A Few Key Sunnydale Alum

It's not worth the effort, at this point, to make herself firmly visible.

Instead, Meg concentrates on making her voice as loud and solid and present as possible as she zips through the building, ignoring such petty obstacles as walls and floors and extremely surprised lawyers and mentally checking off sites of battle: "All out! Everybody out!" she shouts to Wells and Spoon, and "They're coming down, get ready!" to Buffy and the others in the lobby, and "We're all done, it's time to go!" to River and Spike, and "Find the others, get out now!" to Harth and Mel, and then back to the first group again, as fast as she can.

Everyone has to hear.

It's a bigger room, this time. The better to fit two dozen zhirelin in addition to the sorcerers themselves.

The conference room setup this time is much hastier, at Emma's orders. The table's been upended against the wall instead of removed entirely; the blood in the spell diagram is still tacky. Everything's in place, including the two most vital components: the real Kshaartian mandrake, and the Scythe.

Emma's trying hard not to pace as the two red-robed apprentices bend to light the first candles, as the priests in their darker robes begin chanting.

We're in the homestretch. Go. Go. Go.

"How fast can your supplier deliver another one?"

A pause. "Well, find out then!" she snaps. "Yes, now. I'll wait."

She's pacing behind and around her desk, her heels striking the floor in a steady brittle click click click, gripping the phone like a lifeline.

Beth's fingers twist together between her knees. ( This isn't working for me. )

The door to the Security holding cell opens.

"Levinson," Emma says as she closes the door behind her. "Jonathan S. Born in Sunnydale, California, and wasn't that a wake-up call for our checkers. Currently employed by the Watchers' Council of England, and by an unlicensed private investigator right here in New York."

Her smile's tight and brittle.

"You don't think for a second I don't know what you're here for."

Still no signal from Meg. By this time she should have shown up, even if everything else has run into a wall. Especially if everything else has run into a wall.

Twenty Slayers and two werewolves can't stay unnoticed for long. They're not inside the Somebody Else's Problem field yet. At least the winter weather means nobody will look askance at their long heavy coats -- but it's a gamble that nobody will be able to tell they're all concealing weapons under them.

Buffy's pacing back and forth in a slow prowl, shaking her head. "Something's gone wrong," she says flatly.

Last night there was a late-night phone call, about this. This morning there's a lengthy meeting in Emma's office.

Brianna shakes her head: no, she wasn't able to get the other woman's name. She spoke English. No identifying regional accent. When Emma pulls a series of photos out of the archives, Brianna studies them intently. I'm not sure, she says. The light was bad. It could be her. Maybe.

Later today, those same photos are projected onto a screen at one end of a conference room full of zhirelin.

Her name is Dana, Emma tells them. A zhirel from Los Angeles, abducted and abused by a psychopath as a small child. She was in an institution until last year, when her abilities manifested; the staff there didn't know how to deal with her. She broke out of her cell, overpowered two doctors and an orderly, and escaped. The LA branch of Wolfram & Hart located her and tried to bring her in, but representatives of the Watchers' Council showed up and took her out of their hands by force.

She hasn't been seen since, until last night.



(There are things about this encounter that don't quite match up. Some of the things the girl said, for instance -- caff and call, what's that about? But the transcription of the surveillance video from Dana's medical records (retained in Wolfram & Hart's joint archives) makes Brianna nod repeatedly: She talked like that. Not those exact phrases, but ... that's how she talked.)



Around the table, they're all watching intently: two dozen young women, ranging in age from nineteen to thirty, wearing street clothes or business casual or workout gear. All of them look sober. Some of them look angry.

(One of them is not like the others.)

"If you see this girl, do not approach her." Emma's winding up the briefing. "And report it in immediately.

"Are there any questions?"

Midtown
Offices of Wolfram & Hart
May 26, 2005, 10:30am

Beth looks around the elegant office lobby uneasily, sidestepping a trio in business suits (two men, one woman) hurrying past her toward the elevator at the rear, as Brianna leads her toward the security desk. "Hey, Alan," she says cheerfully.

"Morning, Ms. Walden," says the uniformed young man behind the desk with a pleasant smile. "Signing in a guest?"

"Yeah. It's on B Clearance. Emma wants to meet her." Brianna says it casually enough, but Alan's eyebrows go up and he looks at Beth with a shade more respect.

"Very good. Could you please sign your name here?" He hands Beth a pen, and adds "And just fill in by invitation under Purpose of Visit."