Chapter 22—Empty Air

Since it was night, and because Buffy didn’t want holes burned into her flooring or carpeting, Anya did the summoning spell outside. They stood a safe distance away on the front porch watching her as she drew the circle of power in the grass around her. Her chanting was a soft susurrus on the wind as she called the Lord of Arashmahar to their plane of existence.

A subtle wind arose, and the smell of brimstone and sulfur filled the air as the tall horned demon made his entrance. He reached down to the petite form kneeling in the circle at his feet, and raised her to stand. “Anyanka? What brings you to call me here?”

Before Anya could reply, he turned to look at the assembly on the porch. Spotting a familiar face, he smiled, and it was terrifying to behold. “Slayer. So nice to see you again. Did your friend cast another spell?”

Buffy stood tall, though her stomach churned inside her. The only thing holding her back from killing this demon was Spike's arms securely around her. “No—why would you ask that?”

“I see you with the vampire. Oh, it’s obviously of your own will this time—I didn’t see that coming.” He waited until Anya stood beside him, then said, “I assume that you have called me here for a reason?”

“Oh, Lord of Arashmahar, the great and mighty—“ Anya started, and she was cut off by a wave of his scaly blue hand.

“Please, Anyanka, enough with the crap. What do you want? I assume that it has something to do with the stack of books that you borrowed the other day.”

“We need to know more about the Key and the stewardship for the Powers That Be.”

D’Hoffryn turned his gaze back to Buffy, and smiled widely again. Tara and Dawn gasped, and pressed their faces into each other’s shoulders, not wanting to see that look. “Slayer, your candor is refreshing. No ceremony, just cut to the chase. Well, do you want me to tell you this out here? Or can we go inside and have a cup of coffee and talk?”

He glided on unseen limbs up the short flight of stairs and through the door. Xander whispered to Anya, “He drinks coffee?”

“Only if it is strong enough, boy,” D’Hoffryn answered over his shoulder. He waited while the others in the group seated themselves around the dining room table, then glanced absentmindedly at the books scattered willy-nilly. “I see you took some of the better texts for your research, Anyanka. Why are you needing me?”

It was only when he laid eyes on Dawn's face that his demeanor changed. “The Steward. I should have known. With all the other supernatural beings in your midst, her presence was masked.” He bowed low in front of Dawn, and the teenager let out a tiny noise of protest before sitting silently, shivering.

Buffy stood behind her sister, and put her arm around her. “Okay, like that. What was that, anyway? What is the steward, what does she do, what does it have to do with my sister, and…and just what?” she finished lamely.

Another frightening smile graced his face. “It’s quite the honor for the Powers to choose her as the steward. Actually it is more of an honor position, so to speak. She is…oh, Anyanka, what is an analogy that these people will understand?”

“A barometer?” Anya supplied readily.

“A barometer! Yes, a barometer. Just by her presence on a plane of existence, she alerts the Powers that there is too much evil or too much good, and they take measures to ‘even things out’, so to speak.”

Buffy frowned. “And this is a good thing?”

“Yes, it is. The steward for the Powers can sense good or evil in a person. They are highly insightful in all manners of things, and can even be an oracle of sorts. She can alert you to rising evil here on the Hellmouth, and her presence alone can avert disaster.”

“Why was Dawn unable to aid us when she was being sought by Glory, then?” Giles asked.

“She probably wasn’t the steward at the time. There is only one steward on each plane, and…. Did you say Glory? As in Glorificus? The hell goddess?”

“Yes,” Giles replied.

“Well, that is the reason in a nutshell. Glory’s prison, the human Ben, was the steward on this plane. I take it that Ben is deceased?”

Giles looked uncomfortable, and Anya answered. “Yes. He died while Buffy was trying to save Dawn from the portal her blood created.”

“That is how she acquired the stewardship, then. Dawn was the closest supernatural being with a soul to assume the stewardship.”

“Oh. So they have to be souled?” Buffy asked, still unsure of what this all meant.

“Yes. If they have no soul, then they cannot accurately monitor good and evil. That is why the steward cannot be a vampire, though they have souls also.”

Spike started at this bit of information. “Vampires have souls?”

D’Hoffryn turned to him, and smiled cruelly. “Vampires have souls. They are repressed, however, by the demon inside them. Pushed to the furthest corner of their minds. Contrary to what the Watcher’s Council has expounded for many years, vampires are not soulless beings.”

Buffy looked across the table at Giles, but refrained from saying anything. Giles looked simply gobsmacked by this news. He whipped off his glasses and reached for his kerchief while he studied the texts in front of him. “Er, the only real references we were able to find in relation to the steward was a vague mention of Ma’at,” he said finally, unable to meet either Buffy or Spike's eyes. “Can you clarify this?”

D’Hoffryn rubbed his hands together, chuckling under his breath. “I wondered when someone would bring that up. Ma’at was a dear friend of mine. Is a dear friend, since her essence is what gives the steward power. She is truth embodied, divine justice given form. The ancient Egyptians were the first to acknowledge Ma’at as she should have always been, and gave her the symbol of the feather, since it is her essence that the hearts of the dead are measured by to judge where they will go in the afterlife.” He peered over his glasses at Dawn and said, “I believe that you have something to show us, young lady?”

“What? Huh? Show you what?” Dawn stammered.

Buffy gasped. One of her “false” memories surfaced, and she said, “Dawn, your birthmark. The one on your hip.”

Dawn face grew heatedly red, and she hissed at nobody in particular, “I am so not showing this bunch my butt!”

Buffy yanked her out of the chair and turned her around, dragging her pants partially off her hip. Below the hint of lush curves beginning to form was a slightly raised, reddened area. Giles replaced his glasses, and looked at it closely. “It seems to resemble a feather.”

“Yes, a feather! The symbol of Ma’at.”

Tara looked at Dawn's hip, then back at D’Hoffryn. “Feathers. Didn’t the Egyptians weigh the hearts of the dead against the weight of a feather?”

D’Hoffryn started to reach forward and muss Tara's hair, but stopped at the fear etching her features. “Exactly right. Ma’at was the feather their hearts were weighed against. She was purity and truth and light, and if their hearts outweighed her, then they were condemned and their hearts consumed by the father of the vampires, Ammit.”

Silence greeted his comment as those gathered stared at one another.


A/N: Sorry I didn't update yesterday--I was screaming with a bad knee...hope you like this chapter, please review!