chapter 2: the way

“I do have more Scotch.” Rupert Giles announced reassuringly to the empty glass he held in his hand.

Massaging his temple with his other hand, he sunk down deeper in his chair and tried to focus on the closed fifth volume of the Zy Qasdor resting on the desk in front of him. An immense book, it covered a quarter of the surface. When he'd lifted it from its hiding place at the bottom of his weapons chest, he'd hurt his lower back even though he'd bent his knees responsibly. However, it hadn't mattered. Giles grimaced as the pain traveled up his spine. Then he removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It hadn't been a good day, or week or month. Indeed, the past five months had most assuredly been lacking in any redeeming qualities.

He leaned forward and opened the book as he'd done every ten minutes or so for the past hour or more. Then he closed the book abruptly, pushed his chair away from the desk, rose onto his feet and stalked (well, it was more of a stagger as the evening wore on) into the kitchen.

The bottle of Scotch he'd hidden in a cabinet under the sink would last longer if it was more of a chore for him to refill his glass, he believed. No good would come from him leaving it on the desktop. Of course, his plan was foolhardy. He was thoroughly intoxicated less than an hour after Willow had stormed out of his flat. Their argument had been his doing. He'd lost his temper with the child. She was too bloody arrogant for her own good. Sod it all to hell; he simply wasn't going to allow the witch to intimidate him. He was a Watcher. His task was epic. He taught Slayers how to destroy demons and survive their calling. Except...

“You bloody pompous fool, you failed Buffy–twice,” he burst out, wrenching the top from the bottle of Scotch and sloshing half of its contents into his tumbler. “Utterly reprehensible.” He threw back his head and dumped the brown liquid down his throat.

He wasn't angry at Willow, he admitted as he made his way back to the desk. He was jealous of the woman. He hadn't considered the possibility that Buffy could be returned to them. Even with his formidable knowledge of magics, it hadn't crossed his grieving mind that she could be brought back. But Willow had considered it. Indeed, she had done more than consider the possibility, she'd done it.

“Witches,” he muttered.

But Willow was only a small part of his anguish. He looked at the book on his desk. He'd dug out the Zy Qasdor from its hiding place at the bottom of his weapons chest, desperate to find an answer to Dawn's mystical headaches. He had decided to search the book he hadn't opened in years. Even in London with the best in his class of Watchers around him, he'd never been able to decipher any part of it. But today, that had changed. In the third chapter of the ancient volume, he'd found an illustration. He could read the words and slowly he began to see the image and finally he understood its purpose.

That's when Giles began to consume the first bottle of his best Scotch.

Caressing the ancient manuscript with his fingertips, he inhaled the still lingering smell of the beasts from which its cover had been sewn. In the world of the Watcher and their all too important diaries, he'd made a magnificent breakthrough. Buried amongst the legends of ancient gods and hell dimensions where idiots like Glorificus had ruled, he'd found it. He could save Dawn. He could save them all. But could he live with the sacrifice?

“Enough procrastination, Rupert,” he said aloud as he walked back into the kitchen and pulled the kettle from the cabinet below the sink. Placing the kettle under the tap, he watched mesmerized as the water streamed into the pot.

Then he exhaled and let out a deep sigh. Turning the knob on the stove to high, he settled the kettle on top of the flame.

He had to be sober when he talked to Buffy.


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Spike awoke abruptly and nearly bolted out of his bed. He'd heard a noise and eyed the shadows carefully, searching for a possible intruder. There was only daylight sneaking through the tightly drawn curtains and the stench of the garbage from the filthy streets outside his doorway filling the air. He sat up on the edge of his bed. The heat of the day spilled through the cracks in the walls and the breaks in the plaster. It spread throughout the already muggy room. Grumbling about the illogic of vampires visiting tropical climates, he dropped his head into his hands. He should get up and drink some blood.

He lay back in the bed, placed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. “Been gone much longer than planned,” he mumbled.

The long-weekend away from Sunnydale had turned into nearly a month. He'd left a few days after they'd brought Buffy back. Couldn't explain why he did it. He just had to get away. Couldn't bear the look in her eyes. For five months, he'd thought about nothing but her. Everything he'd done had been his attempt to do right by her memory. Then he learned it hadn't made a difference to any of them. They still shut him out. They'd brought her back and hadn't told him a damned thing.

“Ungrateful bastards,” he cursed, solemnly.

Spike jumped up from the bed, and rumbled over to the small icebox in the corner. Opening the door, he pulled out two plastic bags of blood. Might as well eat, he thought since he'd be stuck inside for hours. At least full, he'd be able to rest more peacefully. He shifted into his demon face and slit open the bag with his fangs. Draining the first bag in seconds, he was just about to open the second when he heard a knock at the door. He placed the bag on top of the cooler, and moved to the door carefully. He smelled the motel manager on the other side, and opened the door slightly, keeping to the shadows as the daylight flooded the room.

"Hola, Senor Spike.”

“Hola”

"Usted gozó del cantina ayer por la noche?”

“No, didn't make it to the café last night,” answered Spike.

“Usted comprobará fuera de esta noche o permanecerá con nosotrosotra tarde?”

Spike turned from the man at the door to reach for a stack of pesos on the dresser top.

“Checking out tonight, mate.” Spike noticed the watery, bloodshot eyes staring at him blankly. Maybe this chap didn't understand English very well, he thought.

"No, Ahora me estoy yendo,” said Spike in the manager's language as he placed a fistful of pesos into the man's dirty hands before closing the door in his face.

Turning away from the door, he moved through the room with vampire speed gathering his belongings and stuffing them into the duffle bag he'd liberated from Dawn. If he traveled smartly through the night and was very careful in the daylight, he'd be back in Sunnydale in a week.


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“Hello.” Giles heard the exhaustion in Buffy's voice in the one word.

“I am very sorry to be ringing you up so late at night, Buffy, but I believe I have uncovered some new information that may help with our concerns about Dawn.”

Giles wasn't surprised she was awake. Dawn's latest bout with the headaches most likely had ended only an hour or so earlier.

“Okay, Magic Box at ten?” said Buffy.

“No, we will gather at your house at nine. I will contact Xander, Anya, Tara and Willow, and we will see you and Dawn in the morning.” Days before Giles had collaborated with Willow and Tara to conjure the strongest protection spell they could find to surround the Summers' house. It was by far the safest place possible for them to meet.

“Okay, see you then,” said Buffy.

Giles hung up the phone. There was no point in saying more now. She was going to do what he wanted her to do this time. She wouldn't like it. She'd argue. Then she'd do it. She had no choice.

The witches were ready and had sworn to follow Giles' instructions exactly. They'd collected all of the ingredients required to prepare the spell. True, Willow had botched a few enchantments in the past. But she was functioning on an extraordinary high since her success in bringing Buffy back. This spell should be a breeze for her.

Bloody hell, Giles thought, they had to do this one right. His eyes sought the sky through the dark ceiling overhead. Summoning the gods he was wary of believing in, Giles prayed that this time Willow would not make any mistakes.


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Xander was nervous as he sat on the stool in the Summers' kitchen waiting for Giles to launch the Scooby meeting. He felt all fidgety and not at all like his usual self. He couldn't relax, even with Anya rubbing his shoulders and kneading his tight neck muscles firmly. Nothing was going to dispel the queasiness in his stomach or stop the jackhammer racing up and down the back of his head. Buffy looked awful. Dawn worse. Giles? Had he aged 10 years in the past six weeks or what? Damn it–simply never a good sign for Scoobies to look like shit at dawn and not a hell god, demon horde or Big Bad in sight. Still, Buffy was back. That was good. Spike was gone, that was very good as far as Xander was concerned. He'd run off almost as soon as Buffy had returned. Smartest thing he'd ever done, thought Xander, nodding to himself agreeably. With Buffy back, they no longer needed Spike hanging around. Best bet for Spike was to stay out of sight and avoid a pointy object through the heart courtesy of the Slayer once she got back to her old self.

“I found a drawing hidden in the etchings of one of the books of the Zy Qasdor,” began Giles. “A small image buried in the icon of Glorificus with the likeness of a portal jumper.”

“A who? A what?” Xander burst in before Buffy could utter a word (which he expected her to do any second). But he couldn't stop himself from talking. “A picture of Glory and a portal jumper. Yeah–and so? Isn't it like any other demon we see every other day in the Hellmouth?”

“Xander, please!” snapped Giles. “This is something we have never faced before and I will not allow it to destroy Buffy–or any of us.” Giles voice seemed to echo through the house. “Buffy, you and Dawn must leave Sunnydale immediately.”

“Why do Dawn and Buffy need to leave town?” squealed Xander.

“Giles, Xander's right.” said Buffy, sounding a lot calmer than Xander thought possible considering what Giles had just suggested. “What makes this demon or whatever it is any more frightening than anything else we've ever fought?”

“I-It can control its prey through their thoughts, and uses those thoughts to find its next victim,” said Giles, focusing on Buffy.

“Okay, sounds like mind-control. We've dealt with that before,” said Buffy.

“Yeah, there was that hyena gang,” Xander began. “And robot Ted's chocolate chip cookies, and…”

Giles glared at Xander for an instant then he pulled off his glasses for a quick wipe before returning them to the bridge of his nose. “We haven't seen anything that compares to this creature's skills.”

“Come on, Giles, you've got to give me more to make me believe that leaving town is our only choice,” interrupted Buffy. “If this thing wants Dawn...too bad. It can't be any stronger than Glory. She was a god. We'll fight this. Besides, I won't run again.”

“The portal jumper wants more than Dawn.” Giles glanced at Dawn before returning his attention to Buffy. “If you and Dawn do not leave Sunnydale immediately, it will be able to destroy everyone in this room. We will all be dead within a week.”

“What?” Buffy frowned.

“Giles is right.” Anya's voice surprised Xander; he'd been concentrating so hard on the exchange between Giles and Buffy, he'd forgotten she was there.

“I never met the creature face to face. Not in a thousand years. ‘Sides, if I had I wouldn't be here to talk about it. It doesn't leave anyone around to tell stories.” Anya sounded calm as she spoke. “I only know it exists. I can guarantee that. I've seen towns where it's hunted. And it can kill anywhere, and can't be stopped…because it's a jumper.”

“A what?” Buffy asked intently.

“Jumper,” said Anya.

“The demon with Glorificus is a portal jumper,” Giles and Willow spoke simultaneously.

“It may believe that Dawn is a jumper, too,” continued Giles.

Xander squirmed. “What's this jumper business mean?”

“They can move through space, time, and dimensions, without pause or hesitation. They are seamless travelers who seduce their prey, and tear away the soul,” recited Anya, her voice sing-songing the words as if she'd memorized them in school. “That's how the portal jumper and his journey have been described, like forever.”

“Doesn't sound too good.” Xander said, worry creasing his brow.

“Buffy, there is a way we can protect you and Dawn, and all of us. But only if you two leave Sunnydale.” Willow spoke so quietly Xander wondered if anyone else had heard her.

“We have a plan. Well, it's really a spell,” said Willow, her voice stronger.

“And again, with one of your spells, Willow?” said Buffy.

“It's not my spell. It's Giles' and well, Tara's spell,” she countered.

“Buffy, the creature finds its prey through thoughts, yours and ours,” said Tara, who had remained standing near the kitchen door since entering the house. “The spell will change one thought.”

“It's a simple spell,” added Willow.

“Remember the will be done spell? This is sounding a lot like one of those and that didn't work out well at all,” said Xander.

“This is not changing memories; this spell only adjusts one single thought. But that change will be enough to create a barrier between you, us, and the portal jumper," Willow stressed.

“Giles, you really believe it would kill all of us if Dawn and I don't leave town?” asked Buffy.

“It will have the desire and the power to kill us all, if you and Dawn are still here.” Giles touched Buffy's hand, which rested on the counter top.

Buffy stood stiffly and folded her arms across her chest. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as we cast the spell,” Willow answered.

“Tell me, what thought are you taking?” Dawn asked quietly from where she sat at the end of the kitchen counter – unnoticed until she spoke, realized Xander. Odd, since she was the cause of it all.


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Dawn just listened as the Scoobies talked about the portal jumper. She didn't have much to add, anyway. Sure, she could have told them about the blackness upstairs in the corner near her Mom's closet. They didn't know about that. But she needed to keep that to herself. She'd seen through it and knew what was on the other side. No way could she tell them about it either. Tolerance and patience were not traits of Scoobies. In her sixteen years or, in this reality, less than twenty-four months of watching them, she'd learned that her sister and their extended family judged fast and hard with swords, axes and stakes in hand. Strike first and question never was the Scooby philosophy when it came to demons.

Still it might help them to know what she'd seen. But Anya had said the portal jumper didn't leave anyone alive who'd seen it to tell stories. If any part of the blackness in her mother's room was the portal jumper then there was no way she could admit to what she'd seen. It was her secret to keep if she planned on remaining alive long enough to help.

Dawn looked from one set of steady eyes to the next, her gaze unwavering as she waited for an answer. Ignoring the small pain at the back of her neck that had begun to throb against her spine, she held her tongue as long as she could.

But she had to know.

Dawn asked her question again. “What thought are you taking from us?”

to be continued…