chapter 14: god shiva – part III

Walk slowly, squint menacingly and never smile in public. Carlo had given Dawn the low-down on New York street etiquette the week before. To avoid trouble, you must look like more trouble than the bad ass coming at you can handle. But Carlo must have forgotten his own rules, thought Dawn. They'd walked out of the apartment building and he'd grabbed her hand and hadn't let go. That meant they were holding hands in public. Dawn could barely breathe. He then started talking about his Mom and telling her about a joke his Mom had told him (just like she was family). Then he said it was a really bad joke, as in awful. So, Dawn had insisted he tell her the joke. She wanted to make certain he wasn't being unfair to his Mom's sense of humor. When she'd laughed out loud because it was a funny joke, he'd smiled at her. A big broad grin covered his entire face and Dawn couldn't help but smile back at him. Then all of a sudden, he stopped walking and kissed her on the mouth—in the middle of the street in front of everybody!

Well, how'd you like them apples thought Dawn. He'd trashed all of his rules in less than three blocks.

Now he was running ahead of her and she was struggling to keep him in sight as she jogged as fast as she could. His Mom's telephone message hadn't sounded all that dire to Dawn. But with Tommy Dugan's death the day before, Carlo had said he was a little worried. His Mom could handle herself, but it had been an odd day. He didn't have to mention Spike to Dawn for her to know what he meant. Not every day did you meet a vampire and certainly not one that's a good friend of your girlfriend and her vampire-slaying sister. Had to admit, Carlo had a right to be a little wigged. This was a whole new kind of bizarre for her streetwise boxer baby.

“Hey, slow down, Speedy Gonzalez,” Dawn teased.

“Hey yourself, California Girl,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Not my favorite cartoon there, girlfriend. Doesn't exactly paint the best pic of my peeps.”

"Okay, okay, sorry.” He stopped running at the corner and Dawn caught up, wheezing as she came to a shaky halt next to him.

She looked around, remembered Buffy and Spike, and hoped they didn't run into them by accident. Buffy wouldn't be in the mood to listen to Dawn's reasons for leaving the apartment after her strict orders to stay put. Then Dawn relaxed. Buffy didn't know this route. Carlo had shown her these backstreets a few days after she'd started working at Mom's Restaurant. Cut travel time in half, if that had been the goal. But for her and Carlo, it had allowed them extra time to talk, at first, and then for making out later.

“You smell something?” Carlo said.

She inhaled deeply. “Yeah, and it's not good.”

They were fifty feet from the restaurant. She couldn't see any lights inside. The building was as black as the city streets surrounding her, which was odd. New York City always beamed with lights. Dawn swore there were streetlamps every three feet. That's why it was always too bright at night. Never really dark. Just like it was never quiet. It was always noisy and the streets were always filled with people. Although that hadn't been the case this night she realized, thinking back over their path to the restaurant. The streets had been pretty much void of all of the things she associated with the big bad city.

Dawn felt a drop of water on her forehead and looked up. It had started to rain.

Carlo turned to face her, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “Smells like a shit load of dead.”

Dawn suddenly felt a pain in her throat that shot to the back of her head like daggers cutting into her. She waved her arms, grasping at Carlo, but missed him as she fell to her knees on the sidewalk. Rocking and screaming, she clawed at her eyes and tried to rip the pain from her head.

“Oh God, Dawn! What's wrong, girl?” She could hear the fear in Carlo's voice as the pain surged through her body.

This was the second time in twenty-four hours Carlo had sounded afraid. First time had been when he'd told her about Tommy, and now this, she thought as she banged her fists against her head.


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It was darker than Anya was used to, what with the no moonlight and the torrential downpour dropping buckets of water on top of her head. Alleys in Sunnydale had never been this wet or dark. Then again, those narrow passageways only existed in one dimension at a time, not in multiple worlds where eternities were pieced together by a slender black-haired man in a seersucker suit.

Anya's gaze bounced from one blurred face to another. She could barely see Willow or make out the features of the dark-skinned vampire lurking behind her. Nothing much was visible to her, except for the sheets of water tumbling from the sky and Luke. He was standing under a swaying beam of light coming from what had to be the last working streetlamp in New York City. He appeared relaxed, leaning boneless against an invisible wall, all comfy and smug even though his suit was clinging to his thin frame in soaked patches.

Anya hugged her arms across her chest. She was standing in the middle of an alley with a witch, a vampire, a portal jumper, and enough magic to change the world. She felt it, oozing through every crevasse in the ground, spinning in every gust of wind. There was so much of it she could taste it.

“It is a pleasure to meet a legend, sir.” The black vampire stepped from behind Willow, his hands cupped as if in prayer. Bowing deeply, he leered at Luke as thick drops of water fell in rivulets from his long black braids.

“I am not here for you.” Luke's voice vibrated, low and deep, as he dismissed the vampire's greeting with a small wave of his hand. Then his chin jutted forward as his crystalline gaze slide from the vampire to Willow.

“The witch of my dreams, I do believe,” said Luke. “You're the one that has been in my way.”

Anya looked at Willow. Her red hair appeared black and was pasted to her face, hiding her eyes. All Anya could make out was Willow 's mouth. It had looped into a wide grin. A completely inappropriate expression considering the circumstances, thought Anya. There was no funny going on in the alley as far as she could tell.

“Lucretius,” said Willow, still grinning broadly. “How ya' doin'? I'm Willow, and this here is my friend, Jacob.”

Luke arched an eyebrow and tilted his head in Jacob's direction, but didn't take his eyes off Willow.

“You know what I am?” Luke's gaze remained on Willow.

“Do you know what you are?” she replied. “You're not a vampire. Not a demon of any kind. Just a creature cursed by destiny. Something like me.”

“I was cursed. But you...you made your bed, so to speak, and laid it like the whore you are.” Luke closed the distance between him and Willow so quickly, Anya jumped, startled by the swiftness of his movement. Impulsively, she reached out to touch him, but then she quickly felt a cold hand clasp her wrist.

“Let them talk,” whispered Jacob. He was inexplicably at her side. No longer in front of her or standing next to Willow, where he'd been an instant before.

Anya pulled her arm free. She had to be near Luke to hear his words. She was the keeper of his memories and had to stay close him.

“No.” Jacob grabbed her again and this time when she tried to yank free, he didn't let go.

Luke was still talking. “His existence was a reward for his stubborn, pure view of love.”

Anya didn't know whom the ‘he' was that Luke was talking about, but from the expression on Willow's face, she did. The furrow of her brow was so deep the water bounced off her forehead.

“You were used by Shemhazi. His heavenly father forbade him the power to leave this plane as a punishment so he decreed your warped soul to be his messenger. And now you want to go home? You fool.” Willow laughed. "You have no home."

Then Anya felt it. A power beyond her most vivid imagination was surging beneath her feet. She could feel it in her legs, and couldn't imagine why the others hadn't noticed. Willow and Luke were still arguing and the black vampire was holding her by the wrist. But the power was growing and getting closer. She could feel the ugliness of it pulling at her from beneath the surface. She glanced down at her soaked shoes and expected to see tentacles attached to her ankles. Instead, she watched as a swirling gust of black wind rolled into the alley.

Then suddenly, it was upon them and Anya screamed.


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Carlo stared at Dawn lying on her back on the sidewalk. Her eyes were closed and she was moaning. What the hell was going on? He thought. Something awful was happening to her. He could see that. And the streets of New York smelled worse than anything he'd ever smelled. And in N.Y.C. that was more than a little bit.

“Babe, what the shit is going on?” He didn't expect her to answer.

Carlo lifted Dawn from the pavement, her body collapsing into his arms as he scooped her from the ground. He had to get her to the restaurant. His Mom would know what to do. She'd figure out the nasty smell. Tell him what to do next. His Mom was something else. She wouldn't even blink an eye if she'd meant Spike. She hadn't even freaked when she'd learned about Tommy.

Carlo adjusted Dawn's body in his arms and ran toward the restaurant. It was so dark he could barely make out the front door. His Mom needed light to sort through the books and organize the kitchen shelves. Make certain every item was in place for business the next day. Once a month was all she ever needed to get her books in order and scope out the restaurant from top to bottom.

Carlo paused, holding Dawn in his arms. This wasn't right. Nothing was right. He hugged Dawn's unconscious body to his chest. He didn't want to walk into the restaurant. He didn't want to see what he suddenly knew he'd see. He didn't want to know what he suddenly knew. But most of all, he realized, he didn't want to believe he was right.


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Spike's antenna was up. Buffy could tell by how he stayed within arms reach of her. She knew he knew she could take care of herself. But he was doing that thing he did sometimes (okay, not that recently, but before) when he'd treat her as if she were porcelain or china or something nobody bought unless it was on a cable TV show.

"Spike, do you think we'll find Jacob in the alley?" Buffy figured she might as well talk business. Spike liked to zero in on the prospect of a good fight. And most certainly, Jacob had given Spike a good dose of that the last time they'd tussled.

“Yeah.”

Non-verbal Spike was always a treat, she sighed.

Buffy felt as if it had taken them a long time to make their way to the alley behind Mom's Restaurant. Except they weren't there yet exactly, but at least they were close. The big talk about memories and feelings and stuff had slowed their progress. Sure, Buffy hadn't forgotten how important it was to find Jacob and convince him to tell them what he knew about the portal jumper. But the conversation about stolen thoughts and forgotten memories had been a very good thing as far as she was concerned, mainly because she and Spike had come to an understanding.

But then, Spike had turned into quiet, sulky guy. She glanced at him. Maybe he was sensing something she wasn't and was concentrating. "You got anything?"

He shook his head. “Don't know details, pet. But it's not good."

Buffy channeled her Slayer instincts. But all she got was that it was dark, which was obvious. Middle of the night and all. And the streets smelled. But other than the dark and the stench, New York City was pretty much being New York City, thought Buffy.

“Hey, we're almost here…” Buffy stopped abruptly as a jolt of super vamp vibe nearly knocked her to the pavement. It wasn't coming from the walking dead man strolling next to her either. “Damn. Sure are a lot of vamps in the neighborhood all of a sudden.”

“No, love, don't believe that's the case,” Spike said as they turned the corner onto the block where the restaurant was located.

“Meaning?”

Spike looked at her, his eyes stern. Yeah, that was the word. For an instant, he reminded her of Giles. All serious and thoughtful and concerned. She almost expected him to pull out a pair of glasses and clean the lenses.

“There are only two vampires in this part of town tonight,” he said.

“Okay, if you say so, but one of them is packing a nuclear wallop if my bat senses are at all reliable,” Buffy said. The prospect of going toe-to-toe with this particular vamp was making her feel all tingly.

“Spike, what do ya think is going on?”

“Jacob's here, and he's got friends.”

“The portal jumper?”

“And some.”

Spike grabbed her arm and dragged her into an opening between two nearby buildings.

“Why are we stopping here?” Buffy wanted to keep moving. Get to the restaurant. The bad mojo was coming from that direction.

"Roof tops," Spike raised his head and glanced up. "Want to look down on what's in that alley before meeting it face-to-face, pet."

Spike jumped on top of a nearby dumpster, gripped hold of the iron rail of a hanging fire escape and hurled himself onto the roof of a brick building. Buffy was right behind him, pausing only to wipe the rain from her eyes. It was falling from the sky in buckets. Still, Buffy could see well enough to keep Spike in sight as he leapt onto the rooftop overlooking the alley behind Mom's Restaurant.

to be continued…