I rise into the air, preparing myself to fight, wishing I had one of those cool mutant powers from X-Men -- or, hell, at this point I'd even take some of Willow's "thicken" spells to slow the Horsemen down. But all I have is me: flight, strength, speed, healing, and the ability to talk to animals.
Unfortunately, there aren't any gorillas around that I can convince to join me in the fight. It's just me against them.
It starts with Pestilence sending a massive swarm of wasps into the air like a thick cloud. They surround me and start to sting, and I'm not allergic, but the not-so-little stabs of pain distract me enough that I fall to the carpeted floor of the church.
And then they're on me. Once Pestilence gets me on the ground, Famine saps my strength and makes me hungrier than ever while War and I trade blows. His massive fists slam into my body, and although I give back, hitting him hard enough to make him stumble backward, he's definitely winning. Whatever Famine's doing, it's slowing down my healing, and the moment I drop my guard War's boot slams into my chest and I fly across the church to crash against the wall.
At least I don't fall -- Death raises a finger and I float, stunned, ears ringing, spine so shocked that I can't even pretend to resist, back to the altar. Death's black cloak grows closer and closer, and I know this is it. This is the end. The Dark King is going to win, and there's nothing I can do about it.
For some reason, staring into the black cowl that hides Death's face, I'm reminded of something I heard in college. Terrorists killed some members of the British government, and afterward, their statement said, "we only have to be lucky once. You have to be lucky always."
Any of the Dark King's minions can kill me, which means he wins, but if I want to win, it's him and only him that can grant me a victory. It isn't fair -- but then, when has any of this ever been fair?
Death is close enough that I can smell the lack of scent that his cloak gives off. Any minute now, he'll be taking my life. It's what he does.
I hope that, when this is all over, the Professor makes sure Buffy and Willow are okay. I hope he adopts them, or at least finds them a good home.
I really wish I had a will.
I really wish I was anywhere but here.
I really wish I wasn't about to die.
I close my eyes.
I wait.
But instead of the absolute silence of Death, I hear a voice. Not one of the Horsemen, but a regular person. A man, pitching his tone so his words carry across the sanctuary. I open my eyes, but Death is too close and I can't see past him. I'm still floating, suspended by his power, but my limbs are starting to tingle, which means I'll be able to move on my own pretty soon. My guess is that Famine, who's standing off to my right but not looking my way, isn't sapping me anymore.
I force myself to concentrate on the words, instead of the tone.
"Be not dismayed or overwhelmed," the man is saying. It has the sound of a prayer -- is he praying for me? Like, really praying? -- "for You are God. I know You will strengthen her and help her, that You will uphold her with Your righteous hand."
I don't believe in this man's God -- and I don't plan to start -- but the power of his belief is doing something to Death's hold on me. I feel myself swaying in the air even as my healing powers hit me full-swing. I bite back a moan, not wanting to distract the Horsemen, and realize that I'm rising higher. My power of flight is back!
Now I can see a tall, silver-haired man wearing a gray suit and tie, carrying a Bible. He must be the pastor.
He's the one who's doing this.
"Even as the shadows cover her, let her feel the comfort of your strength, O Lord." The pastor raises the Bible in one hand and holds the other, palm out. "Let her feel Your strength, O Lord!"
The people in the pews are echoing him now, a ragged ensemble that, as the Horsemen stand there, unmoving, resolves to a distinct chorus, repeating over and over: "Let her feel Your strength, O Lord!"
Something -- I don't know what -- snaps the Horsemen out of their fugue. But enough time has passed, and enough of me has healed, to fly down and stand between the Horsemen and the pastor. "Leave," I say, putting everything I have into my words. "Leave this place! Go back to the King and tell him..." I give them a nasty smile. "Tell him it was a nice try."
Pestilence seems ready to do something unpleasant, but Death merely shakes his head. As I watch, the four of them fade out of existence.
A moment later, so does my resolve. I crumple to the floor.
When I can think again, the pastor is kneeling beside me, holding my hand. "Thank you," he says. "Thank you for fighting them."
"I didn't fight them." My voice is hoarse, as if I've been screaming. I'm exhausted. "They nearly... killed me."
"But they didn't. God gave you strength, and you banished them."
I can feel the presence of the other church employees or whatever they are; they're standing well back. "Help me up," I say. "Please?"
The pastor takes my wrists in his hands and gets me to my feet. I stumble a little but manage to stay up. "I remember the last time you came," he says. "I prayed for you then, and I'll pray for you now, until this is all over."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't..." I sigh. "I'm not religious. I don't believe in God -- not yours; not anyone's. My powers don't come from there."
"You may choose not to believe," he says, "but we believe in you." He puts his hand on my arm and looks at me with intense hazel eyes. "We'll pray for you, Alexandra." The others echo his sentiment. "Good luck."
"Thank you." I let my eyes move across the others, making sure to look at each and every one of them. "Thank you all." Then I turn to the pastor and, with a tiny jerk of my head, suggest that he follow me out. When we're in the lobby, alone, I say, "you were lucky. They could've killed you in seconds. They're not the real Four Horsemen of your Apocalypse, but the Dark King made them with their powers."
"Then why did prayers weaken them?"
I know this one. "It's not the prayers. Not exactly. But the more belief in me that people have, the stronger I become. It's like a short-term power boost. You don't have to pray to God to give me strength; you just have to have believe that I can win."
"Then why don't you believe? You've seen it work, haven't you?"
I sigh. I've had this discussion before; at least this man of God doesn't seem to be pushing me too hard to join his side. "If you want to believe it was a miracle, or God, I won't say you shouldn't. But I don't believe. I just..." I shake my head. "I just don't."
"I'm sorry to hear that. But whatever you believe, thank you again."
"You're welcome. I'm glad no one was hurt."
"You were hurt," he points out.
"That's my job." I muster up a grin and flash it at him. "See you around."
Then I'm gone.
I barely make it to the apartment. I know it's dumb to fly in like this, especially in the middle of the day, but I need to be home. I need to be somewhere safe.
I unlock the balcony door with the hide-a-key tucked away under the citronella candle -- it's the third story; it should be safe from all but the most determined thieves -- and barely manage to get it closed behind me before I'm on the floor.
If Buffy or Willow says anything, I don't remember it. I'm unconscious the moment my face touches the carpet.
CHAPTER TWENTY
SURPRISE
+++++
I feel a pair of strong hands lifting me off the living room floor and helping me to the couch. Everything hurts, despite my healing powers -- I don't know how long I was unconscious, but it clearly wasn't long enough for me to get back to normal.
No sunshine comes in through the windows, so it has to be after seven, at the very least. I see that the kitchen light is on, though my vision is still mostly blurry with sleep. "Who..." I swallow and try again, aiming for something that isn't just a whisper. "Who's there?"
Warm hands take hold of mine and I look down, blinking hard. "It's me."
It's Jake.
> Jake has a key to my apartment -- he feeds Buffy and Willow on the rare occasions I go away, and they know him well enough that they didn't attack him or scream for me to save them -- so that explains how he got in. "Why are you here?"
"I was worried about you," he says. "I don't buy what you were telling me before, about a doctor who told you to quit your job." His eyes narrow, and then he gets to his feet. "Why are you wearing a mask?"
Oh, shit.
Before I can figure out what to do, Jake's turned on the light. When he speaks, his voice is soft, full of awe. "Andrea?"
Craptastic. I stand up slowly and smooth down the costume. "It's me."
"But you're... I mean..."
I nod. "I'm her. I'm Alexandra." Then, before I can stop myself, I reach up and slowly pull the mask off my face. It hurts, but it's a familiar pain -- one that I can ignore, one that my body will heal quickly enough. "Surprise?"
"Sur... surprise?" Jake goes toward the kitchen; he pulls out a chair and sits at my table, putting his head in his hands. "God, Andrea... oh my God..."
I go to him -- at normal human speed, because he's clearly freaked-out enough already -- and now it's my turn to kneel. I put one hand on his leg and, with the other, turn his face so that he has to look. "I'm still Andrea," I say. "I'm still your friend. I'm just... I'm this, too."
"For how long?" he asks. One hand comes down to touch my cheekbone, where I'm sure the skin is still pink. "I mean, were you always her?"
I nod. "Since the beginning."
Jake looks like he has nothing to say. Well, that's all right, because I really don't have any ideas either. I just kneel beside him, watching him watching me, until finally he appears to make a decision. "You should've told me."
"Yeah, because revealing the superhero's secret identity has never led to anything bad for the superhero's best friend, right?"
He laughs dryly. "I guess not." His hand covers mine, and despite the powers it feels just like always. "You look... smaller."
I slip away and take a few steps back before giving him a little pirouette. "It's the powers," I say. "They use my body's stored energy, and in order to stay alive I'm going to have to start eating a lot more, and drinking protein shakes and things. The doctor gave me a diet to follow--"
"Your doctor knows?" he interrupts. "How come she gets to know?"
"Not my doctor," I say. "The doctor."
"Doctor who?"
"No." I grin, but I don't feel it reaching my eyes. "You know about the Professor. I've told you about him."
"Uh-huh."
"She's... well, she's kind of his boss. Which I just found out about a few days ago, by the way. Kind of a surprise, if you know what I mean."
"Not directly, but yeah." Jake goes into the kitchen and takes down a couple of glasses. "Water?"
"Sure." While Jake adds ice and holds the first glass under the dispenser, I say, "you're taking this pretty well."
"What am I supposed to do? Freak out?"
"I wouldn't blame you."
"And I don't blame you for keeping this secret." I'm in the kitchen now, and he hands me the glass, and here we are: two friends, one in jeans and a Polo and the other in a superhero costume, drinking water from cheap Target glasses. I imagine seeing the scene through someone else's eyes and I can't help but smile. For real, this time.
"So," Jake says, "the powers."
"You know about me," I say. "About Alexandra, I mean."
"I do. I didn't live here during the last time, but I saw all the stuff on TV about her -- about you," he corrects. "Damn, that is still just..." He puts his hands on either side of his head and imitates double-explosions, complete with a low boom sound. "Mind. Blown."
"Yeah, mine was too, when I first had it happen to me." I drink a little of my water, then put the glass down. "Let me change out of this thing, all right?"
"All right."
I give him a little wink and then zip into the bedroom; the door's closed before he can even think to say anything else. I pull off the costume -- it's still a royal pain in the ass to get the singlet off in one piece -- and swap it for a pair of fleece pants and a green t-shirt from some fundraiser I did years ago. I really wish I could take off my bra, but not with Jake in the living room. Propriety still trumps comfort, which sucks, but what am I going to do?
Go out there with a bra on, apparently.
Jake looks up when the bedroom door opens. I can't quite read his face. "You look good," he says. "And I can say that now without HR putting me into sensitivity training."
I smile and, preening a little, sit next to him on the couch. He puts his arm around me and I lean against his shoulder so he can hug me all the way. "Thanks. And thanks for this," I add, reaching up to rest my other hand on his shoulder, hugging him back. "It's been a hell of a day."
"Want to talk about it?"
"I dunno. How much can I tell you before you're in official sidekick territory?"
He chuckles. "No idea. I'm guessing you were in a fight, though."
"Yeah. Remember the news just before I fought the Dark King for the last time?"
"Vaguely," he says. "Something about the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, right?"
I nod. His heartbeat is thick and heavy, and I feel it reverberating through his chest. As comforting as it is to snuggle up with Buffy and Willow, I really miss this kind of human companionship. If he wasn't married, I might just try for more than hugs and snuggles, but as much as I like Jake, I can't do that to him. I'm not that kind of person.
I wish I was, though -- if only for tonight.
Instead, I tell him a little about the fight at the church. "The pastor got the church employees to pray for me, and that turned the tide at the end -- their belief that I could win, not their belief in God," I clarify. "One thing we know for sure is that these powers have nothing to do with religion."
"'We' would be the Professor and the Doctor?"
"'We' would be." I sigh. "I really ought to call them. They must know I'm not dead; I'm surprised they're not here already."
"There has to be a reason."
"I suppose." Another sigh. "Hey, cats?"
Willow walks slowly out of the bedroom and steps up onto the coffee table. "Are you all right, Andrea?"
I nod. "Fine. Just wondering if anyone came by while I was out."
"Nobody. No knocking. No calling your name."
"Thanks." I pat my lap and Willow makes the short jump to the couch before curling up with me. "I love you," she purrs.
"Love you too." I become aware at that moment that Jake has gone very still. "Yes, I was talking to the cat. And yes, she was responding."
He shakes his head. "I forgot about that one."
"Yeah. But it's nice to have someone to talk to. I don't..." I swallow. "I don't have a lot of friends. You know that. Especially friends who are here late at night for cuddling and watching TV."
Jake makes a noncommittal noise. He's rubbing my shoulder now; I don't think he realizes he's doing it. I'm not planning to stop him. "Nothing ever kept you from going out and meeting guys, you know."
My mouth twists into a wry smile, even though I know he can't see it. "How many guys do you know that look past all that surface I had?"
"I did," he says, his voice very soft.
Okay, that throws me. I know he knows I like him in more than a friendly way, and I know he knows I've resolved myself to our just being friends because he's married, but never before has he said anything like that. "Jake?"
He slips away from me, getting up from the couch, and paces across the apartment. "Lisa and I are having problems."
"Damn," I say. I rest one hand on Willow's back to pet her; she meows quietly but settles back into my lap in a second or two. "I'm sorry, Jake."
"Me too," he says. "I'm sticking it out, and we're doing counseling, but it's hard." He takes a couple of slow breaths. "And there you were all last year--"
"It's been going on for a year?"
He nods.
"About a year. We've been in therapy for six months now, and I'm not sure we're really getting anywhere." Another one of those slow breaths, as if he's building up the courage to say something. "And there you were, just... just being you, y'know? You make me laugh, and we like the same things, and I just know that if we tried--"
"Jake--" I know where he's going with this. And, damn it, my heart is lifting because it thinks there's a chance.
"--if we tried, we could at least have a little fun."
I nudge Willow off my lap and get to my feet. Before he can react, I'm across the apartment, hugging him. He has no recourse but to hug me back. I'd love to be able to look at him right now, but I think I might cry if I did. He's my best friend, and even so he still kept all of this from me. Not that I'd have the right frame of reference to give him advice, but still... we're friends. Friends talk about that stuff. If I had a dollar for every bad date I told him about over the years, I'd be able to take us both out to dinner.
Not a nice dinner, but food would be involved.
I don't date much.
"Jake," I say after a while, "we can't. You know we can't, and I know we can't."
"I know." He's hoarse, and he's hugging me harder than he probably should be, but I can take it. For his sake, I can take it. "God, this sucks."
"Yeah it does."
What sucks worse is that my phone has started buzzing in my pocket. I extricate myself from Jake's arms and give him an apologetic glance as I answer it. It's the Professor, and he and the doctor want me at the lab for a debriefing.
We compromise. I get them to come to the apartment, and I get them to bring food. I don't tell them about Jake, though. If they're going to yell at me, I'd rather they only do it once, instead of both on the phone and in person.
Well, I was half-right: Dr. Colibri definitely laid into me, especially when Jake was the one to open the front door -- not my fault; I was in the bathroom -- but the Professor seemed to take it all in stride. By the time I'm done ignoring her pathetic attempts to strip pieces off my hide, the Professor and Jake have set out a bunch of Chinese food containers on my kitchen table. "Nothing we can do about it, Diane," he says. "We'll deal with it if necessary."
After The Apocalypse Page 20