by Nancy Holder
* * *
Meanwhile, at Command Central, Anya and Andrew were holding a training session in the basement. Potentials were squeezed in everywhere—on the floor, sitting on the washer and dryer. They were pissed and scared and bewildered. Not over the vineyard attack in the slightest.
Andrew stood next to a large easel with a stack of large posterboard cards on it while Anya conducted a lecture. The demoralized Potentials grouped all around them. Morale was subterranean, like the foe they fought.
“So we know that a battle is coming,” Anya summed up. “Ubervamps galore.”
Andrew wrote “Ubervamp” on one of the cards and showed it to the home audience with the grace and style of Vanna White.
“And we know the Ubervamps are hard to kill,” Anya continued.
Andrew murmured to himself, “Hard . . . to . . .”
“But I’ve been out talking to my old contacts,” Anya cut I, and they’ve provided some surprising bits of news. Yay for them.”
The only person who reacted favorably was Andrew, who continued to work on his posterboard cards, with a dash and dedication that would make Giles proud.
“Ubervamps can, for example, be staked,” Anya announced. Right in the heart—Zing! Poof!—like regular vamps. We didn’t know that.
“Of course,” she added thoughtfully, “there’s an incredibly strong sternum on these guys, so it’s like driving a wooden stake through solid steel . . . but you’re all super strong, right?”
“Um, no,” Kennedy shot back.
“Oh. Right.” Anya seemed to remember that the girls contained the Potential for superstrength. The power of the Slayer didn’t belong to any of them, yet. “But the heart thing is still good to know since holy water runs off these guys like they’re Scotch-guarded, but guess what, they’re not coming out during the day.”
Andrew fashioned a lovely sun on the board.
“Also, stay away from their teeth and the claws they use to shed flesh.”
Rona shifted impatiently, interrupting her. “Okay, you know what? I used to be afraid of the Ubervamp guys. Then the scary preacher blew into town, and now I’m just mostly terrified of him.”
Kennedy added, “We saw him do stuff . . .”
“Right, well, we’re working on getting info on him,” Anya told them, “But in the meantime . . .”
Quietly, her fear evident, Amanda murmured, “Why bother?”
Everyone stopped and looked at her.
“Nothing works. Nothing will.”
That stumped Anya, who began shuffling through her note cards as if answers lay there, when they didn’t. There were no answers for what had happened to all of them.
“Right, well,” Anya murmured. She stopped and looked up. “I know you’re upset.”
Then she put down the note cards and said, “I, myself, would very much like to be sitting at the bedside of my one-eyed ex-fiancé right now rather than killing time with you people in this overcrowded and, might I add, increasingly ripe-smelling basement, and I would be if not for a certain awkward discussion he and I recently had right over there on that cot immediately following some exciting and unexpected break-up sex.”
The three Potentials who had been sitting on the cot gingerly slid off it.
“I need to give him space,” Anya said. “So I’m doing what I can do. Contributing what I can.” She smiled. “And so are all of you. You still need to have all this information. We can’t stop just because something else is trying to kill you, too.”
She smiled sympathetically at the girls; Andrew looked quite moved.
“Now, I’ve got more information on the Ubervamps, so perk up those ears,” she said, shifting to a cheerier tone of voice. “They’re primal, not like your . . . evolved, intuitive, and attractive demons. These guys are all instinct, so don’t bother with the logic or, you know, pleading for your life . . .”
* * *
My life, Faith thought, sitting on the kitchen counter, eating potato chips. It’s been so long since I’ve gotten to do something like this.
Kennedy approached her, asked, “Got enough to share?”
“I’ll trade you for a carton of cigarettes and some soap,” she said drolly. “Sorry. Habit.” As she handed the bag to Kennedy, she said, “Shouldn’t you be down at Hogwarts?”
Kennedy took some chips and came around to face Faith. She handed her back the bag and said boldly, “Probably.”
Faith grinned at her. “All right, playing hooky. Score one for the boarding school brat.” Then she gave her a wry look. “Anya’s technique is probably a little different than what you’re used to.”
“Do you think there are going to be questions about her sex life?” Amanda asked as she came into the kitchen. “ ‘Cause I really hope I don’t have to study all that.”
“Yeah, whenever she starts talking about getting all sweaty with Xander like that, I just remind her I had him first. Shuts her right the hell up,” Faith informed them. “Might work less well for you guys.”
“Thing is,” Kennedy said, “what’s the point? Studying demon hot zones and pressure points doesn’t do a helluva lot of good when Preacher Man is out there ready to finish the job he started.”
Faith took that in. “No one’s come up with any info yet bout Caleb?”
“No,” Amanda told her. “Nothing is working, not research, not Anya’s contacts . . .”
Kennedy anxiously looked to Faith. “We’re lousy with dead ends around here. Everyone’s feeling pretty . . . pointless. We don’t even have a place to start.”
Then Buffy called, “Hey, who’s here?”
Faith and the two Potentials went to the front door to find Buffy coming in, a thick manila folder with her. Dawn came down the stairs.
“Buffy!” Dawn cried. “How’s Xander?”
“He’s doing really well. He’s ready to come home, I think,” Buffy said, going for the good news.
Faith gestured to the manila folder. “Whatcha got?”
“Info Willow and Giles were able to get from the police database,” Buffy replied, dropping the file on the dining room table. “We figure, you know, with Caleb’s overt religiosity thing, if we want to learn more about him, we should try finding out maybe where he’s been.”
Faith flipped through the file. “Incidents of violence and vandalism connected to California and religious institutions in the last ten years.” She added, for the benefit of Kennedy and Amanda, “Looks like this gives us a place to start.”
“Exactly,” Buffy concurred. “We start with California. If nothing turns up, we expand the search to other areas. But a guy like Caleb didn’t just get in the game. He’s been playing for a while. We thought we’d try to find out where.”
“So we look at recent events, see if anything smacks of Caleb’s MO,” Dawn ventured.
“Right. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll try something else,” Buffy said. “Whatever it takes.” She looked at dawn. “You okay to help?”
Dawn raised her brows in mock innocence as she drawled, “Well I was going to do lots and lots of homework, but darn all the luck, that’s when they cancelled school. So it turns out I have the time.”
“Good,” Buffy said, settling in a the table.
There was a moment, and then Dawn ventured, “Hey, now, what was Xander’s mood like, you know, exactly? ’Cause yesterday he seemed more resigned than morose, so I was wondering if he’s trending upward still.”
Buffy concentrated on the papers very hard. . . .
“Oh, and you were going to talk to his doctor about the meds, right, because it seemed like . . .”
Buffy kept her eyes trained on the papers, and Dawn finally got it. She said, “Or, we could make talk about this later.”
“Okay,” Buffy answered tightly.
Faith cut in. “Hey, pipsqueak. Why don’t you go get some of the stuff you’ve already gotten from Giles?”
“Fine,” Dawn said. “We can cross-reference all of this to Giles’ fil
es, see what we get.” She thought a moment and said, “Plus, I could say ‘Giles’ files’ some more. I’ll be right back.
She tripped upstairs, and Buffy said to the group at larger, “Okay, so we’re looking for anything that looks like Caleb, his church, his ring . . .”
“. . . his ability to render a Slayer useless in just one punch,” Kennedy shot back.
Buffy took the hit.
Kennedy backtracked. “I didn’t . . . that was stupid. I don’t know why I said that.”
“It’s okay,” Buffy told her, although it really wasn’t. She took a breath. “You know, I gotta get to the school anyway, pick up the rest of my stuff.”
She got up and moved toward the door.
Kennedy followed her. “I really didn’t mean to . . .”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” the Slayer said firmly. Then she thought for a moment. “Hey, isn’t Anya doing a thing for you guys today?”
Kennedy nodded. “Yeah, we were there. We should probably head down there now.”
“Okay,” Buffy said, approving. “I’ll be back soon.” She said to Faith, “See if you can get everyone started on this stuff in the meantime.”
* * *
The school was lonely, dark, and deep. This was the second high school the Hellmouth had defeated, although some might argue that Buffy herself had personally brought down The First . . . and before that, I burned down the gym at Hemery. If I can graduate, anyone can.
Her face prickling, emotions churning, she sat down at her desk and looked at her things. She didn’t move. . . . and then she finally saw a picture of Xander, Willow, and her . . . all so young, so filled with excitement and life. She picked it up and stared at the faces, almost as if she were gazing at children she had once loved and lost.
Oh, God . . .
It was too much, just too much . . . and then a voice drawled, “Au, now, look. Things don’t go exactly your way, so here come the waterworks.”
Buffy knew that voice. Hated it with every fiber of her being . . .
“Ain’t that just like a woman?” Caleb drawled.
She stood, livid, ready to kill . . . and terrified.
“Get out of here,” she ordered him.
He laughed and shook a finger at her. “Now, now, little girl. Manners. Though I do imagine that firebrand tongue of yours has inflamed many a man. Weak as they are.”
He moved toward her desk as if he had no worries and plenty of time. Glancing around, he ventured, “This here’s a public school, ain’t it? Kind of deserted.” He shrugged. “That’s only just, I suppose. Folks work so hard at keeping the Lord out, and look what happens in return. God abandons you.”
He grinned. “Not that He could do much good now, anyway.”
As Buffy slowly, stealthily reached for her desk drawer, he shook his head in a playful, warning gestured. “Ah-ah, I wouldn’t were I you, sweet pea. Fighting back didn’t do you much good last time, did it?”
He grinned and moved closer to her. “And how is poor, sweet Xander. Let him know he’s in my prayers. And any time he’s willing . . .” He wriggled his thumb, and they both knew that meant.
“. . . I’m ready to finish the job.”
Buffy said, “You get near Xander again, I will end you.”
Then Caleb suddenly, violently shoved Buffy’s desk, tipping it on its side and out of the way. There was nothing standing between them now.
Buffy kicked at his ankles, but he easily stepped aside; then he grabbed her and dragged her up until she dangled off the ground, eye-to-eye with him.
“I’m going to find such sweet pleasure in taming you,” he said.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he tossed her through the window. She slammed against the opposite wall in the hallway outside, her momentum putting a huge hold in it as she crumpled, unconscious, to the floor.
* * *
Giles and Dawn were working on the island in the center of the kitchen, file pages spread everywhere, reports, press clippings and photographs littering the place.
“Show me what you have,” Giles told her.
“Not much,” Dawn replied. “Most of these places were hit by run-of-the-mill vandalism. Basic B and E, money stolen, sometimes colorful language painted on the doors.”
She looked up. “Did you notice how I just kind of threw ‘B and E’ in there? It’s a law enforcement term.”
“Yes,” Giles placated her. “Yes, excellent work. Very proud.”
She got back to business. “Here’s the one that stood out. It’s a mission up north in Gilroy.”
She slid a photo to Giles as Andrew entered.
Then Andrew came into the kitchen, much with the pissed-off hangdog, as he put forth his complaint: “Um, Mr. Giles? Faith stole the last meatball-and-mozzarella-flavored Hot Pocket out of the freezer even though I had called dibs on it.”
Ignoring Andrew, Giles said, “I don’t see anything.”
“Exactly,” Dawn concurred. “No vandalism at all.”
“Then why is it in the file?” Giles asked, puzzled.
“Place was abandoned,” she reported. “Locals started realizing after a few days no one was going in or out. Six members of the order lived there. When the cops showed up, all gone. Unsolved.”
Doggedly, Andrew opened the freezer. “Yup. See? The Post-it’s still there: ‘Andrew’s, please do not eat,’ but the box is empty now.”
Studying the photo, Giles said, “Oh.”
“Oh?” Dawn was excited. “Oh, good?”
“Not sure. Here . . .”
Giles carried the photo into the living room, where about seven or eight Potentials were sitting around the room, quiet and depressed.
Andrew followed, saying, “See, it’s not the Hot Pocket itself that matters, even though it had the new-and-improved thicker tomato sauce. It’s just the fundamental lack of respect.”
Sitting, Giles opened the desk drawer, pulled out a magnifying glass, and closely examined the police photo. As Andrew concluding his rant, he glanced up at him, and said calmly, “Sssh. Pay attention.”
Standing he handed the magnifying glass to Dawn. “Do you see that knothole in the back wall?”
Dawn bent in closer, examining the photo. “It’s not a knothole,” she realized.
It was Caleb’s mark.
“Amanda, “ Giles said, keeping his voice even, “would you go down to the basement and get Spike?”
Amanda slowly got up, nodding, and left the room. Giles and Dawn looked around.
“These poor girls,” Giles murmured.
They were poor indeed, thoroughly demoralized, caught and sinking in a quagmire of depression. Staring out the window, speaking in hushed voices and sad whispers—it was pervasive, relentless hopelessness.
“Maybe this will help,” Dawn said to Giles. “If this does get us closer to Caleb.”
Faith entered, popping the last bit of a Hot Pocket into her mouth. Andrew seethed; he barely registered as she said to the others, “Sounded like there was news.”
Then Spike came in with Amanda and said coolly, “What’s up, Rupert?”
“I have a mission for you,” Giles informed him.
“Really.” Spike mock-considered that information. “Because, you know, sometimes our missions end up with you trying to kill me. I’m not fond of those.”
“This is . . . serious,” Giles replied. “With real . . .” His gaze took in the room. “. . . ramifications. Have a look.”
He showed the photo to Spike, who scrutinized it for a moment before replying, “Ah. Looks like our boys was here.” He looked up at Giles. “You want me to go check it out?”
Giles said neutrally, “I need someone who can handle himself in case Caleb left any . . . souvenirs.”
“You want me to just go walking in there alone,” Spike stated, squaring off a bit.
“You’ll be fine,” Giles shot back.
Andrew whined forward, “Are we going to get to the food-stealing issue soon
?”
“Take Andrew,” Giles concluded.
Simultaneously, Andrew and Spike cried, “What?!”
“You’re always saying you want to get out of the house more,” Dawn pointed out to Andrew.
“Yeah, but . . . ,” Andrew said anxiously.
“There might be demons,” Giles pointed out. “Lurking about You never know. He’s a demon expert, he can help.”
Spike was disgusted. He rolled his eyes and said, “Oh, please . . .”
“He can bring that pan-flute thing of his,” Giles continued. “Excellent. Off you go.”
Without looking, Giles gave Andrew a small shove as Spike glowered at Giles, storming off. Tentatively Andrew picked up the file papers and followed Spike out.
Dawn turned to Amanda and said eagerly, “So, see? That’s something, right? We’ll have some news soon.”
Amanda did not return the joy. “Sure. Maybe that’ll get us somewhere.”
She slouched back with the others. Dawn, Giles, and Faith registered the fact that the new development had done absolutely nothing to improve morale.
“Meantime,” Faith said, “the ‘troops’ here have to sit and stew, feeling crappier by the minute.”
“We should keep them occupied,” Dawn ventured.
“Yeah.” Faith brightened. “Yeah. I think I know how to keep ’em occupied.”
* * *
It was the Bronze. It was time to party down and get a little a buzz on and let it all just frickin’ go. It was Faith’s show and the music was . . . okay, the kind of music they play at the Bronze, although Aimee Mann, Faith was sorry she’d missed her, but anyway, hot young Potentials were finally strutting again. Playing pool, dancing . . . and Faith dancing like, well, she’d been locked away in prison for three years.
“So, what kind of band plays during an apocalypse?” Kennedy asked Dawn, grinning.
“I think this band might actually be one of the signs,” Dawn shot back, but it was kinda funny, not all scary. A little good.
A little like . . . life was still happening.
* * *
Buffy had barely gotten away with her life.
She staggered into the house, calling, “Guys? How’s it—”
And there was Giles at the dining room table, astonished at her appearance. He came to her saying, “My God! What . . .”