Chosen

by Nancy Holder

  He gave her a sympathetic hug—short, and mostly British, though tinged with some warmth.

  “Everything’s going to be all right,” he promised.

  “I hope so.”

  But it was hard to believe that, as the arguing swirled around them.

  “I hear what you’re saying,” Faith began, as Kennedy half-shouted, “Shouldn’t we get down to business and start talking about our game plan? We don’t have all the time in the world here. Or maybe we do . . . but that doesn’t mean much any more.”

  “You guys?” Willow called earnestly. “You guys? I think we’re wasting our time arguing about how to argue.”

  Amanda tried again. “Why don’t we—”

  Rona glared at her. “Girl, don’t you mention Parliamentary Procedure again.”

  “I second that,” Dawn said.

  Faith was quiet, steady, and wrested back her leadership position “Everyone listen to me,” she said. “Chill.”

  And then did. They all looked to her. It was quiet. Her voice had calmed them.

  “It’s been a long night, and I don’t know about you, but I’m wiped. Why don’t we all catch some sleep and figure all this out in the morning?”

  Kennedy was shocked. “Do we really have time to waste—”

  Still calm, Faith continued, “Look, I understand you guys are wicked stressed.”

  The redheaded Vi nodded emphatically.

  “Frankly?” Faith said. “Our situation blows. But we’ve got to stay cool. That’s the only way we’re going to get through this.” She looked around the group. “Can everyone handle that?”

  The group was coming down off the hysteria; they were settling down; they were regrouping.

  Under a new leader.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Vi said. “We’ll get some rest and tomorrow, this won’t seem so—”

  Suddenly the house pitched into darkness.

  Vi screamed

  And it was knee-deep in the hooplah all over again, complete and total panic as the girls freaked out.

  Amanda shouted, “Vi, be quiet!”

  “What happened?” Vi asked querulously.

  “The lights went out?” Rona asked, all wise-ass.

  “I’ll get some candles,” Amanda said.

  “I’ll check the fuse box,” Kennedy added.

  “Don’t bother.” Faith had moved to the window, and was peering outside. “All the lights on the whole street just went out.”

  “Which means?” Rona demanded.

  Faith was grim. “That everyone from the power company has gotten the hell out of Sunnydale.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  Then Vi said, “I think I’m freaking out.”

  * * *

  Buffy felt like a floating piece of ice as she walked along the street. Very cold, very detached from anything.

  She walked down the middle of the street. The lights were all out. Door were slung open, houses abandoned. Across the way, a family was packing their belongings into their car and getting the hell out of Dodge.

  Buffy chose a small house and walked up to the door.

  CRACK!

  The door swung open as she broke and entered into the dark, still house.

  She took a couple steps in, her face still blank. A floorboard creaked.

  Then a man’s voiced shouted, “Don’t move!”

  Buffy didn’t flinch, but she did turn around.

  The man had a shotgun aimed at her head, but his hands were shaking so badly that he probably wouldn’t even hit her at this close range. His bulging eyes believed sleep deprivation and paranoia.

  “Get out of my house!” he shouted.

  “Hey,” she replied in a flat, dull voice.

  Then, incredibly quickly, she seized the gun and tossed it on the couch.

  “I thought this place would be empty,” she said by way of apology. “Everyone has left town. You know, you really should leave.”

  He blustered at her. “You can’t just kick me out of my own house!”

  “It’s not your house,” she said. “It’s not your town. Not anymore.”

  As Buffy turned toward the kitchen, he moved out of her way. Taking the shotgun with her, she opened the refrigerator door—no light went on—and looked for something to eat.

  “Hey,” she said, do you have any Tab?”

  But the man had gone, fleeing into the night. . . .

  * * *

  Spike and Andrew were waiting out the light, and it was boring, boring, boring. Andrew was doing his best to entertain himself but Spike was just not cooperating. They were sitting in the secret room in the mission, the bare walls covered by tapestries.

  Inspiration!

  “All right,” Andrew began, “I spy with my little eye something that begins . . . with a . . . T.” Hah!

  “Tapestry,” Spike said without a beat. He was slumped against the wall with his head in his hands, a total Gloomy Gus.

  Nevertheless, Andrew was impressed. “Hey, good one. How did you—”

  “Tapestries are the only things in the whole bloody room,” Spike bit off.

  Andrew smiled, feeling very wise. “Ah, so say you . . . but I say . . . look deeper.”

  “I’ll look deep in your jugular, s’what I’ll look deep at.”

  “Don’t spazz out,” Andrew replied anxiously. Then he ventured, “Rock paper scissors?”

  Spike stared at him.

  “What is wrong with you?” Spike demanded. “Don’t you understand what’s happening here?”

  “Uh, yeah,” Andrew replied, as in “no duh.” “We’re waiting till it’s night again so you can ride on the motorcycle without exploding.”

  Spike slammed the floor with his fist. “And every minute we’re stuck here, the Slayer’s back there, facing hell knows what.”

  “You’re worried about her, “Andrew said. “Come on, what’s the worst thing that could happen to her?” A beat, and then he felt a little ill as he said, “Wow, I’m imagining something really horrible. How about you?”

  “All right,” Spike groused. “I’ll play if you want.”

  Andrew was thrilled. “You will?”

  “It’s either that or bash my head repeatedly against this wall,” Spike muttered.

  “Okay,” Andrew said excitedly. “Let’s see . . . let’s see . . .”

  He scanned the room, which was bare except for tapestries, and said, “I spy with my little eye something that begins with a . . . Y!”

  Spike scowled as he studied the room. “A Y? There’s nothing here that—”

  Andrew crowed, “Yet another tapestry!”

  Spike sighed heavily. “Should have picked the bashing.” Then he returned to his regularly scheduled worrying about Buffy.

  * * *

  Faith had created command central in Buffy’s basement. The room was lit with battery-powered emergency rooms; the Big Board stood behind Faith and the troops. There were fighting dummies nearby, and in the forefront, the soldiers sitting in a circle: Willow, Dawn, Giles, Anya, Robin, Kennedy, Caridad, Amanda, Vi, and many more Potentials.

  And Xander wearing an eye patch. He had become, for Faith a symbol that nothing was as it should be. Everything was confused and messed up. She was overwhelmed, trying to maintain control of a very large group of scared and confused people.

  “So what do we know?” Faith asked.

  Xander replied, “We know we’re basically the last humans left in Sunnydale.”

  “And that, like, all the evil in town wants us dead,” Caridad added.

  Vi was scared. She murmured, “I don’t want to die.”

  Don’t worry,” Anya said, quietly comforting. “It’s far more likely that you’ll stay alive long enough to watch most of your friends die first.” Missing Vi’s stricken look, she patted her on the back. “Then you’ll die.”

  Kennedy said to Faith. “We also know that Caleb told Buffy that everything’s going down at the Seal. I think we should head—”

&n
bsp; “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Faith interrupted, as she looked to the group at large.

  “We know we’ve got a lot of enemies,” she said. “We’ll start there.”

  Kennedy moved back in. “Faith, I’m sorry, don’t you think we should—”

  “I got this,” Faith dismissed her. “So, let’s go over our Rogues Gallery. Who exactly do we got here?” She tapped the Big Board.

  “There’s The First,” Dawn said, “who we can’t touch.”

  Xander added, “And our friend, Mr. Reverend I-Hate-Women.”

  “Who’s basically untouchable,” Anya pointed out.

  “And the ’Roid-rage Vamps, who are pretty much the worst,” Dawn added, “and the . . .”

  “Bringers,” Faith said decisively. “I think they’re our weakest link.”

  Giles frowned, looking concerned. “Are you saying we should think about attacking the Bringers?”

  “Maybe.” Not so decisive, Faith shrugged. “Okay, what if we kidnap one.”

  “And what, hold it for ransom?” Kennedy asked, her tone hostile, accent on the attitude.

  Xander gestured. “I’ll get the magazines and start ripping out letters now. ‘Dear The First, if you want your Bringer back . . . well, we will be surprised because you have three million other ones, so please disregard this letter. Yours sincerely . . .”

  “I’m saying,” Faith said, “we think about getting us a Bringer and making it talk. Get some info on The First and Caleb that way.”

  Dawn liked that. That was a good idea. Others were hopeful, agreeable . . . incredulous.

  “I’m on board,” Dawn announced.

  Robin wasn’t sure. “How do you think we should capture one?” he asked. “If they don’t want to be found . . .”

  “Okay,” Kennedy interrupted, more forcefully this time. She gestured with her hand as she spoke, glancing at the others in the eerie, flat light. “I’m not sure that this is such a good idea. Why try to get information when we already know about the Seal? Why don’t we send a team to the high school, do some recon, and then—”

  “No,” Faith said, closing the matter.

  “Just like that,” Kennedy said hotly. “You’re not even listening.”

  Willow put her hand on Kennedy’s arm and murmured, “Sweetie, you’re pushing too hard.”

  Kennedy shrugged her off as she glared at Faith. “I thought things would be different now, but you keep shutting me down.”

  Faith dealt it right back, not skimping on the harsh. “Things are different. Because, now? I’m your boss.”

  Faith stood.

  Power on.

  “Look, you guys, I’m not Buffy. I’m not the one who’s been on your asses all this time. But I’m not one of you anymore, either. I’m your leader. I didn’t ask to do this. And honestly? I didn’t want to. But now I’m in charge. Which means I go first and I make the rules and the rest of you follow after me. Is that clear?

  “So back the hell off, Kennedy, and let me do my job.”

  Off Kennedy’s stunned look, she said, “Alright?”

  Sullenly, Kennedy gestured and said, “Aye aye, captain.”

  Faith turned to the others. “Okay. Let’s get down to business.”

  * * *

  Secret chamber at the vineyard, just like in the mission . . . only not just like, because here . . . something Caleb and The First wanted.

  In the torchlight, buzz saws whined and sparked; hammer clanged. Dust danced in the flickering light. Bringers toiled while Caleb and The First looked on, like devils watching the damned labor in hell.

  Wearing her Buffy guise, The First said to Caleb, “I’d hoped you’d give me some better news.”

  “And I wish I had some,” he said sincerely.

  They watched for a few more minutes, and then The First asked, “Is this going to do anything? Or is all of this just to make the Bringers sweat?” She pondered that. “Do the Bringers sweat?”

  “Actually, I think they pant,” Caleb told her. “Like dogs.” He moved his shoulders and gave his head a shake. “And, I don’t know if this is doing any good. But we’ve got to try everything. What’s a prophesy got on brute strength?”

  The Slayer said, “You realize what will happen if the Slayer and her girls get it, don’t’ you?”

  They won’t. Caleb’s eyes flashed.

  “That’s right. They won’t.” The First turned, walking away, speaking to Caleb without so much as glancing at him. “Because you’re going to kill them and everyone they know.”

  Caleb smiled, liking that.

  Liking that very much, as he murmured, “Hallelujah.”

  * * *

  Down the alley Kennedy gave a scuffed, pissed-off kick to a garbage can. Hands in pockets, glowering . . . and distracted.

  Without warning, three Bringers leaped from the darkness, one of them grabbing Kennedy from behind. She fell to her knees; the knife edge pressed sharply against her cheek and then—

  The second Bringer staggered back, knife clattering to the cement . . .

  . . . as Giles yanked him back with a lasso he had just thrown around his neck.

  Then the Bringer lunged at Kennedy as Caridad burst from the darkness and gave it a solid kick to the temple, while Amanda and a Potential named Isabella erupted from the darkness, slammed their fists into the third Bringer, and Isabella stabbed him in the gut. He went down, dead.

  Kennedy picked up the first Bringer’s knife as the second one tackled her, throwing her to the ground; solid guy, not like the first, and his breath was foul. She struggled as he got his hands around her neck, and then his hands lost their strength as she stabbed him in the chest.

  She wrenched out the blade and wiped it on her jeans.

  She said to the others, “I’ve never been the bait before. That was . . . actually kind of scary,” she admitted.

  Caridad reminded her, “We had your back.”

  Giles tossed the end of the lasso to Kennedy, telling her, “You did well. Your performance as a disgruntled minion was spot on.”

  She pulled the rope tight, wrapping the slack around her arm. “I’m Method.” She smiled. “Let’s get this back to the Captain.

  The triumphant posse walked off into the moonlight.

  One for us, Kennedy thought. Finally.

  * * *

  The kitchen glowed by hurricane lamps, casting camp-fire faces on Anya, Amanda, and a couple of the other girls as Dawn sat anxiously with them. She didn’t know what the others were doing to the Bringer down in the basement. She did know that he had to talk, no matter how much he didn’t want to, because she knew how vicious Faith could be and she had seen firsthand what kid of a beating Principal Wood had given Spike. She was very grateful to the monks who had created her for giving her happy family memories. But these were not going to be happy memories, ever. Dawn was not battle-hardened, no matter how battle-weary she was.

  The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs alerted her to the fact that the interrogation crew was on its way up. She steadied herself for news.

  “Hey!” she said to Giles as he walked into the kitchen. “So?”

  “The Bringer’s dumb,” he replied, downcast.

  Anya rolled her eyes. “And you were expecting, what? A Rhodes Scholar?”

  “Dumb as in mute,” Giles replied, not without patience.. “Dumb is a politically incorrect and outdated term that belies my youth in the Mesozoic Era.”

  “Someone ripped out its tongue,” Faith elaborated.

  “Oh, gross!” Amanda cried.

  Xander moved to the counter and said with a pirate swagger, “Hey, whoa there, sweet cakes. Missing body parts can look pretty awesome.” A beat, and then, “But this was totally gross.”

  “Hey,” Dawn piped up, “I’ve been reading this old Turkish spell book. There’s an old conjuration that the ancient Turks used to communicate with the dying . . .”

  Willow nodded thoughtfully. “Oh, yeah. I think I’ve read a translat
ion of that.”

  “There’s a translation?” Dawn cried. “Oh, great! I’m reading like two words of Turkish a night when I could be . . .” She took a deep breath as the others looked on, mildly amused. “Okay, I’m over it.”

  She looked at the group. “So the spell is for communicating with people who can’t talk. Like when a person is dying and can’t speak anymore, this spell would allow them to say their good-byes or, y’know, gripe about how nobody ever came to visit.” Then, specifically to Willow, she asked, “Do you think this’ll help with Mr. No-Tongue?”

  Willow considered. “It should work, yeah . . . if we transmute the Bringer’s internal synapses into sound waves . . . yep, I think so. I’ll just need to get together some ingredients. It shouldn’t take too long.”

  Leader Faith was good with that. She moved her head, saying, “Well, all right, cool. While Willow’s doing that, why don’t the rest of—”

  “We’re ba-ack!” Andrew sang from the foyer as the entry door slammed shut.

  He and Spike appeared in the dining room, Spike first, and as Faith saw him, she thought, Uh-oh, here we go.

  “Hey,” Spike said by way of greeting.

  Andrew was full of vinegar as he jabbered a mile a minute. “Hi, everybody. I missed you guys a lot. Sorry we took so long getting back from our mission-mission but we had to wait out the sun and—” He brightened even more brightly at the sight of Xander’s eye patch. “Oh, cool, very Col. Nick Fury! You’re lookin’ good!”

  “Seeing slightly less good,” Xander said, with a touch of warmth in his voice. Andrew was in many ways a reflection of the geek that had been Xander back in the day. He thought wistfully of Jesse, the friend he had lost early on to the vampires. “But, thanks.”

  “Well, I think we had a very successful trip,” Andrew prattled on to everyone who had ears to hear. “We rode on Spike’s ‘hog,’ which was very cool, and we played some amusing games, and oh, yeah, we’ve got some information—but do you know what? I really need to urinate.”

  With that, he dashed off toward the bathroom.

  “He’s a breath of fresh air, isn’t he?” Spike said archly. “Thank God I don’t breathe. So, I think we got a lead.” He looked around. “Where’s Buffy?”

  Dawn said neutrally, “She’s not here right now.”

  Spike took that in, said, “When’s she get back?”