And What Alice Found There: Chapter 6
Faith uncurled slowly from the ball she’d rolled herself into when the popping finally stopped. The creatures had finally overwhelmed her and pulled her down just before the fireworks started. “Timing it a little close, Red.”
“Sorry.” Willow said apologetically.
“Better late than never.” Giles wiped at the blood on his face. He’d lost his glasses, and as much as he hated to admit it, he needed them more than he used to.
The others slumped to the floor, wincing at various bites and the ringing in their ears from the explosions. Faith checked on Robin and several of the younger Slayers, and after assuring herself they was unconscious and not dead, she moved to the edge of Ethan’s barrier. Cautiously, she moved along it, keeping an eye on the still dazed madman inside.
Spike staggered over to Dawn and sat down beside her. “You okay, nibblet?” When she didn’t answer, he put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him. “Don’t worry, we’ve about got him licked.”
“I hate to disagree, but we’re not out of the woods yet.” Giles gestured at the Hellmouth. It was glowing so brightly he could no longer look at it. He leaned over to check on Xander, staggering slightly as the movement made his head swim. Carefully, he lowered himself to sit beside the boy. "Right. I'll just rest for a moment." He murmured as his vision greyed out and he slipped into unconsciousness.
Willow growled in her frustration. Despite the cold and the attacks on Ethan’s concentration, Buffy’s blood still flowed and she was still trapped inside his wards.
Dropping her own protection, Willowstalked over to where Buffy’s blood oozed along the pattern Ethan had drawn. Instinct told her not to touch it, even though it was outside his wards.
She was missing something, something important. A cool hand on her arm made Willow jump.
Angel stood beside her, in game face, clothes dirty and tattered. “Angel – you scared – stop sneaking up on people!”
He shrugged. Looking around the room, his gaze took in Buffy’s bleeding body, and his lips pulled back in a silent snarl.
When he took a step toward Ethan, Willow stopped him. “You can’t get through – we can’t help her that way.”
Angel jerked away, stalking around the circle as close as he could, tuning his hearing in on Buffy’s heartbeat. It was slow, dangerously slow.
He could see that Ethan was weak and nearly spent, but still safe within his wards. Angel turned back to Willow, gesturing at her to do something.
“I’ve been trying – what’s – “ For the first time, she noticed the gaping, bloody hole in his throat. “Oh my God…”
There was no time for explanations and Angel grabbed Willow’s arm impatiently, pulling her toward the barrier keeping him from Buffy.
“I’m trying, Angel – these things aren’t meant to let things in, you know?” She was completely frustrated even as she said it.
Willow was right, and Angel knew it, but he didn’t care. Buffy was dying inside Ethan’s wards and he wasn’t going to just stand by and watch.
Letting go of her arm, Angel took another look at what Ethan had done. The circle of protection was defined by the markings along the floor and what was left of the candles. It surrounded him and the table Buffy was chained to. Blood dripped from the drain hole in the table to the Hellmouth, which glowed bright enough that he couldn’t look at it for more than a moment.
What’s wrong with this picture? Closing his eyes, Angel went over what he’d seen. Angelus was helping in his way, admiring the set up even as he visualized tearing Ethan apart. Unfortunately, the demon was also being distracted by the scent of blood, envisioning dipping his fingers in Buffy’s blood where it flowed from beneath the wards on its way to the Hellmouth.
Under? Angel’s eyes snapped open. How was that possible? He grabbed Willow’s arm again and pulled her toward the edge of the circle of protection closest to the Hellmouth.
“What? I don’t – ow!” She yelped as Angel’s free hand clamped onto her jaw and turned her face toward the ominous glow of the Hellmouth. “I know, it’s going to – ow!” As she tried to look at the Hellmouth, Angel forced her face back toward Ethan.
Angel let go of her arm and gestured at the area between Ethan’s wards and the Hellmouth. He tried to push the needed words out, but the wound in his throat had left him unable to talk.
It took her a moment to realize what Angel was pointing at. If he hadn’t had a death grip on her jaw, it would have hit the floor. Buffy’s blood was passing through the wards. “How did I not see that?”
Satisfied that Willow understood, Angel released her and turned his attention back to Buffy. Unconscious, her heartbeat slow and weak, her blood moving sluggishly and her skin pale, she reminded him of how his victims had looked as he’d fed on them.
“Everybody is okay – a little bloody – but okay.” Faith moved to stand next to Angel. “You?”
He nodded. His wounds weren’t important, he’d heal.
“Yeah…” She grimaced at the wound in his throat. That had to hurt like a bitch. Looking him over, Faith’s eyes widened as she spotted the wound on his chest. “Angel, oh jeez!”
Glancing down at the wooden shaft protruding from his chest, Angel shook his head. There was no time to worry about it now.
“It’s like he’s set his wards up so that Buffy can pass through but nobody else!” Willow said excitedly. “It’s like I do for Xander – God, how could I not notice?”
Angel ignored her. That part he knew, but how to use it? Buffy was on the inside, it wasn’t like he could use her blood to pull her out.
Her blood… He turned to look at Dawn. She didn’t have a mark on her, aside from scrapes and bruises she’d probably gotten falling out of the net.
The others all had cuts and slashes from the creatures that Ethan had called up, sitting around in various stages of trauma, but not Dawn.
Limping to where she sat huddled against Spike, Angel crouched down beside her. She looked pale and in shock. He reached out to her, cupping her face gently in his hands.
“She’s okay.” Spike told him softly. “She’s not a big fan of bugs.”
Angel nodded. He remembered Dawn being hysterical over the bug man of the Taraka when they’d tried to kill Buffy. Except he didn’t remember. The memory was a false one, just like all the others he had of her until he’d met her at Buffy’s funeral. The monks had created the memories the same way they’d created her. Created her from Buffy.
Standing, Angel pulled Dawn to her feet. He had no way to tell her what he was thinking. Hopefully, she’d forgive him – if it worked. If it didn’t – then it wouldn’t matter anyway.
Willow looked up as Angel led Dawn to the edge of Ethan’s wards. When he held his hand out, she gave him the scythe. Whatever he had in mind, it was just as likely to work as anything she’d tried.
“B – Buffy? “ Dawn blinked. Was that her sister? “What – what happened? Why is she – Buffy!” Panic bubbled up inside of her at the amount of blood on Buffy’s body. “Get her out of there!”
“We’re trying.” Willow put a hand on her shoulder. “We need your help.”
Turning to Angel, Dawn found the dark chocolate eyes offering her strength and hope. The panic fell away. “I can help her?”
He nodded. The scythe didn’t like Angel, and he could feel it protesting in his grip even as he handed it to Dawn.
“What do you want me to do?” Dawn looked from Angel to the scythe and back.
He pointed at where Ethan slumped against the small table that stood next to the one Buffy was chained to. Blood oozed from a cut on his forehead. A piece of one of the thick candles had probably hit him when they’d exploded.
“You want me to go in there?” She didn’t know if she could kill him. He was human.
Angel pantomimed pushing Ethan out of the circle. As wobbly as Ethan looked, Dawn shouldn’t have too much trouble with him.
“Okay.” She nodded. “I only have to whack him with this as a last resort, right?”
“Right.” Willow said confidently. “A good solid whacking.”
Taking a deep breath, Dawn held the scythe in a defensive position that she’d seen Buffy use and walked toward Ethan.
She made it as far as the markings chalked on the floor. As Dawn tried to step across the line, she collided with the invisible barrier. There was a screech of angry magic as the scythe touched the wards and Dawn stumbled back, landing on her backside.
“Well, that didn’t work.” Willow ran her hands through her hair. “Now what?”
There was something else they could try. Angel had to revise it a bit, as the idea had come from Angelus and needed a bit of modification. Unlike the demon, he wanted Dawn to live through it.
“It didn’t work.” Dawn got to her feet, scrubbing at the tears that had filled her eyes. “She’s going to die.”
Not if he could help it. Angel brushed the tears off her cheeks and dipped his head down to make eye contact with her. He wished he could explain to her what he was going to do. Since he couldn’t, Angel settled for mouthing the words. “Trust me?”
Dawn nodded. Angel loved Buffy and whatever he had in mind would be to save her.
“Close your eyes.” Angel mouthed. With one hand he grasped her forearm just below where the artery fed the tissues of her arm and hand.
She closed her eyes, trying to be brave. Maybe he was going to try and throw her inside. Hopefully it wouldn’t too much.
Angel could smell her fear, and he did his best to ignore the delicious scent. Taking the scythe from her, Angel prayed Dawn would forgive him.
Once again, the scythe let him know that it didn’t like him. Angel had a soul, but his body was also inhabited by a demon and the scythe wouldn’t stand for a demon’s touch. For now it would have to deal with it. He hissed through his fangs as the handle under his palm began to heat up. He’d just have to deal with it as well.
Lifting his thumb off the pressure point on Dawn’s arm, Angel heard the blood rush through the artery he’d been blocking off. He laid the edge of the scythe along her skin, letting it make a shallow slice the length of her forearm.
As Dawn’s blood began to flow, Angel used his free hand to smear it over the scythe.
It took a moment for the pain of the cut to register; the blade was so sharp that Dawn had felt only coolness as the metal touched her. Now a stinging sensation raced up her arm and she opened her eyes. Seeing what Angel was doing, she clamped them shut again.
If the scythe hadn’t been happy before, it was positively enraged now. Angel juggled the weapon as best as he could as he smeared Dawn’s blood over it. His fingertips were blistering from the fury the scythe was giving off.
“Here, let me help.” Faith had been watching and she thought she had the gist of what Angel was going to do. “You’re going to end up mixing your blood in with hers.”
Angel let her take the scythe, glad to get rid of the damn thing. Magical weapons were a pain in the ass. For once he agreed with Angelus. The thing was not to be trusted. He was still not convinced that Mr. Gordo was a threat, however, no matter what Angelus said.
Faith held the scythe out flat and level so that Angel could smear Dawn’s blood over the entire surface. She had to hold on tightly, the weapon was clearly unhappy at what they were doing, and it was sending her bad vibes that made her teeth ache.
“There’s not enough blood.” Faith told him after he’d covered most of the scythe’s surface.
“Do the other arm.” Dawn said. She still had her eyes closed. “We gotta save Buffy.”
“That’s my brave girl.” Spike grasped her other forearm just as Angel had earlier. He blocked the artery off for a moment so that her heart would speed up and force her blood harder to the starved tissues of her arm and hand. He let go as Faith laid the blade against Dawn’s arm. “Just a little bit and we’re done.”
The touch of the cool blade made her flinch. She wasn’t afraid; Dawn knew that they wouldn’t hurt her, but the cut on her other arm stung like it was on fire and she wasn’t looking forward to a second one.
Willow had been watching quietly, and now she stepped up next to Angel. “Buffy’s blood – this could work.” Left unsaid was what would happen if it didn’t. Ethan was moving, clearly shaking off the effects of his talisman exploding. Even if he didn’t have any more tricks up his sleeve, the Hellmouth was about to pop open.
Opening his eyes, Xander blinked. "I'm still alive." He nudged Giles. "Hey, we're still alive."
The former Watcher sat up slowly. "Is everyone all right?" He looked around, slowly and carefully, spotting the young Slayers beginning to come around and sit up.
His eyes widened and he pushed his glasses up on his nose, pulled them off when what he saw what was going on. "Good Lord..."
Angel hoped his theory was right, because he was out of ideas. If Dawn truly was made from Buffy – from her blood – then her blood should pass through Ethan’s circle of protection. And hopefully the scythe would go with it.
“I’ll bind her blood to it.” Willow told Angel when the scythe was covered in a layer of blood. “Seal it up like a zip-lock bag.”
Faith held the weapon out, hoping Willow would take it and do her mojo somewhere else. She was disappointed, however, as Willow closed her eyes and let her hands hover just above the scythe instead.
“Blood of the Chosen One
Blood of the Key
One and the same
I bind you to thee.”
As spells went, it was less than spectacular. Nothing had happened as far as Angel could tell. Magic could be deceptive, and he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.
Motioning for Faith to follow him, Angel walked back toward the circle of protection. Positioning himself, he pantomimed her tossing the scythe to him.
Faith nodded. “Everybody get back in case this doesn’t work. We may have one hell of a rebound.”
“I suggest everyone stand aside over here as well.” Giles advised. “If it does pass through the wards, it could very well come out on the other side.”
The others scrambled to move, wounds forgotten. When everyone was safely out of the way, Faith tossed the scythe to Angel. He snatched it out of the air and threw it toward Ethan.
Inside the circle of protection, Ethan was getting to his feet, struggling to shake off the dizziness. “I’ve had enough of you people – “
The scythe tumbled end over end, slicing through the wards with no effort. The leather wrapped handle struck Ethan squarely on the forehead, knocking him backwards. As he fell, he fell across the lines he’d chalked so carefully hours before, smudging them.