“Oh,” Cordelia said. “That reminds me. I have a note for Buffy.”
“A note?” Buffy asked coming out of the weapons-locker. “From who?”
Cordelia frowned. “Well, you see, there was this muck monster in the girls locker room. Well, I used to know this muck monster, well, he wasn’t a monster, then, he was a football player. But since he knew me, or he used to know me, I guess he trusted me enough to give me this. When he gave it to me, he sort of said “Slayer” so I guess it’s for you.”
She gave Buffy a meaningful look. “Anyways, this note, I put it away for safe keeping. Prinicipal Snyder showed up and, you know. . . .”
Buffy nodded as if she understood.
Cordelia reached into the top of her sweater.
She glared at Xander.
“Excuse me?”
Xander raised his hands in helplessness. “Well, how was I supposed to know where your hand was going?”
Cordelia rolled her eyes. Sometimes Xander was such a guy. She pulled a particularly soiled peace of paper out of its hiding place. She turned back to Buffy and passed the smudged and crumpled note.
Buffy read it aloud. Xander still looked over her shoulder.
SLAYER—
BEWARE OF THE ATTACK AT THE PACKING PLANT TONIGHT. IT’S AN AMBUSH. LOOK FOR ERIC. HE’S THE DANGEROUS ONE.
A FRIEND
“A friend?” Xander couldn’t quite comprehend this. “Buffy’s got a friend who’s a muck monster?”
Cordelia shook her head. “I don’t think Bryce, or the thing that was Bryce, wrote this.”
“So you and the muck monster are on a first-name basis?” This was the Bryce she had been talking about? This shouldn’t be making Xander so upset. Right now, everything was making Xander upset.
“Xander, please,” Cordelia said, “I’m going through enough already.”
“Actually, I don’t think I can be jealous of a muck monster.” He waved at the note. “Hey, I’m surprised a muck monster can spell at all! Considering, he was on the football team.”
“Now, Xander,” Buffy broke in. “I’m sure Cordelia’s got all sorts of things you don’t know about.” She frowned. “Whoops. I think that came out the wrong way.” She held up the piece of paper in her hand. “Let’s get back to the note.”
Giles took the note from Buffy. “This has to do with that prophecy, the one about the gathering of vampires. It may have to do with all three. The second one had to do with treachery. That could be Eric as well. Or George.”
Buffy waved the note in the air in frustration. “We need to get Willow back here to help us figure these out!”
“Willow has been an invaluable resource,” Giles agreed. “But we’ll muddle along somehow.” From his tone, it sounded as though even he did not look forward to that prospect.
“But we must get to work,” Giles announced. “We have a lot to prepare for. We have been told there will be some sort of treachery, out by the old packing plant. Perhaps we can find a way to set up an ambush for their ambush, if you see what I mean. And I think someone should go and see the Druids.”
Chapter 22
THEIR RENTED COTTAGE HAD BECOME A BATTLE ZONE.
“You are sworn to serve me,” George insisted.
“You’ve gone crazy!” his nephew, Ian shouted back “That’s all I see!”
George had not expected this much resistance. In fact, it had never occurred to him that he would encounter any resistance at all.
Things had been moving very quickly, and George had not had time to plan. His abduction of Willow, while necessary, came from the sort of revelation he felt he must act upon immediately.
Odd how nicely his new requirements fit in with Eric’s offer of the warehouse. This had happened sometimes back in Wales as well. It seemed the vampire was able to meet his every need, sometimes even before George realized the need existed. He regretted how much and how quickly he had come to rely now on the vampire’s aid, but nothing must stand in the way of what he must do after nightfall tonight.
The old warehouse was in a far more deserted district than the cottage. Even in a quiet neighborhood like this, certain lights and noises were sure to draw attention. But at that lonely concrete bunker in the middle of the night, they should be able to fight back everything the Hellmouth might throw at them without interference.
As soon as he had taken Willow, George had considered what must be done. He knew he would have to return to the cottage to retrieve the various instruments and ingredients he needed to successfully complete his task. And he expected his three nephews would bring those incantations they had already begun so that they might have some extra protection from those creatures on the other side.
Unfortunately, at least one of his nephews had another idea.
Ian stared defiantly at his uncle. “My father would have never agreed to such a plan!”
George felt a flash of anger. “How dare you talk to me about your father? I was the one who watched your father die.”
No! Don’t let them nearer! Don’t let them!
George! George!
I was not fast enough, George thought. Somehow, I could have saved him. I was not well enough prepared. Somehow.
George knew. It was his own indecision, his own weakness, that had forced them to come here, to repeat the spell all over again. If he had to be angry at someone, it should be himself.
Didn’t Ian see that this time his uncle had to succeed?
The minute he had returned to the cottage, Ian knew George planned to use the blood spell. He could not hide these things from the boys, Ian in particular. He had trained them too well.
George had traveled without other elders, he realized now, because he wanted no one questioning his authority. Perhaps he really planned to use the blood spell all along. He had certainly prepared for it as well as the other.
But George would let no other elder stand in the way of his redemption.
And now his own nephew dared to object!
“We have not sacrificed a human being for close to two thousand years. It was that early need for blood that almost destroyed us, forced us underground. You and my father told me over and over how we had found gentler, more refined ways to meet our goals.”
George suddenly felt very old. “That was before—last year. You have not seen what I’ve seen. You haven’t—”
“At last, you can explain some of this to us. What exactly is it that you’ve seen?”
George opened his mouth, but no words would come out. He could not bring himself to describe it. He would break down into tears.
It would do no good for the three boys to see their elder cry.
George looked away from his nephew. “The discussion is finished. I will brook no more disrespect. You will do as I order!”
“No,” was Ian’s quiet reply. “In this thing, we will not.”
George sighed. It had been a hellish night. He’d gotten no sleep. The sun was rising as he’d left the warehouse. He’d argued here for the better part of an hour.
What was he doing?
He saw no way around it. Sometimes, even innocents had to be sacrificed for the greater good. When Ian was older, he would understand.
Tom and Dave had kept away from the argument. The boys were only separated by three years, but Ian, the eldest, had always been their leader.
Very well. If Ian refused to join him, George would manage as best he could with two assistants rather than three.
“Dave!” he called. “Tom! Gather together everything we need. We must make preparations for tonight.”
He looked at Ian one final time. “I will leave you here. The elders will deal with you when we return home.”
“If we return home,” Ian replied. “If we even survive this.”
George could not help trying for the final word. “We would be in a better position to succeed if we were all working together.”
Ian only shook his head. “No. We would be in a better position to succ
eed if we were to follow my late father’s guidance.”
“Very well. We will leave you behind. I believe we can manage without you.”
The two other brothers stood by the front door. They both looked most uncomfortable. George could understand. Until now, the three had done everything together.
“I’m sorry, uncle,” Tom said, “but I cannot go either.”
George was stunned. He was faced with a full scale revolt. He looked to the youngest of the three brothers.
“And what of you, Dave?”
Dave looked at the floor. “We are sworn to uphold the order. I will follow you, as I promised the elders back home.”
George sighed. “At least one of you has a little sense left.”
He looked to his other two nephews before he left.
“You know you cannot stop me.”
“I can at least try to make you see sense!” Ian shot back.
“No. I think that we cannot agree. If we both survive this night, we might someday come to an understanding. I hope so.”
Ian was silent.
“This night is far from over. The power hidden within the Hellmouth is my greatest challenge.”
Ian answered this time. “The night has not even begun. I think that things will happen that we cannot even imagine.”
George left Ian inside and helped his nephew Dave load the supplies into the back of the van.
“Let us all hope we are ready for them,” George said. “And let us all hope that some of us survive.”
Oz was pretty impressed by the exchange between Ian and his uncle. He always appreciated a good argument.
His family didn’t have all that many any more. Actually, he didn’t stick around his house enough to figure out exactly what his family was doing. But he hoped they weren’t arguing as much as when he had been around.
But this argument was direct, to the point, and immediately let the guy hiding outside the window know who was on which side.
Back at the warehouse, after Eric had left—and he must have been a vampire or another Druid or something, because he was real quiet; Oz didn’t really hear him leave—Oz had spent a couple of minutes peering through the grimy windows, trying to see Willow. He’d heard George bring her inside, but the Druid must have put her in one of the smaller rooms off the main floor, because Oz couldn’t see a single floating body or ghostly glow. He had snuck around three sides of the structure, looking for a better angle, but mostly all he could see was old George unloading objects from a large black canvas bag. Oz hadn’t seen the Druid bring the stuff in there. He figured it must be something left by Eric. He couldn’t make much sense out of the things George was pulling out of the bag, either—rocks and twigs and shards of glass and a couple small pouches filled with what looked like dirt. Oh well. He was sure they were deeply meaningful to somebody.
George had looked up once or twice, like he really knew Oz was around. Oz had ducked away, and George had gone back to sorting out the objects.
Oz had been thinking it was time to stop pressing his luck and scoot when George decided to go back to the van. He thought about looking for Willow and remembered how he’d found Giles. Druids wouldn’t leave things unprotected. He’d end up knocked out—or worse. If he was going to rescue Willow, he needed help.
Oz decided he’d hitch one more ride. If George was going the right way, it was certainly easier than walking. And if he was going the wrong way, Oz could always jump or something.
As it turned out, George was headed straight for the rental cottage.
Well, that was one of the places Oz wanted to go.
The sun came up on their way over there, so Oz dropped off the van when George went into a slow turn at the end of the street. Oz fell into a somersault on somebody’s lawn, surprised that he ended up sitting in one piece. Maybe all those years falling down in gym class were worth something after all.
He waited for George to walk into the house, then strolled up the street.
By the time he got outside, the argument was in full gear.
Now, though, George was gone. Ian and Tom were on the good guys side. And Oz had to get to work.
He strolled into the still-open front door. “Hi, guys. Mind if I use your phone?”
Ian and Tom both stared at him.
“Or not,” Oz said after a minute. “You guys OK?”
Tom was the first to speak. “Uh, yeah. Listen. About the phone. We’d love to let you use it, but we can’t.”
Whoops. Maybe Oz had misjudged them. “What, are you afraid of betraying your uncle?”
“No,” Tom added, “we’d betray our uncle in a minute if we’d think it would help Willow.”
“You know about Willow, yes?” Ian asked.
“I know about Willow,” Oz agreed.
“Somehow, I had the feeling that you did. Anyway, we would let you use the phone, but we don’t have one.”
“No phone?” Oz mused.
“No. Our uncle couldn’t figure out who would want to call a Druid.”
“Plus,” Tom added, “to be honest, he’s always been cheap.”
“We’ll help you if we can,” Ian said. “Our kind has been against human sacrifice for a very long time. Well, most of our kind . . .”
Tom nodded. “Besides, Willow’s keen.”
“She is that,” Ian agreed. “This is not going to be easy. It might not be possible at all. Our uncle’s a very powerful man.”
“Maybe so,” Oz agreed. “But we’ve got the Slayer on our side.”
There would be no more rest for George.
He’d have to wait for nightfall, and Eric, to make the last of the preparations.
They’d accomplish what they could during the day, but Dave was the youngest and least experienced of his charges. Mostly, George would depend on him to fetch and carry, and perhaps to maintain one or two of the simpler conjurings.
Perhaps his brothers would have a change of heart. Anything could happen around the Hellmouth.
George had felt clearer headed this morning despite his exhaustion. The feeling that he was being stalked by a werewolf had left him right around sunrise. He still wondered what it meant; perhaps there was some other danger hidden in that feeling. It would not surprise him if the Hellmouth was indeed more powerful at night. He would have to watch for other ways the power might try to distract him tonight.
He thought then of their captive. He called to his nephew.
“Let the young lady out of the office. The key is hanging outside the door.”
He couldn’t bear to leave her trapped all day. Let her take a few more breaths of morning air, take a long look at the sunshine. He was a practical man, but he wasn’t cruel.
Dave returned a moment later with Willow by his side. She was walking a bit stiffly, and blinked a few times as if she weren’t quite awake, but otherwise looked in good shape. The resilience of youth, George supposed. Surprisingly, the young woman appeared quite calm. George had been prepared for anything, even hysteria. He found her calm slightly unsettling.
He nodded to the young woman. “I apologize for what I have to do. I have no other choice.” He waved at the warehouse around them. “I have set a spell around the perimeter of this building; no one may enter or leave without my permission. So you, Dave, and I will get to spend a few quiet hours together.
“I need—to talk—to you,” Willow said, struggling to shake off the last vestiges of the spell.
“If you wish. But I will tell you now that you will not change my mind.”
“I need to tell you more about the three prophecies. I have some vague ideas about what they mean, but I think they might mean a lot more to you.”
“More?” George found himself interested despite himself. Prophecy, after all, was one of the gifts that the elders valued most highly.
“They come from our computer,” Willow explained. “In Sunnydale, just about anything can produce unexplained phenomena.”
And the computer was merely a too
l, George thought, a vessel through which people chose to communicate. It seemed an ideal tool for prophecy as well.
“Would you like to hear them?” she asked.
George nodded. He could think of no reason to stop her. This was the young lady who was going to give her life this very evening to save the world. If prattling on about this made her happy, he at least owed her that much.
“The first one is ‘There is a shift in the undead. There exists a potential for a gathering of vampires.’ ”
She paused, as if waiting for a reaction.
A new wave of vampires? Eric had told him that most of the vampires had left town. Could Eric be lying?
Druids could often tell if someone was lying, simply through noting the person’s pulse, body temperature, and body language. George doubted that would work for vampires.
If Eric was caught in a lie, George would drop him; their alliance was that fragile. Unless, of course, the lie was so large that George couldn’t even see it.
George dismissed the notion. Who knew the true source of this so-called prophecy or its accuracy? He was letting his personal concerns cloud his judgment.
Eric was helping him from the “inside,” the side of evil, in exchange for protection from the blood spell. The vampire would not have offered the exchange if he didn’t think George would succeed.
Willow continued, “The next one is ‘A new wave will sweep the surface clean. Beware of those lurking below.’ ”
George was the new wave. It sounded so right. And those lurking below? Did that mean the creatures on the other side?
Or could it mean Eric’s treachery?
George was far more unsettled than he had realized.
“Go on,” he told Willow.
“Okay.” She nodded. “Here’s the third one: ‘A single night will mean the difference. The power could change everything.’ ”
This was the clearest of the three. The “single night” was tonight. And he planned to use the Hellmouth’s power to make basic changes in the order of things. But in ancient augury, all three prophecies within a group would comment one upon the others. The vampires, the new wave, the power—all were part of the same fabric. Each affected the other, and only by looking at all three together might you see the whole.
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