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Part Two
And of course, right at that moment, the phone rang. Distractedly, Giles wandered over to pick it up while Willow stroked and soothed the Amy-rat as best she could.
Wesley asked the obvious question. “Why does the theft of these trophies disturb everyone so?”
This was something he had no call to know, Buffy realized. “Back when I first came to town, a witch named Catherine the Great switched bodies with her daughter … Amy,” she said, pointing at the tale where the rat was just now reviving, “and then proceeded to injure about a half dozen of the other teenaged girls at Sunnydale High. She caused one girl to go blind, another to get very weak and silly, and so on. Eventually, with Amy’s help, we were able to beat her. Amy learned later that her mother had been trapped in the trophy.”
“Her misdeeds … were for what purpose?” The fledgling Watcher asked.
“She wanted to become a cheerleader,” Willow piped up.
“All that power … and she used it to try to become a CHEERLEADER?”
Right then Cordelia caught on. “Wait a minute …” she shrieked. “The woman that made me go blind was trapped inside that statue? Have none of you ever heard of melting things down?”
Embarrassed, because to a large extent Cordy had a point, Buffy was saved having to answer by Giles hanging up the phone and speaking. “That may have just been a bit of good news … although getting it cost me over $200. I have just been speaking to a member of the order of Taraka. Apparently Ethan approached another member — Patrice, you remember her?”
Oz spoke up. “She was quite memorable, wasn’t she?” And Oz would have good cause to remember, seeing as how the fake cop had shot him. Willow patted Oz’s shoulder with one hand; with the other, she held Amy securely.
Giles seemed to remember this, too. “Yes. Well, anyway, Ethan asked her if she’d like to join his little band of malevolently intentioned individuals —”
Then it was Xander’s turn to interrupt. “The Secret Society of Super-Villains?”
Oz answered, “I was thinking more the Superman Revenge Squad.”
“The Sinister Six?” Wesley timidly ventured, to stunned looks from Xander and Oz. “I … always preferred Marvel. Sorry.”
“I would think,” Giles said a touch irritably, “that we have quite enough trouble from real enemies without having to drag in analogies from the wonderful world of comic books. In any event, Patrice declined, and when Ethan offered to pay her she again declined, saying that the order of Taraka wasn’t taking contracts out on this Slayer again and wouldn’t kill for any other reason. Patrice reported the same mix of individuals that Spike did — but she was absolutely positive there was a fourth presence in the area. One she couldn’t quite pin down — or, truthfully, even see.”
A horrible thought struck Buffy. “It wasn’t the First, was it?”
“No,” Giles answered. “For one thing, the First scarcely requires allies —”
“And for the other,” Wesley interrupted, “the First would not be reported as merely a presence. To one capable of sensing the supernatural in the manner of an assassin of the Order of Taraka, the First would register as extraordinarily powerful. The difference between, say, a gunshot a street away versus one fired six inches from the ear.”
“Let this be a lesson to you, Buff: Next time, when it comes to fighting the bad guys, kill ’em all and let God sort ’em out.” The Slayer shot Xander a dirty look.
“Well, this is just great,” Cordelia huffed. “I mean, who else can we expect to show up here and try to kill you? I have no interest in being caught in the crossfire while everyone you’ve ever pissed off tries to shorten your lifespan. We’re talking what? Dozens of people here?”
“On the other hand,” Xander said, “Maybe you should count your blessings. I mean, at least everyone you pissed off isn’t coming to Sunnydale. They’d have to hold their meetings in the football stadium.” A variation on the familiar Xander/Cordelia interaction, but at least it kept the cheerleader from flirting with Wesley. Talk about an ick factor …
Meanwhile, ignoring the hate/hate relationship playing out in front of them, Oz and Willow were making out a list. Ten seconds later, after placing a still-shaking rat down on the table, Willow said, “Well, Oz and I have been thinking. We think we can pretty much count out the vampires — the only ones you’ve left alive are Spike and Dru, and they’re already accounted for. We can also count out those times you weren’t really facing bad guys — like with Chris, and the hyena spirits, and the little kid and his nightmares. It’s not as long a list as you might think …” Then she handed it over to Buffy.
The Slayer read the names out loud and the debate began.
* * *
Meanwhile, the subjects of the debate, oblivious, were holding a meeting of their own in a hotel suite on the outskirts of Sunnydale. Catherine Madison, no longer imprisoned in a trophy, stalked angrily around the front of the bedroom. Lyle Gorch sat on one side of the bed, leering at Drusilla sitting on the other end. The crazy vampiress seemed alternately amused, bored, and irritated by the attention, but Gorch knew better than to actually try anything. The presence Patrice had detected stood in the back corner. Hanging up the phone, Ethan Rayne walked over from the front of the suite and stood in front of the television.
“Right, then,” the chaos worshipper began. “Now, my employer —”
“Yeah,” Lyle Gorch said. “Who we workin’ for anyway?”
“You are not WORKING for anyone, Mr. Gorch,” Ethan explained patiently. “Your motive in all this is revenge on the Slayer.”
“Well, then, who’s YOUR employer?”
“They want power,” Drusilla murmured unexpectedly. “They want power, and we’re not going to get any!”
Ethan made a mental note to NEVER underestimate Drusilla. Insane as she was, she was most definitely the most dangerous among them. Not the most powerful; that was Catherine the Great. But Drusilla was quite capable of destroying the world, and worse, destroying it with no good reason. Hell, the crazy bitch had already tried twice. Those ancient spellbooks had damned well better be what his employer had promised they’d be. This work wasn’t doing chaos any direct service, after all.
“Right you are, young lady,” Ethan said, “But you’ll get what you’re in it for, too.”
“I want the Slayer,” Drusilla said. “She took my Angel away from me. Now he’ll never again soar in the glorious darkness, and it’s all her fault.”
“Very well,” Ethan segued smoothly. “Drusilla wishes to try and capture the Slayer. Does anyone else have a preference for revenge?” Then he added. “Joyce Summers has already been spoken for.”
Catherine Madison said, “I’ll take my traitorous daughter — and that OTHER witch she hangs out with. Have you ever been trapped in a trophy for two years?”
Since the answer was no — and even though he knew full well that she’d been stuck in the trophy because of her own miscast spells — Ethan didn’t directly answer, saying, “Your daughter is yours to take, then, madam. Willow, though, has already been singled out by someone else.”
“If I knew what geas you laid on me —” The only way Ethan could be sure to retain Catherine the Great’s services had been to bind her tightly with a temporary geas. Otherwise she’d have run off pretty much right away, and Ethan would have been neither powerful enough nor fool enough to stop her.
“But you don’t, and that’s what’s important at the moment. Of course, I shall take on my old pal Ripper. He’s bound to be wondering what I’m getting out of all of this, and it would be just HORRIBLE for me to keep him in suspense like this.” Then he paused for a second, and a bit more reflectively, added, “Of course, I’m not going to kill him … it would bother Ripper ever so much more to survive all of this …” Besides which, Ethan couldn’t kill in cold blood. Not a moral problem at all, of course. He didn’t exactly have morals …
Lyle Gorch interrupted by spitting out, “I want that other Slayer.”
“Faith?” Ethan said. “She’s not our problem.” He quirked a smile. “Turns out she’s gone bad.” Ethan could barely restrain from chuckling at the thought. A Slayer turned to evil? Now THAT was chaos.
“That fashion-queen bitch became one of the bad guys? Now that’s somethin’ I gotta see …”
Confused, Ethan told Gorch to describe the fashion-queen bitch in question. Once the cowboy did, Ethan laughed. Whatever else you could say about Cordelia Chase, the woman had the cojones of a Navy Seal. Just in time to prevent Gorch from jumping up and throwing him into the nearest wall, Ethan explained his laughter. Drusilla smiled at the explanation, saying, “Heart of a tigress in that one … I bet it’s very tasty, too …”
Gorch yelled, “What? She BLUFFED me? That tears it — just like I’m gonna tear her in two about a dozen times.”
The presence spoke for the first time. In a quiet, angry voice, it said, “No. You. Won’t. You illiterate buffoon. I still owe her.”
Jumping up from the bed, Gorch ran towards where the voice had spoken — only to find nothing there.
“Knock it off, Gorch,” Ethan said irritably. “I’ll give you two people to make up for it.” Then, handing the cowboy a pair of photographs, said, “Oh, quit sulking. There are people with more powerful and long-lasting grudges against Cordelia Chase than you’ll ever have.” He gestured to where he thought the presence had moved. “Like Ms Ross over there.”
* * *
Joyce Summers sat at the living room table looking through an art catalog. The problem with owning a gallery in such a small place as Sunnydale was that it was a struggle to get the higher quality shows to come, even with the amount of money there was in town. Sucking up to rich twits was not one of Joyce’s strong suits, but she buckled down and did what she had to. This was a collection of medieval arms and metalwork she was looking at now. Hmmm. Maybe she could get Buffy’s opinion on their quality?
There was a noise from the back of the house. Joyce stood up and walked to the kitchen, only to find the door open. She slammed it shut in a hurry, hoping fervently that it had only been the wind. While she knew that vampires couldn’t come in without an invitation, that didn’t apply to so many of the other creatures that tended to flock to Sunnydale.
She made a mental note to NEVER give anyone relocation tips.
Then she turned around and smashed into … into …
No. No, it couldn’t be. He was gone. He was on the scrap heap of life …
The last words Joyce heard before she fell blessedly unconscious were, “Hi, Joycey. Miss me?”