curiouswombat (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
curiouswombat) wrote2007-07-29 09:38 pm
curiouswombat) wrote2007-07-29 09:38 pm
Entry tags:
Access All Areas, Chapter 14.
Woah! Two posts from me in an hour - probably something of a record! S2C and I have finally got our relevant bits of the next chapter of Access All Areas spliced together neatly - we were a bit at cross purposes with the timing for a little while, but have it sorted now!
So - Chapter 14 of Access All Areas by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
curiouswombat and speakr2customrs,
3,520 words, PG - story rated overall NC17.
“Whoa guys! We have more action.”
The group had just returned to their hotel, and Willow’s exclamation as she unrolled the map showing the location of the unknown Slayer took them by surprise.
“She headed this way, or just out for a walk?” Spike asked.
“In a car, I reckon,” Willow said, putting the map down on the bed so they could all see it. “And leaving her protected area, too,” she added, as the fuzzy blue blur that had covered five or six blocks became more focused.
“She’s headed for the airport!” Dawn realised where the blue dot’s route was leading before anyone else, and it soon became apparent that she was correct.
Spike looked at the map and broke into a smile. One of his eyebrows twitched upwards. “When did you say that next flight to Istanbul was?”
“Good grief! You could be right,” Giles said.
“Shall I ring Jarmila and ask her to go to the airport to see if she can spot her?” Dawn suggested. She smiled back at Spike. “Maybe even get a photo?”
……………………………
A haze of smoke filled the club. The atmosphere reminded Ethan of the good old days, in a more easy-going world, before Health and Safety and anti-smoking legislation had spread everywhere. The music was dire, of course; one of the few good things about his incarceration by the American military was that he had been spared Turkish Eurovision entries for several years. At least the dancing girls performing to the music were rather attractive and their costumes displayed a satisfactory amount of skin. Those pleasant visuals were, however, cancelled out by the ugly scowl on Berberoglu’s face.
“I am not happy man,” the Mad Turk declared. “You promise me much and give me only dead men.”
The Ferret shrugged. “You’re not going to tell me you care about them?”
“To lose men is to lose status,” Berberoglu replied. “Whoever kill them must die. That is the way of things.” His scowl was suddenly replaced by a grin. “I kill them slow if I find them. If I not find them… I kill you.”
Ethan gulped. He averted his gaze from the manic gleam in the gangster’s eyes and found himself looking at the broad expanse of Hakim’s chest. A bulge in the armpit region of the enforcer’s jacket indicated the presence of a large pistol. Ethan gulped again and turned his head around so that he could focus on a blonde belly dancer. Much more pleasant.
The Ferret didn’t even blink. “Her,” he said. “Not them, her.”
“A woman? The Slayer you tell me about? Hah. I make her suffer much before I kill.”
“A different Slayer. An independent operator. I’ll find her for you, Alaattin. And Ethan will weaken her for you.” The Ferret stared straight into Berberoglu’s eyes. “If you try to take her alive without our help she’ll tear your men apart.”
Berberoglu snorted. “I do not fear Slayer. You find her for me.”
“I’ll do that,” The Ferret said. “I already have a starting point. I think that there is a very good chance that the Slayer in question might be Turkish.”
“Hah!” Berberoglu grunted. “You find her quick.”
“If I’m right, she’ll show up soon.” The Ferret nodded. “I’ll find her. Hopefully before she finds us.”
“I’ll brew up another batch of the potion,” Ethan said. “This time I’ll combine it with a tranquiliser. One-shot Slayer neutralisation. Just don’t ask me to do the bit involving shooting her up with it. I’ve grown accustomed to having my arms attached to my body and I’d rather like them to stay that way.”
……………………………
“So,” Milan said, “you were quite right, the Slayer caught the flight to Istanbul. With a middle-aged man, two younger men, and an old woman.
“The airport was busy, and none of them had seen me before, so once Jarmila spotted the girl it was easy for me to get clear pictures of them all. The men all had the same tattoo that Jarmila saw on the girl, but the old woman didn’t.
“I was close enough to hear them talking, and I’m almost certain that the language they used was Greek. Sadly, I read Ancient Greek, but I don’t speak Modern Greek,” he finished, with a slight smile.
“Well done,” Giles said, “we can, um, download the pictures and e-mail them to our contact in Istanbul before the plane lands. Yes, well done indeed, both of you.”
Dawn smiled slightly. No matter how normal it was to convey information electronically Giles still sounded as though it was new-fangled and difficult to get to grips with. Sometimes she wondered if he just did it to cultivate his image.
Dawn had one or two good friends amongst the Slayers and she thought that, under different circumstances, the girl she had christened the Byzantine Slayer looked like someone she would like to get to know. The dark-haired girl looked intelligent, as if she might be capable of holding a conversation about something other than swords or shoes, and was carrying a bag that looked very like one that Dawn had almost bought herself. But, as it appeared that the Knights of Byzantium had become modern equal opportunity employers, this girl was probably devoted entirely to destroying Dawn.
‘Soooo not a good basis for a long-lasting friendship,’ she thought, sadly.
……………………………
Ethan kicked off his shoes and sat down on his bed. The room was fairly Spartan, although completely devoid of hoplites, helots, and invading Persians, but at least he had it all to himself instead of sharing with The Ferret. He ignored the little TV; nothing on Turkish television was going to be of any interest whatsoever. The club below was still open but the music was sufficiently muffled that it shouldn’t keep him awake.
Tomorrow was going to be a busy day. He had to brew up the next batch of anti-Slayer potion, of course, and then he would have to do some serious long-term planning. The Watchers’ Council was likely to take a very dim view of the assault on Dawn Summers, and the attempts to steal the Key, and hostile Slayers were likely to feature in his future for a long time to come. He had to be prepared for that. The serum that took away their powers was a useful weapon but injection wasn’t an ideal delivery system. Far too risky. Perhaps he could come up with some kind of spray?
Or, better still, something large-scale. Some way of taking Slayers out of the picture altogether. A means of getting the potion into the water supply, perhaps, or even using genetically-altered bacteria to infect Slayers with the serum on a world-wide scale?
Ethan paused in the middle of undoing his shirt buttons. Yes, think big. There were people, and indeed demons, who would pay very handsomely for something like that. Even if the Key project didn’t come to anything Ethan could still make a lot of money and protect himself at the same time. Money was becoming more and more important as his sixtieth birthday approached and the prospect of an impoverished old age began to loom ominously.
Ethan sighed. Where had the years gone? His interest in sex, drugs, and rock and roll hadn’t diminished in the least. How could he be fifty-nine? It didn’t seem fair somehow. He shook his head. This mood wasn’t going to be conducive to a decent night’s sleep. Perhaps he should go back down to the club and have a few more drinks before retiring.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. He stood up and went to answer it. What did The Ferret want now? Or had the Mad Turk been overcome by impatience and decided that he couldn’t wait until the next day for the anti-Slayer potion?
None of the above. Ethan opened the door and his eyebrows rose. A smile spread across his face as he surveyed the luscious figure of the blonde girl who stood there. The belly-dancer who had caught his eye earlier.
“Mister Rayne? The boss thought you might like some… company,” the girl said. Her accent was definitely not Turkish. Essex, or thereabouts, would be Ethan’s guess.
“He wasn’t wrong,” Ethan said. “Come in, come in, my dear. What’s your name? And do call me Ethan. I think I’m going to like working here after all.”
…………………………………
There had been a flurry of activity once Jarmila and Milan confirmed that the Slayer and her party were following Ethan and The Ferret to Istanbul. It had not taken Willow long to access the passenger list for the flight and identify the group of three males and two females with tickets purchased with the same debit card.
With the names and dates of birth of the group in their possession, along with all the other personal information required to fly, it did not take a genius to realise that Ioanna Konstantios was the daughter of the oldest male in the group. Now they could understand why she was tattooed with the insignia of a Knight of Byzantium.
That she was one of the Slayers activated all those years before was just one of the many repercussions of Willow’s spell that even now were still coming to light.
It took some time to organise everything but eventually all the arrangements were in place. Giles and the two witches were to fly to Istanbul on the early flight next day; Spike and Dawn would follow on the later one which took off at dusk.
Dawn had pointed out that, as everyone who had been trying to capture her now seemed to have left town, leaving her to travel with Spike was not only perfectly safe but might also confuse the opposition. If they were watching the airport, and saw Giles, Willow, and Mhairi arrive, they might not think to watch later to see if Dawn and Spike followed.
Andrew had arranged hotel rooms for them personally, he explained by phone, in the heart of the oldest part of the city. This would put them nearer to places they might need if they were trying to find out more about the Knights of Byzantium, and it was easier to find a hotel there with smaller windows looking out onto other buildings, rather than large picture windows which would not be very Spike friendly. This had made Dawn smile because, of course, he was right – the more junior members of staff who normally arranged such things probably would not have thought of it. Andrew’s old Spike worship/crush still had its uses all these years later, she thought.
Now it was late evening, and all they could do was wait until tomorrow. Milan had brought Giles a number of books and scrolls, which mentioned either the Knights or the Brothers, ‘on long term loan’ and Giles was sitting in his room poring over them when there was a knock on the door.
Spike put his head around the door and said “We’re going out. Me and Dawn. Going to be cooped up tomorrow, so we’re going to get some fresh air, right?” Before Giles could draw breath to argue the door had shut again. Spike took Dawn’s hand, grinned, and towed her down the corridor; both giggling like school-children.
The city was still quite busy, people out for the evening moving between bars and clubs in groups, as the chimes of midnight rang out from a score of clocks one after the other.
Dawn stood looking over the wall of the Charles Bridge at the river below, the water reflecting the lights of the city in an ever-changing mosaic, Spike’s arms encircling her, his hands covering hers. His presence at her back was comforting, it made her feel warmer in the chill of the October night – which was not as odd as it sounded, she thought, as he was sheltering her from the wind that had been whipping her hair across her face as they had walked onto the bridge.
“You and me, we’re going to come back here,” Spike said. “Fed up having to leave the bloody place in a hurry every time. Was going to take you on one of those boat trips on the river, like Paris, before all this blew up and I still will. ‘S a promise, Moonbeam.”
Dawn leant back against him, but before she could think of a suitable answer to this romantic statement Spike continued “After I kill Ethan fucking Rayne and his mate, of course.” Which was, she thought, in its own way a declaration of love.
Eventually they left the bridge to other couples and headed towards the lights of a club nearby. There was music, and dancing, people drinking and laughing, and for a few brief hours Dawn almost forgot the last week.
When they eventually did make their way back across the Charles Bridge to their hotel the clocks were striking five. They had it almost to themselves and, as they stopped to kiss in the middle, Dawn thought that this would be the image of Prague that she would carry with her and it was a good one.
……………………………
Anna accepted the cup of coffee that her mother held out to her. She sipped at the dark liquid, set the cup down, and pursed her lips. She toyed with a knife and sat staring at the cup without speaking.
“You look troubled, Ioanna,” her mother said. She passed her daughter a plate bearing a piece of bread, a few slices of feta cheese, and some olives. “You should eat something. It will put you in a better mood.”
“You are not jet-lagged, surely?” The General raised his eyebrows at his daughter. “The flight from Prague was not long.”
“Long enough for you to have fallen asleep,” Anna reminded him.
The General laughed. “True. Minta warned me that the notebook would be boring. Obviously she was right.”
Anna’s eyebrows descended low over her eyes. “I think perhaps that she cheated to prove her point.”
“Oh?” The General’s eyebrows shot up. “You think that Minta made me fall asleep?”
“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Anna said.
The General shook his head. “I doubt it. She has little humour in her.” His eyes narrowed as he focused his gaze more intently on his daughter’s face. “Your mother is right. You look troubled. Are you still worried about our mission?”
Anna shook her head. She picked up her coffee cup and took another sip before replying. “I had a dream,” she told him. “About when I was… stabbed.”
Her father and mother exchanged glances. “I am not surprised that you are upset,” the General said. “It was the worst night of my life. I thought that I had lost you.” His wife nodded agreement.
“I lost the fight,” Anna said, “but I survived. Thanks to you.” She tilted her head slightly and stared into her father’s eyes. “I had not realised that you used your sword as well as a gun.”
The General’s eyes widened. “You saw that in your dream? It was a vision, then, and not just a memory.”
Anna nodded. “I think so. A warning, perhaps, although I cannot think what it means. I was a normal girl then, with no special powers, and I had not learned Parkour. I shall not fall from a rooftop again. The roofs of the city are my domain.”
“Be not overconfident,” her father cautioned her. Furrows appeared on his brow. “You do not need to take part in this fight now. Our forces are perfectly adequate to take on mere gangsters without you.”
“Gangsters and magicians,” Anna reminded him. “I am the Sword of God. How can we ask our men to risk their lives in the battle against evil if I do not risk mine? I shall do my part, father, and you need not fear for me. I shall take care and do nothing foolish.” A smile spread over her face and she pushed aside the plate of bread and cheese. “I know what would cheer me up. Mother, will you make me loukamades?”
……………………………
The alley was a dead end. The girl halted for a moment and then turned to a drain-pipe and began to climb. A hand closed on her foot. She kicked back with her other foot and struck her assailant, a hooded man, in the head. He released his grip and staggered away. The girl ascended the drain-pipe with ease and was out of reach in seconds. The man’s hood had fallen away from his face and his eyes were now visible.
They were sewn shut.
Buffy stirred in her sleep. “The Bringers,” she muttered. “They’re back.”
The girl reached the top of the pipe and climbed onto the rooftop. Another hooded figure suddenly loomed up ahead of her. He pushed the girl and she staggered and slipped. She clawed at the tiles for a second and then fell from the roof.
Buffy’s arms thrashed. Her husband woke and sat up.
The girl hit the ground in a break-fall. She lay still for a moment but then tried to scramble to her feet. Two of the hooded figures seized her arms and held her down. The first Bringer drew a curved dagger and plunged it into her stomach.
“No!” Buffy cried out. “Not again.”
The Bringer pulled out the dagger. He raised it high once more and then something invisible hit his head. Blood and bone fragments sprayed across the alley. The Bringer dropped the dagger and fell.
The other two Bringers released their victim and turned to face a man who had entered the alley. The new arrival’s hair was dark, cropped close to his skull, and matted with blood trickling from a gash above one ear. He held an automatic pistol in one hand, a big military handgun with the bulky cylinder of a silencer extending from the muzzle, and a strange-looking sword in the other. It seemed to curve the wrong way, forward instead of back, like the jungle knives that those funny little Asian guys who were part of the English army used. Burkhas? Cookery? Whatever. Spike had owned one of those knives, once upon a time, she remembered. This sword wasn’t quite the same, and it was much bigger, but it was very much the same shape.
The Bringers were not intimidated by either sword or gun. Assuming that they could see them, of course; it had always been a mystery to Buffy how the eyeless creatures could function. They drew daggers and charged. The pistol spat flame twice. One of the Bringers spun around and toppled to the ground. The other ran on and thrust with his dagger. The newcomer chopped down with his sword and delivered a stroke that sheared through the Bringer’s arm at the elbow. The wounded Bringer staggered, halted, and clutched at the wound with his remaining hand. The sword swung again and the Bringer went down.
The man hastened to the girl. His face was twisted in apparent anguish. The girl raised a bloodstained hand from her stomach and held it out to him. The man tossed aside his sword, holstered his pistol, and took hold of her hand.
Buffy heard him speak but could not understand what he said. The language was unknown to her. She saw him use his free hand to pull a cell-phone from his pocket and dial. The numbers on the display were briefly visible; 112. She could also see the man’s forehead and the design that was tattooed there.
“The Knights,” Buffy gasped. “It can’t be. They were all wiped out.”
The vision faded. Buffy opened her eyes and found that she was staring into Phil’s face. He was holding her by the shoulders.
“Buffy! Are you all right?” he asked. His eyes were wide and she read worry in them.
“A dream,” she said. Her eyebrows lowered and she chewed on her lip. “It was a Slayer dream. Damn. I thought I was out of all that. I think we got trouble. I’d better call Giles.”
……………………………
They had flown into Prague at night on a half-full plane. A myriad twinkling lights beneath their wings, resolving into the parallel lines of a runway, and then into an airport much like any other. Now they were flying into Istanbul and Dawn thought again how alike airports were at night.
They had said brief farewells to the three who were going on ahead, then spent much of the day in bed, making up for Dawn’s lack of sleep the night before, amongst other things. Willow had sent a text to say the hotel was fine, and they would see them for a late meal when they arrived.
Dawn had expected to be greeted by a driver with a sign saying ‘Summers/Aurelius’. Spike had suggested it might read ‘Watchers Council’. Neither had really expected a worried looking Giles greeting them with “We may have bigger problems. Buffy has been in touch and she thinks that the Bringers may be abroad.”
.........................................................................................
The ’BtVS’ characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only and all rights remain with Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, the writers of the original episodes, and the TV and production companies responsible for the original television shows. BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER ©2002 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation. All Rights Reserved. The Buffy the Vampire Slayer trademark is used without express permission from Fox.
Previous chapters are - in memories.
Feedback is much better than chocolate - save us from calories!
So - Chapter 14 of Access All Areas by
curiouswombat and speakr2customrs, 3,520 words, PG - story rated overall NC17.
“Whoa guys! We have more action.”
The group had just returned to their hotel, and Willow’s exclamation as she unrolled the map showing the location of the unknown Slayer took them by surprise.
“She headed this way, or just out for a walk?” Spike asked.
“In a car, I reckon,” Willow said, putting the map down on the bed so they could all see it. “And leaving her protected area, too,” she added, as the fuzzy blue blur that had covered five or six blocks became more focused.
“She’s headed for the airport!” Dawn realised where the blue dot’s route was leading before anyone else, and it soon became apparent that she was correct.
Spike looked at the map and broke into a smile. One of his eyebrows twitched upwards. “When did you say that next flight to Istanbul was?”
“Good grief! You could be right,” Giles said.
“Shall I ring Jarmila and ask her to go to the airport to see if she can spot her?” Dawn suggested. She smiled back at Spike. “Maybe even get a photo?”
……………………………
A haze of smoke filled the club. The atmosphere reminded Ethan of the good old days, in a more easy-going world, before Health and Safety and anti-smoking legislation had spread everywhere. The music was dire, of course; one of the few good things about his incarceration by the American military was that he had been spared Turkish Eurovision entries for several years. At least the dancing girls performing to the music were rather attractive and their costumes displayed a satisfactory amount of skin. Those pleasant visuals were, however, cancelled out by the ugly scowl on Berberoglu’s face.
“I am not happy man,” the Mad Turk declared. “You promise me much and give me only dead men.”
The Ferret shrugged. “You’re not going to tell me you care about them?”
“To lose men is to lose status,” Berberoglu replied. “Whoever kill them must die. That is the way of things.” His scowl was suddenly replaced by a grin. “I kill them slow if I find them. If I not find them… I kill you.”
Ethan gulped. He averted his gaze from the manic gleam in the gangster’s eyes and found himself looking at the broad expanse of Hakim’s chest. A bulge in the armpit region of the enforcer’s jacket indicated the presence of a large pistol. Ethan gulped again and turned his head around so that he could focus on a blonde belly dancer. Much more pleasant.
The Ferret didn’t even blink. “Her,” he said. “Not them, her.”
“A woman? The Slayer you tell me about? Hah. I make her suffer much before I kill.”
“A different Slayer. An independent operator. I’ll find her for you, Alaattin. And Ethan will weaken her for you.” The Ferret stared straight into Berberoglu’s eyes. “If you try to take her alive without our help she’ll tear your men apart.”
Berberoglu snorted. “I do not fear Slayer. You find her for me.”
“I’ll do that,” The Ferret said. “I already have a starting point. I think that there is a very good chance that the Slayer in question might be Turkish.”
“Hah!” Berberoglu grunted. “You find her quick.”
“If I’m right, she’ll show up soon.” The Ferret nodded. “I’ll find her. Hopefully before she finds us.”
“I’ll brew up another batch of the potion,” Ethan said. “This time I’ll combine it with a tranquiliser. One-shot Slayer neutralisation. Just don’t ask me to do the bit involving shooting her up with it. I’ve grown accustomed to having my arms attached to my body and I’d rather like them to stay that way.”
……………………………
“So,” Milan said, “you were quite right, the Slayer caught the flight to Istanbul. With a middle-aged man, two younger men, and an old woman.
“The airport was busy, and none of them had seen me before, so once Jarmila spotted the girl it was easy for me to get clear pictures of them all. The men all had the same tattoo that Jarmila saw on the girl, but the old woman didn’t.
“I was close enough to hear them talking, and I’m almost certain that the language they used was Greek. Sadly, I read Ancient Greek, but I don’t speak Modern Greek,” he finished, with a slight smile.
“Well done,” Giles said, “we can, um, download the pictures and e-mail them to our contact in Istanbul before the plane lands. Yes, well done indeed, both of you.”
Dawn smiled slightly. No matter how normal it was to convey information electronically Giles still sounded as though it was new-fangled and difficult to get to grips with. Sometimes she wondered if he just did it to cultivate his image.
Dawn had one or two good friends amongst the Slayers and she thought that, under different circumstances, the girl she had christened the Byzantine Slayer looked like someone she would like to get to know. The dark-haired girl looked intelligent, as if she might be capable of holding a conversation about something other than swords or shoes, and was carrying a bag that looked very like one that Dawn had almost bought herself. But, as it appeared that the Knights of Byzantium had become modern equal opportunity employers, this girl was probably devoted entirely to destroying Dawn.
‘Soooo not a good basis for a long-lasting friendship,’ she thought, sadly.
……………………………
Ethan kicked off his shoes and sat down on his bed. The room was fairly Spartan, although completely devoid of hoplites, helots, and invading Persians, but at least he had it all to himself instead of sharing with The Ferret. He ignored the little TV; nothing on Turkish television was going to be of any interest whatsoever. The club below was still open but the music was sufficiently muffled that it shouldn’t keep him awake.
Tomorrow was going to be a busy day. He had to brew up the next batch of anti-Slayer potion, of course, and then he would have to do some serious long-term planning. The Watchers’ Council was likely to take a very dim view of the assault on Dawn Summers, and the attempts to steal the Key, and hostile Slayers were likely to feature in his future for a long time to come. He had to be prepared for that. The serum that took away their powers was a useful weapon but injection wasn’t an ideal delivery system. Far too risky. Perhaps he could come up with some kind of spray?
Or, better still, something large-scale. Some way of taking Slayers out of the picture altogether. A means of getting the potion into the water supply, perhaps, or even using genetically-altered bacteria to infect Slayers with the serum on a world-wide scale?
Ethan paused in the middle of undoing his shirt buttons. Yes, think big. There were people, and indeed demons, who would pay very handsomely for something like that. Even if the Key project didn’t come to anything Ethan could still make a lot of money and protect himself at the same time. Money was becoming more and more important as his sixtieth birthday approached and the prospect of an impoverished old age began to loom ominously.
Ethan sighed. Where had the years gone? His interest in sex, drugs, and rock and roll hadn’t diminished in the least. How could he be fifty-nine? It didn’t seem fair somehow. He shook his head. This mood wasn’t going to be conducive to a decent night’s sleep. Perhaps he should go back down to the club and have a few more drinks before retiring.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. He stood up and went to answer it. What did The Ferret want now? Or had the Mad Turk been overcome by impatience and decided that he couldn’t wait until the next day for the anti-Slayer potion?
None of the above. Ethan opened the door and his eyebrows rose. A smile spread across his face as he surveyed the luscious figure of the blonde girl who stood there. The belly-dancer who had caught his eye earlier.
“Mister Rayne? The boss thought you might like some… company,” the girl said. Her accent was definitely not Turkish. Essex, or thereabouts, would be Ethan’s guess.
“He wasn’t wrong,” Ethan said. “Come in, come in, my dear. What’s your name? And do call me Ethan. I think I’m going to like working here after all.”
…………………………………
There had been a flurry of activity once Jarmila and Milan confirmed that the Slayer and her party were following Ethan and The Ferret to Istanbul. It had not taken Willow long to access the passenger list for the flight and identify the group of three males and two females with tickets purchased with the same debit card.
With the names and dates of birth of the group in their possession, along with all the other personal information required to fly, it did not take a genius to realise that Ioanna Konstantios was the daughter of the oldest male in the group. Now they could understand why she was tattooed with the insignia of a Knight of Byzantium.
That she was one of the Slayers activated all those years before was just one of the many repercussions of Willow’s spell that even now were still coming to light.
It took some time to organise everything but eventually all the arrangements were in place. Giles and the two witches were to fly to Istanbul on the early flight next day; Spike and Dawn would follow on the later one which took off at dusk.
Dawn had pointed out that, as everyone who had been trying to capture her now seemed to have left town, leaving her to travel with Spike was not only perfectly safe but might also confuse the opposition. If they were watching the airport, and saw Giles, Willow, and Mhairi arrive, they might not think to watch later to see if Dawn and Spike followed.
Andrew had arranged hotel rooms for them personally, he explained by phone, in the heart of the oldest part of the city. This would put them nearer to places they might need if they were trying to find out more about the Knights of Byzantium, and it was easier to find a hotel there with smaller windows looking out onto other buildings, rather than large picture windows which would not be very Spike friendly. This had made Dawn smile because, of course, he was right – the more junior members of staff who normally arranged such things probably would not have thought of it. Andrew’s old Spike worship/crush still had its uses all these years later, she thought.
Now it was late evening, and all they could do was wait until tomorrow. Milan had brought Giles a number of books and scrolls, which mentioned either the Knights or the Brothers, ‘on long term loan’ and Giles was sitting in his room poring over them when there was a knock on the door.
Spike put his head around the door and said “We’re going out. Me and Dawn. Going to be cooped up tomorrow, so we’re going to get some fresh air, right?” Before Giles could draw breath to argue the door had shut again. Spike took Dawn’s hand, grinned, and towed her down the corridor; both giggling like school-children.
The city was still quite busy, people out for the evening moving between bars and clubs in groups, as the chimes of midnight rang out from a score of clocks one after the other.
Dawn stood looking over the wall of the Charles Bridge at the river below, the water reflecting the lights of the city in an ever-changing mosaic, Spike’s arms encircling her, his hands covering hers. His presence at her back was comforting, it made her feel warmer in the chill of the October night – which was not as odd as it sounded, she thought, as he was sheltering her from the wind that had been whipping her hair across her face as they had walked onto the bridge.
“You and me, we’re going to come back here,” Spike said. “Fed up having to leave the bloody place in a hurry every time. Was going to take you on one of those boat trips on the river, like Paris, before all this blew up and I still will. ‘S a promise, Moonbeam.”
Dawn leant back against him, but before she could think of a suitable answer to this romantic statement Spike continued “After I kill Ethan fucking Rayne and his mate, of course.” Which was, she thought, in its own way a declaration of love.
Eventually they left the bridge to other couples and headed towards the lights of a club nearby. There was music, and dancing, people drinking and laughing, and for a few brief hours Dawn almost forgot the last week.
When they eventually did make their way back across the Charles Bridge to their hotel the clocks were striking five. They had it almost to themselves and, as they stopped to kiss in the middle, Dawn thought that this would be the image of Prague that she would carry with her and it was a good one.
……………………………
Anna accepted the cup of coffee that her mother held out to her. She sipped at the dark liquid, set the cup down, and pursed her lips. She toyed with a knife and sat staring at the cup without speaking.
“You look troubled, Ioanna,” her mother said. She passed her daughter a plate bearing a piece of bread, a few slices of feta cheese, and some olives. “You should eat something. It will put you in a better mood.”
“You are not jet-lagged, surely?” The General raised his eyebrows at his daughter. “The flight from Prague was not long.”
“Long enough for you to have fallen asleep,” Anna reminded him.
The General laughed. “True. Minta warned me that the notebook would be boring. Obviously she was right.”
Anna’s eyebrows descended low over her eyes. “I think perhaps that she cheated to prove her point.”
“Oh?” The General’s eyebrows shot up. “You think that Minta made me fall asleep?”
“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Anna said.
The General shook his head. “I doubt it. She has little humour in her.” His eyes narrowed as he focused his gaze more intently on his daughter’s face. “Your mother is right. You look troubled. Are you still worried about our mission?”
Anna shook her head. She picked up her coffee cup and took another sip before replying. “I had a dream,” she told him. “About when I was… stabbed.”
Her father and mother exchanged glances. “I am not surprised that you are upset,” the General said. “It was the worst night of my life. I thought that I had lost you.” His wife nodded agreement.
“I lost the fight,” Anna said, “but I survived. Thanks to you.” She tilted her head slightly and stared into her father’s eyes. “I had not realised that you used your sword as well as a gun.”
The General’s eyes widened. “You saw that in your dream? It was a vision, then, and not just a memory.”
Anna nodded. “I think so. A warning, perhaps, although I cannot think what it means. I was a normal girl then, with no special powers, and I had not learned Parkour. I shall not fall from a rooftop again. The roofs of the city are my domain.”
“Be not overconfident,” her father cautioned her. Furrows appeared on his brow. “You do not need to take part in this fight now. Our forces are perfectly adequate to take on mere gangsters without you.”
“Gangsters and magicians,” Anna reminded him. “I am the Sword of God. How can we ask our men to risk their lives in the battle against evil if I do not risk mine? I shall do my part, father, and you need not fear for me. I shall take care and do nothing foolish.” A smile spread over her face and she pushed aside the plate of bread and cheese. “I know what would cheer me up. Mother, will you make me loukamades?”
……………………………
The alley was a dead end. The girl halted for a moment and then turned to a drain-pipe and began to climb. A hand closed on her foot. She kicked back with her other foot and struck her assailant, a hooded man, in the head. He released his grip and staggered away. The girl ascended the drain-pipe with ease and was out of reach in seconds. The man’s hood had fallen away from his face and his eyes were now visible.
They were sewn shut.
Buffy stirred in her sleep. “The Bringers,” she muttered. “They’re back.”
The girl reached the top of the pipe and climbed onto the rooftop. Another hooded figure suddenly loomed up ahead of her. He pushed the girl and she staggered and slipped. She clawed at the tiles for a second and then fell from the roof.
Buffy’s arms thrashed. Her husband woke and sat up.
The girl hit the ground in a break-fall. She lay still for a moment but then tried to scramble to her feet. Two of the hooded figures seized her arms and held her down. The first Bringer drew a curved dagger and plunged it into her stomach.
“No!” Buffy cried out. “Not again.”
The Bringer pulled out the dagger. He raised it high once more and then something invisible hit his head. Blood and bone fragments sprayed across the alley. The Bringer dropped the dagger and fell.
The other two Bringers released their victim and turned to face a man who had entered the alley. The new arrival’s hair was dark, cropped close to his skull, and matted with blood trickling from a gash above one ear. He held an automatic pistol in one hand, a big military handgun with the bulky cylinder of a silencer extending from the muzzle, and a strange-looking sword in the other. It seemed to curve the wrong way, forward instead of back, like the jungle knives that those funny little Asian guys who were part of the English army used. Burkhas? Cookery? Whatever. Spike had owned one of those knives, once upon a time, she remembered. This sword wasn’t quite the same, and it was much bigger, but it was very much the same shape.
The Bringers were not intimidated by either sword or gun. Assuming that they could see them, of course; it had always been a mystery to Buffy how the eyeless creatures could function. They drew daggers and charged. The pistol spat flame twice. One of the Bringers spun around and toppled to the ground. The other ran on and thrust with his dagger. The newcomer chopped down with his sword and delivered a stroke that sheared through the Bringer’s arm at the elbow. The wounded Bringer staggered, halted, and clutched at the wound with his remaining hand. The sword swung again and the Bringer went down.
The man hastened to the girl. His face was twisted in apparent anguish. The girl raised a bloodstained hand from her stomach and held it out to him. The man tossed aside his sword, holstered his pistol, and took hold of her hand.
Buffy heard him speak but could not understand what he said. The language was unknown to her. She saw him use his free hand to pull a cell-phone from his pocket and dial. The numbers on the display were briefly visible; 112. She could also see the man’s forehead and the design that was tattooed there.
“The Knights,” Buffy gasped. “It can’t be. They were all wiped out.”
The vision faded. Buffy opened her eyes and found that she was staring into Phil’s face. He was holding her by the shoulders.
“Buffy! Are you all right?” he asked. His eyes were wide and she read worry in them.
“A dream,” she said. Her eyebrows lowered and she chewed on her lip. “It was a Slayer dream. Damn. I thought I was out of all that. I think we got trouble. I’d better call Giles.”
……………………………
They had flown into Prague at night on a half-full plane. A myriad twinkling lights beneath their wings, resolving into the parallel lines of a runway, and then into an airport much like any other. Now they were flying into Istanbul and Dawn thought again how alike airports were at night.
They had said brief farewells to the three who were going on ahead, then spent much of the day in bed, making up for Dawn’s lack of sleep the night before, amongst other things. Willow had sent a text to say the hotel was fine, and they would see them for a late meal when they arrived.
Dawn had expected to be greeted by a driver with a sign saying ‘Summers/Aurelius’. Spike had suggested it might read ‘Watchers Council’. Neither had really expected a worried looking Giles greeting them with “We may have bigger problems. Buffy has been in touch and she thinks that the Bringers may be abroad.”
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The ’BtVS’ characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only and all rights remain with Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, the writers of the original episodes, and the TV and production companies responsible for the original television shows. BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER ©2002 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation. All Rights Reserved. The Buffy the Vampire Slayer trademark is used without express permission from Fox.
Previous chapters are - in memories.
Feedback is much better than chocolate - save us from calories!
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So she's the potential we saw in S7! Buffy in the mix is not necessarily of the good.
Love Ethan's realization of impending dottage (have to laugh since I'm not much younger LOL)....his plan is diabolical though for retirement. Very in character and I wouldn't put it past him to devise a way to get rid of lots of Slayers.
Looks like a showdown in Turkey is coming up since everyone is beginning to gather.
Excellent as always. Nice tender moments with Spike/Dawn and the action is compelling.
Kathleen
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So Anna is the Turkish Potential we saw stabbed, huh? That's just . . . neat. Are the Bringers realy back, or is Buffy just tapping into Anna's dreams? Very intriguing.
I adore your Ethan! Loved him musing on approaching age while still having a propensity for sex, drugs and rock and roll. Our Ethan just isn't the type to go gently into that good night - no knitting cunning sweater sets for him. He's planning world domination! *g*
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Ethan is such a sleaze! He seems perfectly in character. :)
I really love your Spike and Dawn and their interactions. In this chapter my favourite bit was
Dawn leant back against him, but before she could think of a suitable answer to this romantic statement Spike continued “After I kill Ethan fucking Rayne and his mate, of course.” Which was, she thought, in its own way a declaration of love.
Perfect!
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Fascinating stuff - I shall have to give in and friend you, rather than always following StC's links :)
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I shall have to give in and friend you
Yay! You're very welcome.
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