chapter 29 – make me wanna holler, part I

“Okay, Giles. Since you’ve got this so under control,” began Xander. “Can we get Anya back—now?” Xander pushed his stringy, longish brown hair away from his face and his hands shook as he leaned forward on the sofa and eyed Giles hopefully.

The Watcher gave him a quick nod, and then dropped his knapsack on the coffee table. His fingers moved swiftly as he opened the side pouch and pulled out a volume of the Zy Qasdor. It didn’t bloody matter which one, Giles was thinking as he rubbed his thumb over the leather cover. As long as he was reading from one of the volumes, he could cast any spell or decipher any prophecy that popped up. The five editions of the Zy Qasdor manifested their power through the intellect of the individual doing the chanting, and that meant he had to be the one to free Anya.

Giles flipped open the book.

“The power of evil resides in the mind. Release your thoughts and defeat it,” read Giles. He turned his head toward Xander, who had pushed himself up from the sofa and was walking purposefully toward the fireplace.

Perhaps, he expected Anya to come down the chimney like Santa Claus, thought Giles. Then he chastised himself for allowing his mind to drift so carelessly at such a critical time. Anya was in between worlds, not hidden in the walls or trapped in a smoke stack. Giles knew that, and it shouldn’t matter what the boy did or said.

“Nothing’s happening.” Xander said. His body trembled as he placed his hand on the mantle of the fireplace and leaned forward anxiously.

“Give it more than a second,” blurted Giles.

“Anya?” called Xander. “Do you feel anything? Anything pulling on you—bringing you out?”

The room was quiet.

“Anya!” Xander’s voice rose and he shot a desperate glance at Giles.

“I’ll try it again,” said Giles as he took a deep breath before beginning the chant again.

“The power of evil resides in the mind. Release your thoughts and defeat it.”

Giles walked to the fireplace and stopped next to Xander. He really should have learned by now not to dismiss Xander’s instincts too quickly. Since the spell, the boy's abilities at perception had been keen on more than one occasion. Giles's thoughts drifted back to the desert and the First Witch. Then he stared intently at the half-burnt logs and soot.

“The power of evil resides in the mind. Release your thoughts and defeat it!”

A loud noise erupted above Giles’ head, and both men jerked backward. Xander stumbled into the coffee table, and tripping over it, fell sprawled across the sofa. Giles jammed his hip against the desk, but managed to stay on his feet, his hand latching on to its edge, steadying himself.

A lightning bolt had shot from the ceiling and struck the fireplace, filling the room with tiny explosions of light and puffs of smoke.


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“Whoa!” Carlo landed on his ass with a thud on the hardwood floor, then tucked and rolled quickly to a standing position. His body automatically snapped into his boxing stance, fists up, chin down, weight on the balls of his toes.

Fighting the urge to vomit after being flung upside down and inside out for hours, he had to force his eyes to focus. Stop the world from spinning so he could find the ass hole that had grabbed him by the throat and wrenched him away from Dawn. That fool was going to have to grow a new limb because Carlo was going to rip his arm off.

His trip to Sunnydale had started normal enough, considering he and Dawn were in a time tunnel or portal as she called it. All Carlo knew was it felt like he’d been dropped down an elevator shaft and spun like juice in a blender. If jumping through portals had any hope of becoming a regular mode of transportation for him, the Powers that be would have to think about seatbelts and landing gear.

He closed his eyelids and then opened them wide, he repeated the closing and the opening several times. The hypnotic motion recharged his tossed brain. It helped him clear his head.

Now he could see where he was.

It was a small apartment, but definitely not a New York crib. Too much dark wood and drab-colored furniture. Everything was brown or black, and it didn’t look expensive either—not slick enough for a fancy uptown loft or any such thing.

Carlo blinked again. Two white men, one laid out flat on a dingy couch and the other standing near a desk, were staring at him like he’d dropped from the sky. He glanced up at the ceiling. There were sparks of electricity crackling above him. He glanced around the room, not wanting to keep his eyes off of the two men for too long, just checking for portals or other signs of weirdness.

He sighed, relieved, but not completely at ease. The joint wasn’t on fire and there weren’t any loose wires dangling. It was just a room with a sofa, a couple of chairs, a desk and a fireplace and two men. But who knew? The way they were looking at him, maybe he had dropped from the sky, or at least from a hole in the ceiling.

Still, whatever path he’d followed to get here, he was here, and something was telling him not to take his eyes off of these men.

The professor type reminded Carlo of that Mr. Roger’s dude on TV he used to watch and laugh at when he was a kid. He wore the same kind of gold, hard-rimmed glasses, except this guy wasn‘t as much of a sissy. The younger man was meaty with sagging broad-shoulders and a slight belly, like an out-of-shape tight end.

Carlo took a deep breath, drawing some needed oxygen through his nose in one long pull. Then he coughed. The place smelled like sweat and a few fifths of hard liquor.

“Carlo?” asked the professor.

“How’d you know my name, old man?”

“You are Dawn Summers’ friend. Right?”

Dude had some kind of foreign accent, noticed Carlo.

“You the mother fucker snatched Dawn away from me?” He moved menacingly toward the man, stopping a foot in front of him. He was taller than Carlo, but old. Still, he had some balls. He hadn’t flinched when Carlo threatened.

“Simmer down, boy,” he said. “I’m a friend of Dawn’s.”

“Who the hell is this kid,” said Xander. “And what about Anya?”

The younger man had gotten to his feet and was walking toward the fireplace. Carlo opened a fist and held his hand up, palm out, indicating for him to hold up.

“Until I know what the hell is going on, nobody’s moving,” warned Carlo. “And if you think you two punks can take me, you’d be wrong, bro. I kick ass like yours in my sleep.”

“Wait a minute, Xander.”

The professor gestured at the guy, who stopped in his tracks. But he didn’t look like he’d stay still long.

“Carlo, my name is Rupert Giles. This young man’s is Xander Harris. We’ve known Dawn and B—Buffy…” He stopped abruptly and pulled off his glasses. Rupert Giles’ eyes went kind of soft and all worried-looking.

“Do you know Buffy’s whereabouts? Is she alright?”

“Last I saw her, she was fine. She’d run off after Spike,” Carlo explained, not able to control his mouth. He felt like it wouldn’t hurt to tell this old man a few things. “That dude is out of his mind, man. I know Buffy and Dawn are all into the dude. But damn, do you know what he is?”

“He’s a vampire,” said the professor.

“Yeah, that and a hell of a lot more,” added Carlo.

“Giles!” The younger man shouted. “Remember, Anya!”

“Oh, dear.” The professor put his glasses back on. “Carlo, we must get someone else out of that place you were trapped in.”

“Man, you still didn’t answer my question. How you know my name?”

“Dawn asked me to find you,” said the Giles man.

“You’ve seen her? She okay?” Carlo hands fell to his side.

“She will be,” said Giles. “As soon as I can do this chant, and help her.”

“We done with the introductions?” said Xander. “Okay. Then, let’s get Anya back.”

“I’m good with that, man.” Carlo nodded amicably at the professor and watched as the old man turned to face the fireplace.

Carlo had to trust him. They had solid information about Dawn and Buffy, and Carlo wanted to find Dawn bad. She was all he had left. With his Moms gone, Dawn was it.


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Giles opened the book he hadn’t realized he’d closed and read the verse for the third or fourth time, he couldn’t remember.

Immediately, the room began to shake.

Carlo grabbed the back of a chair and Xander gripped the mantle of the fireplace.

Another display of brilliant sparks, along with dense smoke permeated the room as a rumbling noise thundered through Giles’ flat.

Then it was quiet.

“It looks like you brought back more than me,” said Anya, suddenly appearing solid, standing between Xander and Giles in front of the fireplace.

“Y—yes, his name is Carlo,” stuttered Giles, gesturing with a nod of his head, but without looking back at the boy standing behind him near the sofa.

“No, I wasn’t talking about him,” said Anya, as she pointed toward the front door. Turning slowly, Giles prayed he hadn’t brought Luke to his doorstep. That would be a disaster of proportions he didn’t wish to contemplate.

“Buffy,” he exclaimed, amazed at the sight of his slayer standing in the foyer, looking tousled and bruised, but nonetheless very much alive.

He started to rush toward her, but the sight behind her froze him to the spot.

She was turned slightly, barely inside the room, her left arm extended behind her, and she was holding Spike’s hand. The vampire was standing with one foot on the stoop outside and the other inside the foyer. Any other time, their hand holding would have caused Giles a great measure of alarm. But the Watcher was staring at Spike, completely mesmerized.

It was midday and the sun was bright and shining on Spike’s face. His blond hair, curling softly around his face, glimmered white and gold, as his eyes sparkled with a too blue brightness that made his him look nearly transparent.

Giles was stunned by the sight of the vampire, who was standing in the sunshine. Not burning. Not turning to dust. He was just standing there and holding Buffy’s hand, with that annoying smirk turning up the corners of his mouth.

“Rupert,” smiled Spike. “Nice day we’re having here in sunny California, hey?”

He’d expected this transportation. He’d counted on it. But still, Giles was stunned. Here was a vampire existing completely within the body of a human being.


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Everyone was talking at once and Buffy had to fight the urge to scream at them to shut the hell up. She was standing in the foyer, having barely moved since she and Spike had been deposited on Giles’ doorstep, tossed unceremoniously out of Spike’s portal in a heap, and now her head was swimming. Tense voices were shouting at her about Luke, New York City, and what was up with Spike not burning to a crisp in the daylight. Xander and Giles and even Carlo were hurling questions at her like flamethrowers. It was as if they’d forgotten the reason for this latest near-Apocalypse.

There was only one question Buffy needed answered. The rest of it could wait.

“Where’s Dawn?”

She turned to look at each person in Giles’ living room, except for Spike and Anya. Her gaze skirted over Spike. He was standing in front of the fireplace. While Anya was sitting on the sofa next to Xander and turned at an angle, her back facing Buffy.

Spike had leaned against the mantle of the fireplace; his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes following her every movement. It was as if he was a soldier at his post, unmoving but watchful, waiting for the attack. He hadn’t bothered to speak since he’d asked Giles about the weather. Questions about him standing in the sunshine, he ignored. Buffy figured he wasn’t in the mood for that conversation and she wasn’t going to get detoured into giving her take on his transformation. The gang’s curiosity would have to wait until after she had an answer to her question about Dawn.

“She’s here in Sunnydale with the portal jumper.” Anya’s shoulders moved up around her neck in a shrug and then she turned her head slightly.

Still, Buffy couldn’t see her eyes. “Like you were with the portal jumper?”

“I wasn’t exactly with the portal jumper,” said Anya. “I had no choice.”

There was a sudden tightness in Buffy’s gut and she placed her palm over her stomach. When Anya had stood next to the portal jumper in the alley, it hadn’t looked like she was his prisoner or in thrall. She had been the plain old do-what-you-please and say-what-you-want Anya Buffy had known for years.

“You two were mighty chummy back in the alley.” Buffy clenched her hands into fists, but didn't try to disguise the sarcasm in her voice.

Something was very wrong about the former demon being so knowledgeable about this Luke business. Buffy hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time, but now she recalled how much Anya had known about the portal jumper that day in the kitchen on Revello Drive. The day Giles and Willow and Tara had cast the thought spell. The idea of shoving Anya against a wall, and convincing her to give up some answers about her part in all of this entered Buffy’s mind. But a beat down would take too much time, and still might not help her find Dawn. So, it would have to wait.

“Okay, let’s say you’re right, and Dawn and Luke are here.” Buffy’s fingers tugged on the waistband of her jeans. “We need to know where. Then we need to find them—fast.”

“They could be anywhere, Buffy,” said Anya. “They are portal jumpers, like Spike. But most likely, they’re in this dimension looking for me.”

“And how do you know he’s a portal jumper?” Xander’s voice startled Buffy and she flinched. But at the same time, she was thinking he had a really good point.

“Of course, she does. She’s the keeper of Luke’s memories,” said Giles matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but I have a slight problem.” Anya’s voice was barely audible.

“What’s that?” said Buffy, but Giles was asking Anya a question, too.

“What kind of problem?”

The Watcher was seated on a stool at the counter separating the kitchenette from the dining room and was glaring across the room at Anya.

“I may have lost—his memories,” she whispered and folded hands in her lap like a school girl.

“What do you mean?” Giles jumped off the stool and marched toward Anya. His eyebrows had formed a dark, straight line above his glasses.

“Some of what I was supposed to keep in my head is gone.” She looked up at Giles, but didn’t show any sign of being afraid. “I had them all in between dimensions. But we’re back in Sunnydale, right? I mean not a version of Sunnydale, but the real thing.” She looked from Giles and turned around to glance at Buffy. “Being torn from the in-between place must have taken some of the memories from me.”

Then Anya leaned sideways, peering around Giles to look at Spike. “Don’t you know where he is?”

Spike narrowed his eyes at Anya. “No, I don’t. But quite likely, Luke already knows that you’ve lost his memories.”

“Well, that’s no bloody good,” said Giles.

“How would he know that?” Buffy turned to Spike.

“He’d sense something was missing—had changed inside his fucked up brain.” Spike stepped away from the fireplace.

“No bloody good at all.” Shaking his head, Giles removed his glasses and clenched them in his fist. “To kill him, we must be able to give him back those memories.”

“Why?” asked Buffy.

“That’s the only time he’s vulnerable, those seconds when his body is absorbing that information. Once he’s assimilated those memories into his body, our opportunity will be lost.”

“How’d you figure that out?” asked Buffy.

“I had a dream.” Giles walked back to his seat at the counter as Buffy watched him intently. She could practically see the wheels spinning inside Giles’ head.

“If Luke doesn’t have his memories, then he won’t remember why Dawn is with him,” said Buffy.

“I’m afraid so, dear,” said Giles. “And if what Spike says is true, it may already be too late.”

“She’s not gone yet,” Buffy heard the hitch in her voice, but ignored it. She knew she was right about this. She had to be. “I’d know if she was gone, I’d sense it.” Buffy placed a hand over her heart and patted her chest softly.

“There may be another way.” Giles placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and pushed them up with an index finger.

“He has a memory of his desire to return home. He may not know where and how he can get there, but the intensity of that need propelled him into our lives. He won’t lose sight of that mission without some kind of internal struggle. Perhaps, we can use that against him. Trick him into doing what we need him to do.”

“What do we need him to do?” asked Buffy.

“Make him believe someone other than Dawn or Anya can get him home,” said Giles.

“Another muse and another Key.” Buffy’s eyebrow rose.

“Oh, I get it,” said Anya. “Give him a new target.”

Anya sprang to her feet. “The headaches were mystical, weren’t they, Giles?” Her voice sounded excited. “So you give the headache to someone else—like Buffy.”

Fast as lightening Spike moved across the room from the fireplace, grabbed Anya by the shoulders and pulled her up onto her feet. Xander’s reflexes must have kicked in and he reached out in a protective gesture, attempting to push the vampire away. But Spike waved his hand and knocked Xander back onto the sofa.

Buffy winced as Spike pulled Anya’s face within inches of his lips and then he moved his mouth slowly over her cheek, sniffing her eyelids and hair. The only thing stopping Buffy from interfering was that she could see Spike hadn’t unsheathed his fangs.

“In the alley, you were still vengeance, a pure demon,” growled Spike. “But not any more—am I right?” His mouth was at Anya’s ear, but Buffy heard his words.

“I guess so.” Anya was twisting her shoulders, but she wasn’t going to get away from Spike.

Buffy didn’t want to admit it, but Anya’s idea wasn’t all that bad. It was just not the idea Spike wanted to hear. And from the look of dismay on her Watcher’s face, Giles wasn’t exactly thrilled with it either. They must be thinking about her leap from the tower, she imagined.

Buffy looked away from Giles and Spike, not able to handle the look of concern on their faces. Only Carlo’s brown eyes offered her encouragement. He knew she had to do this.

Then as suddenly as Spike had grabbed Anya, he released her. His fingers splayed, he raised his hands, making it clear to all in the room that he’d let her go.

“Everyone, stand down,” ordered Buffy. “We don’t have time to kick each others’ asses—and besides, Anya may be onto something.”

Spike’s jaw was doing a dance on the side of his face. But Buffy was the one who could handle the pain of the headaches, emulate the memory capacity of a vengeance demon, and have the strength to kill Luke when he weakened. They couldn’t trust Spike to do it, which was probably why he was so angry with Anya, thought Buffy. They remembered what had happened in the apartment, when he’d jumped out the window and run away.

“Okay, if we’re going to do this, I’d better get a headache and fast,” said Buffy. “Giles can you cast the spell or should we call Tara?”

“She’s not here,” Giles said. “She’s with Willow.”

“Oh, we didn’t see her,” Buffy glanced from Spike to Carlo. “We saw Willow, but no Tara.”

“H—how was Willow?” asked Xander. He’d righted himself on the sofa after getting nearly knocked out by Spike. Buffy didn’t miss the look Anya gave him either. She had the expression of frustration and anger mixed equally with quite a bit of pain.

“I’m not clear on what was up with Willow,” said Buffy. “But we’ll deal with her after we take care of Luke.”

“That’s for bloody certain.”

Buffy thought she’d heard Spike’s voice, but wasn’t positive since she was heading toward Giles and was focusing on him.

The Watcher had reached into a knapsack and pulled out a large, leather covered black book. It looked familiar, thought Buffy. Then she sighed, as she remembered when she’d seen it last.

It was the same book Giles and Willow and Tara had used when they’d cast the thought spell.

To be continued…