Blindsided
Black Friday
Xander wandered aimlessly until the land met the seawall and he had to sit down. The sun rose like a blister of blood
over Galveston Bay. He covered his face with his hands and listened to the relentless pounding of the surf on the
jetties and the insistent call of seagulls.
He’d gone beyond his ability to feel anything. Which was good. Feeling, at this point, would be bad. So he remained,
hiding behind his hands, wishing the sun would drain away.
While he sat there, feeling alternately numb and chilled, then sick and sweating, he drowned out what he could of
the world. He could do that – blot it all out. Conceivably forever. He could huddle up like a crab in a shell. He’d done
it after leaving Anya at the altar, in a little hotel room not far from Sunnydale, but that was an address on Memory
Lane he didn’t much like to visit.
Xander stayed on the seawall, legs dangling over the concrete embankment, while the sun bounced dull copper rays
across the listless surf. To his added discomfort, his clothing dried but stuck to his limbs like stiff plaster.
He thought, Just like me to complain about my clothes at a time like this. It’s like me to dwell on what is
inconsequential and lose sight of what really matters.
And what did matter, exactly? Saving the world. Big check in that box. Friends safe and secure. Also, check. Then
there was Maya, who mattered more than he could express, and he never got the chance to tell her. Now he never
would. It had passed him by. That was what it meant be human, and goddammit, did Xander hate being human
sometimes.
Maya was good, too. Really good. Like almost saintly, and so not deserving of a watery grave. She was way sweeter
than Cordelia (who was dead), and much less evil than Anya, (who was – hello! – also dead).
It was him. It had to be. He was cursed. Any way he looked at it, he brought ruination upon the women in his life.
Xander glanced out over the hazy water, realizing with further misery that his tears would not come. Not that
crying ever helped, but something had to give.
At this point, Xander was prepared to wager with the Almighty. Except, he had already given many years of service
and one of his eyes to the cause of Good. Barring further loss of limb, he wasn’t sure he had much to bargain with.
Didn’t actually matter. Xander was not the type for introspection. But he did want to say that he was sorry. He
was sorry for not noticing until it was too late that he had a good, rare, special thing right there in front of him and
he let it pass him by. Again.
Xander sat wallowing in boundless despair. He was so wallowed, he didn’t hear the scuff of a tire as it ran up on the
parking divider. Didn’t hear the grumble of engine as it cut off. His mind didn’t register the slam of the car door.
“Xander?”
Her voice, all birdsong and plaintive, parted the wretchedness like a burst of sunlight. He stood up, turning,
disbelieving, to behold her on the curb beside her Daddy’s black pickup.
“Oh my God,” he said. “Maya?”
She took a trepid step in his direction. “I have been looking all over for you,” she said.
“B-but you. You’re…” Xander stammered. “In the coffee shop, they said.”
“I drove and drove, but you were nowhere, and I was starting to get afraid that something bad had happened,”
Maya said. She came to stand a foot in front of him, petite shoulders squared with his.
Xander blinked. “In the coffee shop, they said you were dead. They said there was an accident, and your truck
went into the water.”
Maya shrugged lightly. “We had a fight, Xander. I wouldn’t go La Llorona and drive my Daddy’s truck into the
drink.”
“Huh?”
“I tried to call you, even…”
Xander extracted his cell phone from his sodden pocket. The LED was fogged over on the inside.
He released a nervous giggle. “Must have been damaged by copious amounts of rainwater,” he said.
Maya took the phone from his hand. “I am so sorry!”
“Maya, don’t be. Okay. I was Pushy Xander, when I should have been Understanding Xander. I just… I’m the one
who should be sorry. And glad. So very, extremely glad that you are not dead.”
Xander’s whole body trembled. The tears were on their way down, and regrettably bringing along many friends.
Maya slammed into him, nearly toppling them both from the seawall. She wrapped her arms around his waist, fisting
her little hands into the back of his damp T-shirt.
“I shouldn’t have thrown you out of the truck, though. That was a childish, my-way-or-the-highway thing to do. And
then, you chose the highway.” Maya looked up at him and giggled.
She looked radiant against the colorless backdrop of the off-season drab that was Galveston in November. Xander
ran his shaking hands over her cap of blonde curls, catching and twirling them in his thumbs. She was solid,
substantial, not-deceased Maya.
Xander cleared his throat. “Uh. Maya. I just want to say I don’t care about Lance, or what happened to you long
ago at a party far, far away. It doesn’t matter, and I shouldn’t have made a big deal of it. Especially considering, I
mean, I know we did just meet.”
Maya nodded along to every word, her green eyes brimming with relief.
“What I’m saying,” Xander said, nearly giving in to the temptation to kiss her, but soldiering on, for the sake of
making his point. “Is that, I want to take the time to get to know you. However long that takes. Because, I’m a
little slow, it seems, at learning the landmark lessons in life.”
“Me too,” Maya admitted. “On both counts.”
Maya lay her head on Xander’s chest. He reveled in the warmth of her touch in light of his previous thinking that
he’d lost it forever.
“Hey, here’s an idea,” Xander said. “Let’s not ever do that ever again.”
“Good plan.” Maya looked up. “I have another one. One that involves a cozy little hotel room. Maybe a shower.
Some room service…”
“Oooh. I’m liking that plan. Especially the shower part. I’m particularly… briny.”
Maya’s lips curved in a playful smile. “Yeah, I get that.”
Xander thought that was fair. He put his lips to the top of her head. Unlike him, she smelled like a meadow. One full
of promise and fresh, perfect spring flowers. And if she was willing to give him a second chance, well, then, that was
all good by him.
Dawn and Andrew stared down at the unconscious heap that was Spike.
“Spike? Spike?” Andrew said, panic rising in his voice.
“Here,” Dawn said, kneeling beside him. “Let’s get him up on the bed.”
It took their combined effort to heft the limp body onto Dawn’s twin bed. When they managed, they rolled him over
onto his back.
“Search for wounds,” Dawn ordered. “Start with the head.”
Andrew pushed Spike’s head back into the pillows, turning it under his fingertips, feeling along his scalp and around
the nape of his neck.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have moved him,” Andrew said, his voice timorous. “In emergency situations, aren’t you
supposed to leave the injured as they are?”
Dawn tugged at the arm of Spike’s coat, trying to pry it off. “I dunno. I don’t remember. Should we put him back?”
Andrew turned Spike’s head back and forth. Spike’s eyelids quivered, but remained fixed. “No. We should keep him
here now. I don’t see anything on his head or neck.”
“Get some scissors,” Dawn barked.
“We’re gonna cut off his coat?” Andrew asked, appalled.
“No. His shirt. We have to check his upper torso for evidence of trauma.” Groaning, she wrenched furiously at the
arm of the coat, but couldn’t slip it off his shoulder.
“Here,” Andrew said. He took the other sleeve in his hand. “On three.”
Dawn nodded. “One. Two…”
“Three.”
Dawn and Andrew lifted Spike, peeled down the top of the coat and managed, after a bit of struggling, to get it out
from under his body.
Dawn let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t know he was so heavy,” she said.
Andrew shook his head. “Me neither,” he said. They were on opposite sides of her bed now, both staring quizzically
at the motionless body between them. He was breathing, thankfully – light, shallow inhalations that scarcely caused
his chest to rise and fall.
“Dawn,” Andrew said. “I don’t think we need scissors.”
“What?”
“Look,” he said. He rolled Spike’s upper arm in his hand, turning it to reveal twin punctures that oozed a thick
gray, gelatinous fluid.
“Eee,” they said, taking a simultaneous step back.
Dawn swallowed. “What the hell did that?”
Andrew leaned in for a closer inspection. He reached toward it, his fingers jittering like dragonfly’s wings. The
pierced flesh had puckered, forming two gaping black holes ringed with pale blue bruises that spread outward like
the rings inside a tree.
“Don’t touch it!” Dawn shrieked, batting his hand away.
“Right,” Andrew said, tucking his hand into his armpit. “Why?”
“If it could take him down, who knows what it would do to us,” she said. She glanced at Andrew and watched as his
face blanched with realization.
“We have to do something,” he said. “That wound’s going necrotic.”
Dawn’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”
“Dr. House wouldn’t steer me wrong,” Andrew said. “We have to… we have to think, Dawnie. What was the last
thing he said, before he went all Snow White on us?”
Dawn was nodding, fighting to recall the words. Then she snapped her fingers. “Giles. He said to call to Giles.”
Minutes later, Dawn was on the phone to the Coven in Devon, and Andrew, who knelt on the floor beside Spike, was
gnawing on the fleshy part of his own knuckles.
“Rapa Nui?” Dawn said, her tone discouraged. “Is that even a real place?”
While Dawn listened to the young witch describe Giles’ mission in the South Pacific, she turned from Andrew to
check on Spike again. He remained eerily still, and the wound had darkened. Her heart plummeted all the way into
the pit of her belly.
“Well, do you know when he’ll be back?” she asked.
Dawn closed her eyes as she hung up the phone. “Giles is following up a lead to find Buffy. The Coven doesn’t know
how long he’ll be,” she said in a strangled whisper. “We’re on our own.”
“’Kay,” Andrew said, hopping to his feet. “Well, so. First, we find out what bit Spike. That’s easy enough. We’ll
measure the bite mark, take a sample of the poison and match it with what we have on file in the Ancient Text
Storage. Once we know what horrific naughty we’re dealing with, we can either find an antidote or, we make our
own.”
Andrew squinted his eyes, then nodded resolutely.
Dawn gaped at him. She wanted to say something quippy, but the words crumbled before they could leave her lips. It
was so like him to do the exact opposite of what she expected. She was so accustomed to Panic-Action Andrew that
Man-With-A-Plan Andrew threw her even further off her center.
She was about to tell him so, when he was spared by the doorbell.
Andrew craned his head, irritated by the distraction. “I’m not expecting anyone. You?”
Dawn chewed her lip. “Not really…” It was possible, she guessed, that Brodie might show up demanding an
explanation, though she thoroughly doubted it.
“Fine. I’ll get it,” he said, turning briskly and purposefully toward her bedroom door. “You probably should… get
dressed.”
Dawn noticed that he wasn’t looking directly at her. She prepared to tell him what a terribly odd and annoying
person she thought he was when he paused in the doorway. He put his one good hand on the door jamb to steady
himself.
“You’re still wearing a towel,” he said, haltingly, his face flushing pink to the tips of his ears.
Dawn glanced down. To her unremitting horror, she saw that she was clad only in the towel she’d donned after
showering. And it had slipped down to reveal a scandalous portion of her breasts.
Tucking the mutinous towel under her chin, Dawn muttered, “Well, Spike. Could this night be any worse?”
Asking questions like that was foolish, as Dawn knew but often forgot.
After dressing in jeans and her pajama top, Dawn rushed downstairs to find Andrew in the kitchen with Lorne.
Apparently Lorne had planned for a large gathering, for he’d brought along a basketful of assorted muffins and a
portable carafe of coffee. When she rounded the corner, he’s green face burst into a genuine grin.
“Bella-Dawna!” he bellowed, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “You look…” he held her at arm’s length, and his
expression changed from partly sunny to cloudy with concern. “Sweetie, you look like you’ve been bounced around
by life’s spin cycle. Are you all right?”
Dawn really, really liked Lorne. He was the most attractive and sincere demon she had ever met.
She offered him her best chin-up smile. “I’m fine,” she lied, entering deflection mode to head off his questions.
“What’s with the basket of goodies? Off to Grandmother’s house?”
“Wish I was, Kitten,” he said. “I was just telling Andrew we’ve got demon troubles a-brewin’. I figured the gang
could get together to discuss options over a very early breakfast, but uh…”
“We are the gang,” Dawn said.
“Yeah,” Lorne said. “Andrew was also filling me in on Spike. What gives?”
“Some kind of bite,” Dawn told him. “A gray, kind of sludgy poison. Also, it’s going necrotic.”
Andrew nodded, sagely stroking his chin.
Lorne tapped a finger to his lips. “Doesn’t sound good, Chickpea. Not good at all. Got any leads?”
“None,” Dawn said. “He’s a golem, Lorne: created with extra-powerful Nephillim blood. What kind of poison would be
strong enough to affect him?”
“It does narrow the field,” Lorne said. “Which brings up the incredibly painful subject of my being here. I’m afraid
I’m the bearer of dubious news.”
He paused, as if searching out the kindest, gentlest way to deliver the information. Dawn and Andrew drew
instinctively closer.
Lorne said, “One of my Triumvirate contacts reported the arrival of the Sulsket… the Sukskeltet…” he shook his
head. “I wrote it down,” he explained. He patted his orange blazer pockets until he found a slip of paper with a
long, daunting word printed across it:
Sulsccqelawtna.
He passed it to Dawn and Andrew, who held it between them and attempted to puzzle out the pronunciation.
“Sool-squee-lawt-na?” Dawn said. “Sue-squall…”
“Sesquisentennial,” Andrew offered.
“The Q is silent,” Lorne added, helpfully.
Dawn passed the scrap of paper back to Lorne. “What is it?” she asked, coolly.
“Demon clan. Ancient. Deadly. Evil Incarnate. But here’s the twisteroo,” Lorne said. “They’re supposed to have
been exiled from this plane for all eternity.”
“And yet they’re… back?” Dawn asked.
“Reportedly,” Lorne said. “There was an attack near Galway last week. There was a stronghold of Fell Brethren
there, formerly allied with the Circle of the Black Thorn until we tangled with that prickly rosebush. If the Sool-
squee-whatchagigs are behind the attack, you can bet they’re heading here.”
Dawn was about to ask why, when Andrew cut in.
“They want Triumvirate,” he said.
Lorne touched a finger to his nose and pointed with the other hand. “’Zactly,” Lorne said.
“Because Triumvirate is a circle of power,” Andrew said. “Or at least, the um, Big Bads perceive it as such.”
“Without Nighna here,” Lorne said quietly.
“Triumvirate’s a pretty pickle ripe for the picking,” Andrew finished.
“Meanwhile,” Lorne continued, “Things continue to get loopy as Spaghettios out there. The fact that these guys
have sprung from exile suggests that some of the dimensional safeguards are collapsing.”
Dawn said, “Couldn’t someone conjure them? The um, Saskatchewan…”
Andrew dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “One or two, maybe. But a whole clan? No sorcerer could manage that
without ripping apart the very fabric of space and time…” And then Andrew trailed off, realizing the implication of
what he’d just stated.
“Ooh-kay,” Dawn said. “That’s a start. Who would have that kind of power?”
Andrew chewed on the corner of his thumbnail. “I’ll get the Watcher’s Council mobilized on the research. In the
meantime, I’ll inform MK not to continue her patrols until we can call in reinforcements.”
Dawn steepled her fingers on her forehead. “The School!” she shouted. “Who’s gonna run it if Spike’s…?”
“It’s cool,” Andrew said. “We’ll put a call into Paris. Since Rita’s been there a while, Naomi will be fine with her
returning. They can probably spare a few support Slayers since we lost our girls in the confrontation with Thellian.
Plus, we can contact Sylvina in Barcelona and Patrice in Rome to see if they can send a few Slayers our way. They
kinda owe me some favors…”
For the second time in a span of less than an hour, Dawn was reduced to speechless by Andrew’s take-charge-
iveness.
Not to be outdone, Dawn said, “A-and, I’ll get to work on finding that antidote for Spike, since I’m actually pretty
good at potion making.”
“Yes, and I’m not,” Andrew said awkwardly.
Dawn laughed nervously at the memory. “You’re really not,” she said. “In Rome, he blew up his flat…”
“I blew up my flat,” Andrew concurred, his mouth drawing into a sheepish grin.
Lorne gave them an uncomfortable expression. “Right. Um, are you sure you’ll be okay here? You’re both so… new.”
“Sure!” Dawn sang, and it sounded false even to her ears.
“We’ll be fine,” Andrew said, though the rattle in his voice was only marginally more convincing than Dawn’s
overconfident proclamation. “We’re Watchers.”
After Lorne had very reluctantly left them, Dawn and Andrew returned to her bedroom to check on Spike. They
stood, shoulder to shoulder, staring down at him.
It was difficult for her, seeing Spike that way. Normally, he was overly animated, his emotions flitting across his
face like a flickering nickelodeon. Spike had always been in motion, his movements dictated by his myriad moods,
and now he lay in stiff repose like the vampire he once was.
Andrew squeezed Spike’s hand.
“He’s cold,” he stated.
Dawn nodded once. “I know.”
“He’ll be fine,” Andrew said with mock assurance.
She nodded again, and a tear spilled from her eye. “I shouldn’t have yelled at him,” she choked out, her voice
hitching uncontrollably.
Andrew released Spike’s hand and took hers instead. “It’s okay,” he whispered, over and over. Dawn buried her
face against his neck and wept.
Andrew pulled an arm around her shoulder and let her. Never once did he tell she should stop. After everything –
Brodie, the vision of the hanged woman, her outlandish attempt to bully Andrew, Spike’s collapse and Lorne’s
upsetting news – it was exactly what Dawn needed.
Black Friday
Xander wandered aimlessly until the land met the seawall and he had to sit down. The sun rose like a blister of blood
over Galveston Bay. He covered his face with his hands and listened to the relentless pounding of the surf on the
jetties and the insistent call of seagulls.
He’d gone beyond his ability to feel anything. Which was good. Feeling, at this point, would be bad. So he remained,
hiding behind his hands, wishing the sun would drain away.
While he sat there, feeling alternately numb and chilled, then sick and sweating, he drowned out what he could of
the world. He could do that – blot it all out. Conceivably forever. He could huddle up like a crab in a shell. He’d done
it after leaving Anya at the altar, in a little hotel room not far from Sunnydale, but that was an address on Memory
Lane he didn’t much like to visit.
Xander stayed on the seawall, legs dangling over the concrete embankment, while the sun bounced dull copper rays
across the listless surf. To his added discomfort, his clothing dried but stuck to his limbs like stiff plaster.
He thought, Just like me to complain about my clothes at a time like this. It’s like me to dwell on what is
inconsequential and lose sight of what really matters.
And what did matter, exactly? Saving the world. Big check in that box. Friends safe and secure. Also, check. Then
there was Maya, who mattered more than he could express, and he never got the chance to tell her. Now he never
would. It had passed him by. That was what it meant be human, and goddammit, did Xander hate being human
sometimes.
Maya was good, too. Really good. Like almost saintly, and so not deserving of a watery grave. She was way sweeter
than Cordelia (who was dead), and much less evil than Anya, (who was – hello! – also dead).
It was him. It had to be. He was cursed. Any way he looked at it, he brought ruination upon the women in his life.
Xander glanced out over the hazy water, realizing with further misery that his tears would not come. Not that
crying ever helped, but something had to give.
At this point, Xander was prepared to wager with the Almighty. Except, he had already given many years of service
and one of his eyes to the cause of Good. Barring further loss of limb, he wasn’t sure he had much to bargain with.
Didn’t actually matter. Xander was not the type for introspection. But he did want to say that he was sorry. He
was sorry for not noticing until it was too late that he had a good, rare, special thing right there in front of him and
he let it pass him by. Again.
Xander sat wallowing in boundless despair. He was so wallowed, he didn’t hear the scuff of a tire as it ran up on the
parking divider. Didn’t hear the grumble of engine as it cut off. His mind didn’t register the slam of the car door.
“Xander?”
Her voice, all birdsong and plaintive, parted the wretchedness like a burst of sunlight. He stood up, turning,
disbelieving, to behold her on the curb beside her Daddy’s black pickup.
“Oh my God,” he said. “Maya?”
She took a trepid step in his direction. “I have been looking all over for you,” she said.
“B-but you. You’re…” Xander stammered. “In the coffee shop, they said.”
“I drove and drove, but you were nowhere, and I was starting to get afraid that something bad had happened,”
Maya said. She came to stand a foot in front of him, petite shoulders squared with his.
Xander blinked. “In the coffee shop, they said you were dead. They said there was an accident, and your truck
went into the water.”
Maya shrugged lightly. “We had a fight, Xander. I wouldn’t go La Llorona and drive my Daddy’s truck into the
drink.”
“Huh?”
“I tried to call you, even…”
Xander extracted his cell phone from his sodden pocket. The LED was fogged over on the inside.
He released a nervous giggle. “Must have been damaged by copious amounts of rainwater,” he said.
Maya took the phone from his hand. “I am so sorry!”
“Maya, don’t be. Okay. I was Pushy Xander, when I should have been Understanding Xander. I just… I’m the one
who should be sorry. And glad. So very, extremely glad that you are not dead.”
Xander’s whole body trembled. The tears were on their way down, and regrettably bringing along many friends.
Maya slammed into him, nearly toppling them both from the seawall. She wrapped her arms around his waist, fisting
her little hands into the back of his damp T-shirt.
“I shouldn’t have thrown you out of the truck, though. That was a childish, my-way-or-the-highway thing to do. And
then, you chose the highway.” Maya looked up at him and giggled.
She looked radiant against the colorless backdrop of the off-season drab that was Galveston in November. Xander
ran his shaking hands over her cap of blonde curls, catching and twirling them in his thumbs. She was solid,
substantial, not-deceased Maya.
Xander cleared his throat. “Uh. Maya. I just want to say I don’t care about Lance, or what happened to you long
ago at a party far, far away. It doesn’t matter, and I shouldn’t have made a big deal of it. Especially considering, I
mean, I know we did just meet.”
Maya nodded along to every word, her green eyes brimming with relief.
“What I’m saying,” Xander said, nearly giving in to the temptation to kiss her, but soldiering on, for the sake of
making his point. “Is that, I want to take the time to get to know you. However long that takes. Because, I’m a
little slow, it seems, at learning the landmark lessons in life.”
“Me too,” Maya admitted. “On both counts.”
Maya lay her head on Xander’s chest. He reveled in the warmth of her touch in light of his previous thinking that
he’d lost it forever.
“Hey, here’s an idea,” Xander said. “Let’s not ever do that ever again.”
“Good plan.” Maya looked up. “I have another one. One that involves a cozy little hotel room. Maybe a shower.
Some room service…”
“Oooh. I’m liking that plan. Especially the shower part. I’m particularly… briny.”
Maya’s lips curved in a playful smile. “Yeah, I get that.”
Xander thought that was fair. He put his lips to the top of her head. Unlike him, she smelled like a meadow. One full
of promise and fresh, perfect spring flowers. And if she was willing to give him a second chance, well, then, that was
all good by him.
Dawn and Andrew stared down at the unconscious heap that was Spike.
“Spike? Spike?” Andrew said, panic rising in his voice.
“Here,” Dawn said, kneeling beside him. “Let’s get him up on the bed.”
It took their combined effort to heft the limp body onto Dawn’s twin bed. When they managed, they rolled him over
onto his back.
“Search for wounds,” Dawn ordered. “Start with the head.”
Andrew pushed Spike’s head back into the pillows, turning it under his fingertips, feeling along his scalp and around
the nape of his neck.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have moved him,” Andrew said, his voice timorous. “In emergency situations, aren’t you
supposed to leave the injured as they are?”
Dawn tugged at the arm of Spike’s coat, trying to pry it off. “I dunno. I don’t remember. Should we put him back?”
Andrew turned Spike’s head back and forth. Spike’s eyelids quivered, but remained fixed. “No. We should keep him
here now. I don’t see anything on his head or neck.”
“Get some scissors,” Dawn barked.
“We’re gonna cut off his coat?” Andrew asked, appalled.
“No. His shirt. We have to check his upper torso for evidence of trauma.” Groaning, she wrenched furiously at the
arm of the coat, but couldn’t slip it off his shoulder.
“Here,” Andrew said. He took the other sleeve in his hand. “On three.”
Dawn nodded. “One. Two…”
“Three.”
Dawn and Andrew lifted Spike, peeled down the top of the coat and managed, after a bit of struggling, to get it out
from under his body.
Dawn let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t know he was so heavy,” she said.
Andrew shook his head. “Me neither,” he said. They were on opposite sides of her bed now, both staring quizzically
at the motionless body between them. He was breathing, thankfully – light, shallow inhalations that scarcely caused
his chest to rise and fall.
“Dawn,” Andrew said. “I don’t think we need scissors.”
“What?”
“Look,” he said. He rolled Spike’s upper arm in his hand, turning it to reveal twin punctures that oozed a thick
gray, gelatinous fluid.
“Eee,” they said, taking a simultaneous step back.
Dawn swallowed. “What the hell did that?”
Andrew leaned in for a closer inspection. He reached toward it, his fingers jittering like dragonfly’s wings. The
pierced flesh had puckered, forming two gaping black holes ringed with pale blue bruises that spread outward like
the rings inside a tree.
“Don’t touch it!” Dawn shrieked, batting his hand away.
“Right,” Andrew said, tucking his hand into his armpit. “Why?”
“If it could take him down, who knows what it would do to us,” she said. She glanced at Andrew and watched as his
face blanched with realization.
“We have to do something,” he said. “That wound’s going necrotic.”
Dawn’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”
“Dr. House wouldn’t steer me wrong,” Andrew said. “We have to… we have to think, Dawnie. What was the last
thing he said, before he went all Snow White on us?”
Dawn was nodding, fighting to recall the words. Then she snapped her fingers. “Giles. He said to call to Giles.”
Minutes later, Dawn was on the phone to the Coven in Devon, and Andrew, who knelt on the floor beside Spike, was
gnawing on the fleshy part of his own knuckles.
“Rapa Nui?” Dawn said, her tone discouraged. “Is that even a real place?”
While Dawn listened to the young witch describe Giles’ mission in the South Pacific, she turned from Andrew to
check on Spike again. He remained eerily still, and the wound had darkened. Her heart plummeted all the way into
the pit of her belly.
“Well, do you know when he’ll be back?” she asked.
Dawn closed her eyes as she hung up the phone. “Giles is following up a lead to find Buffy. The Coven doesn’t know
how long he’ll be,” she said in a strangled whisper. “We’re on our own.”
“’Kay,” Andrew said, hopping to his feet. “Well, so. First, we find out what bit Spike. That’s easy enough. We’ll
measure the bite mark, take a sample of the poison and match it with what we have on file in the Ancient Text
Storage. Once we know what horrific naughty we’re dealing with, we can either find an antidote or, we make our
own.”
Andrew squinted his eyes, then nodded resolutely.
Dawn gaped at him. She wanted to say something quippy, but the words crumbled before they could leave her lips. It
was so like him to do the exact opposite of what she expected. She was so accustomed to Panic-Action Andrew that
Man-With-A-Plan Andrew threw her even further off her center.
She was about to tell him so, when he was spared by the doorbell.
Andrew craned his head, irritated by the distraction. “I’m not expecting anyone. You?”
Dawn chewed her lip. “Not really…” It was possible, she guessed, that Brodie might show up demanding an
explanation, though she thoroughly doubted it.
“Fine. I’ll get it,” he said, turning briskly and purposefully toward her bedroom door. “You probably should… get
dressed.”
Dawn noticed that he wasn’t looking directly at her. She prepared to tell him what a terribly odd and annoying
person she thought he was when he paused in the doorway. He put his one good hand on the door jamb to steady
himself.
“You’re still wearing a towel,” he said, haltingly, his face flushing pink to the tips of his ears.
Dawn glanced down. To her unremitting horror, she saw that she was clad only in the towel she’d donned after
showering. And it had slipped down to reveal a scandalous portion of her breasts.
Tucking the mutinous towel under her chin, Dawn muttered, “Well, Spike. Could this night be any worse?”
Asking questions like that was foolish, as Dawn knew but often forgot.
After dressing in jeans and her pajama top, Dawn rushed downstairs to find Andrew in the kitchen with Lorne.
Apparently Lorne had planned for a large gathering, for he’d brought along a basketful of assorted muffins and a
portable carafe of coffee. When she rounded the corner, he’s green face burst into a genuine grin.
“Bella-Dawna!” he bellowed, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “You look…” he held her at arm’s length, and his
expression changed from partly sunny to cloudy with concern. “Sweetie, you look like you’ve been bounced around
by life’s spin cycle. Are you all right?”
Dawn really, really liked Lorne. He was the most attractive and sincere demon she had ever met.
She offered him her best chin-up smile. “I’m fine,” she lied, entering deflection mode to head off his questions.
“What’s with the basket of goodies? Off to Grandmother’s house?”
“Wish I was, Kitten,” he said. “I was just telling Andrew we’ve got demon troubles a-brewin’. I figured the gang
could get together to discuss options over a very early breakfast, but uh…”
“We are the gang,” Dawn said.
“Yeah,” Lorne said. “Andrew was also filling me in on Spike. What gives?”
“Some kind of bite,” Dawn told him. “A gray, kind of sludgy poison. Also, it’s going necrotic.”
Andrew nodded, sagely stroking his chin.
Lorne tapped a finger to his lips. “Doesn’t sound good, Chickpea. Not good at all. Got any leads?”
“None,” Dawn said. “He’s a golem, Lorne: created with extra-powerful Nephillim blood. What kind of poison would be
strong enough to affect him?”
“It does narrow the field,” Lorne said. “Which brings up the incredibly painful subject of my being here. I’m afraid
I’m the bearer of dubious news.”
He paused, as if searching out the kindest, gentlest way to deliver the information. Dawn and Andrew drew
instinctively closer.
Lorne said, “One of my Triumvirate contacts reported the arrival of the Sulsket… the Sukskeltet…” he shook his
head. “I wrote it down,” he explained. He patted his orange blazer pockets until he found a slip of paper with a
long, daunting word printed across it:
Sulsccqelawtna.
He passed it to Dawn and Andrew, who held it between them and attempted to puzzle out the pronunciation.
“Sool-squee-lawt-na?” Dawn said. “Sue-squall…”
“Sesquisentennial,” Andrew offered.
“The Q is silent,” Lorne added, helpfully.
Dawn passed the scrap of paper back to Lorne. “What is it?” she asked, coolly.
“Demon clan. Ancient. Deadly. Evil Incarnate. But here’s the twisteroo,” Lorne said. “They’re supposed to have
been exiled from this plane for all eternity.”
“And yet they’re… back?” Dawn asked.
“Reportedly,” Lorne said. “There was an attack near Galway last week. There was a stronghold of Fell Brethren
there, formerly allied with the Circle of the Black Thorn until we tangled with that prickly rosebush. If the Sool-
squee-whatchagigs are behind the attack, you can bet they’re heading here.”
Dawn was about to ask why, when Andrew cut in.
“They want Triumvirate,” he said.
Lorne touched a finger to his nose and pointed with the other hand. “’Zactly,” Lorne said.
“Because Triumvirate is a circle of power,” Andrew said. “Or at least, the um, Big Bads perceive it as such.”
“Without Nighna here,” Lorne said quietly.
“Triumvirate’s a pretty pickle ripe for the picking,” Andrew finished.
“Meanwhile,” Lorne continued, “Things continue to get loopy as Spaghettios out there. The fact that these guys
have sprung from exile suggests that some of the dimensional safeguards are collapsing.”
Dawn said, “Couldn’t someone conjure them? The um, Saskatchewan…”
Andrew dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “One or two, maybe. But a whole clan? No sorcerer could manage that
without ripping apart the very fabric of space and time…” And then Andrew trailed off, realizing the implication of
what he’d just stated.
“Ooh-kay,” Dawn said. “That’s a start. Who would have that kind of power?”
Andrew chewed on the corner of his thumbnail. “I’ll get the Watcher’s Council mobilized on the research. In the
meantime, I’ll inform MK not to continue her patrols until we can call in reinforcements.”
Dawn steepled her fingers on her forehead. “The School!” she shouted. “Who’s gonna run it if Spike’s…?”
“It’s cool,” Andrew said. “We’ll put a call into Paris. Since Rita’s been there a while, Naomi will be fine with her
returning. They can probably spare a few support Slayers since we lost our girls in the confrontation with Thellian.
Plus, we can contact Sylvina in Barcelona and Patrice in Rome to see if they can send a few Slayers our way. They
kinda owe me some favors…”
For the second time in a span of less than an hour, Dawn was reduced to speechless by Andrew’s take-charge-
iveness.
Not to be outdone, Dawn said, “A-and, I’ll get to work on finding that antidote for Spike, since I’m actually pretty
good at potion making.”
“Yes, and I’m not,” Andrew said awkwardly.
Dawn laughed nervously at the memory. “You’re really not,” she said. “In Rome, he blew up his flat…”
“I blew up my flat,” Andrew concurred, his mouth drawing into a sheepish grin.
Lorne gave them an uncomfortable expression. “Right. Um, are you sure you’ll be okay here? You’re both so… new.”
“Sure!” Dawn sang, and it sounded false even to her ears.
“We’ll be fine,” Andrew said, though the rattle in his voice was only marginally more convincing than Dawn’s
overconfident proclamation. “We’re Watchers.”
After Lorne had very reluctantly left them, Dawn and Andrew returned to her bedroom to check on Spike. They
stood, shoulder to shoulder, staring down at him.
It was difficult for her, seeing Spike that way. Normally, he was overly animated, his emotions flitting across his
face like a flickering nickelodeon. Spike had always been in motion, his movements dictated by his myriad moods,
and now he lay in stiff repose like the vampire he once was.
Andrew squeezed Spike’s hand.
“He’s cold,” he stated.
Dawn nodded once. “I know.”
“He’ll be fine,” Andrew said with mock assurance.
She nodded again, and a tear spilled from her eye. “I shouldn’t have yelled at him,” she choked out, her voice
hitching uncontrollably.
Andrew released Spike’s hand and took hers instead. “It’s okay,” he whispered, over and over. Dawn buried her
face against his neck and wept.
Andrew pulled an arm around her shoulder and let her. Never once did he tell she should stop. After everything –
Brodie, the vision of the hanged woman, her outlandish attempt to bully Andrew, Spike’s collapse and Lorne’s
upsetting news – it was exactly what Dawn needed.
I'm just a normal boy
That sank when I fell overboard
My ship would leave the country
But I'd rather swim ashore
Without a life that's sadly stuck again
Wish I was much more masculine
Maybe then I could learn to swim
Like 'fourteen miles away'
You're floating up and down
I spin, colliding into sound
Like whales beneath me diving down
I'm sinking to the bottom of my
Everything that freaks me out
The lighthouse beam has just run out
I'm cold as cold as cold can be
be
I want to swim away but don't know how
Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in
the ocean
Let the waves up take me down
Let the hurricane set in motion
Let the rain of what I feel right now...
come down
Let the rain come down
Where is the coastguard?
I keep looking each direction
For a spotlight, give me something
I need something for protection
Maybe flotsam junk will do just fine
The jets, I'm sunk, I'm left behind
I'm treading for my life believe me
(How can I keep up this breathing?)
Not knowing how to think
I scream aloud, begin to sink
My legs and arms are broken down
With envy for the solid ground
I'm reaching for the life within me
How can one man stop his ending
I thought of just your face
Relaxed, and floated into space
I want to swim away but don't know how
Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in
the ocean
Let the waves up take me down
Let the hurricane set in motion
Let the rain of what I feel right now...
come down
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down
Now waking to the sun
I calculate what I had done
Like jumping from the bow (yeah)
Just to prove I knew how (yeah)
It's midnight's late reminder of
The loss of her, the one I love
My will to quickly end it all
So thought no end my need to fall
Into the ocean, end it all
Into the ocean, end it all
Into the ocean, end it all
into the ocean...end it all
Into the ocean (goodbye) end it all (goodbye)
Into the ocean (goodbye) end it all (goodbye)
Into the ocean (goodbye) end it all (goodbye)
I want to swim away but don't know how
Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in
the ocean
Let the waves up take me down
Let the hurricane set in motion (yeah)
Let the rain of what I feel right now...
come down
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down
Into The Ocean
Blue October
That sank when I fell overboard
My ship would leave the country
But I'd rather swim ashore
Without a life that's sadly stuck again
Wish I was much more masculine
Maybe then I could learn to swim
Like 'fourteen miles away'
You're floating up and down
I spin, colliding into sound
Like whales beneath me diving down
I'm sinking to the bottom of my
Everything that freaks me out
The lighthouse beam has just run out
I'm cold as cold as cold can be
be
I want to swim away but don't know how
Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in
the ocean
Let the waves up take me down
Let the hurricane set in motion
Let the rain of what I feel right now...
come down
Let the rain come down
Where is the coastguard?
I keep looking each direction
For a spotlight, give me something
I need something for protection
Maybe flotsam junk will do just fine
The jets, I'm sunk, I'm left behind
I'm treading for my life believe me
(How can I keep up this breathing?)
Not knowing how to think
I scream aloud, begin to sink
My legs and arms are broken down
With envy for the solid ground
I'm reaching for the life within me
How can one man stop his ending
I thought of just your face
Relaxed, and floated into space
I want to swim away but don't know how
Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in
the ocean
Let the waves up take me down
Let the hurricane set in motion
Let the rain of what I feel right now...
come down
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down
Now waking to the sun
I calculate what I had done
Like jumping from the bow (yeah)
Just to prove I knew how (yeah)
It's midnight's late reminder of
The loss of her, the one I love
My will to quickly end it all
So thought no end my need to fall
Into the ocean, end it all
Into the ocean, end it all
Into the ocean, end it all
into the ocean...end it all
Into the ocean (goodbye) end it all (goodbye)
Into the ocean (goodbye) end it all (goodbye)
Into the ocean (goodbye) end it all (goodbye)
I want to swim away but don't know how
Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in
the ocean
Let the waves up take me down
Let the hurricane set in motion (yeah)
Let the rain of what I feel right now...
come down
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down
Into The Ocean
Blue October
 |
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 |
.Chapter Index.
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
 |