Hello again,
Thanks to a massive nap during most of the day, I'm wide awake are ready to post part 8a of Deep. This part takes us through mid day of day 2. I'll have part 8b up sometime on Wednesday.
And keep that feedback comming! I love it!
Deep: Part 8a
Author's note: We see ourselves through blinders most of the time, only thinking of things in terms of 'I'. Sometimes we need others to see us and our situations to get at the truth.
(Oh, and a big revelation is, well, revealed.)
Compare the best of their days
with the worst of your days
you won't win
with your standards so high
and your spirits so low
at least remember...
this is you on a bad day, you on a pale day
just do your best and don't ...
don't worry
The way you hang yourself is oh, so unfair
from Do Your Best and Don't Worry by MorrisseyDay Two: Morning
Prime
“Snakes, hell dogs, demon zombies,” Max’s best friend Claude called irritatedly to Jay. “What’s next? Mutated humans who worship the last remaining nuclear warhead on the planet?
Max chuckled to himself, missing Jay’s too cheery and sarcastic reply. He looked up at the taller man. Claude was the oldest in the group, being only a few years away from forty. And he was the only non-American, but the Colonies had sabotaged much of his English accent and ways. Most importantly, he was Max’s best friend.
“Bloody hell,” Claude grumbled, letting his accent slip in. He only did that when he was angry, frustrated, or scared shitless. Max guessed it was the potent mix of all three showing through.
Max knew that when Claude got this bad, it was best to leave him alone for a bit to cool off. He feinted having to adjust his boot, allowing the pissed Englishman to move ahead in line.
The group was on a narrow path that overlooked another part of the endless river of lava that wound much like Claude’s dreaded snakes through prime’s forbidden zone.
“Got a stone in your shoe,” Billy Joe asked as Max stood up.
“Cranky Brit next to me,” Max joked. Billy Joe chuckled and fell in step with Max.
Billy Joe. Everyone’s pal, Max looked at the classic All-American boy. Ruggedly handsome, great body, sparkling personality, popular with both sexes. Quick with a joke, or a shoulder to cry on, or an ear to listen. Probably the best human of the lot of them.
And what a voice! Max often shared singing duties with Billy Joe and Claude in the team’s cover band. Claude was the wailer. God of heavy metal and power ballads. Max was the rap/rock or pop/rock guy. But Billy Joe. Give him a ballad, a standard, a heavy metal thrash tune, and he nailed it.
Billy Joe was softly singing a tune as the pair walked. Sounded like something pop, Billy Joe’s favorite musical genre. He was so excited to get Charmbracelet from Jay a couple of weeks ago that Max was afraid he would literally pee his pants in joy. Mariah was one of his favorites.
As was Jay. For a long time Max had worried that he would never fit in with the team. He was the least typical. Short, not too strong, sort of on the nerdy side of things with his love of jazz and classical music and degrees in medieval history. Sort of a loner and on the quiet side, put in a team with three kids who grew up together in a small farm town in the middle of nowhere.
Maybe that’s why he and Claude had become so tight at first, being the odd guys out. Sure, Cleo knew Claude. They went to Oxford together for a while, but they weren’t really in the same circles.
Yes, definitely Mariah Carey. Old, pre-hoochie breakdown Mariah. Max always liked that period better too.
But the trio, as Max thought of Billy Joe, Cleo, and Jay sometimes, they weren’t as tight as he thought or feared. Oh yeah, it was easy to see that they were the best of friends, always had been, always will be, but they weren’t exclusive.
They treated Max like he had grown up on a farm like the rest of them, not in mixed Midtown Atlanta, just on the cusp of trendy Buckhead, where Max and his buddies had learned the fine art of clubbing and the value of a good fake ID.
And Midtown, with its Fox Theater and Atlanta Symphony, old sprawling neighborhoods and quirky eateries had given Max another education. Just off Piedmont was another clubbing experience, where men danced with men to a deafening techno beat. Max had gotten another kind of schooling there.
But it had been a scary time, with the gay cancer, taking away many of the best and brightest in the community. And Max had been lucky, only losing a few friends to AIDS and it’s disease minions. He had watched some of this mother and father’s dearest friends depart for hopefully a better existence. Or, as Max believed, another shot at life.
That thought had always been a comfort to Max. Knowing that you would come back again, usually surrounded by your friends, again and again until your soul reached perfection.
Max knew that he’d been paired with some or all of the Chicago team countless times, that his parents were always part of his family, that he was always magically inclined.
Max walked through prime, ready for his fate. Ready to die if need be to save the world and his friend Jay. Not that he had a death wish or anything. He actually quite liked this life. His club, The Spot, was a little bit of heaven. And after several years, Max could almost make it through a Chicago winter without crying. Sure, he had never found that special guy or girl to walk down the aisle with, but he was young, only mid thirties.
There would be plenty of time for that later. After this was done. He knew, they all knew, that the team would request at least a semi-retirement from active duty after this. No one had said anything openly, but he knew they all felt it. It was time to let go of the past and move on.
“What’s got that big brain of yours spinnin’ shorty,” Billy Joe asked, looking over at Max.
“You in hot pants running through my head,” Max replied with a lecherous grin.
“As long as they’re not hot pink or neon green, I’m good.” Billy Joe replied with a wink.
“Seriously,” he asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Max replied. “Just thinking about my life.”
“And it took you that long?” Billy Joe joked again. “Come on, how about a little duet to pass the time.”
“As long as it’s not too loud,” Max agreed. “I don’t want to get that look from Cleo.”
“The ‘I’ll cut your balls off and make a pretty necklace from them if you don’t shut up’ look. Oh yeah,” Billy Joe replied.
“I got that the last time we were in China, and man,” Max shook his head.
“I know,” Billy Joe replied.
“What do you want to sing?” Max asked. “I don’t know Charmbracelet yet.”
“Nah, let’s do a musical.” Billy Joe replied. Humming a pitch for Max, the pair stared in on ‘When You’re a Jet’ from West Side Story.
How appropriate, Max thought, especially when he heard Claude pick up the tune after a verse. Oh no, Cleo’s head was about to turn around, but Jay’s voice, joined in, upping the volume. Soon even Cleo joined in.
Max grinned as he sang, knowing that nothing in prime had seen the likes of them before.
Day Two: Noon
Demon Reality
“What the frilly heck,” Willow said, sitting up.
“What,” Tara replied, joining her. “Where are we?”
The pair looked around at the strange surroundings. It looked like the basement of a ruined building in Sunnydale. Was it the high school? It was hard to tell.
“How did we get here?” Willow asked. “Last thing I remember was talking to the Agent. He was going out to get something to eat.”
“And he told us to wait in the car,” Tara said. “Get some sleep because it was so early.”
“Or late. Hard to tell when it’s always dark,” Willow stood, helping Tara up.
After a moment, the girls looked at each other.
Simultaneously they said, “We’re asleep.”
“That would definitely explain the Dreamscape meets Nightmare on Elm Street surroundings,” Willow said.
“A who with a what?” Tara asked, missing the reference.
“Never mind,” Willow shook her head. “Needless to say, this can’t be good.”
“Humans.” A seductive female voice said, “True humans, I mean. Always so hung up on labels.”
A woman emerged from the darkness. She was about Willow’s height with midnight black hair cut into a stylish short length. Her skin practically glowed, it was so white, but she wasn’t a vampire. Her dark eyes studies the girls with barely held malevolence, which contrasted her pixyish face.
A memory stirred in Tara. She knew this face from somewhere.
“Miss Calendar!” Willow gasped.
The woman let out a rich and sensuous laugh. “Oh my, little girl. I have many names but that is not one of them.”
Miss Calendar, Tara’s mind whirred. She had been one of the computer science teachers in high school. She had moved away during Tara’s sophomore year, some family emergency. But Willow seemed to know her.
“So who are you then,” Tara asked as Willow regained her composure.
“I am known as the Dark Priestess,” the woman explained. “A mortal enemy of the one you are heading to see, the master. The Destroyer is a more apt name.”
“I thought you were in exile,” Tara asked.
“I am,” the Dark Priestess smiled. “But I’m not powerless. I know why you’re here.”
“Then you should be glad,” Tara continued, glancing over at the mute Willow, still too stunned to speak, “we’re going to take him away from here. You’ll be able to rule it all.”
“Oh no foolish child,” the Dark Priestess replied. “You’re taking him to a place of great power. When he returns, and he will, he will destroy this existence utterly. My people and I will be no more. And I just can’t allow that to happen.”
“How do you know,” Tara asked again. “He might not care about this place at all.”
“He does, more than any vampire king has before. He made this world his own.” The Dark Priestess took a step closer to Willow and Tara. “Long ago, thousands of years ago, we were a world of humans. We ruled. Demons were mostly in tales told to frighten children. But the Destroyer was born, and he changed everything. Slowly at first, he began to build an army. Over many, many years he made allegiances with the dark powers, learning the ways of the old ones, of magic. Taking over small, out of the way places, making them his own. Mankind was too slow, too late in resisting. All was lost.”
She looked almost sad for a moment, “all was theirs.”
The Dark Priestess’s eyes lit with an unholy fire. “But not all was lost. My family line hid away in the mountains. Sheltered from the evil around us, we grew strong. We began to fight back. Over the last few hundreds of years, we have begun to take back the night from the creatures of darkness. Then I came. And we almost won.”
Tara paused and reached out a little with her senses. Repulsed, she replied. “You’re as dark as any demon. You’re not human.”
“I am more than human,” the Dark Priestess laughed. “I am more than demon. I am power. A power that will destroy the Destroyer.” She took another step closer to Tara. “And who will not let you take him. Leave now.”
Tara and Willow woke with a start. They were nestled in the back seat of the Agent’s car, a blanket draped over them.
“Oh my,” Tara said, sitting up.
“Yeah,” Willow replied.
“Honey, are you okay?” Tara face filled with concern.
“Miss Calendar,” Willow sighed, the old pain of loss filling her.
“I remember her, vaguely.” Tara explained. “She taught computers right? In high school.” Tara paused, then added Tara’s memories, “She helped you guys out some. Went out with Giles.”
“She was one of us, the Scoobies,” Willow explained. “Angel killed her when he was Angelus. I really liked her a lot.” Willow gave Tara a sad smile. “She was so smart and cool, and kinda sexy. She meant a lot to me. Miss Calendar always treated me like an equal, not some geeky teenager.”
“She does sound nice,” Tara agreed. “Miss Calendar moved away during the middle of tenth grade. I never had her as a teacher.”
“It’s nice to know she wasn’t murdered in some reality,” Willow mumbled.
“What I don’t understand is why she’s here,” Tara said, thinking out loud. “She was just a computer teacher. She didn’t have any magical powers or darkness.” She looked over at Willow, “Or at least that was the impression that I got.”
“Miss Calendar was descended from a clan of powerful gypsy sorcerers. They cursed Angel with a soul. Jenny was sent there by her family to watch him, make sure the curse wasn’t broken.”
“But it was,” Tara said, remembering more about what Willow had once told her. “And he killed her.” Tara leaned back into the seat. “So here, her gypsy family hides in the hills when they see things are going to be bad for mankind. The line goes on unbroken, power is developed over time, and she’s born.”
“But with a lot more power,” Willow replied. “And a whole lot more evil.”
“Absolute power,” Tara looked over at Willow.
“Yeah,” the red head replied, looking out the window.
“And she knows,” Tara added. “At least some of it. She knows that the master, or Destroyer, or whatever is leaving with us to go to prime.”
Willow suddenly felt sick as it all clicked in her head. “I know,” she said, not looking at Tara. “I know who were going to get. I know who the Destroyer is.”
“Who?” Tara asked.
“Vampire. Old, old vampire, thousands of years old, but not the first. Fought a slayer, at least one, but won instead of lost. Means that this guy is hella strong and smart. Nicknamed the Destroyer.”
“Okay,” Tara waited.
“Prophecy. Happens during the early days of man. Iantha is a slayer and in this reality and maybe she didn’t go to prime. Or maybe this and our reality were one at that point. Either way, she lives and obviously has kids. Line goes on. Except it doesn’t here. Stops when her male descendent is killed by a vampire. Making any chance of anyone from her line in this reality stepping up to face Demetrious impossible.”
Willow looked at Tara. “It only takes one thing to chance the time line, to create an alternate, right? But is has to be something major.”
“Goddess,” the knowledge hit Tara like a slap in the face.
Willow continued, her train to fast to stop now. “Major like one of the most powerful vampires in vampire history not being killed on the outskirts of London by a slayer. A vampire descended from a long line of slayers. Who could have been slated to face a hell god if he had ever moved on to the next life.”
“Bracus,” Tara sad sadly.
“Or Jay, take your pick.” Willow’s tone filled with rancor. “Except he never got to evolve into Jay.”
“The only true descendent of that line,” Tara’s mind spun, “so true that it could have been the one.”
“And that shoulda, woulda, coulda, must be enough to give Jay a chance to escape her fate.” Willow added. “And without a soul,”
“The cycle will end if Bracus dethrones Jay.” Tara finished. “But the only way for Bracus to win,” Tara’s face paled.
“Is to kill Jay,” Willow finished bitterly.
TBC...
Endnote:
I spent a summer in Atlanta about eight years ago so I'm going by my memories of the town's layout. Hopefully it's accurate.
"I was feared and worshiped across the mortal globe. At now I'm stuck at Sunnydale High. Mortal. Child. And I'm failing Math." Anya in Dopplegangland