Chapter Nine
RecompenseAs they walked to the Summers house Willow seemed to be somewhat distracted. Tara looked at Willow with a frown.
“So?” Tara asked.
“What?” Willow looked up quickly.
“How soon can you be packed?” Tara asked brightly.
“Packed?” Willow asked in a panic.
“Weren’t you listening?” Tara asked with wide eyes and hurt look.
“Ah, yes?” That is to say I heard every word but…” Willow stopped as Tara grinned. “Fine, make fun of the preoccupied.”
“What are you thinking about?” Tara asked with a gentle smile.
“Something I really didn’t ever expect to think about as a good Jewish Techno Pagan girl,” Willow replied. “Where can we find a Catholic priest? I have to ask some questions.”
“There’s Father Joe at St. Michael’s,” Tara answered quickly.
“He went to LA last year to a big church,” Willow said thoughtfully.
“He’s back now,” Tara said noncommittally.
“He’s…old,” Willow said after a moment.
“And he knows Rabbi Goldman,” Tara added.
“Oh, yeah,” Willow said in a small voice.
“Besides, didn’t you get your holy water at St. Michael’s?” Tara asked. “He’s a Jesuit who’s been in Sunnydale for years. He’s probably had a lot of strange questions.”
“You’ve spent a lot of time there?” Willow asked. Tara looked away for a second.
“My father taught me to be suspicious of ‘kneelers’,” Tara said evenly. “I think he would have preferred me to hate them.”
“What about Jews?” Willow asked.
“Just misguided,” Tara replied. “Everyone else got a dead wrong rating in the Maclay Religion Index. You know what they say about forbidden fruit, to keep the imagery going.”
“So you looked up all those religions in Sunnydale?” Willow asked. “Not that this place isn’t good for that since you don’t usually see an Orthodox, Conservative, and a Reform synagogue each in a town this size.”
“Along with a convent, two mosques, a Greek and a Russian Orthodox church, not to mention four variations of Baptist and several Buddhist temples,” Tara added. “Oh! There’s the new Ganesha temple but it’s really small. Something about the Hellmouth makes Sunnydale a very churched town.”
“Well, St. Mike’s is close,” Willow said unenthusiastically.
“Besides, their statue of Mary looks like a Jewish mother, not an Italian teenager,” Tara pointed out. “Sorry, it’s my inner Art Major.”
The girls turned and walked towards the church. Willow looked over the building with critical eye. As Sunnydale’s fortunes had declined over the years the places of worship had become a bit more worn. St. Michael’s was no exception. It reminded her of a good outfit still clean, but now mended again and again. Willow walked into the church and looked around the half lit vaulting nave. She saw an old man in coveralls putting away a ladder.
“Hi, Father Joe,” Tara called out.
As he turned around and waved Willow was surprised to see the priest seemed even older than when she had last came here for holy water. It had seemed to her then he was certainly to frail to be taking on the work of a parish. He even walked stiffly now.
“Willow?” Father Joe asked. “Willow Rosenberg?”
“Oh no,” Willow muttered at his tone.
“I haven’t seen you in months,” he said “How’s Rabbi Shulman?”
“You know I don’t know,” Willow said reluctantly.
“Yes, I do,” the priest said. “She worries about you, Willow. You’ve missed Yom Kippur this year.”
“You didn’t tell me that,” Tara said with a frown.
“The Sunnydale Guilt Network adds another member,” Willow sighed.
“We do our best,” Father Joe smiled. “What can I do for you girls today?”
“This is a Catholic question,” Willow said uneasily.
“I’ll do my best,” the priest said. “I’ll even try to skip my Jesuit jokes.”
“Jesuit jokes?” Tara asked. Willow winced slightly.
“You haven’t heard my classics?” Father Joe asked brightly as Willow tried her best ‘please don’t ask’ smile. “I’ll tell you later, Tara. Ask your question, Willow.”
“Do Catholics believe in praying for the dead, I mean even if they’ve done things they don’t think they can be forgiven for?” Willow asked.
“That’s not the question I would have expected,” the priest said carefully. “Let’s sit down.”
They sat down and Willow noticed again how slowly the old man was moving. He caught her glance and shrugged.
“Skipped aqua aerobics,” he said a bit guiltily. “Now, about this person. I assume they’re dead in a way that may be difficult for them to be buried.”
“Yes, and they were Catholic,” Willow said quickly. “First communion, baptism.”
Father Joe looked at her carefully. Willow met his gaze and saw no doubt, just concern.
“She was sixteen when she died,” Willow said evenly. “Pimps stole her hope away long before that. It wasn’t her idea but…”
“Good and evil are fighting a war,” the priest said firmly, then he looked away and sighed. “That’s one reason we on earth are the Church Militant. It’s a fight I should know, but even then sometimes you miss things you should have seen.”
Willow looked at the priest and saw how much he seemed to age with those words. She gave him his privacy and continued on with her questions as if nothing had changed.
“Is there a Church, ah, Latin based word for civilian?” she asked
“Well, the Church Triumphant is already in heaven,” Father Joe mused.
“Who goes to hell?” Willow asked suddenly.
“We don’t know,” Father Joe shrugged. “It’s not the Church on earth’s job to say anyone’s in hell, period. It’s not something a mere human can know. We’re supposed to try and save everyone.”
“Does praying for the dead help?” Willow asked. “Are there people who do that?”
“Oh yes,” the priest nodded. “Some people even still commission what we used to call the Stipend Masses.”
“Catholics hold that the mass is the most powerful kind of prayer,” Tara said gently.
“How does that work?’ Willow asked with a hint of excitement.
“Well anyone can ask for mass intention for the dead,” Father Joe replied. “Many do and there’s no charge.”
“But if there was a mass done because someone asked for it and paid for it then the best prayer that wouldn’t have happened without being paid for would happen and so there’d be a big good thing done, right?”
“Exactly,” the priest nodded.
Tara looked at him and saw he had understood Willow. Tara wondered how many times the simple task of getting holy water had turned into questions or conversations.
“Could we get her funeral done?” Willow asked brightly, then she looked down. “There’s no body.”
“I would need some information about her,” Father Joseph explained. “After 9-1-1 there’s…let’s just say it’s not as difficult as it might have been.”
“Thanks,” Willow said as the memory of Mary’s body turning into dust returned.
“You think you should have saved her,” the priest said gently.
“I should have!” Willow snapped. “If I hadn’t been so fucked up-”
The quiet of the church seemed huge as Willow closed her mouth with a snap and winced at her words.
“She’d be alive,” Willow finished in a soft voice.
“You failed,” Father Joe said quietly. “You’re human. The failure will burn you, and it will scar you in ways the world will never see. But you can’t let what are supposed to be guideposts like would and should and could become a weight that breaks you. I don’t know everything about you, Willow Rosenberg, but I know you are on the side of the angels. You didn’t see what was going to happen because you made human mistakes. Maybe you were naively overconfident and sure you knew what the signs were, but turned out to be completely wrong. Now it hurts to know you didn’t stop what should have been stopped. You may feel like giving up everything that reminds you of what happened and run away. You can’t do that. You’re needed too much.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Willow asked tiredly.
“Take the pain and learn from it,” the priest answered with a sad smile. “Learn from it, and grow stronger.”
“You’ve thought about this a lot?” Willow asked with wide eyes.
“Well, to tell the truth,” Father Joe replied ruefully. “I got pretty much the same speech after a short stint as pastor in the big city. Just substitute ‘retire’ for ‘running away’.”
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“Sir, everything is in place,” Saunders said on the secure phone.
“Most excellent,” Somerset replied in New York. “Our people should have the subject out to you by tomorrow. Any sign the LA office is alerted?”
“No sir,” Saunders answered. “I’m still alive and in my original form.”
“Very good,” Somerset said. “The agent will arrive in about thirteen hours. Are the arrangements in place?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well. Good bye.”
Saunders listened to his boss ring off. Then he looked up the schedule he had been working on. He had just enough time to fit in a visit to the Exposition Park rose garden and then make a stop at a unique nursery here in Sunnydale. As he walked to his car a tiny dot of red landed on his hand. Saunders looked first, saw the familiar shape of the ladybug, and eased it off very gently onto a plant.
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The procurer couldn’t believe his luck. He looked at the client again. Female clients were rare but not unheard of, and this one was dripping with money from her clothes to her diamond earrings. The young tail was a bonus, but this woman was what he really wanted-a bulging purse with legs and a need he could fill without a bit of work on his part. The only odd thing was the pendant she was wearing.
“I could provide you with what you’re looking for,” he said with a smile.
“It would have to be soon,” the new client purred. “And I’d like to see what I’m getting for my money. You understand.”
“I do,” the procurer assured her. He pushed a small DVD player across the table.
“Perfect,” the client replied as her pendant gleamed.
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Buffy used most of her strength against her opponent. It was the last time she’d be in this place, and she was going to finish this. Either she would break or her opponent would. She pushed finally with all her might. There was a loud click and the cogwheel on the broiler snapped into place at last. The squeaking stopped. She looked back toward the front counter and saw her manager talking with someone in a suit. The manager turned and called Buffy. The Slayer walked up with her customer smile in place. The man in the suit flipped open an ID case with a brisk efficiency.
“Miss Summers, I’m Chief Hernandez, Sunnydale Police,” he said seriously. “I have reason to believe your life is in danger.”
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Willow realized that as she and Tara walked along to the Summers house the blonde witch had been very quiet. Willow noticed the tell tale signs that something was bothering Tara. What was more disturbing for the redhead were those signs told Willow that Tara was blaming herself for something.
“It’s not your fault,” Willow said gently.
“But I should have…oh,” Tara replied. “Was I that obvious?”
“Only sort of,” Willow replied.
“Sorry,” Tara said looking down. “I should have seen what was happening. Maybe if I’d stayed…”
“Tara, if you’d stayed with me, we wouldn’t have survived,” Willow said evenly. “My ‘me’ would consumed ‘us’.”
“You’re right,” Tara nodded slightly. “But if I’d-”
“No!” Willow said firmly. “You walked away, we’re here, and it hurt and we both made mistakes. Looking back is easy, well, not really because you just want to wince and go back and make things different and you get an acidy churning feeling thinking about how stupid some of it was-but that’s not the point. The point is we have to go on from here. So no more about what you should have done for me or us, okay?”
“Okay,” Tara said with a small smile.
They walked a bit farther before a question at the back of Willow’s mind edged forward.
“How did you meet Rabbi Shulman?” Willow asked.
“I was asking some questions,” Tara said with a hint of evasion.
“Oh?” Willow said holding back the flood of questions of her own.
“I’m not sure if this is the place or the time, Willow,” Tara said softly.
Willow felt herself begin to speak and stopped. Venus had just become visible in the darkening sky. There was a soft breeze from the west and for a moment the sounds of the town around them were hushed. It was as if the coming night held it’s breath.
Morning isn’t the only time for new beginnings, Willow thought as she met Tara’s eyes and let herself smile at the sight.
“All right,” Willow said with more confidence than she realized.
The two young women began walking the last few blocks to the Summers house. Without thinking about it Willow reached for Tara’s hand, knowing it would be there. They finally stopped when they saw the sedan with the grille behind the front seat and the antennas pull up in front of 1630 Revello Drive.
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“Look, Chief, I’m flattered that you’re taking a personal interest in this,” Buffy said carefully as she leaned back in the police car’s seat.
“Miss Summers, I’m not sure you realize how dangerous this situation is,” Hernandez replied. “I can’t understand why none of my officers wanted to interview you.”
“I can take care of myself,” Buffy said levelly.
“This isn’t a mugger, Miss Summers,” Hernandez replied. “Warren Meers may have terrorist connections. The ATF said he used a thermite fuel air explosive, something called a ‘Hellhound’-”
“Not the first,” Buffy muttered.
“What was that?” Hernandez asked quickly.
“Just wondering about the overly dramatic name,” she said quickly.
“That overly dramatic device killed one of their own,” Hernandez said seriously. “The Teflon based incendiary released toxic flammable gas. The house they were using as a hideout was gutted along with their computers.”
“But not their weapons?” Buffy asked. “Since they’re terrorists, I mean.”
“We have recovered a handgun,” Hernandez said. “One of them surrendered to the police last night.”
“Jonathon?” Buffy asked quickly.
“Look,” Hernandez said firmly. “If you know something about them, tell me.”
Buffy looked at the man for a moment. She shrugged.
“They stole that big diamond to make an invisibility ray gun, they’ve set up spy cameras around town, Warren’s made a life-like robot and they dabble in magic,” she said flatly. “Now will you tell me I’m crazy and let me go inside?”
“Miss Summers,” Hernandez started.
“Good night, Chief Hernandez,” Buffy said politely. “My friends the witches are here.”
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Hernandez watched her get out and felt his frustration boil dangerously close to the surface. Summers had just shrugged when he had told her that her life was in danger. He’d seen too many young women who hadn’t seen just how much danger they were in throughout his career. He watched the two other females meet the Summers girl and go inside.
I’ll bet none of them have the faintest idea of the danger they’re in, he fumed.
He made a production of pulling away. Levinson had been sure this girl would be the key to finding Meers and Hernandez didn’t intend to let any chance to get the man who had made such a dangerous chemical weapon in his town pass by easily.
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“Did you get frisky at the Doublemeat on your last day?” Willow asked looking at the police car as it pulled away.
“Nope,” Buffy said with a grin. “But we finally caught a break.”
“What kind of break?” Tara asked hopefully.
“I want to tell everyone at once,” Buffy beamed.
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Elizabeth was exhausted. That which had been was still there, but a dozen eddies of what might be swirled into existence for moment and then collapsed, pulling at her. She faltered when she saw Xander and Anya falling, covered with blood, at their wedding before that possible future swirled away. She was too close to the raw power of time when a bright green glow swept over her.
Suddenly the young blonde felt like she’d had a shower, a nap and a bracing tonic all at once. From the backlash from her anchor she could feel the same refreshment.
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“Well?” Dawn asked her ridiculously smug looking older sister. “What’s the great news?”
“The cops have Warren’s gun,” Buffy said with a smile.
“Great!” Dawn smiled broadly.
“What kind of gun did they get?” Xander asked.
“A handgun,” Buffy replied.
“Yes, but what kind of firearm?” Giles asked. “Xander’s latest vision makes it quite clear Warren was using a semi automatic pistol in the other time.”
“He didn’t say,” Buffy said much more quietly.
“Maybe not so great?” Dawn asked with a worried look at Tara.
“Perhaps not,” Giles sighed. “I may have a partial answer in the morning.”
“Well then we should try to find some other good news,” Anya said with a forced cheeriness. “How’s the wedding prep coming along?”
“The cake is paid for and I’ve got the delivery set for an hour before the wedding,” Tara said quickly. “And the flowers were a bit less than I was quoted at first.”
“That is good news!” Anya replied happily.
“The bridesmaid dress fits like a dream,” Dawn added.
“The last of the invitations have come back,” Buffy said smiling firmly. “We’re almost exactly on for the numbers.”
“I’m going to need a tuxedo,” Giles said. “I didn’t think to pack one in my haste. I think it’s the traditional attire for the father of the bride.”
“Okay, one more person just got added to the list,” Buffy said with a real smile.
“Cool,” Dawn said beaming.
Willow smiled as Xander blinked quickly and looked away.
“I’ve found a couple of things about the artifacts,” Tara said pulling out a sheet of paper. “According to the articles I found at the library no sets like ours has ever come up for auction. The handgun and knives are from before the Civil War. The coins with them are incredibly rare. The books are harder to judge but that one, Tamerlane And Other Poems, the one that was in the Bret Harte first edition, that’s…”
“That’s an American book collector’s El Dorado, only without the death and gold fever,” Willow finished. “And it’s in better condition than the last one that went for auction.”
“We can pay off the house?” Dawn asked softly.
“And take care of some other outstanding debts,” Willow added calmly.
“Mostly good news,” Buffy sighed. “I think I can learn to like this.”
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It would have been so cool with Fenris, Warren thought bitterly.
The wizard he’d been looking for was dead, destroyed by the Slayer’s lezzie witches, so Fenris would never completed. Warren Meers laid out his equipment and set to work. Operation Ragnarok had always been his last ditch plan. He concentrated on getting Loki just right. Everything came down to Loki being perfect.
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For the first time in months Buffy went out on patrol that night with a light step and back up. Willow and Tara walked behind her. It felt right. Giles' quiet words to her about Spike leaving town had been more welcome than she would have imagined. Buffy smiled at the memory of Giles rubbing his knuckles on his right hand absently.
“Magic is better with mochas,” Willow suggested. “I’m sure I’d be a much better battery with caffeine.”
“Remember, we’re just supposed to be practicing,” Tara said quickly. “Don’t let me drain you or anything.”
Buffy felt herself smile at the concern in Tara’s voice. Things were getting back in place.
“It’ll be all right,” Buffy said mostly to herself.
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A block behind them Hernandez lowered his night vision viewer and started his car. He looked to the side where the riot gun was racked. He hated using live bait with the most dangerous game, but Summers had ignored his warning. He put the car in gear.
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On the outskirts of Sunnydale at an overly expensive motel Saunders looked up from his book at a knock on the door. He picked up something concealed in a newspaper and opened the door. A small, disheveled man glared at him.
“Mr. Burns?” Saunders asked politely.
“Yeah,” the man replied. “I’m Stewart Burns. You’re the shyster who’s going to get me to Anyanka’s wedding?”
“Yes, Mr. Burns,” Saunders replied politely.
“Don’t let the old guy get up fool you,” Burns said quickly. “If this little toy your boss gave me doesn’t work I’ll still make sure that bitch goes from bride to be to not officially a widow.”
“I have no doubt, Mr. Burns.”
Happy writing!
that can't be good. But where's Smithers?
more
damn that was a cool chapter jixer! 
Alcy
at: 4/3/04 1:47 am
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