The Book of Fours

  “Kit?” she asked, when the connection was made. “It’s I, Cecile. Would you be interested in a session tonight? I can feel the vibrations. I’m certain we shall reach your friend on the other side this time. What did you say her name was? India?”

  Boston

  “Okay, Willy, thanks for the update,” Tervokian said into the receiver. He scratched one of his horns, a nervous habit, and popped the brown scale in his mouth. Serrated teeth ground the keratin to bits. That was a nervous habit, too, and he’d tried everything to break himself of it. “You’ll be getting your usual retainer in the mail.”

  He hung up without saying goodbye to Willy the Snitch, the barkeep of Willy’s Alibi Room, where all the demons in Sunnydale went to drink. Willy didn’t care about manners. He cared about cash. And for a nice, crisp fifty, he had told Tervokian some lousy news.

  Though he’d kept it light and easy during the conversation, Tervokian was angry enough to rip the phone from the wall of his dark, comforting lair, but he was also cheap enough to know how much it would cost to replace it. The wall, that was. Phones, he got for free, on account of he and his boys stole them.

  Hey, fun was where you found it.

  Fun was not pissing off a big cheese like Cecile Lafitte, no way, no how. But according to Willy, his vampire bounty hunters had failed, and failed big.

  Faith the Vampire Slayer was still alive and very much kicking, and his boys had lost the magickal axe he was supposed to give Cecile.

  Marone, as they said in the North End.

  He held his breath and counted to a big number while his capo, the vampire Kenny the Fang, stood beside him, idly going through a box of old handguns, flicking them open, spinning barrels, checking triggers.

  Tervokian plopped down in his recliner and buried his head in his hands. “So, Kenny, Miss Faith Big-shot Slayer not only dusted my employees, but she took the friggin’ axe right out of their hands.”

  “That is bad, boss,” Kenny told him, admiring several weapons, as if trying to decide which one was best. He pointed at an imaginary target across the room and made a ka-pow sound beneath his breath. “It makes us look like idiots. Screw-ups. It’s humiliating.”

  “Beyond humiliating,” Tervokian agreed.

  Kenny said, “So, lemme guess. The Slayer took the axe to her Watcher. That British guy with the fancy-schmancy accent. And Cecile knows we’ve lost possession of the Axe.”

  There’s always a little ray of sunshine, Tervokian thought. That’s what Mamma always used to say.

  “Willy don’t think so, Kenny. On account of the Master’s followers are still waiting for it. They’re hanging around his place, getting nervous. I asked Willy to check it out for us.”

  “So they don’t know our assassins were in town?”

  “Doesn’t look like it,” Tervokian said. How many times do I have to remind myself not to let it get personal? Man, am I in trouble.

  “They don’t know we were there, and Madame Cecile still thinks we’re delivering the axe to San Diego even as we speak.”

  “So sending them to Sunnydale first to get rid of Faith . . . not our best idea?”

  Tervokian was angry. He did not like his underlings questioning his judgment. Which, in this case, was fair. Everybody in the universe had wanted that axe—the Master’s people in Sunnydale, and Cecile Lafitte down in San Diego. They were going to pay handsomely for it—if the Master rose, Tervokian was gonna sit at his right hand. If Cecile got it first, she was gonna make Tervokian the next Servant. He couldn’t lose. So what did he do?

  Decide to use it on Faith first, make sure she got taken out no matter who ended up with it.

  He was such a freakin’ idiot. No wonder he’d never gotten South Boston like he wanted.

  “We gotta find that axe before someone finds out we lost it, boss. Asap,” Kenny informed him. “If they hear we don’t got it, they’ll probably kill us both.”

  Tervokian flared. “As long as we’re the only two who know, it’s a secret, right?”

  “Right,” Kenny said smugly.

  Wrong, Tervokian thought to himself.

  The demon picked up a gun and pretended to admire it while he pressed open the hidey-hole built into the surface of his desk. He popped it open as he kept his eyes on the gun, gauging what kind of ammo it took.

  “How long they got to try to bring the Master back?” Kenny asked. “Is there, like, an expiration date on their offer?”

  “We’re supposed to give it to them by the Night of the Stars, which is in two or three days.” Tervokian kept his face a mask. He didn’t mention that Cecile had a similar time window.

  Seemed the beautiful broad was in league with an entity called the Gatherer. This Gatherer required a Servant, who acted as its figurehead and got to use its massive power as long as the Servant agreed to be loyal to the Gatherer and let it live vicariously through him. That was okay with Tervokian; he didn’t mind subletting his experiences if the price was right. The current Servant was Cameron Duvalier, and the Gatherer was no longer pleased with their relationship, on account of Cameron pretty much having gone completely nuts.

  So . . . there was a job opening. Cecile did not want said opening for herself because she was already the Gatherer’s consort. Tervokian grinned at the word. What she was, was the Gatherer’s babe. And the way the Gatherer got to “experience” its babe was through the Servant “experiencing” its babe.

  Guess ol’ Cam ain’t measuring up, he thought smugly. Guess I do.

  Anyway, his audition was to give Cecile the magickal axe he’d tried to kill Faith with once before, back here in Bean Town.

  He’d gotten the weapon from a fence who was very vague about where he’d gotten it, but that somebody had promised him that it was a Slayer-killer, guaranteed. The first time, Faith had gotten away before he’d had a chance to use it on her—the box it came in had started on fire or something, and the entire warehouse they’d imprisoned Faith in had burned down.

  So . . . still not tested in combat, but hey, taking Faith out was only part of his current scheme.

  This time, Tervokian had played a couple of additional angles, figuring to lend the axe to the Master’s followers before he gave it over permanently to Cecile. A sort of a little side deal. All they wanted to do with it was chop Buffy Summers up into little pieces, sprinkling her blood on the Master’s bones. That was supposed to bring him back from the dead.

  Then they’d give it back and he’d give it to Cecile, a little used, but hey, she hadn’t made any stipulations and he’d made no exclusive-use promises. So, he’d end up buddies with the risen Master—if their ritual worked—and with all that power the Gatherer was gonna let him have, he’d get to hack Faith to death, too, if his bounty hunters failed, which they had. Plus, he’d have a woman so gorgeous she’d make you scale faster than a shedding fungus demon.

  So why did I have to try to take out Faith? he asked himself. Why couldn’t I just be patient?

  And, say, speaking of local double-dealing demons with questionable loyalties . . .

  “Hey, Kenny,” Tervokian said.

  Kenny looked up from the gun he was playing with. “Yeah, boss?”

  Tervokian shot him. Kenny looked stunned, and then he died.

  “Putz,” Tervokian said. “Only way to keep a secret is never to share it with anybody, not even your own mother.” Now, nobody else knew he had lost the axe.

  He picked up the phone and punched in a number.

  “Cecile,” Tervokian said smoothly. “Hi. It’s me.”

  “How are things in Boston, chérie?” she asked sweetly. “How is the axe?”

  Can I fake her out until I find that damn thing again? “So far, so good.”

  “Listen, my darling,” she continued. “I have cast the runes and it is time. You must bring your axe to me.”

  “Okay. Man, I can’t wait to see Faith get it. Or that other Slayer,” he said with false joviality.

  “That axe will not kill Fai
th,” she said again.

  “Impossible. I had it tested myself,” Tervokian said, sweating. “I used it on Faith back in Boston . . .” and it didn’t kill her then, either.

  “Not to worry. It will kill Buffy Summers.”

  “Oh,” he said, confused.

  “There are four Axes,” she explained. “One for each of the four Elements. Your axe can only kill a Slayer of the Air, and that is Buffy Summers. But Faith is a Slayer of Fire.”

  “Uh-huh.” He was a little nervous that she was telling him all this. In the movies, when one of your fellow villains told you the details of their schemes, you usually winded up dead.

  “But Buffy is a good kill, so bring it to me now, please? And by the way . . .” She lowered her voice. “Cameron is on his way as well. He thinks his status is unchanged.” Her voice grew deep and husky. “But the Gatherer wants a new Servant, mon amour. Someone clever. Like you.”

  “Hey, I’m on the plane.” He laughed nervously. “Well, not really, but I will be soon as I make my reservation.”

  “That makes me so happy,” she told him. “I cannot wait. Our plans cannot fail, once we are working side by side.”

  Tervokian hung up.

  Oh, man, am I screwed, he thought.

  He glared over at Kenny, who might be the lucky one after all, him having a nice, easy death and all.

  * * *

  “So, Tervokian threatened Faith in Boston,” Giles said. “But not with an axe such as either of you described from your dreams.”

  Faith, remaining with the others at Casa de Rupert, was wearing Giles’s bathrobe, which Buffy found rather weird. But she didn’t say anything, because she herself had on his sweats. Her clothes were in the dryer, while Faith’s leather was carefully blocked down with phone books and some dishes. Meanwhile, Xander was upstairs taking a shower, and Cordelia was taking a nap on Giles’s loft bed. It was getting dark, and still no definitive word on Willow. Only that Oz was with her, and she was in the ICU, and her parents were acting like nothing major was going on.

  Talk about denial.

  “He got me in this warehouse,” Faith reminisced. “And then there was this demon, and . . . wait.” She nodded, replaying memories in her head. “They had me chained up, but there was something in a corner. It was really dark, but it was a block or something.” She looked at Buffy. “Could have been a box. A very gross box.”

  Buffy nodded. “That’s what I dreamed about. Not the kind you put a Christmas sweater in. More of an Ed Gein special.”

  “Bones and skin,” Faith filled in. “Very disturbing, in a sort of arty way.”

  Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Let’s leave it at disturbing. Very disturbing. The first mummy that was threatening the little girl had one, according to her. The one that walked out of the water. The second one had a box.”

  “Could it have contained an axe such as the one you dreamed about?” Giles asked. “Because I’m thinking about Roger, and he said something about axes once. Though in what context I can’t recall.” He sat back and sipped his tea. “His diary should arrive tomorrow morning. That may shed some light on things.”

  Buffy swallowed and said, “What about India? Did she have an axe encounter of the closest kind?”

  The extreme look on Giles’s face was answer enough. For a moment, Buffy thought he had had a heart attack. “I do know she was hacked to death in some way,” he said finally, taking off his glasses and polishing them.

  “Oh. Yay,” Cordelia said from the loft.

  “I thought you were asleep,” Giles called up to her.

  “Heart pounding too hard to sleep,” she said. “Somehow, I find it difficult to drift off while listening to conversations about evisceration.”

  “We haven’t used that word once,” Buffy shot back.

  “Oh, sorry. ‘Hacked.’ One of my favorite synonyms, anyway.”

  Faith grinned at Buffy and chuckled silently as she slung one leg over the arm of the sofa. Then she leaned forward on her knee, back to business, and said, “So, you calling India’s Watcher? See what he has to say?”

  Giles nodded. “I was going to wait until you were gone,” he confessed looking up through his lashes at Buffy. “Thought it might be difficult for—”

  “Me. You’re right.” Buffy got to her feet and tried to put her hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, but the pockets were too low. So, she fastened her hands on her hips; as she heard the shower door open, she called, “C’mon, Xander. We’ve gotta patrol.”

  “Naked?” he said. “In that case, I’ll be right there.”

  “Oh, please,” Cordelia said. “Then all the monsters will run away and Buffy will have nothing to hack.”

  “Can’t hack the full Xander experience, eh?” Xander riffed.

  “Do. Not. Go. There,” the dark-haired Queen of Pain retorted.

  Faith unslung her leg and got to her feet, “I think I’ll go over to the Fish Tank, see if anyone has seen my stolen axe.”

  Just then there was a soft rap at the front door. Buffy brightened; she’d know that knock anywhere.

  Angel.

  Giles let him in, nodding brusquely. They still weren’t all that buddy-buddy, which was not to bag on Giles. Angel had tortured Buffy’s Watcher for hours when he’d reverted to Angelus, and just for the fun of it.

  His duster swirled around him as he came into the room. He went to Buffy, took her hands, kissed her gently. His dark eyes serious and concerned, he asked, “How’s Willow?” and Buffy made a helpless shrug. She’d called over and spoken to someone who was too busy to be the slightest bit polite or interested in helping.

  “The doctors don’t say much. Mumble, mumble.”

  “Giles. Faith,” Angel said, by way of greeting. Faith shifted her weight to one hip, looking far sexier in the oversized bathrobe than Buffy did in the sweats.

  “Hi,” Cordelia called from the loft.

  “Hi,” Xander chimed in, mimicking her.

  Angel looked puzzled. He mouthed at Buffy, Are they back together?

  She shook her head.

  “And speaking of crazy, the whole town’s about to riot.” Angel walked to the window and peered out. “The water’s still rising and the fires are moving toward downtown. Wind’s carrying the flames.” He looked at them. “What’ve you guys got? Find anything out?”

  “We have the three mummies of the Apocalypse,” Xander said, peering over the loft railing. He had a towel around his waist and another across his shoulders. Water droplets clung to his black hair. “Or else it’s an Earth, Wind, and Fire reunion tour.”

  “Except we don’t think we have any earth thing,” Buffy filled in. “Just the other stuff. Air, fire, and water.”

  “So, no reunion, but we could give rides on a steam locomotive,” Xander added helpfully.

  “Three of the four arcane elements.” Angel looked at Giles. “Something big is brewing.”

  “Angel, you have such a way with words,” Faith drawled. “Heard anything about axes?”

  “As in, hunting? For dismemberment? Skinning? Ritualistic?” Angel asked.

  “As in, mummies carrying them around,” Buffy elaborated. “Slicing people with them. Or causing tidal waves with them. We aren’t sure what they’re for.”

  “Faith had possession . . . briefly . . . of a rather intricate ceremonial axe,” Giles told the vampire. “Apparently, the vampires who brought it to Sunnydale were confident that one nick of it would kill her.”

  “But I’m nick-free,” Faith crowed. “Score one for the Slayer side.”

  Angel frowned at her. “Where’d you get that big cut?”

  Faith touched her cheek, where the cut was healing nicely, but still pretty impressive. “We fought these other things that came out of some fog,” she said. “They didn’t have weapons. They were weapons.”

  “And yet,” Buffy said. “Baffles. Fog. Mummies. Fog.”

  “There was a little girl just here who saw one of them up close,” Giles continued.
“Holly Johnson. And she said it was surrounded by fog.”

  “The missing girl?” Angel queried.

  “I saved her. The mummies seemed to like her a lot. Why her?” Buffy frowned. “What’s the draw?”

  “Maybe she’s got something to do with arcane elements,” Giles suggested. “We’re the clay of Adam, some such thing.”

  “Hey, excuse me, clay here, too.” Xander nodded. “From the top of my clay head to the tips of my clay feet.”

  “You said it, not us,” Cordelia zinged tiredly.

  “Would you just get up and do something?” Xander flung at her. “Like move?”

  “Oh, God, don’t start all that up again. We’re not dating any more, you know.”

  They started bickering. Angel said, “Let me go look around. I’ll check the Alibi, see if I can shake anything out of Willy.”

  Faith raised her finger. “Tervokian wants control of South Boston. That’s why he tried to take me out back home.” She thought a moment. “I was fighting off some of his vamps and they got me cornered in a warehouse. They chained me up but they put something inside the door and lifted up the lid before they locked me in.

  “The whole thing went up in flames. I thought they set the warehouse on fire. But maybe the fire was inside the box, and when they opened it, it ignited the place.”

  “Catastrophe in a box. Like takeout. I like it,” Xander said, coming down the stairs. He had on his clothes, which Giles had dried for him.

  Faith continued. “I got out and I ran like hell. The warehouse burned up, and I figured that was the end of that. But he followed me all the way to Sunnydale.” She shook her head. “Still using vamps to do his dirty work, too.”

  “So why bother?” Buffy asked. “I mean, if you’re here, and he’s in Boston, which also has South Boston, why track you down?”

  Faith looked taken aback, as if the question hadn’t occurred to her. Maybe she was used to demons with a grudge following her all over the country. “Got a point, B. But I don’t have an answer.”

  She got to her feet. “I’ll be at the Tank.” Then she looked down at herself. “But not in Giles’s bathrobe.” She flashed a lopsided grin at the Watcher. “Nice terrycloth, Giles. You like the quality stuff.”