilled from what Angel assumed was the creature's mouth. “Oh, excuse me, I meant existing, not living. I keep forgetting that here, vampires are technically dead.”

Angel stood in the doorway of the Zeklar's cell, staring into the dart-shaped eyes of the hideous form spread out on the floor in front of him. Besides being, as Fred had pointed out earlier, capable of traveling through time and dimensions, the Zeklar was also a shape shifter. Except in the Earth's dimension, that wasn't as easily accomplished as on Zek. It seemed to have given up on changing in mid-shift from what Angel could tell. Now it was just a blob of flesh, bones and entrails, with a big mouth and two very small eyes.

“You shouldn't have left Zek, Angel,” it continued. “My trip here would not have been necessary if you'd stayed. But we know you had to return to Earth.” It paused to roll its tiny eyes. “Now, why did you leave again? What was it? A girl?”

Ignoring the Zeklar's questions, Angel tore his gaze away from its misshapen face and quickly searched the windowless cubicle for signs…of what, he wasn't certain. But his experience with Zeklars told him it was best to be prepared. Never take for granted their ingenuity – or single-minded attention to destruction.

When Angel had been thrust into the Zek dimension so many years before, he'd learned fast – never underestimate their abilities. Even a single foot solider like the animal before him now, and that's all it was, a rank and file soldier, was dangerous. Any one of them could mount the most surprising assault. Angel warned the Wolfram and Hart guards that even though the Zeklar might appear clumsy, flailing arms and legs uncontrollably at one moment, to not be surprised when an instant later, steady as steel, it attacked. Duplicity. Never what they appeared to be, but always what they were – murdering, vicious beasts. And as Angel had reminded the guards, his familiarity with that kind of demon was first hand.

“Young beauties have always been attracted to you, haven't they?” A rustling sound caused Angel to return his focus to the Zeklar. “I'm getting more accustomed to this dimension,” it rasped. “The longer I remain, the more I learn.”

Another shudder rippled through the creature's body, alerting Angel to its efforts. It was changing, slowly, but definitely transforming into something or someone else.

“You have had so many beauties in this dimension. Like your Fred. A wonderful girl. And wondrously, she was easier to assimilate than I imagined she would be.”

Angel's demon jumped to the surface as he rushed into the cell.

“Angelus!” It shouted. “Good to see you are still with us.”

Angel stopped abruptly a few feet in front of it. If the beast had had lips, they would have curled up into a smirk, glowering at Angel's reaction to the mention of Fred's name. Angel watched the Zeklar's body shake and gurgle in glee. For a moment, he wondered if the beast was trying to laugh. More likely, it was getting ready to show Angel its newest face.

“What did you do to Fred?” Angel spoke to the demon for the first time, barely able to control his rage.

“She believes in science and magic, and as such, she was the perfect vessel for us to use.”

“To use for what?”

“To bring forth the seven Wiccas of the L'Quaratong,” it said matter-of-factly.

Its features were becoming clearer, almost human-like, observed Angel, and he thought he saw the Zeklar attempt to smile.

“Fred is Charm, the youngest Wiccan, and she's wicked smart.” It announced. “You always take out the smart ones first, you know.”

Angel saw hands emerging from the skin at the creature's sides.

“Next is Color, she holds everything together. Strength. Single-minded attention to purpose. Those are her virtues.”

Angel watched as a pointed chin made its way to the creature's forming face.

“And the beautiful number six, where to find Beauty?” It sighed, pulling its now fully formed arms around its chest in a self-embrace.

“I cannot say anymore now. If I say too much, the fun will never begin. But I do have another question for you.” It stood now, legs had taken the place of the rolling flesh that had been stretched out on the floor. “Do you still have the ring?”

Angel paused, considering the beast's question. Yes, he still had the ring. He'd found it on the floor of the mansion in Sunnydale a few days before he'd left. He'd kept it with him ever since. Yes, because of Buffy, but also because of something else…

“I do not answer your questions,” Angel said to the Zeklar. “But you will answer mine. And you will stop whatever it is you are doing to Fred. And you will stop, now.”

“Oh, Angelus,” it sighed. “Why would I do that?”

Angel reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a black case. It was filled with an assembly of small instruments he hadn't needed since he'd ripped information from a Wolfram and Hart lawyer at the Hyperion Hotel a few years before. Well, not so much ‘ripped.” All he had to do then was show the frightened little man his tools of torture. Angel hoped that the Zeklar wasn't as faint of heart as that lawyer was.

“What do you have in that box?” the beast asked, with the slightest quiver in its voice.

“You will answer my questions,” Angel said flatly.

“Oh, I see,” the Zeklar demon mumbled. “It's time to play truth or dare.”


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“How do ya feel, pet?”

“Better. Or at least, a little better.” Fred's voice sounded small and tired.

Spike's first thought, seeing her thin body lying so still on the floor, had been to call the Wolfram and Hart clinic immediately. But he couldn't leave her there. So he picked Fred up, and carried her into her office and placed her gently on the sofa. As he reached for the phone, he was stopped by her voice, weak, but steady. “No, don't call. I'll be fine. Just stay and don't leave me. Please, don't leave me.”

“Wouldn't think of it, pet.”

Pulling a chair up to the sofa, Spike sat down and took her small hands into his. She looked so pale. Her eyes closed as she took several deep breaths. Her heart was beating steady, though. Spike would have ignored her request about not calling the clinic if his hearing had told him anything other than she was doing okay. Then he remembered what she'd said before sliding down to the floor. She was “Charm,” the thing the Zeklar demon had said would bring badness to Earth or more precisely mark the beginning of the end. Cryptic, yes, but the end of what? Spike wondered. This was just another baddie. Some kind of magic taking over the bodies of good fighters, like Fred, wasn't new. At least not to demon hunters, slayers, or even vampires with souls for that matter. Okay, maybe these seven were extremely powerful baddies – and soddin' witches at that. He paused, considering. Fred was one of these bloody witches. That's what she'd said.

And so was Buffy if Fred was to be believed. Spike never doubted Fred. She didn't lie. So chances were…she was right about…he sighed, not wanting to finish his thought. He looked down at Fred, who was looking up at him.

“Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yes,” she closed her eyes. “Spike, I'm afraid.”

“You said this is about magic and science,” he smiled, massaging her hands as he spoke. “Angel said Willow 's coming with Buffy, you know. You remember Willow ?”

“Yeah, I met her. She's a pretty powerful witch.”

“Well, yeah, she's very powerful. And then there's…Buffy,” he swallowed.

“And she's very…”

“Well, she's…Buffy,” he managed. “So, we've got a witch, a slayer, two vamps, with souls, and the mighty clout of Wolfram and Hart.”

Fred giggled.

“But we also have you,” he said softly. “The smartest, demon hunting scientist in this dimension or the next.”

“So I shouldn't be afraid?”


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Buffy sat very still. She wanted to enjoy flying, but she wasn't in control here. Someone else had the power, and she never enjoyed relinquishing power. Leaning forward in her aisle seat, she looked toward the front of the plane to where Willow and Lillie were seated a few rows ahead. They didn't seem to be talking, just sitting. Neither one of the women had said much to Buffy before boarding the direct flight from Paris to LA. Buffy hadn't felt like talking either. She just wanted to get to Los Angeles .

God, her recently acquired fear of flying was really pissing Buffy off. The guy next to her said flying was like driving to him. Yeah, Buffy thought, flying was just like driving to her too, considering she couldn't drive worth a damn.

The plane lurched slightly, hitting a couple of air pockets. Buffy braced herself for another rush of nausea. Her ears were blocked solid, too. She couldn't even hear the couple talking across the aisle from her. Actually, that lack of hearing thingy was a blessing. It dulled one of the senses, at least. Okay, the two vodka and tomato juices Buffy had imbibed earlier helped to dull the senses, too. They had been very necessary.

She was on her way to Los Angeles and there she would see a vampire she once believed was the love of her life, and another vampire whom – until a few days before, she thought was dead – that she may actually love. This was definitely a big trip.

The day after her “night” with Spike, Buffy had made two telephone calls - one to Giles in London , and the other to Angel in LA. Why she hadn't made these calls before to ask the question earlier, she couldn't explain. Still, she wasn't surprised that they all knew. Angel, Giles, and even Andrew, had known Spike was back. After nearly two years, it took only a few hours to find out where he was and with whom. Immediately, Buffy purchased the plane tickets, and packed in record time.

For nearly two years, Buffy's life had been filled with daydreams and nightmares. No memories to latch onto, nothing to reminisce, nothing to help her grieve or to heal. She really believed that Paris had acted as some kind of shield, preventing her from wanting to remember, and as Willow had said, from being willing to forgive and move on.

As the plane flew over water and earth, Buffy sat back in her seat, and recalled the first time she'd seen Spike, the last night they'd spent together, Dawn wearing her favorite sweater, Angel's brooding brow, her mother, Xander's laughter, Anya's chattering, and Giles' concerned eyes. The memories were flooding into her consciousness, and for the first time in a long time, she wasn't angry about having them there.

to be continued…





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