211: So Not a Team.

“Looks like we’re out for a moonlit stroll,” Spike set the scene of their walk into Glebe Park where a few stragglers were lingering in the lamplight or heading for their cars. “Hold my hand. Make it look good.”

Buffy pressed her lips into a tight line, tried not to take the bait, and failed. “Touch me and I will make you regret it.” She slapped his hand away thinking he should feel lucky he wasn’t left with a bloody stump.

Ribbing her was all part of the fun. “Y’know I’m always up for a tussle, Slayer.”

“Save it for later.”

“Promise?” Spike chuckled as she muttered something about dusting him. He bantered on like there was no real threat to be concerned about.

“Ugh. I don’t want to put up with your usual crap tonight,” Buffy huffed over the tragedy that was her life at that moment. A vampire slayer teamed up with a vampire—not just any vampire either. “You’re only here because I don’t have a choice. I don’t have to like it, or you.”

Spike clasped his hands to his heart as if she had dealt a harsh blow. Begging dramatically, “Say you don’t mean it.” After her hard, unimpressed stare, he added in his usual voice, “Your mum likes me. A regular knight in shining armor here to protect you from the big bad wolf, or tiny little demons, and whatnots.”

No way was she going to let her mom think Spike was actually a good guy. “Talk about wrong impressions. First chance I get I’m telling her what you’re really like.”

“Handsome? Charming? Think she’s got the idea.”

“Annoying!” Buffy corrected. “Murder-y!”

“Being murder-y is just my nature. Can’t fault a guy for that.”

Totally not so. Buffy muttered, “I can stake one.”

Snipping at one another distracted them from movement ahead. Both jumped into a defensive posture when a strange little demon suddenly stepped onto the path. “You two should just get a room.”

Buffy ignored the comment instantly giving him the once-over trying to assess his threat level. He wasn’t that tall, carried no weapons. Two stubby little horns pierced through his balding scalp along with choppy whiskers and a beard that gave him a goat-ish appearance. “You the guy?” Buffy asked noting that there were no books in sight.

“Depends. You’re not the Slayer I was expecting,” he said nervously inching back.

“Faith has other business. Does it matter?” The books they were supposed to buy from this demon had something to do with the mayor’s super-secret evil plans for Sunnydale. Was he trying to sell them to Faith because she was Mayor Wilkins’ favorite spy or because he thought she really needed to know what her boss was up to?

Glancing over his shoulder he checked out the deserted path behind him before saying, “Not if you have the money.”

Spike asked, “Got our books?”

The demon shook, both head and shoulders, managing to look a little adorable in his outrage. “Not here. You think I’m stupid? You see the books, you do what Slayers do.”

Buffy shrugged like killing him would be no big deal. “Maybe I should.”

“Cough up the books,” Spike suggested they make it easy. “We’ll be on our way.”

“You weren’t part of the deal. Neither one of you. It was supposed to be the other one.”

Spike asked, “Got a thing for brunettes?”

Snorting, the demon answered, “Nah! I like my money. I’ll take that now.”

“Show him.” Buffy gave the go ahead and Spike pulled out the envelope of cash flashing the green bills.

The demon’s eyes lit up and he grinned widely. “We got a deal. Hand it over and I’ll bring you to the books. They’re stashed close by.”

“We’ll give you the money when we get there,” Buffy promised. The demon practically skipped in place from excitement that his deal was going through.

“I’m Skylar,” he introduced himself as they headed down the path to the other side of the park. There was a block of apartment buildings only halfway through construction. The work looked abandoned for a while. Long enough that a few squatters had moved in. Buffy made a mental note to patrol the area the next time she had the chance. It looked like a great place for a vampire den.

Skylar’s apartment was a mess, but pretty much what she expected. Mismatched furniture gathered from the street. Just enough to have a place to sit and sleep. A pile of little bones—hopefully chicken or rodent— on a makeshift cardboard table next to the couch.

“Looks… cozy,” she said for the sake of saying something that wasn’t, ‘Ew!”

Spike only nodded, either missing or ignoring her sarcasm, “Quite nice. Been in worse.”

“Going somewhere, Skylar?” Buffy noticed two suitcases all packed up.

“Out of the Hellmouth before its adios, Slayer Loco.” Moving the cardboard box aside revealing the hiding place of several leather-bound tomes, presumably the promised books, Skylar told them, “I’m using the money to buy a plane ticket before the mayor decides his plans are fully cooked.”

Buffy pointed out his asking price was steep. “Five thousand is a lot more than a plane ticket.”

Grinning, Skylar leaned in, “Gotta find a new place. Live a little,” and he winked.

“Buy some skin lotion while you’re at it,” Buffy added noting his bumpy leathery face up close. “Wilkins is kind of dodgy, but can he really be planning something awful enough for you to get out of town?”

“The Hellmouth isn’t the quaint little town it used to be,” Skyler says. “Things have changed in the past few years. I’m not just talking about you Slayers. Read the books. You’ll get it.”

Books in hand, Buffy and Spike headed back toward Crawford Street. Nothing stopped them from taking a shortcut through small wooded area connecting the neighboring yard. Rounding the side of the mansion, they walked up the steps and opened the door. Buffy walked through first. Spike hesitated a moment wondering if the new spell would result in some painful energy barrier designed to keep people and monsters like him out, but he stepped over the threshold without a hitch. “New spells aren’t active yet.”

Quickly defending her friend, Buffy told him, “Willow’s still new at this level of magic. Getting it right is better than doing it fast.”

Changing his tone, “Fast or slow, I’d get it right,” Spike leaned close earning a quick jab of an elbow in his side. It wasn’t full force because Buffy’s arms were laden with a couple of heavy tomes.

Buffy hissed, “I was talking about magic, not. . . that.” Oh, she knew exactly what Spike was hinting at. As if she would ever consider letting him near her, or want him close for any reason other than to pulverize him.

“Let’s call it a bit o’ fun,” Spike teased enjoying every moment she squirmed over the ideas he put in her head.

They made their way down the hall toward the office finding Giles buried in research. “You’re back! Any difficulty with the demon?”

“No,” Buffy told him as she placed the books on his desk. “He just wanted to make a quick buck and get out of town.”

Spike plopped his burden on top adding a warning, “Mayor’s plotting something that makes demons run. Might want to get on with your reading.” He patted the top of the stack knowing that Rupert Giles could not rope him into aiding his research tonight as he had tried to do on one occasion. The watcher claimed to be finding something productive for him to do, but Spike was not there to wade through a pile of old scrolls or dusty tomes.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Giles obviously wanted him gone. His look of annoyance faded when he turned back to Buffy. “Since you both returned in one piece I assume there was no fighting.”

Quizzically, Buffy cocked her head, “No fighting. Skylar was cool about it.”

Giles’ lips pursed. “Fighting him,” he glanced toward Spike and back again.

“Oh. Well—,” Buffy was cut off by Spike as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight. “Fighting? Nah. We make a great team, don’t we luv?”

Buffy stood stiffly as she directed her response to her watcher, “Can’t say. Spike hasn’t really shown me anything yet.”

Cockily, Spike took the bait, “Show and tell, Slayer?” and ran with it. Proving once again that he could not open his mouth without an entendre. “I’m up for it. Impressing you.”

Buffy’s teeth gritted together as she managed to hold back the urge to ball up her fist to punch something he might imagine would impress her. Instead, she stared daggers at him until he let her go. He stared back a little longer than felt right causing her to move away first.

Giles pushed his reading glasses down to the bridge of his nose to stare at them over the top edge. “Baiting a Slayer cannot be the smartest idea you’ve ever had, Spike.”

“Dunno. I’m quite good at it.”

An unintelligible sound emerged as Giles pressed his lips closed and swallowed down his next response. Those two were quite disturbing. Changing the subject, he admitted, “You’ve both done well to acquire these books. No doubt Wesley will want to get started with an analysis as soon as he is free to do so.”

“How’s it going?” Buffy asked glancing toward the open door. Voices sounded from other parts of the mansion. She couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.

Spike sniffed the air, “Werewolf?”

“Willow asked her boyfriend to help out,” Buffy explained realizing that he had not been around when Spike and Drusilla moved in. “Oz has been busy with his band, Dingoes Ate My Baby.”

“Werewolf rocker? Sounds like the little witch could do better.”

Offended, Buffy squirmed away from his light hold. “Hey! Oz is great.”

Giles ignored their snipping by responding, “They are still making preparations and practicing the incantation. There is a lot of area to cover with the spell.”

“Stinky herbs and chanting,” Buffy shuddered. “Better them than us.”

Spike agreed, “Give me something to kill. Mayhem and a bit o’ gore makes for a good night.”

Oddly enough, Buffy felt the same way. Energized by the idea of slaying something—even if it wasn’t Spike—she was suddenly eager to get on with the second half of their mission. “Ready to send that demon swarm back to its own dimension?”

“Who says they get to make it back?”

212: Sunnydale Mall. The Crystal Hunt Continues…

One step outside and Angel’s eyes adjusted quickly from the artificial light inside the mall to the gloom of the parking lot. The rain had come and gone barely slicking the asphalt leaving the air sharply scented by metal, oil and a hint of ocean breeze. The grey clouds overhead rolled in a sluggish pace across the night sky offering up rare glimpses of moonlight. The sight provided a momentary respite from the cacophony inside with sounds, sights and smells coming at him all at once, both distracting and compelling, reminding him why crowds were a bad idea.

“How weird is this?” Cordelia stared down at her empty hands. “I used to never leave the mall without a shopping bag or two— or ten.”

Tonight’s mission to find the Shards of Ahli-Tah required Cordelia’s presence otherwise risking her would never have been a consideration. Every shadow was a possible threat. Protecting her came instinctively being more than just his self-assigned role as her guardian. She was so much a part of him already. What would be left of him without her? The passing thought left a crushing sensation in his chest, a debilitating ache that reignited his determination to see this night through.

Shaking it off, Angel urged, “Let’s get out of here.”

Cordy hooked an arm around his pulling closer and laughing at the growl in his voice. “Lighten up, King of Scowls. One day soon everything you want will magically appear on your doorstep. Until then, shopping at the mall is a way of life.”

Angel gave Cordelia credit for having an interesting way of seeing the future. This was different. He could have argued the point. Locating mystical shards was a far cry from escorting her to shop for the latest fashions. That would be different. Somewhere private would be preferable, and just the two of them. Alone in some exclusive shop worthy of her interest as she selected her favorites. Watching her try them on only to remove them layer by layer. Definitely with his help. Shopping with Cordelia might not be such a burden in those circumstances. Something to add to the very long list of moments he imagined for their future. Hopes, not just fantasies, that still seemed out of reach.

After today’s talk with the watcher, he thought things would be settled between them. That despite the ongoing danger, the prophecy, and risks involved there was a way for them to be together as more than just lovers. A sudden rap of knuckles against the car door snapped Angel’s gaze to Faith who stared him down before asking, “Gonna let us in?”

Drusilla sniggered at him as if she had taken a stroll through his thoughts and enjoyed every moment. She extended her hand to clasp Cordelia’s and pulled her away to the passenger side.

Sunnydale Mall faded into the darkness behind them as the Plymouth pulled away. Angel gave it a final glance in the rearview mirror satisfied that the time for shenanigans was over. Tension that had knotted up in his neck and shoulders was already easing up. No more shopping, fruit swirl refreshers, squealing Cordettes leaning over railings claiming that they’d found something cool. So much for slipping in and out under the radar.

One by one the storekeepers had shut their doors or rolled down the metal grates to close their stores. The lights had dimmed and an overhead announcement cheerfully encouraged them to get out. “We’re not ready to leave. We haven’t found the treasure yet,” Harmony whined to one of the mall cops who tried to usher her out the door.

“The tags are still on that purse, Miss. You got a receipt?”

“Oh, it’s here somewhere. I think. I just threw the old one away. The craziest thing happened.”

Angel felt certain he did not want to know why Drusilla giggled as they had walked by. He was just glad they had gotten through the mall experience without bloodshed. Was there any hope the rest of the night would be just as uneventful?

“How about cruising down Main Street?” Cordelia suggested. “We can check out the display windows to see if anything catches my eye.”

Finding the Shards of Ahli-Tah on display in a store front seemed as likely discovering them at the mall, but Angel simply turned left on Oak Park Street heading to the cut-off for Main. They were nearly to the corner lot where April Fools Dress Shop was lined up with a few other small businesses when Cordelia suddenly shouted, “Stop!”

Fortunately, there were no other cars in the vicinity as the Plymouth screeched to a halt. Angel scanned the area, but saw nothing to merit the outburst. No road hazards. No stray animals or small children running into the car’s path. Nothing dangerous. No neon signs declaring a sale on crystal shards.

“What is it?”

Faith scooted up to ask, “You see something?”

Cordelia shook her head slowly while staring toward him. “Creepy much?”

“Me?” Angel asked, confused by her reaction.

Blinking, Cordelia let out a huff. “No, doofus. I’ve got goosebumps. This time I think my Spidey senses are really tingling.”

Drusilla declared from the back seat, “They call to you, the crystals.”

Rubbing at her arms, Cordelia agreed. “Yeah, they do.”

“Which direction?” Angel asked ready to go forward or turn around.

No easy answer came. Cordelia was not able to discern a direct path. “Keep going. Slow for a while. Maybe I can get a fix on it.”

Main Street was the wrong part of town. “This isn’t right,” Cordelia decided. “I don’t know how I know. I just know.”

“The more you listen, the more secrets you will hear,” Drusilla murmured closer to her ear in the seat behind her. “Sweet little secrets and dark ones drenched in blood.”

“Hey!” Faith warned, “Don’t say things that make me want to stake you.”

“Bloody little secrets,” Dru hissed back.

The last thing he needed was to settle a fight. Angel growled, “Let Cordelia focus.”

One side street and another passed by in uneventful silence as they concentrated on letting Cordy try to make sense of what she was feeling. “Keep going,” she gestured for Angel to move past the Weatherly Drive turn off. The marble memorial stones at Restfield Cemetery brightened momentarily in the glare of the headlights as the car rolled toward the next cross-street, Revello Drive. “Ooh! That way. Definitely that way.”

Angel’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as he realized their likely destination was a familiar one. He didn’t need to announce it because Faith spoke first, “Hey! Buffy’s house is on this street.”

Glancing Cordelia’s way, he saw that she was already staring back. “Not even here and she still makes my night out about her.”

His ex-girlfriend was still a touchy subject at times. “Buffy won’t be there,” Angel reminded her. The place was full of memories he would rather not churn up, but if going there meant finding the Shards of Ahli-Tah he would suffer in silence.

“But, my Angel—” Dru reached forward to touch his shoulder her sharp nails digging into the sleeve of his leather coat. “The bad men have come. I see them there.”

Walking into a dangerous situation was always on the cards tonight, but this wasn’t just some random place, nor was it empty. Realizing it, Cordelia cried out, “Buffy’s mom!” While Faith let loose a more colorful expletive from her seat in the back, Angel slammed his foot onto the gas pedal putting the Plymouth into higher gear. Blazing a path straight down the middle of the road toward the Summers’ residence they reached number 1630 in under a minute screeching to a halt just outside.

As the mother of a slayer, Joyce Summers would never be completely safe, but this situation somehow made Angel feel responsible. Not directly. It wasn’t as if Angelus was knocking at her door tonight. With Buffy living at the mansion to protect Cordelia, he should have considered Joyce’s safety, too. He could have insisted that she stay. The brake was on and Angel was out of the car before any action plan formed. His human facade shifted away and his preternatural senses kicked into overdrive.

The others scrambled from the car. “Stay with me,” Drusilla pulled Cordelia back to her side when she tried to run join him on the front lawn.

Dru remembered her role tonight. Angel glanced back long enough to catch her eye, but she was focused on maintaining her grasp as Cordelia argued her case about getting to help. All Drusilla had to do was hold on long enough for him to verify that the house was secure.

The only other vehicle in the driveway belonged to Joyce. Only one heartbeat sounded from within the house, Angel determined as he took the steps onto the front porch. A steady human heart beating faster than the norm. Just as one far more familiar came closer as Cordelia ran up behind him, her shoes clicking on the steps. Dru was suddenly there, too, dark eyes wide in anticipation of his annoyance.

Had Cordelia’s athleticism allowed her to escape Dru’s stronger grasp, or had she simply convinced her to let her go? Angel decided to forgo arguing about it. “She’s alone in there.”

“Are we early?” Faith sensed what he did. No sign of prey. “Maybe they’re not here yet. Does Looney Bins have a timer on those visions?”

“They were already here,” he announced grimly. No obvious signs of a break-in, but he could still catch the lingering scent of them in the air. Human scents. “Joyce is alive, but scared.”

Cordelia instantly darted for the door, but Angel grasped her hand as she reached out for the doorknob. There was that look he was getting to know well, but Angel held steady. No way was he letting her charge in first. She let out a little snort. “You didn’t actually think you were getting in the front door, did you? Hello! Vampire guy. Buffy totally disinvited you.”

Too bad he didn’t have a pithy comeback on the tip of his tongue. Angel simply nodded toward the door taking the only strategy possible by ordering the slayer to move. “Get in there.”

Following his lead, Faith stepped in blocking the entry and managing to settle Cordelia down in one go. “Lemme check it out first, ‘kay?” Cordelia told her to hurry. The door was closed, but unlocked, so it was a simple matter for her to get inside.

Angel hated being stuck outside when there were things to be done. He saw worry on Cordy’s face as she realized, “Buffy’s going to blame me for this.”

Threading his fingers through hers, Angel squeezed her hand. There was plenty of guilt to go around. “Don’t put that burden on yourself, Cordelia. This is Kalesh’s doing. She was going to come after the crystals no matter who had them.”

A soft scoff followed.

The all-clear came quickly. Faith jogged back to the door with Joyce Summers moving slowly, still out of sight in the kitchen. “Dudes are gone,” the Slayer confirmed even though Angel had already determined that much. Warning them, “They roughed her up. She was tied up down in the basement.”

“Oh no!” Cordelia shuddered as she moved past Faith into the foyer. “Not that place. It’s got Creepy Bug Man vibes. I was once stuck down there with Xander.”

Angel had never heard that story and did not want the details. Reminders about Cordelia and Xander’s relationship were something he was happy to forget. He could hear every word of the conversation as Joyce reassured Faith and Cordelia that she was going to be fine. “Great.” Faith took her at her word, but Cordy was not quite ready to move on.

“Your face! Faith’s thick skinned enough to take a punch or two without leaving a bruise. She doesn’t get our trauma. That cheek needs some ice. It’s swollen and gross.”

Angel paced outside the Summers’ open front door listening as they moved about the kitchen. He heard the rattling of ice just before Joyce asked, “Are you two here alone?”

“Nope,” Faith told her. Angel could almost imagine the smirk as she said, “Got two more stuck outside.”

Joyce got the picture. Vampires. “Which ones?”

Cordelia quickly gave their names. “We’re here to look for the crystals.”

They were closer now walking to the front of the house. Angel caught Joyce’s eye as she said, “Oh, I don’t think I can help you on either count.”

“You could just invite me in,” Angel prompted. After all, just hours earlier, she had been invited into the safety of his home and offered hospitality and protection.

Joyce slowly shook her head. “Buffy wouldn’t like that.”

Drusilla suddenly moved close, propped her head on Angel’s shoulder while smiling sweetly, “We’d be ever so nice.” No matter how innocent Dru could appear in some moments there was no way Joyce’s already limited trust was going to extend that far.

Angel assured Cordelia that, “It’s fine,” when she tried to argue the case for allowing them to come inside. The whole ‘Angelus isn’t a threat anymore’ argument didn’t help. Reminders of the past only served to make her more determined to keep both of them outside. Perturbing, but he understood.

Angel pushed his annoyance aside to get back to the purpose of their visit. In that, Joyce was as helpful as she could be in describing the events of the night.

“When the doorbell rang,” Joyce explained how it all began, “I assumed it was you. That you had changed your mind about coming here first.”

Three very tough looking men stood on her threshold. Stunned, Joyce managed a little laugh, “You’re not Cordelia.” Their unexpected presence caught her off-guard and for a moment all she stood frozen staring at them.

“No, I’m not,” chuckled the bald man in front. He was muscle-bound and brutish, garbed in black leather and jeans, with hints of a dark tattoo peeking out of the neckline of his undershirt. The other two appeared just as menacing.

Wary, Joyce tightened her grip on the doorknob. “Are you Buffy’s friends?” Considering the type of company her daughter kept these days, it was never certain who might show up at the front door, friend or foe.

This time they all laughed. “We could be. Buffy sounds like fun, but she’s not why we’re here.”

Joyce had a few dark thoughts choosing to keep them to herself. “Then you should leave. You must have the wrong house.”

His demeanor changed, all amusement vanishing from his eyes, mouth sneering. “Got that one wrong. Best you let us in, give us what we want.”

Chills ran dow her spine, but Buffy had told her what to do if vampires ever came knocking. It was simple enough to deny them entry. They hadn’t flashed any fangs or furrowed brows, but it was worth a shot. “No, you can’t come in.” She gave the door a hard push hoping to slam it in his face.

The door vibrated at the force of his fist coming up to meet it flinging Joyce back as it swung the other way. She stumbled onto the foyer floor, a cry of shock and pain escaping as she crashed down. One by one the men stepped across the threshold, the last one shutting them in by calmly closing the door.

The one in charge dragged her to her feet, jerked her close enough that she felt his breath against her cheek. “Stupid bitch, we’re not vampires.”

Joyce wanted to tell them that it wouldn’t matter. That her daughter Buffy would show up any second to kick their collective asses. Only she wouldn’t. Buffy was dealing with the demon swarm down at the Piggly Wiggly. There wasn’t going to be a last second rescue, she realized. These were also no ordinary thugs aware of the haul of valuable collectibles inadvisably placed at her home instead of a guarded storage facility. The mention of vampires put them in another category altogether.

“Check upstairs,” the bald one ordered the taller bearded man. His underling, Joyce supposed as he grunted a response before tracking his dirty leather boots up her carpeted stairs. “Got a husband with a shotgun hiding up there?”

A little shake of her head was the only answer she gave pressing her lips together tightly. Joyce knew what they wanted. The crystals. The Shards of Ahli-Tah.

“You’re all alone.” The third man who had a creepy kind of vibe stepped close, whispering the words like it was their little secret. Joyce tried not to stare back as his eyes caught hers. The corners of his mouth quibbled into a smile the longer he stared until her skin crawled with the sensation that he knew the truth. “You could just tell me where you’ve hidden the crystals,” he teased. “I know they are here.”

Joyce swallowed nervously. How did he know? Although she didn’t understand how this man was so certain, Joyce considered that there were a few cases from the antiquities collection still at the shop. If these Shards were part of the inventory, they might have been stored there instead of among the items brought to her home.

No matter. She could not let these men get their hands on the Shards. Only one thing to do, Joyce decided. Cooperate. Misdirect. “The crates are stored in the basement.”

Instantly, Mooney’s big hand closed over her upper arm as he jerked her along beside him down the hall toward the kitchen. “This way?”

The stairs creaked on their way down to the basement. The back wall near the stairs contained a white Kenmore washer/dryer set and a water tank. The clothes line hung there tied to a pillar serving as reinforcement for the floor above. An old wooden table and set of chairs made a convenient spot to fold laundry and as a workspace whenever she brought gallery work home with her.

“No one upstairs, Mooney,” a deep voice sounded just behind them as his underling returned.

Joyce noticed the leader didn’t admonish him for revealing his name. Either he didn’t care that she knew or it was a bad sign about what he planned to do with his witness.

Wooden crates of various shapes and sizes were stacked neatly against another wall. Most of the store’s regular inventory had to be removed during the festival. Despite recommending to her boss that they rent a more secure storage facility, he thought he would save a few bucks instead. This was the last time Joyce would agree to that plan, assuming she still had a job when this was over.

“Take care of Susie Housewife while I open these crates,” Mooney ordered.

Joyce tried to run for the stairs, but the tall guy was faster than he looked. He grabbed her and a chair scrapping it along the concrete floor until they reached the pillar. One strong push sent her down onto the chair. “Stay put.” He didn’t trust her to comply because he ripped down the clothesline sending her recently cleaned clothes down onto the basement floor. “That wasn’t necessary,” she hissed in his ear as he tied her up.

After opening and searching through a few crates, usually while tossing precious objects out of their protective coverings onto the concrete, Mooney let out a frustrated roar, “Where the fuck are they?”

“Maybe she knows, boss.”

Joyce stopped trying to wriggle out of her bonds the moment their attention turned her way. “I didn’t pack those crates.” Of course she had packed the crates. She had a general idea of the contents simply from the size or shape of the crate, but she also had the inventory book that detailed every item and its location.

Mooney moved to stand in front of her. “We’re looking for crystals.”

Denying their existence didn’t go over well. “There are no cryst—,” a hard slap to her cheek Joyce’s head sideways, heat and blood rushing to fill the void of the handprint. Tears burned her eyes.

“Want another?” The malice staring back at her made Joyce shrink away pressing her body into the hard rails of the wooden chair.

It was painful to shake her head much less speak. She barely recognized her own voice as it came out. “There are no crystals in those crates.”

Mooney raised his hand again pausing only as he met the defiance in Joyce’s gaze. It was the truth. He could see that. He didn’t enjoy beating women, but wasn’t against it either. “Sims led us here like there was a trail of breadcrumbs leading right up to your doorstep. Said he saw us here. That the crystals were here.” He glanced over his shoulder to ordered the other one, “Go get that prick Sims. His job’s not done yet.”

Clomping back upstairs, he followed orders. Joyce heard a short scuffle in the kitchen, low voices, and after a few moments the sound of more footsteps on the stairs behind her. “Tired of your treasure hunt, Mooney?” The man named Sims sounded as though he was playing a game the other one took far too seriously. He lifted a chocolate chip cookie pilfered from her kitchen to his mouth taking a big bite.

“Careful, SIms.”

Glancing her way momentarily, Sims audaciously winked as though they shared a secret. “Do you ever do things the easy way, Mooney? You’re a bulldozer.”

“Shut up and find the crystals.”

Reaching into his coat pocket, Sims pulled out a cylindrical roll of handworked leather, placing it on the wooden table before them. “Already done. Found this upstairs.”

Wanting to do something to help Buffy’s friends, Joyce had returned home with a plan of her own for the evening. She would gather all of the crystalline objects from the collection in order for Cordelia to examine them. There was no way for Joyce to know if any of them truly held mystical power, if they were the Shards of Ahli-Tah, or not. Before these three arrived Joyce had already separated anything potentially meeting the description and placed them into a decorative box on the coffee table.

Mooney opened up the bundle to reveal its contents. He did not seem impressed. “What’s the fuss all about?”

“Don’t concern yourself,” Sims rolled up the leather bundle and tied it securely before handing it over to the burly man. “Just get it where it needs to be.”

As they moved toward the stairs, Joyce tried hold as still and quiet as possible. Maybe they’d forget she was there. Halfway up the stairs, the other one asked, “What about her?”

A long pause dragged out as Mooney contemplated her fate. On the stairs behind him, Sims spoke up. “Leave her. Best cookies I’ve had in a while.”

Joyce finished recounting the events of the night, “Then they left.”

“Good thing we came along,” Cordelia said. “Buffy’s definitely got a lot on her plate tonight. It might have been a while before she found you down in the basement.”

This was the second time Joyce Summers had been injured today, the superficial scratches on her face now swollen and surrounded by a darkening bruise. Angel had a feeling Buffy wasn’t going to take this news well and decided it had better come from him and not Cordelia. Taking the blame wouldn’t be pleasant, but it wouldn’t be the first time Buffy took him to task when it came to her mother.

“No, I don’t need to go to the Emergency Room,” Joyce insisted they leave her to handle her own First Aid. “Shouldn’t you be going after the crystals?”

Angel hadn’t forgotten, but he had to offer. “You should consider staying at our place until this is over.”

“I’ll be fine,” Joyce refused wincing as she adjusted the ice pack against her cheek. “Now that they have the Shards they won’t have a reason to return.”

“We’ve got a room for you if you need it,” Cordelia insisted.

Joyce shooed them out and shut the door turning the locks until they clicked firmly into place. “Let’s get in the car and keep driving. Far outta town. Cancun or Vegas, maybe,” Faith jokingly suggested. “We’re catching hell for this one.”

Angel held open the passenger door for Cordelia who paused long enough to cast doubt on their theory about the Slayer’s reaction. “Pfft! We totally rescued her mom. Buffy has no reason to go all Category 5 on us.”

With everyone seated inside the Plymouth, Angel turned on the engine and maneuvered the car back onto the street. Glancing at Cordelia, “Can you still sense them?” If the men were on foot, there might be a chance of catching up to them, especially if they were on foot.

Taking in a deep breath, Cordelia released it slowly, centering her thoughts and feelings to hone in on the crystals. “Nope. I’ve got zilch, nada, nothing!” Whatever their mode of transportation, Mooney and his sidekicks had already gone further than Cordelia’s shard-sensing ability could reach. “We can keep going though. Right?”

Faith reminded, “Wes says headquarters might be cloaked by magic. That’s why we haven’t found it yet. If we’re going to get the crystals, we’d better find them before they get there.”

“Maybe I can track down down their evil lair!” Cordelia laughed at the notion. “This way to Goosebump Central.” She waved at the roadway ahead.

Nixing that plan, Angel pointed out, “Three thugs wouldn’t be a problem. Running into Kalesh or Nico where they are least vulnerable would be. They need you, Cordelia. I’m not going to make it that easy for them.”

Momentary as it was, all the fun instantly got sucked away leaving Cordelia a little breathless and gloomy. She sank back against the leather seat. “I was joking, dumbass.”

Stepping on the gas, Angel turned the car in the direction of the mansion. “I wasn’t.”

A bright flash of colorful light burst skyward from ahead, drawing their reactions as it lingered for a moment before fading from view. Estimating the location ahead, Angel realized, “That’s our place.”

Cordelia was still gaping. “An explosion?”

“It’s just light,” Angel said listening for the accompanying rumble of an explosion.

“Gotta be Willow’s witchy hoodoo,” Faith figured. “Maybe that’s what’s supposed to happen. Ya think?”

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Last Updated: 18 January 2024
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