Their attacker went down; his hood came off and Spike grabbed him by the neck slamming him, still on the floor, against the wall.
Spike pushed him into the light.
He was just a man, a middle-aged, terrorized man wearing the clerical collar of a Catholic priest . . . and a mark burned into his cheek.
Caleb’s mark.
The priest closed his eyes and began to pray, then opened them again and said to Spike. “Please. Do it quickly.”
He waited for death.
Nothing happened.
The man said, “You’re not going to . . . ?”
Spike crouched down so that he was face-to-face with communion wafer man, and said, “Not without us having a good death-bed chat.” He said in a menacing voice, “Tell me about the tat.”
The priest covered the mark; he shook his head, too terrified to talk.
Spike glowered at him. “Are you part of Caleb’s faction?”
“No! No!” the priest cried.
“Then tell me what happened,” Spike pressured him, as the man got more and more frightened, if that were possible.
“I—I can’t,” he said.
“ ‘Can’t’ is a four-letter word,” Andrew interjected. He stood behind Spike, hands on hips, and said, “I’m Andrew. I’ll be your ‘bad cop’ this evening. You better start singing or my associate here—”
Ignoring Andrew, Spike said, “We’re trying to fight him. Caleb. We need your help.”
The priest let out a small, bitter laugh.
“You can’t fight him. You can’t stop him. You can only . . . run.”
Andrew came back in. “ ‘Run’ is a three-letter word.”
Spike glared at Andrew, who shrugged, and Spike returned to his regularly scheduled interrogation.
“Talk.”
The priest thought a moment. Then he said, “I’ll do better. I’ll show you.”
He rose and led them around a corner, where he picked up a lighted torch from a stand. As he they walked down the corridor, he said, “One night, some time ago, a man arrived at our doors.”
“And you said, “C’mon in, do some damage,’ ” Spike drawled.
“We are a benevolent order, and yes, we welcomed him,” the priest said. “We offered to feed him.”
They reached the end of the corridor. To Spike’s surprise, the man pushed the wall and a secret room fwommed into view.
“But he had come for something else,” the priest said.
They entered the small dark room. It was covered with tapestries, very religious-like, reminded Spike of Europe. Back in the day, he’d been sorry he’d missed the Inquisition.
“He made his way here, to the inner sanctum,” the man continued. “He was excited, talking the whole time. About destiny, that sort of thing. We followed him here.”
“Yeah, we hear he’s a smooth talker,” Spike drawled.
“He revealed something we didn’t even know was here. Before our time.”
The priest removed a framed tapestry about three foot-square from the wall. Behind it hung an ancient-looking stone panel covered with patterns and strange words.
“He read it. And he didn’t like what it said,” he told Spike and Andrew. “His temper . . . he was like . . . he was the purest evil I have ever seen.” He touched his cheek, and his gaze became unfocused. “He heated his ring against a lighter, pressed it against me. And then I . . . I ran. And hid. And listened to the others die.” His voice broke.
“Running away,” Andrew picked up. “It saved your life.” Then he realized that Spike was reading the words on the stone tablet. “What does it say?”
“ ‘It is not for thee,’ ” Spike read. “It is for her alone to wield.”
* * *
Trailing after Willow and Anya, Xander entered Buffy’s house. In the living room, about thirty people stared back at him as he caught sight of a hastily-made welcome-home banner draped across the living room. Not in yellow crayon, but he understood the sentiment. Though not loving the spotlight, he was touched.
His Dawnie rushed forward and gave him a huge hug. Then Faith came in, too, and Wood.
“We didn’t have time to do more,” Kennedy told him. “You have to pretend there’s a big party here.”
“That’s fine, actually,” he quipped. “Parties in this house . . . I usually end up having to rebuild something.”
Amanda smiled at him. “I was thinking of smashing a window just to make you feel at home, but then I thought, you know, no. Also, Dawn wouldn’t let me.”
Xander smiled and opened his mouth to speak, but Buffy beat him to the punch, saying, “Welcome home, Xand,” as she came down the stairs. She was friendly, but more business than happiness, and she continued on, saying, “I wanted you to be here for this. I think you’re going to be interested in what I found out.”
* * *
This was news to Willow. She checked Giles out. He, too, looked confused and out of the loop-y.
Buffy continued. “It’s about the wine cellar.”
Uh-oh.
Willow looked up, caught Dawn looking back. They exchanged a look, both concerned about where this was going. . . .
“I know that night was difficult,” Buffy said. “For all of us. But I’ve figured out some things about the place, and I realize now what we have to do.” She looked around the group, taking a moment. Then she said, “We’re going back in.”
They all just gaped at her.
“Listen,” she said urgently, “I know what you’re thinking, scary place where good guys go boom, I get it. I do.” She looked at them all. “But I had a little visit today at the school from Caleb.
“I’m fine,” she added. “I mean, it wasn’t fun, but I’m fine. I’m better than fine. I figured something out. He kept making all this noise about the school.”
Robin asked, “Is it the Seal again?”
“Do we need to try shutting it again?” Willow asked.
“Andrew’s got plenty of tears left in him,” Anya drawled. “Just tell him they cancelled Stargate.”
“No,” Buffy said emphatically. “That’s just it. We’ve spent so much time being worried about the Hell-mouth and the Seal . . . why isn’t Caleb guarding them? Why doesn’t he have someone there protecting it?”
No one answered.
She pushed her case. “Why is he camped out at the vineyard? The bad guys always go where the power is.” She gazed around the room for agreement, but everyone was still just listening. “If the Seal was so important to Caleb and The First, they’d be there right now. They’re protecting the vineyard. Or something at the vineyard.
“I say it’s their power.”
She waited. Still no one spoke, so she added, “And I saw it’s time we go take it away from them.”
Not a single person moved. No one spoke . . . until from behind Buffy, Faith drawled, “Or in the alternative, how about . . . we don’t.”
Buffy whirled around, looking at Faith in surprise.
“It’s a neat theory, B. But I’m not going back in that place, not without proof,” Faith told her. And neither should you.”
She gestured to the Potentials. “And neither should they.”
Buffy took a couple steps back in her tone of command. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy . . .”
“I think Faith had the floor,” Robin said. Buffy looked at him, stung.
“Maybe it’ll end okay, the way you want to play it,” Faith said. “But maybe it won’t. And right now . . . right now I don’t think I want you playing the odds. Not with my coin.”
“Did you come here to fight?” Buffy accused her.
“Listen. We’re fighters. All of us. But you gotta give me something to fight. Something real. Not . . .” She trailed off, looking for a word.
Giles supplied it:
“Windmills,” he said quietly.
“There is something there,” Buffy bit off.
“Maybe. But we don’t know that for sure. You’re
asking a hell of a lot,” Giles told her, gazing at her. His gaze was firm, mingled perhaps with some sorrow. But he was going to stand his ground. It was evident in his manner, and his tone.
“Too much,” Robin added.
Buffy was taken aback. Way aback.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Seven years I’ve kept us safe by doing this, exactly this, making the hard decisions.” She looked around the room. “Suddenly you’re all acting like you don’t trust me.”
“But didn’t you just tell me today that you don’t feel like you can trust us?” Giles asked her. “Maybe there’s something going on that we need to address.”
“Is this why you sent Spike away?” she half-shouted at him. “To ambush me?”
Rona said quietly, “You know, I’m sick of your deal with this Spike guy. This isn’t about Spike. This is about you. You’re being reckless.”
Buffy stared at her. “What?”
Rona began to find her voice. A lot of anger had been smoldering, and it began to come out. “You are. I don’t even know you, and I can tell. You’re so obsessed with beating this Caleb that you’re willing to jump into any plan without thinking.”
“That’s not what I’m doing!” Buffy protested.
Kennedy jumped up and moved toward Buffy. “Well, that’s how it feels to us! People are dying! We are dying.”
Willow got between them, acting as a barrier between Kennedy and the object of her anger.
“Kennedy,” Willow warned her, and Buffy was grateful for the support.
“Why are you always standing up for her?” Kennedy demanded.
“I’m not,” Willow said softly. She said to Buffy, “Everything that’s happened . . . I’m worried about your judgment.”
Shaken, Buffy regrouped. She looked at all the faces, and tried to make them see her point.
“Look, I wish this could be a democracy. I really do. But democracies don’t win battles. It’s a hard truth, but there has to be a single voice. You need me to issue orders and be reckless sometimes and not take your feelings into account.” A beat, and then, “You need someone to lead you.”
“And it’s automatically you.” Anya was hostile. “You really do think you’re better than we are.”
“No,” Buffy insisted. “I—”
“But we don’t know, do we? That you’re actually better. You came into the world with certain advantages, sure, that’s the legacy. But you didn’t earn them. You didn’t work for them. You never had someone come to you and say, Here, you deserve these more than anyone else. They were just . . . handed to you.
And that doesn’t make you better than us. It makes you luckier than us.”
“I’ve gotten you this far,” Buffy said.
“Not without a price,” Xander cut in.
Buffy was wounded. “Xander . . .”
“I’m trying to see your point here,” he said, “but I guess it must be a little to my left, because I just can’t.”
“Look, we can talk strategy,” Buffy offered. “I’m willing to hear suggestions on how to break it down, but this is the plan. We have to be together on this or we will fail again.”
Giles was irate. “Well, I think we’ve clearly demonstrated we’re not together on this . . .”
“Which is why you have to fall in line!” she shouted at him. Then, composing herself, she said, “I’m still in charge here.”
“And why is that, exactly?” Rona charged.
“Because I’m the Slayer,” Buffy shot back.
Rona slid her glance in another direction.
“And isn’t Faith a Slayer too?”
Everyone turned to Faith, who started and said, “Ka-wha? Whoa, whoa, whoa, so not what I meant.” She managed a smile. “I’m not the in-charge chick. I just think B here needs to chill out for a bit, take a siesta maybe, but I’m not the one you want.”
They kept looking at her.
“Maybe we need a vote,” Kennedy announced. “To see who wants Faith to have a turn in charge.”
“No,” Buffy said. “You don’t get to vote until I’ve had time to get everybody drunk and pal around a bunch! See, I didn’t get this was a popularity contest. I think I should have equal time to bake them cookies, braid their hair . . .”
“. . . learn their names,” Faith said.
Buffy was seething. “Oh, you’re just loving this, aren’t you!”
“You have no idea what I’m feeling!” Faith blasted her.
Buffy gestured expansively around herself. She was exhausted, and angry, and aware that she was in a battle for lives. Lots of lives.
“Come in and just take everything I have! You’ve tried that before.” She glared at Faith, who had tried to kill her mother, and slept with her boyfriend, nearly murdered Angel, and fought her, Buffy to the death.
“You tell them about that? Tell they how you used to kill people for fun? Did they think that was nifty?”
“Buffy, that’s enough!” Giles thundered.
Faith got right up close. “I didn’t come here to take anything away from you, but I’m not going to be your little lap dog, either. I came here to beat the other guy. To do right, however it works. I don’t know if I can lead, but the real question is . . . can you follow?”
Both sides rested. The debate was over.
“So we vote,” Robin said.
I can’t believe this. I can’t let this happen, Buffy thought wretchedly “Wait. Just . . . guys . . .” she pleaded. She looked to Willow, Xander . . . neither of whom could meet her gaze.
Buffy shook her head as fresh tears welled. “I can’t. I can’t watch you throw away everything you’ve . . . I know I’m right on this. I just need a little fai—” She found another way to say it.
“I can’t just stay here and watch her lead you into some disaster.”
Dawn came to her sister then, and tenderly kissed her on the cheek. Her eyes filled as she said brokenly, “Then you can’t stay here.”
Everyone was stunned.
“Look, I love you,” Dawn said, crying. “But you were right. We have to be together on this. You can’t be a part of it. So . . . I need you to . . . leave.”
The final betrayal.
Oh, my God.
No one took her side. No one spoke up for her.
No one asked her to stay.
So Buffy the Vampire Slayer turned and walked out the front door.
Rona sang snidely, “ ‘Ding dong the witch is dead.’ ”
Dawn whirled on her with tears in her eyes and said, with more grief and anger than she had felt even upon learning she was the Key. “Shut your mouth.”
* * *
Faith came after Buffy. Though the other Slayer wouldn’t even look at her, Faith had to say what she had to say. She felt for Buffy; huh, never would have seen that coming, never would have realized that when they were talking about losing confidence in her that would have meant they had more . . . faith in Faith.
But Buffy . . . she’s the one who’s all dressed up with nowhere to go. She’s a freaking’ Ferrari nobody wants to drive.
“Look, I swear I didn’t want it to go this way.”
“Don’t,” Buffy said shortly.
“I mean it,” Faith pressed, “I’m . . .”
And then shut her mouth, because she realized that Buffy was trying not to cry.
“Don’t be afraid . . . to lead them,” Buffy said in a mangled voice. “Whether you wanted it or not, their lives are yours. It’s going to get harder. Protect them. But . . . lead them.”
Buffy finally turned and looked at Faith. Her face was statue-cold, just like stone, but the tears were streaming down her face. Faith knew enough not to speak, and she held the gaze. Hey, sisterhood was powerful, and when had they ever been sisters?
But they were both Slayers.
They both had the Power.
She gave Buffy a short nod, and headed back into the house.
* * *
Buffy walked alone. The tow
n was deserted, doors left open; abandoned belongings strewn on lawns. Everyone was gone.
Sunnydale had fallen . . . or would, soon.
Very soon.
And she appeared to be powerless to prevent it from happening.
Chapter Twenty: “End of Days”
Hours had passed since Buffy’s warriors, her most trusted friends, and her only sister had all turned on her.
The room was chaos, everyone talking at once—Giles, Anya, Kennedy, Vi, Caridad; much total panic, and Faith said, “Okay, you guys, let’s not freak out.”
Kennedy, scrappy as always, said, “I’m not. All I’m saying is that now that Buffy’s not here, we finally have some say in how and when we lose our necks.”
A ripple of fear went through the Potentials.
Robin suggested to Kennedy, “Maybe you don’t have to be so blunt about the losing of the necks . . .”
Anya waved her hand. “Let the woman speak the truth. We’re all on death’s doorstep, repeatedly ringing the bell, like maniacal Girl Scouts intent on making quota.”
Xander said to her, “I’m thinking maybe not everyone should have a say here.” She rolled her eyes at him, irritated.
Giles spoke up. “What we need to do is figure out how to have constructive dialogue without going completely mad . . .”
Amanda shyly raised her hand. “Do you know Parliamentary Procedure? Because that’s a convenient way of organizing verbal—”
Kennedy and Robin spoke at the same time, Kennedy arguing, “I just wonder if those of us who’ve been here longer should have more of a say,” at the same time that Robin ventured, “Maybe if we break down into smaller groups, this wouldn’t be so chaotic. What do you think, Faith?”
“When I was involved with Model UN,” Amanda continued doggedly, we found Parliamentary Procedure to be a total life saver. For example, once when I was Uruguay . . .”
Giles caught Dawn’s eye, saw the stricken look on her face. As the debate continued around them, he said to her, “She’s going to be okay. It—it’s all for the best.”
“Yeah,” she said wretchedly. “But then, why do I feel like this?”