"Moritura", redux
Buffy/Crossman, wip, version 2.0. See previous post for details.
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Moritura
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by parsnips
There were a lot of reasons to be unhappy about my new assignment. The big one was that it was cutting into my leave. I'd just seen the back of Toronto after spending a few weeks making sure a logging-camp Messiah wasn't really Him. The false idol in question was suffering from a few too many mushrooms, and the rest of the camp was just living off his good time. I reported it in to Chatillon, got on the red-eye for the coast. I figured I'd have time to catch a week of sleep and a production of Faustus before the next mission.
When I finally got to a safe house, there was a message waiting. I didn't need to know the odds at Vegas to bet it wasn't Marlowe's mighty line.
The Masters at Chatillon knew I had leave coming to me. So this wasn't officially an assignment. They were just kind of suggesting, casually, that I head out to a suburb about two hours north of L.A. and make like a member of the Knights of Byzantium. If I happened to hear anything of interest, I could pass it along. And if there was something heavier going on than a pack of heretics practicing their jousting... then there would be a Templar on site to take care of the matter. Otherwise, I'd just be there to help out.
I snorted. Sure. The last time I'd helped out anybody, there were four dead Knights of St John by the time I left, with some intermediate difficulty involving a sword-hefting Bride of Satan and a demon that liked to wear human flesh inside-out. I was a 'good times' magnet.
Then again, maybe that was why the Masters were sticking me on it. Nothing like being appreciated by your superiors.
I looked at the thick packet of information they'd given me, and the itinerary and tickets they'd helpfully provided. Next-morning flight to L.A. under the name Peter Crossman, and a train ticket to a place called Sunnydale. The casual suggestions of the Masters of Chatillon have a lot of weight.
I switched on Mister Coffee and started to read.
---
Buffy was sitting on the Magic Shop counter, tossing a bottle of something indefinable from hand to hand. The label said it was magicked up bits of demon guts that should never see the light of day, but when it dropped it looked like the glass held tiny red fireworks.
It was late afternoon. Buffy had called a Scooby gang meeting after school, to make sure Dawn would be included. It was all part of the now-important 'Dawn needs to be in the loop' plan. No one could afford to be uninformed... with the exception of maybe Spike, except he'd actually done the right thing two days back, so she really had to stop mentally beating his face in with a brick. Bitch-god Glory had already kicked Spike's ass into next week -- if Buffy so much as sneezed at him, he'd probably fall over.
Hence why this meeting was Spike-less -- last time she'd checked, he was still unconscious. Until he was healed enough to defend himself against the combined might of pissed off Scoobies, she couldn't risk dragging him over to the Magic Shop during the middle of the day just to hear what she could tell him well enough at his crypt.
She wasn't sure what to do about Spike, but unlike Glory, monks, or knights with pointy things, he was a problem that could be dealt with much, much later.
Thinking about the knights reminded Buffy about the purpose of the meeting. In between tosses, she checked her watch. They were only waiting for Xander and Anya to show up before starting. Dawn was talking about her school friends, and was finishing with, "... so Julie came back from vacationing in Vermont, and she said they have little quarter machines that give out crosses for fifty cents. Like, right next to the Skittles and bouncy balls. And N*sync stickers."
"Can't forget those," said Buffy. Dawn gave Buffy a disgusted look and pointedly ignored her.
"How come the east coast has the cool anti-vampire dispensers?" Willow asked from the table. "I mean, let's consider the number of vampires in the land of non-Hellmouthy maple trees."
Giles spoke up from behind the counter as he finished helping the last customer of the day. "Quite a few, actually, in the right season. The vampires of the colder climes are somewhat migratory." He caught the bottle Buffy had been making merry with and set it gently back on a shelf. Buffy made a face and sat at the table with everyone else.
"I don't see it," Tara said from beside Willow. Giles walked around the counter and followed the lone customer to the door. "Wouldn't the long nights help them? And, I mean, do vampires get cold?"
"No," Giles said, flipped the sign to CLOSED, and returned to the table, "but consider a winter during which everyone stays within their homes for the majority of the time. And those homes can be, well, miles from civilization." He paused. "Mind you, the hotels are practically all-you-can-eat buffets."
"Pretty picture, Giles," Buffy said. "But I like the little crucifix machines. Think you could install one outside? We'd be quarter tycoons in no time."
"And those of us who still use dorm washing machines would greatly appreciate contributions," Willow said. "Oh, and having another dispenser with little pentacles and Stars of David would also be, y'know, neat."
"What would be neat?" asked Xander, stepping into the store with the bounty of Dunkin Donuts cradled in his arms. Anya followed, sipping a steaming cup of coffee. "Sorry for being late," he said, and dropped the box of donuts on the table. "I've brought sacrifices to appease the gods of punctuality."
"If there's jelly, you're forgiven," said Giles.
"Then may the forgiveness be heaped. I brought enough for everyone. What's neat?"
"Crosses," said Dawn, picking out a glazed.
"I see the need for this meeting now. I never thought the coolness of crosses was in doubt."
Once everyone was munching on something, Willow said, "So, what's the haps?"
Buffy swallowed her bite of donut and held up a white-sugar coated finger. "One: Glory knows that the Key is human, but not who."
Xander looked around the table, then back to Buffy. "So, Spike...?"
"Didn't say anything," Buffy said. Her tone did not suggest further inquiry. Let them wonder, she thought, then amended it to, Let them wonder, but never suspect. Lips of Spike are not to be mentioned and definitely not discussed. She held up a second finger. "Two: Those Knights? They're starting to make a serious showing around here. I think they're making good on the whole 'legions will follow' thing."
"What do you mean?" Giles had finished his jelly-filled, and started cleaning his glasses.
"It started out with just a couple guys every other day or something -- last night, six at once, all armed with bruise-quality shields. The night before that, three early on, four just before I came home. They're varying their tactics, but there's definitely more of them coming in to Sunnydale -- I checked under their face plates. All human, all new people." She twiddled with the donut box and frowned darkly. "I was hoping they were recruiting demons -- I'm tired of having to pull my punches."
Willow nodded. "Killing humans is a no-no."
"Punching demons would also I think be under question," Anya added quickly. "Right?"
"Only demons that haven't been de-demoned," Buffy said. "Promise."
Dawn was slouched low in her chair with her arms crossed in front of her. Buffy's ability to translate Teenage Girl said that this was not good. It was a drawback to telling Dawn everything going on. "So," Dawn said, "what do they want?"
Buffy sighed. "To do bad things."
"With me."
"With the Key. That's point number three: The Knights don't work with Glory, so the Knights don't know the Key is human. They keep asking me if I carry it around." She wrinkled her nose. "As if I'd let them do a search-and-seizure on me."
"Maybe it's just a pick-up line. Like, 'Hey, strong lady, you give me the Key, we can find the Lock it fits,' " Xander said. There was silence. Xander smiled quickly. "Not endorsing."
Anya rubbed his shoulder. "We know, sweetie. Don't give suggestions."
"Anyway," Buffy said, "the knights may decide to do a crusty monk maneuver and start following you all around. Be careful what you talk about, and try to travel in pairs or more. Crosses and holy water would be bad in a fight with them, because of the whole 'doesn't do anything' factor, so avoid confrontation."
"Is that the long-term or the short-term plan?" said Tara. "Because Willow and I might be able to come up with some defense spells. You know, based on intent. If there's time to look."
Buffy gestured widely, finally noticed the white-sugar coating on her hand, and cleaned it off with all due force. "All plans are short-term until we know why the Knights specifically want the Key to go poof. Anything you two can come up with would be way helpful."
"They want me to go poof?" Dawn said, her voice hitting an uncomfortable high note. "Not squish, or, or maybe thud?"
Reassurance time. "Maybe thud." Dawn paled. Okay, note to self: Work on the reassurance. "I don't know. Hence the needing to find out." Buffy reached over and tucked a strand of Dawn's hair away from her face. "Until then, only Buffy Incorporated's special effects sound crew gets to mess with you."
Dawn smiled -- Score, thought Buffy -- and the gang turned its efforts toward finishing the rest of the donuts and bickering about dispensing machines.
---
It was 1800 hours, and the train to Sunnydale was filled with Knights. Not just some guy on the other end of the car -- I'm talking every seat. They were wearing baseball caps with their chain mail and leather boots, and speaking in Latin loudly enough for me to catch every word they were saying.
The Knights of Byzantium are nothing if not incompetent.
I was lying back with my own cap pulled down, breathing slow and feigning sleep. I caught a couple questioning glances out of the corner of my eye, and some of the voices asked whether someone had botched the seat reservations. When it looked like I was going to sleep the entire way, they started speaking up.
I'd gotten some details about what the Knights were doing from my information packet, but not much. Mostly I knew their entrance hand signal and which names not to use when I introduced myself. I'd also been given an outfit and a batch of temporary tattoos to pass the dress code. After that, I was on my own.
The Knights weren't much for exposition. I learned where they were based, and I learned that the weather was causing chafing where there shouldn't be. There was some muttering about the trouble they'd been having with Sunnydale locals, and a couple of prophecies about the Beast -- they weren't quoting Apocalypse.
By the time the train reached Sunnydale station, the talk had devolved back to that chafing problem. I waited until they'd all left, pulled down my own pack, and stepped out into late afternoon.
The moment I hit dirt I got an idea why the Knights were here. Evil. It seeped through the ground and tried to climb up my legs. It didn't get far. Maybe it was my faith. Maybe it was the cold iron I carried -- you can't kill the Devil with a gun or a sword, but my Colt .45 is inlaid with stuff that might give me a chance.
I shook my head, reminded myself that Presumption is a sin, and took a walk out onto Main Street. Perfect suburbia, with a couple of parks, a few streets of shops and restaurants, and the rest of the space filled with houses. I checked into my motel, picked up a local paper, and found a place where I could sit with a sandwich and a cup of coffee. For dinner hour, the restaurant looked dead. I figured I'd think about that later.
The paper had the usual -- local activities at the school, big events for the next month -- but about half those pretty pastel houses I saw in town were going up for sale, and cheap at that. It didn't make news, so maybe it was normal. I found two weddings and the crime section -- the kids were busy around here. A couple of the arrests sounded like they'd been fun. If the Byzantines didn't give me anything interesting, I might check out the drunk tank and see what could be found.
I turned to the last section of the paper and saw the obits. Lots of 'em, all ages, most occurring at night with the cause of death listed as "wild dogs." I decided that Sunnydale's animal control officer was on the take, and paid my bill.
Outside, I followed the main flow of pedestrian traffic past four major cemeteries, a community college, and a carousel. Quarter of a mile from the carousel, from what I could tell, were the docks, and a castle that had Bram Stoker Was Here painted on the side. In the opposite direction were the high-end residences, with some construction going on nearby.
I had a choice. The sun was going down. Sunnydale didn't look like the kind of town where an evening stroll was the major amusement. I could go back to the middle of downtown to see where people went for a good time, or I could follow where I was being lead -- because somewhere farther out from here, something bad was waiting for me.
I'd come to find out what was happening in Sunnydale. Maybe this was it. I started walking again.
The sun had set by the time I'd made my meandering way to the other side of town. I could've cut through the main thoroughfare and saved myself an hour, but I hadn't known where I was going when I started. When I turned a corner and saw the desiccated shell of a burned out building, I put two and two together.
Why it was still standing, I didn't know -- it had to have been burned a year, maybe two years before, from the signs of weathering along the broken support beams. Wherever I was being lead, though, this was the entrance. A smoke-stained sign told me this had been Sunnydale High. The lack of animal or plantlife told me this was a cursed place. I whispered the Credo, hummed the first stanza of Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory of the Burning of the School, and stepped in.
Half an hour later, and full dark, I got out again. Arson had torched the place, but something big and fast had warped the hallways and twisted the lockers. I didn't want to think about the types of skeletons I'd seen in the lower levels.
And I really didn't want to think about the portal to Hell that'd been underneath all that.
It was that portal that had been desecrating the land around it, but not recently. The portal had to have been closed months or years before the building was destroyed, so maybe Sunnydale was just a normal hotbed of sin and degradation. One of the Cities of the Plains moved to California, as if California would notice. Maybe that was why none of the locals seemed to care. I didn't know either way, so I said a Mass over the portal before I left, just to be sure, and walked back to my motel. I reported in from a payphone on my way. Tomorrow I was planning to knock on the Byzzies' door, and see if they let me in.
If their problem was bigger than a portal to Hell, then maybe I wouldn't have to pay a call on the drunk tank after all.
---
Night had fallen over Sunnydale, and the Slayer walked the streets.
"Skip the drama, SuperGirl," Buffy muttered. She checked her watch. Only nine. Patrol so far had been about as normal as it ever got. The Knights Who Say "Key" had already made their appearance for the evening; this time three of them, all carrying flails. Buffy made the command decision that metal balls studded with three inch long spikes, attached with two feet of chain to a metal bar, were categorically a Bad Thing. Maybe Giles has one I can borrow, she thought.
But when the Knights had gone, they'd taken the fun with them. She thought longingly of heading for home, but it was early yet. Some of the baddies hadn't even woken up for their long hard day of Attempting to Kick Buffy-Butt.
Buffy twirled her stake and walked through West Park. The streets were empty, except for a few stragglers speed-walking from street lamp to street lamp. There was one guy who looked like he was out for a stroll instead of walking through evil-infested waters; either he was a tourist, or a demon himself, and no matter which he was, if she didn't keep an eye on him someone would be getting human-kibble snacks later tonight.
She'd paralleled his course from a discreet distance for less than a minute when she felt a frission from her vamp-senses. For a moment Buffy thought it was the stranger, but then one of the stragglers she'd written off as human was joined by three of his close friends, and the four started circling the tourist.
By the time the first vamp had stopped the stranger, looking like it had bathed in pure innocence before going out, Buffy was already running.
---
I'd be the first to tell you I'm only human. I saw three people around me -- two Johns hugging the street lights ahead of me, and one blonde in the park. She was the odd man out. I couldn't place her in the mental map I'd made of Sunnydale culture.
One of the Johns took a turn down a side street, and the second looked around like he was lost. He saw me. I kept going. We met at the corner light.
"Hey," he said, "you know where I could find some girls?"
I'm not the man to ask even in the best of times, but I didn't mention Little Miss Clairol. She'd started tailing me two blocks back. I didn't like it, but I didn't want to involve a civilian if she decided to say hi. "Sorry," I said, and walked past.
"That's okay," he said. The John held out his hand when I drew level, stopped me mid-stride. I heard rustling, too quiet for me to tell how many had circled behind when I wasn't paying attention. "You'll do fine."
Maybe it was the soulless feeling that emanated from its outstretched hand that told me I was dealing with the undead. Maybe it was the twisted features and traditional teeth that told me these were vampires. But it was definitely my holy water that ruined his day.
"Shit!" The one who'd stopped me started clawing at his face, trying to remove the consecrated water I'd tossed up from my hip flask. Something hissed, and I ducked and rolled before the vampire behind me could wrap his paw around my neck. I was up and armed with crucifix and Colt when the blonde from the park reached the scene.
The vampires forgot I was there once she started in. She fought like she had speed pumping through her veins instead of blood, and talked like Valley Girl was a close cousin. She had a stake in one hand, and a moment later another came flying out of her jacket pocket. The left-hand stake hit the lead vampire just as the right-hand stake stuck one of its flunkies -- both burst into dust. I wondered whether I could give Last Rites, or if the thought would have to count.
The chick was packing the heat she needed for this encounter. When she turned under the light to attack the last two, I saw a flash of metal. She was wearing a cross. I decided she had the situation in hand. I backed fifty feet down the side street, pressed myself against a wall, and waited to see what happened next.
---
"I mean, honestly," Buffy said as she punched the vampire in the head. "Four to one. Not cool odds. And you know you'd just leave a mess afterwards, which would lead directly to my staking you. Not worth the trouble, if you ask me."
She head-butted the second vampire, kicked up to connect with its jaw, and spun and elbowed it in the gut. It fell back, in time for her to do a roundhouse kick to the first vamp, spinning it around a couple times before she had to duck, stab, puff of dust, and, "Also, the pick-up line sucked. I am personally ashamed. I must've killed off all the savvier ones," before she stood, jumped up and over, and thrust her stake through the back of the last one.
As the dust settled, Buffy looked around for the stranger. He'd done a neat trick with some holy water -- Not so touristy after all, thought Buffy -- and then backed out when she started in. Now was the time for her to offer the "I take lots of self-defense classes" excuse and drop some pointed hints about not letting strangers into his hotel room, but the guy was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he'd taken the chance and run off.
Buffy frowned. If he knew enough to use holy water, he should be okay, but walking around Sunnydale alone at night was a fast way to lose his mortality license. After saving him a couple minutes ago, she'd be muy P.O.'d if she found his drained body later.
Or she would, if she could remember what he looked like. There'd been a hat, and definitely denim, but other than that she was drawing a blank. Great. If the newspaper listed any dead guys between the ages of fifteen and fifty-five over the next few days, there would be serious ice cream abuse.
Or maybe worse. Buffy looked up at the Sunnydale skyglow. I can't save everybody. Not even--
Thoughts that shouldn't be thought. She didn't bother checking her hair in a storefront window, as she might have done only less than a year ago. She just continued her patrol.
---
Clairol walked away from the scene, not looking as happy as I might after an encounter like that. I decided to tail her. There was a lot going on here in Sunnydale -- after seeing her fight, I was willing to bet she was part of it.
I kept myself hidden. I watched her take on another vampire, and a pair of demons I'd last seen as woodcuts in a Puritan leaflet. Go figure. She was following a route, probably one she'd figured a long while back; it took her to every cemetery and the few out-and-out dark and nasty bits of town. Finally she headed for the residentials, and I had her address. Something for morning, though -- it was 0300 according to my watch.
Morning came too soon, and the continental breakfast only had decaf. Not promising. I went back to my room and dressed for the gig. Top on the list was a temporary tattoo -- shield and starburst, right above my eyes. Most religious orders stick with shirt pins and secret handshakes, but I guess nothing's too obvious for the Byzantine Buckaroos.
I wasn't planning to leave caffeine to chance, so I put on my mundane clothes and hit the streets. The diner from last night was open, and it'd been pretty decent. I got a cup of coffee and eggs, sunny side up. The saucer that came with my coffee cup was a different make than the rest of my whiteware; it had Greek lettering around the rim, invoking Abrasax, the year-god, to boost the caffeine's effect to my system. I looked up; the waitress winked at me in a lascivious fashion. I decided to skip breakfast. The coffee tempted me as I stood to leave, but I really didn't need favors from the waitstaff that could imperil my immortal soul.
I left -- and had two men beside me. Both were wearing baseball caps and leather boots. "You've come a long way," said the one on my left. Not an auspicious beginning.
I decided to take a chance. "I've farther still to travel," I said in my best heretic voice. I turned to the one who'd spoken to me and lifted the brim of my cap. Leftie took one look at my tattooed forehead and nodded to the man on my right. I let out a breath.
Leftie smiled. "You're almost home, brother." He started walking east, toward the docks, and Rightie and I followed. "We were wondering about your presence on the train. It was... unexpected." I bet. "But it's good to know the Lord continues on our side. We won't be getting more reinforcements for another week yet." Leftie smiled again -- I was starting to get bugged by it. "It's good to see you, Brother...?"
I could've given the name I liked to use, but I'd've liked to be able to use it again in the future. "Rasyphus," I said. He nodded.
"Brother Rasyphus. I am Bernardo."
The man on the right finally spoke up. "And I am Gregory." We took a quick turn -- we were in the warehouse district. They stopped outside a door. "Welcome home, brother."
A series of knocks, a bit of muttered Latin, and we were in. My eyes took a second to accustom to the dark. The space, as close as I could tell, was seperated into work stations. I saw weapons being smithed, with ventilation flues leading high to the ceiling, in one station, while men were sleeping in another. One station had knights training -- one had a shrine set up, with a ring of praying men washing out from it -- one had healers tending to the wounded.
There were a lot of wounded.
"This is the new fortress of Byzantium," Brother Gregory murmured at my side. I took a quick look at his face. By the expression on his face, this wasn't just a "fortress" -- it was Heaven made on Earth. Or a sinner's last chance at Heaven.
Better and better, I thought. The Masters are going to be thrilled.
"Come," said Brother Bernardo. He gestured, and his hand encompassed the warehouse, the atmosphere, and another of his smiles. "There is much we've to acquaint you with."
I nodded, and smiled my own smile back. "Show me."
--
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Moritura Snippet
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by parsnips
[...] "Are you going to keep looking for the Key?"
"For the Byzzies? No. On the grand scale of things, you're closer to fighting the good fight than they are. If you're hiding it, then I'm not going to help them find it."
"And what about yourself?" She looked hard at him. "Are you going to keep searching for yourself, or for the Templars? Because I can't let you do that. The Key means too much for me."
"Why?"
"That is none of your concern. The Key is mine, got it? Whatever you or the Byzantines think the Key can be used for, I don't know, and I don't care. But--"
"If I told you, would you care?"
Buffy sat back. "What?"
Crossman stirred the remaining coffee around in his cup. "If I told you what the Byzantines think they found, would you show me the Key? Give it to my care, to... not dispose of, but take away from here? Keep it safe? Only the Byzzies want it destroyed. To the rest of us... it's loss would be too great."
"I... can't promise that." Buffy swallowed -- her mouth felt dry. "What did the Byzantines find?"
"The synechdemoi have been searching for a way to end this eternal conflict of theirs for centuries. A year ago they found a spell, a theurgy, in the unearthed Greek papyri, magical texts." He fastened his sharp gaze to hers. "They found a spell that would tell them the true name of God. And the only part missing is the Key."
And that's all, folks!
--
Moritura
--
by parsnips
There were a lot of reasons to be unhappy about my new assignment. The big one was that it was cutting into my leave. I'd just seen the back of Toronto after spending a few weeks making sure a logging-camp Messiah wasn't really Him. The false idol in question was suffering from a few too many mushrooms, and the rest of the camp was just living off his good time. I reported it in to Chatillon, got on the red-eye for the coast. I figured I'd have time to catch a week of sleep and a production of Faustus before the next mission.
When I finally got to a safe house, there was a message waiting. I didn't need to know the odds at Vegas to bet it wasn't Marlowe's mighty line.
The Masters at Chatillon knew I had leave coming to me. So this wasn't officially an assignment. They were just kind of suggesting, casually, that I head out to a suburb about two hours north of L.A. and make like a member of the Knights of Byzantium. If I happened to hear anything of interest, I could pass it along. And if there was something heavier going on than a pack of heretics practicing their jousting... then there would be a Templar on site to take care of the matter. Otherwise, I'd just be there to help out.
I snorted. Sure. The last time I'd helped out anybody, there were four dead Knights of St John by the time I left, with some intermediate difficulty involving a sword-hefting Bride of Satan and a demon that liked to wear human flesh inside-out. I was a 'good times' magnet.
Then again, maybe that was why the Masters were sticking me on it. Nothing like being appreciated by your superiors.
I looked at the thick packet of information they'd given me, and the itinerary and tickets they'd helpfully provided. Next-morning flight to L.A. under the name Peter Crossman, and a train ticket to a place called Sunnydale. The casual suggestions of the Masters of Chatillon have a lot of weight.
I switched on Mister Coffee and started to read.
---
Buffy was sitting on the Magic Shop counter, tossing a bottle of something indefinable from hand to hand. The label said it was magicked up bits of demon guts that should never see the light of day, but when it dropped it looked like the glass held tiny red fireworks.
It was late afternoon. Buffy had called a Scooby gang meeting after school, to make sure Dawn would be included. It was all part of the now-important 'Dawn needs to be in the loop' plan. No one could afford to be uninformed... with the exception of maybe Spike, except he'd actually done the right thing two days back, so she really had to stop mentally beating his face in with a brick. Bitch-god Glory had already kicked Spike's ass into next week -- if Buffy so much as sneezed at him, he'd probably fall over.
Hence why this meeting was Spike-less -- last time she'd checked, he was still unconscious. Until he was healed enough to defend himself against the combined might of pissed off Scoobies, she couldn't risk dragging him over to the Magic Shop during the middle of the day just to hear what she could tell him well enough at his crypt.
She wasn't sure what to do about Spike, but unlike Glory, monks, or knights with pointy things, he was a problem that could be dealt with much, much later.
Thinking about the knights reminded Buffy about the purpose of the meeting. In between tosses, she checked her watch. They were only waiting for Xander and Anya to show up before starting. Dawn was talking about her school friends, and was finishing with, "... so Julie came back from vacationing in Vermont, and she said they have little quarter machines that give out crosses for fifty cents. Like, right next to the Skittles and bouncy balls. And N*sync stickers."
"Can't forget those," said Buffy. Dawn gave Buffy a disgusted look and pointedly ignored her.
"How come the east coast has the cool anti-vampire dispensers?" Willow asked from the table. "I mean, let's consider the number of vampires in the land of non-Hellmouthy maple trees."
Giles spoke up from behind the counter as he finished helping the last customer of the day. "Quite a few, actually, in the right season. The vampires of the colder climes are somewhat migratory." He caught the bottle Buffy had been making merry with and set it gently back on a shelf. Buffy made a face and sat at the table with everyone else.
"I don't see it," Tara said from beside Willow. Giles walked around the counter and followed the lone customer to the door. "Wouldn't the long nights help them? And, I mean, do vampires get cold?"
"No," Giles said, flipped the sign to CLOSED, and returned to the table, "but consider a winter during which everyone stays within their homes for the majority of the time. And those homes can be, well, miles from civilization." He paused. "Mind you, the hotels are practically all-you-can-eat buffets."
"Pretty picture, Giles," Buffy said. "But I like the little crucifix machines. Think you could install one outside? We'd be quarter tycoons in no time."
"And those of us who still use dorm washing machines would greatly appreciate contributions," Willow said. "Oh, and having another dispenser with little pentacles and Stars of David would also be, y'know, neat."
"What would be neat?" asked Xander, stepping into the store with the bounty of Dunkin Donuts cradled in his arms. Anya followed, sipping a steaming cup of coffee. "Sorry for being late," he said, and dropped the box of donuts on the table. "I've brought sacrifices to appease the gods of punctuality."
"If there's jelly, you're forgiven," said Giles.
"Then may the forgiveness be heaped. I brought enough for everyone. What's neat?"
"Crosses," said Dawn, picking out a glazed.
"I see the need for this meeting now. I never thought the coolness of crosses was in doubt."
Once everyone was munching on something, Willow said, "So, what's the haps?"
Buffy swallowed her bite of donut and held up a white-sugar coated finger. "One: Glory knows that the Key is human, but not who."
Xander looked around the table, then back to Buffy. "So, Spike...?"
"Didn't say anything," Buffy said. Her tone did not suggest further inquiry. Let them wonder, she thought, then amended it to, Let them wonder, but never suspect. Lips of Spike are not to be mentioned and definitely not discussed. She held up a second finger. "Two: Those Knights? They're starting to make a serious showing around here. I think they're making good on the whole 'legions will follow' thing."
"What do you mean?" Giles had finished his jelly-filled, and started cleaning his glasses.
"It started out with just a couple guys every other day or something -- last night, six at once, all armed with bruise-quality shields. The night before that, three early on, four just before I came home. They're varying their tactics, but there's definitely more of them coming in to Sunnydale -- I checked under their face plates. All human, all new people." She twiddled with the donut box and frowned darkly. "I was hoping they were recruiting demons -- I'm tired of having to pull my punches."
Willow nodded. "Killing humans is a no-no."
"Punching demons would also I think be under question," Anya added quickly. "Right?"
"Only demons that haven't been de-demoned," Buffy said. "Promise."
Dawn was slouched low in her chair with her arms crossed in front of her. Buffy's ability to translate Teenage Girl said that this was not good. It was a drawback to telling Dawn everything going on. "So," Dawn said, "what do they want?"
Buffy sighed. "To do bad things."
"With me."
"With the Key. That's point number three: The Knights don't work with Glory, so the Knights don't know the Key is human. They keep asking me if I carry it around." She wrinkled her nose. "As if I'd let them do a search-and-seizure on me."
"Maybe it's just a pick-up line. Like, 'Hey, strong lady, you give me the Key, we can find the Lock it fits,' " Xander said. There was silence. Xander smiled quickly. "Not endorsing."
Anya rubbed his shoulder. "We know, sweetie. Don't give suggestions."
"Anyway," Buffy said, "the knights may decide to do a crusty monk maneuver and start following you all around. Be careful what you talk about, and try to travel in pairs or more. Crosses and holy water would be bad in a fight with them, because of the whole 'doesn't do anything' factor, so avoid confrontation."
"Is that the long-term or the short-term plan?" said Tara. "Because Willow and I might be able to come up with some defense spells. You know, based on intent. If there's time to look."
Buffy gestured widely, finally noticed the white-sugar coating on her hand, and cleaned it off with all due force. "All plans are short-term until we know why the Knights specifically want the Key to go poof. Anything you two can come up with would be way helpful."
"They want me to go poof?" Dawn said, her voice hitting an uncomfortable high note. "Not squish, or, or maybe thud?"
Reassurance time. "Maybe thud." Dawn paled. Okay, note to self: Work on the reassurance. "I don't know. Hence the needing to find out." Buffy reached over and tucked a strand of Dawn's hair away from her face. "Until then, only Buffy Incorporated's special effects sound crew gets to mess with you."
Dawn smiled -- Score, thought Buffy -- and the gang turned its efforts toward finishing the rest of the donuts and bickering about dispensing machines.
---
It was 1800 hours, and the train to Sunnydale was filled with Knights. Not just some guy on the other end of the car -- I'm talking every seat. They were wearing baseball caps with their chain mail and leather boots, and speaking in Latin loudly enough for me to catch every word they were saying.
The Knights of Byzantium are nothing if not incompetent.
I was lying back with my own cap pulled down, breathing slow and feigning sleep. I caught a couple questioning glances out of the corner of my eye, and some of the voices asked whether someone had botched the seat reservations. When it looked like I was going to sleep the entire way, they started speaking up.
I'd gotten some details about what the Knights were doing from my information packet, but not much. Mostly I knew their entrance hand signal and which names not to use when I introduced myself. I'd also been given an outfit and a batch of temporary tattoos to pass the dress code. After that, I was on my own.
The Knights weren't much for exposition. I learned where they were based, and I learned that the weather was causing chafing where there shouldn't be. There was some muttering about the trouble they'd been having with Sunnydale locals, and a couple of prophecies about the Beast -- they weren't quoting Apocalypse.
By the time the train reached Sunnydale station, the talk had devolved back to that chafing problem. I waited until they'd all left, pulled down my own pack, and stepped out into late afternoon.
The moment I hit dirt I got an idea why the Knights were here. Evil. It seeped through the ground and tried to climb up my legs. It didn't get far. Maybe it was my faith. Maybe it was the cold iron I carried -- you can't kill the Devil with a gun or a sword, but my Colt .45 is inlaid with stuff that might give me a chance.
I shook my head, reminded myself that Presumption is a sin, and took a walk out onto Main Street. Perfect suburbia, with a couple of parks, a few streets of shops and restaurants, and the rest of the space filled with houses. I checked into my motel, picked up a local paper, and found a place where I could sit with a sandwich and a cup of coffee. For dinner hour, the restaurant looked dead. I figured I'd think about that later.
The paper had the usual -- local activities at the school, big events for the next month -- but about half those pretty pastel houses I saw in town were going up for sale, and cheap at that. It didn't make news, so maybe it was normal. I found two weddings and the crime section -- the kids were busy around here. A couple of the arrests sounded like they'd been fun. If the Byzantines didn't give me anything interesting, I might check out the drunk tank and see what could be found.
I turned to the last section of the paper and saw the obits. Lots of 'em, all ages, most occurring at night with the cause of death listed as "wild dogs." I decided that Sunnydale's animal control officer was on the take, and paid my bill.
Outside, I followed the main flow of pedestrian traffic past four major cemeteries, a community college, and a carousel. Quarter of a mile from the carousel, from what I could tell, were the docks, and a castle that had Bram Stoker Was Here painted on the side. In the opposite direction were the high-end residences, with some construction going on nearby.
I had a choice. The sun was going down. Sunnydale didn't look like the kind of town where an evening stroll was the major amusement. I could go back to the middle of downtown to see where people went for a good time, or I could follow where I was being lead -- because somewhere farther out from here, something bad was waiting for me.
I'd come to find out what was happening in Sunnydale. Maybe this was it. I started walking again.
The sun had set by the time I'd made my meandering way to the other side of town. I could've cut through the main thoroughfare and saved myself an hour, but I hadn't known where I was going when I started. When I turned a corner and saw the desiccated shell of a burned out building, I put two and two together.
Why it was still standing, I didn't know -- it had to have been burned a year, maybe two years before, from the signs of weathering along the broken support beams. Wherever I was being lead, though, this was the entrance. A smoke-stained sign told me this had been Sunnydale High. The lack of animal or plantlife told me this was a cursed place. I whispered the Credo, hummed the first stanza of Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory of the Burning of the School, and stepped in.
Half an hour later, and full dark, I got out again. Arson had torched the place, but something big and fast had warped the hallways and twisted the lockers. I didn't want to think about the types of skeletons I'd seen in the lower levels.
And I really didn't want to think about the portal to Hell that'd been underneath all that.
It was that portal that had been desecrating the land around it, but not recently. The portal had to have been closed months or years before the building was destroyed, so maybe Sunnydale was just a normal hotbed of sin and degradation. One of the Cities of the Plains moved to California, as if California would notice. Maybe that was why none of the locals seemed to care. I didn't know either way, so I said a Mass over the portal before I left, just to be sure, and walked back to my motel. I reported in from a payphone on my way. Tomorrow I was planning to knock on the Byzzies' door, and see if they let me in.
If their problem was bigger than a portal to Hell, then maybe I wouldn't have to pay a call on the drunk tank after all.
---
Night had fallen over Sunnydale, and the Slayer walked the streets.
"Skip the drama, SuperGirl," Buffy muttered. She checked her watch. Only nine. Patrol so far had been about as normal as it ever got. The Knights Who Say "Key" had already made their appearance for the evening; this time three of them, all carrying flails. Buffy made the command decision that metal balls studded with three inch long spikes, attached with two feet of chain to a metal bar, were categorically a Bad Thing. Maybe Giles has one I can borrow, she thought.
But when the Knights had gone, they'd taken the fun with them. She thought longingly of heading for home, but it was early yet. Some of the baddies hadn't even woken up for their long hard day of Attempting to Kick Buffy-Butt.
Buffy twirled her stake and walked through West Park. The streets were empty, except for a few stragglers speed-walking from street lamp to street lamp. There was one guy who looked like he was out for a stroll instead of walking through evil-infested waters; either he was a tourist, or a demon himself, and no matter which he was, if she didn't keep an eye on him someone would be getting human-kibble snacks later tonight.
She'd paralleled his course from a discreet distance for less than a minute when she felt a frission from her vamp-senses. For a moment Buffy thought it was the stranger, but then one of the stragglers she'd written off as human was joined by three of his close friends, and the four started circling the tourist.
By the time the first vamp had stopped the stranger, looking like it had bathed in pure innocence before going out, Buffy was already running.
---
I'd be the first to tell you I'm only human. I saw three people around me -- two Johns hugging the street lights ahead of me, and one blonde in the park. She was the odd man out. I couldn't place her in the mental map I'd made of Sunnydale culture.
One of the Johns took a turn down a side street, and the second looked around like he was lost. He saw me. I kept going. We met at the corner light.
"Hey," he said, "you know where I could find some girls?"
I'm not the man to ask even in the best of times, but I didn't mention Little Miss Clairol. She'd started tailing me two blocks back. I didn't like it, but I didn't want to involve a civilian if she decided to say hi. "Sorry," I said, and walked past.
"That's okay," he said. The John held out his hand when I drew level, stopped me mid-stride. I heard rustling, too quiet for me to tell how many had circled behind when I wasn't paying attention. "You'll do fine."
Maybe it was the soulless feeling that emanated from its outstretched hand that told me I was dealing with the undead. Maybe it was the twisted features and traditional teeth that told me these were vampires. But it was definitely my holy water that ruined his day.
"Shit!" The one who'd stopped me started clawing at his face, trying to remove the consecrated water I'd tossed up from my hip flask. Something hissed, and I ducked and rolled before the vampire behind me could wrap his paw around my neck. I was up and armed with crucifix and Colt when the blonde from the park reached the scene.
The vampires forgot I was there once she started in. She fought like she had speed pumping through her veins instead of blood, and talked like Valley Girl was a close cousin. She had a stake in one hand, and a moment later another came flying out of her jacket pocket. The left-hand stake hit the lead vampire just as the right-hand stake stuck one of its flunkies -- both burst into dust. I wondered whether I could give Last Rites, or if the thought would have to count.
The chick was packing the heat she needed for this encounter. When she turned under the light to attack the last two, I saw a flash of metal. She was wearing a cross. I decided she had the situation in hand. I backed fifty feet down the side street, pressed myself against a wall, and waited to see what happened next.
---
"I mean, honestly," Buffy said as she punched the vampire in the head. "Four to one. Not cool odds. And you know you'd just leave a mess afterwards, which would lead directly to my staking you. Not worth the trouble, if you ask me."
She head-butted the second vampire, kicked up to connect with its jaw, and spun and elbowed it in the gut. It fell back, in time for her to do a roundhouse kick to the first vamp, spinning it around a couple times before she had to duck, stab, puff of dust, and, "Also, the pick-up line sucked. I am personally ashamed. I must've killed off all the savvier ones," before she stood, jumped up and over, and thrust her stake through the back of the last one.
As the dust settled, Buffy looked around for the stranger. He'd done a neat trick with some holy water -- Not so touristy after all, thought Buffy -- and then backed out when she started in. Now was the time for her to offer the "I take lots of self-defense classes" excuse and drop some pointed hints about not letting strangers into his hotel room, but the guy was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he'd taken the chance and run off.
Buffy frowned. If he knew enough to use holy water, he should be okay, but walking around Sunnydale alone at night was a fast way to lose his mortality license. After saving him a couple minutes ago, she'd be muy P.O.'d if she found his drained body later.
Or she would, if she could remember what he looked like. There'd been a hat, and definitely denim, but other than that she was drawing a blank. Great. If the newspaper listed any dead guys between the ages of fifteen and fifty-five over the next few days, there would be serious ice cream abuse.
Or maybe worse. Buffy looked up at the Sunnydale skyglow. I can't save everybody. Not even--
Thoughts that shouldn't be thought. She didn't bother checking her hair in a storefront window, as she might have done only less than a year ago. She just continued her patrol.
---
Clairol walked away from the scene, not looking as happy as I might after an encounter like that. I decided to tail her. There was a lot going on here in Sunnydale -- after seeing her fight, I was willing to bet she was part of it.
I kept myself hidden. I watched her take on another vampire, and a pair of demons I'd last seen as woodcuts in a Puritan leaflet. Go figure. She was following a route, probably one she'd figured a long while back; it took her to every cemetery and the few out-and-out dark and nasty bits of town. Finally she headed for the residentials, and I had her address. Something for morning, though -- it was 0300 according to my watch.
Morning came too soon, and the continental breakfast only had decaf. Not promising. I went back to my room and dressed for the gig. Top on the list was a temporary tattoo -- shield and starburst, right above my eyes. Most religious orders stick with shirt pins and secret handshakes, but I guess nothing's too obvious for the Byzantine Buckaroos.
I wasn't planning to leave caffeine to chance, so I put on my mundane clothes and hit the streets. The diner from last night was open, and it'd been pretty decent. I got a cup of coffee and eggs, sunny side up. The saucer that came with my coffee cup was a different make than the rest of my whiteware; it had Greek lettering around the rim, invoking Abrasax, the year-god, to boost the caffeine's effect to my system. I looked up; the waitress winked at me in a lascivious fashion. I decided to skip breakfast. The coffee tempted me as I stood to leave, but I really didn't need favors from the waitstaff that could imperil my immortal soul.
I left -- and had two men beside me. Both were wearing baseball caps and leather boots. "You've come a long way," said the one on my left. Not an auspicious beginning.
I decided to take a chance. "I've farther still to travel," I said in my best heretic voice. I turned to the one who'd spoken to me and lifted the brim of my cap. Leftie took one look at my tattooed forehead and nodded to the man on my right. I let out a breath.
Leftie smiled. "You're almost home, brother." He started walking east, toward the docks, and Rightie and I followed. "We were wondering about your presence on the train. It was... unexpected." I bet. "But it's good to know the Lord continues on our side. We won't be getting more reinforcements for another week yet." Leftie smiled again -- I was starting to get bugged by it. "It's good to see you, Brother...?"
I could've given the name I liked to use, but I'd've liked to be able to use it again in the future. "Rasyphus," I said. He nodded.
"Brother Rasyphus. I am Bernardo."
The man on the right finally spoke up. "And I am Gregory." We took a quick turn -- we were in the warehouse district. They stopped outside a door. "Welcome home, brother."
A series of knocks, a bit of muttered Latin, and we were in. My eyes took a second to accustom to the dark. The space, as close as I could tell, was seperated into work stations. I saw weapons being smithed, with ventilation flues leading high to the ceiling, in one station, while men were sleeping in another. One station had knights training -- one had a shrine set up, with a ring of praying men washing out from it -- one had healers tending to the wounded.
There were a lot of wounded.
"This is the new fortress of Byzantium," Brother Gregory murmured at my side. I took a quick look at his face. By the expression on his face, this wasn't just a "fortress" -- it was Heaven made on Earth. Or a sinner's last chance at Heaven.
Better and better, I thought. The Masters are going to be thrilled.
"Come," said Brother Bernardo. He gestured, and his hand encompassed the warehouse, the atmosphere, and another of his smiles. "There is much we've to acquaint you with."
I nodded, and smiled my own smile back. "Show me."
--
--
Moritura Snippet
--
by parsnips
[...] "Are you going to keep looking for the Key?"
"For the Byzzies? No. On the grand scale of things, you're closer to fighting the good fight than they are. If you're hiding it, then I'm not going to help them find it."
"And what about yourself?" She looked hard at him. "Are you going to keep searching for yourself, or for the Templars? Because I can't let you do that. The Key means too much for me."
"Why?"
"That is none of your concern. The Key is mine, got it? Whatever you or the Byzantines think the Key can be used for, I don't know, and I don't care. But--"
"If I told you, would you care?"
Buffy sat back. "What?"
Crossman stirred the remaining coffee around in his cup. "If I told you what the Byzantines think they found, would you show me the Key? Give it to my care, to... not dispose of, but take away from here? Keep it safe? Only the Byzzies want it destroyed. To the rest of us... it's loss would be too great."
"I... can't promise that." Buffy swallowed -- her mouth felt dry. "What did the Byzantines find?"
"The synechdemoi have been searching for a way to end this eternal conflict of theirs for centuries. A year ago they found a spell, a theurgy, in the unearthed Greek papyri, magical texts." He fastened his sharp gaze to hers. "They found a spell that would tell them the true name of God. And the only part missing is the Key."
And that's all, folks!