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chapter 2: the way

“I do have more Scotch.” Rupert Giles announced reassuringly to the empty glass he held in his hand.

Massaging his temple with his other hand, he allowed himself to sink down deeper into his chair as he tried to focus on the closed fifth volume of the Zy Qasdor resting on the desk in front of him. An immense book, it covered a quarter of the surface. When he'd lifted it from its hiding place at the bottom of his weapons chest, he'd hurt his lower back even though he'd bent his knees responsibly. However, it hadn't mattered. He'd still hurt his back. Giles sighed as the pain traveled up his spine. Then slowly he removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. It hadn't been a good day, or week or month. Indeed, the past five months had most assuredly been lacking in any redeeming qualities.

He leaned forward to open the book again as he'd done every ten minutes or so for an hour or more. Then keeping to his pattern, he closed it abruptly, pushed himself out of the chair and strolled (well, it was more of a stagger as the evening wore on) into the kitchen. He'd convinced himself that the bottle of Scotch in the cabinet there would last longer if it were more of a chore for him to refill his glass. He was confident that no good would come from leaving it on the desktop. Of course, his plan was foolhardy. He was thoroughly intoxicated and had been ever since shortly after Willow had stormed out of his flat. The argument had been his doing, too. He'd admit that fact readily. He'd lost his temper. However, the child was too bloody arrogant for her own good. Sod it all to hell; he simply wasn't going to allow the witch to intimidate him. He was a Watcher. His task was epic. He taught Slayers how to destroy demons and survive their calling.

“Except you bloody pompous fool, you've failed Buffy…twice,” he snapped, wrenching the top from the bottle and sloshing half its contents into his tumbler. “Utterly reprehensible.” he groaned, throwing back his head as he dumped the contents of the glass down his throat.

Making his way back to his desk, he paused suddenly struck by the idea that he wasn't angry at Willow . Not completely. He was angry with himself and…jealous of her. He hadn't even considered the possibility that Buffy could be returned to them. Even with his formidable knowledge of magics, it hadn't crossed his grieving mind. However, Willow had considered it. Indeed, she did more than consider. She'd done it. Brought Buffy back.

“Witches,” he muttered.

Then his attention returned to the book on his desk. Willow had played only a small part in his anguish this night. The real offender was what he'd discovered right after she'd left him. On the pages of the ancient volume, he'd found the image of a man emerging from the words he'd finally been able to translate. As he researched to find the source of Dawn's mystical headaches, he'd decided to pull out a book he hadn't bothered to examine in years. Even in London with his best classmates and Watchers around him, he'd never been able to decipher any part of it before this day. Then suddenly he was able to figure out a handful of words and as he read them aloud, the image had appeared. That is what drove Giles to consume a bottle of his best Scotch in such short order. That image, the face of the Monster.

Caressing the ancient manuscript with his fingertips, he inhaled the still lingering smell of the beasts from which its cover had been sewn. In the world of the Watcher and their all too important diaries, this find represented a magnificent breakthrough. Buried amongst the legends of ancient gods and hell dimensions where idiots like Glorificus had ruled, he'd found it. He could save Dawn. Couldn't he? He could save them all. He just wondered if he could live with the sacrifice.

“Enough procrastination, Rupert,” he said aloud as he stood and made his way slowly back to the kitchen.

Placing the kettle under the tap, he watched as the water streamed into the pot. He needed to be sober before he called Buffy.


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Spike awoke abruptly, nearly bolting from his bed. He'd heard a noise. He looked around the room, eyeing the shadows carefully, searching for a possible intruder. But there was only daylight sneaking through the tightly drawn curtains and the stench of the garbage from the filthy streets outside his doorway filling the air. He sat up on the edge of his bed, he could feel the heat of the day coming through the cracks in the walls and the breaks in the plaster as it spread throughout the already muggy room. Grumbling about the illogic of vampires visiting tropical climates, he dropped his head into his hands. He should get out of bed and drink some blood. Needed his strength.

Instead, he lay back in the bed, placed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. “Been gone much longer than planned,” he mumbled.

The long-weekend away from Sunnydale had turned into nearly a month. He'd left a few days after they'd brought her back. Couldn't explain why he did it. He just had to get away. Couldn't bear the look in her eyes. For five months, he'd thought about nothing but her. Everything he'd done had been his attempt to do right by her memory. Then he learned it hadn't made a difference to any of them. They still shut him out. They'd brought her back and hadn't told him a damned thing.

“Ungrateful bastards,” he cursed, solemnly.

Spike jumped up from the bed, and rumbled over to the small icebox in the corner. He opened the door and pulled out two plastic bags of blood. Might as well feed, he reasoned. He'd be stuck inside for hours. At least full, he'd be able to rest more peacefully, he hoped as he shifted into his demon face and slit open the bag with his fangs. He drained the first in seconds, and was just about to open the second bag when he was stopped by a knock at the door. He placed the bag on top of the cooler, and moved to the door carefully. He smelled the motel manager on the other side, and opened the door slightly, keeping to the shadows as the daylight flowed into the room.

"Hola, Senor Spike.”

“Hola”

"Usted gozó del cantina ayer por la noche?”

“No, didn't make it to the café last night,” answered Spike.

“Usted comprobará fuera de esta noche o permanecerá con nosotrosotra tarde?”

Spike turned from the man at the door to reach for a stack of pesos on the dresser top.

“Checking out tonight, mate,” Spike answered as he noticed the watery, bloodshot eyes staring at him blankly. Maybe this chap didn't understand English very well, he figured.

"No, Ahora me estoy yendo,” repeated Spike in the manager's language as he placed a fistful of pesos into the man's dirty hands before closing the door in his face.

Gathering his belongings and stuffing them into a duffle bag he'd liberated from Dawn, Spike prepared for his trip. If he moved quickly through the night and was very careful in the daylight, he'd be back in Sunnydale in a week.


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“Hello.” Giles could hear the exhaustion in Buffy's voice from this one word.

“I am very sorry to be ringing you up so late at night, Buffy, but I believe I have uncovered some new information that may help with our concerns about Dawn.”

Giles wasn't surprised she was awake. He knew that Dawn's latest bout with the headache most likely had only ended an hour or so earlier.

“Okay…Magic Box at ten?” said Buffy.

“No, we will gather at your house at nine. I will contact Xander, Anya, Tara and Willow , and we will see you and Dawn in the morning.” Giles had worked with Willow and Tara to conjure the strongest protection spell they could find to surround the Summers' house. It was by far the safest place possible for them to meet.

“Okay, see you then,” said Buffy.

Giles hung up the phone. There was no point in saying more now. She was going to do what he wanted her to do this time. She wouldn't like it. She'd argue. Then she'd do it. She had no choice.

The witches were ready and had sworn to follow Giles' instructions exactly. They'd collected all of the ingredients required to prepare the spell. True, Willow had botched a few enchantments in the past. But she was now operating on an extraordinary high after her success in bringing Buffy back. This spell should be a breeze for her. Bloody hell, they had to do this one right. His eyes sought the sky through the dark ceiling overhead. Summoning the gods he was wary of believing in, Giles prayed that this time Willow would not make any mistakes.


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Xander was nervous as he sat on the stool in the Summers' kitchen waiting for Giles to launch the Scooby meeting. He felt all fidgety and not at all like his usual self. He couldn't relax, even with Anya rubbing his shoulders and kneading his tight neck muscles firmly. Nothing was going to dispel the queasiness in his stomach or stop the jackhammer racing up and down the back of his head. Buffy looked awful. Dawn worse. Giles? Had he aged 10 years in the past six weeks or what? Damn it – simply never a good sign for Scoobies to look like shit at dawn and not a hell god, demon horde or Big Bad in sight. Buffy was back. That was good. Spike was gone, that was good. He'd run off almost as soon as Buffy got back. Smartest thing he'd ever done, nodded Xander, agreeably. With Buffy back, they no longer needed Spike hanging around. Best bet for Spike was to stay out of sight and avoid a pointy object through the heart courtesy of the Slayer once she got back to her old self.

“I found a drawing hidden in the etchings of Zy Gasdor,” began Giles. “A small image buried in the icon of Glorificus with the likeness of the Monster.”

“A who? A what?” Xander burst in before Buffy could utter a word – which he expected her to do any second. But he couldn't stop himself from speaking. “A picture of Glory and a monster. Yeah – and so? Monsters we get sort of daily here in the Hellmouth.”

“Xander, please!” snapped Giles. “This is something we have never faced before, and I will not allow it to destroy Buffy – or any of us.” Giles voice seemed to echo through the house. “Buffy, you and Dawn must leave Sunnydale, immediately.”

“Why do Dawn and Buffy need to leave town?” asked Xander, his tone shrill.

“Giles, Xander's right.” Buffy said sounding a lot calmer than Xander imagined possible considering what Giles had just suggested. “What makes this monster any more frightening than anything else we've ever fought?”

“I-It can control its prey through their thoughts, and uses those thoughts to find its next victim,” said Giles, focusing his attention on Buffy.

“Okay, sounds like mind-control. We've dealt with that before,” said Buffy.

“Yeah, there was that hyena gang,” Xander began. “And robot Ted's chocolate chip cookies, and…”

Giles glared at Xander for an instant then he pulled off his glasses for a quick wipe before returning them to the bridge of his nose. “We haven't seen anything that compares to this monster's skills.”

“Come on, Giles, you've got to give me more to make me believe that leaving town is our only choice,” interrupted Buffy. “If this monster wants Dawn – too bad. It can't be any stronger than Glory. She was a god. We'll fight this. Besides, I won't run again.”

“The monster wants more than Dawn.” Giles glanced at Dawn before returning his attention to Buffy. “If you and Dawn do not leave Sunnydale immediately, it will be able to destroy everyone in this room. We will all be dead within a week.”

“What?” Buffy said, incredulously.

“Giles is right.” Anya's voice surprised Xander; he'd been concentrating so hard on the exchange between Giles and Buffy, he'd forgotten she was there.

“I never met the Monster. Not in a thousand years. ‘Sides, if I had wouldn't be here to talk about it. It doesn't leave anyone around to tell stories.” Anya was fidgeting as she spoke. “I only know it exists. I can guarantee that. I've seen towns where it's hunted. And it can kill anywhere, and can never be stopped…It's also a jumper.”

“A what?” Buffy asked intently.

“Jumper,” said Anya.

“The Monster is a portal jumper,” Giles and Willow spoke simultaneously.

“It may believe that Dawn is a jumper, too,” continued Giles.

Xander squirmed. “What's this jumper business mean?”

“They can move through space, time, and dimensions, without pause or hesitation. They are seamless travelers who seduce their prey, and tear away the soul,” said Anya, who sounded like she was reciting a passage she'd learned in school. “That's how the Monster and his journey have been described, like forever.”

“That's doesn't sound too good.” Xander said worriedly.

“Buffy, there is a way we can protect you and Dawn, and all of us, really, but only if you two leave Sunnydale.” Willow spoke so quietly Xander wondered if anyone beside him had heard her.

“We have a plan. Well, it's really a spell,” said Willow, her voice stronger.

“And again, with one of your spells, Willow?” said Buffy.

“It's not my spell. It's Giles' and well, Tara 's spell,” she countered.

“Buffy, the monster finds its prey through thoughts, yours and ours,” said Tara, who had remained standing near the kitchen door since entering the house. “The spell will change one thought.”

“It's a simple spell,” added Willow.

“Remember the will be done spell? This is sounding a lot like one of those, and that didn't work out well at all,” said Xander.

“This is not changing memories; this spell only adjusts one single thought. But that change will be enough to create a barrier between you, us, and the Monster,” responded Willow .

“Giles, you really believe it would be able to kill all of us if Dawn and I don't leave town?” asked Buffy.

“It will have the desire, and the power to kill us all, if you and Dawn are still here.” Giles touched Buffy's hand, which rested on the counter top.

Buffy stood stiffly and folded her arms across her chest. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as we cast the spell,” Willow answered.

“First tell me, what thought are you taking?” Dawn had sat quietly at the end of the kitchen counter – unnoticed until she spoke, realized Xander. Odd, he reasoned, since she was the cause of it all.


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Dawn hadn't said a word until then. She'd just watched and listened as the Scoobies talked about the Monster. She didn't have much to add, anyway. Sure, she could have told them about the blackness upstairs in the corner near her Mom's closet. They didn't know about that. But she needed to keep that to herself. She'd seen through it and knew what was on the other side. No way could she tell them about it either. Tolerance and patience were not traits of Scoobies. In her 16 years or, in this reality, less than 24 months of watching them, she'd learned that her sister and their extended family judged fast and hard with swords, axes and stakes in hand. Strike first and question never was the Scooby philosophy when it came to demons.

Still it might help them to know what she'd seen. But Anya had said the Monster didn't leave anyone alive who'd seen it to tell stories. If any part of the blackness in her mother's room was the Monster then there was no way she could admit to what she'd seen and remain alive long enough to help.

As Dawn looked from one set of steady eyes to the next, her gaze didn't waver as she waited for an answer. Ignoring the small pain at the back of her neck that had begun to throb against her spine, she held her tongue as long as she could. Then she had to know.

“What thought are you taking from us?” Dawn asked again, breathlessly.

to be continued…





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