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Part Ten
Without thinking, Buffy reached out and grabbed for the crossbow bolt. It burned as it sped through her closed hand, and for the briefest of instants Buffy thought she’d have to let it go, let Drusilla die, and take her chances dealing with Spike when he found out.
But then, finally, it stopped, though not without damage. A small tear appeared in Drusilla’s dress, a small wound in her chest, a tiny cry of pain escaped her lips.
Buffy dropped the bolt and shook her left hand. This was going to burn for a while. In the distance, she was vaguely aware of Giles swearing and trying to reload. Cordelia said, “I’m sorry …” as Drusilla continued to whimper and moan.
“The next time you want to shout out a warning, Cordy, keep your mouth closed,” Buffy said, still blowing on her hand.
Then Dru stopped moaning. Her face a demonic mask of cold fury, she said, “You cut my dress.” She took a wild swing at Buffy, all her composure vanished into the warm air of the Sunnydale night. Behind the vampire, Cordelia was scrabbling about on the ground, why, Buffy had no idea.
“Count yourself lucky it’s not your heart, sweetcheeks,” Buffy said as she easily dodged Dru’s unaimed punches. “I just saved your life, you know.” She blocked the vampire’s fist. “Though now I’m starting to really, really regret that …” Cordelia stood up, something in her hand.
Abruptly, characteristically, Drusilla paused. “You know, you’re right, Buffy. I’m so sorry about that, but you’re right.” Then, after a brief pause, “I still owe you for taking my Angel away from me, though.” Then she smiled brightly, and her game face vanished. “I know! I could do something for you before I kill you. Maybe sing you a song?”
Shuddering involuntarily at the thought of hearing Drusilla sing to her — just too, too creepy for words — Buffy instead shook her head and said, “How about just holding still for a second?”
“I can do that — but you can’t attack me or it will break our deal.”
Buffy smiled. “I promise, Drusilla.” Then the vampire held still …
… and Cordelia clobbered her across the back of the skull with the broken tree limb she held. The vampire had been concentrating so hard on Buffy and Giles that she’d forgotten entirely about Cordelia. Dru staggered forward … right into Buffy’s carefully placed fist. She hadn’t lied to Dru, well, not exactly … after all, she’d technically walked INTO the fist … The vampire wasn’t inclined to argue, because she was busily collapsing into a heap on the ground. “Nice shot, Cordy,” Buffy said.
“I am getting SO tired of all of this,” Cordelia answered, and Buffy thought she knew what Cordy meant.
“I’m just glad it was Dru that was in your line of fire tonight, and not me,” Buffy said as Giles came walking up.
“Don’t think I haven’t been tempted,” Cordelia muttered as she threw down the branch.
Disassembling the crossbow, Giles said as he looked down at the unconscious vampire. “Nice work … although the fact that you promised not to kill her leaves us in a bit of a bind.”
“Which is …?” Buffy prompted.
“We don’t have a car. How precisely are we going to transport her out of here?”
Cordelia backpedalled furiously, but unlike the cheerleader, Buffy knew a rhetorical question when she heard one. “At least tell me,” she told her Watcher, “that you have some tranquilizer with you. I don’t want to risk her waking up anytime soon.”
* * *
What?
He — he —
He’s going to make the bitch a goddess again?
This wasn’t right, this wasn’t right AT ALL.
Willow simply couldn’t believe it. An involuntary, though quite determined, “No!” escaped her lips. Anya just turned and glared at her, while Wesley said, calmly, “Miss Rosenberg, contrary to popular opinion, I am not a bumbling incompetent. I know precisely what I’m doing — and this seemed the fastest way of getting you clear without forcing you to choose between a rite you seemed most unwilling to perform and the potentiality —”
“Try the certainty,” Anya interrupted.
“The certainty of your being killed or seriously wounded, then,” Wesley finished smoothly. Oddly, Willow noticed Anya flinch at that. Why would the demoness flinch? Never mind. “Plus,” Wesley continued as if he hadn’t noticed (odds were, he hadn’t, he was so damned clueless he made Alicia Silverstone look fully in touch), “this increases the possibility of us having one less enemy when this is all over. I imagine that Anyanka will feel inclined to abide by her word?” Wesley walked in closer to the pair, almost touching.
“If it means getting my necklace back,” Anya said huskily, “I’d dance naked in the middle of the town square with a weretiger with a bad case of tooth rot! Simply agreeing to lay off you folks for the near future is no problem at all. With the trouble I’ve been having I was planning to do it anyway. Now,” she said, her tone becoming once again businesslike. “How do I know you can find the spell?”
Wesley puffed up. “I’m a Watcher,” he said pompously. “Research is what I do. Now, for the record, state formally: I, Anyanka, hereby agree to not trouble the Slayer or any of the Slayer’s friends again for my necklace. I so swear on my life and my abilities as a goddess, may those powers vanish forever if I break my word.” A small, tangible aura of magic filled the room. Apparently what Wesley was asking was more than a simple promise.
Something about that phrasing — it hit Willow and she had to fight from breaking into a wide grin. The ex-goddess repeated Wesley’s words without hesitation. The magic aura descended. “You have sworn your oath officially and may not break it without consequences.”
“Very well. Now you swear your oath.”
Willow stood up, much to Anya’s surprise, as Wesley said, “No … I don’t believe I shall.”
Confused, Anya spat, “But you promised —”
“Did I? Check the wording of the formal oath. It placed restrictions on you only. You ASSUMED I’d swear an oath in return.”
Gently, Willow reached over Anya’s shoulder and took the gun. “I don’t think you’ll be needing this,” she said. It seemed like the thing to say. Then she turned to Wesley and said, “Thank you.”
“You are most entirely welcome,” the Watcher said. “Now then, Anyanka. I was telling the truth about this: I have no plans at all to kill you for this. Ex-goddess or not, you are currently a human being, and Watchers do not take human lives except under extreme provocation.” Willow moved to give Wesley the gun. He looked at the weapon as though the young witch were attempting to hand him a live fer-de-lance. “No thanks,” he muttered in an aside. “I have no experience at all with small arms and would be very likely to injure someone.”
“Yeah, like I’m an expert,” Willow said, making sure to point the gun towards the ceiling as she held it, not too tightly, not too loosely.
“Whatever,” Anya said grumpily, ignoring the last exchange. She began to gather up the materials she’d had on the floor, presumably to get ready to leave.
Wesley seemed quite content to let this play out. Disbelievingly, Willow said, “So that’s it? you’re just going to let her go?”
Eyes widening a bit, Wesley answered. “What would you have me do, Miss Rosenberg?”
“Punish her! Somehow — she let a lot of really bad people loose on Sunnydale.”
“Would you have me stake her, then? Or pound her to a bloody pulp? Because those are basically my only choices. Unless,” he adopted that snide tone Willow so hated, “you would have me talk to Mr. Giles and see if perchance she has an overdue library book he could remind her of?”
“How about a spell?” Willow still wasn’t happy about this. Blissfully oblivious to the discussion — or more likely, simply not giving a damn — Anya finished packing up and walked off.
“As a witch, you should know better. A spell cast in anger or revenge —”
“Whatever,” Willow grumbled, unconsciously echoing Anya. The Watcher raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as the two of them strolled towards the exit.
“And bear in mind, Miss Rosenberg, that from here on out Anyanka can do nothing untoward to you or to your friends, in the quest to regain her necklace. That should be considered a sort of punishment.”
Willow had a thought. “You should still be glad I got the gun when I did. After all, Anya can only not-attack Buffy’s friends. I doubt you qualify …”
Wesley stiffened. He obviously hadn’t thought of that. “Good point.” Abruptly, he spun and started walking towards the far side of the warehouse. “On the chance she’s come to the same conclusions you have,” he called out behind him.
Once outside, they rounded the warehouse … Anya was gone, and in her disgruntlement had apparently decided not to take her irritation out on either Wesley or his car. But there was a familiar face there.
“Oz!” Willow squealed happily. “How did you …l?”
“Sheer luck. Smelled you.” This after he disengaged from the hug. “Hi, Wesley. What —”
“Anya hypnotized me and kidnapped me. Wesley rescued me.”
Oz blinked. “He did?”
Mildly, Wesley said, “I don’t see what’s so difficult about the concept.”
Oz wanted to say something else — Willow could tell — but he refrained. “Look,” he said. “Xander and Angel are off right now — with Ethan Rayne, oddly — trying to stop Catherine Madison. I think we should put in an appearance.”
Willow gulped and took a deep breath. “You’re probably right. Wesley? We’re going to need you to drive us …”
“I should go check in on my Slayer —” he stopped before Willow’s and Oz’s steady gazes. “I suppose that can be done later.”
“You suppose correctly,” Oz said calmly as they got into the car.