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Chapter 60: Cold As Hell
Author’s Note: Well, we made it. Suffice to say, it’s pretty much entirely AU from here on out, with only a few shout outs to canon.
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.
Betaed by Phuriedae and Science
Chapter 60
Cold As Hell
"Hello?" I call. "You have any more ghost guides you want to shove at me?"
Nothing. Just dark. Guess we're skipping Christmas Yet to Come. Oh well, Past was over quota anyway.
I feel like I'm back in the dream room. Only I don't think there's a rule about me not being allowed to see anymore. I touch the pendant at my throat. "Day."
Well, that's a fat lot of help. Now I can see myself... but there's nothing around me to see. Not even ground. Which, now that I've noticed it, is pretty wiggy and disorienting.
"Night."
Sometimes it's better to be blind. At least this way I'm not dizzy.
So I follow the tingles. Somewhere out there is my vampire, and I'm going to get him back.
I'm tired. Too tired really to process everything I've seen over the last... what? Hours? Days? Hundred years and then some? I feel older, like I've lived Spike's lifetime. I know, I really only got the Oscar highlights reel but... yeah. I'm tired.
But the tingles are stronger than they have been, though I'm still not registering him as being close. So I'm not going to stop just yet. It's like a Spike homing device, beeping a little louder as I get closer. A year in the dark with a vampire really sharpens up that particular sense, I guess. I'll probably always be able to find him, now, no matter where he goes or how dark it is.
Which is an oddly comforting thought.
He'd be able to find me, too. Probably using something creepy like smell but... I'm pretty sure that Spike could find me just about anywhere.
It takes a yawn that nearly splits my face before I realize something has changed. When was the last time I slept? The answer to that takes some thought. More thought than I seem to have functioning Buffy brain for, but eventually I manage to dredge up the answer.
The night I screwed everything up. The night I looked.
Which, if today is still the same day that I stepped into the portal, was the night before last. Which would mean something like forty-eight hours with no sleep.
The whole H.G. Wells trip, however, felt like it took a hundred years, but may have only been a few minutes. I didn't feel hungry or tired or ... like I had to go... the entire time. So who knows?
I yawn again.
It's catching up.
And now I kinda have to use the bathroom, but there's no way I'm going to try that here. Where ever here is.
"Could we hurry it up?" I grumble.
And I trip through some invisible barrier and into the light.
And cold.
Oh. God. COLD.
Bone-numbing, brain-freezing, eye-stinging cold.
I blink against the tears in my eyes, trying to figure out where I am. It looks like a cave of some sort, and the time is sometime around either dusk or dawn, judging by the dimness of the light. Snow and ice blanket what little I can see of the world outside, and the inside of the cave, too, is coated in ice. When I twist to look behind me, there's only a swirling black portal. The way home.
Louhi's world. I made it.
And oh, god, do I need to pee.
***
Business taken care of, I yank my sweater and jacket out of my bag and put them back on, then put Spike's duster over all of it. I pull on the gloves, hat, earmuffs and scarf I brought, too, glad I'd remembered to pack them. I really want a nap, but I'd probably freeze to death, which means I need to try to start a fire.
If I can find something to start a fire with.
When I poke my head out of the cave all I see are dead trees. They're tall, black, and gnarly as demon horns, with bony looking twigs and no leaves at all. They look like they've been dead for a few thousand years or so, and a lot of them have fallen down. The ground is covered in broken branches, which is good. And it's SO cold that the snow hasn't melted into them and made them all wet and stuff. It doesn't take too long to gather up a couple of armloads and haul them back to the cave. Beating them against the wall breaks off most of the ice, leaving mostly dry, long dead wood.
There's probably a vampire joke in there somewhere, but I'm too tired to make it.
Xander's Survivalist book has pictures to show how to build a fire, but I'm a modern girl. No rubbing sticks together for me.
That's why God invented lighters.
And, so, okay, it takes a dozen tries, and I almost fall asleep in it a few times, but eventually I manage to get it going.
Go me.
After that I put my weapons within easy reach, pull out the insulated lightweight sleeping bag Xander gave me, wrap myself in it, and promptly fall asleep.
***
I wake up to the smell of leather and smoke, which makes me think of Spike and the way it felt to sleep in his arms. The coat is a pretty poor substitute. The fire has mostly gone out, and convincing myself to crawl out of the comparatively warm sleeping bag takes some effort.
My stomach and bladder gang up on me and proceed to win this round, though.
Awake means taking stock of my surroundings. Let's see. Ice. More ice. Snow. More snow. More ice. And... oh, wait for it... more snow.
The floor is stone, though, where my fire from last night melted through the snow and the ice. The walls are white with ice and icicles as thick around as my entire torso hang from the ceiling in some places. I don't want to think about how long it has to be cold for ice that thick to form. The cave isn't very big, or deep, and it seems to be the only one in the rocky hillside.
All in all, it's not really homey, and I don't have any reason to linger here. It only takes a few minutes to get my stuff packed up. The portal is still there, waiting, being swirly and dark and mysterious.
I guess I have to hope it'll stay that way until I get back. No sense in worrying about it at this point.
Outside the light is about where it was when I went to sleep, which means either I slept through the night, or I slept through the day, or... more likely, this place doesn't have a light cycle. Didn't Louhi say something about it always being twilight here?
I point myself toward where the tingles seems strongest and start out, munching on a power bar as I go. With any luck, I'll find where ever Louhi has him stashed in a few hours, and we can be on our way back before nightfall.
Or... whatever you call it here.
***
A few hours later, with numb, tired feet, my eyelashes frosted together and my scarf iced over where it wraps around my nose and mouth, I have to take a break. So much for a quick rescue. My legs ache from trudging through what feels like an ocean of snow which covers treacherous, uneven, sloping ground. I think this place used to be pretty rocky, but now it's a downhill skier’s nightmare, considering all the trees and half buried fallen branches.
I spend a lot of time glancing up at those branches that remain, hoping that the weight of the snow on them isn't enough to finally bring one down on my head. Would super suck to get all the way here just to turn into Slayer on a Stick. They creak and moan, which is creepy, and every now and then, off in the distance, I hear a sharp crack. The whole thing leaves me nervous and cranky and wishing I was anywhere but in this stupid forest.
The cold is almost unbearable, and moving at least keeps me warm. But I probably ought to conserve what strength I can, so I park myself on yet another fallen tree trunk and pull out Spike's journal.
I didn't dream last night, I don't think. But all morning my brain has been stuck on instant replay, going over so many of the things that I saw yesterday. Seeing Spike's past like that... sometimes it's hard to reconcile who he is now with who he's been.
So I take a break and read, reassuring myself that I'm right, that I'm doing the right thing.
Reminding myself of everything he's done, how hard he's tried.
Some of the journal makes more sense now. Things he mentioned in passing, like about his mom. I can see why he'd prefer not to remember her. And Angelus... god, I finally get why he hates Angel so much.
Even after I put the journal away and shift my scarf so that I no longer have ice against my face, Spike's words stay with me. I know that Angel has been all about redeeming himself for his past crimes... but the fact is he wouldn't have done that without his soul. The soul he had to be cursed with to prevent those crimes in the first place.
Everything Spike has done for the last few years, has been without the soul to guide him. Without anything to guide him. I can't even really count the chip, not if he's capable of ignoring it if he really wants to, or finding ways around it. The only thing he has, really, is me.
Which might seem like a whole boatload of responsibility, but I didn't even know he was using me as a moral compass. And I was doing a pretty crappy job as a role model the whole time...
And yet he still was trying to do the right things, and doing a pretty damned good job of it in spite of the rest of us doing our best to make him keep being evil.
I'm not sure what all that means, but I'm almost certain that the Watchers’ Council would prefer if word didn't get out about it. Vampires without souls turning to the side of good? What's next? Puppies and kittens living together in peace and harmony?
Yeah, not exactly part of the whole Watcher's Council dogma. Hell, pretty much everything I saw contradicts something they've spouted at me ever since I landed the Slayer gig. That whole thing about the human making an exit stage right? Not so much.
Of course, it's not like it'd be the first time they've lied to me about something major.
And... honestly, it's info that I probably could have lived without. I don't have time to sit down and interview every vampire before I stake them to see if maybe there's something a little extra still cowering in the corner. I guess sticking with the "if it charges you and has fangs, stake it" theory on Slaying is probably going to have to stick around.
Not that that worked so well with Spike, but... if the whole prophecy thing is true, I probably wasn't meant to stake Spike. And he wasn't meant to kill me.
Stalemate.
Or maybe not stalemate. That implies, you know, stale, crunchy things. Like croutons.
Spike is not a crouton.
Equals, maybe. That's a better word.
***
I walk and climb over dead trees for what feels like most of a day. It's like the most boring, awful obstacle course ever. Trudge, trudge, trudge, climb, trudge, trudge, trudge. I'm all trudged out and there's still no end in sight. What I wouldn't give for warm climates and parks, and Sunnydale where the good part of the town is half a block from the bad part and it only takes twenty minutes to get from Oak Grove Cemetery on the outskirts of town to the Kwik Stop gas station way out at the other end. Walking.
My legs are nothing more than frozen stumps, my fingers hurt, and I've long since lost feeling in my nose and ears. When I stumble, climbing over the tenth or maybe fifteenth tree, it hurts so badly I can't help but cry out. I thought the winter in Sunnydale was bad. This is worse. A hundred times worse.
My eyes water, and my eyelashes keep freezing together, making it hard to see. I don't dare brush at them though because when I tried earlier a few of them broke off and it's probably not good to have no eyelashes. My breath keeps freezing in my scarf, and when I take it off to break off the ice, the cold air that hits my throat hurts, and I can't breathe through my nose too well because the insides feel like they're frozen solid.
If the cold is bad, the monotony is worse. Nothing but trees and snow and sky as far as I can see. The only sounds are the tortured cracks of branches breaking off far away, the squeak and crunch of my boots through the snow and my own labored breathing. I try counting trees but ... that gets pretty pointless.
And other than trees, there's nothing to count.
Just snow, snow and more snow.
Pretty much the only way to gauge time is when my stomach makes with the rumblies. Slayer metabolism being what it is, that's five times a day. I didn't really bring enough power bars for more than a few days, so I ignore the rumblies as much as I can. Better to ration them than to run out. Something to worry about later, I guess. Right along with, how the hell am I going to get Spike away from Louhi? At least I don't have to worry too much about trying to find Spike cover from the sun. So far I haven't even seen the sun, and the trees around me are bare enough that I've got a decent view of the sky. Not the horizons, but... no sun overhead. Just perpetual mood lighting.
The cold gets to the point where I'm almost numb enough to bear it. My boots are thankfully waterproof, and thanks to Willow I shouldn't have to worry about frostbite. The duster is a welcome addition, too, since it gives me an extra layer around my legs. The scent of leather and cigarette smoke that seems to have soaked into it, despite it being Nikki's, really, helps, too. It gives me something to focus on.
I feel like that guy, in that poem I read in class. The one who promised his friend he'd cremate him, and drove the sled with the corpse on it for days until he got to the lake. I didn't understand what it meant, then.
I get it now. I get what real cold is.
And I understand the weight of a promise.
I promised Spike I would read his journal. I promised to get him back. I promised to walk through hell to find him and even though I don't take promises lightly, right now I'm definitely feeling mine.
"God, I hope you're worth this," I mutter sometime after what I decide was my "noon" break. Talking at least breaks the monotony.
Not givin' up, are you Slayer? my mental Spike snarks. Never took you for such a prancing lightweight. Come all this way, and you're whinging because it's a little nippy?
"A little nippy? Are you kidding? It's got to be a hundred below! Calling this a little nippy is like calling the ocean a little damp." My teeth chatter so hard I can barely get the words out, and my voice sounds hoarse.
See, now you're just exaggeratin'.
"Am not."
Are, too.
"Am not."
Are you really goin' to get into an 'am not/are, too' argument with a figment of your imagination? You're off your box, Slayer.
"Yeah, well, we all know that crazy turns you on."
Trying to seduce me, Slayer? I'm all aflutter.
"Shut up, Spike," I say, then realize I'm blushing. Great. I'm arguing with a mental version of a vampire, and he's winning.
I clamp a lid on my imagination. Staying warm is one thing. Going as crazy as Drusilla? I'd rather freeze first.
***
Eventually I feel like I'm reaching the end of my strength for the day, so I start picking up wood as I go. When I've finally put together a hefty armload, I find a spot between two trees that's reasonably sheltered and start the process of building a fire. It's harder to do out here than it was in the cave, but a fire is better than no fire, and I have no interest in being a meat popsicle.
The fire seems small, compared to all the cold around it. It's like it's cowering, trying not to be noticed by all the big bad frostiness. It pops and whines and generally sounds like Xander trying to get out of research, and the light doesn't really stretch that far in the constant gloom. I use my nifty little pan to melt some water and when it's boiling I dump in a packet of hot chocolate mix. I end up having to drink it quick, because once I pull it away from the fire it immediately starts to cool down. By the time I'm done I'm drinking a chocolate slushy.
My lips hurt, and I realize that they're cracked and bleeding. I don't even want to think about what this is doing to my skin and hair. I manage to thaw my fingers enough that I can feel pain in them again. Maybe they were better off numb.
Guess there's a reason they call this a hell dimension.
Since there's enough light I decide I probably ought to read more of that Survivalist's Handbook, since it looks like I'm going to be here a little longer than I thought. Somehow the idea of coming all this way just to die from the cold... not so appealing.
When all this is over, I'm so applying for a vacation somewhere warm. Maybe the equator.
Or one of the fiery hells. Surely there's at least one of those, right?
Shivering, I wrap the sleeping bag around me and sit as close to the fire as I dare, trying to defrost my face a little. Spike will have himself a party if I show up missing my nose because it fell off.
I read about finding food in hostile environments, even though I don't think that the author had a place like this in mind. I haven't seen a single living thing all day. Not a squirrel, not a bug, not a bird. As far as I can tell this place is too harsh for most living things to survive. Which does not bode well for me, if I have to stay here too much longer.
Then I read about building shelters and igloos and snow bunkers in case of a blizzard.
When it starts on how to skin rabbits, though, I put it away. General Slayer unsquickiness does not extend to graphic instructions on how to mutilate Thumper.
Instead I take out the other book, the Worst Case Scenario one. Informative AND funny, my favorite combination.
When I'm bored with that, I can't help but read Spike's journal again, even though I've started to memorize parts of it. Having his words there, recounting things I was there for... it's comforting. Sometimes I can almost hear his voice. I can't believe he went almost a year without speaking for eight hours every night. That right there should tell me something about his ability to do what he sets out to.
In some ways... it feels like his journal is a love letter. Admittedly a kind of wiggy, twisted one... but...
The things he says, the things he writes, the way he feels...
No one has ever wanted me like Spike does, loved me like Spike does.
And maybe I'm selfish, too, because... I want that. I want to be loved that way.
I want a forever sort of love.
***
The next day is pretty much a repeat of the first. Lots of snow, lots of cold, lots of dead trees. But the ground is more level now, and the trees are farther apart. Maybe I'm getting to the end of the forest?
Not soon enough, though. My ears hurt inside, maybe from the cold, maybe from the silence. It's hard to tell. My mental Spike keeps up a running stream of commentary, egging me on. It's pretty much the only thing that keeps me going.
I try to stay hydrated, melting snow in my mouth.
Toward evening, if you can call it that, the trees thin out until they're only studding the landscape. Past them, as far as I can see, is a great big vast plain of snow, and far off, in the distance, what looks like some kind of tower. Minus the statues, it looks a great deal like the end of my birthday dream.
That's where Spike is. That's where I need to go.
***
I spend a few hours sleeping beside a campfire, just inside the tree line. When I wake up, I bundle as much wood as I can comfortably carry into a stack, then use my belt to cinch it together in order to carry. If I have to, I can drag it behind me, but I don't think I'm going to find anything out on that plain that will burn, and I don't know how long it'll take to reach the tower.
I'd pretty much kill for a hot bath right now, though. And a warm meal. Note to self: when going on quests into a Hell dimension, pack real food. Maybe a few canned goods.
I start to walk.
I walk for hours, but the tower doesn't seem to get much closer. On the other hand, I left the trees well behind me at some point. I can't even make out the shadow of the forest anymore. Everything around me is white.
Well, sort of lavender, actually. Now that I can see the whole sky I realize why the light is weird: the sun and moon don't move. The moon hovers, huge and white and fat off to my right. The sun sits lazily just below the horizon to my left. There aren't any clouds, and the sky goes from pinky orange on the sun side to midnight blue on the moon side, spangled with stars like thousands of tiny sequins. It'd be pretty if it weren't so irritatingly unchanging.
Everything around me is cold, white, empty.
I think of the day my mother died, of the empty street, of the paper towels that seemed to unroll endlessly in my hands.
Spike's voice echoes in my head.
I think I know enough of hate,
to say that for destruction ice
is also great
and would suffice.
I used to think I hated Spike. Every time I saw his face, something in me burned. My temper flared, hot and angry. It was all I could do sometimes not to ball my hands into fists and break his nose, black his eyes.
He always seemed to see too much. He saw me.
He made me angry. He made me burn.
But now I know. I never hated him.
This... this is what hate looks like. This cold, aching, silent wasteland is hate. Worse... it's antipathy. It's what happens when life gives up.
It's death.
Yesterday I thought that the breaking of the tree branches was nerve wracking. I'd give anything to hear it again. The silence presses down on me here, like a blanket or a pillow. It's trying to smother me. The cold hates that I'm here. That I'm moving. That I'm alive.
It presses on my eardrums so hard that they keep popping.
I grit my teeth, lick my bleeding lips and keep going.
The snow is hard packed, but my feet still leave their mark: a single line of footprints stretching out behind me. There's no wind to erase them, and there aren't any other tracks out here. This is worse than walking into Mordor. At least in Mordor that Frodo guy could hide. There's no way to hide here.
And I'm not going to panic. Not yet. Find Spike first, then figure out how to get out of here without all of Louhi's armies descending on our heads. That's the plan.
Such as it is.
***
It takes most of the day before I realize that the tower is closer.
It takes another hour or two before I realize it's not just a tower. It's a city.
The tower is the highest point, and it looks like someone chiseled it out of a massive block of ice. The top of it is so high that it seems to touch the stars. The rest of the city clusters around it as though looking for warmth in a place where the concept of warmth is totally foreign. I can't tell much, this far away, but it looks deserted. I can't imagine what could live here, not within the reach of that tower.
I feel like a target out here, even though the minute I figure I'm within sight I use the pendant to hide. Unfortunately I'm not invisible to myself, so I can't actually tell if it's working or not. Picking up the pace sounds like a good idea, so I do. Even though I'm starting to get tired I have no desire to camp out in the middle of this plain tonight. Not with that tower so near.
Not with Spike so near.
The tingles increase the closer I get, like a pair of cool fingers brushing the nape of my neck. You'd think it would be annoying, but instead it feels good, familiar. Like Spike in the dark, holding my elbow to guide me.
Slowly the city grows. The tower looms like a great loomy thing.
Like Angelus's sodding forehead, Spike murmurs in my mind, making me giggle.
Only it comes out more like a rasping cough. I scoop up some snow and let it melt in my mouth again. Can't get dehydrated.
God, I hope I don't have to fight anything while I'm here. I'm not sure I could hold a weapon, my hands are that clumsy.
Tired, I force myself to keep going. One step after the other. Left, right, left, right.
The closer I get the more I can pick out individual buildings. They're all long and low, the roofs covered in a thick blanket of snow and fringed with icicles. They all have funny bits on the corners and at the peaks of the roof but it's hard to make out what the funny bits are supposed to be. None of the windows have lights in them. None of the chimneys have smoke. Nothing moves around the buildings.
Deserted. Empty.
What feels like hours later I stump down the middle of an empty street of some sort. If it can be called a street. Mostly it's a long gap between buildings. Still no sign of life. Doorways stand empty and there are weird lumps under the snow in places, like stuff was left or abandoned. I'm too tired to dig to find out what. I wander for a little while, listening for any sounds or signs of life.
There are none.
The city is as dead as everything else.
The base of the tower has no windows in it, and from here I can't tell if there are any doors. The windows are so high up that I doubt anyone looking out of them can see straight down. Good.
I pick a small building that looks like it might have been a house, built close to the base of the tower. The door is already open, so I poke my head in.
There's a small room with a stone floor. Snow has blown in through the empty doorway and piled in the corners, but mostly it's clear. There's an ancient looking stone fireplace with snow piled in it, and a long table with a few empty bowls on top. A couple of broken chairs lay around it. A rough frame in the corner holds a moldy straw mattress covered in a rotting blanket. Nothing has lived here in years. I shut the door and make myself at home.
First the snow in the fireplace goes, then I use the wood I brought with me to build a real fire. Working the lighter takes some doing, but I manage. When the room starts to warm up some, I get out my sleeping bag and lay it out in front of the fire to warm up. Then I strip out of my boots and socks, my gloves, hat and scarf. I melt some snow and make hot chocolate again, then pull out another power bar.
I'm exhausted, but I need a plan.
The city is dead, and if Louhi is anywhere, it's going to be in that tower. That's where Spike is, I'm almost certain. Tomorrow I'll find a way in. I just hope the tower is as dead as the city. If it is, then all I have to do is find Spike, and find a way to sneak him out.
Then we go back the way we came.
It's a stupid plan. I know it. I left a major trail getting here, and even with the necklace to hide me I'm not sure if it'll hide Spike. Tara said it would hide me and anything I'm touching, so maybe if we... held hands?
Wouldn't be much good during a fight.
And that tower is huge. Even with the tingles, if he's at the top it could take days to reach him. This does not look like an elevator friendly environment.
Then, once we're back out there in Winter Wonderland, we'll be leaving a trail a few miles long as we head for the portal. And I'm not sure how much good I'll be during a fight. I can barely move most of my fingers and toes. Getting my boots off was an exercise in manual dexterity that took a good forty minutes at least to figure out. Fighting would be problematic.
Still, I'm here. I've come this far. It's not like I'm gonna turn back.
***
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I mutter, staring at the front door to Louhi's Evil Tower of Ominousness.
Like in my dream, the doors are huge. Opening one would take a giant's strength, which I don't have. And it'd immediately alert anyone indoors that there's a visitor—invisible or not. Also, it's as deserted and unguarded as everything else in this stupid place.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
Where's a long line of marching guards in conveniently figure obscuring uniforms when you need one?
Or a back door?
But I've been the whole way around the tower and there's nothing. The base of it is solid as ... a solid thing. There's nothing but the front doors. Unless I really feel like scaling a sheer wall made of ice for about fifty feet.
I hate this stealth stuff. I should just go in the front.
I'm supposedly invisible, right? Uninteresting? Maybe they won't care if I open the door.
Maybe the inside is as deserted as the out.
Maybe Xander and Spike will someday be best pals.
It could happen, right?
Fine. Front door it is. Really big, scary, heavy front door with no visible means to open it that I can see.
I guess I could kick them down? Or break a leg trying anyway. I might be strong enough to kick down the front door of the Bronze but those doors are teeny weeny compared to this. This would be like trying to kick down Bloomingdale’s.
Great.
Would it bloody kill you to knock?
Probably, but I don't really see an alternative.
Grimacing, I raise my first and rap my knuckles against the surface of the door. It's wood. Or possibly iron. Hard to tell. The sound doesn't even echo. It's like it gets swallowed by the door.
Wonderful.
I raise my fist to try again, harder...
And the door starts to swing silently open.
I scramble back, trying to stay behind it, out of sight of anyone looking out. They shouldn't be able to see me anyway, but... better safe, right? I wrap one gloved hand around the iron spike in the duster pocket, just in case. Then lean around the edge of the door to see what's happening.
The interior of the tower is dark, and something massive and white is coming out of it. Massive, white, and covered in fur, with beady black eyes and a black nose and giant furry feet that probably have really big claws.
Oh, god.
It's a bear.
A giant polar bear.
Or maybe not a giant one. I've never actually seen a polar bear up close in real life so maybe they normally come in small school bus size. I step back behind the door, hoping that polar bears don't come equipped with the ability to see through magical illusions. But the bear doesn't seem interested in me. It just shambles out of the tower and into the street.
It's only once it's passed me that I realize that there's something on the bear's back. It's a guy, bundled up in black and white armor, with blue and white hair and pale skin. Jack Frost. Riding on a polar bear.
Great. Just great.
They move off down the street, away from the tower and the door begins to swing shut again. Figuring it's now or never, and wanting to be on the other side of the massive doors from Pooh Bear back there, I slip inside just before the door shuts.
When my eyes adjust to the dimmer light I see that my dream wasn't really that far off. I'm in a massive hall, with icy columns marching away toward the end, where a dais sits with an empty throne on it. There's no one around, though. Just lots of empty, echoing white. Like an evil church. Since there's no where to go but forward, forward I go, trying to stay as much behind the columns as I can and moving as silently as possible.
Past the throne a massive staircase leads up, and two archways lead off to the right and the left. I head for the stairs, but pause as I pass the archways.
The tingles are most definitely coming from the left.
I thought usually the baddies stashed their prisoners at the top of the big scary tower?
Still, my Slayer sense is insisting on left, and it's practically screaming Spike! in a way that doesn't seem to indicate UP.
The left hand archway leads to a long, mostly dark passage. Crystals along the wall provide a little bit of light, but there's enough shadows that I don't feel as exposed as I did before. There are a couple of shut doors along the passage, but my spidey sense doesn't ping at either. A little further on another massive archway opens off to the right. When I peek in, I see what must be the polar bear's den. Or stable or... uh, where they put it when Jack isn't riding it around town. There's a big old iron gate that's currently open, and some straw, and a pool of water like you'd see in the penguin enclosure at the zoo, only a lot bigger. I hope we get out of here before they get back.
I follow the passage to the end, where another archway opens onto a landing, and then another not-massive staircase that spirals down. I listen for a long time, but I don't hear anything on the stairs. I guess I'll just have to deal with it if I come across any guards. I loosen the sword in its scabbard at my hip, and the dagger at my thigh. The spike is a comfortable weight in my palm, easy for me to grab a hold of with my cold fingers. With a deep breath, I start down.
The staircase has landings at regular intervals, with doors at each one. Most of them are open, and a quick check reveals a long hall with dungeon like cells lining the walls. From what I can see, they're empty. I don't get it. Where is everyone? Shouldn't Louhi have like a million minions and henchmen scurrying around, with trained guards at every corner?
Instead there's nothing. Just lots of big empty.
It's giving me major wiggins. This is too easy.
Besides that... didn't she bring Spike here to be her new boyfriend? From the looks of things she's stashed him in the dungeons, which makes no sense. Why isn't he up in the tower with her?
Thankfully the tower doesn't seem to be as deep as it is tall. The bottom level has just one door that leads into yet another hallway, this one with a closed door at the end. The tingles are stronger now, practically making my skin crawl with goosebumps. I hurry to the end, then make myself stop to listen at the door. On the other side, there's only silence. Praying it's not locked, I grab the handle and push.
It opens slowly, without even a creak to betray my presence.
The room beyond is lit with more crystals along the walls. It's not very big, and there's stuff in here, but I don't pay it any attention. My eyes go straight to the middle of the room and the figure hanging there like a battered pinata.
It glances up, yellow eyes shining in a gaunt face, and stares right back at me.
"Spike."
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.
Betaed by Phuriedae and Science
Cold As Hell
"Hello?" I call. "You have any more ghost guides you want to shove at me?"
Nothing. Just dark. Guess we're skipping Christmas Yet to Come. Oh well, Past was over quota anyway.
I feel like I'm back in the dream room. Only I don't think there's a rule about me not being allowed to see anymore. I touch the pendant at my throat. "Day."
Well, that's a fat lot of help. Now I can see myself... but there's nothing around me to see. Not even ground. Which, now that I've noticed it, is pretty wiggy and disorienting.
"Night."
Sometimes it's better to be blind. At least this way I'm not dizzy.
So I follow the tingles. Somewhere out there is my vampire, and I'm going to get him back.
I'm tired. Too tired really to process everything I've seen over the last... what? Hours? Days? Hundred years and then some? I feel older, like I've lived Spike's lifetime. I know, I really only got the Oscar highlights reel but... yeah. I'm tired.
But the tingles are stronger than they have been, though I'm still not registering him as being close. So I'm not going to stop just yet. It's like a Spike homing device, beeping a little louder as I get closer. A year in the dark with a vampire really sharpens up that particular sense, I guess. I'll probably always be able to find him, now, no matter where he goes or how dark it is.
Which is an oddly comforting thought.
He'd be able to find me, too. Probably using something creepy like smell but... I'm pretty sure that Spike could find me just about anywhere.
It takes a yawn that nearly splits my face before I realize something has changed. When was the last time I slept? The answer to that takes some thought. More thought than I seem to have functioning Buffy brain for, but eventually I manage to dredge up the answer.
The night I screwed everything up. The night I looked.
Which, if today is still the same day that I stepped into the portal, was the night before last. Which would mean something like forty-eight hours with no sleep.
The whole H.G. Wells trip, however, felt like it took a hundred years, but may have only been a few minutes. I didn't feel hungry or tired or ... like I had to go... the entire time. So who knows?
I yawn again.
It's catching up.
And now I kinda have to use the bathroom, but there's no way I'm going to try that here. Where ever here is.
"Could we hurry it up?" I grumble.
And I trip through some invisible barrier and into the light.
And cold.
Oh. God. COLD.
Bone-numbing, brain-freezing, eye-stinging cold.
I blink against the tears in my eyes, trying to figure out where I am. It looks like a cave of some sort, and the time is sometime around either dusk or dawn, judging by the dimness of the light. Snow and ice blanket what little I can see of the world outside, and the inside of the cave, too, is coated in ice. When I twist to look behind me, there's only a swirling black portal. The way home.
Louhi's world. I made it.
And oh, god, do I need to pee.
Business taken care of, I yank my sweater and jacket out of my bag and put them back on, then put Spike's duster over all of it. I pull on the gloves, hat, earmuffs and scarf I brought, too, glad I'd remembered to pack them. I really want a nap, but I'd probably freeze to death, which means I need to try to start a fire.
If I can find something to start a fire with.
When I poke my head out of the cave all I see are dead trees. They're tall, black, and gnarly as demon horns, with bony looking twigs and no leaves at all. They look like they've been dead for a few thousand years or so, and a lot of them have fallen down. The ground is covered in broken branches, which is good. And it's SO cold that the snow hasn't melted into them and made them all wet and stuff. It doesn't take too long to gather up a couple of armloads and haul them back to the cave. Beating them against the wall breaks off most of the ice, leaving mostly dry, long dead wood.
There's probably a vampire joke in there somewhere, but I'm too tired to make it.
Xander's Survivalist book has pictures to show how to build a fire, but I'm a modern girl. No rubbing sticks together for me.
That's why God invented lighters.
And, so, okay, it takes a dozen tries, and I almost fall asleep in it a few times, but eventually I manage to get it going.
Go me.
After that I put my weapons within easy reach, pull out the insulated lightweight sleeping bag Xander gave me, wrap myself in it, and promptly fall asleep.
I wake up to the smell of leather and smoke, which makes me think of Spike and the way it felt to sleep in his arms. The coat is a pretty poor substitute. The fire has mostly gone out, and convincing myself to crawl out of the comparatively warm sleeping bag takes some effort.
My stomach and bladder gang up on me and proceed to win this round, though.
Awake means taking stock of my surroundings. Let's see. Ice. More ice. Snow. More snow. More ice. And... oh, wait for it... more snow.
The floor is stone, though, where my fire from last night melted through the snow and the ice. The walls are white with ice and icicles as thick around as my entire torso hang from the ceiling in some places. I don't want to think about how long it has to be cold for ice that thick to form. The cave isn't very big, or deep, and it seems to be the only one in the rocky hillside.
All in all, it's not really homey, and I don't have any reason to linger here. It only takes a few minutes to get my stuff packed up. The portal is still there, waiting, being swirly and dark and mysterious.
I guess I have to hope it'll stay that way until I get back. No sense in worrying about it at this point.
Outside the light is about where it was when I went to sleep, which means either I slept through the night, or I slept through the day, or... more likely, this place doesn't have a light cycle. Didn't Louhi say something about it always being twilight here?
I point myself toward where the tingles seems strongest and start out, munching on a power bar as I go. With any luck, I'll find where ever Louhi has him stashed in a few hours, and we can be on our way back before nightfall.
Or... whatever you call it here.
A few hours later, with numb, tired feet, my eyelashes frosted together and my scarf iced over where it wraps around my nose and mouth, I have to take a break. So much for a quick rescue. My legs ache from trudging through what feels like an ocean of snow which covers treacherous, uneven, sloping ground. I think this place used to be pretty rocky, but now it's a downhill skier’s nightmare, considering all the trees and half buried fallen branches.
I spend a lot of time glancing up at those branches that remain, hoping that the weight of the snow on them isn't enough to finally bring one down on my head. Would super suck to get all the way here just to turn into Slayer on a Stick. They creak and moan, which is creepy, and every now and then, off in the distance, I hear a sharp crack. The whole thing leaves me nervous and cranky and wishing I was anywhere but in this stupid forest.
The cold is almost unbearable, and moving at least keeps me warm. But I probably ought to conserve what strength I can, so I park myself on yet another fallen tree trunk and pull out Spike's journal.
I didn't dream last night, I don't think. But all morning my brain has been stuck on instant replay, going over so many of the things that I saw yesterday. Seeing Spike's past like that... sometimes it's hard to reconcile who he is now with who he's been.
So I take a break and read, reassuring myself that I'm right, that I'm doing the right thing.
Reminding myself of everything he's done, how hard he's tried.
Some of the journal makes more sense now. Things he mentioned in passing, like about his mom. I can see why he'd prefer not to remember her. And Angelus... god, I finally get why he hates Angel so much.
Even after I put the journal away and shift my scarf so that I no longer have ice against my face, Spike's words stay with me. I know that Angel has been all about redeeming himself for his past crimes... but the fact is he wouldn't have done that without his soul. The soul he had to be cursed with to prevent those crimes in the first place.
Everything Spike has done for the last few years, has been without the soul to guide him. Without anything to guide him. I can't even really count the chip, not if he's capable of ignoring it if he really wants to, or finding ways around it. The only thing he has, really, is me.
Which might seem like a whole boatload of responsibility, but I didn't even know he was using me as a moral compass. And I was doing a pretty crappy job as a role model the whole time...
And yet he still was trying to do the right things, and doing a pretty damned good job of it in spite of the rest of us doing our best to make him keep being evil.
I'm not sure what all that means, but I'm almost certain that the Watchers’ Council would prefer if word didn't get out about it. Vampires without souls turning to the side of good? What's next? Puppies and kittens living together in peace and harmony?
Yeah, not exactly part of the whole Watcher's Council dogma. Hell, pretty much everything I saw contradicts something they've spouted at me ever since I landed the Slayer gig. That whole thing about the human making an exit stage right? Not so much.
Of course, it's not like it'd be the first time they've lied to me about something major.
And... honestly, it's info that I probably could have lived without. I don't have time to sit down and interview every vampire before I stake them to see if maybe there's something a little extra still cowering in the corner. I guess sticking with the "if it charges you and has fangs, stake it" theory on Slaying is probably going to have to stick around.
Not that that worked so well with Spike, but... if the whole prophecy thing is true, I probably wasn't meant to stake Spike. And he wasn't meant to kill me.
Stalemate.
Or maybe not stalemate. That implies, you know, stale, crunchy things. Like croutons.
Spike is not a crouton.
Equals, maybe. That's a better word.
I walk and climb over dead trees for what feels like most of a day. It's like the most boring, awful obstacle course ever. Trudge, trudge, trudge, climb, trudge, trudge, trudge. I'm all trudged out and there's still no end in sight. What I wouldn't give for warm climates and parks, and Sunnydale where the good part of the town is half a block from the bad part and it only takes twenty minutes to get from Oak Grove Cemetery on the outskirts of town to the Kwik Stop gas station way out at the other end. Walking.
My legs are nothing more than frozen stumps, my fingers hurt, and I've long since lost feeling in my nose and ears. When I stumble, climbing over the tenth or maybe fifteenth tree, it hurts so badly I can't help but cry out. I thought the winter in Sunnydale was bad. This is worse. A hundred times worse.
My eyes water, and my eyelashes keep freezing together, making it hard to see. I don't dare brush at them though because when I tried earlier a few of them broke off and it's probably not good to have no eyelashes. My breath keeps freezing in my scarf, and when I take it off to break off the ice, the cold air that hits my throat hurts, and I can't breathe through my nose too well because the insides feel like they're frozen solid.
If the cold is bad, the monotony is worse. Nothing but trees and snow and sky as far as I can see. The only sounds are the tortured cracks of branches breaking off far away, the squeak and crunch of my boots through the snow and my own labored breathing. I try counting trees but ... that gets pretty pointless.
And other than trees, there's nothing to count.
Just snow, snow and more snow.
Pretty much the only way to gauge time is when my stomach makes with the rumblies. Slayer metabolism being what it is, that's five times a day. I didn't really bring enough power bars for more than a few days, so I ignore the rumblies as much as I can. Better to ration them than to run out. Something to worry about later, I guess. Right along with, how the hell am I going to get Spike away from Louhi? At least I don't have to worry too much about trying to find Spike cover from the sun. So far I haven't even seen the sun, and the trees around me are bare enough that I've got a decent view of the sky. Not the horizons, but... no sun overhead. Just perpetual mood lighting.
The cold gets to the point where I'm almost numb enough to bear it. My boots are thankfully waterproof, and thanks to Willow I shouldn't have to worry about frostbite. The duster is a welcome addition, too, since it gives me an extra layer around my legs. The scent of leather and cigarette smoke that seems to have soaked into it, despite it being Nikki's, really, helps, too. It gives me something to focus on.
I feel like that guy, in that poem I read in class. The one who promised his friend he'd cremate him, and drove the sled with the corpse on it for days until he got to the lake. I didn't understand what it meant, then.
I get it now. I get what real cold is.
And I understand the weight of a promise.
I promised Spike I would read his journal. I promised to get him back. I promised to walk through hell to find him and even though I don't take promises lightly, right now I'm definitely feeling mine.
"God, I hope you're worth this," I mutter sometime after what I decide was my "noon" break. Talking at least breaks the monotony.
Not givin' up, are you Slayer? my mental Spike snarks. Never took you for such a prancing lightweight. Come all this way, and you're whinging because it's a little nippy?
"A little nippy? Are you kidding? It's got to be a hundred below! Calling this a little nippy is like calling the ocean a little damp." My teeth chatter so hard I can barely get the words out, and my voice sounds hoarse.
See, now you're just exaggeratin'.
"Am not."
Are, too.
"Am not."
Are you really goin' to get into an 'am not/are, too' argument with a figment of your imagination? You're off your box, Slayer.
"Yeah, well, we all know that crazy turns you on."
Trying to seduce me, Slayer? I'm all aflutter.
"Shut up, Spike," I say, then realize I'm blushing. Great. I'm arguing with a mental version of a vampire, and he's winning.
I clamp a lid on my imagination. Staying warm is one thing. Going as crazy as Drusilla? I'd rather freeze first.
Eventually I feel like I'm reaching the end of my strength for the day, so I start picking up wood as I go. When I've finally put together a hefty armload, I find a spot between two trees that's reasonably sheltered and start the process of building a fire. It's harder to do out here than it was in the cave, but a fire is better than no fire, and I have no interest in being a meat popsicle.
The fire seems small, compared to all the cold around it. It's like it's cowering, trying not to be noticed by all the big bad frostiness. It pops and whines and generally sounds like Xander trying to get out of research, and the light doesn't really stretch that far in the constant gloom. I use my nifty little pan to melt some water and when it's boiling I dump in a packet of hot chocolate mix. I end up having to drink it quick, because once I pull it away from the fire it immediately starts to cool down. By the time I'm done I'm drinking a chocolate slushy.
My lips hurt, and I realize that they're cracked and bleeding. I don't even want to think about what this is doing to my skin and hair. I manage to thaw my fingers enough that I can feel pain in them again. Maybe they were better off numb.
Guess there's a reason they call this a hell dimension.
Since there's enough light I decide I probably ought to read more of that Survivalist's Handbook, since it looks like I'm going to be here a little longer than I thought. Somehow the idea of coming all this way just to die from the cold... not so appealing.
When all this is over, I'm so applying for a vacation somewhere warm. Maybe the equator.
Or one of the fiery hells. Surely there's at least one of those, right?
Shivering, I wrap the sleeping bag around me and sit as close to the fire as I dare, trying to defrost my face a little. Spike will have himself a party if I show up missing my nose because it fell off.
I read about finding food in hostile environments, even though I don't think that the author had a place like this in mind. I haven't seen a single living thing all day. Not a squirrel, not a bug, not a bird. As far as I can tell this place is too harsh for most living things to survive. Which does not bode well for me, if I have to stay here too much longer.
Then I read about building shelters and igloos and snow bunkers in case of a blizzard.
When it starts on how to skin rabbits, though, I put it away. General Slayer unsquickiness does not extend to graphic instructions on how to mutilate Thumper.
Instead I take out the other book, the Worst Case Scenario one. Informative AND funny, my favorite combination.
When I'm bored with that, I can't help but read Spike's journal again, even though I've started to memorize parts of it. Having his words there, recounting things I was there for... it's comforting. Sometimes I can almost hear his voice. I can't believe he went almost a year without speaking for eight hours every night. That right there should tell me something about his ability to do what he sets out to.
In some ways... it feels like his journal is a love letter. Admittedly a kind of wiggy, twisted one... but...
The things he says, the things he writes, the way he feels...
No one has ever wanted me like Spike does, loved me like Spike does.
And maybe I'm selfish, too, because... I want that. I want to be loved that way.
I want a forever sort of love.
The next day is pretty much a repeat of the first. Lots of snow, lots of cold, lots of dead trees. But the ground is more level now, and the trees are farther apart. Maybe I'm getting to the end of the forest?
Not soon enough, though. My ears hurt inside, maybe from the cold, maybe from the silence. It's hard to tell. My mental Spike keeps up a running stream of commentary, egging me on. It's pretty much the only thing that keeps me going.
I try to stay hydrated, melting snow in my mouth.
Toward evening, if you can call it that, the trees thin out until they're only studding the landscape. Past them, as far as I can see, is a great big vast plain of snow, and far off, in the distance, what looks like some kind of tower. Minus the statues, it looks a great deal like the end of my birthday dream.
That's where Spike is. That's where I need to go.
I spend a few hours sleeping beside a campfire, just inside the tree line. When I wake up, I bundle as much wood as I can comfortably carry into a stack, then use my belt to cinch it together in order to carry. If I have to, I can drag it behind me, but I don't think I'm going to find anything out on that plain that will burn, and I don't know how long it'll take to reach the tower.
I'd pretty much kill for a hot bath right now, though. And a warm meal. Note to self: when going on quests into a Hell dimension, pack real food. Maybe a few canned goods.
I start to walk.
I walk for hours, but the tower doesn't seem to get much closer. On the other hand, I left the trees well behind me at some point. I can't even make out the shadow of the forest anymore. Everything around me is white.
Well, sort of lavender, actually. Now that I can see the whole sky I realize why the light is weird: the sun and moon don't move. The moon hovers, huge and white and fat off to my right. The sun sits lazily just below the horizon to my left. There aren't any clouds, and the sky goes from pinky orange on the sun side to midnight blue on the moon side, spangled with stars like thousands of tiny sequins. It'd be pretty if it weren't so irritatingly unchanging.
Everything around me is cold, white, empty.
I think of the day my mother died, of the empty street, of the paper towels that seemed to unroll endlessly in my hands.
Spike's voice echoes in my head.
I think I know enough of hate,
to say that for destruction ice
is also great
and would suffice.
I used to think I hated Spike. Every time I saw his face, something in me burned. My temper flared, hot and angry. It was all I could do sometimes not to ball my hands into fists and break his nose, black his eyes.
He always seemed to see too much. He saw me.
He made me angry. He made me burn.
But now I know. I never hated him.
This... this is what hate looks like. This cold, aching, silent wasteland is hate. Worse... it's antipathy. It's what happens when life gives up.
It's death.
Yesterday I thought that the breaking of the tree branches was nerve wracking. I'd give anything to hear it again. The silence presses down on me here, like a blanket or a pillow. It's trying to smother me. The cold hates that I'm here. That I'm moving. That I'm alive.
It presses on my eardrums so hard that they keep popping.
I grit my teeth, lick my bleeding lips and keep going.
The snow is hard packed, but my feet still leave their mark: a single line of footprints stretching out behind me. There's no wind to erase them, and there aren't any other tracks out here. This is worse than walking into Mordor. At least in Mordor that Frodo guy could hide. There's no way to hide here.
And I'm not going to panic. Not yet. Find Spike first, then figure out how to get out of here without all of Louhi's armies descending on our heads. That's the plan.
Such as it is.
It takes most of the day before I realize that the tower is closer.
It takes another hour or two before I realize it's not just a tower. It's a city.
The tower is the highest point, and it looks like someone chiseled it out of a massive block of ice. The top of it is so high that it seems to touch the stars. The rest of the city clusters around it as though looking for warmth in a place where the concept of warmth is totally foreign. I can't tell much, this far away, but it looks deserted. I can't imagine what could live here, not within the reach of that tower.
I feel like a target out here, even though the minute I figure I'm within sight I use the pendant to hide. Unfortunately I'm not invisible to myself, so I can't actually tell if it's working or not. Picking up the pace sounds like a good idea, so I do. Even though I'm starting to get tired I have no desire to camp out in the middle of this plain tonight. Not with that tower so near.
Not with Spike so near.
The tingles increase the closer I get, like a pair of cool fingers brushing the nape of my neck. You'd think it would be annoying, but instead it feels good, familiar. Like Spike in the dark, holding my elbow to guide me.
Slowly the city grows. The tower looms like a great loomy thing.
Like Angelus's sodding forehead, Spike murmurs in my mind, making me giggle.
Only it comes out more like a rasping cough. I scoop up some snow and let it melt in my mouth again. Can't get dehydrated.
God, I hope I don't have to fight anything while I'm here. I'm not sure I could hold a weapon, my hands are that clumsy.
Tired, I force myself to keep going. One step after the other. Left, right, left, right.
The closer I get the more I can pick out individual buildings. They're all long and low, the roofs covered in a thick blanket of snow and fringed with icicles. They all have funny bits on the corners and at the peaks of the roof but it's hard to make out what the funny bits are supposed to be. None of the windows have lights in them. None of the chimneys have smoke. Nothing moves around the buildings.
Deserted. Empty.
What feels like hours later I stump down the middle of an empty street of some sort. If it can be called a street. Mostly it's a long gap between buildings. Still no sign of life. Doorways stand empty and there are weird lumps under the snow in places, like stuff was left or abandoned. I'm too tired to dig to find out what. I wander for a little while, listening for any sounds or signs of life.
There are none.
The city is as dead as everything else.
The base of the tower has no windows in it, and from here I can't tell if there are any doors. The windows are so high up that I doubt anyone looking out of them can see straight down. Good.
I pick a small building that looks like it might have been a house, built close to the base of the tower. The door is already open, so I poke my head in.
There's a small room with a stone floor. Snow has blown in through the empty doorway and piled in the corners, but mostly it's clear. There's an ancient looking stone fireplace with snow piled in it, and a long table with a few empty bowls on top. A couple of broken chairs lay around it. A rough frame in the corner holds a moldy straw mattress covered in a rotting blanket. Nothing has lived here in years. I shut the door and make myself at home.
First the snow in the fireplace goes, then I use the wood I brought with me to build a real fire. Working the lighter takes some doing, but I manage. When the room starts to warm up some, I get out my sleeping bag and lay it out in front of the fire to warm up. Then I strip out of my boots and socks, my gloves, hat and scarf. I melt some snow and make hot chocolate again, then pull out another power bar.
I'm exhausted, but I need a plan.
The city is dead, and if Louhi is anywhere, it's going to be in that tower. That's where Spike is, I'm almost certain. Tomorrow I'll find a way in. I just hope the tower is as dead as the city. If it is, then all I have to do is find Spike, and find a way to sneak him out.
Then we go back the way we came.
It's a stupid plan. I know it. I left a major trail getting here, and even with the necklace to hide me I'm not sure if it'll hide Spike. Tara said it would hide me and anything I'm touching, so maybe if we... held hands?
Wouldn't be much good during a fight.
And that tower is huge. Even with the tingles, if he's at the top it could take days to reach him. This does not look like an elevator friendly environment.
Then, once we're back out there in Winter Wonderland, we'll be leaving a trail a few miles long as we head for the portal. And I'm not sure how much good I'll be during a fight. I can barely move most of my fingers and toes. Getting my boots off was an exercise in manual dexterity that took a good forty minutes at least to figure out. Fighting would be problematic.
Still, I'm here. I've come this far. It's not like I'm gonna turn back.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I mutter, staring at the front door to Louhi's Evil Tower of Ominousness.
Like in my dream, the doors are huge. Opening one would take a giant's strength, which I don't have. And it'd immediately alert anyone indoors that there's a visitor—invisible or not. Also, it's as deserted and unguarded as everything else in this stupid place.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
Where's a long line of marching guards in conveniently figure obscuring uniforms when you need one?
Or a back door?
But I've been the whole way around the tower and there's nothing. The base of it is solid as ... a solid thing. There's nothing but the front doors. Unless I really feel like scaling a sheer wall made of ice for about fifty feet.
I hate this stealth stuff. I should just go in the front.
I'm supposedly invisible, right? Uninteresting? Maybe they won't care if I open the door.
Maybe the inside is as deserted as the out.
Maybe Xander and Spike will someday be best pals.
It could happen, right?
Fine. Front door it is. Really big, scary, heavy front door with no visible means to open it that I can see.
I guess I could kick them down? Or break a leg trying anyway. I might be strong enough to kick down the front door of the Bronze but those doors are teeny weeny compared to this. This would be like trying to kick down Bloomingdale’s.
Great.
Would it bloody kill you to knock?
Probably, but I don't really see an alternative.
Grimacing, I raise my first and rap my knuckles against the surface of the door. It's wood. Or possibly iron. Hard to tell. The sound doesn't even echo. It's like it gets swallowed by the door.
Wonderful.
I raise my fist to try again, harder...
And the door starts to swing silently open.
I scramble back, trying to stay behind it, out of sight of anyone looking out. They shouldn't be able to see me anyway, but... better safe, right? I wrap one gloved hand around the iron spike in the duster pocket, just in case. Then lean around the edge of the door to see what's happening.
The interior of the tower is dark, and something massive and white is coming out of it. Massive, white, and covered in fur, with beady black eyes and a black nose and giant furry feet that probably have really big claws.
Oh, god.
It's a bear.
A giant polar bear.
Or maybe not a giant one. I've never actually seen a polar bear up close in real life so maybe they normally come in small school bus size. I step back behind the door, hoping that polar bears don't come equipped with the ability to see through magical illusions. But the bear doesn't seem interested in me. It just shambles out of the tower and into the street.
It's only once it's passed me that I realize that there's something on the bear's back. It's a guy, bundled up in black and white armor, with blue and white hair and pale skin. Jack Frost. Riding on a polar bear.
Great. Just great.
They move off down the street, away from the tower and the door begins to swing shut again. Figuring it's now or never, and wanting to be on the other side of the massive doors from Pooh Bear back there, I slip inside just before the door shuts.
When my eyes adjust to the dimmer light I see that my dream wasn't really that far off. I'm in a massive hall, with icy columns marching away toward the end, where a dais sits with an empty throne on it. There's no one around, though. Just lots of empty, echoing white. Like an evil church. Since there's no where to go but forward, forward I go, trying to stay as much behind the columns as I can and moving as silently as possible.
Past the throne a massive staircase leads up, and two archways lead off to the right and the left. I head for the stairs, but pause as I pass the archways.
The tingles are most definitely coming from the left.
I thought usually the baddies stashed their prisoners at the top of the big scary tower?
Still, my Slayer sense is insisting on left, and it's practically screaming Spike! in a way that doesn't seem to indicate UP.
The left hand archway leads to a long, mostly dark passage. Crystals along the wall provide a little bit of light, but there's enough shadows that I don't feel as exposed as I did before. There are a couple of shut doors along the passage, but my spidey sense doesn't ping at either. A little further on another massive archway opens off to the right. When I peek in, I see what must be the polar bear's den. Or stable or... uh, where they put it when Jack isn't riding it around town. There's a big old iron gate that's currently open, and some straw, and a pool of water like you'd see in the penguin enclosure at the zoo, only a lot bigger. I hope we get out of here before they get back.
I follow the passage to the end, where another archway opens onto a landing, and then another not-massive staircase that spirals down. I listen for a long time, but I don't hear anything on the stairs. I guess I'll just have to deal with it if I come across any guards. I loosen the sword in its scabbard at my hip, and the dagger at my thigh. The spike is a comfortable weight in my palm, easy for me to grab a hold of with my cold fingers. With a deep breath, I start down.
The staircase has landings at regular intervals, with doors at each one. Most of them are open, and a quick check reveals a long hall with dungeon like cells lining the walls. From what I can see, they're empty. I don't get it. Where is everyone? Shouldn't Louhi have like a million minions and henchmen scurrying around, with trained guards at every corner?
Instead there's nothing. Just lots of big empty.
It's giving me major wiggins. This is too easy.
Besides that... didn't she bring Spike here to be her new boyfriend? From the looks of things she's stashed him in the dungeons, which makes no sense. Why isn't he up in the tower with her?
Thankfully the tower doesn't seem to be as deep as it is tall. The bottom level has just one door that leads into yet another hallway, this one with a closed door at the end. The tingles are stronger now, practically making my skin crawl with goosebumps. I hurry to the end, then make myself stop to listen at the door. On the other side, there's only silence. Praying it's not locked, I grab the handle and push.
It opens slowly, without even a creak to betray my presence.
The room beyond is lit with more crystals along the walls. It's not very big, and there's stuff in here, but I don't pay it any attention. My eyes go straight to the middle of the room and the figure hanging there like a battered pinata.
It glances up, yellow eyes shining in a gaunt face, and stares right back at me.
"Spike."
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Concept: (c)bringonthebloodshed.com (2004), Code & Design: (c)Diabola (2006), Graphics: Selene & Always