[A/N: Wow. . . . . believe it or not, but I wrote two and a half chapters in the last week. . . Go me! Titles and quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers are in full force and effect.] Following that little tidbit above (about two chapters in a week?) I totally got sidetracked. Between a very frightening scare with my healh and then WriterCon, and moving, plus some deaths in the family, this has been a really, really hectic summer. I apologize for the delay in updates, and I promise now that things *knocks wood* have settled down a bit, updates will be quicker. My thanks to Tam, who volunteered to beta this and all my other stuff at WriterCon for doing a bang-up job on everything. And thanks to all of you for putting up with this really long epic. (And who knows, you all might just get that third book. . . . )

Previously: Lawson rigged a bomb at the mansion; Glynnis has disappeared from Jenner’s hotel and shown up at the mansion; everyone is gearing up for the coming fight and Willow’s found the ensouling spell. The action here (and in the next couple of chapters) is going to backtrack in some places, then move forward. Basically what this means is – pretty much all of this is happening simultaneously. This picks up immediately following the last installment.


Book Two. Chapter 59. More dangerous to lose

Tell me what is right and I will fight for it.
Woodrow Wilson, Woodrow Wilson and World Settlement, vol. 1, p. 113.

In a battle all you need to make you fight
is a little hot blood and the knowledge
that it’s more dangerous to lose than to win.
George Bernard Shaw, The Statue, in Man and Superman, act 3.

Know your enemy as you know yourself
and you can fight a hundred battles
with no danger of defeat.
Chinese proverb.





“What do you mean she’s gone?” Jenner paused at the foot of his bed, eyes on Hawkins.

“She was gone when I woke up.” He shrugged, “Hell, I’m not even sure she actually slept. At some point she was in the bed with me, but . . . “ Hawkins let his voice trail off.

“Fuck.” He slammed the dirty clothing down. “I was concerned about this. She wasn’t very happy with my decision.”

“Glynnis knew it was a possibility. Given a choice between Spike and Angelus? We all know how you feel about the paddy.”

“And still she left.”

Hawkins had to concede the point. “She did.”

Thinking quickly, Jenner realized he had two choices: he could ignore the situation and pretend ignorance when Spike found out, or he could warn him, let the consequences be on Glynnis. And if he chose to warn Spike – he’d have to send Hawkins.

“Fucking bull-headed bitch.” Hawkins waited, wondering which way Jenner was going to play this. “Blasted twice damned. . . . Go. Tell him she’s gone.”

Hawkins headed for the door, only stopping when Jenner’s low-voiced comment reached his ears. “If you find her first, bring her back, because if Spike finds her, she’s dust.”

“She made her choice.”

The only sound to mark their conversation was the closing of the bedroom door. Jenner paused, trying to rein in his temper, then roared, throwing a shoe through the closed door.


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They weren’t half a block away when Xander, with his eyes focused on the road, tersely asked, “So what did the bleached wonder want?”

“Spike wanted to know if I could still get to Arashmahaar.”

If anything, Xander’s muscles tensed further. “Why did he want to know that?”

“Because he’s worried about Dawn and the baby. He wants to make sure they’ll be safe if something bad happens.” Anya’s tone of voice sharpened the longer she spoke and she looked at him closely. “He’s worried.”

“Please, he’s only worried because if something happens to Dawn, Buffy will toss him out.”

“That’s really getting old, Xander.” Anya folded her arms and looked away. “And Buffy won’t do that.”

“Course she will.”

“No, Xander, she won’t. Buffy wouldn’t because she loves Spike and she’d be lost without her mate.”

Xander slammed on the brakes, and the car jerked to a stop, throwing them both forward. Anya’s shriek of surprise filled the air and he winced, flinching away from her.

“Her what?” A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“Buffy and Spike claimed each other. They’re mated, and I thought you knew this?”

“No, I didn’t know this. How could she do that? He’s a soulless demon and once that chip’s out he’s gonna kill her in bed.”

“Spike can’t do that. He can’t cause harm to Buffy any more than she could hurt him. Besides, he loves her with his whole heart.” She muttered something else under her breath Xander couldn’t catch.

“He has no heart.”

“Yes he does, it just doesn’t beat.” Done with this conversation, knowing nothing she could say to Xander would change his mind, Anya spoke again, “Are you going to drive me to Buffy’s or should I get out and walk?”

Xander couldn’t wrap his head around the things he’d just discovered. Anya’s information sharing had disgusted him. What the hell is Buffy thinking. . . .

Anya got out of the car, leaving Xander to sit and stew on his own. It wasn’t a far walk, and right now, she’d rather be away from Xander.


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“I would imagine the explosion would attract a fair amount of attention from both the police and fire departments,” was Giles’ rather dry response to Buffy’s question. “That is, provided the device actually works.”

Lawson spoke before he thought. “It’ll go off. I used the oil burner and the hot water heater to create the triggering device. Shouldn’t be long.”

Giles raised a brow, silently questioning Lawson’s ability to rig something so complicated. Spike caught the look and explained, “Sailor boy was an engineer before Peaches drained ‘im.”

The older Englishman looked genuinely relieved. “Well then it’s fair to say we should hear sirens shortly.”

Changing the subject, Spike asked, “How’re we set for weapons?”

It was Wesley who answered, “All the crossbows are loaded. Anya also filled the water pistols with holy water, and she took some with her to the house. The swords and daggers are all sharpened and Faith’s been warming up in the training room. I do believe we’re as ready as we can be.”

“Okay then, let’s go.”

“Are we not waiting for the explosion?” Giles looked from Buffy to Spike, who just inclined his head toward the older Slayer.

“I wanna be in position before, so we can get them in case some of them manage to survive.”

Wesley had called Faith in, and she’d heard the tail end of Buffy’s response. “Bout time.”

“Buffy, what about Angel?”

Wesley’s question stopped them all in their tracks and before she spoke, Buffy shared a look with Spike. “We don’t have the curse, only Willow does. I don’t see her giving us a copy of it. “ She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before she finished talking. “I don’t think we’re getting the nice version back anytime soon. If you can disable him, great. If all you can do is dust him? Do it.”

None of them, save Lawson, ever expected to hear those words from Buffy. Not with such finality, without any emotion. There was no hesitation, no doubt.

Giles stared at her for a moment, grim thoughts going through his head. As far as he was concerned, Angel had been on borrowed time for years. Since Acathla. Since Jenny.

Spike was the only one really unsurprised by her announcement. They’d talked about it once or twice since Connor’s birth, and she’d always agreed with him. Now, armed with the knowledge Kirsten had given them, Buffy’s resolve had strengthened.

Angel had tried to kill Dawn.

Had come very close to succeeding. Too close

There would be no more free passes.

Buffy was speaking again. “If you can get a clear shot, take it, but no crazy stunts to try and get to him, okay?” She paused, waiting for that to sink in. “The same goes for Drusilla. No craziness and don’t look into her eyes.”

With a last look at all of them, Buffy headed for the door.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Completely dressed, Willow moved through her room, preparing everything she needed to perform the ensouling spell. I just have to show them. Prove to Tara and Buffy that I’m not. . . . that I can fix all this.

Glancing out the window, Willow gauged the time. It’s still early, so Buffy won’t be out patrolling.

Stuffing everything she needed into a backpack, Willow debated about going to the Magic Box first or going straight to Revello Drive.

Giles will still be at the shop. Really don’t wanna face him. So I should probably just head straight for Buffy’s. Making a face, Willow paused in her packing. Bleah. . . . Spike will be there. Oh, but he can’t hurt me, coz, human, so I’m safe from him and he doesn’t know magic either.

Fighting malicious laughter, Willow headed down the stairs. Okie dokie. . . on to Buffy’s.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Dodging the waning sunlight, Hawkins made his way quickly toward Angel’s mansion. He’d already checked with the rest of Jenner’s troops, hoping Glynnis had just been peeved and not enraged enough to go to Angel.

Unfortunately, it was as he figured. Glynnis hadn’t been seen by any of the others since the early morning, when Paulie had gone to bed. She’d been none too happy on their return, grumbling all the while and outright questioning Jenner’s decision. While he wasn’t totally thrilled with Jenner’s choice, he understood it all too well.

Hawkins had been with Jenner a long time, nearly one hundred years and he’d had more than enough time to learn about the internecine politics of the Aurelius order. Jenner and Angelus were the eldest, now that both Darla and the Master were dust, and there was absolutely no love lost between them.

Angelus had tried more than once flaunting his position as a favorite of Darla’s; while Jenner had avoided the slut for years. Jenner had put down roots in Plymouth, controlling vampire activity in western England for years, keeping a tight lid on hunting and number of turnings. On the other hand, Angelus made a habit of killing indiscriminately, wreaking utter destruction in a place, before having to flee for his unlife, usually with his traveling companions barely escaping vengeful mobs.

He was sloppy and severely deficient in the intelligence department. According to Jenner, Angelus had tried blaming the lack of foresight on his new fledglings the last time they’d met, but Jenner knew otherwise. Yeah, Drusilla was a liability, but her shortcomings were more than compensated for by the other – William.

The only real complaint Jenner had ever voiced about William – Spike – was that he always came out on top. Always managed to survive and had an uncanny knack of picking the winner. His cocky arrogance was annoying, his short temper sometimes a liability along with his almost complete lack of patience, though that was offset by his daring, lack of fear and incredible intelligence.

Hawkins shook his head. He wasn’t supposed to be lost in thought about William, or Angelus. He was supposed to be looking for Glynnis.

And if he didn’t find her soon. . . .


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Angel was questioning Glynnis, waiting for Drusilla to arrive when the low hum signaling the automatic start of the hot water heater kicked on. The heater hesitated, lurched and fired. Two lights flared, then went dark. A low subsonic whistle sounded, too low for even the vampires to hear and a small fireball formed between the gas hot water heater and the pilot light.

The same thing happened with the oil burner.

Another subsonic noise sounded, this one more of a pop and suddenly, the small fireballs erupted into huge gouts of flame, fed by the natural gas fueling the hot water heater.

That flame joined with the one flickering on the outside of the oil burner.

More flames licked the sides of the gas tank, heating the metal; ran up the smaller fuel lines feeding into the house and exploded in a huge fireball rocking the foundation.

Fire surged up through the narrow stairway to the first floor, where it consumed everything flammable.

Including vampires.

The smell triggered the alarm for Angel, just seconds before the basement erupted. Yelling for everyone to get out and follow their orders, Angel pushed Glynnis and Harmony toward an exit and ran toward his room.

“Drusilla! Run now!”

Vampires scrambled about, vying with each other to get to any exit. Still bellowing for Drusilla, Angel kicked in the door to their room, grabbing whatever clothes were handiest, sprinting to the bathroom.

Smoke was billowing through the rooms, and the sound of flames crackling and snapping were growing closer. Drusilla was in the bathroom, just stepping out of the shower. “Let’s go, Dru.”

Grabbing her wrist, Angel practically dragged her out, barely pausing to pass her the clothing in his hand.

She whined at him, scrabbling at his wrist to get him to let her go. “I’m all wet, Daddy.”

He vamped, growling at her. “You’ll be dust, if you don’t move it. House is on fire, Dru, so get going.”

Snagging boots and scrambling into her dress, she raced after him.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Willow stared at the house from across the street, the almost visible wards and shields shimmering in the air around it, barring her from even entering the yard. This was something she should have expected, should have been prepared for, she should have known there would be wards and shields. And yet she was confounded by them.
Not confounded in the sense she couldn’t break them, but more in the fact they existed against her. Buffy, and obviously Tara had conspired against her, blocking her entry to the house where she’d spent quite a bit of her teenaged years, a place where she’d felt more at home than the one she’d grown up in. And now she was locked out.

In some small, quiet part of her, she was devastated by this; but the hurt and disappointment were such tiny parts, so she squashed those emotions like bugs beneath her feet. This is so not gonna slow me down, not even just a little bit. Think they can keep me out. . . . . not if I really want in, they can’t.

Testing the strength of the shields, Willow raised her right hand, shooting a small flare of power toward it. The power manifested as a ray of bluish light, which dissipated along the shield and changed color, to a murky blue-brown. Willow followed the path of the flares, noting idly they fractured like a spider’s web, lines bisecting and crossing. She watched as the cracks repaired themselves, moving from the outer edges inward, leaving no traces of weakness behind.

Ooooh, someone’s gotten better and smarter. . . . . wonder who that is. . . . Oh Tara, do you really think you can keep me out if I want in?

Stepping onto the pavement, Willow moved closer, her right arm raised chest high. Power built with each step, flowing through her, building with each heartbeat. She met no resistance until she hit the opposite sidewalk, the one directly in front of the house and Willow laid her palm against the almost invisible barrier, feeling the crackle and hiss of energy pulsing through her. Pursing her lips, Willow pressed inward, letting the power crest and build with each crackle. The shields held, resisting her efforts to break through, and she pushed harder, leaning heavily against the invisible barrier. Light flared and snapped, the smell of crisp ozone filling her nostrils.

The spider-web lines formed, growing slowly, and Willow reached out her left hand. The lines groaned, sparked, almost crystalizing the shield beneath the pressure. A small smile crossed Willow’s lips and the barrier creaked, shattering into a million pieces.

With a smug grin, Willow walked to the front door, only to be thrown back at the front porch by a second ring of shielding.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tara opened the door to Dawn’s bedroom, after listening outside for a moment or two. Having heard nothing, she braved the possible wrath of an irate teenager. Instead she found was exactly what she’d hoped for; Dawn and Connor were on the bed, asleep. Connor was tucked up against Dawn’s shoulder, her hand resting protectively over his diapered hip and one of his hands was fisted in her hair, the other stuck in his mouth. They were so adorable, she couldn’t stop the soft sigh, nor the smile blooming on her face.

Mission accomplished. . . .

She tiptoed to the side of the bed, pulling a light cotton blanket up over the two of them, dropping a light kiss on both foreheads.

There’s nothing like a baby to show you what unconditional love really is.

Sure, Dawn was going to need lots of time, caring and attention, not to mention loads of love, yet despite all that Tara had high hopes for her recovery. The damage wasn’t irreparable, not even the hateful things Glory had spouted would mean anything, given enough time. She’d read the girl’s aura on more than one occasion, and while there were traces of darkness present, those weren’t any more prevalent than the ones in Buffy or Anya. There were demonic traces in each of their auras, and yet none of that prevented them from being a good person. It just gave them an extra something that could be either positive or negative; but just like everyone else, those virtues depended on the person. Blood didn’t make you good or bad, it just made you living. Dawn had yet to really understand that. Maybe, though, just maybe, Tara had helped her to begin to see. Connor carried Angel’s and Darla’s blood – just as she carried Buffy’s and Spike’s. Neither of them was evil.

Tara was about to leave the room when the first clarion alarm sounded, piercing the late afternoon quiet. She stumbled away quickly, shutting the door quietly behind her, then resetting and adding new wards for the room.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reeling back as if stung, Willow landed hard on her ass, legs sprawled out in front of her. What in the name of Hades was that?

Ouch. . . . dang that hurt.

Getting carefully to her feet, Willow reached out her senses as she rubbed her right hand over the smarting area. This shield had a completely different feel to it, and she knew it was going to take a little bit more effort on her part to get through it. Not like I can’t though, with enough time.

She would have thought by now, someone would have come to the door to see what was going on, but no one had. Maybe no one’s home?

Like she had done just a few minutes earlier, Willow called the power forth and sent an arcing bluish light from her hand to the outer edges of the shield. Unlike last time, no cracks appeared and although the light flared on contact, it didn’t change color or dissipate along the shield. Instead, the shield itself seemed to absorb the energy, sucking it in, changing color and texture. The shield had a greyish tinge to it, though at first it had appeared like a dome over the house, now it was squared off to follow the house’s contours.

Hhhhmmm, okay so that won’t work. . . Gonna have to figure out something else . . Willow shifted her weight, pondering her options. Allrighty then, this is a bit tricky. . . .

Trying a second time, Willow sent a wave of pulsing power at the shield, which disappeared exactly like the first one. The shield darkened further, almost obscuring the house from view, causing the redhead to grumble under her breath. Once more contemplating the shield, Willow tried again, this time aiming the power downward, to where the ground and the shield met, hoping the shield just ended at the ground level. This time, the shield set off a buzzing noise, darkening to almost completely opacity.

Screwing up her features like a four year old thwarted by her mother, Willow stomped her foot and shook her fist at the shield. Pacing in front of where she knew the porch was, Willow thought hard, trying to come up with a way to break through. Inspiration struck on her fourth pass, and she whirled around, facing the front of the house once more.

Instead of sending power toward the shield, Willow drew it away. At first nothing seemed to be happening, but little by little, the shield began to lighten, and finally, it was invisible again. Inhaling deeply, trying hard to channel the excess energy through herself, Willow began the process again. The shield buckled, wobbled a bit, then deflated like a balloon.

Swaying on her feet like a drunk, Willow rocked forward slowly, proceeding easily up the steps.

This time, when she tried the door, she was prepared for the wards, and even though they were knotted and tied up like an interlocking Celtic key pattern, Willow blasted right through them.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Standing at the doorway, with Anya just a little bit behind her, Tara knew when the first shield went down, because the backlash of power rolled through her, nauseating her and making her head swim. Her eyes closed, and she sent a small prayer to Gaia to protect them all. There was only one person she knew with enough power to blast through the shield like that and Tara knew Willow’s appearance here and now was not a social visit.

“That was her, wasn’t it?” Anya’s voice sounded right in her ear, and all Tara could do was nod her head in admittance. “Should I go upstairs and get them out of here?”

Upon her arrival less than an hour before, Anya had outlined Spike’s latest contingency plan on how to keep the two youngest Scoobies safe and sound. Tara had quickly agreed to it, knowing if they didn’t have a backup, more than likely something would go terribly wrong.

“No. That’s a last ditch effort. I warded the room again. It’s got triple wards.” Tara fought the stutter she felt building on her tongue, forcing herself to calmness. “Only if she gets through the first set of wards upstairs should we start to worry.”

“Start? Only start to worry? Are you crazy? Tara, that has to be one pissed off witch out there and who knows what kind of damage she’s planning on doing when she finally gets in here.” Anya folded her arms over her chest, glaring at the other blond. “I think it would be better if we just teleported right out of here.”

Tara grabbed her arm as Anya started around her. “I don’t think we want to get them out of here this soon. What. . . what if we can’t get back? What do we do then?”

“D’Hoffryn won’t hold us without letting Spike or Buffy know what’s going on. He’d ask for a very high ransom, but he wouldn’t hold us forever.”

Shaking her head, Tara motioned the other girl to silence. “The second shield is holding. Just give it a bit before we run like scared rabbits.”

A small shriek escaped Anya’s mouth. “Why do you do that! Don’t mention rabbits! Or bunnies! Or anything furry and long-eared at all!”

The insane urge to giggle burbled up in Tara’s throat, though she fought it back; it was only nerves and the tension weighing on her. Even so, the shriek and look on Anya’s face was worth the abrupt change in subject. She waited a beat while Anya composed herself and then motioned toward the door. “We have some time.”

“Sure we do. And when Willow finally punches through all the wards, we can stand here and cower like the powerless humans we are.”

“No, not completely powerless.”

The voice sounded from behind them, and both girls turned around to see the shimmering image of Joyce Summers standing behind them.



to be continued. . . .