This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualeventsorlocalesorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.

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Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter1

Chapter2

Chapter3

Chapter4

Chapter5

Chapter6

Chapter7

Chapter8

Chapter9

Chapter10

Chapter11

Chapter12

Chapter13

Chapter14

Chapter15

Chapter16

Epilogue

AbouttheAuthors

Thisoneisformymother.—C.G.

Formysisters,EliseandLeslieJones.—N.H.

AcknowledgmentsChristopherandNancywouldliketothankJossWhedon,CarolineKallas,andthe cast and crew of Buffy; our editor, Lisa Clancy, her assistant, ElizabethShiflett,thePocketteam,DebbieOlshan,andeachother.ChristopherwouldalsoliketothankConnieandtheboys;hisagent,LoriPerkins;TomSniegoski,JoseNieto,StefanNathanson,andJeffMariotte.Nancywould like to thankWayneandBelle;heragent,HowardMorhaim,andhisassistant,LindsaySagnette;theBabysitter Battalion; Stinne Lighthart, Brenda Van De Ven, Lydia Marano,Maryelizabeth Hart and JeffMariotte, David Hinchberger, Charlie and KathyGrant,YvonneNavarro,andmanyotherdearfriendswhohavebeensogoodtome.

SONSofENTROPY

PrologueWILLOWSHOUTEDTOTHEGHOSTSSHEKNEWWERElingeringintheetheraroundthem.“Comeback!Weneedalittlehelphere!”“Youguys!”Cordeliascreamed,lookingwildlyaroundatthenumbinglygray

landscape.“Youdeadguys,whereareyouguys?”Theywerealoneontheghostroads,aplacefilledwithnothingness.Xander’s

stillformdangledbetweenthem,andademonracedtowardthemfromanopenbreach.Sotherewasnothingtodobutfightit.Willow tried to lower Xander gently to the ground, but his ankles slipped

through her fingers and his feet hit pretty hard. She sucked in her breath andsaid,“Oh,Xander,I’msorry.”Thedemonlunged.“Cordelia,lookout!”Willowcried.“Oh,myGod!”Cordeliashrieked.SheletgoofXander’swristsandhishead

whappedthegroundveryhard.Thenshearcedaroundinacirclelikeashotputthrowerwithherhandinafist,andsmackedtheendofthenearesttentacle.ToWillow’scompleteamazement,thepiecebrokeoffandwhirledawaylike

aFrisbee.“Willow,” Cordelia said, with a look of shock, “Willow, this thing is like,

defective!”Cordeliahititagain,andanothertentaclebrokeoffandshatteredasitfellto

theground.“Wow!”Willowsaidexcitedly.Sheraisedherfistsandranuptothedemon.

“Comeon,monsterthingie!We’rereadyforyou!”They both shouted with disappointment as it whirled around and hastily

retreated.“Willow!”Cordelia’seyesshone.“Thatwasincredible!”“Yeah,” Willow said, shaking a little. Now that the battle was over, she

couldn’tbelievehowbraveCordeliahadbeen.“Itwas.”CordeliapickedupXander’shands.Willowlookeddownathim.Helooked

terrible.Thebloodonhischestfromthegunshotwoundhaddried,buttherewassomuchofit.TheyhadtogethimtoBoston,totheGatehouseandtheCauldronofBrantheBlessed,assoonaspossible.Whichwaswhytheywereontheghostroads.

Giles had not been positive that regular humans—those not touched by thesupernatural—could walk the ghost roads and live. Was simply being herekillingXander?Wasthatwhytheghostshadalreadytriedtolayclaimtohim?WeresheandCordeliagoingtodiehereaswell?Cordymurmured, “Sorry about the bump, sweetie.” ToWillow, she added,

“Let’sgetoutofhere.Ihatethisplace.”Then, like the chickens theywere, the phantomwalkers of the ghost roads

reappeared.Now that the demonwas gone, their translucent faces and bodiesblurredandflickeredastheyswarmedaroundthethreefriends.Almosthungrily,thedeadtuggedatXander’sbody.“God,Willow,stopthem!”Cordeliashrieked.Sheturnedherattentiontothe

spiritswhoharriedher boyfriend’s still form, pulling at his clothes, liftinghislimphands,andshescreamed.“Leavehimalone!He’snotdeadyet!Notyet!”Willowfelthysteriabegintoswirlupinsideher,thoughtshemightthrowup,

wiped away hot tears that had begun to spill down her cheeks. And then shestoodherground.“Backoff!Wehavesafepassage!Leaveusalone!”Around them, all was gray light, as though it were permanent dusk. The

featurelesslandscapeoftheghostroadsstretchedoutforever,andyettheycouldonlyseetheirimmediatesurroundings,asthoughsomeinvisiblefogblottedoutallelse.Buttheirimmediatesurroundingswerebadenough.Thefacesofthetraveling

spirits—many of whomwere lost here on the ghost roads—coalesced aroundthem,someintofull-bodiedform.One,whoinlifehadbeenaveryoldmanwithabushybeard,driftedclosetoWillow.“Weare giving you safe passage, girl,”he said, in a voice that came from

everywhereandnowhere, fromall themouthsof the travelingdead.“Orshallwe simply stand aside for the creatures who even now tear these walls downaroundus?”Willowswallowed.Sheknewwhatitmeant.Whathemeant.Belowherfeet

was solidground,orwhatpassed for solidgroundhere.Shehaddoneenoughresearchtoformahypothesisaboutthat,abouttheghostroadsexistingsocloseto the real world, shimmering with energy an eyeblink out of reality, thatoftentimesthegroundbeneaththeirfeetwasreal.Ifthatwasso,thenthefartheronewentintothefogoneithersideoftheroad,thefartheronedriftedintothelimbonothingnessbetweentheghostroadsandwhatwaitedforthosetravelingorlostsoulsattheirfinaldestination.

Deep in the fog,Willowcould seeghostsbattlingdemons. Itwas surreal, amist-enshroudedballetbetweenthedeadandtheundyingthatmadeherfeellikeatinygirlagain,staringintotheblackabyssofhercloset.Shetriednottolook.The dead were protecting themselves, of course, but they were also giving

WillowandCordeliasafepassage.“He’s one of us, now,” the oldman’s ghost said, pointing at Xander.“He

muststay.”“Dammit, I said he’s not dead!” Cordelia shouted, before Willow could

respond.“What?Areallghostsdeaf,orjustyou?”Willowglanced at her.NowCordeliawas draggingXander byhis arms, as

bestshecould.Hermuscleswerestrainingfromtheeffort,andWillowwantedtohelp,butitwasuptohertomakesuretheyweren’tstopped.Thatwasmoreimportantrightnow.“Move,Cordy,”shesaidinalowvoice.“Gethimoutofhere.”“WhatdoesitlooklikeI’mdoing?”shesnapped,eyeswide,onthevergeof

crying or laughing or screaming, but—Willow observed—on the verge ofsomething.“Heisours,”theoldman’sghostwhispered.

ThelastthingAmyMadisonwantedtobedoingthatnightwasstandinginanalleyacrossthestreetfromtheentrancetotheFishTank,whichwasjustaboutthe sleaziestbar inSunnydale.But thepast coupleofweekshadbeenonesofterriblefluctuationsinmagickalenergyinthearea,withmonstersofeveryshapeandkindfloodingthetown.She’ddoneherpart.Whileshedidn’treallyhangoutwiththeSlayerandher

friends—in fact, she kept to herself mostly—and she wasn’t about to startdedicatingher life toprotecting the innocent likeBatgirlorsomething,well, itwasherworld,too.So instead of trying to link upwithBuffy and the others, all ofwhomhad

plentyontheirminds,shewassure,Amydecidedtojustbackthemup.TokeephermindandherpowerasawitchmagickallyattunedtoSunnydale,andstepinifitseemedtheSlayerandherWatcherhadoverlookedanything.Withallthathadbeengoingon,howcouldtheynot?Andtherehadbeenplentygoingon.Infact,Amywascertainthatshedidn’t

evenknowthehalfof it.Frankly,shedidn’twant to. Itwasenough to justdowhatshecould,andleavesavingtheworldtotheonewhoactuallyhadthejob.Shehadahardenoughtimegettingherhomeworkinontimeandgivingherdad

thekindofqualitytimeheliked.Well,andsheliked,too.Nowithadstartedtodrizzlealittle,andthesaltysmelloftheoceannotfar

awaywaspungentonthebreeze.Ithelpedcovertheurineandgarbagesmellofthealley.Prettymuchtheoldtrademarkalleysmell,asfarasshewasconcerned.Hermagickalsearcheshadlocatedsomethingtheothershadnotencountered,

something lurking indisguise,keepinga lowprofile.Something inhuman.Shedidn’tknowifitwasademonoramonster,butshe’dusedherpowertotrackithere,totheFishTank.Thethingwasinside.Problemwas,Amywasn’toldenoughtogoin,andthebouncersurewasn’t

goingtoletherby.Shewasponderingwhattodoaboutthatproblemwhenthescreamingstarted

inside the bar.Awoman crashed through the blacked-outwindows of the barandlandedinthestreet.Herfacehadbeentornoffandherabdomenrippedopenthroughthetrampydressshewore.The bouncer ran screaming from the bar, then turned down the street and

bookedit,notevenlookingback.SomuchfornothavingID,Amythought.Then she hesitated. This wasn’t her gig. She wasn’t brave. Not really. But

somebodyhadtodosomething.AsAmywassprintingacrossthestreettowardtheentrancetotheFishTank,a

deadmanflewthroughthewindowandlandedinabrokenheap.Itslowedherslightly, and she thought about turningback.Then there camea long, chillinghiss,andAmylookeduptoseeitstandingthere,insidetheopendoor,holdinganothercorpsebehindit.Itsfingerswerethrustintotheeyesocketsofthedeadman,draggingthebodybehinditlikealittleredwagon.Vitreousfluiddrippedfromitshand.ThecreaturestoppedwhenitsawAmy.Eightfeettall,itwasdarkgreenandbrown,coveredwithscalesandgillsand

spikes thatdrippedpoison.Astingerlike tail swung in theairbehind it. ItwaslikenothingAmyhadeverseenbefore,noteveninherarcanetexts.Whenitlaughed,itsoundedasthoughithadphlegminitsthroat.Itdroppedtheeyelesscorpse,whichhitthedamppavementwithawetslap.

The rain continued to fall, ran downAmy’s forehead, flattened her hair. Themonster flickedout a long, forked tongue like itwas aNewYear’sEvepartyhorn.Thenitcameforher.“GoddessHecate,work thywill!”sheshouted, raisingherhands,contorting

herfingerstoformthepowerfulspell.Magickalenergycrackledbetweenthem.“Mistressofcreaturesgreatandsmall,confinethisbeasttoits—”Witha savagebackhand, spinyknuckles slicing intoher cheek, themonster

knockedAmyback against the FishTank.Her head struck the brick, and shecollapsed to thepavement.She could feel somethingwarmdrippingdown thebackofhernecknow,notlikethecoldrain.Itwasblood.Shesmelledit.Sodidthemonster.Its guttural, sickening laughter increased as it strode toward her, muscles

rippling,scalesshiningintherainandthelightofthefullmoon.Blackness closed in on her vision, and she knew she was slipping into

unconsciousness.Shewouldbedefenseless then,and justasdeadasallof thepeopleinsidetheFishTank.“Confinethisbeast,”shewhispered,herlipsnumb,mumbling.“Confine.. .

toitsdistantlair.”Amyfellunconsciousjustasthelaughterstopped.Her eyes flickered open several minutes later at the sound of approaching

sirensandsherealizedshewasn’tdead.Wherehercheektouchedthepavement,itslidinsomethingsticky.Herown

poolingblood.Shecouldtasteitonherlips.Itoccurredtoherthatshehadacalculustestinthemorning.Beforeshefell

unconsciousagain,Amysmiledthinly,orthoughtshedid.Shecouldn’tbesurebecauseshecouldn’tfeelherface.Atleastshe’dhaveagoodexcuseformissingschool.

Chapter

1

BUFFY SUMMERS, THE VAMPIRE SLAYER, CLENCHED HER fists asshe scrutinized the carspassingOz’svan left and right.Gileshadbrought themorespaciousvaninsteadofhisownsmall,half-deadcartocollectBuffyandtheotherswhenthey’dunexpectedlyburstoutofthebreachintoSunnydale,but,asadriver,GileswasstillGiles.Ashechuggedalong,Buffy’sheartbeatjammedintohighgear.Theycarried

preciouscargo,namely,theGatekeeper’sheir,JacquesRegnier.Anyofthecarswhizzingpast them in thenightmightbe loadedwith assassins equippedwitheverythingfrommagickspellstorocketlaunchers.Shortandbrown-haired, theboysatbesideBuffy in thefirstof tworowsof

passenger seats. That charming vampire couple, Spike and Drusilla, had heldhimcaptiveforweeks.Hisfatherwasonthebrinkofdeath.Andafive-hundred-year-oldsorcererwhohatedhisentirefamilywasrunninghimtogroundlikeananimal.Yet he sat quietly beside her, trying to deal.Buffy figured if shewaselevenandhadallthatweighingherdown,shewouldhavegivenintothetotal,rawurgetogocompletelyballisticbynow.Shehadnotdealtverywellwhenshe’dfoundoutshewas theChosenOne.

Someweirdguycomesuptoyouandtellsyouyou’retheonlygirl inallyourgenerationwhocanbattletheforcesofevil,youfigurehe’sreadafewtoomanycomicbooks.Thenyoufindoutit’strue.Acoupletimes,youtrytoquit.Once,youevendie.Butintheend,yougetbackup,youcomebackhome,yougobacktowork.

Atsixteen,though.Atseventeen.Butnotateleven.“Damn,” Giles said, stepping on the brakes as something white skittered

acrosstheroadinfrontoftheheadlights.“Keepgoing,”Buffysaidtohim.“Itwasprobablyjustaspirit.They’retrying

to escape the ghost roads. They’re desperate to get out of there before Hellbreaksthrough.”Asshethoughtofthoselostandwandering,tormentedsouls,Buffyshivered.

She had found two Slayers among them. She prayed that trudging along theghostroadswasnotherfinalreward,notafterallthisstruggle.FromtheseatbehindBuffy,Angelsaid,“Oziscomingaround.”Buffysighed.“Dowhatyouhavetodo.”She heard a dull smack as Angel knocked Oz out again. It was the night

beforethefullmoon,firstofthethreenightsduringwhichOzwasawerewolf.BackinFlorence,hehadattackedBuffyandAngel.MicaelaTomasi,nowsittinginstrainedsilencebesideGiles,hadprettymuchsavedtheirbutts.Ataboutthesametimethat,hereinSunnydale,Xanderhadbeenshot.“Whenwegettothemansion,we’llcalltheGatehouse,”Gilessaid,asifhe

couldreadBuffy’smind.“Wecallmymomfirst,”Buffyobjected.“Thenwe’llpickherup.We’llmove

everybodyupthereand—”Gilessaid,“Oh,God,Buffy,youdon’tknow.”Buffy went numb. “About a lot of things.Which one is this?” She leaned

forward.“Giles?Whatdon’tIknow?”Helooked into therearviewmirrorandshesawthereflectionofhiseyes in

theghostlylightofthedashboard.Itwasoneofthosemomentsthatfreeze-frameinyourmind;itwasamomentwheneverythingstoppedandshewaitedforhimtotellhersomethingunspeakable.Hedidn’tdisappoint.“Buffy, I’m afraid yourmother has been abducted,” he said. “The Sons of

Entropytookherand—”For at least five seconds, she couldn’t speak, couldn’tmove, couldn’t even

think.Shecouldn’thearawordhesaid.Shewasavastfieldofendlesspanic.“Buffy?”hesaidgently.Sheleanedforwardandslammedherfistdownonhisbackrest,verynearhis

head.“Wherewereyou?”sheshouted.Micaelahalfturned,murmuring,“Buffy,I’msorry.”Buffyglaredather.“Yourfatherdidthis,”shehissedather.“Yourfather.”“Heisn’treallymyfather,”thewomanrepliedweakly.GileslookedsharplyatMicaela.Shedroppedhergaze.BuffyturnedbacktoGiles.“Whereisshe?Wherearetheykeepingher?”

“Xanderwasshottryingtosaveher,”Gilessaid,anditoccurredtoBuffyinavagueblurofjumbledthoughtsthatshehadn’tevenaskedhowXanderhadbeenhurt.Everythingwassobadandtheyhadtomovesofastthatallshehaddonewasregisterthatoneofherbestfriendsmightbedying—mightbedeadbynowforallsheknew—andthenshehadmovedontothenextbadthingonalistofverybadthings.“Wherewereyou,Giles?”sheaccusedhimagain,feelingeverythingslipping

awayfromher.“Cross-indexingyourstupidreferencebooks?Makingtea?”“Hey,”Angelsaidfromthebackseat.“Buffy,takeiteasy.”Buffywhirled on the vampire. “Don’t you defend him! I risked her life by

goingoff toEuropetofindJacques.I leftheralone.Icouldn’tbehere,buthewashere.Allhehadtodowastakecareofher.WeknewtherewereleaksintheWatchers’ Council security.We knew there were bad guys everywhere youlooked!”SheturnedbacktoGiles.“Sowherewereyou?”Suddenly she was aware of a small handmoving over her closed fist. She

lookedoveratJacquesRegnier.Tearswererollingdownhisface.Heraisedhisother hand andmade a circle in the airwithhis forefinger.Buffy felt a tingleagainst her cheek, almost like a kiss. There was another connection betweenthem now: they each faced the potential death of a parent. But he had beenpreparedforhis.Hehadknownhisfatherwouldonedaydie.“Wealldie,”hesaidsoftly,asifhecouldreadhermind.“EvenGatekeepers.”Tears welled but Buffy fought them back. Fought down her anger and the

terrorthatthreatenedtocompletelywipeherout.“They came to my apartment,” Giles said. “They disguised themselves as

floraldeliverymen,andsheletthemin.”“Mom,”Buffysaid,incredulous.Howcouldshehavebeensocareless?Sheloweredherhead,abouttoapologizetoGiles,whenhewenton.“Theywanttotrade,Buffy.”Hisvoicedropped.“Andyouknowwecan’tdo

that.”Sheraisedherhead.“Idon’tknowthat,”shesaidwildly.“Idon’tknowthatat

all.”Micaelaturnedtoheragain.“No,Buffy.Youcan’t.”Sheshrugged.“OneSlayerdies,anotheroneiscalled.Nobig.Mymomdies,

that’sareallybigbig.”Micaelashookherhead.“MyfatherneedsthebloodofaSlayertosatisfyhis

demonsponsor.Ifyoudieundermyfather’sknife,thegatesofHellwillsurely

open.”“They’regoingtoopenanyway.”Buffyraisedherchin.“Andyourmotherwilldiethen,too,”Micaelasaidmercilessly.“Andshewill

suffereternaltorment.”Buffytookabreathandstoppedthesmart-assretortthatthreatenedtobubble

over from her superheated nerves.All business, everything else inside herselftieddownforthestorm,shesaid,“When’sthetradesupposedtotakeplace?”“Italreadycameandwent.”Gilessignaledtotherightandtheybegantocrest

thehillthatledtoAngel’smansion.“Wetriedtosurprisethem,getyourmotherback.Buttheywereastepaheadofus.Two,actually,”headdedinadefeatedvoice.“Buffy,youknowthatifIcouldhavegivenmyownlifeforhers,Iwouldhave.”“No.”She spoke theword as if itwere a punch toher gut. “Youwouldn’t,

Giles.Becauseyou’remyWatcher.Andyourfirstobligationistome.”Andshehatedthat.Gilesdidnotrespond.Buffystaredatherhands,atthesmallerhandoverhers.Gilescouldsaynothing,becausetherewasnothingtobesaid.LittleJacquessaid,“Ihavesomemagick,Buffy.IshalldowhateverIcan.”“Thanks,”shesaiddully.

As he had helped load the unconscious werewolf into his van, Giles nowhelped Angel carry Oz up to the house. The vampire, though uncommonlystrong,wasvery tiredfroma longnightandcountlessbattleswith theSonsofEntropy,demons,andthedeadwhowerefrantictoescapetheirlimbodimensionandreentertheworld,tenuousasthatharborappearedtobe.Gileswasgladofthephysicalexertionrequired,foritgavehimawaytoslake

someofthetensioncoursingthroughhisbodylikealiveelectricwire.Hewasacutely aware of Buffy’s distress, for he shared it. Joyce Summers was notrelatedtohim;shewasnothiswife,norhissister,norhismother.Yethecaredforherdeeply,andhefeltentirelyresponsibleforherkidnapping.Eventhoughithadbeenshewhohadopenedthedoor.HewouldnevertellBuffythattheirenemieshadsignedBuffy’snametothe

card that had accompanied the flowers. The Slayer already blamed herself. Itwouldservenopurposetoincreasehergrief.HewasalsoacutelyawareofMicaela.Incredibly,throughoutallshehadbeen

through,shestillsmelledofasweetfloralfragrance.Herhoney-blondhairstillshoneasittumbledoverhershoulders.

Hisbodystillreactedtothesightofher.SoitwaswithdistinctreliefthathehelpedAngelcarryOzintotheveryplace

whereAngel,astheevil,soullessAngelus,hadoncedelightedintorturinghim.Where he had threatenedGiles with a chainsaw andworse. Angelus, the onewiththeangelicface,whohadstalkedJennyCalendar,thewomanwhomGileshadloved,andtwistedherheadtoohardtotheleft,andkilledherwithasonginhisheart.ThelasttimeGileshadcometothisplace,hecouldmakehimselfstayonlya

fewmoments.Itconjuredtoomanypainfulmemories.Now,ifithelpedinanyway,hewouldgladlyremainherefortherestofhislife.HeandAngelcarriedOztoacornerinthelargelivingroom.Aftertheyhad

secured Oz with a substantial pair of handcuffs Angel had produced from asmall,ornatebox,BuffydemandedthatAngeldrivehertoherhome.Fromtherethe two would fan out and begin the search for her mother. Giles thought toprotest;surelytheSonsofEntropywouldbewatchingherhouse,lyinginwaitforherappearance.TheSlayerwastheprizetheysought;Joycewasmerebait.ButGilesknewBuffyverywell.Shewouldnotlistentohiswarningsanddirepredictions.Atbest,theywouldonlyspurheron.Sheneededtodowhatsheneededtodo.Hehadneverbeenabletostayher

fromherchosencourseofaction.Andoften, shehadbeenprovenright inherinsistence upon stepping outside the boundaries of what was reasonable andprudent.Itwasnothisplacetostopher.Correction:itwashisplace,buttherewasnosenseineventrying.Next, the poor, tired child had lain down in what appeared to be Angel’s

bedroom,alighton,andMicaelahadsunghimalullaby.Gilesknewthatboysofelevengenerallyprotestedagainstsuchchildishthings,but,peeringfromthedoorway, he had seen the whisper of comfort that had spread over JacquesRegnier’s features. Apparently his own mother had committed suicide whenJacqueswasameretoddler.TheprospectoflifeintheGatehousehadbeentoomuchforher.Betterdeaththanmadness.Nextshewhisperedwordsofmagick,raisingwardsaroundthemansion.Giles

stoodapart,reflectingbitterlythatifitwerenotforherfather,theywouldneednowards.AngelandBuffyweregone,andtheboywasasleepinaroomwhosewindow

wasalsoheavilyfortifiedwithwroughtiron.ThatleftGilesalonewithMicaela.As he stood by the empty, black windows, staring into the darkness andwondering if theSonsofEntropyknewtheywerehere, shesatwearilyon the

couch facing the empty, black fireplace.He looked at herwithout turning hishead.Shewaspaleanddrawn,andobviouslyasuncomfortableashewas.Shetrembledslightly,thoughfromthechillair,fatigue,ornerves—oracombinationofallthree—hehadnoidea.Afteralong,pregnantsilence,hesaid,“I’llmakesometea.”“Yes,thankyou.”Hershoulderswererounded.Shelookedasifshewantedto

donothingmorethansleep.Andbeforgiven.Abruptlyhelefttheroomandwentintothekitchen.Eachmovementseemed

strangetohim,asifhewereinhabitinganother’sbody,ashemadetheteaandgotthecups.Whentheworldwasending,theminutiaeoflifeseemedridiculousandself-indulgent.The kettle screamed. No milk or sugar having been located, he set the

steamingcupsonasmalltrayandputitonAngel’scoffeetable.Sheliftedacupandbegantosip.Suddenlysheputitdownandcoveredher

facewithherhands.“I’msosorry,Giles,”shesaid.“Fulcanelli...Ididn’tknowwhoorwhathe

was. Iwasvery littlewhenheadoptedme.Hewasverykind.Hebecamemyfather.HowcouldIknowthethingsmylovingfathertaughtmewere...”“Evil,”Gilesfinishedforher.Micaelaonlywept.FromherconversationwithBuffyinthevan,Gileshadalreadydeducedthat

the ancient nemesis of the house of Regnier, Giacomo Fulcanelli, was thecreatureshethoughtofasherfather.Andyet,itwasashocktohearheradmitasmuch.Toadmitthatshehadsethimuptobepusheddownthestairs,orworse.Andthen,tohavevisitedhiminhospitalinherbrightreddresswithflowersandaverynicevolumeofSherlockHolmesstories,actingasifshe’dbeenattractedtohim.Itwoundedhimdeeply.Itangeredhim.“Most demons are kind to someone, at some level,”Giles said after a beat.

“That’stheirseduction.Theweaknesstheyseekinordertorecruitaccomplices.”Heheardhersuckinherbreath.Thenshesaid,“Thinkabouthowitwouldbe

foryouifyoudiscoverednowthateverythingyouknewaboutBuffywasalie.Ifyoulearnedthatshewasmoreevilthantheevilshewassupposedtowipeout.Thislovelygirlyouhavebeenchargedwithprotectingandguiding.Ifsomeonehandedyouagunandtoldyoutoshootherbecauseshewasavile,basecreaturebentuponthecompletedestructionofmankind,couldyou?”“Yes,”hesaidfirmly.

“Andifsomeonetoldyoutoshootme?”shewhispered.Heturnedtoher,lookedintohereyes.Shehadagedintheshorttimesincehe

had last seenher, notverymuch,butmore than she shouldhave.Hecouldn’thelpthewaveofsympathythatwashedthroughhim.Theslightsofteningofhisheart.“Micaela,”hesaid,meaninghistonetobefirmandauthoritative.Instead,he

spokehernamelikeabesottedlover.Tohisdismay,shebegantoweepagain.“Rupert,Iamsosorry,”shesaid.“Ihavesomanyregrets.”“Yes, well, now is not the time for that.” He examined the interior of the

mansion—anything to avoid looking directly at her. “Youmust explain tomeexactlywhat’sgoingon.”“Yes,ofcourse.”Shetookadeepbreath.“Yousee,myfather...themanI

calledFather...isaveryoldandpowerfulsorcerer.”“Yes,Iknowthat,”Gilessaid,frowning.“Butwhatdoeshewant?”“To dowhat another fallen one did.” Her lovely facewas very grave. “To

reigninHell.”She rose from thecouchand twistedherhands together.“Foryears,he told

me and his followers about theOtherworld,wherewonderful creatures dwell.Thestuffofourmythsandlegends.Unicorns,sprites—”He interrupted her. “Monsters and demons. Flesheating ghouls, griffins and

manticores.”Shenodded.“Fromtimetotime,theuseofgreatmagicksinthisworldwould

weaken thewallsbetweenhereand theOtherworld,manyofwhicheventuallycrackedopen.”“Creating a breach in that barrier,” Giles said thoughtfully. “A breach the

Gatekeeperwouldthentakeituponhimselftoclose.”“Exactly,”Micaela concurred. “TheGatekeeper and his heirs kept up for a

time, hunting for the breaches and binding the creatures that got through.ImprisoningthemintheinfiniteroomsoftheGatehouse.Itmighthavegoneonlikethatforcenturies.”She lowered her eyes. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it earlier, that the

Watcherswere vital to theworld, that theGatekeeperwas a good and valiantman.IsupposeIjustwantedtobelievethatthelovehehadshownmewas...real.”Micaela looked at Giles. “But when I learned the truth, which he has

successfullyhiddenfromhisfollowers,atleastsofar,Igrewtohatehim.Forhe

isopeningupthebreachesnotonlybetweentheOtherworldandthisworld,butbetween these twoworlds andHell itself. Even aswe speak, the ghost roads,which the Gatekeeper traveled to collect and bind the mysteries of theOtherworld,arecloggedwithdemonsfromthePit.Theyareswarming,massingtomarchonus.Toobliterateus.”“And Fulcanelli is aiding and abetting this madness? In return for what?”

Gilesasked,thoughheknewtheanswer.“Power,”shesaidsimply.“Healonewill survive themassacre.Hewill rule

theearth.”“Andyou?”Sheexhaledandshookherhead.“IsupposeIwasexemptaswell.Butsurely

nowthatI’vebetrayedhim,I’mscheduledforslaughterjustlikeanyoneelse.”Gileswassilentashetookinallthatshehadtoldhim.Sheextendedherhand

asiftotouchhim,thenquicklywithdrewit,cradlingitinherlap.She said, “When I saw you at the library party, of course I knewwho you

were.Ihadyourpictureinmypurse.Ihadmyorders.Butyou...”She trailedoff, then laughed shortly. “Youmademe feelwarm,despite the

cold.”“Comenow,”hesaid,abitimpatiently.Therewasnoneedforherdishonest

flirtationnow.Shetriedtosmile,andfailed.“Ihavebeenalonemyentirelife.”Shelookedat

himverysteadily,althoughhercheeksturnedbrightred.“Iwastoseduceyou,ifnecessary.”“Howunpleasantforyou,”hesaidunkindly.Wantingtobeunkind.Wanting

tomakeheradmitthatshedidn’tmeanit.“Iwish...”Nowshedidsmile,verysadly.“Andnow,itwillneverhappen.

Youwillneverletmegetthatclose.”Gilessaidnothing.Heputhisteacuptohislips.Thefirstsipwasverybitter.After a time, he said, “It’s bloody freezing in here.We should have a fire.

Then,tosleep.We’llbothneedrestforwhat’stocometomorrow.”

The strong scent of ammonia shocked Joyce Summers awake. She tried todrawabreaththroughhermouth, thenrealizedwithastart that itwascoveredwithtape.Panicking,shesuckedairthroughhernose,strugglingtocoughasthesearingodorbroughttearstohereyes,whichwereblindfolded.Butsheknewthesmellsofherprison.Sheknewexactlywhereshewas:back

in the storage closet at the abandoned Sunnydale Twin Drive-In. An eyesorealongRoute17,agooddistanceoutsidetheSunnydaletownlimits,itseemedasremotefromhelpasMars.The rescue attempthad failed.Shewas sorry for that, notonly forherown

sakebutbecausetherewasstillthechancethatBuffywouldbetemptedtotradeher life for her mother’s. That must not happen. Joyce understood that andacceptedit.Thoughshewasveryafraidtodie,itwasbyfarthebestthingthatcouldhappenifitmeantthatBuffywouldsurvive.“Mrs.Summers,hello,”camethesoftvoice.Joyceswallowedhardagainsther

fear.ItbelongedtothedeceptivelygentleBrotherClaude,theSonsofEntropyleaderwhohadmagickallyburnedanothermantodeath.Thathecoulddothiswasasecret,andonewithwhichhehadthreatenedher.Ifshespokeawordofittoanyone,shewouldbe thenextcharredmassof fleshon thecementfloorofthedrive-in.“Doyouknowwho I am,Mrs.Summers?”BrotherClaude inquiredgently.

Joycemanagedanod,thoughherheadwasswimming.Shewasn’tevencertainthatshewasbreathing.“That’s very good,” Brother Claude said pleasantly. “And now, I have a

wonderfulsurpriseforyou.Youaretobemosthonored.”No,shewantedtoplead.Shewantedtobegforherverylife.Shewasgrateful

forthetapeacrosshermouth,whichallowedhertomaintainherdignity.Then the tape was summarily ripped away. The blindfold was roughly

removedfromhereyes.Atfirstshesquintedagainstthenimbusoflightaroundthefigurebeforeher.

Shewonderedhowlongshehadlainindarkness,howlongshehadbeenbound.Fornowsherealizedthatherhandsweretiedbehindherback.Shewasterriblythirsty.“Signora,”saidthefigure,bendingtowardher.“Howexquisitetomeetyou.”She pulled back her head and stared at him. His features were sharp, and

thoughhisskinwasunlined,therewasanairsurroundinghimofincredibleage.Longwhitehairgatheredaroundhisshoulders.But it was his eyes that startled her. They were an incredible, deep blue.

Hypnotic.She foundherself unwillingly falling into those eyes, andwhen sheblinkedherselfback into focus, shehad thesensation thatagreatdealof timehadpassed.Thatshehadjustlostpartofherlifetime.The man laughed deep in his throat. It was a sadistic, cruel laugh, and it

chilledhertohermarrow.“Achair,”themansaid,snappinghisfingers.Toherastonishment,oneappearedbesidehim.Noonecarrieditover;noone

bowedandscrapedinobeisance.Sheandhewerecompletelyalone.He sat on the chair. Joyce, sprawled like a broken doll on the cold cement

floor,herblanket toher left,was forced to lookupathim.Hewaswearingablackrobe,likethemenwhohadkidnappedher,butshesawablackturtleneckat theneckandblackpants legsashecrossedhisknees.Hehadonveryniceloafers.“Do you have any idea what is happening?” he asked her. His accent was

European. Italian, she guessed, andwonderedwhat itmattered.But she knewshemust takenoteofanythingandeverything incaseshemightuse it tosaveherownlife.“No,”sherasped,thenclearedherthroat.“No,”shesaidmorefirmly,“butit

wouldbeniceifyouwouldfillmein.”“Ah.”Hisfacebrokewithpleasure.“NowIseewhereshegetsherfire.Ihave

oftenwonderedatthedifferenceintemperamentofSlayers.TheoneIkilledwasalmostmeek.YetthepowerIgatheredfromherdyingbodywastremendous.”Joyceswallowedhardandforcedherselfnot to react.That’swhathewants,

shetoldherself.He’sabully,that’sall.Justabullywiththepowertomaterializefurnitureoutofthinair.Hecrossedhisarmsnow,aswellashislegs,andsettledin.“Well, let’s begin at the beginning, shall we? Italy, theMiddle Ages.” He

shrugged.“Iwasjustaboy.ButIwasambitious.IknewIwasdestinedforgreatthings.Justlikeyourdaughter.”“Mydaughter,”Joycesaid,“isnothinglikeyou.”Hetouchedherface.Hisfingertipburned like the tipofacigarette,andshe

jerked her head. The spot throbbedwith pain. She clenched her teeth to keepfrommakingasound.“Shecannotdo that, it’s true,”he said, cockinghisheadas if toadmirehis

handiwork.“Buttherearetimeswhenshewouldliketo.”“NotBuffy.”“Yes,Buffy.”Hechuckled.“Youhaven’tseenherstuffacrucifixdownthe

throatofawrithingvampiretomakehertalk,haveyou?Orstandbyandallowthatstrangepasticheofgoodandevil,thatonecalledAngel,totortureoneofmyyoungfollowerstodeath.Haveyou.”

Itwasnotaquestion.Itwasathreat.Joycenarrowedhereyes.“Tosavehumanity,”shesaid.“Ah. Humanity.” He clicked his tongue against the backs of his teeth and

refolded his arms. “But ifwe go down that road—is humanity actuallyworthsaving?—we move into the realm of philosophy. And I find the subjectprofoundlyboring.So.”Heleanedtowardheragain.Andthistimeshesmelledhisbreath.Itwasthe

sameodorshehadsmelledadayandanightbefore:theodorofcharredhumanflesh.Joycegagged.“Oh,pardon,doIoffend?”Heblewhisbreathoverherface,clearlyenjoying

thelookofrevulsionthatcrossedherfeatures.“Listentome,Signora,”hesaid.“Iamalliedwithapowerfuldemon,andhe

cravesthebloodofyourdaughter.Iwillgiveittohim.IfIhavetoputyouonthephoneandmakeherlistentoeveryscreamIcreateasIslicethefleshfromyourbones,inchbyinch,Iwillgiveittohim.“If I have tomurder everyman,woman, and tiny baby in this dismal little

town,Iwillgiveittohim.”Joycecouldn’tbearanymore.Sheraisedherchinandspatathim.Hereyes

widenedinshockwhensherealizedwhatshehaddone,butshefoughthardnottolethimseehersurprise,andherfear.Hisgazehardenedashewipedthespittlefromhischeek.“Iwillgiveittohim,”hesaidslowly.“IfBuffyknowsthis,she’llnevertradeherselfforme,”Joycesaid.Heputhishandoverhisheart.“Yourhonestyistouching.”Thenhereached

backhisarmandflickedhisfingersather.Blue tendrils of magick flickered toward her, lapping at her features with

white-hotpain.Shecriedoutandturnedherhead,strugglingagainstthewalltomoveoutofrange.“Don’ttriflewithme,woman.YoucannotimaginetheagonyIcaninflicton

you.”Thenhethrewbackhishandagain.This time he slapped her, hard enough to send her reeling back into

unconsciousness.Thelastthingsheheardwashisquiet,pleasedlaughter.Thelastthoughtshehadwas,Buffy,stayaway.

Atdawn,JacquesRegniersatupinbedandcried,“No!”Inaninstant,themanandwomanwereathisside.Thewomantookhishand

andfelthisforehead.Jacquessaid,“He’shere.IlMaestroishere,andhe’shurtingBuffy’smother.”“Oh,dearLord,he’shere?”Micaelacried.Theboynodded.Shecoveredhermouth.Themanstoodclosebehindherandlookedoverher

headanddownatJacques.“InSunnydale,”themansaid.Jacquesnoddedagain.

Chapter

2

DESPITETHESOFTGLOWOFTHEMORNINGLIGHTTHATshoneuponher face, the lovely young girl with the golden hair was, at present, not verylovely at all. Her name was Amy Madison; she was a witch; her face wasmottledwithbruisesandtherewasacutoveroneeyethatthreatenedtoleaveascar.“Apity,”EthanRaynesaidsadly,andhemeantit.Hewasaverybadperson,

itwastrue.HehadattemptedtosacrificetheSlayer’slifetothedemonEyghonto save his own skin. He had opened a Halloween shop filled with cursedcostumes that allowed demons and monsters the run of Sunnydale on AllHallowsEve.And once upon a dark age, he had been Rupert Giles’s dear friend in

forbidden magicks, a lifetime ago, when the old boy had tried to dodge hismiserabledo-gooderdestinyasaWatcher.So yes, itwas true that Ethanwas not the best ofmen.But thesewere the

worst of times. Even penny-dreadful dabblers such as himself could read thesignsandportents.AndonceyouactuallygottotheHellmouth,itwasobvioustoallbutthosemostdeeplymiredindenial—thatbeingnearlytheentiregeneralpopulaceofthecharmingtownofSunnydale—thattheendoftheworldwasathand.“So,Rupert,I’mbackinthesaddleagain,”Ethanmurmured.Hehadplanned

tocomehere, todominormischiefduring theconfusion.Oncehere,however,he had realized how dire the circumstances actually were.Much as it painedhim,herealizedthathewouldneedtolendahand.Fortheimpoftheperversethatresidedwithinhimneededaworldinwhichtoplayhisgames.Ethan Rayne didn’t want to die any more than anybody else did. So he

decided to help . . . and there was always the chance that there might be anadvantagetobegainedintheprocess.

FromthedoorwaytoAmy’shospitalroom,hegavethepoorgirlasalute.Hermagickalemanationswerewhathaddrawnhimtothehospitalinthefirstplace.The young witch was in bad shape, but she would recover. It was moreimportantthathefindtheChosenOne.TheworldhadsincereneedofBuffySummersatthemoment.Ethan turnedandsauntereddownthehospitalcorridor,smilingata fetching

lassinhospitalscrubs,raisingalazybrowasshesmiledback.Hehadonablackturtleneck and charcoal gray pants; he was a looker if he did say so. As shewalkedon,givinghimonemoreappreciativegazeoverhershoulder,hefeignedanonchalancethatdesertedhimwithoneglanceatthewidepanoramawindowslookingoutontothebrightmorning.Nextstop:Giles’squaintlittlehangout.AllroadsleadtoRome,Rupert,dotheynot?Through the lobby,with a brief, pensive sigh at the closed specialty coffee

cart,andthenEthanswungthroughthelargedoubledoorsandsteppedintotheday.Thehorseshoe-shapeddrive infrontof thehospitalwaspackedwithcars,andoutof thempeople lumberedandlimped.Bleedingforeheads,armsatoddangles, a weeping woman carrying a small boy who kept whimpering,“Monsters.Monsters.”Inthedistance,sirensblared.Grewcloser.Ambulanceswereenroutetothe

emergencyroom.He walked up to a rotund, elderly woman who was being helped from a

Cadillac by an equally aged but far more agile man. The woman’s face wasuncommonlywhite,andhereyeswerewidewitheitherfearorshock.Therewasalargebruiseonherforehead.“Excuse me, but I was wondering if you could tell me if there’s been an

accidentorsomething,”Ethansaid, fillinghisvoicewithdeepconcern.“I justcamefromvisitingmyauntonthethirdfloor,andIseeall thesenewarrivals,andallatonce.”“Damnkids,”themansaid.“Itwaskids.”“No,”thewomanmurmured.“Notkids.”“Sureitwas.”ThemangaveEthanalookthatsaid,Don’tlistentotheoldbat.

“OneofthosedamngangsonPCP.”Heshookhishead.“Youcomeforavisit,thinkwhatanicelittletownitis,buyahouse,thishappens.”“I’m so very sorry,” Ethan said. He clucked his tongue in sympathy at the

woman.“Thestaffhereareverygood.I’mcertainthey’lltakeexcellentcareofyou.”

“Hearthat,Eugenia?”themansaid,pattingthewoman’sarm.“Itwasn’tkids,”shesaidpeevishlytoEthan,ignoringhim.Theyshuffledpast.Ethancouldn’t suppressa shiver. Ifheevergot thatold

anddoddering...well,heneverwould,wouldhe?Thatwaswhatmagickwasfor.Morecarswereskiddingtoahaltaroundthehorseshoe.Ethandodgedaround

thebumperofoneandgavethedriverajauntywave.Hisownrentalwasintheparkinggarage.Hefishedinhispocketfortheticket,thinkingitawfullycheekyof hospitals to charge one for visiting the injured and infirm. It should be theotherwayaround,oneimagined—suchanodiousdutysurelyoughttowarrantareward.The ticket found, he hesitated a moment, then stepped into the gantrylike

elevatorcomplex.Hestoodforafewseconds,thenallowedhisintuitivesenseofself-preservationtotakeover.Thestairswereabetterchoice.Inanelevator,itdidn’tmatterifsomeonecouldhearyouscream.Therewasnothingtheycoulddoaboutit.He turned to the right and took the stairs two at a time, glancing over his

shoulder as he went. Satisfied that no one was following him, he turned hisattentiontothetopoftheflight.And, forhispains,wascaught inawhite-hotmatrixofsizzlingblueenergy

that flaredout anddown like anet.Ashe criedout, the energywebbent andshapedaroundhimlikeacoatofarmor.Theagonywasintense.His reaction, more so. It was as though every hair on his body was being

burnedaway.Hissingthroughhisteeth,hecollectedhimselfandmurmuredthesyllablesofanancientBabyloniandestructionspell.Butevenasthenetbegantocoolandfade,anolive-skinnedmanwithscarredcheeksandsavageeyeshurtledhimselfdownthestairstowardEthan.“Forchaos!”hisassailantshouted.TheforceofhisleapslammedEthanbackwardsdownthestairs.Ethan’shead

crackedagainstthefirstriser;thenhesliddowntothenextstepandmanagedtorollontohisstomach,holdinghimselfinplacewhiletheotherfellowskiddedtothebottom.Thenthescarredmanturnedroundandgottohisfeet.Heballedhisfistsand

flickedhis fingersout, towardEthan.Twobrightorangeballsof fire rocketedtowardhisface,butEthanmanagedtoraisehisownhandsandstopthemwithabindingspell.Theyhung in theairwhileEthangrabbed the railingandpulled

himself to a half-standing position. The world was a bit topsy-turvy; he wasincrediblydizzy.Hisattackerbarreledupthestairs.Grippingtherailing,Ethanswungbothlegs

uptokickhiminthechest,afeatwhichwouldhavedonetheSlayerproud.Then,astheothermanfellbackdownthestairs,theentirestructurebeganto

shake. Violent tremors ran through it, setting off car alarms, and within theelevatorcomplex,anemergencybellbegantoscream.The hooded man stayed where he’d fallen. But the stairs rang with new

footsteps fromabove, and asEthan clung to thebanister to keep from falling,half a dozen thugs, some of them wearing hats or hoods to hide their faces,chargedathim.Ethan slammedhis fist into the face of the nearest one, then leapedup two

steps, to the roof of the parking complex, and threwhimself to the right. Themomentumofthenextattackersentthemanshootingheadlongdownthesteps,tojoinhisfellowonthecementfloor.Ethan flung out his leg, tripping twomore hoods. Then the entire structure

shookagain,harder this time.Thefront tiresofa lovelyredBMWrolledoverthe edge of the floor and teetered just above Ethan’s head. A beat-up truckjoinedit.Metalslammedandgroundagainstmetal.Theskyhadgrownquicklydark,andnowitcrackedopen,andcoldbuckets

of rain sluiced down Ethan’s black turtleneck as if someone had snaked afirehoseintoit.Itwasahardrain,stinging,anditgavethebattlebetweenEthanand his attackers a strange, strobe-like quality. Lightning flared overhead,impossiblyclose.Atreetotheleftofthestructureburstintoflame.Below,someonebeganshrieking.“Whoareyoupeople?”Ethanshoutedashestruggledupthestairsandcame

uponyetmoremen.Someofthemworerobesemblazonedwithwhite,archaicinscriptions.Ethan clapped his hand to his head and cried, “The Sons of Entropy! Of

course!Whatthedevilareyoudoinghere?”That seemed to startle the men so badly that they looked at one another,

unsurewhattodo.Ethanpressedhisadvantage,saying,“BrotherClaude,ishehere?Mygracious,it’sbeenages.”“WhatdoyouknowofBrotherClaude?”oneofthemendemanded.Hehad

very red hair and a slight red mustache. As he faced Ethan, his eyes tickedslightly to the right, then downward. He was watching someone sneaking upbehindEthanonthestairs.

“Only that he can’t be trusted,” Ethan shot back, and whirled around,slamminghis right fist into the solarplexusof themanbehindhim.Thechapdoubledoverandclutchedhisstomach,losthisbalance,andfellagainstthesiderailing.Ethanstoopeddown,grabbedhisankles,andflippedhimovertheside.Theman’sscreamswerelostintheclatterofthedownpour.“That was BrotherMarcellus!” the redheaded man shouted, quivering with

fury.“Andwhowereyou?”Ethanasked,ashegrabbedthefrontoftheman’srobe

andranforward,forcingthemantostumblebackward.Ethanranhimallthewaytotheedgeofthestructure,thenliftedhimupand

threwhimovertheguardwall.Hewasn’tusedtothiskindofphysicalconflict:ithadbeenawhile.Buthefeltgood.Whenheturnedaround,theotherswerescattering.Withagrimsmile,Ethan

watchedthemmeltintothetorrentialdownpour.“EthanRaynecomes to town,”he said,“kickingassand takingnames.”He

wipedhishandsonhissoddentrousersasiftheywerecontaminated,whichtheywere,withmagickalresidue,andbalancedhimselflikeatightropewalkerastheentirestructureshookandswayed.“Damn,”hesaidangrily.Hehadlosthisparkingticket.However,hiscarlookedtobeintact,andhestillhadthekey.Sohelethimself

in and sat behind thewheel, wonderingwhat was the best way to keep fromdrivingoffatanangleasthestructurewhippedandcanted.Hejammedthekeyintotheignitionandstartedtheengine.Hewasjustabout

toput therental intodrivewhensomethingroaredupbehindhimandgrabbedhim around the neck. It began to pull; Ethan had the image of his head as achampagnecork,andflailedhisarmstograbatwhateverhadholdofhim.Themonsterwasenormous,withape-sizedarmscoveredinpurple-and-ocher

leathery skin, pincers flashing at the elbows. Its head slammed repeatedlyagainsttheroofofthecar,butitclearlydidn’tmind.In the rearviewmirror, Ethan caught a flash of a face the color of a fish’s

underbelly,with jet-black eyes anda circularmouth ringed indeepblood-red.Perhapsasucker.Perhaps the thing thathad justattacheditselfsquarely to thebackofEthan’sheadandwasdrawingitintoitsexpandingmouth.“You don’t want to do that. I’m not quite ripe,” Ethan managed to say,

flummoxedastohowhewasgoingtosavehislife.Then his windshield shattered, and a large, very tall, very hairy creature

coveredwithwhitefurreachedpastthewreckagetograbEthanaroundtheneck.He was caught between the two monsters, one tugging forward, the othersuctioninghimbackward.Hewascertaintheyweregoingtobreakhisneck.He tried towhisperabinding spell,but the syllableswerechokedoff along

with his oxygen supply. Pin-points of light danced before his eyes, and theneverythingbegantogoblack.Itwasthenherememberedthatthecarwasrunning.Grunting, he released the emergency brake and pushed the gear shift into

drive.Thenhedepressedtheaccelerator.Thecarslammedforwardandheadedforthewall.Ethancouldn’tfigureout

what was going to happen when it crashed into it, but he shut his eyes andprayedtothegodJanusthattherewouldbesomethingleftofhimwhenitdid.Witharesoundingcrash,thecarrammedtheconcrete.Thewhite-hairedthing

sailedoverthehood,disappearingfromEthan’sblurredview.Thesuckingthingalsodisappeared,nolongerbehindEthan.Theengineroaredandthecarfutilelygroundagainst thewall.It tookEthan

lessthanaheartbeattorealizethiswastheonlychancehehadtogetoutalive.Hepushedopenthedoorandclatteredtotheoilypavement, thenhegot the

helloutofthere.He half-ran, half-stumbled toward the stairwell, scanning for his Entropic

friends.Itappearedthatthecoastwasclear,andthattheyhadretreatedintothedrivingrain.Ashebeganhisdescent,lightningcrackledoverhead.Thestructurestartedto

buckle.He knewSunnydalewould find a good, sensible reason for this all to have

happened.Itcertainlywouldn’tbethecorrectone.Butatleasthewouldgetagoodlaughoutofthis.Helurchedoutofthere,tatteredandtorn,andnogorgeouswomeninscrubs,

jeans,orbusinesssuitsgavehimsomuchasaglance.Tomakemattersworse,Rupertwouldbeathisdreary jobat thatmonstrous school.Thebesthecouldhope forwouldbea spotof tea,whenwhatheneededwasnourishment—andbrandy.Thosewouldhavetowait.EthanRaynewasonamission.Hestumbledalong,soreandbruised,thinkingtohitchhike,liketheyusedto

dointheseventies.Hesmiledgrimlytohimself,rememberingwhenRupertwasknownas“Ripper”andlifewascrazyandterrifying.

Thosedayshadreturned,atleasttoSunnydale.“Oh, ho,” he said to himself, as he finally stood across the street from the

school. Before him hung what could only be a breach, the portal to anotherdimension. It pulsed like a gapingwound, an ellipse of purple and black thatpromisedentryorexittothingsEthandidnotwanttodealwithatthemoment.Sohe bound it anddrew it closed, shakinghis head that things like thiswerehappening, most particularly on the Hellmouth. All that negative mysticalenergy.Hemadeaface.Badvibes,astheyusedtosay.Sunnydalewasonabadtrip,man.Whenhereachedthehighschool,hecrossedthestreet,limpingslightly.He’d

beallrightoncehecouldsitdownforaspell.Ahandfulofstudentsnoticedthathewasn’twearingtheuniformoftheday,whichappearedtobeenormousbell-bottomspinned up to reveal yards of extraneous fabric. Far be it fromhim tocriticizecurrentfashion.“Thelibrary?”heaskedathinwispofagirl,andshegapedathim.“Um,”shesaid,andpointedvaguely,agesturewhichincludedatleasthalfa

dozendifferentdirections.“Thankssomuch.”Then he headed for the library by means of dead reckoning, wondering if

anyone was going to say anything about the torrential rains and the trulyostentatiouslightningoflastnight.Orif,likeeverythingelse,theywouldeitherpretendithadbeenafreakofnature,orthatithadn’thappenedatall.Atthedoorstothelibrary,hestoppedandsmoothedbackhishair.IfBuffywasthere,hewantedtolookhisbest.He pushed open the doors.And there theywere, rather like a tableau in an

old-fashioned music-hall act: Rupert with a teacup and a book; the beautifulSlayer, her hair all mussed as if she’d just pulled back from a lover’s ardentembrace;thenewboy,themusician,theoneforwhomthephrasewasinvented:“Stillwatersrundeep.”Theyallturnedtolook.Andnoonelookedhappy.“Good Lord,” Rupert blurted. “Ethan, what in God’s name are you doing

here?”Ethantriedyetonemoretime.“Good?”Asone,everyoneinthelibrarycontinuedtostareathim.Hesteppedforward.“Imeanit.I’min.Onthesideofgood.”“Good and greedy, good and ambitious, or good and plenty?” Buffy asked

harshly.“Youmalignmeso,”Ethanprotested.At this, the Slayer stood. “Last I saw you, youwere carving tattoos inmy

back.Orno,wait,youweresellingmagickcandybars,right?SoexcusemeifIdon’tdobackflipsatthesightofyou.”Hesmiledather.“Butyou’resuchanagilecreature.”“Andyou’renotwelcomehere,”Rupertsaidcrisply.“ButItrulyamheretohelp,”Ethaninsisted.“Andpleasedon’ttakeoffense,

butitappearstomethatyoucouldusealittlehelp.”“Batman,Riddler,”Ozsaidwarningly,asifintroducingGilestoEthanforthe

veryfirsttime.“Oh,what?”Ethandemanded.“You’reall so incontrolof thesituation that

youdon’tneedanyhelpwhatsoever?Whileit’sraininglightning—”“—andtoads,”Buffysaid.ShelookedatGiles.“Well,itdid.Atleast,while

we were looking for my moth—” She glanced uncomfortably at Ethan. “—balls.”Hegrinnedather.“Ibegyourpardon?”There was another protracted silence. Then Buffy sighed and said, “One

mistake, one little slip of the spellcasting tongue, and you’re dog meat.Literally.”“Now,waitjustonemoment,”Rupertprotested.Heputdownhisteacupand

glaredatEthan.“Youaren’tsimplygoingtotrusthim,”hebegan.“Fine,”Buffysaid,thenglancedatEthan.“Telluswhy?”“Why?”Ethanasked,raisinghiseyebrows.“Echo,”Buffyreplied.Ethanfrowned.“Well,youmaynotappreciatethe...art...inthethingsthat

Ido,butitiswhatIdo.WherewouldIbewithoutaworldlefttodoitin?”BuffygaveherWatcheralook.“Hedoesn’twanttodie.”“Youhavemethere.”Rupertclappedhishandstogether.“Othercomments?”“Shehasyouthere,”Ozsaid.“All right, Ethan,” Rupert said unhappily. Up went the glasses. “But one

mistake.Onemisstep.OnetypicalEthangesture,andyouaremostundeniably...”Hetrailedoff.“Ibelievethefashionablephraseis‘dogmeat,’”Ozsaidhelpfully.

At the east end of Sunnydale, still within the town limits but long past

anything thatactuallypassedfor“town,” lay theSunnydaleTwinDrive-In.OrwhathadoncebeentheTwin.Oneafteranother,thenostalgicbuyershadcomealong,dedicatedto“doingitright”evenifthatmeantmakingnomoneyatall.Eventually, reality set in. There were people willing to operate the drive-inpurelyforpleasure,withoutanyprofitatall.Butsofar,nobodyhadbeenwillingtoruntheplaceataloss.At least, not in the past eleven years, which was how long the Twin had

officiallybeenclosed.Thelandhadbeensoldoffhalfadozentimessincethen,todeveloperswithaneyetovasttractsoflandwithoutamallonthem.Butthepropertyhadturnedouttobeuntenableformostdevelopers.Toofaroutontheedgeof town.Too far from justabouteverythingelse.Past thedesolation thathad once been the two-screened drive-in, there were only some thick woods,Route17,severalmom-and-popstores,andthen,whenyoustartedtogetclosetothenexttownover,anicerink.Butbythen,youweretoofarawayforthedrive-inpropertytobeofanyuse.

Itwas only amatter of time before continuing developmentmade theTwin apieceofprimerealestate.Butfornow,itwasnothingbutanenormousparkinglot surroundedby a rusting chain-link fence, its pavement shattered every fewfeetbyweedsthathadforcedtheirwayuptofreshair.Teenagerssneakedinoftenenough,mostly todrinkorhaveabonfire in the

lot.One of the screenswas ruined, half of it having collapsed during a nastythunderstorm back in ’95. Most of the speakers had been ripped from theirstands, swung about some local kid’s head by their wires, and thrown at thescreensoratthelittlecementprojectionboothandconcessionstandthatlookedlikenothingsomuchasabombshelter.Buttherehadn’tbeenanyinvadingteenagersinthepastfewweeks.Anyone

whoevencameclosetothefencehadthesuddenandirresistibleurgetobefar,farawayfromtheSunnydaleTwin.Itwasn’tanyoneparticularthing,butjustanoverallfeelingthatdrovethemoff.Itwasblackmagick.AndthisblackmagickspreadovertheSunnydaleTwinlikeamiasma,likethe

diseases in themists and the steaming hot afternoons that used tomakemensick;itreshapedandreformedtheSunnydaleTwinuntilwallsgrewandpuzzlesformed and hedges sprouted and blocks carved themselves into vast warrens.UntiltheSunnydaleTwinwaswhatpeoplesawiftheylookedfromRoute17.ButiftheywereinsidetheSunnydaleTwin,iftheywereaprisonerthere—if

theywerethemotheroftheSlayer—thenthedrive-inwasgone.Initsplacewas

aterriblemaze.Andwithinitdwelledthelordofthemaze,thekingofthelabyrinth,asithad

beensetdownfromthebeginningofwordsandritualexecutions:theMinotaur.Amanwith the head of a bull.A creaturewithoutmercy, so dread that in

variouscountriessuchasSpainandPortugal,theystillsacrificedcaptivebullsinlargearenasmannedbysymbolicheroescalledmatadores—killers—toassuagetheirsenseofpowerlessnesswhentheminotaurhadheldswayoverthemall.Theminotaurwasathirstycreature.Anabominationagainstheaven,itlusted

forhumanflesh.Itcravedthegoreofhumantissueacrossitssnout.“Mrs.Summers?”BrotherClaudecalledsoftly.“Wakeup.Wehaveasurprise

foryou.”

WithintheCauldronofBrantheBlessed,Jean-MarcRegnier,theGatekeeper,heldtheSpearofLonginusbetweenhisliver-spottedhandsandwheezedtohismother,“Heiswinning,Maman.Icanfeelit.TheCauldronisall thatsustainsme now.And even that is not enough. Iwill not be able . . . to use it again.Fulcanelliwillprevail...andthegatesofHellwillopenallovertheworld.ThehomeoftheSlayer. . .”Hesighed.“Itisthefulcrum.Itisthecentralpoint.IfwecannotholdSunnydale,wearelost.”AntoinetteRegnier,theghostlymotheroftheGatekeeper,whohaddiedover

acenturybefore,strokedthelined,feveredbrowofhersonandclosedhereyesagainst the tears that threatened to fall. In life, she had been bound through aritualtothisplaceandthishousetoaidherson.Thesandshadrunoutforhimsocompletely;hewasbarelyashellhousingapulseandamind.Yetheclungsohard;hewaitedforthereturnofhisyoungson,sothattheweightylegacyoftheGatekeepermightcontinue.PoorJacques.PoorJean-Marc.“Hush,mydearboy,”shewhispered.“Conserveyourstrength.Aslongasyou

holdtheSpear,youcannotbedefeatedinbattle.”“ButIcanstilldie.Itisending,Mother,”hesaiddesperately.“I’mofnouse,

andtheworldisending.”

Gilesliftedhishead.Afterhislongdayatschool,hehadcometothemansiontocheckonJacques

andMicaela.Theladhadplacedwardsaroundthemansion,ashadGiles,inhisownway;else,Gileswouldneverhave left themalone.There reallyhadbeennothing else to bedone:withnoone else to help them, andnoone to trust—

especiallynotEthan,forallhisprotestations—thebesttheycouldhopeforwastokeeptheboyoutofsight.AsGileshadbeenaskingMicaelaaboutherday,hehadfallenasleeponthe

sofa.Whenheawakened,theshadowswerethrownacrosstheroom,andablanket

hadbeengentlybunchedaroundhisneck.Across the room,Micaela sat inanoverstuffedchair,herkneesbeneathher

chin.Shesmiledwhenshesawhim.Helookedatherwithsuddenclarity.“I’mgladyou’rehere,”hesaid.Sheclosedhereyes.Shewept.Gilesmovedtoher,holdingher;shecriedagainsthischest,andthenshesaid,

“Thatstrengthensme,Rupert,asnothingeverhas.”

Chapter

3

BUFFY HELD HER HEAD IN HER HANDS AS IF IT WERE going toexplode.Gilescouldseehowexhaustedshewas,and thisbrief restduring theongoing search forhermotherwoulddo little to relieveher.Buthe couldnotallowhissympathytoblindhimastotheirpriorities.“WehavetogetJacquesbacktoBoston,”hesaidtentatively.The Slayer looked up at him as though she wanted to strike him. Giles

wouldn’t have blamed her. But there was nothing to be done about it. Asmelodramaticasitseemedtohissenseofpracticality,thefateoftheworldhungin the balance.Already, they hadwastedmost of a day.After school, he hadgonetocheckonMicaelaandtheboy,andtogetsomerest.Now,notlongafterdusk,he’dreturnedwitharenewedsenseofpurpose.ApurposeBuffyseemedtodisagreewith.“Buffy,wemust—”heventured.“Don’tyou think Iknow that?”Buffy snapped,butherangerwas tempered

withatoneofdesperationthatmadeGiles’sheartache.“Buffy,youmustknowIunderstand,”hesaid.“I fear forherasmuch . . .”

Butofcoursethatcouldnotbetrue.“She’smymother,”Buffysaidsharply.“Ican’tleaveher.”Oz sat at the library’s study table several feet away. He’d been double-

checkingthechainsheplannedtousethatnight.NowhelookedupatGilesandraisedhiseyebrows.“There’salsothatwholemonsterthing.Okay,thewolfmanwas passed outmost of the time; preventing slaughter, rule number one. So Ididn’t actually observe the monster thing. But from what Angel andMicaelasaid,weprobablycouldn’tusetheghostroadsevenifwewantedto.”Giles nodded, idly scratched his head. “You have a point. One we’ve

addressedbefore.ThereisalsotheaddedproblemofFulcanelli’spresencehere.Hewantstheboy.HewantsBuffy.HewantsMicaela.Andhewasabletouse

sorcerytopreventyouallfromreachingtheGatehouseoncebefore.Ifhecoulddoitagain...”Buffyslippedoff thelibrarycounterandgrabbedthelight jacketshe’dbeen

wearingoffthebackofachair.“It’s settled, then,” she said. “He’s got us backed into a corner and there’s

onlyonewayout.“Hewantsme.Hecanhaveme.ButI’mgoingtomakesureithurts.”

*

“Leavehim.Heisours,”whisperedthelostsoulsoftheghostroads.“Nohe’snot!”Willowyelled.“He’sours!”CordeliawaspullingXanderbyhishands,his feetandhisbuttdraggingon

the hard ground of the ghost road.Willowmoved around them as though sheweredoinga raindanceorsomething,wavingherhands frantically,hoping tostartlethespiritswho,evennow,werepullingatXander’sclothesandlegs.ToCordelia’sastonishment,itwasworking.“Youalllistentome!You’reintrouble,andsoarewe.We’retryingtofinda

way toput thosedemonsand,y’know,othermonsterpeople,backwhere theybelong.Whichwouldbeagoodthing.Foreveryone,”Cordeliasaidbreathlessly.“Includingyou.Sobackoffandleaveusalone.”“Hemuststay.Heisdead.”“No,he’snot!”Willowscreamed.ButdespiteCordelia’sraving,andherowndenials,theyhadnotbeenableto

findapulseonXander.Hemightverywellbedead.Orhispulsemightbesofaint,soclosetostopping,that...Forgetit,shethought.Idon’twanttothinkaboutit.“Listentome,”shesaid.“I’mnowitch,butIknowafewspells.Youguyscan

cooperate, or I can bind you to the ghost roads, so you can never leave here,never find whatever, y’know, waits for you. Wherever you’re going. Whichwouldsuck,right?”To her astonishment, the old ghost’s eyeswentwide and he began to drift

back.TheothersmovedawayfromXander.Cordeliashudderedwithreliefandbit her lip. The ghosts moved to join the others in fighting the demons, andWillowhurriedtohelpCordelia.Thegirlseachhadanarmnow,andwerepullingasfastastheycould,hoping

theywouldreachabreach thatwouldopen into theGatehousesoon.Thatwas

the thing about the ghost roads, according to Giles. They knew where youintendedtogo,andwouldsimplyopenwheneveryoupassedabreachbackintotherealworldthatwasnearyourdestination.Buttherewasnowaytotellhowlongawalkitwouldbe.Andtheywereoutoftime.“We’llbeallright,”shetoldCordelia.Andthensheliedagain.“He’llbeall

right.”“Thisisthepartwherehe’dmakeastupidjoke,”Cordyreplied.“I’dwantto

stranglehim,andI’dtotallygivehimthecoldshoulder.Butnow. . .oh,God,Willow,thisisworsethananythingelseBuffy’sgottenusinto,ever.”Willowsighed.OfcourseCordeliaknewthatnoneofthiswasBuffy’sfault,

butCordyalwaysblamedtheSlayer.AstheydraggedXander,thedeadmovedoutoftheirwayinagraywaveof

souls,facesswirlinginthemist,andscreamingdemonsinthedistance.Xander’swristfeltcoldunderherfingers.Hewassostill.“Does he feel heavy to you?” Cordelia asked, frantically. “Aren’t you

supposedtobeheavierwhenyou’redead?Ididn’tthinkhewasthisheavy.”“Hewashidingitfromyou,actually,”Willowrepliedweakly.“HisTwinkie

addictionhadflaredupagain.HewasgonnagototheBettyFord,but—”“Willow!”Cordelia cried, staringather evenas theykepthaulingXander’s

stillformalong.Willowshrugged.“Sorry,”shesaid.“Iwastryingtohelp.Y’know,withthe

badjokes.Ijustthought...”Shefellsilent.TryingagainnottothinkaboutXander’scondition.Then Cordelia let out a yelp, and the two of them were falling backward,

pullingXanderdownafterthem.Thedropwasonlyaboutafootandahalf,buttheytumbledtogetheroutofabreachandendedupinatangleoflimbs.Willowwas first toget toher feet.They stoodat the footof adouble-wide

staircase in the most incredible marble foyer of one of the most magnificenthomesshehadeverseen.“Isthisit?”sheasked.Shestaredaroundinamazement.CordeliawastuggingatXanderagain.“Yes,thisisit!”shesnapped.“When

you’re through being magick-tourist girl, would you give me a hand? TheCauldron’supstairsintheGatekeeper’sroom.”Willowwenttohelpher,butbothofthemwerestoppedshortbyanenormous

crash of splintering wood as the double doors shattered and a man tumbledthroughthemandslidacrossthemarble.Alongstickflewinwithhim—no,it

wasaspearofsomesort—andthemangrabbedatit.“TheGatekeeper?”WillowaskedCordy.Themanlookedhorrible,likeacorpsehimself.Hiseyesweresunkenandhis

skinhungfromhisbones.Butthemagickthatcrackleduparoundhisbodyasherose tohis feet . . .and thenrose tohoverabove theground,wasnotweakorsagging,notatall.Cordeliaonlynodded,staring.TheGatekeeper took the longspearandbroke itoverhisknee.He took the

pieces and broke them again.Then he flicked his hands at the fragments, andthey burst into brilliant green flame. Sparks shot off them as if they werefireworks.Bothgirlsjumped.He moved to the shattered doors and floated through them. Past the

destruction, they could see anumberofSonsofEntropyacolyteson the frontlawn of the house. Then, in a sizzling matrix of magickal energy, the doorsrecreatedthemselvesrightbeforethegirls’eyes.Hehadn’tevenregisteredtheirpresence.Theremainsofthespearcontinuedtosparkandburnonthemarblefloor.“Wow,”Willowwhispered.Cordeliaswallowed.“Yeah.”Willowadded,“Looksliketheplaceisunderattackagain.”“Oh,please,”Cordeliasighed.“Whenisn’tit?Now,comeon,Ididn’tgethis

bloodalloverthisoutfitfornothing.”Willow blinked, a bit surprised to hear the usualCordy tone in such a dire

situation.Butthensherealizeditwasallashow.Allamasktocoverherterror.WhichmadeWillowwonderwhat kind ofmask shewaswearing to hide herownfear,especiallyfromherself.Asquicklyastheycould,theybegantodragXanderupthestairs.

When Brother Zachary first arrived on Beacon Hill, he did not see theGatekeeper’shouse.“Lookharder,Brother,”saidtheacolytewhohadpickedhimupattheairport.

“Areyousofarfromthesource,sofarfromchaosmagick,thatyoucannotseepastthemostenormousofglamours?”Zacklookedathim,narrowedhiseyesandsaid,“Shutthehellup,youmoron.

Whotaughtyoutospeaklikethat?”Themanlookedasthoughhe’dbeenslapped.Heopenedhismouthtoreply,

but no sound came out. Instead, they stood there together, two very different

men, allied to a single cause. On the narrow street not far from theMassachusetts State House, Brother Zachary frowned and stared at the placewherethehousewassupposedtobe.Then,suddenly,thereitwas.It’sanextraordinarybitofmagick,hethought.Itmusthavetakendecadesto

perfect.But thishousehadstoodhere forcenturies,so theRegnier family, theGatekeeperDynasty,hadhadplentyoftime.Onceitmusthavebeenoneoftheonlybuildingsuphere.NowitsatamidtwolongrowsofbrownstoneapartmentbuildingsthatwereamongthepriciestrealestateontheEastCoast.The Gatehouse was a vast, rambling mansion that seemed to encompass

nearlyeveryarchitecturalperiod thatZackwas familiarwith,andanumberofwhich he wasn’t. It had a large front yard—almost unheard of in a city asdenselysettledasBoston.Andyetaveragepeoplewalkingbywouldneverseeit.Theywouldpassbyarowofbrownstonesandwalkrightthroughtheshadowof that housewithout ever knowing it was there. Theremight be a few extrasecondstickedoffontheirwatch—secondstheywouldnevergetback—butforallintentsandpurposes,thehousewasinvisiblefromtheoutside.Unlessoneknewwhatonewaslookingfor.Even then, Brother Zachary had had trouble. Which was no surprise,

considering that hehadn’t had anycontact at allwith theSonsofEntropy forseveralyears.IlMaestrohadsenthimtogethisPh.D.fromStanford,andhe’dgoneonwithhislife.Oh,Zackknewthatitwouldcomebacktohimlater.TheSons of Entropy had paid for his entire education. In some ways, he hadsuspectedIlMaestrowasgroominganheir.OrahusbandforMicaela.Ifthatwasthecase,itwouldhavebeenallrightwithhim.Shewasabeautiful

andperfectlykindperson.Butyearshadgoneby,andZackhadsortofstoppedthinkingaboutit.UntilIlMaestrohadshownupinhisapartment,aglowing,ghostlyavatar,to

order him to get toBoston immediately.Hewasneeded.Zacharywould havelikedtosayno,buthejustcouldn’t.For therewassomethinghecoulddothatnoneofIlMaestro’sotheracolytescoulddo.Itwasn’tmagick.Atleast,notasfarasBrotherZacharywasconcerned.Butit

washisspecialtalent.AndnowIlMaestrohadneedofit.Butthis...thiswasahorrorhehadneverbeenpreparedfor.Oncehewas able to see into theGatekeeper’s estate, past the now ravaged

wrought-iron gate that surrounded the grounds, Zack knew that the time hadtrulycome.HeknewIlMaestrowouldneverhavecalledforhimifitwerenot

urgent,butthis...thiswaspureslaughter.Ontheothersideofthegate,dozensofacolytesgathered.Someofthemhad

automaticweaponsandwerefiringatthehouse.Butthiswasnoordinaryhouse,anditrepaireditselfevenasZackwatched.Mostoftheacolytes,however,werespellcastersandmagickusersofsomesort,andtheymutteredincantationsandgesturedoddlytobuildhexesandmadedirect,exhaustivesorcerousattacksonthehouseitself.And on the aged, decrepit-lookingman standing atop the front steps of the

house.Zackknew that thismustbe theGatekeeper, andhecould seewhy themanhadthereputationhedid.Themagicksusedagainsthimwerewearinghimdown, but not nearly fast enough. He shielded himself without any obviousconcern,andstruckbackwithdeadlyforce.Fromthewaythegrasswasawashwithblood,andthestacksofbodiessome

oftheacolyteswereusingasbunkers,itwasclearthatthisbattlehadbeengoingonforquitesometime.“Chaos’ name,” Brother Zachary whispered, an epithet he hadn’t used in

manyyears.“Indeed,”agreed theotherman,who thengrewuncomfortable ashewaited

forZacktoteasehimabouthisaffectationsoncemore.Zackdidn’tbother.“Who’sinchargeoverinthatcharnelhouse?”Zackasked.Themoronnarrowedhiseyes,thenshrugged.“We’realldoingthebiddingof

Il Maestro,” he said. “But I think Brother Thaddeus is the highest rankingofficialhere.”Zackdidn’t thankhim.Hedidn’twant tobehere.He’dbeenhavingsecond

thoughtsabouthisinvolvementwithmagickandthesupernaturalingeneralforsometime.Butitwasn’tpracticaltothinkhecouldjustwalkaway.IlMaestrowasavisionary—andalsocompletelypsychotic.Buthemightwellbeable totransform theworld in theway thatheclaimed. If so,Zackwanted tobewithhim,ratherthanagainsthim.Sohewalkedacrossthestreet.AblackVWbugscreechedtoahaltandthe

driverleanedoutthewindow,lettinglooseastreamofprofanitysofoulandsoinvectivethatZackcouldonlysmileandthink,Home,sweethome.Hewas fromBoston.And he’d never known this damned housewas here.

Whichwasthewholepoint,ofcourse.Now, ashemoved through the shatteredgate andbegan topickhis footing

amongthecorpsesofhisfellowacolytes,BrotherZacharyfeltabitsadfortheoldmanonthestepsofthehouse.Hewasbackeduptothedoor,andapairof

minormagicians were threatening himwith what seemed to be some kind ofcrimsonserpents,createdpurelyfromsorcerousenergy.Themanjustlookedso. . .old.Weakanddoddering,as ifhebelongedinanursinghome,havinghisbedpandrainedandhislinenswashedandnotmuchelse.“Damn,” Zack whispered as he stumbled over a charred, blackened human

arm,whichlayonthegroundseveralfeetfromitsdeadowner.Thenhewasfinallyapproachingtheranksofacolyteswhohidbehindmounds

ofthedead.Therewasshoutingandchantingandbitchingtoo,formanyofthesemen had been here for quite some time. Empty coffee cups from Starbuckslitteredtheground.Whichwasabitsurreal.Mostofthemajormagickalwarsofthepasthadhappenedbeforethereweresuchthingsaschainstoresorshoppingmalls.Zackblinked,andshudderedamoment.Surrealwasdefinitelytheword.Onthesteps,theoldmanscreamedsomethinginalanguageevenZack,who

had spent his life as a scholar of the supernatural and paranormal, had neverheard.Fireeruptedfromthegroundinfrontofthehouse,butitwasn’tjustanyfire.Itwasapurple-grayfire,whichburbledratherthancrackled,andseemedtoflowratherthanspark,anditblazeduphighinfrontofthetwoacolytesnowontheattack.Thecrimsonserpentswereeatenbythefire.Theacolyteswhohadcommandedthemscreamedinpainasthepurple-gray

firepeeledoff their skinand thenpopped theireyes.The fireblazedas itwasspatteredwithbloodandvitreousfluid,asthoughgasolinehadbeenthrownonit.Thefireroiledaroundandoverthedeadacolytes,obscuringthemfromview,and when it receded, all that remained were their bones and their shoes.Whateverlivedwithinthoseeldritchflames,itcouldn’tabidethetasteofleather,apparently.Zackwantedtothrowup.ButhewouldnotunderestimatetheGatekeeperagain.Themanwasamenace

to Il Maestro’s plans, and therefore, he had to be stopped. Brother Zacharycroucheddownbehindabunchofacolyteswhoweresimilarlypositioned.Theyturnedtoglareathimalmostsimultaneously.“WhichoneofyouisBrotherThaddeus?”heasked.Ashort,almostdwarfishmanwitharoundpotbellyandwire-rimmedglasses

seemedtostraightenupabit.“You’retheprofessor?”thedwarfasked.

Zacknodded,assumingthismustbeThaddeus.The potbellied man looked around at the acolytes gathered nearby, and a

broad grin crossed his face. “Well, boys,” he said, “we’ve got ourselves aspecialist,now.He’sgoingtosucceedwhereeverythingwe’vetriedhasfailed.”Itwaseasytoreadintohiswordsandhistone.“Believe it or not,” Zack said. “You think it makes any difference to me?

You’vegotsomethingyouwantmetotryhere,youletmeknow.IfIwastedmytimeflyingout,tellmewe’velostandI’llgoonhome.”Thedwarfglaredathim,nostrilsflaring.Theotheracolytespuffedthemselves

up,asthoughtheymightattackhim.Zacharystoodhisground.Tohellwithallofthem,hethought.“Look,”headded,“IlMaestroaskedmetocomehere.Ifthatwasamistake,

allyouhavetodoissayso.”Hiswordshad thedesiredeffect.The idea that theymightbechallenging Il

Maestro’swillbygivinghimahardtimeseemedtoterrifythemallcompletely.Zackunderstoodthatterror.Hewouldn’teverwantIlMaestroangrywithhim.Thaddeussighed.“Whatyoudo,itisn’tmagick?”heasked.“Notatall.”The dwarf shrugged. “Well,maybe that’swhatwe need at this point.As a

sorcerer, theGatekeeper is too strong for anyone except IlMaestro himself. Idon’tunderstandwhyhehasn’tcomeherehimself...notthatI’mquestioninghiswisdom,”headdedhurriedly.“Ofcoursenot,”Zackreplied.“ButIthoughttheoldmanwasdying.”“Yeah, aren’twe all?”Thaddeus remarked. “Regnier’s beendying for ages,

andhe’sstilldestroyingusfartooeasily.Something’skeepinghimalive.Unlesswecanstopthat...well,weneedhelp.”BrotherZacharynodded.“I’llbemorethanhappytohelp.”

*

Uponthestepsofhishome,theGatekeeperfalteredamoment.Attheedgesof his peripheral vision, the light began to dim. His body swayed. Sounddisappeared—allofit.Notacarengine,notavoice,notthewhisperofthewindremained.Thenheblinked,caughthimself,andreachedoutfortherailingtokeepfrom

falling.HewasmorevulnerablethaneverwithouttheSpear,buthecouldnotletit fall into thesemen’shands. Itwasacalculated risk,destroying itbeforehis

sonJacquescouldtakeover.Butitwasariskhehadfelthemusttake.WhoeverheldtheSpearcouldnotbedefeatedinbattle.IfithadfallenintoFulcanelli’shands...Hetookalong,deepbreath,andthedarknessreceded.Butitwouldbeback

forhim.Soon.

Within her son’s bedchamber, the ghost of Antoinette Regnier floatedsolemnlyabouttheroom,examiningeachofhispossessions.Shemournedhim,though hewas not dead yet. It was an odd feeling.All this time, all she hadwantedwasforhimtobefreeoftheresponsibilitiesoftheGatekeeper,sothatshe couldbewithhim in theworld after, theworld thatwaited for thembothbeyondtheghostroads.Antoinette’sghostpausedabovetheCauldronofBrantheBlessed.Itwasstill

filledwiththewaterthathadsavedhersononlyhoursbefore.Thelasttime,hehadsaid.Andtheybothknewitwastrue.Itwasasthoughaportionofhislifewasdrainedawaybybattle,onlytobereplenishedbythepoweroftheCauldron.Buthisownlifewasnearlygonenow,theCauldronallthatwassustaininghim.Withoutevenasparkofhisownlifeforce,Jean-Marccouldnotsurvive.Even

theCauldroncouldnotpowerabodywhoseenergyhadcompletelydispersed.Yes,thislasttimehadbeentheend.Thecauldroncoulddonomore.And yet,Antoinette could not bring herself to empty it.Not yet. If there is

somesmallchance...“Help!”Antoinetteturned.Throughtheopendoor,shesawtheminthehallway.The

girl, Cordelia, and another she did not know, were dragging Xander betweenthem.TheSlayer’sfriends.Theboywasnotmoving.

Willow’seyeswidened.WithinthelargeroomCordeliahadtoldherwastheGatekeeper’s, the ghost of an oldwoman in old-fashioned clothing floated onair, her body from thewaist down littlemore thanmist.Willow knewwho itmustbe:theothershadtoldheraboutAntoinetteRegnier,andhowshehadbeenboundtohersonafterherdeathtowatchoverhim.Butseeingherwasstillstartling.“Oh”wasallshemanagedatfirst.“That’sit!”Cordeliasnapped.“TheCauldron!”

Willowblinked.Looked.Andthere itwas.Alargeblackpot,bigenoughtoserve as a bathtub if one were so inclined. Or, in this case, if someoneweredying.LegendsaidthattheCauldronofBrantheBlessedwascapableofhealinganywound,andeven,perhaps,resurrectingthedead.ButXanderwasn’tdead.Shewouldn’tletherselfbelievethat.“Antoinette,youhavetohelpus!”Cordeliapleadedwiththeghostassheand

WillowdraggedXanderintotheroom.“The boy is traveling,” the ghost said.“Xander hasbegun a journey away

fromthisworld.”Willowwasabitfreakedbyhearingtheghostlywoman’svoice.Itcamefrom

everywhereandnowhereatonce.Butsheshookitoff.Onlyonethingmatteredrightnow.Thewords.“He’sbegunajourney,”shesaid.“Meaninghe’sdying,right?”She hoped her interpretationwas correct.Refused to believe there could be

anotherinterpretation.Notdeadyet.“Wecan’tletthathappen,”sheadded.“Weneedhim.TheSlayerneedshim.”“Youlovehim.”Simultaneously,thetwogirlssaid,“Yes!”“Please,Antoinette,”Cordeliabegged.“PleaseletususetheCauldron.”Theghost seemed saddened.She hungher head as though she herselfwere

grievingaloss.Andthenshenodded.“ItisnolongeranyusetoJean-Marc,”shesaid.“Please,immerseXanderin

thewaters.Ifhecanbesaved,perhapsyoumaysavoryourfriend’spresenceforafewmoments...“Beforetheend.”Willow tried to ignore thosewordsas sheandCordelia shuffledover to the

CauldronwithXander.Togethertheystruggledtolifthimandslidehimintothewater.Hisclothessoakedupthewaterimmediately,darkeningwiththeweightofit.Hisheadslidunder.“Cordy?”Willowasked.Mutteringsomethingfrantic,Cordeliapulledhimupbytheshoulderssothat

Xander’sheadlolledagainstthesideoftheCauldron.Theystoodandstaredathimandwaited.Andnothinghappened.ThenWillowbegantoput itall together.ThethingsAntoinetteRegnierhad

said. TheGatekeeper couldn’t be dead, or else the Sons of Entropywould beswarming theplace already.Buthemust be close todeath.“Before the end,”

she’dsaid.Veryclose.

Itwascalledastralprojection.BrotherZacharydidn’tneedtoexplainthattothe others. Some of them would surely know a great deal about it. Othersnothing at all.None of thatwas important.The only thing thatwas importantwastheplan.TheplantomurdertheGatekeeper.BrotherThaddeuslookedathim.“Yourealize,boy,thatifyoufail,wewillall

havediedfornothing.”Zacksmiled.“Yeah,butifitworks,youmightnotallhavetodie.Aslongas

oneofyougetscloseenoughto theGatekeeperbeforehedestroysyou,I’llbeabletopullitoff.”Thaddeusdidn’treturnhissmile.But the dwarfish acolyte nodded to indicate that their conversation was

concluded. Theywould do it. It was insane, but theywould do it. IlMaestrocommanded,andhiswillwouldbedone.Together,thetwoofthemturnedtoseethattheothershadgatheredupswordsanddaggersfromtheirfallencomrades.Theyhadenoughammunitionforonlyoneoftheautomaticweapons.Itdidn’tmatter.Aslongaseachofthemhadaweapon.Therewereseventeenoftheminall.Seventeenmen,abouttoputtheirlives

onthelinebasedonZachary’ssay-so.Thethoughtgavehimamoment’spause.Until he recalled that these seventeen men were magicians and murderers

attemptingtobringaboutthedestructionofcultureandsocietyonEarthinfavoroftheirownlustforpower.“Let’sdoit,”hesaid.Theirshoutsandcursesroseinunisonamidthecarnage,andtheyroundedthe

barriers built of the dead and rushed toward the stepswhere thewithered oldman wielded magicks beyond belief. Lightning killed three men before theycrossedtenyards.Thenthegrounderuptedwithenormousvines,coveredwithhuge,gleamingthorns,whichshotoutanddraggedseveralotherstotheground,tearingthemapart.ThescreamsmadeZackwanttovomit.Butsomeofthemmadeit.Theirownmagickalenergylashedoutintendrils

of power, stabbing toward the Gatekeeper. The old man’s protective charmswardedoffthemagickoftheSonsofEntropy.Butsomeofthemgotquitenear

him.BrotherThaddeusdroppeddead—hisbloodboiled inhisskin—onthestairs

onlyafootortwoawayfromJean-MarcRegnier.Zackblinked.Foramoment,hewassosurprised that ithadworked thathe

forgot what he was supposed to do. There was another scream. A crackle oflightning.The survivingSonsofEntropybegan to retreat,but slowly.Regnierfollowedthemdownthesteps,furious,swaying,andtookafewstepsalongthebrickpaththatsplitthelawn.“Now,”Zackwhisperedtohimself.Heclosedhiseyes,buthismindwasopen.Hecouldseeitall.Hisspiritrose

from his body at his command, leaving it behind. His body breathed. Itfunctioned,butitwasashell,waitingforhimtoreturn.Heonlyhopedthathewouldbeabletodoso.Hisastralformspedacrossthecarnage-drapedlandscapeoftheGatehouse’s

grounds. He passed the Gatekeeper beneath him as the sorcerer rained deathdownuponapairofacolytes.Onlytwoorthreeremainedalive.As though hewere slipping into the swirlingwater of awhirlpool, Brother

Zachary entered the corpseofBrotherThaddeus.Thaddeus’s fingers tightenedonthehiltofhissword.Thaddeus’sfacestretchedintoagrin.Thaddeus’sbodybegantorise.Zack felt constrained within the stumpy body of the dwarf, but it didn’t

matter.Itwouldonlytakeamoment.WithThaddeus’seyes,hefocusedontheGatekeeper’sback.Slowly,quietly,

hefollowedtheoldmandownthefewstepstothebrickpath.Creptupbehindhim.WithThaddeus’shand,ZackdrovehisswordthroughtheGatekeeper’sback.

InsidetheCauldron,Xander’shandtwitched.Hiseyelidsfluttered.CordeliaheldWillow’shandstightlyandbitherlip.“He’salive,”Willowwhispered.“Ofcourseheis,”Cordeliasaidgruffly.But she was filled with such relief that she nearly fainted. And she would

have,ifshehadn’thadtosupportWillowtokeepherfrompassingout.“Oh,God,”Cordeliasaid.“He’salive.”

With a roarof agony, theGatekeeper turnedonBrotherThaddeus’s corpse,possessednowbyBrotherZachary.Heopenedhismouthandbloodpouredout.

His blood. Then his blood rose up, taking on the form of a dragon’s head. Itlashedoutandbittheacolyte’sheadoff.The decapitated corpse collapsed to the brick, followed by a wet splash of

blood as the dragon fell apart. At the edge of the Gatekeeper’s land, BrotherZachary’s body slumped to the ground, a soulless, empty husk. Breathing, aheartbeating,butwithoutamindtoguideit.TheGatekeeperfelltohiskneesonthebrick.Thebattlewasover.

Chapter

4

AMONG THE SONS OF ENTROPY, THERE WERE MANY magicians;minorsorcererswhohadtrainedforyearstolearnonebitofmagickoranother.Destructive energy, protectivewards, healing charms, seductive glamours . . .Fulcanelli’smanyacolytesexcelledinvariousways.Buthe’dalwaysbeenabitdisappointedthatsofewofthempursuedthemoresubtlemagicks.Most merely wanted power—murderous, devastating power. He couldn’t

blame them, of course, but he had always believed that power was nothingwithoutimagination.Amagicianwhodidnotpursuesubtletyaswellaspowerwouldneverbemorethananovice.Someofhisacolyteswerequitepowerful.But they were still novices compared to the man who founded the Sons ofEntropy.Whichwaspreciselyhowhewantedit.Several times in the centuries since he had set his grand plan in motion,

acolyteshadgrowntoopowerful,andtoocurious,fortheirowngood.Fulcanellihadbeenforcedtotaketheirlivesbeforetheycouldbecomeadangertohim.Hehatedtodoso,buttherecouldbenoquestionofwhowasmaster.Noquestionatall.Hehadspenthundredsofyearsaddingtohisarcaneknowledge,studyingthe

mostunthinkableofspells.Fulcanelli,IlMaestro,hadathiscommandabreedofsorceryveryfewhumansinthehistoryofthatracehadeverwielded.Subtleandtransformationalanddevastatingmagicks,allatthewhisperofaword,theflickof a wrist. And he had the black burn, La Brûlure Noire,which was uniqueamongsorcerouspowersbecausetherewasnoknowndefenseagainstit.Butforallhispower,hisacolytesfearedhimprofoundlyforonereason:none

ofthemhadthefirstinklinghowhehadaccomplishedtheonethingtheylongedformorethananythingelse.Fulcanelliwaseffectivelyimmortal.

Hedidnot age, andhadnot for avery,very long time. Ifhecouldmanagethat,hisfollowersbelieved,hemustbecapableofanything.Itoughttohavepleasedhim,thatfear,thatawe.Butitonlyfrustratedhimfurther.Foritwasnotthroughhisownmagicksthathehadlivedsolong.Rather,his

longevity was a gift, granted to him by his demon lord, to whom he hadsacrificed a Slayer more than three hundred years before. He owed it all toBelphegor.Nomatterwhathehadachievedonhisown,noneofitwouldhavebeenpossiblewithoutthedemon’sgift.Eventhen,hehadbeguntheresearchthathadledtothisnight.Overthemany

decades, he had punched hole after hole into the Otherworld, weakening thebarrierbetweenthatplaceofchaosandtheEarthdimension.Atfirst,hehadnotevenbeenawarethathisoldenemy,Regnierthemagician,wasstillalive.ThenRegnierhadcreatedtheGatehouseandfoundedthedynastyoftheGatekeepers.ThemanneverrealizedthatFulcanellihimselfwasbehindthebreachesintotheOtherworld.Yet still the sorcererwas thwarted by his old enemy—an enemywho grew

more powerful with each passing year, through his descendants. Fulcanelli’splanmighthavecometofruitionasmuchasacenturyearlierifithadnotbeenfortheGatekeepers.Butnomatter.Thetimewasherenow.Giacomo Fulcanelli stood, cradling hiswithered left hand against his body,

and lookedwithadmirationupon theenormous stone labyrinthbeforehim. Itswallswerenearly twentyfeethigh,andslick. Itwasvast, takingupnearly theentireparkinglotofwhathadoncebeentheSunnydaleTwinDrive-In.Itwasbeautiful.“Yes,Maestro,”BrotherDandosaid.“Itisthatindeed.”Fulcanelli’s brow creased. He must have spoken aloud, though he was

unaware of it. The thought disturbed him.What else have I said in front ofDando? No matter, though. He had made enough promises to the man,particularlyoflate,toguaranteehisloyalty.Foronewhowashungryforpower,andcouldnotbeking,whatbetterpromisethanthepositionofmagistrate.The very ideawas ridiculous, of course. Even if Fulcanelli reallymeant to

bringchaostoEarth,ratherthanHellitself,thepositionofmagistratewouldbeabsurd.Therecanbenoorderinchaos,norinHell.“Have I spoken out of turn, Master?” Dando asked, fear making his eyes

widen.

“Not to worry, Brother Dando,” Fulcanelli said. “You are still my favoredson.”Helookedbackatthelabyrinth.“AndwearecertaintheMinotaurisinside?”

heasked.“As sure aswe can be,”Dando replied. “This is the largest breach into the

Otherworldwehavebeenabletomanageforyears.IimaginethatisduetotheweakeningoftheGatekeeper.Itislogicaltopresumethebeastiswithin,buttobecertain,wetookseveralpeoplefromthestreetandsetthemasdeeplywithinaswedaredtogo.“Noneofthemhavereturned,”BrotherDandosaidhappily.“Andwedidhear

screaming.”Fulcanelli nodded, pleased. “We’ll have to make certain soon. But it will

wait.”With that,he turnedandstrodeawayfromDando towardaconcretebunker

thathadonceservedasbothconcessionstandandprojectionboothforthedrive-in.Whenhehadfirstarrived,theprojectionboothhadbeenoccupiedbyBrotherLupo,themanhehadputinchargeoftheSonsofEntropyhereinSunnydale.Lupo had given up the room without so much as a raised eyebrow. But

somethingabouthimmadeFulcanelliedgy.HewouldhavetowatchLupoveryclosely.Ashepassedthroughthebunker,hisfollowerspaidobeisancetohim,andhe

wavedthemawayasifitwerenotrequired.However,theyallknewthatiftheyfailed to worship him in that way, he would take their lives as slowly andpainfully as possible.Whenhewent past the roomwhere theSlayer’smotherwas held, hewas tempted to stop again. Instead, he promised himself that hewouldreturn,andwentupthestairstotheprojectionbooth.Inthedarkness,andassuredofprivacy,hecalledouttohislordandmaster.“Belphegormostinsidious,Icalltoyourmajesty.Icalltoyourblasphemy.I

bow down before your hideous beauty, worship and revile you. I beg you,appear.”Theroomwasabitclaustrophobictobeginwith,butastheairthickenedand

begantostinkofsulfur,itonlygrewworse.Ablack,oilypoolofenergybeganto coalesce in the middle of the room. Deep within it, something stirred.Fulcanelli didn’t look too closely, partially out of deference, and partiallybecauseBelphegorwaswretchedtolookat.And, of course, because Fulcanelli, the founder of the Sons of Entropy, a

sorcerernearlyunmatchedinhistory,wasterrified.

“Youcalled,Giacomo?”“Yes,Master.Thereare—”“Silence.Youhavemuchtoanswerfor,myservant.TheGatekeeperyetlives.

TheSlayerisalsoalive.Youknowwheretofindher,andyetshestilldrawsair.You...disappointme,Giacomo.”A tremorofpanic ran throughFulcanelli, andhebarelymanaged tokeep it

undercontrol.“The boy is still here in Sunnydale,” he said, turning at last to look—and

trying desperately not to see—into the abyss in which Belphegor lived. “Ipreventedhimfromgoinghome,andevennowmyacolytesinBostonhavetheGatehouseundersiege.”“AndtheSlayer?”“She has others alignedwith her. HerWatcher is amuchmore formidable

man than we were led to believe. The vampire and the wolf are with her aswell.”“YourdaughterhasalsoalliedherselfwiththeSlayer,hasshenot?”Fulcanellicouldnotbringhimselftorespondtothat.“She must die,” Belphegor replied, his gravelly voice echoing within the

projectionbooth.Hesoundedsoclose,andyethisvoicewasmuffled,asthoughhewerespeakingtoFulcanellithroughawall.Whichwasn’tfarfromthetruth.“IwilltakecareofMicaela,”thesorcererpromised.“Yes,”Belphegoragreed.“Youwill.“You have succeeded in drawing theMinotaur and the labyrinth into your

world.UsethemotherasbaitfortheSlayer,andtheboyaswell.Trytogetthemboth.SendtheSlayerhermother’steethifyoumust.Perhapshereyes.“Butgetherhere.”Fulcanellinoddedquickly,thoughhismindwasfilledwithreservations.“Speakyourmind,Giacomo,”thedemoncommanded.Thesorcererswallowedheavily.“TheSlayermaynotcome.Ifshedoesnot,I

willsendmyacolytesafterher.Butitispossiblethatwewill...thatwewillbeunsuccessful.”Therewasalongsilenceintheswirlingblacknesswithinthatbreach,thelittle

windowintoHellthatFulcanellihadopened.Atlength,afaceseemedtosurgeforthfromwithin,afacewithsavage-lookingshorthornscoveringit,andalongtrunk like that of an elephant. Its eyes were lizardlike, a sickly green andglowing.Therewasalarge,strangethicknessinthecenterofitsforehead.There

wasmore toBelphegor,muchmore, and none of it remotely human, but thismuchwasalmostmorethanFulcanellicouldbeartosee.Thefacestretchedtheoilypatchofdarknessasthoughitwerelittlemorethan

thinplastic.“Youmeanyoumay fail?”For the first time in thecenturiesFulcanellihad

served the demon, Belphegor actually chuckled. “It would be unpleasant foryou,shouldthathappen.Butfearnot.Evennow,thebarriershavebeguntofall.Hell invades theOtherworld. TheOtherworld spills into the ghost roads.Andtherearebreachesformingfromtheghostroadsintoyourworld.WecouldusethebloodoftheSlayertoopentheHellmouthitself.Butevenwithoutherdeath,thedestructionoftheGatehousewillallowHelltoreignsupremeeventually.“Itisn’tthemostefficientwaytodestroyaworld,butitwilldoifneedbe.Of

course,ifthathappens,youwillnotbetheretowitnessit.”Fulcanelliforcedhimselftobreatheevenly.“Ofcourse,”hemumbled.BelphegorwaslaughingasFulcanellistumbledfromtheroom.

“It’sallalie,”BrotherLuposaidthroughgrittedteeth.They stood together in theparking lotof the skating rink justoffRoute17,

outsideSunnydale.Eachhaddrivenaseparatecar to thismeeting,butBrotherClaudesuspectedthatFulcanelliwouldbeawareoftheiractions,wherevertheywent. Their cars were parked at the far end of the lot, nearest the trees, andfarthestfromthestreetlights.Butdarkness,Claudeknew,couldnothidethem.He stared atLupo.The twomen could not have beenmore different.Lupo

waspowerfullybuilt,withagleamingbaldpateandafull,grayingbeard.Ascarwasslashedacrosstheorbitofhislefteye.Claudewastaller,thinner,younger.Helookedmorelikeahighschool teacher thanamagician.Lupowasakiller,fearless inhissorcerouspursuits.Claudewasviciouswhenneedbe,but inhismagickhehadalwaysbeenahealer.Itcamenaturallytohim.Heonlywishedhe’dhadmoreopportunitiestousethatpower.Claudewasstunned,notonlybyLupo’swords,butbythefactthattheother

acolyte would have come to him with something like this—something soblasphemous.“Iknowwhatyou’rethinking,”Lupoadded.“Oh?”“Indeed,”Luposaid.“Andyou’reright.Itwasagreatrisk,talkingtoyou.But

Ihaveseenthesuspicionandthedissatisfactioninyoureyes.Iknewyouwould

understand.”Claudeconsideredthis.Lupowascorrect,aboutthatatleast.“Still,”Claudereplied.“YouknowthatIhavealwayshatedyou.”“What better ally? We both know where we stand. Besides, what does

personal conflictmatter in light ofwhat IlMaestro—and the very name itselfmakesmenauseous—hasplannedforourworld.”“HesworewewouldbeKingsofChaos.”Claudeshookhisheadsadly.“Thatwasneverhisintention,”Luposaid.“Ihaveseenhim,Ihaveheardhim,

andIknowhehasdeceivedus.Fromthestart.Hesaidwecouldnotperformtheblackburn, thatweweretooweak.ButIhavepracticedtheblackburnmyself—”Claude’seyeswidened.“Youhaveachievedtheblackburn?”“Ihave,”Luposaid,withwhatClaudeconsideredtobeanadmirablelackof

pride.“But that isnothing.Aminordeceit.Fulcanelli intendsforHell itself tooverrunEarth,andwearenotapartofhisplan.Howcouldwebelieveitwasso,thewayhethrowsthelivesofourbrothersawaysocasually?”“Fools,”Claudeagreed,sighingheavily.“Allofus.”Thetwomenstaredateachotherforaverylongtime.Claudeknewwhatwas

in his ownheart, and he knew that itwas inLupo’s aswell.But neithermanwantedtogiveitvoice.Neitherofthemwaswillingtopointoutwhatneededtobedone.ButLupohadbeentheonetobroachthesubject,andClaudesupposedthatitwasonlygoodfaiththathebetheonetomakethenextmove.“We’llhavetokillhim,”Claudesaid.Lupo only smiled. When, at last, he opened his mouth to speak, he was

interruptedbyanothervoice.“Traitors!”Theyturnedasone.Fromthetreesbehindtheircars,BrotherDandoemerged.

Rage was etched on the diminutive magician’s face. Eldritch flame crackledaroundhisfingers.“Youbastards!”Dandofumed.“HowdareyouquestionIlMaestro?”Lupo actually laughed. “Question?” he said. “You’ve been standing there

listening to us for the past several minutes, Brother. And yet you are still sopurposeful in your blindness? You are a sacrifice to him, nothing more.Fulcanelli’sonlyplanforus,hisloyalfollowers,istoserveusuptoHellasanappetizerwhenhe’sthroughwithus.”“Lies!”Dandoscreamed.Fire leaped fromhis fingersandLupoerectedamagickal shield forhimself

just in time. Claude was not as quick. The flames charred his face, and hescreamedashefeltoneofhiseyesgivewaytotheheat,burstinginhishead.Hefelltotheground,shrieking,evenashebroughthishandsuptohisface.Magician,hethoughtmadly,healthyself.Andhedid.Shuddering with the trauma of his injuries and rapid healing, Claude rose

shakily tohisknees.Whenhelookedup,hiseyeswidenedwithsurpriseashesaw the ebony energy boiling aroundLupo’s hands.Hehad seen it only oncebefore, but La Brûlure Noire was disturbing in its perfection of darkness.Blackerthanthenightitself.BrotherDandohadalwaysbeenarrogant,swaggering.Andwithgoodreason.

AmongtheSonsofEntropy,hewasconsideredquiteapowerfulmagician.AgainstLupo,hedidn’tstandachance.Hewailedinagonyashisverysoulwasburnedtocinders.“Fool,”Luposaidwhenthecorpsehitthepavement.“Indeed,” Claude said. “And he’s not the only one. I don’t think we can

expectanyhelpfromourbrothers.”Lupotookadeepbreath,thenshruggedhisshoulderslightly.“Wemightjusthavetokillthemall,”hesaid.Claude considered that a moment. Then he reached into his pocket for his

keysandwalked to thedoorofhis car.Beforeclimbing in,he lookedbackatLupo.“Idon’thaveaproblemwiththat.”

BuffyhadtomeetAngelbackatthelibrarybyseven,butshewantedtomakearunhomefirsttomakesurehermotherhadn’tmanagedtocallhersomehow.In thebackofhermind, shealso sortofhoped theSonsofEntropywouldbewaitingtoattackher.Ifshelost,they’dprobablytakeherrighttohermother.Ifshewon...well,she’dmakethem.But no such luck. No phone calls. No annoying zealots with daggers and

spells.Gileswasstillatthelibrary,Ozwasstillinthecage,andMicaelaandtheboy

werebackatAngel’s.EthanRayne,on theotherhand,wasout trying to figureoutwhereBuffy’s

momwas,and thatwasas freaky-deakyasanythingelse thathadhappened inthepastfewweeks.Maybeever.Butshewasn’tgoingtolookagiftmagick-maninthemouth.Ethanwasadangerousman,butitwouldn’tbethefirsttimeBuffy

hadacceptedhelpfromadangerousman.Infact, itwasgettingtobesortofahabit.Ihavetokickthathabit.AssoonasIhaveMomback.Frustrated,Buffy tookone lastbuzzaround thehouse, trying to see if there

wasanythingthatmightindicatethey’dbeenthere.Whenshesawherbed,shewas tempted to flop right down, curl up into a ball, and sleep for amonth. Itseemedlike ithadbeen that longsinceshe’d lasthadevenanap. Inreality, ithadonlybeensomethinglikeadayandahalf.Only.Shewasrunningonfumesandsheknewit.EvenAngelhadgottenachance

to sleep. If she’d been anyone but the Slayer, shewould have collapsed fromexhaustionbynow.Butshewasn’tanyoneelse.Andhermotherwasmissing.Buffy looked longingly at the shower, but her mother was out there

somewhere, and somebody still had to get Jacques back toBoston.Giles hadalreadycalledtomakeplanereservationsforhimselfandtheboyforfirstthinginthemorning.ShewasnotconvincedthatJacqueswouldbesafeaboardaplane,buttheboy

hadassuredherhewouldbe, thatheknew,blah-blah-magick-stuff-blah.Itwasonherlipstomentiontohimthathe’dbeenkidnappedoncealready,butifshepushedtoohard,she’djustfeelguiltieraboutnotescortinghimherself.Besides,morningwasalongwayoff.Shewashed her face quickly, changed into a clean shirt, and headed out to

findhermother.

Joycesatagainstthewall,herkneesdrawnuptoherchest,andkepthereyesonthedoortotheroomshehadcometothinkofashercell.Theconcretewascoldagainstherback,andsheimagineditmustbearatherchillynightoutside.ShewonderedwhereBuffywas.Andhowshewas.Andifshewasevenstill

alive. In fact, sheexplored thoseparticularwonderingsevery fifteen to twentyminutes,alwayscomingbacktothemorbidknowledgethatifBuffyweredead,thensheherselfwouldhavebeendeadlongago.AslongastheSonsofEntropykept Joyce alive, she felt it safe to assume that Buffy was in one piecesomewhere.Afterseveraldays—shewasn’tquitecertainhowmany—inthehandsofthese

madmen, these sorcererswhowanted tobring theworld to anend, everythingelsehadceasedtobeimportant.Food.Sleep.Thegallery.Herverylifeseemedtobethelastpriority.AllthatmatteredwasBuffy.Heronlychild.

Aslongastheyheldherprisoner—Thelockswereratchetedback,andtheheavydoorshovedopen,scrapingthe

floor. Joycestaredat thedooras it swungwide.Hestood there, silhouetted inthelightfromthecorridor,unmistakable.GiacomoFulcanelli.IlMaestro.“Mrs. Summers,” the sorcerer said, clutching hiswithered hand to his side.

“Comewithme.”Therewassomethingawfulinhisvoice,somethingsoveryfinal.Shecouldn’t

helpbutthinktheworst.Theywerethroughwithher.Buffymustbedead.Joycebegantocry.“I’mnotgoinganywherewithyou,monster.Ifyouwant

tokillme,youcandoitrighthere!”Fulcanelli turned slightly sideways, and the light from the hall lit up his

features.Heseemedtobescowlingather.Buttherewasmoretohisappearancethanthat.Heseemedgreatlyagitated,hisfeaturesevenpalerthanwhenshehadfirstseenhim,withgreatdarkcirclesbeneathhiseyes.“Getup,woman,”hecommanded.“Gotohell,”Joycesaid,aquaverinhervoice.Then the sorcerer did something terrible: he smiled. “I’m not going

anywhere,”hetoldher.“Afterall,whygotoHellwhenIcanbringHellheretoSunnydale?”Watching the gleeful expression on his face, Joyce felt sick and cold. He

moved across the room toward her. Though she remembered quite well theviolence he had shown her before, she prepared to spring at him, her fingersalreadyhookedintoclaws.Anticipatingher,Fulcanelliraisedonehand,flashingred,andtendrilsofenergyslitheredfromhishandandstrucklikeserpentsatherhead.Theytwirled inJoyce’shair,andFulcanelli turnedandbegantowalkaway.

Joycescreamedandgottoherfeet,stumblingalongbehindthesorcerer,tryingdesperatelytofreeherhair.Ifsherefusedtowalk,orfell,itwouldberippedoutbytheroots.Shescrambledtokeepupwithhim,andfreshtearsbegantofall.“I’llseeyoudead,”shewhispered.“Thatyoumight,”Fulcanellireplied.“Timewilltell.”After that, they walked in a silence broken only by occasional bursts of

profanityfromJoyce.TheypassedsmallgroupsofFulcanelli’sacolytesastheymovedthroughthebuilding,allofwhominstantlystoppedwhatevertheyweredoingtopayhimtheproperrespect.“Please!”Joycecriedouttothem.“Helpme.Can’tyouseewhathe’sdoing?

He’samadman.Hewantstheworldtoend.IfhebringsHell toEarth,doyou

thinkanyofyouaregoingtoescape?”They ignored her. Therewere no taunts, no smiles, no questioning glances.

Theysimplyignoredher.Shewasthereforonepurposeandonepurposeonly,asbaitfortheSlayer.Andatthat,shewasthereattheinstructionofIlMaestro.AndIlMaestrocoulddowithherwhathewished.Joycescreamedonce.Loudandlong,andmoreforherownbenefit—forthe

releaseofit—thanwithanyhopethatshemightbeheard.Fulcanellididn’tseemtothinkanyonewouldhearher;hebarelyreactedtoherscreeching.Outside,shecouldseeoneofthescreensfromtheoldSunnydaleTwin,large

holes torn in itwherewhole sections had collapsed.Odd, because the screenslooked far worse than they had only days ago. Joyce wondered idly if theirdeteriorationhadacceleratedbecauseoftheproximityoftheSonsofEntropy.That was what entropy was, after all. The universal rule of corruption and

erosion:thingsfallapart.Fulcanelli gave her hair another yank. Her scalp tore slightly, and a small

trickle of blood slipped through her hair and down her cheek. Her head wasdown as she followed him, but when he stopped, he relaxed the grip hismagickaltendrilshadonher,andshewasabletolookupagain.Shecouldn’tseetheotherscreen.Inthedarkness,shethoughtforamoment

thatithadbeendestroyedsomehow.Then, asher eyes adjusted,herbrainbegan to take inwhat shewas seeing.

She let out a small sigh, but shewouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction ofaskingthequestionsheknewhewaswaitingfor.“Yes,breathtaking,isn’tit?”hesaid,watchinghercarefully.Shedidn’t respond, only stared at the enormous structure that had suddenly

appearedintheparkinglot.Hegaveheratug,andJoycebitherlip.“Yes,”shesaid.“Yes,itis.”“Thisway,”hesaid,andthistimeshesteppedforwardevenbeforehestarted

tomove.Welltrained,justlikeahousepet,shethoughtbitterly.Thewallwasveryhigh,at leastthreetimesJoyce’sheight,andtheywalked

arounditsouteredgesforseveralminutesuntiltheyfinallycameuponapairofhuge iron doors. The doorswere barred by a long iron bar that had been slidthroughrings.“Don’tmove,”heorderedher.Thenhe releasedhisholdonherhair.The red tendrils crackledand snaked

outtograbholdof thebarandslideitback, thentheypulledthedoubledoors

open.“Go,”hetoldher.“What?”sheasked,staringathimincredulously.Fulcanelli smiled. “There is anotherwayout,Mrs.Summers. Joyce. Ifyour

daughtercomesafteryou,Iintendtocaptureher.Ifshedoesnot,thisismygifttoyou.Thisdoorwillbebarred,butifyoucanfindtheotherwayout,Iwillnotpursueyou.Bythattime,yourdaughter’sfatewillhavebeendecidedonewayoranother.”Joycestaredathim.Shedidnot,foramoment, thinkthathewastellingthe

truth.Butshecouldnotknowhowmuchwastruthandhowmuchalie.Soshedidtheonlythingshecoulddo.She walked toward the iron doors, just happy to be free of her captors’

presence for the first time indays.Whateverwaited inside thosewallswasnomore life threatening than the Sons of Entropy, that much was certain. Thesorcererwatchedhergo,thesmileslippingfromhisfaceonlytobereplacedbyalookofeageranticipation.Almosthunger.Hebarredthedoorsbehindher.“ButI’mstillalive,”Joycewhisperedtoherself.Andaslongastheykepther

alive,thatmeantBuffywasstillalive.She turned to her left and began to walk along the inner wall of what she

quicklyrealizedwasahugelabyrinth.Sheturnedright.It’samaze,shethoughtwithastonishment.Thenshesmiledwildlytoherself.TheyjustwantedtomakeitharderforBuffytogettoher,andtokeepherbusywhiletheytriedtokillherdaughter.Leftagain.But Joyce didn’t mind. Joyce liked mazes. There’d been one built on the

campusofacollegenotfarfromwhereshe’dgrownup.Ithadn’tbeenanywherenearaslargeasthis,but...yes,shecoulddothis.Allshehadtodowasthink,and remember the turns. To concentrate, and try to map out the maze in hermind.Rightagain.Shecoulddothis.Thensheheardthebellowofamonster,somekindofbeast,notfaroff.Here

inthemazewithher.Anditallfellintoplace.ThethingsBuffyandGilesandWillowhadtoldher

about the Gatehouse, and the Otherworld, and all of that. This maze. Thislabyrinth.Andthehalf-man,half-bullcreaturewholurkedinside the labyrinth,

preyingonthosewhobecamelostwithin.TheMinotaur.Shebegantosweat.Andworse,shebegantowonder:iftheywoulddothistoher,putherlifein

dangerinthisway,perhapsherdaughterwasdeadafterall.Joycedidn’tlethermindwandertoofarinthatdirection.Butafterthat,shefounditverydifficulttoconcentrate.

Only a handful of his enemies remained alive outside his home, but theGatekeeper couldnot raise ahand in its, orhisown,defense.Evennow, theywere calling for reinforcements. For themoment, theywere still frightened ofhim,stillloathtocomenear.Theyhadseenhimonhiskneesbefore,seenhimapparentlybeaten,apparentlydyingofoldageorfatalwounds,onlytoemergeyoungandperfecttobattleoncemore.Butnow,ashedraggedhisbleedingandbrokenbodyupthestairsinfrontof

theGatehouse,Jean-MarcRegnierknewthat itwasover.Hewasfinished.Hisfrail formwas toobrittle tomake theclimb,butevenhadhebeenable to, theCauldron of Bran the Blessed would have done him no good. When it hadrejuvenatedhim,ithadusedpartofhislifeforceasafoundation.Hehadnothinglefttogive.Notadropofenergylefttodevotetotheworld.For just amoment, as his enemiesmoved in behind him, he thought of his

mother, Antoinette. He was pleased that he would soon join her in the spiritworld.But then, as a young magician loosed a spell of destruction upon him,

crushingthebonesofhislegstopowder,Jean-Marccouldthinkonlyofhisson,Jacques.Ashescreamedinpain,heknewthathisagonywasmorethanphysical.The

grinningmagicianthoughtthatitwashewhohadbroughtdowntheGatekeeper,butitsimplywasn’tso.Itwasjusthistime.Noonewasimmortal,alessontaughttoJean-Marcbyhis

ownfather,Henri,soverylongago.Jacques,hethoughtweakly.I’msoverysorry.Then Jean-Marc Regnier’s head slumped to his chest. The Gatekeeper was

dead.TheGatehouse,andallthestrangeandhorriblebeingsinside,groanedasone,

mimickingtheoldman’sdeathrattle.Andtheworldhelditsbreath.

Chapter

5

ITWASHALFPASTSIXWHENETHANRAYNESTEEREDHISrentalcarintotheparkinglotoftheBlueHorizonRestaurantandLounge.MidwayalongthestretchofSunnydale’scoastline,andalsoabouthalfwaybetweenthebeachand the docks, the Blue Horizon sat on a stony promontory overlooking thecrashingsurf. Itwasanolderrestaurant,builtsometimein theforties, ifEthanguessedcorrectly,andithadlongsinceseenitsbetterdays.Still, with its high windows looking out on the ocean, and a fresh coat of

white paint on its clapboards, itwas a stately old place, frequentedmainly bylocals and older tourists. It wasn’t hip. It wasn’t happening. But the ownersapparentlystilldidenoughbusinesstokeepitrunning.ItseemedlikethekindofplaceAmericansalwaysgravitatedtowhenitcametimetoholdtheirweddingreceptions.Ethan smiledashegotoutof the car.TheBlueHorizonhadbeenhis idea.

He’deatenhereseveral timesonhisvisits toSunnydale,andthoughthemenuwaspedestrian,thepreparationwasfirst-class.And,giventhatmostoftheotherrestaurantsinthearea—atleastthosethatwerecurrentlypopular—servedeitherMexican food or what was dubiously called “California cuisine,” Ethan washappytogoanywherehecouldgetadecentsteakaupoivre.Withaspringinhisstep,hemountedthestairstothedoorandwentin.The

BlueHorizonwas never really busy, and tonightwas no exception. Plenty ofdiners,butnowait.Heignoredthehostessandwanderedintothelounge,eyesroving over the people at the bar. Though he hadn’t seen the man in nearlyfifteenyears,itdidn’ttakehimlongtospotCalvinTrenholm.Theman’sblondhair had all but disappeared, leaving a ring around Trenholm’s head thatwasmore nostalgia than actual hair. But the face was the same, without a doubt.Trenholmhadwide,prominenteyes,almostfishlike,andthinlipsthataddedtotheoverallbloodless,palelookabouthim.

Themanraisedhishandinasmallwave,andinhissmileEthandetectedbothcuriosityandfear.Exactlytheemotionshehadhopedtoelicitfromtheman—theverysameemotionshehadalwaysbroughtoutinCalvinTrenholm,backintheolddays.Trenholm stood asEthan approached. “EthanRayne, you right bastard,” he

saidwithanuneasygrin.“It’sbeenanage.”“Soithas.”“HowonEarthdidyoufindmeinbloodyCaliforniaofallplaces?”Ethan shook his head as if he, too, found this incredible. “Sheer luck,

Trenholm old man. Look here, why don’t we have some dinner before mystomach crawls up my gullet looking for something to feast upon, eh?We’llcatchupafterwe’veordered,allright?”Foramoment,TrenholmlookedatEthanoddly,asthoughhewerewondering

if his comments about his stomach might hold some bizarre truth or hiddenmeaning. Then he seemed to exhale, and together they walked back to thehostessandletthewomanfindthematable.Wanker, Ethan thought, as Trenholm ordered a drink. Some people never

change.Onceuponatime,Ethanhadbeenpartofasmallcircleofyoungpeoplewho

hadwantedtotapintothepowerofmagick.Theirexperimentsmighthavebeenfoolishgamesplayedbystudentsinsearchofathrill,ormadegulliblebytheirdesireforsomethingtomaketheirflawedlivesperfect.Theymighthavebeen.Buttheywerenot.Theirmagickraisedademon.Most of the others in the group turned their backs on such dealings,

recognizingthedangerinthem.OneofthosewasRupertGiles,whowouldlaterbecomeaWatcherandcombattheverythingsheoncetoyedwithhimself.EthanRayneneverturnedaway.Thehorrorofthatnighttaughthimonlyone

thing:bemorecareful.Andhewas.Andsowerethemanyotherpeoplehecameintocontactwithovertheyears,inonegrouporanother.Helearnedagreatdeal,andtaughtthingstoothersinreturn.Sometimes,forhisfriends—thosewhohadtaughtorgivenhimsomethinghewanted—hewouldperformcertainfavors.ForCalvinTrenholm,thatfavorwasmakinganextraordinaryyoungwoman

namedKymberly Egler fall in lovewith him. Ethan had been happy to do it.He’dnever likedKymberly,andhavingherbetrappedfor lifewithafool likeTrenholm was quite amusing. When Trenholm left her to join the Sons ofEntropy, Ethan wanted to kill him. At least, until he realized that the man’s

departureonlymadeKymberly’ssituationallthemoreironic,andallthemoreagonizing.Thesadisticsideofhim—whichwas,tobehonest,hisonlyside—tookgreat

pleasureinthat.SoTrenholmwasstillalive.Forthemoment.Thewaitercamebyto taketheirorder.Ethaneagerlyrequestedhissteakau

poivre, with the wonderful garlicmashed potatoes BlueHorizon’s chef couldwhipup,andasideofsautéedasparagus.Heaskedforascotch tobebroughtright away. Trenholm also ordered another glass of wine, asked for theswordfish,andthenlookedatEthannervously,waiting.Simplywaiting.Ethan let him wait. Finally, when his scotch arrived, he took a long sip,

swirledtheglassaroundtowatchtheicespin,andthensetitdown,lookingupatTrenholm and feeling themischievous spirit that he could never quite controlrisingupwithinhim.“IsawKymberlynotlongago,”helied.“Shestillhatesyou.Becauseshestill

lovesyou.”Trenholmsippedhiswine, trying topretendhewasnot afraidofEthan.He

nearlypulleditoff,too,butonlybecausetherewassomeonehewasevenmoreafraidof.ThefactthatEthanalreadyknewthatgavehimcompletecontroloverwhatwouldhappennext.“I’msorryforthat,”Trenholmansweredguardedly.“Sorryfor...forher.”

Hewipedabitofsweatoffhissmoothbrow.“Yes, well, you had to do what you had to do, of course,” Ethan replied.

“Your friend theMaestro required that, didn’t he? Complete dedication.Wasgoingtoteachyouagreatdealaboutmagick,wasn’the?”Trenholmwas agitated, andnearly enough so to look it.He lifted hisweak

chinandclenchedhisteeth.“IlMaestrohastaughtmeagreatdeal,Ethan.YouwouldhavedonewelltojoinhimwhenIdid.Perhapsthenyouwouldbeamongthosewhowill...”Ethanraisedaneyebrow.“Whowillwhat?”heasked,smirking.Theothermandidnotreply,butlookedawayinstead.“Oh,don’tbedaft,Trenholm,”Ethansighed.“Icould lie toyouaboutwhy

I’mhereinSunnydale.Thatwouldbesimpleenough.Butthetruthis,I’mherebecauseyou’rehere.IknowwhatyourmanFulcanelliisupto,andImaywantapieceafterall.”Eyes darting like those of a frightened rabbit, Trenholm glanced about the

restaurantnervously,thenglaredatEthan.

“Watchyourmouth,EthanRayne,”hereprimanded.“You’vealwaysbeenabitoff,yourself.Morethanabit.Therebel,youare.Butonewrongwordcouldhaveyouroastedwhereyousit.”Ethan shook his head in amusement. “You knowwhat’s important to your

boss?” he asked Trenholm. “That you believe that. He only has to make ithappenonceor twice,andnoneofyoueverknowsifhe’sbreathingoveryourshoulderornot.“Howdoyousupposehedoesthat?”Trenholmblinked,frownedathim.“It’smagick,ofcourse,”themanreplied.With a soft chuckle, Ethan shook his head again. “So he’s the great grand

wizard,ishe?It’samazingtomehowmanymen,particularlythoseinsearchofpower,don’tevenpayattentiontowhat’sgoingonaroundthem.“He’spowerful,allright,butnotthatpowerful.Notwithouthelp.Notwithout

sponsorship.Youknowwhat I’msaying,Trenholm.Youknowexactlywhat Imean.“He’sgotaplan,hashe?Youblokeswillbringcivilizationdownaroundour

earsandthenyou’llbeincharge,thatit?”Trenholm grew cold then, his nostrils flaring. He took a sip of his wine.

“Something like that,” he said, then sat back a bit in his chair. “You know,Ethan,youreallyoughttowatchwhatyousay.Itcouldgetyoukilled.”Ethan laughed. “I’ve never been very good at keepingmymouth shut,” he

admitted.“That’strue.Quitetrue.”“Soyoumusthaveheardsomething.Whispersinthenight.Seensomething,

even?Somethingthatdoesn’tneedtobethere.Ishouldn’thavetoexplainthistoyou,Trenholm.Wedomagick,andwecallonallsortsofancienthorrors,godsanddevilsandmen.Butfor themostpart, theydon’tattendservices,eh?Andwhentheydo,therearerepercussions.Alwaysrepercussions.Trustme.Iknow.”Ethan smiled at him. Trenholm seemed to deflate suddenly, his eyes

wandering as his mind did the same. When they settled on Ethan again, helookedterrified.“You’resaying...”“Quite.” Ethan sipped his scotch. Made Trenholm wait. Then, at length:

“Yourmanhasademonsponsor,oldfriend.Andthatdemonisnotgoingtohelpoutforrecreation.He’ssoldyouout.Allofyou.NowI’ve. . .alignedmyselfwiththosewho’dliketostophim.HellonEarthwouldbeaterror,wouldn’tit?Somuchcompetitionforattention.Mylittlegameswouldbemeretriflesinthat

light.“I need the demon’s name, Trenholm. And your master’s location. He’s

holdingtheSlayer’smother.Ineedtoknowwhere.”Theman’susualdeathlypallorhad turneda shadeofgreen, as thoughhe’d

died right there in his seat.After a longmoment, he blinked several times asthoughwakingfromalongsleep.“YouknowIcan’t,”hewhispered.“Evenifwhatyousayistrue...he’dkill

me.”Ethanleanedtowardhim,eminentlyreasonable,swirlingtheiceinhisscotch

glass.“Trenholm,dearboy,”hesaid,“letmemake thiseasy foryou.Numberone,ifyoudon’ttellme,andHellintrudesuponEarth,you’llsufferforeternity.Whichinyourcasewouldbewelldeserved,ifonlyforyouridiocy.“Numbertwo,canyoufeelyourfeet?”Takenoffguardbythisseeminglyinanequestion,Trenholmscowled,began

to make some retort, and then his face froze. He glanced down. His facecrumbled,andatearappearedatthecornerofhislefteyeandbegantostreamdownhischeek.Thewaiterbroughttheirmeals,happilyaskediftherewouldbeanythingelse.

Ethan ordered another glass of scotch, and, out of pure kindness, asked foranotherwineforpoorTrenholm.Whenhe’dleft,Trenholmcouldonlystareathisfood.“Whathaveyoudone

tome?”heasked,withoutevenlookingup.“Hmm?”Ethanmumbled,evenashecontentedlychewedhisfirstwonderful

biteofsteak.Itwasperfecthere,everytime.“Oh,right.Well,it’sjustalittlespell,really.Madeslightlymoredifficultby

the restrictions I placed on it. I’ve given you time, you see, it’s going to takeeffectquiteslowly.And,ofcourse,Iknowpreciselyhowtocounterit,assumingyougivemereasonto.”“Ethan,” Trenholm snarled through gritted teeth. “What have you done to

me?”“It’stheGorgon’sEye,I’mafraid,”Ethansaid,andasmallthrillranthrough

himashewatchedtheticinTrenholm’srighteyebegintoflutter.“It’sprobablymovingupyourlegsrightnow,yes?“That’sright,oldman.You’returningtostone.”Trenholmdidn’thavearesponseforthat.Ethantookanotherbiteofsteak,chewedseveraltimes,andthenpaused.“I’m

going to eat my dinner now. When I’m through, I’ll expect those answers.

Otherwise,I’lljustleaveyouhere.”Heateveryslowly.Trenholmdidn’teatasinglebite.Hemovedlessandless,

andbythetimeEthanwipedhismouthwiththeheavyclothnapkinhe’dhadonhis lap, he thought the man was likely stone from about the navel on down.WhenhefinallymetTrenholm’sgazeagain,therewashatredintheman’seyessuchasevenEthanhadneverseen.ButTrenholmtoldhimwhathewantedtoknow.Ethan smiled. “Thank you so much, Calvin. You may have just saved the

world.Andyou’vecertainlysavedyourlife.”“UntilIlMaestrodestroysme,”Trenholmsaid.“Well,then,ifIwereyouI’dbeofftoachurchassoonasIwasable,”Ethan

advised.“Iwouldn’twanttodiewithwhatyou’vegotonyoursoul.Notifyoubelievethatsortofthing.”Withaflickofhiswrist,Ethanproducedasmallboxofwoodenmatches.He

reachedforthewhitecandlethatburnedonthetable,blewitout,andthenrelititwithamatchofhisown.Blacksmokeburnedupfromthecandleforamoment,andthenitburnedwhite.“Justawhiffortwoshoulddoit,”heexplained.Themancomplied,inhalingthesmoke,andhisfeaturesseemedtorelaxashis

lower half began to return to its fleshly state.While that process was takingplace,Ethanwavedthewaiteroverandprocuredthecheck,whichhethenpaidincash.“Shallwebeoff,then?”heaskedwhenthewaiterhadgone.“Youmightbea

bitshakyonthoselegsatfirst,butyou’lladjust.”They walked outside together, and Ethan was right. Trenholm had trouble

puttingonefootinfrontoftheother.Butbythetimetheyreachedtheparkinglot,he’dfullyrecovered.Trenholm rounded onEthan,whohad begun to stroll toward his rental car,

whistling“OvertheRainbow.”“Ishouldkillyou,youknow!”themandeclared.Ethannodded.“Iwhollyagree,”hesaid.“Butyouwon’t.Ifyouweregoingto

killme,youwouldhavedoneityearsago,whenIfirstseducedKymberly.I’mnotsurprisedyoulefther,youknow.Insufferablewitch.”Trenholm reddened, and for a moment Ethan wondered if the man would

actuallyattempttoattackhim.Itwouldbeachangeforhim,at least.But thenhisquestionwasinterrupted,andwouldforeverremainunanswered,asablackJeep roared suddenly out of a space behind Trenholm and shot across the

pavementathim, its lightsout.Themanbarelyhad time to screambefore thevehicleshatteredhisbody,throwinghimtothegroundalifelessshell.TiressquealedastheJeepturned,backedup,andstartedforEthan.Anelderly

couple had come out of the restaurant in time to see Trenholm’smurder, andnowwerescreamingathimtorunforhislife.Ethan rolledhis eyes.He’dprepared for this.TheSonsofEntropy acolytes

behindthewheelknewthatTrenholmwaslikelyatraitor,buttheycouldn’thaveknownwhoitwashe’dbeenmeeting.Orthey’dhavesentsorcerersinsteadofassassins.“Janus, oh golden idol,” he said quickly, gesticulating with his fingers.

“Transform,begone,fromhuman’seyes;furandears,nowsmallersize.”The men behind the wheel turned into rabbits and the Jeep crashed into

severalparkedcars.Ethanwasgladhisrentalhadbeenspared.Whilethepeopleontherestaurantstairscalledouttohim,heclimbedin,startedtheengine,anddroveoff,laughingsoftlytohimself.HejustlovedcomingtoSunnydale.

Angel wasn’t at the library when Buffy returned. They’d planned to meetthereatseven,andfromtheretocontinuethesearchforhermother.Butwhenshepushedthroughtheswingingdoors,theroomappearedemptyatfirst.“Hello?”shecalledout,asshemovedfartherintotheroom.Inthecage,Ozsnarledandthrewhimselfagainstthemetalmesh.Hestalked

back and forth across the small space, glaring at her, saliva sliding from hisfangs.“Down,boy,”shesaidinalowvoice.“Yougotuponthewrongsideofthe

moonthismorning.”Thewerewolfsnarled.BehindBuffy,thedooropened.SheturnedtoseeGilescominginwithacup

ofcoffeeinonehand,holdingabookopenintheother.“Youcouldgethurtdoingthat,”shesaid.Giles looked up, startled, and his coffee spilled on his hand.He hissed and

heldthecupawayfromhim.“See,” Buffy said reasonably. “It’s bad enough, the whole walking and

readingthing.Butcarryinghotcoffee?Majorpotentialforhouseholdinjuries.”“Yes,well,perhapsifyouweren’tsneakingaround...”Gilesbegan,evenas

heputthecupandbookdownandwentinsearchofapapertowel.Then he looked up, as if startled by his ownwords. “I’m sorry,Buffy,” he

said. “I’ve just been growing more and more frustrated, trying to figure outwhere yourmothermight be held. Sunnydale is actually a larger town than itwouldappear,though—unsurprisingly—notverythicklysettledinmostareas.”Ozgrowledagain.Gileslookedoverathim,rolledhiseyes.“Oh,doshutup!”hesnapped.Thewerewolfpaused,lookedathimamoment,thenwentabouthisbusiness

ofbeingcagedup.“Oh, great,Giles, lash out at the defenselesswerewolf,”Buffy said, raising

hereyebrows.“Look,Angelwassupposedtomeetmehere.Hasheshown?”“Notyet,”Gilesreplied.“No.Buttherearesomethingswehavetodiscuss,

Buffy.”Therewasatoneinhisvoicethatwasalltoofamiliar.Gilespickedhiscoffee

upagainand turned toregardher.Thesilence inside theschoolwas toomuchforher.“Whatisit,Giles?”sheaskedweakly.“Somethingwithmymom?Isshe...”TheSlayercouldnotfinishthatsentence.Giles’seyeswidened.“Oh,Lord,no,Buffy.I’msorry.Ididn’tmeantoimply

anythingofthesort.Butthereisaconnection,I’mafraid.Yousee,earliertodaywhen I was at Angel’s speakingwithMicaela, young Jacques told us that hecouldsensehisfather,well,dying.”“That’snothingnew,”Buffyreplied.“Itseemslikehe’sbeenonthevergeof

checkingoutfor,okay,ever.”“Indeed,”Giles agreed. “But this is different. It’s the first time Jacques has

feltanythingofthesort.ItlikelymeansthatwhateverhasbeensustainingJean-MarcRegnier,theCauldron,thehouse,whathaveyou...thatthosethingscannolongerhelphim.”Buffy took that in,and then let itsmeaningsink inforseveralseconds. If it

wastrue, itmeantthatGiles’sflyingtoBostonwiththekid,withJacques, justwasn’tgoingtowork.“I’mnotgoing,”shesaidbluntly.Giles blinked. Ran a hand through his hair. Began to speak, then thought

betterofwhathe’dbeenabouttosay.“YouknowIcan’tgo,”shesaid.“Angelcango.Ozcan...”sheglancedat

thewerewolfinthecage.“Allright,maybeOzcan’tgo.ButAngelcan.I’mnotleavingthistownuntilIfindmymother,Giles.Ican’tjusttakeoffandleaveheraprisonerofsomepsychowhoreallywantsmeinstead.”“We’llfindher,”Gilesinsisted.

Buffyswallowed.“Sorry.Youhadyourshot.”“This is too important,Buffy,”he toldher,growingangrynow.“I’msorry,

buttosimplypawnthisoffonAngel,whohasseveralhandicapsofhisown,ifyouhadn’tnoticed...Theworldhangsinthebalance.”“Mymother’slifehangsinthebalance!”shesnapped,andthenalltheenergy

lefther,andwhenshespokeagain,itwasnearlyawhisper.“Rightnow,she’salltheworldIhave.”Theystoodtogetherinsilence.Theonlysoundintheroomwasthegrunting

andheavybreathing of thewerewolf in the cage.Oz,Buffy remindedherself.It’sOz,notjustsomemonster.AndOzneededWillow.Buffy needed Willow. Things just seemed to make more sense, decisions

seemedtobeeasier tomake,whenWillowwasaround.Shealwaysseemedtoknowtherightthing,hardasitmightbetosayit.AndXander...Ifhe’dbeenhere,he’dhavevolunteered to lead thecharge into theghost roads.Crazyandstupidandunbelievablybrave.Butnowhe’s...“Weshouldhaveheardfromthembynow,Giles,”shesaid,hangingherhead

indespair.TheyhadnoideawhathadhappenedtoWillowandCordelia,andevenifthey

made it to theGatehouse, Cordelia’s cell phone didn’twork there. There hadbeennoanswerontheregulargroundline,andBuffyfearedtheworst.Xandermightbedead.Hermotherwasaprisoner,andmightaswellbedead,ifBuffycouldn’tfind

her.Theworldwas falling apart aroundher,Hell tryingdesperately to spill into

Earth.TheGatekeeperwasonhisdeathbed.Itallseemedsohopeless.Buffyliftedherhead.No,shetoldherself.Neverhopeless.“I’lltakehim,”shesaid.“Gethimhere.”Giles nodded, but therewas no sense of victory in hismanner.Hewent to

reachforthephone—“And,Giles?”“Hmm?”“Findher.”Beforehecouldanswer,theswingingdoorsofthelibraryopenedagain,and

Angelsteppedin.Buthewasn’talone.MicaelaandJacqueswerewithhim.ThelooksoneachoftheirfacesmadeBuffyfreeze.“Oh,Rupert,”Micaelasaidfretfully.“Whatisit?”Gilesasked.“Whatnow?”

ItwasAngelwhoanswered.“It’stheGatekeeper,”hesaid,turningtocrouchandputanarmacrosstheshouldersoftheheirtotheGatehouse.“He’sdead.”“DearGod,”Gileswhispered.Buffyclosedhereyes.“We’retoolate.”

“Oh, God, Willow, what’s wrong with him?” Cordelia shrieked, grabbingWillow’sshoulder.“Idon’tknow,Idon’tknow!”The girls looked down at Xander, who lay in the Cauldron of Bran the

Blessed.Hehadbeentherethroughoutmostoftheday.Atfirst,they’dthoughthimdead.Butthenhe’dmoved,justalittle.Andalittlemore.Butnow...this.HisbodywasshakingviolentlyintheCauldron,spasming,hisarmsandlegs

pivoting, his head slamming back against the iron walls of the Cauldron. Heshouldhaveshatteredhisentirebodybynow.Buthehadn’t.Xander’s eyeswerewideopenandhe staredat them.Plaintively,he spoke.

“Will.Cor.Helpme.”TearscourseddownWillow’scheeks.Cordelia’smakeupwasrunningdown

herfaceinblackstreaks.BothgirlstriedtoreachintotheCauldron,triedtoholdXanderdown,butitwasnouse.The door to the chamber, the Gatekeeper’s bedroom, slammed open and a

punishingwindwhippedagainstthem,blowingthembothbackslightlyfromtheCauldron.Willowleanedforwardandgrippedtheedgeofitsrim.ShegrabbedCordelia,andthentheywerebothhangingon.“OhGod,ohGod,ohGod,Xander!”Willowsaid,terrifiedforhim.Thenshe

lookedatCordeliaagain.“We’vegottogethimoutofthere!”“Gethisarms!”Cordeliashoutedoverthegale-forcewind.Lamps shattered. A large bust of some Egyptian god crashed through the

windowandflewoutintothecourtyard.“WheredidAntoinettego?Theghost?Weneedtoknowwhat’shappening!”

Willowyelled.“Justgethim!”Cordyreplied.The two girls reached into theCauldron and graspedXander by thewrists.

Bothwere instantly jerkeduprightbyanelectricalshockthatran throughtheirbodies.Thesurgethrewthemback,awayfromtheCauldron.Withasuddenhush,thewinddied.Thehousebegantoshake.

InsidetheCauldron,Xanderletoutalong,chillingscream.“Willow,look!”Cordeliacried.Theghost ofAntoinetteRegnier floated through theopendoor and into the

room.Thereweregossamertearsonherface,andyet,despitethetearsandtherumblingofthehousebeneaththem,theghostseemedstrangelycontent.“Isthistheend?”Willowaskedher.“Havewe...didwelose?”Cordeliastaredather.“Youdon’tthink...”Antoinette floated now above the Cauldron, looking down at Xander with

kindeyes.Tendrilsofblue lightshotsuddenlyfromeverycornerof the room,from the ceiling above and the floor beneath, and together they struck theCauldron.Itlitupinanauraofcracklingbluelight,andthen,asthegirlslookedon,XanderfloatedupoutoftheCauldron,jerkingasthemagickswirledaroundhim.Hefloatedontheair.Andhesmiled.“My son Jean-Marc has joined me now,” whispered the ghost. “The

Gatekeeperisdead.ButwhenlastheimmersedhimselfinthatCauldron,heleftapartofhimselfbehind,abitofhislifeforcedrainedaway.TheCauldronsavedyourfriend,butitalsowashedhiminmyson’slifeforce.“Thehousedidit,yousee.TheGatehousethoughtthathewasoneofus,that

hewasaRegnier.”“What do youmean?” Cordelia demanded. “The house can’t think! It isn’t

alive!”“No. But themagick is alive. The spell that RichardRegnierwove so very

longago.AllthepowerandknowledgeoftheGatekeeperwillpasstotheheir.WithoutJacqueshere,thehousesoughtouttheheir.”WillowstaredatXander,bluefirecracklingaroundhim.“Xander,”shewhispered.“ItthoughtXanderwastheheir.”“What?”Cordeliacried.“Willow,that’sinsane.”“No,” Willow replied. “It’s true. Otherwise, the world would have been

destroyed.”“Xander?” Cordelia asked, plaintively, looking up at him where he hung

abovetheCauldron.He lookeddownon themandsmiledbeatifically.Tendrilsofbluemagickal

firesnakedouttostroketheirfaces,totouchtheirhair,buttheydidnotburn.ThehousestoppedshakingwhenXanderspoke.“IamtheGatekeeper.”

Chapter

6

JOYCESUMMERS’SWORLDHADBEENREDUCEDTOTHEwallsofthelabyrinth. There were only two things she believed in now that this was herworld: thatBuffy and the otherswould figure out away to save her, and thattherewasanotherexitsomewhere.Shehadtobelievethosethings,orshewouldgomad.Where the labyrinth had appeared, in what remained of the once glorious

SunnydaleTwinDrive-In, therewerenostreetlights,norevenverymuch lightfromRoute17,notfaroff.Inthedarkness,heronlysaviorwastheglowofthefullmoon,which shone down on her through a clear night sky. Examining itnow,Joycethoughtshesaw,dimlyoutlined,thefeaturesofaskullonthefaceofthemoon.Thereisamaninthemoonafterall,shethought.Adeadman.Thewallswere smooth asmarble, impossible to climb. She had long since

losttrackofthemazeitself,buthadkeptherwitsaboutherenoughtofindawaytoanchorhersenseofdirection.Thoughitwasn’theavilytraveled,therewasacertainamountof trafficonRoute17.Thepassingcars letherset inhermindwhereshewasinrelationtothehighway,theprojectionbooth,andtheentrancethathadbeenusedtoputherinhere.Inherewiththemonster.TheMinotaur.Shehadhearditgruntingnotlongafterfirstenteringthelabyrinth,butthere

hadbeenlittlesignofitsince.Otherthanthesmell,ofcourse.Theentiremazehadadank,muskyodor,andthewell-troddenearthbeneathhershoesseemedtohavethatscentburiedineveryinchofdirt.Hard-packedearth.Joycehopedthatshewouldhearitcoming.Thatwouldbeheronlychanceofsurvival.Survival. A part of her thought that she should give up on the idea. For

Buffy’ssake,sheoughttosacrificeherself,justsurrender.Aslongasshelived—as long as she was bait—she was a liability. But another part of her, the

strongerpart,wanteddesperatelytolive,andknewthatBuffywouldwanthertofight.TheSlayerwouldneversurrender.Shewouldn’twanthermothertodosoeither.SoJoycewenton.Timeandagainsheexploredblindalleysinthelabyrinth.Timeandagainshe

wound about, believing she had found a path through to the other side of themaze, or at least into its center.But each time shegot turned aroundandwasforcedtoretracehersteps,keepingthesoundofthecarsbehindherasmuchaspossible.Itonlymadesensetothinktherewasanothergateontheotherside.Butitwas

purefantasytothinkthatgatemightbeopen,ormoreaccessible.Still,itwasallshehadtoclingto,tokeepherfromdrowninginhopelessness.ThemuskoftheMinotaurgrewevenmorepowerful,sothatJoycebeganto

breathe through her nose.With the sound of the cars at her back, shemovedcloser to the center. Thewallswere cold and slick around her, themoonlightmaking them look almost alive. At each corner, Joyce would pause, heartbeating rapidly,and listen for theman-beast.After several seconds, shewouldpeekaroundtheedge.Thenshewouldmoveon.Shewanted to scream. The silencewas destroying her. But she didn’t dare

makeasound,forfearthatshemightattracttheMinotaur’sattention.Twist and turn. Right and left. Dead end or optical illusion. It wasn’t long

beforeshewasexhaustedfrombothterrorandexertion.Butshewouldnotgiveup.Andthenshefoundthebones.“Oh,myGod,”Joycewhispered,beforesheevenrealizedshehadspoken.Her heart trip-hammeredwith the fear that shemight have been heard. She

pressedherbackagainstthecoldwallandwaited,eyesdartingfromsidetoside.Afterhalfaminuteof silence, shebegan tobreatheabitmoreeasily, andsheallowedhergazetoreturntothebonesstrewnalongthepathaheadofher.Manywere half buried in the dirt, probably trampled underfoot in mud until theybecameapartofthestructureofthelabyrinthitself.The victims of the Minotaur.How many creatures have died within these

walls? she wondered. The question chilled her, but an even more disturbingquestion posed itself almost immediately. How many have ever escaped thelabyrinth?Sheprayed that someonehad escaped. Itwouldbe easier for her to believe

that.Toknowthatitwaspossible.

Joyceknewsheshouldgetmoving,butshecouldnot.Herfeetseemedfrozentothatspot,inamongthebones.Therewereseveralskulls,entireribcages,andthe various bones of the arms and legs, including a long, thick shaft of bonewhichsheknewmustbeafemur.Yetshesawonlyone,andwondered,withatwistofnausea,wherethisdeadman’sotherleghadcometorest.That’llbeyou,Joyce,shethought.Ifyoudon’tgetmoving.Soshemoved.Slowlyatfirst,andthenwithmorespeed.Therewereagreat

manymorebones,andapatternrevealeditself.Wheretheboneswere,thatwasthepath to thecenterof themaze.Tothe lairof theMinotaur. Itwas theonlythingthatmadesense.Andifshewantedtoreachtheothersideofthelabyrinth,shewouldhavetopassthroughit.Something wasn’t right, though. She hadn’t heard the beast again, and it

hadn’tcomeafterher.Forhalfasecond,sheentertainedtheideathatthesoundshe’dpreviouslyheardhadn’tbeentheMinotauratall, that thethinghadbeendeadforages,itsboneslyingwithinthesewallssomewherealongwiththoseofitsvictims.Butshepushedthatfantasyaway.Itwastooseductivetoallowintohermind

—thekindofthinking,ofrelaxing,thatmightgetherkilled.Acoolbreezerushedthroughthewallsof thelabyrinth,andJoyceshivered,

glancedupatthemoonandthestars.Anotherstrongwindblewherhairacrossherface.Suddenly she knew. Itwas thewind. She hadn’t been able to hear the cars

fromRoute17verywellforabrieftime,becausethewindhadshifted.Herscentwasbeingcarriedawayfromthemaze,awayfromthebeast.Butthemomentthewindshifted,orshesucceeded,somehow,inpassingbytheMinotaur,wellthen,itwouldhaveherscent.Andhavehernotlongafter.Joycewantedtoturn,torunbackthewayshe’dcome.Buttherewasnoexit

there.Instead,shemovedforward,followingthetrailofbones.Alittlemorethana

minutelater,thelabyrinthopenedupinfrontofher.Shehadreacheditscenter,awideboxmadeofwallsbrokenatoddintervalsbypathsthatledbackintothemaze.Boneswerestrewnabout.Piled incertainplaces.Anenormouschairofboneshadbeenbuiltatthecenterofthelabyrinth.Joyce threw herself back against the wall, as soundlessly as she could.

Carefully,shepeeredaroundtheedge.Itsatthereonthatthronemadeofitsvictims.Itsfeetwerewrappedinheavy

leather, tiedoffwith thickrope.Arottingleather loinclothhungdownover its

upperthighs.Itslegs,thoughhairy,werehumanenough.Butabovethewaist,itwas amassive, heavingbull, its face the snorting, hornedheadof thebull. Itsarmsendedintalonedhands,buthugeandthick,eachfingerlikethebranchofatree.Itschestroseandfell.TheMinotaurwas sleeping. Joyce stared at it for a longmoment, the chill

windmakinghershiver.Orperhapsitwasmerelyherfear.Thebeastshiftedinitsslumber.Itseyesflutteredslightly,butdidnotopen.Thewinddied.Andbegantoshift.Joycefoughtbackthetears that threatenedtospilldownhercheeks.Shebit

her lip lightly, to force herself to keep silent. Then, as quickly as she couldwithout stumbling over the bones of those who’d come before, she began toretreat.She’dhavetofindsomewaytogetoutthroughthefrontgate.Itwasheronly

hope.Nohope.Butheronlyhope.Therehad tobeaway.Thebreeze shiftedthen,blowingintoherfaceasshemovedaway.Thethinsweatersheworewaslittleprotectionagainstthecold.Ontheground,shesawthethickfemurboneshehadnoticedearlier.Nowshe

pickeditup,hefteditsweight,andbegantorunwithit.Runasfastasshecould,nolongersocarefulaboutmakingnoise.Forthewindhadshifted.TheMinotaurwas awake.Somewherebehindher, on its throneofbones, it

bellowedwithrage.Andhunger.

IthadbeennearlyayearandahalfsinceEthanhadvacatedthecostumeshophehadonceruninSunnydale,anditremainedempty.Consideringtheclimateofdeath in the town, he wasn’t at all surprised. Though it might have hadsomethingtodowiththespellhehadcastontheplace.Itwasapsychicmarker,almostlikethescentofaskunk,butmental.Thosewhohadcometolookatthepropertyhadgoneawayfeelingquitenegativeaboutit.The locks had been changed, of course, but it was a simple thing to open

them.Whenheentered,hesmiledtohimself.Therewasseveralmonths’worthofdustinside,whichledhimtothinkthat,afteratime,therealtorsjustgaveupontheplace.Whybothertocleanitupifnobodywasgoingtowantit?IfEthaneverneededitagain,why,he’dcomebackandsetupshopunderanothername.Perhapsabookshopthenexttime?Hedidsoenjoybooks.Inside,herummagedaroundthefewracksthathadnotbeenemptiedbythe

realtors.Allthecostumesweregone,ofcourse,buttherewereshelvesofclothandothermaterials,somebooksandpapersthathewashappytoretrieve.Andthemirror.Itwaspreparedspecificallyforanightsuchasthis;anightwhenheneededto

callouttosomethingverydangerous.In the darkness of the shop, the only light coming from the streetlights

outside,andfromthemoon,hestaredintohisownreflectioninthemirror,andbegantochantsoftly.

“Wandererofthewastelands,harkennow.LordoftheVileFlesh,hearme.

MasteroftheDarkWays,showhimnow.MasteroftheSecretPassages,lethimpass.Belphegor,DarkWanderer,HornedMaster,

Cometomenow,thewayisclear.Letthymajestyberevealed.”

Themirror seemed to flow, as if the reflectiveglasswere liquid, andEthancouldnolongerseehisownface.Themirrorwasblack,asthoughithadbeenburned.Andthen,deepinthatblackness,greeneyesthecolorofputrescentfleshstaredoutathim.Flashinginthedarkwithinthemirror,theblood-redhornsofBelphegor,whichresemblednothingsomuchashuge,gnawed-uponbones,withbitsofrottingmeatstillattached.“Youdaremuch,littlewizard,”theimagerumbled.Then it was more than an image. The horns of the demon began to poke

throughtheshimmeringsilverofthemirror,intotherealworld.“Notreally,”Ethansaid.“Youdon’tfrightenme,Belphegor.”At theuseof itsname, thedemonwinced.Ethanmentally thanked thedead

Trenholm—muchgoodgratitudedidanyone—andcontinued.“That’sright.Belphegor.”Ethangrinned,thoughintruthhewasquiteafraid.

Hehadn’ttoyedwithdemonsmuch,notifhecouldavoidit.HismisadventureswithGilesandtheothershadmadehimquitewary,ifnotexactlycautious.Buthecouldn’tletthedemonknowthat.“I’vecalledyou.Iknowyoucan’tmakeit through,notwithallyourpower

intact.That’swhyyou’restilloverthere,isn’tit?Ifitwasjustamatterofhavingsomeweak-mindedspellcastercallyouup,you’dhavebeenherecenturiesago.No,youwantsomethingelse.Youhaveaplan,don’tyou,Belphegor?”

Thedemon’seyesseemedtoleaksomethingawful.Ethancouldsmellit,andnearlyvomited.Instead,heheldthemirroratarm’slengthandtriedtobreathethroughhismouth.“I’llhaveyourheart,”Belphegorpromised.“That’sasmuchofmyplanasI

wishtosharewithyou.”“Idon’tparticularlycarewhatyouwish.”Thedemonroared.ThemirrorshookandnearlyfellfromEthan’shands.He

managedtoholdonuntilitsubsided.“Whatdoyouwant,littleman?”Belphegordemanded.“For once, it isn’t about me,” Ethan said. Then, in retrospect: “Well, not

entirely.Youneedtocomethroughintact.Thelawsofnaturewon’tallowsuchathing,andyou’re trying tochange those laws.ThatmuchIknow. IalsoknowthatyouwanttheSlayer.Youneedherpower,orherblood,orboth.“Icangetherforyou.”Ethansawthewaythedemon’seyesflared.Hethoughthecouldseeitsvast

rowsofteeth,andwonderedifthethingwasactuallysmiling.Butthenitdrewbackintothemirror,hornssinkingoncemore.Hecouldbarelymakeitout,butfromthedarknessinside,itspoke.“Andwhatwouldyoudesireinreturn,man?”Thisisit,Ethanthought.“Life,”hereplied.“Oftheeternalvariety,ofcourse.

Andasmallkingdomofmyown,shallwesay,twothousandsoulsofmyownchoosing.Notmuchtoaskfor,Ibelieve,whenyouconsiderwhatyou’llreceiveintrade.”Themirrorwentblack.Ethanblinked,staringmoredeeplyintoit.Hebrought

itclosertohisface,andthenjerkedbackasthosehideouseyesandfilthyhornsshotuptowardhim,bloodymawofamouthopenbelow.“I think I’d rather have your heart,”Belphegor roared. “I don’t like you,

human.Youdon’tshowtheproperrespect foryour fear.AndIcertainlydon’tneedyou. Ifweareable toclaim theSlayer, itwill speedour invasion. Itwillhurrytheapocalypsealong,andbringmyreignaboutallthesooner.“Butifsheyetlives...itisn’tgoingtostopus.“Helliscoming,littlewizard.“I’mcoming...foryou...”“Bastard!” Ethan screamed wildly. “You don’t want to make an enemy of

me!”The demon’s imagewithdrew, and one of its taloned, pustulent hands shot

throughthemirrorandscrabbledforthefrontofEthan’sjacket.Withashoutof

fearandanger,hesmashedthemirroragainstthewall,splinteringitintodozensof tiny pieces. For a moment he saw the claw tips of several fingers pokingthroughthelargershardsofbrokenmirror,andthentheyweregone.He’dhavetoprepareanothermirror,whenhehadthetime.Reallythesafest

waytogoaboutsuchthings.Withasnarl,hetookonelastglanceattheshatteredmirror,andthenheaded

outthebackdooroncemore.Ethanmighthavebeenausefulallytothedemon,butBelphegorhadspurned

him.Nowhewoulddoallhecould todestroy thehellspawn.Thedemon lordBelphegorhadmadeaverydangerousenemy.

“Thisis...thisisnuts!”Xandersaid,shakinghishead.HesatontheedgeoftheGatekeeper’sbed,holdinghishandsoutinfrontof

himself.His fingerswereseveral inchesaway fromeachother,and tendrilsofelectricbluemagicksparkedbackandforthbetweenthem.Withasigh,hestoodupandbegantowalkthelengthoftheroom.“Ican’tbe

theGatekeeper,youguys!”hesaid.“Ihave...Ihaveschool,y’know?And...andthere’scollegetothinkof,orwhatever.”His eyes wide with horror, he turned to regardWillow and Cordelia, who

werebothequallywide-eyed.“And,ohmyGod,whataboutmyparents?Mydadisgonnakillme,”hesaid

miserably.ItwasCordeliawholaughed.Ofcourse.“Xander,please,”shescoffed.“You’re,like,theGatekeepernow.Oneofthe

mostpowerfulsorcerersonEarth?Hello?Ireallydon’tthinkthere’smuchyourparentscandotoyounow.”“Well, they can be pissed at him,”Willow offered. “And, okay, if he still

hasn’tgraduated,theycouldgroundhim,Ithink.Right?”Xander shothera look.“Thanks,Will.Veryhelpful.Wouldyoupourmea

glassofhemlockwhileyou’reatit?”Willowofferedanapologeticgrinandashrug.“It’s the least Icando,”she

said. “Xander, I don’twant you to be theGatekeeper. Thatwouldmean you,y’know,here,andeverybodyelsethreethousandmilesaway.”“Speak for yourself, Rosenberg,” Cordelia replied, moving to link her arm

with Xander’s. “I think I’ll stay right here with my all-powerfnl sorcererboyfriend.God,waituntilthosestuck-upbitchesatschoolhearaboutthisone.”Xanderspreadhisarms,palmsup,andstaredatthemeachinturn.Amoment

passed,andtheyonlylookedbackathim.“Hello?”hesaidatlast.“Okay,savingtheworld.Inthemidstofbattle?Does

anyofthisringabell?HasitoccurredtoanyonethatI’mnow,like,thelastlineofdefensefortheplanetEarth...andwe’renowalldoomedtoeternaltormentofHellonEarth.”Hecollapsedonthebedagainandburiedhisfaceinhishands.“Whyme?”hemoaned.“Betterthandeath,though,”Willowofferedhelpfully.“That’ssomething.”“Orjustprolongingtheinevitable,”Cordeliaadded,herfacescrunchedupin

that deep-in-thought look thatXander saw her get every so often. “Somaybebeingall-powerfulisn’twhatit’scrackeduptobe.Butifthekid’sstillalive,allwehavetodoiskeepthisplacefromfallingapartuntilBuffygetshimhere.”“Wedon’tevenknowiftheyfoundtheboy,”Willowsaidmiserably.“Wait—”Xander interrupted.“Cordy,didyousay‘if’?Whathappens if the

kidnevershows?AmItheGatekeeperforever?”“Well,evenifhecomes,Ithinkyoumighthavetodieforhimtoinherithis

power,”Willowsaid.Onceagain,Xandermoaned.Then, without warning, the house shuddered and the ghost of Antoinette

Regnierappearedinthecenteroftheroom,abovetheCauldron.“My son’s death has bought some little time,” she said. “But the Sons of

Entropyaremany.Thosefewsurvivorsrenewtheirassault,assumingthehouseundefended.Andtherewillbemore.“Xander,youmustperformyourduty.”Cordeliastaredather.“Waitjustaminute,heisn’ttherealGatekeeper!”“Youcan’taskhimto—”Willowbegan.Xandercutthembothoff.“Guys,thanks.Butshecan.Shehasto.AndIhave

todoit.Thereisn’tanybodyelse.”Hepaused,loweredhisheadamoment,andthensaidsoftly,“NowIguessI

knowhowBuffyfeels.”Noneofthemhadanythingtosaytothat.Until,atlength,Willowslappedher

handstoherthighsandstoodup.“WeneedGiles,”shesaid.“WeneedGiles,”Cordeliaagreed,andreachedintoherjacketpockettopull

outherthincellularphone.She andWillow both turned to look at Xander. He frowned and stared at

them, but then he saw the phone and he understood. The Gatehouse exuded

some kind of force field which didn’t allow such communications to passthrough,atleast,notwithouttheGatekeeperopeningaholeinthatfield.Xandermadeanapologeticface,andshrugged.“I’msorry,guys,Idon’tknow

...”Then,suddenly,hedidknow.Heknewexactlywhattodo.Cockinghishead

asthoughhewerelisteningtosomethingnobodyelsecouldhear,hehelduponehandandtwirledhisfingers.“Tryitnow,”hesaid,assurprisedbyhisbehaviorasthegirlswere.WhenCordeliadialed thenumber for the school library, itbegan to ringon

theotherside.

Gilesplacedthephonebackinitscradle.HestartedslightlywhenOzgrowledinhiscage.ThenheturnedtofaceMicaelaandJacquesagain.“Rupert,whatisit?”Micaelaasked.“Youlooksopale.”Hesmiledthinly.“Nottoworry,”hereplied.“It’smynaturalcolor.”Then his smile disappeared.He’dmade a joke, andBuffywas not there to

remarkupontheamazinginfrequencyofsuchanevent.HewisheddesperatelythatsheandAngelhadnotalreadygoneouttosearchforJoyce.Heneededherthere, needed her toworkwith him to formulate a plan.Asmuch as she soldherselfshort,Buffywasactuallyapassablestrategist,andimprovingwithtime.“What’shappened?”Micaelaasked.“Myfatherisdead,isn’the?”Jacquesasked.Gileswent to theboyandcroucheddown,nodding slowlyand sadly. “Yes,

Jacques,I’mafraidheis,”Gilestoldhim.“Buthisdeathhas,somehow,throughsomeaccidentofmagick,grantedusakindofreprieve.”Micaela shookher head. “Buthowcan that be? If he’s died, theGatehouse

mustbeinthehandsof...”“ThenewGatekeeper,”Gilesreplied.Boyandwomanstaredathiminutterincomprehension.“Somehow, the house itself has decided that Xander—a friend of Buffy’s

whom neither of you has met—is actually a Regnier. It has made him theGatekeeper.”“WiththefullpoweroftheRegnierline?”Micaelaasked,astounded.“Indeed,”Gilesreplied.“That’s extraordinary,” she said. “That means we can concentrate on the

situation here. On finding Buffy’s mother and dealing with my fath—withFulcanelli.”

Jacquesdidnotseemquiteconvinced.“Eventually,”hesaid,“thehousewillrealizeitserror.Imustreturnbeforethatmomentarrives.”Gilescockedhisheadthoughtfully.“Onthecontrary,”hesaid.“Ibelievethe

house will continue to recognize Xander as the Gatekeeper—now that it hasdone so—until the true heir arrives. Not to worry, Jacques.We will get youhomeassoonasweareable.”Theboy’slipquiveredamoment,andthenhisfacechanged,hidinghispain.

“Nohurry,Mr.Giles,”hesaid.“Thereisn’tanyonethereformetogobackto,now.”Giles thought about mentioning the boy’s grandmother, the ghost of

AntoinetteRegnier,but refrained fromdoing so.Hedidnotknow ifher spiritwouldmoveonnow,andhedidn’twanttogivetheladfalsehope.Heheardthesoftshushofthelibrarydoorsswingingopen,andturnedtosee

EthanRayneenter.GileshadhopeditwouldbeBuffy.ButEthanwasmorethanadisappointment.Hewasaconstantthreat,closeenoughtosabotageanyhopeforthefuture.Unlesshewasactuallytellingthetruth,whichGilessimplycouldnotbringhimselftobelieve.“Hello,Ripper!”Ethansaidhappily.“I’vetoldyounevertocallmethat,”Gilesrepliedangrily.“Ah, of course,” the otherman replied, feigning regret. “But I think you’ll

forgiveme.”Giles lifted his chin, looked at Ethanmore closely.He’d known theman a

longtime.Toolong.“Youknowsomething,Ethan.Whatisit?”Micaela and Jacques were staring at him as well, now. Ethan winked at

Micaela,andGilesfelthisirerisingevenmore.“Don’tsupposeyouwanttogetusacupofcoffee,doyou,lad?”Ethanasked

youngJacques.TheheirtotheGatehouseonlyglaredathim.“Ah,well,Ithoughtnot.”HeturnedbacktoGiles.“Inanycase,I’vegotthe

nameofthedemonbehindallthis,theonetheoldmagician’sbeenworshipingallthistime.Arightbastardheis,too.”Howwouldyouknow?Gilesthoughttoask,thoughitwascertainlypossible

Ethancouldhavejustdonetheresearch.“Well?” Micaela asked. “Fulcanelli was always very circumspect. I never

heardhimcallhissponsorbyname.Areyougoingtoshareitwithus,orshallwewaitfortheworldtoend?”

Ethan looked at her wistfully. “Ah, Ripper,” he said, “you always seem togravitatetowardstheoneswiththatdry,cuttingwit.”Hisupperlipcurled.“It’sreallynotverybecoming,actually.”“Ethan!”Gilessnapped.Themagicianrolledhiseyes.“It’sLordBelphegor.”Giles’seyeswidened.“Thewandererof—”“Ofthewastelands, lordofvileflesh,hornedmaster,yes,allofthat.”Ethan

satdowninachairatthestudydeskandleanedback,hishandsbehindhishead.“Prettypowerful,isn’the?”“Extremely,”Giles replied,alreadymoving toward thestackswherehekept

his books. After three steps, he paused and realized that his reference onBelphegorwas in aboxhehadneverunpacked, for fear someof the teachersmightseeitandrealizehowcompletelyinappropriateitwas.Thebookwas calledTheLordsofHell.And itwas in abox. In the library

cage.WhereOzpacedbackandforthinallhiswerewolfhungerandfury.“Damn,”Gileswhispered.“There’smore,”Ethansaidhappily.“Iknowwhere theSonsofEntropyare

holdingtheSlayer’smother.”Gilesstaredathim.“GoodGod,man,whydidn’tyousayso?”“Idid.”ItwasJacqueswhospokethewordsGileswasthinking.“Buthowwillweget

toBuffynow?”heasked.“Ifonlyyou’dcomesooner.SheandAngelmightstillbehere.”“Oh, ifshe’swithAngel, Icanfindher,”Ethansaid.“Ihavea locatorspell

thatwilltrackhimdown,noproblem.”Micaelashookherhead.“Idon’tunderstand.AfterwhatRuperthastoldme

aboutyou,Imean...why?Whyareyoudoingallthis?Iwouldthinkyou’dbetryingtohaveasmuchfunaspossibleintheshadowoftheapocalypse.”“PerhapsIdohavea.. .shallwesay,mischievousnature,”Ethanadmitted.

“Butitismyworld,too,isitnot?”ItwasclearMicaeladidn’tbelievehim.Notentirely.AndGilesdidn’tblame

her.Unfortunately,theydidn’thavemuchofachoice.“Istilldon’ttrustyou,”hetoldEthan.“Well,bullyforyou,”saidthemagician.

“Nothing!”Buffysnapped.“Thiswasanotherwasteoftime!”

Witha shoutofanger, she lashedoutwitha swiftkick thatknockedoveralargemetalbarrel.Therewasalargedentinitssidewhenitcametorest.Angellaidahandonhershoulder,hisgentletouchsoothingherjustabit.“Buffy,we’re doing allwe can,” he said. “Itwas only logical thatwe look

here.ItwasthefirstplaceyouranacrossmembersoftheSonsofEntropy.”Theywereinsideanoldcanningfactoryonthewaterfront.Ithadstoodempty

for years.While they were looking into the rumors of a sea monster off thecoast,Buffy,Xander,andCordeliahadunknowinglysavedoneof theSonsofEntropyfromasavagecreaturecalledSpringheelJack.Itwasthelastplaceshecouldthinktolook.“Butit’swrong,Angel!”shesaid,feelingasthoughshewascrumblinginside.

“She’snothere,andifIdon’tfindhersoon,Ijustknowthey’regoingto...”“Shush,” he said tenderly, and pulled her into a firm embrace. She felt the

coolfleshofhishandon thebackofherneck, thefamiliarweightofhisheadwhereheresteditontopofhers.Buffyletitallgoforjustamoment,letherselfbecomforted.Inalltheworld,Angelwastheonlyonewhocouldholdherlikethat,whocouldgiveherasafeharbor,aworldinhisarms.Aworldshecouldneverhave.“Let’sgo,”shesaid,pushingawayfromhim.“Thisisawasteoftime.”ShewasgladAngeldidn’taskhertoclarifythatlaststatement.As they turned to leave, a figure filled the door through which they had

entered thecannery. Itwas tall and lithe, itsarmsdown to itsknees.Far fromhuman.“Well, hello, young lovers,” said the thing, in a voice like silk tearing on

thorns.Itsteppedfartherintothebuilding,shaftsoflightfromshatteredwindowsall

overtheplacemakingakindofcheckerboardpatternofillumination.Itslippedinandoutoftheshadows.“Whatisit?”Angelasked.“Whoknows?”Buffysighed.“Let’sjustkillitandgetoutofhere.”Suddenlyitleapedfromthedarknessbehindher—how’ditgetbackthere?—

andgrabbedBuffy,inachokehold.She threw her head back and felt her skull strike its face with a satisfying

crack. The thing released her, and Buffy turned, spun into a high kick, andshatteredoneofthoselongarms.Thethingshriekedandstumbledintoashaftoflight.Itwashideous.Scalesandridgesandahuge,toothlessmawwithtinywaving

tendrilsinside.Itdidn’tseemtohaveeyesatall.“Okay,I’dhavetoconsult,oh,Idon’tknow,thedentist!Butmyguesswould

bedemon,”BuffytoldAngel,whocametostandnexttoher.“Imusthaveyou,” itsaid,with thatvoicepushedoutby the littlewormlike

thingsinitsgapingthroat.“Isubsistoffthepainoflove,andthereissuchpainhere.”Buffypaused.Angel laidahandonhershoulder.“It’sall right,”hewhispered.“Let’s just

destroyitandgo.Wehavemoreimportantthingstoworryaboutrightnow.”Hewasright.Shehatedit.Buthewasright.“Howdoyoudothat?”sheaskedthedemon.“Why,Ieatthelovers,ofcourse,”itreplied,andlurchedatheragain.“Butwe’renotlovers,”Buffyretorted,andkickeditagain.Inthemidsection

thistime.Shedidn’twantherfootanywherenearthatdisgustingmouth.“And,oh,thesucculentpainofit...”Itroseagain.AngelcamefrombehindBuffy, theoildrumoverhishead,andbrought the

hugemetalbarreldownonthething’shead.Itwentdownunderhisonslaught,buthestruckitagain,andagain.Andagain.Buffy watched him, feeling each blow. Understanding. There were many

things they could no longer share.What they shared nowwas a great deal ofpain.Painthatthisthinghadremindedthemof,attheworstpossibletime.Eventually,shestoppedhim.“Angel.It’sdead.”He glanced at her, then dropped the barrel with a massive clang. “Yeah. I

wonderwhereitcamefrom?”Avoicefromthedoorwaymadethembothlookup.“The barriers are dropping. Slowly, but it is happening,” said the voice. It

belongedtoEthanRayne.There was someone else with him, just outside the door. Buffy saw the

reflectionofthemoononhisglasses,andknewitwasGiles.“Anditwon’tbethelast,”theWatchersaid.“Notunlessweputastoptoall

this.”Buffywasabout to speak,butpausedasGilescame towardher.Something

aboutthelookonhisface.Therewassomethingthere...something...Therewashope.Buffyunderstood,then,andhervoicewasawhisper.“You’vefoundher.”

Chapter

7

SEATEDINTHEDEPRESSINGLITTLESTORAGEROOMTHAThadoncehousedthemotheroftheSlayer,Fulcanellistudiedtheswordthatrotatedslowlyintheair.Itwasaveryoldweapon,oldereventhanhe.Hadriushadtradedhissoul for it,orsoheclaimed.Fulcanelliwas inclined tobelieve it;Hadriushadbeenthecruelestandmostheartlessbeinghehadeverknown,himselfincluded.Hethoughtbacknowtothosedays,ofhowhisfather—orrather,themanwho

washisfatherintitleifnotindeed—hadlefthimboundandgaggedonHadrius’drawbridge in the dead of night. The foolish bastard crossing himself andmakingthewardagainsttheevileye.

“Godkeepyou,”thesuperstitiouspeasanthadwhispered,hisbreathlikethesmokeofthehellishbonfirethatstillragedinthedistance,“thatistosay,keepyoufarfrommeandmine,youhellspawn.”Giacomostrainedtospitattheman,butthetattered,filthyragstuffedintohis

mouth prevented that satisfaction. He was so furious he was certain that hisspittlewouldwitheraflower,orburnaholeinstone.Andasforthistoothlesshalf-wit who had actually dreamed that he was the father of such a boy asGiacomo, who had had the temerity to call him “son,”while all the villagechuckledatthemerethought...Giacomo’sspitwouldhavesenthimstraighttohell.The peasant turned and ran, his shadow trailingafter like a cowardly twin

beneaththesmokymoon.Withallhisheart,Giacomowishedhimill:badcrops,abarrenwoman,deathbyhanging.Then time passed, and while his anger smoldered, his discomfort began to

rise.Heshiveredinthecoldasthemistsfromthemoatlappedathisbodyandchilledhisbonestoadull,numbingache.Thetightbondsaroundhiswristscutoffallsensationinhishands.Therightonewascurledaroundtheleftasif to

pluck thewithered fingersoffhisdeformedhand, themiserableculminationofhisuselessleftarm.“Uselessexcept inmagick,”hismotherhadwhispered tohimwhenhewas

very,very little,as the twostoodalonebefore theenormousstone fireplace inthehallofagreatlord.Giacomodidnotknowtheman’sname,onlythathewasversedinthegreatestoftheoccultarts,andlovedGiacomo’smother.“Your hand is a sign of great favor from the king of the shadows,” she

continued.Whisperingalways.Somuchof their timehadbeenspent in furtiveconversation, his mother looking over her shoulder, slipping things into hishands:apoultice,acharm,atalisman.Theonlypersonevertosmileathim,evertoembracehim.Whenonehada

mothersuchasshe,whatelsedidoneneed?Andthenonenightthepeasantwhowasherhusbandheardthem,sawthem,

astheybentoverthegreatcookingpot,conjuring.“Hide,mydarling!”hismothershouted.Beneaththebedhehadscurried,ableonlytoseetheheavilyshodfeetofthe

soldiers.Hismother’sbarefeet.Shewas screaming.She kickedand fought, andoneof the soldiers laughed

andsaid,“Struggleallyouplease,strega!NoteventheDevilwill liewithyouafterwe’redone!”Theycarriedherout the frontdoor.Inahomespunnightshirt,Giacomoran

after,sobbing,deliriouswithterror.Heknewwhatallthismeant.Hehadseenotherwomensufferandburn.Hisfeetwerebruisedandbleedingbythetimehereachedtheclearingwhere

such things were done. The enormous bonfire was already lit and blazing, ahuge,infernalmountain.Hismotherwaswildwithfear,herlarge,darkeyesflashing,herfacebruised

where theyhadbeatenher.She knewwhat the firemeant.And she knewwhohadbetrayedher.Giacomo knew it, too: it was his supposed father,who now stood beside a

pinetreeandalmost touched—butdidnotquitetouch—thehandofabeautifulyoungwomanbesidehim.HerchinwasraisedintriumphandhereyesglitteredasshegazedatGiacomo’smother.Hismotherreachedoutherhandtocurse thecoupleandwascuffedacross

thebackoftheheadbyoneofthesoldiers.Shecriedoutandwentlimp,fallingto theground inaheapof long,blackhairanda flowingwhitenightdress fartoo rich and beautiful for thewifeof a peasant to own. Years later,Giacomo

decidedthatitwasthenightdressthathadconvictedher,andhadtoadmitthatithadbeenfoolishofhertoflauntit.Butatthetime,hewasonlyalittleboywhosemotherlaysprawledinthemud

asonedead.“Fool!” the local priest had shouted at the soldier.“Now shewill have no

chancetorecant!”“She’llnotdothat,notinamillionyears,”calledGiacomo’ssupposedfather

inhisruggedFlorentinedialect.“She’sastregaputtanaandshe’llburnlikeapieceoftallowbeforeshe’llconfess.Andyoumayaswellthrowthatoneinwithher.”HepointedatGiacomo.Theboytrembledashismotherwaslashedtoatall

ladder.Heopenedandclosedhisfistsandstaredather,willinghertoturnintoa raven or a bat and fly away. But she had fainted, and she could not saveherself.Someof thevillagewomensmiledas the ladderwasraisedover thebonfire

thatlitupthechillynight.Giacomoglaredatthem.Undercoverofnight,theyhad come to his mother, begging for love potions and philtres. “Make mebeautiful.Makehimloveme.Killmyrival.”Theydidn’trealizethatthewitch’ssonobservedallfromthedarkcornersoftheroom,whilethehusband,drugged,snoredintheloft.“Givemechildren,elseIdie.”Theyraisedtheladderhighagainstthemoon.Thestarswerethetearsinthe

eyesofthekingoftheshadows,anditwastohimGiacomoprayedtosaveher.Thehornedmoongleameddully,andthencloudssmotheredit.Theairsmelledofrain,andGiacomostaredhardatthestars,willingafloodtoputoutthefire.Butitwasnottobe.Itdidnotrain.Theladderteeteredatitsgreatheight.The

flamescreptupthesides.Thentheyletgoofit,anditcrashedintothesummitofthe bonfire. His mother had awakened at the last as the ladder arced. Sheshriekedwith terror andagony. The villagerswere awed by the sight of suchtorment.Thepriesttooktheopportunitytowarnthemthatsimilarfiresawaitedalluncleanandunshrivensouls.Asherbodyburnedandcrackled,Giacomowouldhaveturnedhishead,but

his“father”helditsteadyandforcedhimtowatch.Thenhevomiteddownthefrontofhisnightshirt,andhisfatheronlylaughed.Thedeedcompleted,thevillagersdispersed,thoughhowmanyslept,Giacomo

couldnot say.Sucha frenzywouldnotyielda softnightof slumber.Passionsmustbespent.Guiltandhorrormustbepurged.

Aloneintheclearingwiththepeasantandhisparamour,Giacomohadbeenbound and gagged. The heartless young woman smiled as Giacomo’s fathersaid,“I’llbefreeofyoubothbeforethecockcrows.”Now Giacomo lay on the drawbridge, shaking hot, shaking cold. Hatred

burnedawayanysoftness;inthatmoment,evilforgedallthathewouldbecome.Then the great portcullis was raised, and Hadrius, in black armor and a

terrifyingblackhelmetdecoratedwithreddevils,appearedastrideanenormousblackhorse.Inhis righthand, clad inablack leathergauntlet, heheldaloft a swordof

uncommonsizeandheft.“Nottofear,boy,”hesaidtoGiacomo,astwosquiresraisedtheboyacross

thegreatsaddle.“Thisnightwillseeyouavenged.”Andtheyrode,oh,howtheyrode!Cuttingthemalldown,thesmugpeasantry

toastingandfeastingthedestructionofNataliaFulcanelli!Inthetavernandintheirbeds,everychild,everyman,everywoman.The best, saved for last: the peasant and his whore, burned to death with

magick.“It isLa Brûlure Noire,” Hadrius told Giacomo, “and before I die, I will

makeyouitsmaster.”Andhedidbecomethemasteroftheblackburn.ThuswasheknownasIlMaestro.

Now, in the rude little storage closet, Il Maestro grunted with anger. Henarrowedhis eyes into slits as the vicious edge flashed in a field of cracklingblueenergy.Thebladethirsted,andhe,themostskilledandfearedofsorcerersonsomanydifferentplanes,appearedtobeincapable—for the timebeing—ofgivingitwhatitdesiredmost.Whatithadoncesavoredsolustfully.ThebloodofaSlayer.In1539,MariaRegina,theChosenOne,hadbeeneasytosubdue,easierstill

tosacrificetoFulcanelli’slord,Belphegor.Thepowerofherdeathhadcoursedthrough Fulcanelli’s veins like an incredible drug. In all his hundreds ofthousandsofdaysasasorcerer,therehadbeenonlyahandfulofmomentswhichrivaled that thrill, that ecstasy. One had been the slow death by torture ofGiulianaRegnier,thewifeofthefirstGatekeeper.Another,whenhehadfinallymasteredLaBrûlureNoireandburnedarivaltodeath.Like the blade, he thirsted for another suchmoment.Had believed that the

glory was almost upon him. Now, however, something was going terribly

wrong. He wanted the heir, Jacques, for his power and for revenge on theRegnier clan, but thus far, he had been denied the boy. It was absolutelyunsupportabletoFulcanellithatthatshouldbethecase.Itshouldhavebeenaneasymattertopluckhimaway,body,soul,andsmall,beatingheart.Likewise,theSlayershouldbedeadbynow,athishand,withthisverysword.

Andyetshestilllived.“There is no justice in the world,” he groused, then smirked at his own

ridiculouschoiceofwords.Hehadlongagostoppedbelievinginjustice.Infact,itsabsenceusuallybenefitedhim.But nothing was going his way. Unbelievable as it seemed, two of his

lieutenants,ClaudeandLupo,hadturnedagainsthim.Evenmoreunbelievable,some of the brothers had joined the two traitors. Others were considering it,discussingit.WeaknessandduplicitytraveledinFulcanelli’swake.And while it was true that he had planned to give every single one of his

followersaneternityofendless torment in return for their loyalty, andnot theprincely power over the earth that he had promised them, he neverthelesscounteditaprofoundinsultthathehadbeenbetrayed.Thosewho insulted him once should not count upon living long enough to

insulthimtwice.However,BrotherClaudeandBrotherLupowerenowheretobefound.That

concernedhimfurther.Heretofore,noneofhisfollowershadbeenabletohidefromhim.Dareit,andtheywereashesbeforetheyrealizedthey’dbeencaught—Onthesword,inthefieldofblue,adarknessformed.Withinthedarkness,the

familiarsilhouetteofhornsandtrunkblurred,thencoalesced.Belphegor’sfacecrystallizedupontheblade,spinningslowlylikeasunasFulcanellitriedtomaskhis fear at the appearanceofhis sponsorwithoutFulcanelli having summonedhim.“Mylord,”hesaid,withwhathehopedwashumility.He inclinedhishead,

thoughtbetterofit,andpreparedtokneel.Thebladestoppedmovingandpointeddirectlyatthebaseofhisthroat.“Giacomo,”Belphegorsaidwithdeceptivesoftness.“Igrowimpatient.”“Yes,yes,”Fulcanelli saidwithnervousasperity, then realizedwhathewas

doing and cleared his throat. He said slowly, “Yes, great lord. I know. I’mmakingprogress.”“Progress.”“Yes.”Fulcanelliswallowed.Thusfar,Belphegorhadneededhimasmuchas

he needed Belphegor. But the barriers between worlds were growing weakerwitheachpassingmoment.ThedemonhadinsistedthatthebloodoftheSlayerwasnecessaryforhispurposes,butwasthattrue,ifMicaelacouldserveasherreplacement?Whatofhis,Fulcanelli’s,ownblood?Fulcanelli wondered if it was time to find another sponsor. Not as a

replacement—Belphegorwouldsurelyshredhisfleshfromhisbonesifheevenattemptedsuchathing—butasprotection.Itwouldbeariskymattertoapproachanother denizen of Hell, requiring skill and cleverness. But perhaps it wouldproveriskiertodonothing.Fulcanelli glanced anxiously at the reflection of Belphegor. The demon’s

silencewasunnerving;yetFulcanelliknewthatthelongerhehimselfrefrainedfromspeaking,thelessworriedhewouldappeartobe.Hehadperfectedtheartof conversational brink-manship over the centuries; yet now, faced with hisfailure and the dangers it posed him, he had to fight hard not to turn into agibbering fool, intent upon making excuses he himself would never allow asubordinatetomake.He clenched his fists.Hewas not a subordinate ofBelphegor’s.Hewas an

ally.“Youseemtroubled,”Belphegorsaidmildly.“No,greatlord,”Fulcanelliassuredhim.“Notatall.Allisgoingaccordingto

plan.”“Oh,really?”“Yes.”“ThattheSlayeryetroamsfree.Thatyourdaughterhelpstoguardtheheir.

Thatyourownconfederatesbetrayyou.Allthisispartofyourplan?”Fulcanelliblanched,yetheretainedhiscomposure.Hemovedhishandsand

said,“It’struethattherehavebeenanumberofobstacles—”“Obstacles!”The storage room began to quake. Rolls of paper towels cascaded to the

cementfloor,unfurlinglikepartystreamers.Plasticbottlesthumpedtothefloor.Ajarshattered.TheswordflewatFulcanelli.Heraisedhisrighthandtostayitwithmagick,

butitsailedpasthisthumbandslicedopenhischeek.Fulcanellishouted insurprise.Thebladeclattered to thefloorandhe tooka

stepbackfromit,touchingthewound.“Excellent,”Belphegorsaid.“Allowthedropletstofallontheblade.Ishall

tasteyourbloodthisday.”“Mylord,”Fulcanelliprotested. Itwouldshamehimtoobey.Andhedidn’t

wantthedemontoknowtheflavorofhisfear.“DoasIsay,Giacomo.”Thevoicewasdeceptivelygentle.“Idesireonlyto

communewith you. You aremy best beloved one in this sad little realm, youknowthat.Ihavenowishtohurtyou.Onlytoknowthatyouarestillmyfriend.”Fulcanellihadlittlechoice.Hetookhishandawayfromthecut,hisfingertips

sticking to thealreadydryingblood,pressedagain,andsmearedhishandovertheblade.“Ah,” Belphegor sighed with contentment. “Delicious. And filled with

power.”Fulcanellisaidnothing.Butheknewhistimewasrunningout.

“Buffy,yourmotherisattheolddrive-in,”Gilessaid,asheandEthanjoinedAngelandBuffyinthecanningfactory.“It’sbeentransformed.”Buffysaid,“Let’sgo.”AngelhesitatedandlookedatGiles.“Transformedintowhat?”“Alabyrinth,”Gilessaid.“Have you seen it yourself?”Angel pressed. “Or did you actually trust his

word?”“Angel,” Buffy protested. “Let’s just get going.” She glared at Ethan. “He

knowsthatifthisisatrap,orasickjoke,I’llbreakhisneck.”Ethan raised his brows. “For heaven’s sake, you’re just loadedwith aggro,

now aren’t you? Slayer Spice. Girl power. Good Lord, why is theworld stillextantatall,withahotheadlikeyouastheChosenOne?”“Watch it,” Angel said. His face morphed into full vampire grotesquerie,

whichEthanalwaysfoundfascinating.Ethansaid sorrowfully,“Youdon’t trustme. I’mcrushed.”Heputhishand

overhisheart.AngelputahandonEthan’sshoulderandappliedpressure.“Crushingcanbe

arranged.”“Thatdoeshurt,”Ethansaidmildly.“Allright.Listen.Notfarfromwherewe

stand,”hesaidsottovoce,“asmallcontingentofyourdreadedSonsofEntropyrecentlyvisitedthegrocerystore.”Buffystaredathim.“They’refondofvariousformsofpasta,asonemightimagine.Linguine,that

sortofthing.”“Did you cast a spell to find them at this grocery store?” Buffy asked

suspiciously.Ethan shrugged. It was a poor lie, and he wasn’t about to compound his

troublebyelaborating.Itwouldn’tbewisetoletthemknowthathe’ddinedwithone of the Sons of Entropy earlier, then seen theman killed. Itmight lead toquestionshe’drathernotanswer.He’dbeentryingtoseewhathecouldgainbybetrayingBuffy andher friends.Nowhis onlyoptionwas to help them.Fine.Butitwouldbebestforhisphysicalwell-beingiftheydidn’tknowhe’dtriedtosellthemouttoBelphegor.“Theymeandered around for quite a long time, fixating on all the different

kindsofcoffeetobehad.”Heshrugged.“Boringlot,those.Whencoffeebrandsconsume somuchof their otherwise precious time. Imagine having thatmuchtimeonyourhands.”The hand on his shoulder threatened to pulverize bones. “Get to the point,

damnit,”Angelgrowled.Ethanfrownedathim.“Doyoumind?”Thepressureincreased.“I followed them. Theywent to the drive-in. And I sensed the presence of

yourmotherwithalocatorspellfarsuperiortoanythingRupert’sattempted.”The lookBuffygavehim toldhim thatRuperthadnot recentlyattempteda

locator spell. Then Ethan remembered they’d not gotten that far in their jointmagickalstudies.“Allright,”headmitted.“Nolocatorspellhere,either.Iheardherscreaming.”The Slayer blanched and looked as if violencewas not far off. She pushed

pasthimandsaid,“Giles,”assheracedoutofthecanningfactory.AngelandGilesrantocatchupwithher.Ethanfollowedbehind.“We’reinmyrental,”heannounced.“Where’syourcar?”BuffyaskedherWatcher.Rupertobviouslyunderstood

herdistinctunhappinessinallowingthedreadMonsieurRaynetochauffeurher.“Hisisfaster.”“Bigger,too,”Ethansaidairily,“thanthatdeathtrapRipperpedals.”Briefly,animageflashedintoEthan’smindofRupertonanoldmotorcycle,

vintageWorldWar II,withBuffy on the back andAngel in a sidecar.All ofthemingogglesandwhitescarves.Itwassoridiculoushegrinnedfromear toear.Evenwiththeworldending,itwasimperativetokeepone’ssenseofhumor.

They reached his vehicle. As Rupert climbed into the front seat on thepassengerside,Ethanflashedhimajauntygrin.Theoldboydidn’trespond.“Andwe’reoff,”Ethanannounced.Angelclenchedhisfists.HehatedEthanRayne.Thesorcererhadputademon

intoJennyCalendar,howeverindirectly.Angelhadbeentheonetosaveher,andironically, it was a trauma she had only partially recovered from before he,Angel,hadmurderedher.Angelhadoftenwondered if theordealhad spurredher to find a way to restore his soul into his own demon-inhabited body. Iffeelingsodefiledanddirtyhadincreasedherguiltoverthecurseshe’dknownherpeoplehadlaidonhim.RidiculousasitwastotrytopinanyoftheblameforherdeathonEthan,Angel figured theBrit andhimself both for ridiculousfigures.Fatallyridiculous.Buffysaidanxiously,“Damnit,Ethan.Faster.”Theyhurtledthroughthenight.Perhapsoneminutedraggedby.Perhapstwo.

Whenyou’reovertwohundredfortyyearsold,timetakesonanewrhythm.Asdoesdeath,andthecontemplationofit.“Weneed a plan,”Buffy said. “Wecan’t just pull up and ask them to give

back mymother.” She said to Ethan, “Did you tell them we were willing totrade?”“Wearenot,”Gilessaid,“andIwillnotallowyoutothinkthatway,Buffy.”

Heclearedhisthroatathersteelygaze.“Thatis,Iwouldrequestthatyourefrainfromsuchnotions.”“Yessir,”Buffysaidwithmockobedience.“They’re going to know the Slayer’s coming,” Angel cut in. “They have

locatorspells.Runestones.”“Ihavemagick,too,”Ethansaidreasonably.“Ihaven’thonedmyskillsinthe

areas of violent offense, I’m afraid. My talents are for more subtle magicks.Though I’ve prepared certain spells, studied up a bit for the bloodshed, youmightsay.Also,I’mfairlycertainIcanmaskourarrival.Andourassault.”Hehalf turned from the steeringwheel. “You see, dear girl, yourmother’s beingheldinsidethehugemaze.They’vegotherinthere,wanderingabout.”Angel cast a sidelong glance at Buffy, who tensed as she listened. He

understood;he,too,hadthefeelingthattheothershoehadnotyetdropped.“That’sall.Justfrighteningher,”hesaideasily.TheybarreledontoRoute17 andwent flyingoutof town.Buffy’s jawwas

tightlyclenched.Amusclejumpedinthehollowofhercheek.“I said tohurryup,” shemuttered, leaning forward.Angel couldpractically

hear her grinding her teeth. He reached out a hand and touched her wrist. Itdidn’tseemtoregister.The dark shapes of trees and fences blurred across the night-blackened

windows of Ethan’s car. Angel couldn’t shake his sense that this was badbusiness,atrapconcoctedbytheBritishsorcerer.Whoknewhowmanydoubledeals he had going? How many monsters, human and otherwise, he hadpromisedtheSlayer’sheadonaplate?Angelwantedto tellBuffytheyshouldturnback.Theprotectivenesshefelt

towardherwasoverwhelming.Buthewouldbewastinghistime,andhers.Heknewshewasgearingupforthefight,andsheneededhisconfidenceinherandhisownbattlereadiness.Suddenly,astheyflewbyalargefieldandbegantopassbeneathabridge,a

fog rushed up like an oceanwave and cascaded over them. It spread out andenvelopedthecar,thickandoily,clingingtothewindows.“Damn,”Gilesmuttered.Buffysaidtensely,“No,it’sgood.”Angelcompletedherthought.“It’scamouflage.Itmeanswe’regettingclose.”Directlyinfrontofthecar,thefogthinned—theonlyplacewhereitdidso—

andEthansmiledproudlyintotherearviewmirror.“Good work, eh? Seen from the side, they’ll think their silly little trick is

working. We’ll pull over in a few minutes and hike the rest of the way in.Good?”“You’reabloodygenius,”Gilessaidsarcastically.He turned toBuffy.“We

stillneedaplan.Now,whatIsuggestis—”“Okay.”BuffyhunkeredforwardwithherhandsonthebackofGiles’sseat.

“Wesneak inasquietlyaswecan.Ethan,youmakesure theycan’tsenseourpresence, especially mine. They’re looking for me. You blow it, and I’ll killyou.”“Nottofear,m’dear.”“Yeah,right,”shesnapped.“WhileIfindFulcanelli,AngeltakesonanySons

of Entropy who notice us. With Ethan’s help. They’ve probably got spiny-headed guards or trolls or something guarding the perimeter. Giles, youconcentrateonmymom.”“That’sareasonablefacsimileofwhatIwasgoingtosuggestmyself,”Giles

said.Shesighed.“That’sprobablythebestwecando.Asusual,we’reoutgunned

andoutnumbered.”

“Outnumbered,yeah,outgunned,never,”Angelsaid,smilingather.“Oh.” Ethan snapped his fingers and looked up at Buffy in the rearview

mirror.“DidImentiontheMinotaur?”Thethreestaredathim.“Inthemaze.Ratherkeenondevouringyourmother,I’dsay.”Therewassilenceinthecar.ThenBuffy’svoicewasdeadlyquiet.“Whenthis

isover...”EthanRaynechuckled. “Ifwisheswerehorses,deargirl,well, let’s just say

myworldwouldbeamuchmoreamusingplace.”

Cordelia andWillowwalkedclosely together as theywentdownoneof themainhallsoftheGatehouse.Theplacewasenormous,withmaybeasmanyasathousandroomsfoldinginandoutofearthlyspace.“Itwas totally freakywhenwegothere,”Cordelia toldWillow.“Thehouse

was, like,wigged.Oneminuteweweredown in thebasementwith thiswormmonsterandthenext,we’reupinanatticwithAntoinette.”She tossed her hair. “Xander almost got eaten by ghouls, Buffy had these

pantherpeopleafterher,andIwasstuckontheroofinafire.IwouldhavediediftheGatekeeperhadn’tsavedme.Well,Buffyhelpedalittle,too,”sheadded.On Willow’s left, something shrieked wildly, then threw itself against the

carvedwoodendoor.Shejumped.“See, the thing is,” Cordelia said, apparently unconcerned, “theGatekeeper

has tomake sure all thesemonsters stay here.And he has to collect any newones that come through the breaches. Oh, and pretty things like fairies andunicorns.”“Unicorns?”Willowechoed.“Cool.”Cordelia nodded at her. “Someof this stuff is neat.But someof it is, eew,

possessedorsomething.Therewerethesesprite things,andGiles thought theyweresogorgeous,butthentheirstomachsstartedexplodingand—”Therewasa terriblehowl, followedbya seriesof ferociousgrowls.Adoor

downthehallburstopen,andXanderappeared.Hewassweatyandpanting;hishairhunginhiseyes,andtheT-shirtheworeclungtohischestandarms.“Xander,whatareyou—”Cordeliablurted,butheheldupahand.Thenheraisedhisarmandfacedthedoor,sayinginaboomingvoice,“Bythe

godsofold,Ibindthee!IcalluponPan,myprotector,tosubduethee!”Thegrowls turned toyelps, thendiedaway.Xandergrabbed the sideof the

doorandslammeditshut.

“Man,”hesaid,wipinghisforehead,“norestfortheweary.”Willowwasimpressed.“Wow.Whatwasthatallabout?”sheasked.“Some of the rooms are losing their cohesion, the magickal bonds are

loosening,” Xander said casually, as if they were talking about the latest badbandtodebutattheBronze.“I’mdoingthebestIcan,butthebarriersbetweenworldshavebeenbatteredsomuch,and they’restill takingabeating fromtheinside—fromthingstryingtogetout—thatIdon’tknowifI’muptothis,Gate-boyornot.”Heshruggedandfellintostepwiththetwogirlsastheyreachedthedoorway.“So,”he said, “areyouvixens ready for another skirmishwith the losers in

black? Because my spider sense is tingling, as Buffy would say. I’ll bet youthreechilidogstheSonsofEntropyaremassingforanattackonthefrontlawn.”The ghost of Antoinette Regnier shimmered into form within touching

distanceofWillow.Willowstillhadnotgottenusedtothepresenceoftheghost,which was odd, considering that she—and Xander and Cordy, too—hadexperiencewith ghosts. Itwas hard not tomove away, but she didn’twant toseemimpolite.“Youarecorrect,Gatekeeper,”theghostsaid.“Theyarecoming.”“Oh,wonderful.”Xander rolled his eyes. “When do I at least get to take a

shower?”“Oh,Ilikeyouallsweaty,”Cordeliasaid,hereyesshining.“Idohaveasortofmanlysheen,doInot?”Heputhisarmaroundherand

kissedhercheek.“KindofaB.O.savoirfaire?”“Awhat?”Cordelia asked.Shewrinkledhernoseathim.“Althoughyou’re

rightabouttheB.O.part.Youreallystink.”“Thereisnotimetolose,”saidtheghost.Withoutwarning,thehouseshookandrumbled.Plasterfellfromtheceiling,

and themarble bust ofCupid toppled from its perch and slammed against thecarpetedfloor.“You’renotwrong,”Xandersaidtotheghost.“Infact,I’dsaytime’sup.”He

ranhishandthroughhishair.“Let’ssee,I’llneedsuperheatvisionandrepulsorays...oh,andacheesesandwichwouldbenice.”“I’llmakeit,”Willowoffered.“Good.”Cordeliamadeaface.“Thatkitchencreepsmeout.”“Okay,Cor,you’rewithme,then,”Xanderannounced.“Iwantyoutoclimb

outontheroofandsnubthebadguys todeath.Maybewoundthemwith littlebarbsabouttheirattire.”

“You’re so hilarious.” Cordeliamade as if to punch him, then stopped anddroppedherhandtoherside.“It’s okay,”Xander told her. “Even though I’m somewhat godlike, you can

stillsmackme.”Thehouseshookagain.Moreplastertumbleddown.Xander turned and gave Willow a wink, saying, “Sandwich.” He kissed

Cordeliaonherlips.“Later.”

Thenhestrodeaway,awarethattheywerewatchinghim.Hewasamazedatwhathadhappenedtohim.HewastheGatekeeper.He,XanderHarris,theguyvotedmostlikelytobemediocre,tonotdoanythingwithhislifeexceptserveasRikertoBuffy’sPicard.Whichactuallywasquiteanaccomplishment,whenyouthoughtaboutit.Butaroundhere,hewasPicard,Kirk,Sisko,and—Godhelphim—Janeway,

allrolledintoone.Okay,notJaneway.Scratch that.She talked likeaConeheadandhedidnot

getherfashionsenseatall.“So beam me up, Scotty,” he muttered, as he went to battle the Sons of

EntropythreateningtoinvadetheGatehouse.HisGatehouse.Raising his chin, squaring his shoulders, he marched down the curving

staircase that led to thehouse’sentryway.Fromthere,he threwopen the frontdoor,daringthemassingacolytestoattack.One did, a scrawny man with Asian features, sending a bolt of pulsing

lightningstraightforhim.Xanderrepelleditwithamurmuredwordofmagickandaflickofhiswrist.Returnedtosender,itexplodedinthechestoftheAsianman.Theacolyteburstintobits.Xanderwatchedinsatisfactionasarippleoffearwentthroughhisenemies.“Next,”heshouted,tauntingthem.“Who...whoareyou?”oneofthemcalledtohim.Hegrinned.“Well,I’mnotthehomecomingking,”hereplied.“ButI’lldoin

apinch.”

Chapter

8

CLOAKED IN BLACK, BROTHER CLAUDE CROSSED HIS arms andwatchedasBrotherLupodirectedthetyingofthesacrificetothehastilyerectedaltarinsidetheservicetunnel.SubterraneanSunnydalewasawarrenofdarkandeeriepassagewaysandsewers,andnaturalcaveformations,perhapsspeakingtoacommunalneed,consciousorotherwise, toburrowdownawayfromthesunandsleepinthelapofHell.Someoftheundergroundplaceshousedtrulyfascinatinganduniquedemons

andmonsters,asmorgasbordofevil thatmusthavekept theSlayerverybusy.Claude was still mulling over the implications of a man-sized skeleton, parthuman,partfish,theyhadfoundwhilepreparingthealtar.Intriguing.Akelpie?Hewasn’tsure.Smallanimalskeletonsandboneswithahumanappearancehadbeen scattered around it—its prey, perhaps? He squinted and notedapproximately a dozen or so tiny skeletons he was sure were those of DarkFaeries.Howwonderful,torevelinthebeautiesoftheHellmouth!Buthemustpayattentiontothematterathand.Ascoleaderofthegroup,he

mustgivetheirritualduereverence.Thethreeacolyteswhoboundtheyounggirlwereclumsywithnervousness.

Everyone in their band—numbering almost two dozen—was anxious anduneasy. Andwith reason: though Claude and Lupo hadmanaged to convincethem that to remainwith IlMaestrowas to die, the two had not been foolishenoughtoguaranteetheirsurvivaliftheysidedagainsttheiroldmaster.Thus,thesacrificetochaos.Oneofmanysacrificestheyhadmadeinthelastfewhours,actually.Thealtar

andthedirty,damptunnelfloorwereawashinblood.Thisone, their last,wassomeprettyyoungthingthey’ddraggedintothecarwhennoonewaslooking.Hertenderbeautywouldgreatlypleasethedarklords.

Claudewasstillsorrytheyhadn’ttakentheSlayer’smother.Shewouldhavebeenaverypowerfulsacrifice.Withouttheproperrituals,herdeathinthemazewould be a ridiculous waste. And her presence had done nothing to lure theSlayerintoFulcanelli’sorbit.Provingfurtherwhatanimbecilehewas.Claudesucked inhisbreathat thiserrant thought.Oldhabitsdiedhard,and

thoughhehadgone against his onetime leader, hehadnot shed the automaticresponse, developed over years, of showing Il Maestro proper respect at alltimes,inthought,word,anddeed.The sacrificewas now fully bound, and the acolytesmoved away from the

altar. They still wore the hooded robes of their former order, the Sons ofEntropy.ClaudeandLupohaddiscussedit,anddecidedthattherewasnotimetooutfit theminsomethingelsetoritualisticallyset themapartfromtheworldtheysoughttooverrun.Butnow,lookinguponthebrethrenastheymovedinthedark, dank tunnel, he wondered if that had been a mistake. If they felt liketraitorsratherthancourageouswarriors.Brother Lupo began the ritual, with Claude and the others intoning the

responses. Howmany sacrifices had he attended, even performed? Hundreds.Andyet,eachonewasspecial,ifonehadthedisciplinetomakeitsuch,andthebeliefthateachonemattered.Onthealtar,thegirlmoanedinterrorandtriedtostruggle.Theyusuallydid.

It was always a wasted effort. He found it in his heart to pity her, althoughusuallyhe feltvery little, ifanything, for sacrifices.At least theendwouldbequick. Once Lupo stabbed her through the heart—now the bald man held adaggeraloft—shewouldstrugglenolonger.Asallheldtheirbreath,Lupopaused.Thenheputdownthedaggerandsaid,

“Standback.”Claudefrownedslightlyandcockedhishead.Thatwasnotpartoftheritual.Lupo stoodapart as theothersgazedat himuncertainly.Hisbodybegan to

glowalmostimperceptibly,withanauraofoilyblackflame.Claudeopenedhismouthtospeak,buthewasmesmerized.TheblackfirecrackledalloverLupo’sframe,engulfinghim.Eventhegirlonthealtarwasdistractedfromherplightasshestared,goggle-eyed.Lupoextendedhisarmsalmostcasually.Perhapsthenthesacrificeunderstood

whatwas to come, for she strained against herbonds and shriekedbehindhergag.Itwasnotpleasant.Thetunnelfilledwithsmokeandseveraloftheacolytes

hadtomovefartherdownthepassage,doubledoverwithcoughing.ButClaudecouldnotstopwatching.Neithercouldanyoftheothers,whowatchedinmuteastonishment.Then, as the corpse fell in upon itself into a pile of ashes, anger and

excitement mingled in Claude as the acolytes began to fall on their knees inobeisance toLupo.Hemust consider his nextmove carefully.Lupo had beengrandstanding,true,butontheotherhand,moraleamongtheacolyteshadsunkdangerouslylow.Nowtheyweresmiling.Cheersroseup.Theyhadseenoneoftheir leaders achieve the black burn, Il Maestro’s most dangerous weapon ofdestruction.Theirsidestoodachanceafterall.LupogazedlevellyatClaudeandsmiled.Claudedidnotsmileback.If they

both survived their war with Fulcanelli, a confrontation between them wasinevitable.AndClaudecouldnotperformtheburn.ButifLupodidnotsurvivethewar...Nowhedidsmile.Lupolookedmildlyuncomfortable.Claude said, “It’s time to go, brothers.We fight for our lives.We fight for

chaos.”“Forchaos,”theyintoned.Lupomovedawayfromthealtarandcrackedopenawoodencrate.Insidelay

acacheofautomaticweapons.Hepickedoneupandsaid,“Iwanteachofyoufullyarmed.Nomanleavesherewithoutoneofthese.”Hebegan to toss them to thebrothers, someofwhomscrambled eagerly to

catchthem,otherswhoshiedawayasiftheywerehandgrenades.Theweaponswere another surprise, and again, Claude had mixed feelings. He had oftenarguedthattheSonsofEntropyshouldbebetterarmed,especiallytheoneswhowerenotmagickallyadept.But the fact remained thatLupohadnot consultedwithhim,andagain,hewasestablishinghimselfas thegenerousbenefactorofthegroup.Claudewalkedoverandpickeduponeoftheweapons.ItwasanAK-47,and

hehadusedonebefore.Manytimes.“They’resimpletouse,”Luposaid.“Watch.”Whileheranthroughaquickdemonstration,Claudeflickedhisfingersatthe

ashesofthesacrifice.Theyroseintoacolumnintheair,thenresettleduponthealtar.Heexaminedthemforsignsandportents,smilingashefoundevidenceofpersonalvictory.

Lupowas temporarily distracted by Claude’s actions. Claude shrugged andmade his face a blank; Lupo narrowed his eyes and returned to his trainingsession.So.Lineswerebeingdrawn.Post-Fulcanelliplansmustbemade.Claude walked the length of the tunnel and closed his eyes. He formed a

mental picture of an imp sitting on his shoulder, chittering in his ear like anorgangrinder’smonkey.Itsmottledgrayfacewaselongated,itseyesmereslitsofglowingscarlet.He concentrated until he could feel the pressure of the imp’s weight, the

pinpricksofitstalonsasitbalancedonhisshoulder.Thegraveyardsmellofit.Itsgrating,freneticvoice.“Findtheheir.FindMicaela,”hetoldit.Itgabbledandgibbered,andthenitunfurleditsleatherywingsandflewaway.Maybe this time, Claude thought. He had sent other familiars and other

creatures out searching.Nonehadbeen successful, andhehaddestroyed eachonewhenithadfailedhim.“Ogreatdarkgods,”hemurmured, “makeme thekingof thisworld, and I

will gladly becomeyour imp. Iwill be your dog. Iwill do your biddingwitheverybreathItake.”Nothinghappened.Withthisparticularprayer,nothinghadeverhappened.Hetriedagain.“Iwillgiveyoupower.IwillnotrestuntilIhavegivenyou

theSlayer.”An icy shiver passed through him and he involuntarily arched his back in

surprise.Thenhe realized that somethinghadpassed insidehim,and takenupresidence.Atlonglast,hisprayershadbeenanswered.He turned and impatiently clapped his hands. The sound echoed down the

tunnel,eerily louder than themovementsof theSonsofChaosas they learnedhowtousetheirnewtoys.Allheadsturnedinhisdirection.“I’ve received direct word from the ones we serve,” he announced. “It’s

time.”“We’renotfinished,”Luposaidhaughtily.Claude felt the presence inside him stretch against hismuscles and tissues.

Thebonyridgesofhisforeheadpushedforwardatanobliqueangle, thensankdownward.Thecartilage in the ridgeofhisnosepushed through the layersofsinewandskinandpresseditsfeaturesontohis.Hismouthstretchedalmostto

thebreakingpoint,andfrozeintoplace.Histeethelongated,andsharpened.HelookedatLupo,whoblanched.Theothersdrewback.Thenslowly,oneby

one,theyfelltotheirknees.“We’refinishedhere,”Clauderetorted,butitwasn’thisvoicethatspokethe

words.Gravellyanddeep, itwasthevoiceofsomethingancientandveryevil.Oneoftheoldgods,theLordsofChaos.“ItistimetofaceFulcanelli,”thevoicecontinued,“anditistimeforhimto

die.”

Buffy looked down from their vantage point on the hill behind the drive-inandmuttered,“Well,thisisjustterrific.TheonetimeIneedyoutobealiar,andyou’retellingmethetruth.”Ethanshruggedapologetically.“Sorry.”Giles raised an eyebrow and glared at the magician. “Ethan, what did you

hope to accomplish by keeping theMinotaur a secret until the very last?”Hestaredangrilyathisformerfriend,nowhisveryuntrustworthyally.“Dramatic tension?”Ethanquipped.Heheldouthis armsas ifhewanteda

bighug.“It’sjustthatsideofme,Ripper,theonethatlikesthingstobealittleuncertain.That’swhatIlikeabouttheSonsofEntropy.They’reintoit.Entropy,Imean.Disorder.Confusion.That’sthestuffthatgetsanopportunistlikemeallhotandbothered.”Hecoveredhismouthwithhisfingertips.“Oops.Beggingyourpardon,Miss

Summers,youwithyourtenderyouthandallthat.”“Stifleyourself,Ethan,”Buffysneered.Shedismissedhim,andreturnedher

attention to the maze. “Can you see her?” she asked Angel, then glanced atGiles.Gilesshookhishead.“I’msorry,no.”“ButIcansmellsomething,”Angeloffered,sniffingtheair.“Somethingvery

musky.”“It’stheMinotaur.”Ethanshookhisheadinmocksorrow.“Ikeepexplaining

toitthatifitwouldonlybathe,itcouldreelintheladies.”“Oh,yeah,andyou’resuchababemagnet,”Buffysaidflatly.Thenshestartedmovingcarefullydownthehill,murmuring,“Whichwayis

thewindblowing?”Giles followed after, and Angel after him. Bringing up the rear, Ethan

grumbled,“ButIamababemagnet.”

They reached the outer wall of the maze. For a moment they stood still,clearlystymied,untilBuffytookabreathandslammedherfootintothewall.ToGiles’suttershock,shedisappearedinsidethemaze.Thenshepoppedbackoutandsaid,“Yikes.”“Whoa,”Angelsaid,lookingatGiles.“Whathappened?”“LiketheFlyingDutchman,andanyoftheotherodditieswe’veencountered,

thelabyrinthisnotsupposedtobehere.Itmayhavebeenpulledthroughfromthe Otherworld by magick, or simply slipped through, now that the barriersbetweenworldsaredisintegrating,”Gilesexplained.“Butwiththemagickalwarbeing waged, and all the barriers so tenuous, its presence may be onlytemporary.”“Meaning?”Angelprompted.Giles frowned. “At any moment, the maze might be sucked through, and

rematerializeintheOtherworld.TheGatekeepercouldneverreturnthosethingsthat slipped into our world before, but I’d bet now,with thewalls so thin, itwouldbeasimpletask.Inanycase,that’sgotnobearingonthelabyrinth.ItwasneverboundintotheGatehouse,asfarasIcanrecall.”“Wonderful. So if we go inside, we may be whisked away to another

dimension, never to return?” Ethan turned to go. “I’ll sit this one out, if youdon’tmind.”Angelgrabbedhisarm.“Wemind.Wemindverymuch.”HelookedatGiles.

“The sooner we get in and find Joyce, the sooner we can get the hell out ofhere.”Gilesclosedhiseyes.Therewasnotasinglepartofhimthatwanted tosay

what hewasgoing to say. ItwouldonlymakeBuffy angry, and she certainlywouldn’t listen tohim.Buthehadaduty,andsohewent throughthemotion,uselessasitwas.“TheSlayercannotriskthis,”heannounced.“Theworld—”“Oh,please!”Buffycried.“Ithangs in thebalance,okay?Howmany times

amIgoingtohavetohearthat!”Gilespersisted.“Ifwearetakentoanotherdimension,butnotkilled,I’mnot

sureanotherChosenOnewouldbecalled.Youwouldbeimpotentand—”“Hey,noneedtogetpersonal,”shegrowled.Sheputalegbackthroughthe

mazewall.“That’smymominthere.I’mgoingin.There’snothingyoucando.”Sheliftedherchin.“Excepthelpme.”“Allright.”Gilesbowedhishead.“Iknewthatwouldbeyouranswer.”Sheflashedhimherbestlittle-girlpout.“AndIknewyouwouldtellmenotto

doit.”Sheduckedintothemaze.Onebyone,herteamfollowedafter.

Themazewas pitch dark and smelled of rottingmeat. Buffy gagged once,thenresolutelyhunkeredintostalkingpositionandbegantomoveforwardoverthehard-packedearth.“Weneedtokeeptrackofourroute,”Angelsaid.“There’s the right-hand rule,” Giles replied. “Keep your right hand on a

surfaceatalltimes.Ifthere’sabreak,findtheadjacentwallandkeeptouchingitwithyourrighthand.Itworksonanymaze.InEngland.”“Okay,Alice inWonderland,”Buffymuttered.“But I’mnotdoing that. I’m

fromtheguessandstumbleon,guessandstumbleonschoolofmazes.”“Verywell,I’lldoit,”Gilessaid,“butifwegetseparated,thenlistenformy

voice.”“Hey,where’sEthan?”Angelsaid.Buffywhirledaround, tackled the retreatingmagician,and threwhim to the

ground.“Oof,”Ethanwheezed.“Please,thisisn’tarugbymatch.”“Getup.”Buffywasdisgustedwithhim.Shegottoherfeetandyankedhim

toastandingposition.“Allright.GoodLord,whodiedandmadeyouXena?”“SamepeoplewhomadeyouDr.Smith.”“Sorry,Idon’tfollow,”Ethantoldher.“LostinSpace?”Buffyprompted.“Thecowardlybadguy?”“We’refromBritain,Buffy,”Gilesinformedher.“WehadDr.Who.”“Whatever.”Buffy flungEthanforward.“Onemore time,andyouwon’tbe

watchinganyTVeveragain.”“Iloveitwhenyou’reangry.”Buffy gritted her teeth and walked behind him. She wished she had a

flashlight.Ornot.The clouds shifted. Themist cleared away, and the full moon shone down

upon the labyrinth.Thewallswere litup, theground, litteredwithbones,wascastinlong,jaggedshadows.Everyone froze.Directly before them stood a creatureBuffy dimly recalled

from her mythology class: a muscular, filthy man wrapped in a piece of

cowhide,hisheadthatofahugebull.Massivehornsglintedinthewaxylight.Somethingtrickleddownthesideofitsface.“No,”Buffymoaned.Withabellow,thecreaturecharged.

“Oh,yes,”Fulcanellirejoiced,asheheardtheroaroftheMinotaur.Hisfacequiveredwithdelight;he rose fromhischair in theprojectionboothandflungopenthedoor.Instantly,asmallthrongofhoodedacolytesfrozeintheirplaces,awaitinghisbidding.“TheSlayerhasarrived,”hesaid,certainof itwitheveryfiberofhisbeing.

“Gointothemazeandretrieveher.”“Go—go into the maze, Maestro?” piped one of them, a very young

Australianwithagoateeandanearring.“Withthe...beast?”“I’ll follow in less than aminute,” Fulcanelli assured him. “I have a quick

spelltocast,andthenwe’lltakeherdown.”Herubbedhishandstogether.“Withany luck, the heir will be with her.” Toomuch to hope for, surely, but then,Fulcanelliwassuchanoptimist.The brothers looked at one another. Fulcanelli flared with anger. He threw

back his arm and flung a blue net of energy over the Australian. The manscreamed.Fulcanellipulledbackhishandandthemancollapsed,dead.Theotherstrampledoverhiscorpseintheireagernesstoobey.Suddenly, the corridor exploded with gunfire. A hail of bullets riddled the

bodies of the acolytes, dismembering them and spraying thewallswith bloodandgore.ShrieksofpainandterrorrenttheairasFulcanellidovebackintotheprojectionroomandslammedthedoor.Hecrawledbeneathadeskthathadbeenpushedintoacornerandcaughthis

breath.Who dares? he wondered, livid. He closed his eyes and murmured a few

syllablesinancientSumerian.At once the faces of Lupo and Claude glowed across his eyelids. Then

Claude’sfacedissolvedandinitsplace,thefaceoftheAncient,oneoftheLordsofChaos,glaredathimwithcontempt.“Foolishman!” it thundered.“ToalignyourselfwithBelphegor.Nomatter.

Nowyoushalldie.”Fulcanelli shook his head. “Hardly,” hewhispered, and, falling deepwithin

himself,hepulledforththestrongestofhismagickandmentallyhurleditatthedemon face. Itmelted in an instant, leaving the demon’s imagewrithing in a

silentscreamofpain.Alertednow,hecreatedafieldofenergyaroundhimselfandrosetohisfeet.

Dozensofbullets slammed into the energy, andwere absorbed.Fulcanelli feltnothing as he crossed the room andwent back into the corridor.Many of hisfollowers lay dead in pools of blood and organs. Others cowered behind oneanother.But there were those brave few who were defending their positions with

magick,andonenewbrotherwhowasmanfullythrashingattheemptyairwithachair.Atthesamemoment,thedoorattheoppositeendblewoffitshingesandthe

corridor began to fill with men dressed identically to Fulcanelli’s own. Theywere armed with machine guns, and they began to fire upon Fulcanelli’sremainingacolytes.“NotwhileIlive!”Fulcanellishouted.Hebegantheblackburn.Recognizing it, the first rank of attackers faltered and fell back. In that

moment of hesitation, Fulcanelli’smen pursued them,wresting their weaponsfrom them and shooting them point-blank. The next rank, caught between thedefensive sweep and the rest of the raiding party, had no choice but to staywheretheywere,sittingducksforFulcanelli’sinfuriatedmen.ThenFulcanellirechargedtheblackburn,andanothermanblazedlikeatorch,

screamingashedied.Another.Fulcanelliwasadervish,employingeverymagickalweaponhehad,repelling

theinvadersinafuriousstormofenergyandshock.Theykeptfallingback,andintheconfusion,Fulcanelli’stroopsbegantogiveasgoodastheygot.FulcanelliheardBrotherLuposhouting,“Forward,youfools!”IlMaestrosmiledgrimlyandkeptuptheattack.

*

“Now!”BrotherClaudeshoutedfromhisvantagepointonthehill.“BringtheSlayer.Woundher ifyoumust.Hurtherbyallmeans.Butdon’tkillher.Notyet.Withoutritual,itwouldbesuchawaste.Go.”The Sons of Chaos spilled into the maze, shooting everything they saw—

bushes, an unlucky deer, theMinotaur’s throne of bones. They began to racedownthemainarteriesofthelabyrinth,callingtooneanother,maddenedbythe

chaselikehuntingdogscatchingthescentofthefox.

Buffyheardthepop-pop-popofgunfireassheranasfastasshecouldfromthechargingMinotaur, thenpropelledherselfoff theendof thestonecorridor,flippedbackwardandslammedintoitsface.Itroaredandtriedtograbher.“Look,” she said, as she gave it a bone-cracking roundhouse for good

measure,andthenclippeditbehindtheknee,“givememymomandwe’llgetyououtofhere.”“IdoubthespeakstheQueen’sEnglish,”Ethanshouted.“That’s okay. I don’t either.”Buffy side-kicked the thing in the groin, then

lungedforwardandjammedherfingertipsunderneathitsdiaphragm.Threehoodedfiguresleapedfromthetopofthemazewall,onedroppingon

theMinotaurandtwodroppingonBuffy.“Buffy!”Angel cried, brutally punching a young acolyte in the temple and

throwing off another attacker as if hewere a bad fur coat. Theman’sAK-47wentoff,sprayingtheskywithbulletslikeawatersprinkler.BythetimeAngelreachedBuffy,shehadputsomedistancebetweenherself

andthemonster...intheformoftwowhimperingacolyteswhohadsomehowdroppedtheirweapons.TheMinotaurlashedoutatthefirstoneanddecapitatedhim.AnotherhoodedfiguredroppeddownonBuffy.“What,doyouguyshaveoneofthosestealthhelicopters?”Buffydemanded,

pummelingthenewarrival.Hegotoffabarrage,pepperingthewallwithbullets.Healmostgother,too,butshejumpedintotheairandexecutedaspinningkickthattookhimoutcold.Buffy dropped to her knees and grabbed his gun.As she rose, she saw the

Minotaur looming above her. It stared down at her, and she saw that it wasbleedingfromseveralbulletwounds.Shealmoststruckoutatit,orletflywithabarrage of gunfire. Instead, she held the gun up for theMinotaur to see andlookedhardatthemonster.“They have guns,” she said. “It’s only amatter of time. Getmymom and

we’llallgetoutofhere.”TheMinotaurgazedbackather.Itseyeswereenormous,andveryblank.She

hadasinkingfeelingitcouldn’tunderstandawordshesaid.Thenitabruptlyturneditsbackandbegantolopeaway.“Chicken,”shecalledafterit.Gunfire exploded everywhere. Buffy could barely hear herself think. Then

therewasapause,andGileswasshouting,“Buffy!Wehaveher!Wehaveher!”“Giles,whereareyou?”shecried.“Right-handrule,”heshoutedback.“Notnow,”shegroaned,but sheplasteredherhandon the rightwallof the

maze and began racing through it. The walls shook. Where her hand met acorner,theentirewallshimmeredanddisappeared,thenreappeared.Thebreachisweakening,shethought.Thisbabymayblowanyminute.“Ethan!Angel!”shecried.“Buffy,I’mbehindyou,”Angelsaid.Shefelthishandonhershoulder.Thenthegunfirerecommenced,sendingbothofthemdivingtotheearthand

covering their heads. Dirt spit at them as the bullets stabbed into the ground.SomethinggrazedBuffy’sback,andshegrittedherteeth.Finally, she dared to look up, and for one terriblemoment, shewished she

weredead.Bathedinmoonlight,hermother’sbodylaylimpinthearmsoftheMinotaur.“No,”Buffywhispered.Shebegantogetup.“Buffy,staydown!”Angelwhimpered.TheMinotaurcamecloser.Hermother’sheadwascantedatanoddangle.Her

eyeswereclosed,hermouthslack.Buffy staggered toward theMinotaur. It looked down at her strangely, and

thenityieldeditspreciouscargo.Buffytookhermotherintoherarms.“Buffy,run!”Gilesyelled,runningupfrombehindthecreature.Hetookthe

unconsciousJoycefromBuffyandgesturedwithhishead.“They’reafteryou!”“Run?”shesaid,incredulous.Thenthelabyrinthflickered.Therewasnowordforit.TheMinotaurreached

outahandtowardBuffy.Shesaid,“C’mon,”butasshedidso,thestructureshookandflickeredagain.Without another thought, she leaped over the bodies of their attackers and

madeacannonballrunfortheendofthecorridor.Asshereachedthewall,sheclosedhereyes,loweredherhead,andcharged.“Buffy,no!”Angelyelled.Foraninstant,shefelttheimpactofherskullagainstunyieldingstone.Oh,great,wrongguess.Thenhermomentumpropelledherforward,andshetumbledthroughthewall

andontothemistdampenednightgrass.Angelrolledoutafterher,followedbyGileswithJoyce.

The Minotaur was halfway through when the maze vanished. It screamed,soundingutterlyhuman,asitwascutintwo.Itstorsoandheadfloppedwetlyontheground.Therestdisappearedwithitslair.Buffyandtheothersracedforthecar.“Where’sEthan?”Angelasked.“Whocares,”Buffysnapped.“Ihopehe’sinHell.”“OrintheOtherworld,”Gilessaid.“Samediff,”Buffyanswered.

The stench of dying choked Fulcanelli where he crouched in the tunnelbeneaththeSunnydaleDrive-In.Thelabyrinthwasgone,andthosetraitorswhohadbeeninit.“AndtheSlayer?”Belphegordemanded.“We’ll haveher,”Fulcanelli said.Hewaswounded, shot in the leg.A rosy

glowenvelopedthewound,andhewaswholeagain.“Aswehavetheheir?”“He’llneverleaveSunnydalealive.”“Apparentlyhehas,”Belphegorsaidinaneven,verycalmvoice.Fulcanelli

knew that tone: the demon was gripped by an ungovernable fury, whichthreatenedtoeruptatanymoment.“What?”Fulcanellidemanded,cockinghishead.“Didyounotfeelit?TheGatehousehasanewkeeper.Theenergyisfartoo

vibrant,fartooyoung,tobethatoftheoldman,Jean-Marc.“JacquesRegnierhasslippedthroughyourfingers.”“Impossible!”Fulcanellicried.“Absolutelyimpossible!Ihavesetbarricades,

wards—”“Hehasgottenpastthem.Andnow,yourlifeisforfeit.”“No,”Fulcanellisaidquickly,panicking.Thenmorecalmly,ashehatcheda

plan,“No.”Henoddedtohimselfasthepiecesfellintoplace.“I’lldealwiththispersonally.I’llgotoBoston.”“And?”Belphegorprodded.“I’llkillthisnewGatekeeper.”Hesmiledtohimself.“Andwhenheisdead,theSlayerwillhavenoonetoturnto,andI’llkillher

aswell.”

Chapter

9

ITWASNEARDAWNINSUNNYDALE.INSIDEANGEL’Smansion,Buffyandhermother sat in chairspulledupbefore thewarm fire,drinking tea.Theroomwaschilly.Angel’splacemightbestylish,but itwashardtoheatall thestone and cement. Buffy hadmanaged to keep track of her backpack all thistime, and her English sweater was around her mother’s shoulders, where itlookedathome.Note to self: curb impulse buying, she thought, but no part of her self was

listening.Nopartofherselfcaredaboutfashionorshoppingoranyofthatrightnow.Instead,Buffywatchedhermother’shandsshakeasshebroughtherteacupto

hermouth.Notforthefirsttime,andnotforthehundredth,BuffywantedtotellJoycehowsorryshewasforeverythingsheputherthrough.AlthoughBuffyhadnotchosen tobe theSlayer, she feltguiltier about it thanall the trouble she’dpurposelycausedasasmart-mouthedairheadbackinLosAngeles.Shopliftingalipstick now and then and sneaking out to party had strained her parents’marriagetothebreakingpoint—she’dnevergetoverthatguilt—butnoneofthathadputhermother’slifeindanger.BeingtheSlayerdid.Thatknowledgewouldnevergoaway.Andneitherwouldthatthreat.Ifthey

survivedallthis,itcouldeasilyhappenagain.“Mom,”Buffysaidslowly,“nowthatweknowwhat’sgoingon,maybeyou

shouldleaveSunny—”Hermother raisedherchin, smoothedBuffy’shairaway fromher forehead,

andbrieflycuppedBuffy’scheek.Hereyesglittered.“Youlookolder,”Joycesaid.Buffytriedtoswallow,andcouldn’t.“Iamolder.”JoycetookBuffy’shandandgaveitalittleshake.Herlaughwasbrokenand

sad. “I remember when you lost your two front teeth, and you tried to stuff

cotton balls in yourmouth before your second-grade class picture to hide thespaces.”“Vanity, thy name is me,” Buffy said, trying for a light tone, not getting

anywherenearit.Shesetdownherteacup.“Mom,I’mserious. Itwouldbesafer . . .”She tookabreath.“. . .easier if

you weren’t here. Sunnydale is on the Hellmouth, Mom. When bad stuffhappens, ithappenshere.We’vebeenputtingBand-Aidson it, sure,butwheneverythingblows—”“Buffy, if theworld ends, Iwant tobewithyouwhen it does,” Joyce said.

“YouandIareafamily.Weneedtostaytogether.”Buffysighedhard.“I’mnotgettingthroughtoyou,Mom.I’mtheSlayer.”AtearsliddownJoyce’scheek.“AndI’mtheSlayer’smother.AndIdidn’t

choose it either, Buffy. But you know, I would rather be your mother thananyoneelse’s.”Buffylaughedshortly.“Yeah.ExceptmaybeWillow’s.”“Oh, honey.” Joyce pulledBuffy into her arms andBuffy laid her head on

Joyce’s shoulder. Buffy closed her eyes and listened to the strength in hermother’svoice.Drewfromit.“NotevenWillow.”Buffysaidquietly,“WhenGiles toldme they’dkidnappedyou, I refused to

takeJacquestoBoston.IthinkJacqueshasbeenlyingtome,tellingmethathe’ssaferhere.Becausehe losthis father,andheknewhowit felt.Hedidn’twantme to lose you.” Reluctantly, Buffy pulled away and sat up. “That shouldn’thavehappened.Ishouldhavegone.”Joycecockedherhead.“Butweliveinaworldwhereyoustayed.AndIlike

thatworld,Buffy.Verymuch.”“Me, too.”From somewhere deep inside herself, she dredgedup a lopsided

grin.“Exceptwecouldlettheschoolblow.That’dbeokay.”Joycechuckled.“That’smygirl.”“Yeah.”Shyly,Buffypulledawayandpickedupherteacup.Shedrank,savoringthe

warmth.Shewasvery,verycold.

Giles cracked open the door to the bedroom, letting in a sliver of light. Itgleamed golden on Micaela’s blond hair as she stood over Jacques, tenderlystaringdownattheboywithherarmscrossedoverherchest.Gilesmovedtojoinher.Shesmiledgentlyathim,thengazedbackdownat

the boy. The heir’s right hand lay outstretched on the pillow, as if he were

reachingoutforsomething.Someone.Micaela sat down gently on themattress and took his hand.He sighed and

shiftedslightlyinhissleep.Leaningover,shepressedhercheekagainsthis.Thensherose.Togethertheylefttheroom,Gilesfirst.Micaelashutthedoorandpressedher

handagainstit.“He’ssoyoung,”shesaidsoftly.“Justalittleboy.Heshouldbedreamingup

pranks.”Theywalkeddownthedimlylitcorridor.“Idon’tsupposeyouhadmuchofa

childhood,”Gilessaid,“beingwhatyouwere.”Whensheflushed,he tookherhand. “Sorry. I didn’tmean that to soundharsh.What Imeantwas, having toleadadoublelifeasyoudid.Yourloyaltiessplit.”In the gauzy light, she looked incredibly young. But there was a careworn

maturityinherfacethatbeliedherappearance.Forallherapparentsoftnessandyouth,Gilessawsteelyresolveinherexpression.Inperilofherentireexistence,nowandin thehereafter,Micaelahadturnedagainstoneof themostpowerfulsorcerers ever born, an ancient creature capable of ending theworld.And shehad done it not to save someone she loved, nor even to save herself: she haddoneitbecauseitwastherightthingtodo.Onehadtorespectapersonlikethat.“Iwant to tellyou that I’msorry foryour loss,butofcourse thatwouldbe

ridiculous,” Giles said, and again, he thought he sounded cruel. Upon theirreturn,JacqueshadinformedthemthathecouldnotsenseFulcanelli,andthathebelieved the sorcerer had been killed in the battle and disappearance of thelabyrinth.Itwasatremendousrelief,butJacquesalsostatedthattheworkofthesorcererappearedtohaveremainedinmotion.Theworldwasstillinjeopardy.“Youlooklikeyou’reabouttocry,”shesaid.Hewasfloored,foruntilshe’d

said it,hehadno ideahehad felt so sorrowful.Sheadded,“Ormaybeyou’rejusttired.”“Yes,perhaps.”Hegazedather;shecaughtandheldhislook.Gilesstirred;shewassoverybeautiful,andhedidnotneedtohidewhathe

wasfromher,nothingofhisdoublelifeastheWatcher,norofthespecialkindofaloneness thatcreated.Hewasnotgiven toself-pity,butuponoccasion,hedidfeelratherlonely....

“Micaela,”hemurmured,touchingherfingertipswithhis.“Whenthisisover.

..”She studied his face. “Would you be able to forget everything that’s

happened?EverythingIhelpedcausetohappen?”Hecockedhishead.“Ifindit themostremarkablethingthatwewhoareso

intimatelyinvolvedinthebattlebetweengoodandevilareevenmoreinvolvedwiththeshadesofgraybetweenthem.I’vedonemanythingsinmylifeI’mnotproudof,andI’mcertainIshalldomanymore.“Andmanyofthemwillbeinthenameofgood.”Shelookeddown.“ButwhatIdid...youwerenearlykilledbecauseofme.”“No, not because of you.Because of IlMaestro.Youwere trying to please

yourfather,”hesaid.“Itseemswe’reallfatedtosomeversionofthat.Pleasingthem, inheriting their expectations. Most parents insist they only want theirchildren to be happy.” He smiled crookedly. “But you and I, and Buffy andJacques—wehaveratherbittersweetlegacies,andourhappinessissecondarytowhatwemustdo.”“Saidwithoutresignation,”shenoted.“Upon occasion.” He smiled faintly at her. “When I’m trying to impress a

lady.”Theywalked into the living room,whereBuffyandhermomsat insilence,

drinkingtea.WhenJoycelookedupatGiles,hesawthathereyeswereredwithtears.Herfacewasdrawnandshelookedverytired.“Hey,”BuffysaidtoMicaelaandGiles.“It’salmostlight.Where’sAngel?”“I’m sure he’ll be along shortly,” Giles told her, though he had been

wonderingthesamething.“I’mgoingtohavetoleavesoontoretrieveOzfromthelibrary,”headded.“ThenweneedtostarttalkingaboutBoston.”“Oh,”Buffy’smomsaidquietly,thesoftestofprotests,butonethattuggedat

Buffy.“Yeah,”Buffymurmured.“Boston-bound.We’reoverdueonthatfront,too.”“Buffy,Angelwillbehere,”Micaela said.Maybeshedidn’tunderstand the

lookonBuffy’sface.Ormaybeshedid.“Now,I’vephonedtheGatehousetotellthemwebelieveFulcanelliisdead,”

Gilessaid.“Which,ofcourse,pleasedXanderenormously.ButthefactremainsthatheisnotactuallytheGatekeeper,andshouldnotbedoingwhathe’sdoing.”“Mybad,”Buffymurmured.Thensheshifted,realizingeveryonewaslooking

ather.Shepickedupherteacup,whichwasempty.“Do you want some more?” her mother asked, noticing, and got up, very

momlike,togetit.“Giles?MissTomasi?”Gilesbegantoshakehishead,butMicaelasaid,verywarmly,“That’ssonice.

Letmehelpyou.”Smartone,thatMicaela.ThatleftGilesandBuffyalone.Buffysaidagain,“Thesun’salmostup.”“Maybehe’srestingsomewhere,”Gilesoffered.“Heknewhecouldn’tmake

itintime,soheholedup.”She nodded. “Yeah.” She shrugged. “Y’know, I can see why Kendra’s

Watcherwouldn’tletherhaveanyfriends.”“ShewasagoodSlayer,”Gilessaid.Therewasamomentofsilence,during

whichBuffypainfullyrecalledcradlingthemurderedKendra,deadatDrusilla’shands.Herblankstare.“Butyou’restilltheSlayer,Buffy,”Gilescontinued.“Yourspecialness,your

uniqueness has often been remarked upon by the Council.Which is probablywhy IanWilliams knew so much about you.” IanWilliams had been one ofFulcanelli’sfollowers,whohadmanagedtoinfiltratetheWatchers’CouncilandsetupBuffy,Angel,andOzinLondontobemassacred.Intheend,IlMaestrohadkilledhimforfailingtodoso.Shechuckledslightly.“Myuniqueness.YoumeanthefactthatIdon’tfollow

therules.”“Yes.Neitherofusdoes.Youknow,backwhenIwasarebelliouskid,they

talkedaboutkickingmeout.Iwanteddesperatelyforthemtodoit.”“Gettingkickedoutwouldbenice,”sheagreed,sighing.“Butone’sdestinyisone’sown.Youcan’thanditoff.”“Willow’s parents would definitely agree with you,” Buffy said. “I’m sure

when she gets back, they’re going to ground her for life. Unless she getsacceptedtoHarvard,”sheaddedwithmildsarcasm.He raisedhisbrows. “Oh, sheapplied there,did she?Good. Iwasafterher

about that.Yes,well, as for theother,yourmother and I areworkingon that.We’vebeenconcoctingastoryaboutanartexhibitionandextracredit...”Hepusheduphisglasses.“Imustsay,myadmirationforyourskillsinprevaricationhasgrownduringthiscrisis.”Buffyworkedonatranslation,cameupempty.“Myskills?”“Youlieverywell,whenyouhaveto.”Shedimpled.“You’resuchacharmer.”“I’vebeentoldthat,yes.”She grinned at him and slid her glance in the direction of the kitchen.

“Lately?”Justthen,MicaelaandJoycecameoutofthekitchen.Gilessaidnothingmore,

buthischeeksweretingedwithpink.Slayersnoticedthingslikethat.

Theghostroads.Cladinaflowingblackrobe,Fulcanelliglidedoverthelandscapeinadeep,

ebonyshadowofsuchcoldandevilthateventhedeadstayedaway.MonstersoftheOtherworld, demons fromHell, they all kept their distance.Nothing couldpenetrate thedarkness surroundinghimand theSonsofEntropywho traveledwithhim,andonlythefiresofHellcouldwarmit.And Hell was advancing onto the ghost roads. Though no one could see

Fulcanelli,orhismen,healonecouldseeeverythingthatwashappeningbeyondthe shadow he had created.Demons and imps burst through several breaches,terrorizing the desperate dead who knew that if Hell came, they would bedamned for eternity. The phantoms were running along the roads, faceselongatedinterror,wildtoreachtheirfinaldestinations,whatevertheymightbe.Theearthbounddead,theconfuseddead.Someofthemhadbeenwanderingforcenturies.Somehadevenforgottenwhotheywere,andwheretheywere.Theystaggeredmadlyalong,hopelesslylost.Theywouldprovide fine fodder forBelphegor’sminions,once theycrossed

overfromHellintothisplaneofexistence.Boston, II Maestro thought, imagining the Gatehouse. Long practiced in

traveling the ghost roads, he was very good at moving himself rapidly fromplace to place upon them. His powers of concentration were formidable; hisabilitytovisualize,unsurpassed,evenbyJean-MarcRegnier.Forcenturies,theRegniershadreactedtocrisisaftercrisis.Theyhadneveracted.Alltheirmagickwasdefensive.Verylittleofhiswas.LikeDeathhimself,Fulcanelli’scloakbillowedandmovedasherushed.With

Belphegor’spatienceatanend,thehandofdeathwasuponhim.Hisfollowerssensedhisurgency,andrespondedto it.Since theirdefeatat thedrive-in, theyhadgrownfearful.They,too,neededavictory.Fulcanelliwouldseetoitthattheyreceivedone.AttheGatehouse.

*

EthanRayne turned a page and glanced over at the cagewhere they kept thewolf boy.The creaturewas finally asleep, thanks to a combinationof its ownravings and rantings, andEthan’swell-executed sleep spell.Ethanwas deeplygratefulforthesilence.Ithadbeendifficulttoconcentratewithallthegrowling.He was reading up on Belphegor from Giles’s text The Lords of Hell,

retrievedfromthewerewolf’scage.Drumminghis fingerson the librarystudydesk,heturnedanotherpage.Bigstuff,this.Ethanwasusedtosmallmischiefs,pranksreally,whencomparedtowhatwasgoingonnow.Endoftheworld,ruleofHelloverallcreation,quitesomething.ButGiles’stextwasoldandfaded,andEthanhadjustrunintosomethinghe

foundabittroubling:

Thefollowingpages,containingastheydovitalspellsandoccultwisdom,mustbeperusedonlybyeyesofmagick.Other than thosewill render thematerialuselessandnonewhogazeuponthewordswillevermakesenseofthem again. Therefore, a cautionary note: Go no further, Reader, unlessyouaretomagickborn,oryouwilldoomtheworldtorulebythefearsomeLordBelphegor,WarmongerofHell.

“Tomagick born,”Ethan repeated. “Which I don’t suppose Iwas.”Hehadlearned all the magick he knew, beginning back when he and Ripper rantogether.And hewasn’t certain thewerewolf qualified either, nor themutant.Were their conditions considered magickal? He was afraid to find out. Foraccording towhat he had just read, if someonewhowasn’t qualified read thesectioninquestion,theywouldneverdiscoverhowtodefeatBelphegor.Thenhesmiled.Forheknewwheretofindsomeoneborntomagick.God,helovedbeingresourceful.Slamming the book shut, he tipped an imaginary hat in Oz’s direction and

said,“Sweetdreams,Mr.Hyde.I’msureRupertwillbealongshortlytocollectyou.”Hewentoutside.ThelawnsofRipper’sdepressinglytrendyschoolyardwere

wetwithdew.Songbirdschirruped.Ethanwasgladthatdawnwouldcomesoon.The Sunnydale nightswere cloggedwithmore horrors than good old Londontownhadseenincenturies.EthanwassurprisedGileshadkepthisgoodlooks,whatwithallhehadtodoaroundheretomaintainthebalancebetweengoodandevil.

Ethantriedtofeelguilty,buthejustcouldn’t.Itwassuchauselessemotion.Withthebookunderhisarm,hefishedinhispocketforthekeystohisrental.

Atthesamemoment,alargegoldenretrieverboundedacrosshispath,barkinglustily. It was chasing a very small troll, who looked over its shoulder andscreamedatthebounding,eagerdog.Ethanfrowned.Abreachmusthaveopened—theymightallbeopening,now

thatthebarriersweresothin.He’dbettercheckontheonesthelittlespellcaster,Willow,hadclosed,andseeiftherewereanynewones,aswell.Butfirstthingsfirst.Hegotintohiscar,andferriedovertoSunnydaleHospital.Theparkingstructurewasclosedoff,aswasmostofthesurroundinglot.With

afewwell-chosenwords,Ethanopened theparkingbarrier to theareamarked“Physicians’ParkingOnly”andpulled intoaspacebetweenaMercedesandaPorsche.Americandoctorsdid soverywell.Next life, perhapshewouldbe abrainsurgeon.Hegotoutandlockedthecar,thenstrodeintothemainentrance.Thistime,

thecoffeecartwasopen,andhegothimselfadoubleespresso,whichthedearclerkcarefullypouredintoahugepapercup.Thesmalldollopofpotentcoffeesplashed about inside, and Ethan thought to tease the clerk by complaining,“What?ThisisallIget?”butitwassuretoslowthingsdown.Quitea lotofhospitalpersonnelwereabout,andhelookedforhis lovelyin

scrubs—oroneofherfriends.Forhistrouble,hegotafewperkylooks,andhegrinnedashewheeleddownthecorridors.Howfortunatethatthepatienthesoughthadbeensobadlyhurtthatshewas

stillhere.HehunginthedoorwayofAmyMadison’sroomandsmiled.

“Gatekeeper!” came the shout from the centerof theweirdblackcloud thatsuddenlyappearedinthemiddleoftheGatehouselawn.Aroundit,theSonsofEntropybegancheeringandwhooping.XanderraisedhiseyesquestioninglyandlookedatAntoinette.“Letmeguess,”hesaid.“PublishersClearingHouse.”“Oh,no,”Antoinettemurmured,and thenshedidsomethingverywild: she

turnedsolid.HerhandswentaroundXander’sbicepsandsheheldontohimassheswayedlikeshewasabouttopassout.“No,itcan’tbe.”“Um.Okay.Sowe’renotrich.Let’stryagain.SiegfriedandRoy?”Antoinette let go of him and buried her face in her hands.“Jacques,” she

whispered.“Jacques?Whichisagoodthing,”Cordeliaventured,lookingatXanderand

Willow.“Right?”Willowshrugged.ThenAntoinetteRegnierresumedherghostlyformandraisedherface.Whoa.

Talkaboutwigged.Thislady’shairwouldturngrayifithadn’talready.“Itisouroldenemy.ItisFulcanelli,”shesaid.“Hehascomeatlast.”“Waitaminute,”Xandercutin.“Gilessaidhewasdead.”“So, not true. Not a good thing,” Cordelia said. She moved her shoulders.

“Butit’sokay.Xandercandeal.”“Xander can?”Xander asked.He tookadeepbreath. “This is themainbad

guy,right?Everythingelsehasbeenthelacklusterhalf-timeshow,duringwhichtherestofAmericahitthefridgeorflushed.AndI’mthepinchhitter.Whichisthewrongsport,sure,butIwasalwaysintofigureskating,myself.“So.Thisguyislike,who?KaterinaWitt?Whowasthatreallybadgirl, the

onewhotriedtotakeoutthatotherskater,Tonya—”Asifoncue,theGatehouseburstintoflames.AsXanderclosedhiseyesand

concentrated, flames erupted in eachone of the thousands of rooms containedwithinthehouse.Andineachofthoserooms,themagickalbarriersthatboundthecreaturesoftheOtherworld—thestuffofmythsandlegends—begantofall.TheGatehouse’scaptiveswereescaping,bothintothehouseandontotheghostroads.Theburninghousethunderedwiththeshrieksofwild,unthinkingbeasts,the

cheers of evil beings released from their imprisonment.Monsters rammed thewalls in frenzied terror as the flames lapped at their bodies, causing hugesectionsofthehousetocrumbleintomountainsofrubble.The curtains around the window where the four had stood billowed with

orangeflamesasWillowandCordeliaglommedontoXanderandheeasedthemaway.“Yow.”XanderlookedatAntoinette.“Houston,doweeverhaveaproblem.”“Allislost,”shesaid.“No way,” Cordelia said, frowning. “My man is the Gatekeeper. He’ll fix

everything.”Sheliftedabrow.“Right,Xander?”“Youdon’tgetit.Imayhavethetools,andtheknowledge,butnottheskill,

y’know.It’slikebeinggiventhefastestracecarintheworldforyourdriver’sedtest!I’vegottalearnfast.”“Orwe’vegottaget Jacquesbackhere, sohecan takeover,”Willowadded

quickly.“I’mnotcertainthatisevenpossibleatthispoint,”Antoinettetoldthem.“So, wait, I may be Gatekeeper forever?” Xander asked, suddenly frantic.

“Y’know,it’scoolforawhile,butIcan’tkeepthisupindefinitely.”“Men.Alwayswiththeexcuses,”Cordeliasniffed.Theglassinthewindowshattered.Xandercried,“Hitthedirt!”He threw himself onto bothWillow andCordy, slamming them against the

floor, as a barrage of blue flames and strange black objects rocketed into theroom and exploded near the blazing ceiling. The floorwas burning, and bothgirls shrieked with pain. He leaped off them and pointed at their smolderingclothes,puttingouttheflames.Thenhewheeledtofacethewindow.Fireandenergypouredfromhishands

in a torrent as he returned fire.He didn’t knowhowhe did it; he didn’t eventhinkaboutdoingit.Itjusthappened.Thenheattendedtothehouse,quenchingtheflamesandhealingitallatonce,

strengtheningthebarriersaroundtheimprisonedcreatures.Thenhe staggeredbackward, andmight have fallen ifCordelia andWillow

hadn’tcaughthim.“Thisisnotlookingsogood,”hesaiddully.Hisforeheadwasdrippingwith

sweatandhewassotiredhefeltlikehewasfloatingintolittlepiecesaroundtheroom.“Ithasbarelybegun,”Antoinetteannounced.

Angel’sbackwasaflameashecrashedintothesunkengardenofhismansionand doused himself in the fountain. Luckily, the last gray shadows of nightshelteredhimtherestofthewayintothehouse.“Angel!”Buffy cried, leaping to her feet. The teacup she had been holding

shatteredonthefloorassheputherarmsaroundhimandheldhimbriefly.Then,as if she remembered who he was and that she shouldn’t do that, she pulledaway.“You’rehurt.”Hetouchedhisfaceandfeltthescratchesandbruises.“I . . .neededtopickupsomethingto . . .somesustenance.Ididn’t thinkI

wasgoingtomakeitbackhereontime,”hetoldher,“soIdecidedtobunkdownintheMaster’slair.”“Thewhat?”Buffy’smother,Joyce,said.Buffyturnedtoher.“Myfirstbigenemyhere,”sheinformedJoyce.“Ruined

church.Underground.”Joyceblinked.“Ithoughtthatwasanurbanlegend.”“Buffy,”Angelsaid,“Iranintoabunchofdemonsdownthere.I thinkthey

got out of Hell via the ghost roads, and I think there’s going to be more ofthem.”Angelwincedwiththepain,remindinghimselfthatsoonitwouldbegone.As

avampire,Angelhealedquicklyandwell.“Thatwouldmakesense,”Gilesnoted.“Xanderisdoingthebesthecan,but

thedimensionalbarriersarealreadybadlydamaged.Asthewallsgetthinnerandweaker, and the monsters and demons begin to mass on the other side, theywould by nature squeeze through at theweakest points. TheMaster’s old lairwouldbeamongtheweakest.”Buffysighed.“Oh,wonderful.”

Chapter

10

THEPHONERANG.ANGELPICKEDITUPANDSAID,“Hello.Hello?”He shook his head at Joyce and shrugged. “Just static.” He punched *69.

“CallerIDblocked.Well,theirloss.”Histonewascasual,butJoycedetectedanedgetohisvoice.Shesatacross fromAngel in the largeparlorofhisextraordinaryhome.He

sat in the shadows, and she couldn’t really seehim.Hehadofferedher everycomfort,shownheraroomwhereshemightsleepifshedesired.Givenherteaand sconesand the runof thekitchen.Ofcourse, she’dhave togoout tobuyanything more substantial, since the cupboard was pretty much bare. Angeldidn’t have to eat.When he did, it was usually to be social, or to enjoy theflavorshehadoncecoveted.Allofthathe’dexplainedtoherinfriendlyconversation.Friendly conversation duringwhich they both pretended it wasn’t awkward

forthemtobetogether.Shekneweverything,now,aboutBuffyandAngel.Or,at least,asmuchofeverythingasshecouldbringherself tohear.Butnoneofthatwastheprimaryreasonfortheawkwardnessoftheirsituation.No,therealreasonwassleepinginaroomnotfaraway.Therealreasonwas

aneleven-year-oldboysoundasleep,chest risingand fallingwitheachbreath.Joyce was exhausted, yes. And she didn’t relish the idea of running off withBuffybeforeshe’dhadachancetoshowerandrestand,well,recoverabit.Butshewasn’tabouttodoanyofthat.Notjustnow.Becausetherealreason

shewas there, the reasonnobodywanted to talkabout,particularlynotAngel,was thatnoneof themhadbeencomfortablewith the ideaof leaving thatboyasleepinabedinthatmansionwithonlyavampireforcompany.Buffy’sfaithinAngelnotwithstanding,itwassomethingthatwentunspoken.

Someone else would stay with Jacques. Someone human. And since EthanRayne had, Joycewas told, disappeared for themoment, andwas at any rate

evenloweronthetrustworthinessscale thanAngel,MicaelawasmuchneededtohelpBuffyandGileswiththecurrentcrisis.ThatleftJoyce.“Doyouneedtosleep?”sheaskedAngel.“I’mallright,”hereplied.Whichwasn’treallyananswer.Butitwouldhavetodo.Joyce,ontheother

hand, needed desperately to sleep. But to sleep in the presence of a vampire,evenAngel...shejustcouldn’tbringherselftoentertainthethought.She watched Angel’s face. He met her gaze, smiled gently, understanding.

Joycelookedaway.Afteramomentsherose.“I’mgoingtolookinontheboy,”shesaid.“Call if you need me,” Angel replied, also rising. “I have some things to

attendtoaroundthehouse.”He disappeared into the shadowy reaches of the unlit corridor, and Joyce

shivered.Outside,thesunshonedown.Buthere,itwasblackasnight.SheopenedthedoortotheroomwhereJacqueslaysleepingsoundly.Theboy

slumberedon,andJoycefeltamomentofenvy.Hehadbeenthroughanordealnotunlikeherown,andnowhehadthechancetorecoverfromit.Torest.Thensheshookherself.Shecouldnotenvyhim.First,becausehewasonlya

boy.Second,andmore important,becauseof the responsibility that laybeforehim.HewastobecometheGatekeeper.Hewasrestingnow,yes,butthismightbe the lastopportunityhehadtodothatforseveralhundredyears.Therestofhislife.Thesimilaritybetweentheboy’sdarkdestinyandherowndaughter’sdidnot

escapeJoyceSummers’snotice.Shesimplytriednottothinkaboutit.Instead,shereturnedtotheparlorandsetaboutthefamiliartasksofworryingaboutherdaughterandwaitingforthephonetoring.

“Thisfeelssoodd,”Buffyobserved,asshewalkedthroughthecemeterywithGiles,Micaela,andOz.“Imean,usuallythepatrolthingisdoneafterdark.Plus,y’know,it’ssortofsurrealtoknowthattherestoftheworldisgoingonwithoutyou,thateverybody’satschool,andthebellsareringing,andteachersaregivingouthomeworkandtestsand.. .we’reallcompletelyscrewedwhenwefinallygobacktoschool.”Ozofferedasmallshrug.“Yougetusedtoitafterawhile.Thesurrealpart,

thatis.Thescrewedthing?Whenitstartstomatter,that’sabummer.”Gilesraisedaneyebrow,andshookhisheadslightlyatthecelebratedhighest-

scoring-student-ever-to-fail-to-graduate.

“Forgive me,” Micaela said softly, “but are we getting near? I only askbecause—”“Youfeelsomething,”Ozfinishedforher.“Yeah.There’skindofa,Idon’t

know,currentorsomething.Gotmyhacklesup,too.”“Sotospeak,”Gilessaid.Ozonlynodded.“Rightoverhere,”Buffytoldher,andgesturedtowardalargecryptperhaps

twentyyardsaway.“I guess all those empty storefronts and ‘ForSale’ signs are just a fluke. If

someone’slivinghere,qualityrealestateinthistownmustbeatapremium,”Ozobserved.“Nobody lives here,” Buffy countered, a dark expression crossing her face.

“Notanymore.”“Maybenotthelasttimeyouwerehere,”Micaelacorrected.“Butthatmight

havechanged.Itseemslikelythiscrypthasnewresidents.Oratleast,itmaybebeing used as a conduit of sorts for the creatures appearing underground toemergeintoSunnydale.”“That’spreciselywhatwe’reheretofindout,”Gilesnoted.HeexchangedameaningfulglancewithMicaela,andBuffywonderedifthere

was something really brewing with them. For Giles’s sake, she hoped so. Itwould be nice to see him fall for someone. Maybe the memory of JennyCalendarwouldstophauntinghimsomuch.“Door’sopen,”Oznoted.Theyallpaused.Theheavyirondoortothecrypthungopenandtooneside,

as though it had been torn away. Buffy wasn’t sure if Angel had done thatgettingaway,orifsomedemonhaddoneitchasingafterhim.Orlater,comingoutintotheworld.“Y’know, I thought maybe doing this during the day would make it less

creepy.Butit’sactuallymorecreepy,ifthat’spossible.Stufflikethisshouldn’thappenduringtheday.”Together, they entered the crypt. Buffy led the way, with Oz andMicaela

behind her and Giles taking up the rear. The dusty gloom of the crypt wasdisturbed by their passing, and a pulsing purple light from Micaela’s handsthrew eerie shadows on the walls. There were several large, marble tombswithin, their heavy lids inscribed with the names and the life dates of thedeceased.Buffynoticedthatoneofthelidswasnew,toreplacetheoneshatteredthelasttimeshefacedevilwithinthesewalls.

Atthefarsideofthecrypt,theheavyirondoorthatleddownintothetunnelsalsostoodopen.Fortunately,itwasundamaged.“A thought. Cork the bottle, withdraw to examine the big picture,” Oz

suggested.“We’vegottoknowwhatwe’redealingwith,”Buffyargued.“IfFulcanelli’s

over,who—orwhat—isrunningtheshow?”“Iconcur,”Gilessaid,andglancedatMicaela.‘Perhapsyou’llbeabletoshoreupthebarricades,sotospeak,beforeitgrows

anyworse.”Micaeladidn’trespond.Togetherthefourofthemdescendedalonganarrowstairwell.Ithadoccurred

toBuffythefirsttimeshe’dbeenheretowonderwhohadbuiltthesestairsinthefirst place. There were electrical tunnels, sewer tunnels, and natural caveformationsbeneathSunnydale.Therewerealsoportionsofthetown,includingan old church, that had been swallowed by an earthquake nearly a centuryearlier. But there were additional passages beneath the town, tunnels thatsomeonehadbuilt,butnotforanyobviousreason.One of these days, Buffy figured, she’d have to fill the entire systemwith

concreteorsomething.Keeptheundesirableelementfromsettingupshopdownthere.Likenow,forinstance.They followed the dank underground path, eventually entering some of the

town utility tunnels. Their way was lit only by the crackling purple light ofMicaela’smeagersorcery.Forthemostpart,theywalkedinsilence.Fromtimetotime,Buffyallowedherselfasarcasticcomment.Ozwouldcounterwithadryyet telling observation. Giles would raise his eyebrows, maybe clean off hisglasses.Itfeltlikeforever.Inreality,itwasonlyafewminutes.“This is it,”Buffy said as they entered a small cavern, litteredwith bits of

existingarchitecturetoindicatethatthismighthavebeenabuildingonce,whenitstoodabovetheground.“ThisistheMaster’slair.”Shefeltafirmhandonhershoulder,andBuffyturnedtoseeGilesgazingat

her.“Areyouallright?”heasked.Neitheroftheotherswouldhavenoticedit,buttherewasagreatdealmorein

hismanner, inhisquestion, than those simplewords.The last timeBuffyhad

been here, at the end of her sophomore year, she had died. Only for a fewseconds,of course.Butnevertheless, shehadbeendead.OnlyXander’squickaction,givingherCPR,hadbroughtherback.“It’sempty,”Micaelasaid.Buffywantedtosay,“No,thereareplentyofghostshere.”Butshekeptsilent.“Not empty,” Oz observed, glancing around, his brow furrowed. “Doesn’t

anyoneelsesmellthat?Allofthat?”But none of them did. Only Oz. And it was Oz who began to back up,

glancingfromsidetosidewithalookofgraveconcernonhisface.Heheldoutahandtothem,beckoning.“Ithinkwe’dallbemuchbetteroffifwewereelsewhere,”hesaid.“I’m not sure I . . .” Giles began. Then he stared hard at Oz. “You sense

something?”“Inawolfy,supernaturalkindofway?”Buffyprodded.“That’s not usually the way it works, but . . . there’s something here.

Definitely,”Ozreplied.Micaelaturnedtofacethecavern.“Well,then,whydon’tweshedalittlebit

morelightonthesubject.”From her hands a blazing purple flare erupted, bathing the cave in violent

violethues.Pickingout,ingreatdetail,everycrackandcrevice.Everyfangandclaw.Everysnarlandslither.“DearLord,”Gileswhispered.Theywereeverywhere.Buttheywerenowhere.Monsters.Nightmares.They

weresomehowbetweenworlds,frozen,itseemed,justbelowthesurfaceofthestone or the earth or themetal. Even the puddle ofwater at the center of thecavernhadafacebeneathit.Ahorrifyingvisagelikenothinganyof themhadseenbefore,exceptperhapsinthesketchesofthemad.“Giles,talktome,”Buffysaid.Justasthethingbeneaththewaterburstforth,thrashingandroaringwithfury.

Thewaterheldforamoment,asifthedemon’sheadhadcrownedliketheskullofanewborn.Thenitcrashedthrough,asavagenewbornintothisworld.A blood-red newborn, with scales covering its squat body, spikes on the

whippingtentaclesthatserveditasarms.“Micaela,”Buffysaid.Thatwasall.Shereachedintoablackbagshehadslunglowononeshoulder

andretrievedalongmacheteGileshaddugoutfromhisweaponscache.Micaelaheldupherhandsandabrightgreenlightdancedfromherfingersandseemedto

trapthething,momentarily,inawebofpower.Itfroze.Itstentaclesnolongerwhippedmurderouslyfromsidetoside.Before Giles or Oz could speak, Buffy waded in and brought the machete

whistlingthroughtheair.Thebladecleavedthedemon’sheadfromitsbodyinonefuriouschop.Buffyfeltitcatchforafractionofasecondonboneorgristle,and thenshewas through.Foramoment,whileMicaela’smagickstillheld it,thething’sheaddidnotfall.Whensheletthenetofsorcerydrop,thedemon’sheadslidunceremoniously

toplopintothepoolfromwhichithademerged.Buffybackedoff as the tentacles twitched.They all stood together, looking

aroundat thedemonswhowere in theprocessof traveling fromoneworld toanother.Forcingtheirwaythrough.ThebarriertoHellhadnotfallen,buttheywerepunchingholesinit,findingwhereitwaswornthin,andpushingthrough.“AreyouguysallponderingwhatI’mpondering?”Buffyasked.“Ifit involvesCheezWhizandbananas,thenno,”Ozreplied.“But,okay,if

we’retalkingstrategicretreat,andfixingourmajorproblembeforethesewallsfallcompletely,then—”“Let’sgetthehelloutofhere,”Micaelaagreed.They all turned to go. Except for Giles. He stared at the walls, and Buffy

reachedouttograbhishand.“Rupert,”Micaelasaid.“Giles,comeon,”Buffyurged.“Angel fought several of these things,” Giles noted. “It’s likely they’re

comingthroughatarelativelyconsistentrate,andyet,wehaven’tseentheminSunnydaleyet.Notreally.”“Sowhathappenedtotheoneswhohavealreadycomethrough?”Ozasked.“Precisely,”Gilesreplied.“Theymaybewaitingfordark,”Micaelasuggested.Atthat,therewasaloudroarfromatunnelacrossthecavern.Inthedarkness,

something slithered. Something else walked with cloven hooves. Wingsfluttered.Fromtheshadows,thingsbegantoemerge.“Y’know,Giles, theproblemwithquestions likeyours?”Buffysaidangrily.

“Ialwayshatetheanswers.”“Running,”Ozinformedthem.Butbythen,theyallwere.“Yousaiditwasastrategicretreat,”BuffysnappedatOz.“Which,looselytranslated...running,”hetoldher.

The demons were on their trail, the appalling sounds of Hell’s minionsechoingupthetunnelsafterthem.Still,somehow,theymadeittothestairsandup into the crypt. When Buffy turned and slammed the heavy iron door,somethingscreamed,atalonwasshornoffanddroppedtothefloorofthecrypt,stillwrithingonitsown.Ozstampedonituntilitstopped.Giles,Buffy,andMicaelaput theirshoulders to thedoor.Therewasaplace

forachainandalock.Butthechainandlockweregone.“Oz,help,”Buffysaid.And Oz was there. Helping as much as he could. Which, since he was

relativelysmallwhennotawerewolf,wasn’tthatmuch.Hedidn’thavealotofweighttothrowagainstthedoor.Whichwaswhattheyneeded.“Holdit!”Buffyshouted.Sheleapedaway, jumpedoveroneof theheavymarble tombsthat linedthe

crypt.TheSlayerputherbackagainstthemarbleandherfeetagainstthewallofthecrypt,andshepushedwitheveryounceofherstrength.Nothinghappened.Buffyallowedherselftwobreaths.“They’recomingthrough!”Gilessnapped.“Micaela,canyousealthedoor?”“Itdoesn’tworkthatway,”shesaid.“Nothing...notwhatI’vestudied.And

therearesomany,Ican’t...Ican’tconcentrate.”“Canyoupushthemback,justforasecond?”Buffycalled.Afterasecondofsilence,sheheardahuge,cacophonousroar.ThenMicaela

shouted, “Yes!” andBuffyknewshe’ddone it. Itwouldbuy themonly a fewbreathsofpeace.“Helpme!”sheshouted.Andtheywerethere.GilesandOzwerebyherside,theirbackssetagainstthe

marble.Withall theirmight, theypushed.Andthe tombmoved.Itslid towardthedoor.Ozstayedlow,andGilesandBuffystoodandbenttothejob,movingthehugemarblesarcophagus.“Thisistooeasy,”Ozsaid.“Speakforyourself,”Micaelareplied.Buffy lookedupandsawher face, redwitheffort, sweatdrippingdownher

forehead. She was standing in the middle of the crypt, doing nothing. Butapparentlydoingsomethingafterall.“Micaela?”Gilesasked.“This,IthinkIcando,”shesaid.

The first tomb slammed against the iron door just as the demons began topoundontheotherside.ThenGileswasup,nothelpinganymore.“We’renotdonehere,Giles,”Buffysaid.Heturnedtolookatthem,flustered.“I’msorry,allofyou.Butwe’vegotto

lookatthebigpicture.Ifmemoryserves,theremaybeanenchantment—averypowerfulenchantmentbutoflimitedrange,youunderstand—thatcouldbuyusthetimeweneedtoattendtothe‘bigpicture’thewayitoughttobehandled.“Thewayweoughttohavehandleditalready.”Buffyflinched.Hewastalkingaboutherreluctancetodealwiththecrisisat

handbefore rescuinghermother.Sheknewhemeantnothingby it,but it stillhurt. Buffy knew that she had been selfish, that putting her mother’s safetyaheadofthefateoftheworldwasnothingshortofabhorrent.Butshewoulddoitagainifitcametothat.“Go,”Micaelasaid.“We’ll handle it here,Giles,”Buffy said. “Yougodoyour thing, andwe’ll

muzzletheHellmouth.”For a moment Giles looked at her oddly, processing the humor. Then he

smiledwanlyandwasgone,headingofftowardschoolatatrot.Buffy,Micaela,andOzcontinuedtheprocessofblockingtheirondoorasbesttheycould.But in hermind, Buffy saw an image of that cavern below,where demons

were slowly emerging from their owndimension into this one.And she knewthatnomatterwhattheyblockedthewaywith,itwouldn’tbeenough.Nowherenearenough.And, of course, there were plenty of other ways out of that underground

warren.“Faster,”Buffysaid,shiveringalittle,thoughthesunshonethroughintothe

dustycrypt.Itwasbarelynoon.

EthanRaynesatatthedeskinGiles’ssmalloffice,sippingwhiskeyfromoneofthecupsfromtheantiqueteaservicethathadsatontopofasquatbookcase.Therewerebooksstrewnallaroundtheroom.Booksstackedontopofthedesk.Severalofthemwereopenonthedesk,andhe’dhadthetemeritytotearpagesoutofanother.HeknewoldRipperwouldhavehisknickersinatwistoverthatone,buthehadn’ttimetoseekoutthecopymachine.He’dmanaged to shake the beautiful youngwitch,AmyMadison, out of a

deepsleep,inorderforhertoreadtheselectionaboutBelphegorinTheLordsof

Hell.Only one born tomagick could read the pages, but Ethan copied downeverywordasshereaditaloudtohim.Onlythendidbelettheinjuredgirlgobacktohealingsleep.ThenursesneversawEthan.Hedidn’t let them.Andwhenhe’dreturnedto

thelibrary,ithadbeenarelativelysimplemattertocastaglamourovertheglassofthedoortoRupert’soffice,sothatanyonelookinginsidewouldseetheofficeasithadbeenbeforeEthanentered.Empty.Neat.Abitstuffy.He’deventapedasmallnotetothecounteroutinthelibraryproper.“Backin

5minutes,” it read.Theweaselofaprincipalhadcome inatonepoint.Ethanhad watched him stomping angrily about the place through the window inGiles’s office door. Theman had even come to peer into the office, but he’dseemedtobelookingrightthroughEthan.Theglamourwasworkingjustfine.Now,asEthantookanothershotofwhiskey—horridstuffhe’dacquiredata

liquorstorenearthehospital—hefrowned.He’dreadAmy’stranslationdozensof times. Most of it, he understood. But there were several things that stillpuzzledhim.Whenhe’dcalledupBelphegorfortheirlittlechat—andevennow,Ethanwas

stillabitirkedwiththedemonforbeingsodismissiveofhim—he’dcalledtheHell lord by many of his names: Lord of the Vile Flesh, Wanderer of theWastelands,Master of the Secret Passages, and so on. But there were othershere.Dozensofothers, in fact.Aboringgrocery listof references to thesameblasteddemon.Mostof themweregibberish,orhintedatsomeof theabilitiesBelphegorcouldbragabout.ButtherewerepassagesEthanjustdidn’tunderstand.

BornfromthebowelsoftheOldOnes;TheLordoftheVileFlesh;Hisheartawhisperofshadow;Hewatchestheworldofmanwithhumaneye;Theeyesofman,thedarkestpassage;Thepathhemustfollow,theworldwhichhecovets;Belphegor,scionofworldsoldandnew;WandererinDarkness,shyingfrominfernalflame;Yetthedawnofmanshallnotburnhiseyes;Yettheswordofmanshallnotcuthimdown;Forman’sonlyweaponmustbehimself.

Yeah. That was pretty damned confusing. “Man’s only weapon must behimself,”Ethanthought.Whatthebloodyhellisthatsupposedtomean?Andtheoldmancertainlydoesn’thavehumaneyes.Fromoutsideinthelibraryheheardthesoundofthedoubledoorsswinging

closed.With a quick glance over his shoulder, Ethan folded up the pages ofyoungAmy’srecitationandslippedtheminsideoneofRupert’sbooks.HelookedupjustastheWatcheropenedtheofficedoor.ThelookonRupert’sfacewaspriceless.“Hello,Ripper,”Ethansaid,andgrinned.TheWatcher’seyesnarrowed.Hisnostrils flared.Hiseyes rovedacross the

books strewnaround theoffice,moved to thevolumesopenonhis desk, thensettledbackonEthan.“Thesearemythings,”hesaidcoldly.Ethanshrugged.“Sure,but,y’know,onefortheteamandall,eh,oldman?A

spotofresearchisall.”Rupertmoved farther into the room.Therewasanedge toeverythingabout

himnow,achangeintheveryairoftheoffice.Ethantensed.TherehadalwaysbeenadarksidetoRupertGiles,nomatterwhatfaceheputonitlater.HewastheWatcher,now,allrightandproper.Buthewascapableofangerandviolenceofgreatmagnitude.Hadbeen,evenbeforehis ladylovehadhernecksnappedby the Slayer’s dead boyfriend. Even before said boyfriend had tortured poorRipperuntilhewashalfamomentshyofmad.Orwashe?“Where the hell have you been, Ethan?” Rupert demanded, removing his

glasses and setting them on top of a bookcase. “You disappeared in thelabyrinth.Nowyou’rehere.Whatareyouupto?”“Doingmybesttohelp,Rupert.”Ethan didn’t even see it coming. Giles’s right hand whipped out with

ferocious speed and strength that belied the mild-mannered librarian exterior.Knuckles cracked across Ethan’s nose and mouth, splitting his lip, and themagiciantumbledoutofthechairtothefloor,wherehisheadcrackedtheglassfront of a bookcase. The antique tea set slid off the top and crashed to theground,shattering.ButRipperwasn’tthrough.With his lips curled back in fury and his eyes narrowed dangerously, he

hauledbackhisrightlegandkickedEthanhardintheribs.Ethangrunted,buthe

didn’t fightback.Hewas frightened,but therewereseveralvaluablepiecesofknowledgethatcamefromhavingbeeninthesamepositionwithRipperGilesinthepast.Thefirstwasthathehadnochanceinaone-on-oneagainstGiles,andnotime

toconcentrateenoughtodefendhimselfmagickally,notwithoutRippernoticinghisattempttousemagickandcavinghisskullinorsomething.ThesecondwasthatGileswasn’tgoingtokillhim.Notthistime.RippergrabbedEthanbythehair,hauledhimupandscreamedintohisface.“Liar!”Ethandidn’tevenreply.Heknewwhatthatwoulddo,andhewasright.Giles

seemedtodeflatesuddenly,theragegoingoutofhim.HeletgoofEthan’shair.But he didn’t withdraw. Instead, he loomed over Ethan and scowled down athim.“You’ve got something going on the side, Ethan. You wouldn’t be here if

therewasn’tapercentageinitforyou.Iwanttoknowwhatyou’reupto,andIwant to know now.You lie tome, and I’ll know it.Or don’t you remember,Ethan?Iknowyou,youcowardlybastard.”Ethandidn’tmove.Butfinally,hedidrespond.“I’vesaidall I can,Rupert,”he repliedcalmly,nursinghisbleeding lipand

mashed nose, feeling to see if anything was broken in his face. “You don’tbelieveme,andofcourse,I’mnotatallsurprised.Butthereisn’tabloodythingIcandoaboutit,oldman.There’scertainlynopercentageintheworldending,isthere?“Idon’t think there’s away I canconvinceyou tobelieveme. If there is, I

wishyou’dtellmewhatitis.”Gilesonlystaredathim,stillfuming.Then,suddenly,hespunonhisheeland

walkedoutoftheoffice.Ethanroseandwenttothedoortowatchhim.Ripperwentintothelibrarycageandfishedthroughseveralboxesthereuntilhepulledoutadustyleathervolume,apparentlyjustwhathe’dbeenlookingfor.ThenhestrodepurposefullyacrossthelibraryandpushedpastEthanintohis

office. The Watcher carefully closed and moved the various volumes on hisdesk,butheignoredthosestackedonthefloor.HeslappedthedustybookonthewoodendeskandglaredatEthan.“There’sacertainwonderful irony,evenaperversion, in this,”Gilessaid,a

madsmileplayingatthecornersofhismouth.“Yourecognizethatvolume?”Ethannodded.“SlavesofOrder.It’s theoppositeofeverythingI loveabout

this world. Order is sterility, Rupert. It’s gray death and the boredom ofperfection.Inactionandimpotence.Ithasitsownhorrors,asyouwellknow.”“Indeed,”Gilesagreed.“Buttoday,itistheonlyhopewe’vegot.”Theybothlookedat thebook.Ethansighed.Hisentirelifewasdedicatedto

theperverse exploitationofmagick forhis ownamusement.Chaoswas a joy.Thatwasthewholepointofitforhim,really.Or,atleast,oneofthem.Whichwashowhehadbecomeawareof theSonsofEntropytobeginwith.But theywerejustabittoopsychoticforhim.Heenjoyedchaosforitsownsake.Butinaworld of chaos,with chaos become the norm, he knew hewould grow boredveryquickly.Even ifFulcanellihadn’t soldout toHell,hemighthavehelpedGilesandtheSlayer.But this . . . this was an insult to everything he lived for. Everything he

believedin.Ifchaoswaseverything,thenorderwasnothing.Andthisbookwasacompendiumofmagickandarcanepower ritualsperformed foranddrawinguponthepoweroftheLordsofOrder.“Whataremyoptions,hmm?”Ethanaskedaloud.Ripperbegantoreply,butEthancuthimoffwithawaveofhishand.“Arhetoricalquestion,Iassureyou.Now,whatdoyouwantmetodo?”

Ashorttimelater,Gilesarrivedbackatthecemetery.Buffy,Oz,andMicaelawerepilinglargestonespriedawayfromthecemeterywallontopofamanholecover in themiddleof thegraveyard.Gilesknew immediatelywhat theyweredoing.Therewereotherexitsfromthatunderground.Therewasnowaytheywouldbeabletogettothemall.Andeveniftheydid,

thedemonswouldstillescapeeventually.WhichwaswhyhewasnowcountingonEthan.Andseveralothers,forthatmatter.“Giles,areyouallright?”Buffyaskedwhenshesawhim.He ranhis hands throughhis hair, pusheduphis glasses, and smoothedhis

jacketasbesthecould.“Abit tense, of course,” he toldher, avoiding the subject ofEthan, andhis

behavioratthelibrary.Hehadthatviolencewithinhim,buthewasn’tproudofit.“CanIaskaquestion?”Ozventured.Allthreeofthemlookedathim.“WhereareallthecreaturesfromtheOtherworld?Imean,IthinkIsawatroll

downthere,andsomethingelsethatlookedvaguelylikeahairydragon,butit’s

mostlydemonsnow,right?Why?”Gilesgrewcontemplativeamoment.Itwasagoodquestion.“Perhaps,”hesaidthoughtfully,“perhapsitissimplythatthecreaturesofthe

Otherworld fear the demons.Theywere attempting to enter ourworld before,but now, many of them may be withdrawing, letting the demons hold sway.Most of the creatures of the Otherworld are not truly evil, but rather savage,killingbyinstinct.Somearemalicious,butmanysimplyprimitive.Eitherway,theywouldfearthedenizensofHell.”Oznodded.“See,nowthat’swhatIthought.”“Great,” Buffy said, clapping her hands together. “Now that that’s settled,

what’stheplan?”Giles glanced away a moment. When he looked up again, he was sorely

troubled.“Micaela,”hesaid,“youandOzmustcomewithmetoAngel’shome.JacquesmustbereturnedtotheGatehouseimmediately,andI’llneedyouboth,aswellasAngel.”“ButAngelcan’tgoanywherewhilethesunisup,”Buffysaid.“And,Ihatetobringitup,butthisisthethirdnightofthefullmoon.I’llget

allwolfybysundown,”Oznoted.“Yes,yes,”Gilesreplied,evenasheturnedtowalkbacktowardhiscar.“I’ve

takenallofthatintoconsideration.”Hestartedforthecar,andMicaelaandOzfollowedafter.“Hello?”Buffycalled.Gilesturnedtofaceher.“HaveweforgottenabouttheSlayerhere?TryingtokeeptheforcesofHell

from breaking out of the underground and swarming over the sleepy town ofSunnydale?”shedemanded.“Ah,yes,”Gilessaid.“Keepat it. Ifallgoesasplanned,Ethanshouldhave

thatalltakencareofshortly.”Heturnedtowardthecaragain.Behindhim,Buffycalledout,“Ethan.You’retrustingEthan?“We’reallgonnadie.”

Chapter

11

TIRED ANDWORRIED ABOUT BUFFY, OZ SAT BEHINDMicaela andGiles in the Gilesmobile on the ride back to the mansion. In addition toprocessing everything that had just happened, he was wondering exactly howGiles was taking his third night as a werewolf into consideration. No dignitythere,nomatterhowyoulookedatit.Notalotofhelptotheothers,either.Theworldwasindangerofending,andhemightjustgooutlookingliketheleadinaframe-by-framecolorremakeofIWasaTeenageWerewolfinsteadofkissinghisWillowgood-bye.Speakingofkissing,thetwobigpeoplewerenottalking;nowthattheywere

comingdownfromthebattle,therewaslotsofunspokenintensitybetweenthosetwo.Ozthoughtthey’dbealotbetteroffif theyreallyhasheditoutaboutherfatherandgotthroughit.Maybedidsome,ah,grappling.However,noonewasaskinghisopinion.Noonewasevenspeakingtohim.Butthatwascool.HesatbackandwatchedSunnydalegoby.Itwasalmost twoP.M.Byfive-

thirtyorso,hewouldbetransformed.Threehourstogo.Whentheyarrivedatthemansion,heclimbedoutandstoodbythecarwhile

Micaela unbound her wards and spells of protection over the house. SheremarkedcasuallythatJacques’sspellswerestillingoodshape,andshewishedshewereasgoodatmagickashewas.Ozfiguredshewaslucky.Nextthingyouknewthey’dbeforcinghertobethe

Gatekeeper.Whichmaybecouldnothappen,because,hey,chickandall.Ontheotherhand,oneoftheruleswasalsothatyourlastnamehadtobeRegnier,andlasttimehe’dseenXander’sID,ithadsaidHarris.Somaybetheonlyrulewasthatrulesweremadetobebroken.“Right,then,”Gilessaid,andthethreewalkedthroughthegardenandintothe

house.

Despite the hour, it was very still, very quiet, a marked contrast to thesituationatthecemetery.OzwonderedagainhowBuffywasdoingbackthere.“Everyonemustbesleeping,”Micaelaremarked.“Jacqueshasbeenoutfora

longtime.”“Griefcanhavethateffectonaperson,”Gilesreplied.“Thismustbeanunbelievablyhardtimeforhim.”Herfacewasverygentle,

very sad. “Hehasnoone in theworld.He’ll have togo live in that house allalone for hundreds of years, except when he leaves to bind somemonster orother.Idon’tthinkIcouldstandit.”“It’sall right,MissMicaela,” theboysaidfromtheentranceto thehallway,

wherehestoodwithBuffy’smom.“I’mreadytotakeupmyduties.”Helookeddifferent,somehow.Olderthaneleven,butstillnotexactlygrown

up.MaybethewayOzandtherestoftheScoobyGanglookedthesedays.Buffy’smotherhadonehandontheboy’sshoulder,comfortinghim.“I’msorryyouheardthat,”MicaelatoldJacques.“Don’tbe.”Hesmiledthinly.“It’snotasurprise.”“Butperhapsitisashock,”shepersisted.He inclined his head. “Perhaps.” He regarded the three of them. “But you

knowit’stimeformetogototheGatehouse.Pasttime,actually.”Joyce cleared her throat. “It’s time I went home as well,” she said.

“Nowhere’s safe now, and I want to be there until Buffy comes back or theworldends,whichevercomesfirst.”ShelookedatGilesasthoughhemightprotest.Instead,henoddedslowly.“Bewell,Joyce,”hesaid.Themotherof theSlayer lookedat theWatcher amoment longer, and then

shedeparted.“Okay,”Ozsaid,“aboutBoston.”Jacques spoke up. “We’ll stand a better chance if I travel only with those

touchedbythesupernatural,”hesaid.“My thinking also,”Giles replied. “However, as it seems likely thedemons

willsoonbreakthroughinforce,andSunnydalehasproventobegroundzero,Buffymustremainhere.WhichleavesonlyAngelandOz.”Ozfrownedslightlyandraisedhishand.“Um,questionhere.It’slightout,so

Angelcan’tleavethemansiontogettothebreachthatleadsintotheghostroads.Unlesswehidehiminthebackofthevan,Iguess.Andifwewaituntildark,I’llbeawerewolf.”“Right.” Giles cleared his throat and pushed up his glasses. “Here’s my

thinking on that. Micaela has the ability to open the ghost roads where shewishes.”HebobbedhisheadinJacques’sdirection.“Andonemightassumethatwhenyouinherityourpowers,youmaydosoaswell.”“True,”Jacquesanswered,“butIhaven’tinheritedthemyet.”“Quite so,”Giles said. “So,we open a breach right here. Jacques, Oz, and

Angelleaveimmediately,whichisalittleafterfiveBostontime.”“But—”Ozbegan,butGileshelduphishand.“One must assume you’ll arrive there after dark. At which point you will,

indeed,transformintoawerewolf.MysuggestionforthatisthatMicaelaworkaspelltorenderAngelandJacquesinvisibletoyou.”“Icandothat,”shesaid.“So we won’t see each other on the ghost road?” Oz asked. “What if

somebodyattacksus?”He lookedatMicaela. “Canyou time it tohappenatacertainpoint,likerightbeforewearriveinBoston?”“I also thought of that,” Giles cut in, “but the problem is, we really don’t

knowhowlongitwilltakeyou.It’srathercertainyou’llbeattacked,plusthere’sstilltherelativenewnessoftheexperience.Inthesenseofcontrollingit,Imean.Thinkofitthisway:weassumeitwilltakeacertainamountoftimeformetodrive fromthecemetery to thishouse—approximately ten to fifteenminutes—butiftherewereatrafficjam,itwouldtakeconsiderablylonger.”Especially if you’re the one who’s driving, Oz thought, but kept that to

himself.Instead,henodded.Micaela warmed to her subject. As she talked, she moved her hands

expressively.“Youcaneachcarrysomething,maybewearanarmbandoravest.Once they realizeyou’vechanged,AngelandJacques take theirsoff,andstayinvisibleuntilXanderdealswithyou.”Ozraisedabrow.“Dealswithme?”“Iwould assume he’d bind you into theGatehouse,”Giles said. “I’ve tried

phoningthemtotellthemaboutallthis,butthelineisoutagain,whichwouldseem to indicate that the conflict inBoston has heated up oncemore.XandermaybeGatekeepernow,butitwasclearlypresumptuoustotakecomfortinthat.HeisnotaRegnier.It’spossiblethatfacthashandicappedhisabilitytoaccessthepowerhehasreceived.Still,wehavelittlechoiceastoourcourseofaction.”“That’snotnew,”Oz saidunhappily.Gettingbound into theGatehousedid

notparticularlysoundlikehisideaofpersonalbliss.“Iwon’tgiveuptryingtoreachthem.”Gilesscratchedthebackofhisneck

andmovedhisheadslowly,asifhehadakink.“Ithinkyou’llbeingoodhands,

Oz.WhetherXanderistheGatekeeperorthemantlepassestoJacques.”Ozwasabitembarrassedthathewasputtingupsuchafuss.Hedidn’tmean

to.Hewascoolwiththeprogram,andhedidn’twanttobeanyextratrouble.“I’min,totally,”hesaid.“Whichleavesonlyone,finalproblem,”Jacquessaid.“Angel’sasleep.”“No,I’mnot,”Angelmurmuredgroggilyfromthepitch-darkhallway.“Ican

deal.I’vehadenoughrest.”Micaelanoddedtoherself.“Icanopentheghostroadsinthehallaswellas

anywhere.”Angelreplied,“Thatwouldbebest.”“Allright.”Gileslookedveryserious,veryconcerned.Ozfeltachilldownhis

spine.Hehadn’tdiedyet,heremindedhimself,andhe’dbeenonalotofthrillrideswithSlayerandCompany.Problemwas,formostpeople,thefirsttimeonediedwasalsothelasttime.Exceptforbadguys.Theyusuallygotextrainnings.Whatwasupwiththat?“Iguesswemayaswellproceed.”GilesgesturedforOzandMicaelatojoin

himashewalkedintothehall.Angelwas there,hair tousled.Hewasbuttoninghisshirtand tucking it into

hisblackpants.HelookedupandnoddedatOz.Oznoddedback.Jacquesmovedtojointhem.Theystoodshouldertoshoulder,andOztooka

deepbreath.“IthinkIsawthisonSliders,”hesaid.Angelactuallychuckled.Somehowthatmadeitallalittlebetter.“Wait.Armbands,”Ozsaid.Angel went into his room and returned with a white T-shirt and a pair of

scissors.Whiletheotherswaited,hecutthreestripsandhandedonetoOzandonetoJacques.Theytiedthemaroundtheirupperarms.“Makesureit’seasytotakeoffquickly,”AngelsaidtoJacques.Jacquespracticedtearingitoffacoupleoftimes,asdidAngel.Theynodded

atMicaela.“Allright.I’llbegin,”shesaid.She extended her arms and closed her eyes. Her voice was breathy as it

droppedtoawhisper.Ozcouldmakeoutonlyafewsyllables,andhewasprettysuretheyweren’tinEnglish.Helickedhislipsandbracedhimself,notsurewhattoexpect.ThelasttimeMicaelahadintervenedonthebreachthing,hehadbeenunconscious.

Suddenlythehallfilledwithabrightwhitelight.Micaelasaid,“Movetowardit.”Ozwasatadnotokaywiththat;howmanybooksandmovieshadhereador

seen where moving toward the light entailed dying? Okay, Micaela wasn’t asqueaky-voiceddwarfwoman,andAngelwasnoCarolAnn,butstill,creepy.“You’recertain,”Gilessaid,addingtoOz’sconcern.“Yes.Movetowardit,allthreeofyou.”Oztookthefirststep.Inaninstant,hewassurroundedbynothingness.Aroundhim,everythingwas

thecolorofthepewterchesssetinAuntMaureen’sTVroom.Twilighttimeinthetwilightzone.Sotheywereontheroadagain.Besidehim,apieceofwhiteT-shirtfloatedintheair,andAngelsaid,“Can

youseeus?”AnotherpieceofwhiteT-shirtfloatedontheothersideofOz.“No.Canyouseeme?”“Yes.”Oztookthatin.“Freaky.”There was a brilliant flash, and then the landscape shadows around them

snapped into focus: a throng of dead swarmed around them, terrified andscreaming,asfourorfiveslatheringdemonsragedafterthem.Hulkingandbentover, theywere the color of rotten flesh, and smelled just as bad. Their faceslookedlikewet,looseclay,withblackteethandmilkyeyeballspressedintoit.They’d expected something like this, given how overrun the ghost roads hadbeenthelastcoupleoftimes.Butstill.SonotwhatOzwantedtosee.Justaheadofthepack,apale,slack-jawedwraithslammedintoOzandclung

tohim,screaming,“Stopthem!Stopthem!”“Hey,”Ozprotested,“letgo.Ican’thelpyouif—”Thedemonswereontheminaninstant.Ozcrashedtotheground,landingon

theghost,whosefragileskullshatteredinaninstant.AsOzcaughthisbreath,hegot tohisknees, thenduckedbackdownasanotherdemonsailed into theair,wings flashing open. One of the white armbands went into combat mode,slashing and swinging,while the shorter of the two—Jacques, obviously—didsomethingmagickal,creatingsomekindofbarrierthatheldforafewsecondsasthedemonsslammedintoit.Thenitbrokedown,andthedemonstumbledintothemselvesandrammedforward,bornebysheermomentum.AgainOzwasthrowntotheground.

Immediately he was surrounded by shrieking spirits, so panic-stricken thatthey flittedback and forthwildly, passing throughhim, trying tograbholdofanything, screaming in his face. It was like a bunch of drowning peopleattackingalifeguard.“Hey!” he shouted as he struggled to his hands and knees, but they were

beyond listening to him.One actually tried to crawl underneath him, like thatwouldhelpanybody.Withsupremeeffort,hestaggeredtohisfeetandextendedhisfist,connecting

atlastwiththeslimy,bulgysideofthetallestdemonasitwadedintothepoolofterrifieddeadandbegancrushingtheirheadswithwhatmightbeitsmouth.Hardtosay.Whateveritwas,itdidthejob.Theghostsexploded.Oz had hit the demon. He’d felt his blow land. But the thing didn’t even

registerOz’s punch,whichmadeOz angry.Hewas used to holding his own.Okay, he wasn’t Buffy, but he was a fairly strong guy, for a musician, andWillow liked to feelhisarmmuscles, soat leasthehadsome,or shewas justbeingnice.Butitwasn’tlikehertolie,really.Sohetriedagain,reallygoingforthegusto,andknockedthelivinghell—so

tospeak—outofthedemon,whostopped,blinkedawholelotofeyes,andtookastepbackward.ItroaredsohardOz’steethrattled.ThensomethingsteppedbetweenOzandhisopponent—Ozfelt thepressure

—andthedemonwashurtledupandintotwoofhisclosestpersonalfriends.Thethree fell over, and while they were down, Oz and—it had to be Angel—advancedonthemandpunchedandkickedforalltheywereworth.“You know, we should have told her to make all three of us invisible to

everyone else,” Angel’s voice sounded in Oz’s ear. One of the demons wasscreeching as several of its eyes deflated and black liquid streamed down itsfront.“Yeah.Oversight,”Ozagreed,wrinklinghisnose indisgustashekickedat

thedemondirectlyinfrontofhim.Itdidn’tlookasdamagedastheoneAngelhadtakenon.“Youlookterrible,”Angelwenton.“Youokay?”“Yeah.Great.”Thensuddenly,ahowleruptedfromOz’sthroat.Helookeddowntoseethe

hairsonthebacksofhishandsproutandbegintogrow.Hisfingernailsbecameviciousclaws.“Sorry,”hegrowled.

“We’lltakecareofyou,”Jacquescalledtohim.ButOzcouldnolongerunderstandthewords.

“Now,boy,concentrate,”HadriussaidtoGiacomo,astheystoodbeforethepulsingwoundintheworld.“Thisiscalledalacuna.Abreach.”Giacomo wanted to draw back from the pulsing circle of purple. He was

afraid, as he oftenwas duringhis training sessions. But to admit fearwas toinviteabeating,andhehadnotrecoveredfromthemostrecentone.He had been withHadrius a full lunar year—thirteenmonths—and still he

dreamedofhismotherandhersmilesandherelixirs.Hewokeinthenightwithtearsonhischeeksandrememberedhershrieksofterrorandpain,andvowedthatsuchwouldneverhappentoanyoneheloved,everagain.WhatGiacomoFulcanellididnotrealize,ashemovedtowardthebreachwith

hisbreathheldandhisbackstiffwithin thecassockhewore, forhisbackwascrisscrossedwithwhipmarks,wasthatthepriceHadriuspaidforpowerwastheability to love.Andthat ifhestayedin the terrible lord’sservice,hewouldallbutlosethatabilityaswell.Powerwouldbecomewhatheworshiped.And hewould admireHadrius’ hard-heartedness, striving to emulate it.He

wouldbeknownasacruelandexactingtaskmaster,andhisfollowerswoulddoalmostanythingtoavoidhiswrath.But fornow,hewasstillaboywhohad losthiswitchmother to the flames

and whose survival depended upon pleasing his master, whom, he suspected,was his true father. In the beginning he had assumed that sucha bondmightaffordhimagentlerlifewithinthewallsofthebroodingfortressthatwasnightlysurroundedbymistandraven’swing.ButhegrewtorealizethatHadriusmustbeproudofhisown;hemusthaveasonwhowasthecoldestandcruelest.Andso,whateveraffectionhemighthavefeltforGiacomo,hewouldneverrevealittothelonely,terrifiedboy.Giacomowasfleshsteel,andHadriuswasthehammer.Together theywould forge an ungodlyweapon the likes ofwhich theworld

hadneverseen.

Ethan wiped the sweat off his forehead and hoped sincerely that Ripperappreciated the amount of trouble he was enduring in order to stave off theinvasionofvariousandsundrydemonicentitiesintothepastelbackdropofdearoldSunnydale andother points earthbound.The old boydidn’t seem to recall

that thecastingofspellsrequiredanawful lotofenergy,and,well,onehadtofacefacts: thoughhemightappeartobeamereladof,say, thirty-oneor-two,Ethanhadaccumulatedalotofmileageovertheyears.Whateverprovedbestforyourcomplexion,darling:somepeoplewenttospas;Ethanregularlyperformedsacrifices to the dark gods. Goats, mostly. Goats were always popular. Hesupposedheowedthelackofcrow’sfeettoreeking,bleatinggoats.“ToorderIbow,”hemuttered,bendingfromthewaistandfacingnorth.“TodivineharmonyIsubjugatemyself.”Heshiftedwest.“TobalanceIkneel.”Kneelingnow,eastward.“TosymmetryIabasemyself.”Andforthefinalidiocy,south.Funnythingaboutmagick:sometimesonehadtobelieve,andsometimesall

thatwas necessarywas the correctwords and the proper rituals. Luckily, thiswasoneinstancewherebeliefwasnotrequired.Else,thegoodguyswouldhavebeendeadducksbynow.Order,harmony,balance,andsymmetry:Lookthemupin your thesaurus under boredom. Ethan actually felt guilty invoking theirqualitiesintotheworld.Therewasareasonyourheartspedupuponoccasion;why, in your sleep, youmight startle. Itwas to remind your body that itwasalive.Keepup thatwretched thumping andpulsing for too long, and itwouldforgetwhat itwas doing.The samewas true of the psyche.Things had to bestirredupnowandthen;allkindsof thingshatchedinabrook.Distilledwaterbrednothingatall.Theonlywayhegotaroundhisuneasinesswastopromisehimselfthatonce

thiscrisiswasaverted,hewouldwreakmischiefoverSunnydalesuchasneverhadbeenseenbefore.Slightlycheered,hecontinued.“I call upon thegodsof order, upon theguardiansof thenorth, andof the

south,selah!Andof thewestand theeast,blessedbe!Bring forthasphereoforder, a formation of calming influence, and let it grow and flourish in thisplace.Letitspreaditspowertoallplacesofchaos.Letthechaosweaken,andthespherebecomenourishedthereon.“Ichantthree,three,three.“Ichantseven,seven,seven,seven,seven,seven,seven!“Andoftheperfectionoftheprime,Icall,one!“Asitis,soshallitbe.”As required by the text, Ethan closed his eyes and cleared himself of all

inharmonious thoughts. He imagined his mind as a clean, clear crystal,forbiddinghimself to scoffat theverynotion,and then tookadeep,cleansing

breath.Whichwastaintedwithwhiskey,andsoon,heprayed,wouldbetaintedwithalittlemoreofit.However,allthesedamnguardiansdidn’thavetoknowaboutthat.“Asitis,soshallitbe,”herepeated.Hetookanotherbreath,exhaled,andclearedhisthroat.ThankGodthatwas

overwith.Heopenedhiseyes,started,andchuckled.Ithadworked.Themesshe’dmadeofGiles’spreciousbookshadbeenrectified:thelearned

tomes,whichhadoncebeenrangedalloverthefloor,werenowstackedonthestudytableinthecenterofthelibrary.Notonlythat,butashecrossedovertothem,hesawthattheywerearrangedinalphabeticalorder.Thechairswereeachpushedin,justso.Thepencilsbesidethecheckoutcounterwerelineduplikelittledeadanimals,

longesttoshortest.Everything was unbelievably, unrelievedly tidy. He was certain that if he

checked the library bookshelves, they, too, would be carefully organized anddust-freetoboot.Over the library, a sense of calm and tranquility glowed like a Christmas

carol.“Alliscalm,allisbright,”Ethansanginawhisper.Hewasn’tatallsurprised

thatthespellhadworkedOtherwise,whatwasthepointofdevotingone’slifetotheoccultarts?“All right,Rupert,” he said, noddingwith satisfaction. “Let’s see if this did

thetrickwhereitreallymatters.”HepickedupthephoneandrangGilesup.“Gileshere,”hesaid,inaverytensevoice.Theoldboyalsosoundedalittle

tired.Maybehe’dfinallybeddedthatbeautifulwoman.Micaela.Orwashestilleverthegallant?FoolishRupert.Neverknewhowtomakethemostofanopportunity.“Yes,Ripper,it’sEthan,”Ethanannounced.“Anysignoforderupbyyou?”“Youperformedtheritual?”Gilesasked.“IndeedIdid.And?”“Nothingasyet.Thatis,Iseenothingunusual.”Ethanwasmiffed. “Then tellme, please, dear boy, that it’s because you’re

standingintheabodeofaneatfreak.”“Hardly,”Rupertreplied.

“Humph.Well, I’ll take a look round, seewhat I see. I can report that thelibrary is awash in order. It’s positively stultifying. Order, order, everywhere,andIthinkI’lldrinksomemorewhiskey.”He reached over to the checkout desk and poured himself a bit of a cuppa.

Drankitdown.Waitedforthedeliciouslittleburnandfeltnothing.“Bloody hell,” he said. He inspected his glass. Empty. Poured another two

fingers’worthandswalloweditinonegulp.Absolutelynothing.Drunkennesswasoffthemenu,itseemed.Notorderly.Hesmiledslowly.Whenyouthoughtaboutit,neitherwasaging.Ordying.Thisspelljustmightbethefountainofyouth.Andthekeytoeternallife.If you could stand the aftereffects of monotony it brought with it. Perhaps

later,alittletinkeringwiththerecipewouldbeinorder.Inorder.Ethansmiledtohimselfattheplayonwords.“Areyoustillthere?”Rupertqueried.“We’regoingbacktothecemetery.”“Oh,yes,I’mhere.ButI’llringofffornow.I’llgoahuntingtoseewhatI’ve

wrought.”“Verygood.Ethan?”“Yes,darling?”“Behaveyourself.”Ethanclosedhiseyesandpressedhishandoverhisheart.“OfcourseIwill.”He picked up the whiskey bottle and raised it high. “Here’s to glorious,

tediousorder,”heproclaimed,spreadingwidehishands.“Asitis,soshallitbe.”

Thatafternoon,duringthelastschoolperiodoftheday,everystudenttakingatestreceivedaperfectscore.Perhapsatanotherschool,thiswouldbeacauseforalarm,but atSunnydale, itwas initially explainedawayby the administration,and then test papers were altered to allow for discrepancies and F’s. Thestudents, who at first had thought the entire affair was some kind of joke,accepted the paper-thin explanation that a number of answer keys had beenmixedup,andthosewhoreceivedfailinggradesmeeklyacceptedthem.Whichwasthesortofthingthatmadethemfailuresinthefirstplace.Ethan sat in the teachers’ lounge and listened to the stories, though:noone

senttotheprincipal’soffice.Nodrugdealsinthebasement.Perfectattendancethroughouttheentireschool.Notonesinglepersoninthenurse’soffice.

“It’sscary,”abuxominstructorofphysicaleducationsaidtoEthan.“Indeed.”Heshiveredtheatrically.She raised an eyebrow and smiled at him. “What class are you subbing for

again?”sheasked.“Mr.Gilesisoutsick,”hereplied.“Oh.”Shelookedmildlyconfused.“Ididn’trealizetherewassuchathingas

substitutelibrarians.”Heleanedforwardandsaidconspiratorially.“Oh,noonecouldfillRupert’s

galoshes,doyouknowwhatImean?”She dimpled. “He is kind of cute.” And sighed. “You know about Miss

Calendar,don’tyou?Theyusedtodate.Shewasmurdered.”“No.”Hecoveredhismouth.Itwasremarkablehowfasttheperfectionofthedaywaslosttosmall-minded

gossip,butthereitwas.Ethanmarveled.Thehitsjustkeptoncoming:At the hospital, every single terminal medical case of any sort went into

spontaneousremission.Therewerenocaraccidents.Therewerenoaccidentsofanykind.TheERwasdevoidofcustomers.So it said on the telly in the teachers’ lounge, where he pretended to be

reading some nonsense handbook about cross-referencing while he gave thesphereofordertimetowork.Ethanwas dying—ha ha—to go to Restfield Cemetery to see if the buried

corpsesceasedtorot.Butitwashisjobtoensurethatthespellwasworkingonthelittleproblemin

theMaster’sformerlair,andsoattheendofthedayhehiedhimselfupoffthecouch,politelydeclinedthephysicaleducationinstructor’sinvitationtojoinherfor coffee, andmeandered in a straight line (order working its wonders uponhim,aswell)overtothecemetery.There he ran into none other than the exquisite Miss Summers, who was

seatedonthefloorofthecryptcheckingherblondtressesforsplitends.“Hello,Buffy,”hesaid,standingin thedoorwayof thecryptwithhishands

raised,ratherasifshewereasheriffwhohadorderedhimtoreachforthesky.His experience with this young lady was that she thrashed first and askedquestions later, and he didn’t want to investigate the possibility that punchesdeliveredbytheSlayermightactuallystillhurt.

“Where’sGiles?”headded.“Ethan.” The venom with which she spoke his name was awe-inspiring.

“Whatareyoudoinghere?”“Had any action lately?” he queried. When she blinked at him, he hastily

added,“Ofademonicsort?Imean,hasanyonetriedtogetout?”Shenarrowedhereyesathim.“Youwanttoknowwhy?”He decided it would bemore efficient to tell her the truth. Or perhaps the

guardiansoforderhaddecidedthat.“YourWatcherbademedoaspell,”hesaid.“Ihaveestablishedasphereof

influence. It’s spreading outward. It’s like carbon monoxide—odorless andcolorlessbutitpacksquiteawallop.”“Influence,”sherepeated.“Exactlyso.Oforder.Theoppositeofchaos.Orentropy.”Helookedather.

“Areyoufollowingme?”“Oh, whatever.” She stood and opened and closed her hands, which Ethan

foundsomewhatdiscomfiting.Andhewasrighttofeelthatway.Thepunchcameoutofnowhere.Butitdidn’thurt.Hedidn’tfallover.TheSlayerwasclearlyshocked.“Whatthehell?”sheblurted.Hegrinnedather.“Wereyouabouttotakemetotaskforabandoningyouat

thelabyrinth?”Sheshookherhead.“No.Iwasabouttotakeyouapart.”“Ah,well.Thatdoesn’tappearpossibleforthemoment.”Hegesturedtothe

door.“Ithinkthey’veprobablyallgonetosleep.Orsomething.”Atthatverymoment,somethingrammedagainsttheheavymetaldoor,almost

dislodgingthesarcophaguswedgedagainstit.Buffy looked questioningly at him as she slammed her body against the

sarcophagus.ToEthan’sastonishment,itmovedunderherweight.“Oh?”sheasked.“Asleep,yousay?”“Ornot.”Hemovedquicklyaway.“I’lljust,um,checkoutsideforstrays.”“Ethan,you’resuchacoward,”sheyelledathim.The crypt resounded with pounding as something tried to get out. Ethan

judgeditbestnottobotherwithacleverriposte,andleftthecrypt.Themostextraordinary thinghappenedin thatmoment.AWendigocapered

acrossthecemetery,itshuge,hairywhitebodyablurofmovementasitdarted

fromheadstonetoheadstone.Then,asifitwereavampireexposedtosunlight,itburstintoaflashoflight.Butinsteadofburningtocinders,theflashsubsided,leavingtheWendigo’s imageontheeyeliketheremnantsofacamera’sflash.Foramomentitstransparentimagehoveredintheair,andthenitdisappeared.Ethan stood stock-still. Then he clucked his tongue and said, “Very good,

Ethan,”andcontinuedon.Allthewhile,thepoundinginthecryptcontinued,asortofcounterpointtohis

footstepsashetookhimselfoff.Hewonderedaboutthat;hesincerelydid.Acrosstown,Giles’scarsatinAngel’sdrivewayandwouldnotstart.NeitherwouldOz’svan.Giles got out andwalked around to the front of his car, explaining that he

knewitbetterandwasthusmorelikelytorepairitquickly.Micaelasigheddeeply.Shedidn’tlikethis.Notatall.

Deepwithin the buried church that had once housed the vampire called theMaster,Belphegorpressedagainstthebreachandfeltthethinnestofmembranesbetween it and freedom. Someone had cast a spell that was holding back itsminionsdownhereinthefragrant,rottingearth.Above,thosewhohadalreadymanagedtogoabovegroundwerebeingdestroyed.A pity, since the invaders of this realm numbered ten to one in favor of

Hellspawneddemons.TheOtherworldwasyieldingupherpopulationatamuchlessprodigiousrate.HellwascomingtothislittletownofSunnydale,andtotheworld.Forsome,thespellwouldstopthem.ButnotforBelphegor.Itpushedagainstthemembrane.Itrequiredjustalittlemorestrength,asmall

amount of power more than it currently possessed. For want of just a littleenergy,itwasstillimprisonedinHell.Ifithadthebloodofapowerfulbeing,itwouldbeout:thebloodoftheSlayer

wouldhavebeennecessarybefore,whenthebarrierswerestillfullyformed.ButnowtheyweresothinthatanothermightbemadetotaketheSlayer’splace.Thebloodofamastersorcerermightdo.Or,ifnecessary,eventhatofonewiththepotentialtomastertheblackarts.Fulcanelli’sdaughterwassuchaone.Still,thebestwouldbeaSlayer.Ah,yes,aSlayer.

Itcouldn’thelpbutlaugh.ForaSlayerstoodonguardlessthanaquarterofakilometeraway.“Mydear,”hewhispered,“canyouhearme?”

Inthecrypt,Buffyfroze.Herbloodturnedtoiceinherveins.BelphegorwasinSunnydale.Thebangingonthedoorstopped.Panting,shetookastepaway.“Mydear?”Shebreathedin,out,didn’tknowwhat tosay.Ahundredsmart-assremarks

diedonherlips.Fromthepartinherhairtohertoenails,shewasterrified.“Allwillsoonbelost,Slayer,andyouwilldie,”itsaid.“Butifyoucometo

mewillingly,Iwillbemerciful.”“That’swhattheyalwayssay,andthentheypullthetrapdoorlever,”shesaid,

fightingtostaycalm.“Itisnotajokingmatter,”LordBelphegorinsisted.“Thereisnosmileonthe

faceofonewhodiesinagony.”“Yeah,well,I’mnotplanningondyinganytimesoon.”“Markitwell,mydear,”Belphegortoldher.“Thisdayisyourlast.”Therewas a terrible rippingnoise far beyond thedoor.Maybe thatwas the

sound of the demon lord ripping free of the breach, andmaybe some demonbabehadcaughtherMorticiaAddamsdressonanail.Andmaybe itwas the sound that the fissuremade as it separated the floor

beneathherfeet,eachhalfofthedirtyconcretesplittingaparttorevealsulfurousflamesthatshotuplikepartynoisemakersandsingedBuffy’sthighs.“Hellisopening,”Belphegorthundered.“Welcomeus.”

Chapter

12

AS HIS FOLLOWERSWERE PICKED OFF BY THE FALSE Gatekeeper,GiacomoFulcanellismiledgrimlyandwaitedfor just therightmoment toendthings.Forallthepowerinthathouse,itwouldfalltohimthisveryevening.Itsexteriorshiftedevenashelookedatit;aVictorian-styleturretontheupperleftfaceofthehousesimplydisappeared,subsumedintothemassivestructure.Onthelawn,severalofhisacolytesscreamed.Fulcanelliraisedhiseyebrows.Rankamateurs,hethought.Their enemy was not the Gatekeeper. That much he had ascertained only

momentsafterhisarrival.He’dtraveledtheghostroads,andmadehistripevenshorterbycrossingover,justforamoment,intotheOtherworld.Hehadneverdonethatbefore,andtherehadbeenachancethathemightbetrapped,butwiththebarrierssothin,itwasachancehe’dbeenforcedtotake.Afterall,ifhedidnotresolvethissituationquickly,LordBelphegormightnot

haveanyneedofhim.Hecouldn’tallowthat.Notwhen the battlewas so nearlywon. Fulcanelliwas displeasedwith the

waythingshadgonethusfar.Ateverystep,itseemedhehadbeenbetrayed.Bythevampires,SpikeandDrusilla,byhisacolyteAlbert,byClaudeandLupoandsomanyothers,andworstofall,bythegirlhehadraisedashisowndaughter.Thedefeatshadbeenfartoofrequent.He had failed to offer up the Slayer’s life to Lord Belphegor. Thus, the

barriersbetweenEarthanddimensionsthatborderedit,specificallyHellandtheOtherworld,inthiscase,remainedintact.Belphegorwouldhaveeatenhisheartalready, if not for the fact that Fulcanelli’s constant efforts had thinned thebarrierssignificantly.ThewallsbetweenHelland theOtherworldand theghost roadshad, forall

intents and purposes, fallen. Thus, the demons and monsters of those realms

wereusing theghost roads to try togain access toEarth just as their brotherswerebatteringatthewallsbetweenworlds.Itwaschaos.Itwasbeautiful.Belphegorwouldbepleased.Still,Fulcanellihadnotkeptuphisendof the

bargain.WithouttheSlayer’sblood,hisownlifewasforfeitifBelphegorshouldbreachtheveilbetweenHellandEarth.Ifthesorcererdidn’tdosomethingaboutitfirst.Hehadtofindawaytomakeituptohisdemonicmaster.Somewaytoprovehispower,andhisvalue.Sunnydale had proven amore difficult battlefront than he’d expected.With

the treason of some of his most trusted acolytes, the escape of the Slayer’smother,and thedeathof theMinotaur,Fulcanellihadsoughtdesperately forawaytopleaseBelphegor.Andnowhe’dfoundit.Jean-MarcRegnier,theGatekeeper,wasdead.ButsomehowthisboyXander,

afriendoftheSlayer’s,hadbeeninvestedwiththepoweroftheGatekeeper.ThewarinSunnydalewasunderway,andwouldbewonorlostbaseduponfactorsthathadnothingtodowithwhetherornotFulcanelliwaspresent.ThewarinBoston,however,ragedon.Somehow,thisboywhohadbecome

theGatekeeper hadmanaged, thus far, to hold together the house and to helphold back the creatures of the Otherworld trying to break free. It wasextraordinary,certainly.Fulcanellismiled.Itwasdarknow,andafireburnedonthefrontlawnthatmomentsearlierhad

beenoneofhisacolytes.Itdidn’tmatter.A black panther bounded out the front door and down the steps, past the

burningman,andfledout into theBostonnight topreyonsomeunsuspectingcivilian.Fulcanellichuckled.The Harris boy was doing well. He had managed to fulfill the job of the

Gatekeeper.Butbarely.Andthusfar,asidefromahandfulofmoderatelyadeptacolytes,someofthelast,really,hehadbeenpresentedwithnoopposition.Thatwasabouttochange.Itwasallabouttochange.With a whispered prayer to all the demons in Hell, Giacomo Fulcanelli

walkedtowardtheentranceoftheGatehouse,intentuponwinningthefavorof

LordBelphegoroncemore.Beforeitwastoolate.

“Why doesn’t he do something?” Cordelia shouted across the hugemarblefoyer of theGatehouse.Thewhite-hairedoldmanwith thewithered left handjuststoodtherewithsomekindofforcefieldaroundhim.“Oh, thanks for giving him the idea, Cordy,”Xandermuttered, as theman

startedwalkingquitecalmlytowardthefrontofthehouse.“TryGilesagain,”Xanderaddedanxiously.Willow ran to grab the phone, but even as she dialed, she figured it was

useless. All their calls had been blocked. Therewas noway to tell the hometeamwhatwasgoingonhere.Theyprobablythought thiswizardguywasstillbackthere.Cordeliasaidtoherhero,“Xander,justlethimhaveit.”Xander faltered. He’d seemed more at ease, more confident, since he was

infusedwiththepowerandknowledgeoftheGatekeeper.NowheseemedliketheoldXanderagain.“Lethimhavewhat?”hecried.“It!”Cordeliashoutedathim,barelyundercontrolherself.Theywere all terrified of thisman.Willow could see that. Even the ghost

womanwhohovered only a few feet away.And shewas already dead.Whenpeople who were already dead were afraid, okay, maybe it was time for thatgoldenparachute.Problemwas,Xandercouldn’tretire.Notandhaveanyworldlefttoretireto.

NotunlessBuffyandGileshad somethingup their sleevesback inSunnydalethattheyhadn’ttoldanyoneabout.Whichwouldbenice,especiallysincetheydidn’tknowthesitch.Sothatwasmorelikewishful thinkingasfarasWillowwasconcerned.Nope. Until they knew different, they had to assume that it all rested on

Xander’sshoulders.AndWillowhadalwaysthoughthehadkindofskinnyshoulders.

Fulcanellicouldseethepanicontheboy’sfaceashewalkedsteadilytowardthesteps.Ratherthansmiling,however,hisfacecontortedwithsuddendisgust.Pleasingasvictorywas,thiswayofgettingitwaswrong.Itwasnotsupposedtohappenthisway.HehadspentcenturiesbattlingtheRegnierfamily,longbeforetherewasevenaGatekeeper.FirstRichard,andlaterHenri,andJean-Marc.He

haddestroyedeachofthem,inaway,andscarredthemasoftenandasdeeplyaspossible.They were the greatest of his enemies, and as such, their destruction had

affordedhimtheutmostpleasure.NowhewaspoisedtotakeawaythegreatestaccomplishmenttheRegnierfamilyhadeverachieved,andnotasingleRegnierwaspresenttoappreciatetheindignityofit.Itwaswrong.But Fulcanelli didn’t have the luxury of worrying overmuch about such

things.Theendof theworldwouldsoonbeathand. Ifhewanted tobesavedfromtheagoniesofHell,hewouldneedtoprovehimselfoncemore.At the front steps of theGatehouse, threemore acolytesmade a final, fatal

attempt togainentrance.Thegrounderuptedaround them, swallowing twoofthemwhole.Thethirdwaselectrifiedbyaboltofbluelightthatstreakedfromthe Harris boy’s hands and jolted him where he stood. He sizzled, and thenseemedtowinkoutofexistenceliketheimageonatelevisionasitisturnedoff.TheteenageboyplayingGatekeeperlookedasthoughhemightbephysically

ill.TherewerenineacolytesleftalivehereinBoston.Asone,theyswepttoward

the front of the house. A suicidal assault, and one theywould not even havedaredattemptiftheirmasterhadn’tbeenpresent.“Stop!”Fulcanellishouted.Theninemenfroze.Theyturnedtoregardhim,fearonsomeof their faces,

andhopeonothers.Thesefewweresofardownthechainofcommandthatherecognizedonlyahandfuloffaces,andthosehecouldnotputnamesto.“Go,”hesaid,wavinghishands.“Maestro?”oneofthemasked,aRussianmanwhosteppedforwardfromthe

group.“Leave!” Fulcanelli boomed. “You’re doing nothing here but embarrassing

me.StayanothersecondandI’llkillyoumyself!”Hethought theymightargue,orat leastaskwhatwouldhappenif theyleft.

Theyhadbeenmadepromisesafterall.Theyweretobethekingsofchaos,oratleast, that’s what he had told them. But faced with the horror of what hadhappened to the others they had arrived with, and given a few seconds toconsiderit,theydidwhathe’dexpectedofthem.Theyfled.Fulcanelliwatchedthemgo,considereddestroyingthemastheyranfromthe

premises,and then thoughtbetterof it.Theywere resources,anduntil theday

wasdone,untiltheworldhadendedorhislifehad,hewantedtoconservewhatlittlehehadleftbywayofresources.Instead,heturnedtolookupatthedark-hairedyoungmanwhostoodinthe

opendooroftheGatehouse.“Iknowwhoyouare!”criedtheboy,thisnew,fauxGatekeeper.Fulcanelli laughed. “Yes, young fool. And I know who you are not! You

couldsaveyourselfagreatdealofsuffering,yourealize,ifyouweretosimplywalk away. Leave the house and everything in it tome. I give you your life.Yourfriendsaswell.Youcanallgo.”

Xander’seyeswentwide.HeglancedaroundatWillowandCordelia.Cordylookedathimhopefully,butWillowonlyfrowned,chewingherlowerlip.“I’lldowhatIcantohelp,”shesaid.Thatwas all the answerXander needed, and really, he hadn’t even needed

that.Heknewwhathunginthebalancehere.Xanderlookedattheoldman.Deceptivelyold.Hefeltthehousearoundhim,

feltitbreathing,feltthepoweroftheGatehouseandthemagickandknowledgeoftheGatekeeperswithinhim.Sorcerousenergycrackledaroundhisfingersandthrummed in his every muscle. His face felt flushed and his skin itched asthoughhehadasunburn.Itwaspower.Powerlikehe’dneverevendreamedabout.Buthewasn’ttheGatekeeper,andheneverwouldbe.HewasXanderHarris,

from Sunnydale, California. And hewas here with his girlfriend and his bestfriend,bothofwhomnowlookedtohimforheroicsandstrengthinawaythattheyneverhadbefore.HewasjustXander.Butthatwouldhavetobeenough.“Xander!” Willow screamed, her hands contorting even as she started to

babble,tryingtoweavesomekindofprotectionspell,hefigured.Willow was valiant, but she would be too late. She was only a minor

spellcaster, and Xander had barely a moment to react. Fulcanelli must havesensedhisresolve,hereasoned,forthesorcererwasontheattack.Tendrilsofasicklyorangemagickal light sparkedout at him, at thehouse itself.The stairscrumbledbeneathhisfeetandXanderhoppedbackwardacrossthethreshold.Atendrilofmagicktouchedhisface,andXandershouted.Then the pain was gone. Almost by instinct, he had erected a circle of

protectionaroundhimself,buzzingwithapurplelightthatremindedhimofthe

bug zapper in his parents’ backyard. Blinking, stunned that he wasn’t dead,Xanderrosequicklyandglancedaround.Hestretchedouthisarmsandspreadthe protective field to include Willow and Cordelia, even as Willow herselfcontinuedtochantspells,doingallshecouldtobackhimup.Hedidn’tbotherwithAntoinetteRegnier.Asaghost,shewasalreadydead.Thenhesneeredangrilyandsteppeduptotheopendooragain.He saw Fulcanelli’s white eyebrows rise at the sight of him, and Xander

smiled.Tougher than I look,oldman,he thought.He raisedbothhands,palmup,asthoughhehadbeenborntoperformmagick.Inhislefthand,asphereofwhiteenergybegan to form.Akindofmist leakedoff it, filling the roomlikesteam in a shower. In his right hand, magick swirled, and then solidified. Itlookedalmostrealthere,inhishand,butitwaspuresorcery.Asword.Fulcanellitookthreestepstowardthehouse.“Come, then, boy,” IlMaestro said darkly. “Come and die, and then all of

Hellwillbemyreward.”Cordelia and Willow, safe behind the protective shield he’d given them,

moved farther back toward the massive, double-wide stairs. Willow lookedfrustrated,andXanderknewwhy.Shewantedsobadly tohelp,and therewasnothing she could do. The ghost of Antoinette Regnier hung in the air byXander,silently lendinghimherstrengthandbelief, justasCordyandWillowdid.Xanderwascompletelystill.“YouwantHell?Youcanhaveit,youevilsonof

a...”He hurled the sphere ofwhite, steaming lightwith his right hand. It struck

Fulcanelli full in the face, and the sorcerermade no attempt at all to stop it.When it struck his flesh, it burst and spread white fire across his features.Fulcanelliscreamed.Hisfaceseemedtomeltandhisfeaturestoruningobsofblazingfatdownontohischest.Foramoment,Xanderfroze.He’ddone it.Andithadbeeneasy.Fulcanelli

wasoneofthemostpowerfulsorcerersinthehistoryoftheworld,andjustlikethat,he’d...“Xander,myGod!”Cordeliacried.“Whatisit?”Willowasked,horrified.Well,Xanderthought,maybenotjustlikethat.Fulcanellihadstoppedscreaming.Hereachedupwithhisgoodrighthandand

peeledawaytheravagedfleshthathadoncebeenhisface.Beneathit,hisface

was inhuman, yellow as parchment and hard as bone, pitted and run throughwithstiff,leatheryfolds.“Fool,”Fulcanellisaid,andhisvoicesoundeddifferentnow,strange,because

he spoke through something that barely resembled lips. “Did you think I hadspent all of these centuries prostituting my soul to the darkness without anyrepercussionatall?Oh,Iamstillalive.Stillliving,breathing.Human,even,bysomedefinition.“ButI’mmuchmorethanhuman.”Aroundbothof his hands, and in his eyes, anoily black aurahadbegun to

form.ThewitheredhandtwitchedatFulcanelli’sside,andtalonsrippedthroughthe flesh of his fingers. Still, though, the arm was crippled. The blacknesscrackledandburned,sodarkthatitswallowedthenightaroundit.Xanderswallowed.Raisedhissword.“Comeon,then,youuglybastard,”hesaid.“Thereisn’tanythinggoodonTV

tonightanyway.”With a roar of courage and fear rolled into one, Xander leaped from the

threshold of theGatehouse,magickal sword raised high, and brought it downtowardthetwistedcreaturethatFulcanellihadbecome.Fromthesorcerer’shandsandeyes,theblackburnlancedout.WillowandCordeliascreamedawarningandranforward, tryingtogethim

outofthewayofFulcanelli’sattack.Buttheyweretoolate.Xanderwas blasted backward into the house.He flew across the foyer and

crashed into the marble stairs. Pain shot through his entire body, and themagickal weapon he’d created dissipated. He was barely able to keep up theprotective field around Willow and Cordelia. The girls ran to him, shootingterrifiedglancesovertheirshoulderstowardtheopendoor.“God,Xander,areyouallright?”Cordeliaasked.“DoIlookallright?”hegrunted,sittinguppainfully.“Whatwasthat?”TheghostofAntoinetteRegnierhoverednear.“Thatwaswhat iscalled the

blackburn,youngman.Oneofthemostpowerfulformsofmagickalenergyonthisplaneofexistence.”“Great,”Xandersaid.“It could be worse,” Willow said quickly. When they glared at her, she

shrugged.“Not,y’know,muchworse.But—”“Willow,”Cordeliainterrupted.Shewas staringpastWillow,andnowXander sawwhat shewas staringat.

Fulcanelli.Hehad levitated himself upwith the power of the blackburn, that

ebonyoilswirlingintheairaroundhim,andnowstoodattheverythresholdoftheGatehouse.Theentirestructureconvulsed.Ahorrible,fetidwindblewthroughthehouse,andWillowandCordeliahad

troublestandinginthegale.Thehousewastryingtokeephimout.Butthewinddidn’tseemtoaffectFulcanelliatall.Theleatheryyellowfeaturesof thesorcerer’sfacestretchedintowhatmight

havebeenagrin.“Anextraordinaryhouse,”hesaidwiththatslitheringvoice.“Andanamazing

featofmagickalfortitude.”“No!”Willowshouted.“Xander,whatdowedo?”Xander stood up, green light flashing from his hands, reinforcing their

protectionandpulsingwithpower.“Getout!”Xandersnarled.“Youcan’tcomeinhere,”Cordeliainsisted.“Youweren’tinvited.”IlMaestro laughed at that. “I’m not a vampire, girl,” he said, the black oil

pouringfromhismouthnowaswell.“I’msomethingmuch,muchworse.”

Angel’smindwasracing.ThisentireplanofGiles’shadbeenhatchedinaninstant.TheWatcherwasoneofthebrightestmenAngelhadevermet.Itwasn’tthathemerelyknewhowtoacquireknowledge,butthatheknewhowtoapplyit,whichwas farmore important.But therewere timeswhenhe lacked in thestrategydepartment.Likenow.“Takeoffyourarmband!”AngelsnappedtoJacques.ButtheheirtotheGatehousewasalreadydoingjustthat.Heuntiedthewhite

strip of cloth around his arm and tossed it away, off into the gray ether thatswirled around him. The ghost roads had suddenly grown rather quiet, and itbotheredAngel.Hewondered if the barriers had fallen, if the final battlewasoverbeforeheandOzandJacqueshadevenhadachancetodotheirpart.“Howarewegoing togethimtofollowuswithoutgettingslashed?”Angel

askedangrily,glancingaroundatthenothingnessthatwasthislimboworld.Beneaththesolesofhisboots,hefeltthesolidgroundoftheroad,anddared

notlookdown.Theghostroadsstillhadnevermadesensetohim.Theyweretheroads that the spirits of human beings followed after death. Somehow theyexistedinallworldssimultaneously,andsupposedlyhadnorealityoftheirown.

But if not, thenwhatwasAngel standing on?Hewasn’t sure how deeply hewantedtoexaminetheidea.Andhecertainlydidn’twanttothinkaboutthethingshe’dseenherebefore.

Evenifhehadthetime.Whichhedidn’t.“Ihaveanidea,”Jacquessaid.EvenasAngelfeltabitofreliefwashthroughhim,heshookhisheadatthe

absurdityof it.Hewasmore than twenty times theboy’s age, andyethewaslookingtothechildforassistance.Andyet...Suddenlyared,rawlightblossomedlikeawoundfromthepalmsofJacques

outstretchedhands.Angelstaredathim,blinkedseveraltimes,andthennoticedthatOzhadturnedhissnouttowardJacquesandwassniffingthenothingintheair.Hecouldn’tseethem.ButwhateverJacqueswasdoing,Ozcouldseeorsmell

ortasteit.Something.Andhelikedit.“I thought you didn’t have access to your inherited abilities,” Angel said,

frowning.“Idon’t,”Jacquesagreed.“ButIknowabitofmagickmyfather taughtme

over the years, and I’ve practiced quite a bit inEurope. Iwill have all ofmyfather’spowerandmagickalknowledgeoncewereachthehouse.Nowthathehas...”Theboydidn’twanttosaytheword.Angelletitgo.Hisfatherwasdead,and

hewasonlyelevenyearsold.Eleven,andhehadtotakeuptheresponsibilitieshisfatherhadlefthim,responsibilitiesthattheworldwouldneverknowenoughabout to appreciate. Angel was amazed at the boy’s strength of character.Personally, he’d never been much more than a drunken, ungrateful layaboutwhenhewasalive.Onlyindeath,andunderhiscurse,hadhefoundapurposetohisexistence.A child like Jacques, a person like Buffy, even her other friends, amazed

Angel.Theysawsomethingthatwasrequiredofthem,andtheydidit,simpleasthat. It reminded him of something he’d heard said a very long time ago,somethingatwhichhe’dscoffedatthetime.“Aheroissomeonewhodoeswhatmustbedone,andneedsnootherreason.”

Howtruethatwas.Hewishedhehadn’tkilledthemanwho’dsaidit.But,afterall,theguyhadbeentryingtokillhim.Heroeswerelikethat.Angel stared at Jacques a moment longer. It was amazing how much he

remindedAngelofBuffy.Bothofthemweretrappedinalifetheyneveraskedfor,withtheworlddependingonthem.Andbothtookupthegauntlettheworld

hadthrowndownwiththeirchinsheldhigh.“Nowthathe’sdied,”Jacquesfinished.“Butfornow,thisisenough.”Anditwasenough.Ozfollowedthemagickalfire,sniffingtheairoftheghost

roads,andtheywalkedfarenoughaheadthattheoccasionalswipeofaclawdidnodamage.Timeslippedby.Theysawseveraldemons,buttheywerefaroff,andlooked

tobeontheirwaytosomewhereelse.Thewanderingsoulsofthedeadappearedfromtimetotime,enmasse,andthenslippedawayagain.Theywereterrified.Hiding.Angel didn’t blame them.Most of them—the oneswho had given uptraveling and been lost—had long since lost any hope of finding theirway totheir ultimate rest.And now, it appeared as though that restwould instead beeternaldamnationintheflamesofHell.Which,heknewfromexperience,waslessthanpleasant.“Look,”Jacquessaidsuddenly.“Ithinkwe’renearlythere.”Angel turned. In the distance, he could see a shimmering hole in the ghost

roads.

Perfect orderwas perfectly boring. Ethanwandered the roads of Sunnydalewitharoilingfeelingofrevulsioninhisgut.Thetrashinthealleyswasstackedlikereamsofcomputerpaper.Thegraffitionthewallsandfenceswasn’tgone,buthedidnoticethatitwasallspelledcorrectly.Hesighedheavily.While hewas unable to seal off the ghost roads, or to reinforce the places

wherethebarriersbetweenworldshadgrownthin,hehadbeenperfectlycapableofcreatingthisfoolishbubbleofperfectorder.Itmadehimquestioneverythinginhislife.Chaosmagickwasexceedinglydifficult.Ithadtakenhimmanyyearsto rise to themodicumof proficiencyhe could nowclaimpertaining to chaosmagick.Whywasit,then,thatthemagickoforderwassodamnedeasy?Ithadtobe,ofcourse.Eachspellwasperfect.Orderly.Anditwasattractive

tothinkofthepowerhemightobtainthroughworshipingtheMastersofOrder.But,God,theworldwouldbeastultifyinglytediousplace.SotheHellwiththat.Still,Ethandidallowhimselfa tinybitofpleasureat seeing the rather silly

resultsofhiswork.Thecarsintheparkinglotswereeachparkedpreciselythesame distance from the curb, and from one another. On the street, passingvehiclesweremovingatthespeedlimit.Exactly.

Ashewandered,hesawmoreandmoreexamplesofthetouchoforder.Eachlawnwascuttothesameheight.PassingyouthsspokeflawlessEnglishtooneanother.Whichwas,ofcourse,patentlyimpossibleinAmerica.Thespherewasspreading.Strengthening.So,althoughonemightclaimhe’dabandonedBuffy,itwasfairlycleartohim

thatthesphereneededmoretimetospreaditsinfluence.Itwasagoodguessthatthespherewasstrongenoughnowthatitwouldkeepthedemonsback,andthemonsters of the Otherworld, if any of them were brave enough to face thedemons,forquitesometime.Thespherewouldn’tlastforever.Anditwouldn’tstretchoutindefinitely.But

asastopgapmeasure,untilGilescouldfiguresomethingelseout,orFulcanellicouldbedoneawaywith,itwasdamnfinework,ifhedidsaysohimself.Andhedid.Grinning,Ethandecideditwastimetogobacktohishotelandhaveabitof

roomservice.Hewastiredandhungry,andbesides,therewasagoodmovieonthehotelpay-per-viewinabouttwentyminutes.He’ddonehisbit.Lettheothersmakeacontribution.Thenanevilwindrosefromthewestandwhistleddownthestreet,blowing

him to the ground and stealing the breath from his lungs. For a moment hecouldn’tbreatheatall.Then,finally,hislungssuckedinfetidair,likeafarmerhad dumped twenty tons ofmanure a block away. The stenchmade his eyeswater.“Bloodyhell,”hesnapped.“Whatthedevilcould—”Thenithithim.Nothingcould.Notinthissphereoforder’sinfluence.Notunlessthesphere

hadalreadybeenruptured.EthanjumpedinhiscarandraceddownRoute17.

Inthecemetery,Buffyscrambledbackwardoutofthecrypt.“Oh,God,ohGod,ohGod,”shemutteredasshefellonherbutt,thenjumped

upandstartedtorun.Justtoputsomespacebetweenherand...it.Behindher,thecryptexplodedinashowerofgraniteandmarble.Theground

splitopen,butitwasn’tanyearthquake.Sixhugetentaclesshotoutofthatholein theground, eachof themcoveredwith rowupon rowof razor-sharp spikesthatmovedwithonemind.Itdraggeditselfupoutoftheground.

“Slayer!”itroared.Buffy turned to face LordBelphegor,without somuch as aweapon in her

hands.Faceflushedwithfury,shescreamed,“Ethan!”

Chapter

13

A NUMBER OF THE SONS OF ENTROPYWERE STILL camped at theremains of their sanctuary at the Sunnydale Twin. Theywere holed up in theruins of themainbuilding, surroundedby the bodies of their fallen comrades.Theplacewasashambles,and,aswasusualforSunnydale,nopoliceorotherauthoritiesweretobeseen.From his vantage point at the end of a corridor, peering from behind a

reasonablyintactdoor,Ethansoftlyclappedhishandsandgavehimselfoneofthose natty black robes all the really fashion-forward chappies were wearing.Not that he had any notion of revealing himself. Still, one had to takeprecautions.“Well,whatIwanttoknowiswhereIlMaestrohasgone,”oneoftheacolytes

wasgrumbling.“Hashedesertedus?”“My runestone indicates that he’s no longer in Sunnydale,” another added.

Thismanwasratherold,andhisvoicesoundedhighandwhiny.Nonewshere,Ethanthought,andfiguredhimselfforafool.Ithadoccurredto

himthatperhapsyoungJacqueshadbeenmistaken.EveryonehadleapedonthenotionthatsimplybecausehecouldnotsenseFulcanellianymore, thesorcererwasdead.“Identifyyourself,”aharshvoicesaidbehindhim.Ahandcamedownhard

onthesameshoulderAngelhadthreatenedtopulverize.Oh,dear.Ethan thought fast. “I’m Brother Ermino,” Ethan told the hand. “I’ve been

sentbyIlMaestrohimselftotellyoutoclearout.Gobackto,ah,London.”“Really?”“Oh,yes,”Ethansaidbrightly.“Liar!”Ethan was whirled around so hard his head spun, and then someone was

smashingthatsameheadin.Notusingmagick,justgood,hardelbowgrease.“Liar!He tooksomeofus toBoston!” themanshouted.Hewasamazingly

ugly,withabrutishcauliflowernose,pugeyes,andjowls.“But. . .”Ethanspitoutatooth.Damn.“Ihatetoseemconfrontational,but

thatwasn’tmyunderstanding.”“Doyouthinkallareprivytotheplansofourdreadlord?”Theman’sjowls

bobbledwith indignation.HehitEthanagain.“Now, tellmewhyyou’rehere,spy.”Ethanblurtedout,“Hisdemonsponsor,LordBelphegor,isinthecemetery.”

And realized that, byGeorge, that justmight be true. Thatmight bewhy thespherewascrashing.Byallthegods,hethoughtinalarm,it’sbegun.Thenheclearedhisthroatand

continued.“He’sthere.”“Why don’t I believe you?” theman screamed, and again started pounding

Ethan’sface.“Stop!”criedanothervoice.Ethanlookedupatthesmooth-facedladwhopointedafingerattheuglyman.

Nicechap,orlookedtobe.HewassmilingatEthan.Then the ladwhirled and pointed the finger atEthan.A blue net of energy

droppedoverhimlikeahood.Notagain,Ethanthought,beforehestartedscreaming.

AttheapexofthebreachintoBoston,JacquesstoppedsuddenlyandlookedhardatAngel.Oz,whohadtrailedbehind,startedtogainonthem.“FulcanelliisattheGatehouse,”Jacquesannounced.“He’snotdead.”Angelclosedhiseyes.Notgoodnews.“Angel,Ineedtogettohimnow.”Angelnodded,allbusiness,andanxioustokeepmovingsothatOzwouldn’t

gettooclose.“Willhesensethatyou’vearrivedassoonasweenterthebreach?”“Yes, no doubt,” Jacques said. He looked hard at Angel. “Angel, I cannot

die.”AngelwasdistractedbyOz’sfastapproach.Hecouldsmellthemuskyscent

ofOz’s hide.Therewere certain legends aboutwerewolf blood andvampires,buthehadnoideaiftheyweretrue.HerealizedJacqueswasstillstaringathim,andtriedtogivetheboyhisfull

attention.“Youcan’tdie.Youmean,youdohavesomeofyourpowersnow?”Jacquesclearedhisthroat.“WhatI’mtryingtosaytoyouis,Imustnotdie.”

They regarded each other very seriously.Angel got it. Hewas expendable.Jacqueswasnot.“Youwantmetodistracthim.Actasdecoy.MeandOz.”Jacques inclinedhishead.“Pleaseunderstand, Idon’task this formyself. If

givingmyownlifewouldsolveanything,Iwoulddoitwithouthesitation.”Angelputahandontheboy’sthinshoulder.“You’vealreadygivenyourlife.

You’retheGatekeeper.”“Ishouldbe,”hesaidfirmly.Thenhelookedveryyoung,alittleafraid,and

confessed,“ThenotionofleavingXandertoitcrossedmymind,Imustconfess.Butnotforlong.”Heloweredhishead.“I’mveryashamedofmyweakness.”“Youwouldn’tbehumanifithadn’toccurredtoyou,”Angelsaid,withasad

smile.“There’vebeenalotoftimeswhereIchosetheeasypath.”“Butyouwerenotborntofightevil,”Jacquespersisted.“Sometimes I’m not so sure of that,” Angel replied, and the boy looked

startled.“I’llgofirst,”Angelwenton,“andI’lllureOzoutwithme.ThenI’lldistract

himasbestIcan.Buthewon’tbethatinterestedinus.Imean,whatrealthreatdoonevampireandonewerewolfpose?”As if in answer,Oz roaredandcharged.Angel sighed, turned, andpunched

himacross thesnout.Thebewilderedwerewolf jumpedbackandpawedat theair,seeingnothing,butsensingtantalizingpreynevertheless.TheymovedawayfromOz,whostoodstock-stillforamoment,growlingand

sniffing.“Imustprepare,”Jacquessaid,asheclosedhiseyes.Hisfacewentasblank

as a dead man’s, and Angel stood respectfully by. In another situation, Oz’swhiningandconfusionwouldhavebeencomicalashewanderedtotheirleftinazigzagpattern,searchingforhimandJacques.Fornow,itwasawelcomebreak,as Angel watched Jacques breathe deeply and rhythmically. The boy’s chinrestedonhischest.Thenheraisedhisfaceandhiseyesopenedslowly.“Doyousee?Doyouhear?Doyouunderstand?”hesaidinaslurredvoice.

Hisheadswiveledasifitwereonastrangepivot.HelookedstraightatAngel.Thenhesmiledandsaid,inXander’svoice,“Hiya,deadboy.”“Xander?”Angelasked,impressed.“OnlypartofusisknowntoyouasSpock,”Xanderreplied.“Listen,Jacques

filledme in, I’mgoing tohelponmyend.Buthey,um,hurry,okay? Imean,beingtheGatekeeperismakingmearealchickmagnetandall,butI’mnotsure

howmuch longer I’mgoodfor. Igotsomebodyonmydoorstoopand it’s forsurenotthepizzadeliveryguy.”“I’mgoingtobeadecoy.Oz,too.He’sinbeastmode,”Angelsaid.“Okay,here’smyplan,”Xanderreplied,soundingveryoutofbreath.“First,

youcomeoutand—”Jacques’s entire bodywent rigid.His eyes narrowed and hismouth snarled

intoanugly,cruelsmile.“Whydoyoutarry,boy?”hethundered.“Yourendhascome.Acceptitwith

dignity,andIwillbekind.”Angeltookastepback.Just then, Oz charged Jacques; his huge front paws raised, his mouth

slathering,hethrewhimselfattheboy,andwouldhavelandedontopofhimifAngelhadn’tgrabbedtheheir,heldhimtight,andbarreledthroughthebreach.Howlinginfrustration,Ozfollowedafter.Angel rolled, keeping Jacques as far away from Oz as possible. Then he

leaped to his feet and prepared to takeOz on, at the same time taking in hissurroundings,tryingtolocateFulcanelli.TheywereinsidetheGatehouse,insomekindofanteroom,withstatuesand

greeneryallaround.Atthesoundofhisnamebeingcalled,AngelglancedupandsawWillowand

Cordeliarunningtowardthem.ButOzsawthemtoo.Hesniffedtheair,andturnedtowardthegirls.Hewas

hungry. Thewerewolf launched himself in their direction now, hiswolf brainunabletounderstandthatWillowwashisgirlfriendandkillingherwouldbe,attheveryleast,slightlydamagingtotherelationship.WillowandCordeliastoppedshort,thencursedasOzrushedatthem.Angel tackled the huge werewolf, managing only to make him stumble.

Cordeliacried,“It’sokay,I’marmed!”andswungatthebeastwithacast-ironfryingpan.“Cordy! No!” Willow yelled, at the same time that Cordelia shouted,

“Xander!Weneedhelp!”“Don’tdistracthim,”Willowcountered,grabbingthefryingpanasOzcame

forher.Sheswipedtheairwithit.“Imean,yes,distractOz,butnotXander.”Ozragedatherandshesmackedhimacrosstheface.“Oh,sorry.”Hebacked

offafewinches.“Okay,thehitting’sagoodthing.”Shesmackedhimagain.“Oooh,sorry.”ThenshesaidtoAngel,“Xandersent

ustogetyouassoonasyougothere.Heneedshel—”

Ozgrabbedherarmandbaredhisfangs.Sheletoutabone-rattlingscream.Angeldovetowardthemboth.Suddenly the house began to shake violently, throwing Angel and Oz off

balance. Oz released Willow, then was suddenly thrown across the room,slammingintothewall.Jacques,whohadgottentohisfeet,alsobegantoshake,spasming,hisbackrigid,hisheadthrownback.Assuring himself that Willow was, for the most part, safe, Angel tried to

containJacques’sseizurebygrabbinghim,yelling,“Someonegetsomethingtokeephimfromswallowinghistongue.”“No!”Willowcried, as theceiling rainedplasterdownon them.“The same

thinghappenedtoXanderwhenhebecametheGatekeeper.”HisfallcushionedbyAngel,Jacqueswasspread-eagledonthefloor.Hislegs

kickedandhisarmsflailedwildly.OzgotbackupandchargedatCordelia,whowentcrazy,grabbedthefrying

panfromWillowandreallypoundedonhim.“Whydon’ttheymakethesethingsoutofsilver?”shecried.“Hey!”Willowshouted.“Don’tforgetwhoyou’rewhalingon!”An ear-splitting whistle like a teakettle added its counterpoint to the

cacophony.Ozthrewhisheadbackandclutchedhisears,andCordeliashoutedandaccidentallydroppedthefryingpan.Thedoortotheroomslammedopenandahigh,wildwindblastedin,blowing

everyone, including Oz, to the floor. Willow grabbed Cordelia’s hand, andCordelia hung on to Angel’s boot. Angel felt for purchase, and wrapped hishandsaroundamarblecolumn,holdingonforallhewasworth.Itwaslikebeinginahurricane.Thewallsoftheroombuckledandcracked.

Statuarycrashedtothefloor,andthefloorsplitopeninaseriesoffissures.“Oh,myGod!”Cordeliacriedshrilly.“It’sgottobeIlMaestro!”“Holdon,”Angelbellowed.“Nobodyletgo.”“Oz,where’sOz?”Willowasked,terrified.“What’sgoingon?”ThenJacquesletoutalong,shudderingmoan.“Look,”Willowsaid,staringatapointbeyondAngel’sshoulder.Angel fought the fiercewind as he turned his head, but the columnhewas

holdingontoblockedhisview,andhecouldseenothing.Thentwofiguresglided throughanearbyred-velvetcouchandstoodbeside

Angel. One was the ghost of Antoinette Regnier. The other was a young,handsomemanastransparentasshe.Hehadjet-blackhairanddarkeyes,andhewas crying. Angel stared, amazed. It had to be Jean-Marc Regnier, more

youthfulthantheyhadeverseenhiminlife.Tendrilsofbluelightundulatedlikeelectriccurrentsallovertheroom,from

the corners to the ceiling to the floor, and bathed the inert boy in an aura ofmagickal energy. Jacqueswas raised up, floating at thewaist level of the twoghosts,andthemantouchedtheboy’scheeklovingly.“Myson,”whisperedthemaleghost.“Thankyou,vampire,forbringinghim

tome.”Thewindstoppedatonce.Jean-Marcstretchedouthishandsandplacedthem

onhis son’s forehead.Heclosedhiseyesandmurmuredsomething ina slow,eventone.Hewaschanting.Jacquesopenedhis eyes.He sawJean-Marcandcriedout, “Father!”But in

thatmoment,bothJean-MarcandAntoinettedisappeared.“No,”Jacqueswhispered,loweringhishead.Forafewseconds,therewasno

soundintheroom.Theproverbialpincouldhavedropped.Thenheraisedhishead.Heregardedthemallwiththefaceofachildandthe

eyesofaveryoldsoul.“Your friend is released,” he said, “and I must hurry to take his place.

Fulcanelliwillknowhispowerisgone,andkillhimwiththeblackburn.”Withoutanotherword,hestrodeoutoftheroom.“Oh,um,Mr.Gatekeeper,”Cordeliacalled.“Don’t botherhim,Cordelia,”Willow said. “He’sgot important business to

conduct.”Beneathapileofrubble,Ozgrowledmuzzily.CordelialetgoofAngel’sbootandshookWillow’shandaway.“Okay,”she

saidsourly,gettingtoherfeet“I’mlookingforsilver.”“Hey,”Willowsaidsharply.“Ozdoesn’tmeantobe,um,lethal.”“Yeah,well,nobodyevercutsmeanyslackforbeinghonest,”Cordeliawent

on,thenturnedonherheelandstartedoutoftheroom.ShecollidedwithXander,whowasonhiswayin.“Xander!”sheshrieked,throwingherarmsaroundhim.“ThankGod!”“Tocoinaphrase,‘Yeah,well.’”Hesatdownonthecouchanddangledhis

armsbetweenhislegs.“What’sgoingon?”Angeldemanded.“What’sJacquesdoing?”“He sent me in here. He told me we’d be in the way.” Xander looked at

Angel.“ButIthinkweshouldfigureoutawaytobeuseful.”Hegroaned.“I’monetiredex-superhero.”Cordeliacurledaroundhimandgavehimabigkissonthecheek.Hesmiled

atherandkissedherback.Shesaid,“We’vegottogetoutofhereanyway.Ozisinwolfmodeandhe’s

hungryorpissedofforsomething.”Xandernoddedandgottohisfeet,holdinghandswithCordelia.AngelbentoverWillowandhelpedhertoherfeet.Shewaslimpingslightly.

Whenhegaveheraquestioninglook,shesaid,“Someonehastosprainananklewhenthegroup’srunningawayfromdanger.Italwayshappens.”Ozgrowledagainandbegantomove.“Uh-oh,”Willowmurmured.Before she could react towhatwashappening,Angel sweptherup intohis

arms.Hegrinnedatherandsaid,“You’reblushing.”Shegotevenredder.“I’mnotsurprised.”Angelcarriedheroutoftheroomandshutthedoor.NotthatthatwouldkeepOzatbayforverylong.

“No!”Fulcanellishrieked,astheGatekeeperrushedhim.Jacquesglaredhardattheevilbeingwhohadtorturedandharassedhisfamily

forcenturies,atthemonsterwhohadthreatenedtheentireworld’sexistence,andattackedhimwitheverybitofmagickathisdisposal.Multicoloredfieldsofenergyeruptedaroundandthroughhim.Hereveledin

hispower.Hewasguardianandprotector.HewastheGatekeeper.“What?” Fulcanelli cried, returning blow for blow of lightning and fire.

AroundJacques,piecesofthehouseexplodedlikemines.“Howdidyou—”“You didn’t realize I came through a breach inside the house, did you?”

Jacquesbellowed.“Youthoughtthegaleinsidemyhousewasyourdoing.”ThelookofwildfrustrationonFulcanelli’sfaceasJacquesmadehimretreat

through the foyer, staggeringbackwardunder theassault,madeup fora lot. ItmadeupforthedeathofJacques’snormallife,ifnotthedeathofhisfather.“Thisnightwillendwithyourdeath,”Fulcanelli flungathimasheteetered

onthethreshold.Jacquesansweredwithanotherbarrage, thenblastedIlMaestrooutthefront

door.Asthesorcerertumbledendoverend,Jacquesmanifestedapairofheavyoakendoorswheretheformeroneshadoncestood,andslammedthemshutjustasFulcanelligottohisfeet.“Andstayout,”Jacquessaidgrimly.

Crouchinglow,herhandsflexed,BuffyforcedherselftostandhergroundasBelphegor emerged from the pit. Its tentacles slithered and snapped withwhiplikecracksasittoyedwithher,remainingjustoutofreach.Itwascoveredwith sharp-tipped horns and a long, weird trunk. As it raised the trunk, shecountedsevenmouths,startingwithtwoorthreebeneaththetrunkandslashingdown its neck and across its chest. From inside each mouth, a set of jawsextended about three feet beyond its lips, drippingwith green slime andwhathadtobeblood.Ithadtwopulsingredeyes,andtherewasathickmoundinthemiddleofits

forehead.Buffyfigureditforsomekindofscar.“Eew,”Buffysaid.“SomehowIpicturedyou,y’know,allmuscleyandkind

of,like,havinggoodbones,anose,thatkindofthing.Maybesomeniftybodyarmor. But you must have a terrible time getting dates. No wonder you’recranky.”“Still thesamefire,” itsaid,chucklinglow.“Ihavemanyforms.Thisisthe

oneIchoosetoshowyou.Yetyoubarelyrespond.Youareamostunusualbeing,Slayer.”“Yeah,well,I’llbetyousaythattoallthebeings.”“OnlytheonesIkill.”WhileBuffyworkedonhercomebackfor thatzinger,abouthalfadozenof

theguysinhoodedrobesstreamedintothecryptandherdedaroundBuffylikestampedingbuffalo.Mostof them fell to theirknees andheldout their hands.Onelayonthefloorwithhisfaceintheconcretedust.Another one got the hell back out of there, fleeing the crypt and running

shriekingforcover.Theonlysmartoneinthebunch,Buffyfigured.“Oh,LordofDarkness!”oneoftheacolytescried.“Wehavecometoworship

you.IlMaestrotoldusofyourcomingand—”“Thatisalie.Hewouldneverhavetoldyousuchathing.”Themanlookedveryconfused.“But...butBrotherErminoheardofitfrom

him.Hesentushere...”“Yourenemieshavesentyoutodie,”Belphegorreplied.“Perhapsitwasyour

BrotherClaude.OrBrotherLupo.SothatIwoulddispatchyouforthem.”“Oh,” the acolyte said uncertainly. “But we have come to worship you. I

swearonmyblackheart,lord.Toaidyou.”Buffy backed slowly away. She watched the demon carefully. It was

disgusting;itgaveoffarankodorworsethanthegraveanditwasleakingsome

kindofchunkyfluid.Asitloomedovertheacolytes,itquiveredandshifted,andBuffy thought she saw a shadow inside of a creature shapedmore like amanthanthisthing.Thatcreepedheroutevenworse.“Idon’tneedanyhelp,”thedemonresponded.“Notanymore.”Thenitrushedthefivemen,encirclingthemwithits tentaclesandgathering

themuplikebowlingpins.Thejawscatapultedforward,allsevenatonce,andbeganrippingthefleshfromthepanickedmenastheyscreamedandscrambledtogetaway.Onelosthalfhisfacetoonebite;thearmandchestofthenextweregone,andhis remains tumbled to the floor inadisgustingheap.Frombeneaththe strange mound, talons emerged, dissecting what was left until there wereonlytinybitsoffleshandviscera.Anotherwasdecapitatedinthefirstattack,andhisbodyswallowedwholein

thenext.Bloodspurtedeverywhere,sprayingthewalls,thesarcophagus,Buffy.Buffywasalmostattheopendoorofthecryptwhenthetentaclesloopedover

andbehindherlikealasso.Shewasonlybarelyabletoleapoutofrange,butasaresult,shewasclosertothedemon’sclacking,blood-drenchedjaws.Just then,someonegrabbedherarmandyankedher to the left.Fornogood

reason,Buffyglancedatherattackerbeforeshetookhimout.ItwasMicaela.AndGileswasrightbehindher.“Hello,cavalry,”Buffysaid,asGilesthrewapunchatthedemon.“Weneedtogetoutofhere.Immediately.Someonetriedtopreventusfrom

cominghere.”Belphegorhissed,“Guiltyascharged.”“Ican’tletthisthinggetfree,”Buffyprotested.“Bythepoweroftheoldgods,Ibindthee,”Micaelaintoned,raisingherarms

toward the demon as Buffy stood guard and Giles assumed a good fightingstance—give ita tenon theWatcherbellcurve.“IcalluponPan toguardmeandmine.”“Abindingspell?”Belphegorhissed.“Thatpaltrylittlecharmislaughable.”ButBuffyrealizedthatthespellhadworked.Thetentaclesstilltraveledalong

thefloor,butaninvisiblebarrierbarredtheirprogressastheytriedtoreachforherandMicaela.“Itwon’thold,”MicaelamurmuredinBuffy’sear.“Itwillonlybuyustime.

Seconds.Wemust—”The tentacles broke through. The nearest one curled around Buffy’s calf.

Teethandpincersdugintoherfleshandshecriedout,moreinshockthanpain.HerSlayer’sreflexeswentintohighgearasshecurledbothhandsintofistsand

slammeddownonthetentacle,stompingashardasshecouldwithherfreefoot.Giles shouted, “Buffy!” and stomped as well, kicking the tar out of it, or

maybethosewerepiecesofacolyte.Micaelaraisedherarmsandrepeatedthebindingspell.Belphegorlaughed.“Victory!”itshoutedasitbegantoyankBuffytowardthe

snapping jawsof its sevenmouths.Gilesgrabbedheraround thewaist,buthewaspulledalongaswell.“Finally,I’lltastethepoweroftheSlayer.”She braced herself. She had always figured she’d die in battle. Somehow

she’dalways thoughtshewouldgraduate first.Okay,maybenotgraduate.Buttherewastheprom—Micaela raised her arms and shouted, “I call uponPan to protect me and

mine!”Forone,maybetwoseconds,Belphegorslackeneditsgrip.Buffyboltedfree,

madesureGileswasstillwithher,grabbedMicaela’shand,andheadedforthedoor.Buffy jumped as wide as she could, feinting to the right. The tentacles

whippedinherdirection.LikeRobintoherBatman,Gileswaswiththeprogramas they both made an end run around the tentacles, Buffy dragging Micaelaalong.Theyburstoutofthecrypt.MicaelastumbledbehindandGilestookoverthe

draggingduties.They ranas fast as theycould,Buffynotevendaring to lookbehindthem.Shebellowed,“Okay,nowwhat?”“Myvehicle,”Giles shouted,pointing tohis car, haphazardlyparkedon the

other side of the cemetery gates. “The influence finally reached it, and itstarted.”“We need to get to the center of the sphere of order your friend created,”

Micaelaadded.Buffy glared at her. “Ethan Rayne is not my friend,” she and Giles said

simultaneously.Behindthem,somethingroared.Thegroundshook.Theskydarkened.“Wheredidhecastthespell?”Micaelaasked.Buffysaid,“Idon’thaveaclue.”AstheSlayerandhercompanionsburstthrough,thesidewalkruptured.One

halfofitjuttedupwardwhiletheotherhalfcantedintotheearth.Awatermainburiedbeneathitburst,geyseringwaterfiftyfeetstraightupintotheair.Buffy

keptherfootingandmanagedtokeepMicaelafromfallingaswell.“HementionedRupert’sbooks,”theblondwomansaid,lookingatGiles.Buffynodded.“Okay.Library.”Gilesfishedouthiskeysandranaroundtothedriver’sside.“We’ll have a chance there, ifwe can reach it in time,”Micaela continued,

gasping for breath as they ran toward the car. As Buffy looked at herquestioningly,shegrimacedandpressedherhandintoherside.“Notmuchofachance,it’strue.”Buffyshookherheadandjumpedintothefrontseatonthepassenger’sside.

“Why,onthelastdayoftheworld,doIhavetogotoschool?”

Fulcanelli felt the night air on his true face as he sent tremors through theearthandrockedtheveryfoundationoftheGatehouse.Hewatchedwithgleeasthe beveled windows in one of the turrets glowed white-hot. Then the turretdisappearedcompletely.He did notwant to destroy theGatehouse.Once he dispatched the brat, he

would claim the incredible structure. Now that Belphegor had spurned him,Fulcanelli would need asmuch power as he could find. And he could find ithere.IfBelphegorcontinuedtobeaproblem,hewouldreleaseallthecreaturesofOtherworld—the thousandsof them,bound so long thatmostof themwerenowquitecrazed,iftheyhadn’tbeenatthetimeofcapture—andherdtheminawildmobacrosstheghostroadsandintoSunnydale.EventheWarmongerofHellwouldhaveitshandsfull.From the balcony of the house, the new Gatekeeper stared down at him.

Fulcanelliconjuredupaspearofblackburnandsentithisway,notexpectingtoharmJacquesRegnier,butonecouldalwayshope,couldonenot?Thechilddeflectedtheattackwithapparentease.Buthehadnothadtimeto

adjusttohisnewrole,simplysteppedimmediatelyintoit.NowIlMaestrowassorry he had sent the nine remaining acolytes scurrying away like the vermintheywere. If all they hadmanagedwas to harass the little Regnier for a fewsecondsbefore the laddestroyed them, their liveswouldhavehadmeaning inthegrandschemeofthings.Theancientsorcererglancedleft,right,didnotseethem.Hechosetothinkof

themwith rancor fordesertinghim.Loyal followerswouldhave insisteduponremainingwiththeirleader,nomatterthathehaddismissedthemasuseless.There! He spied one of the Sons of Entropy hiding in a lush stand of

rosebushes. His dark hooded robe was like a black shadow on the dark red

blossoms,sounusualforthistimeofyear.TheRegniersalwaysdidloveroses.GiulianaRegnierhaddiedindeliriouspain,mutteringnonsenseaboutthem.With a careless wave of Fulcanelli’s hand, the bush burst into flame. The

crouching man shouted with surprise and threw his arms over his head. Thefragranceoftheburningflowerswasoverpoweredbythemoredelectableodorofcharringfleshasthemanwentup,apillarofflame.InthisverywayhadRichardRegnierthoughthehadkilledFulcanelli,during

the Great Fire of London in 1666.What incredible hubris, what monumentalpride, to assumeonehad ridhimselfofGiacomoFulcanelli in that ineffectualmanner.AsyouthoughtyouhadridyourselfofHadrius,cametheunbiddenthought.

Hetampeddownhisangerandfocusedontheboy,whowatchedimpassivelyasIlMaestro’sacolyteburnedtodeath.Boynolonger,Fulcanelli remindedhimself.Givehimnoquarter.Showhim

nomercy.HeistheRegnier.TheGatekeeper.Nevertheless,hecouldnothelphimselfashecalledout,“Child,givemethe

houseandyoumayreturntoyourschooldays.I’llallowyoutolive.”Hesmiled,relishing the freedom ofmovement of hismouth, now that his false facewasgone.“Ofcourse,youwillbecomemydevotedservant,”headded.TheGatekeepersaidnothing,onlystaredathim.BeneathFulcanelli’s feet, the earth shook, and hewas slightly taken aback.

Onlyslightly,however.For the shaking was not of his doing, but what did it signify? He was Il

Maestro,andthevictorywouldultimatelybehis.He bent low, sending something of himself into the dark places where the

blackest magick was born. Shuddering, his projected persona gathered freshhatredsandmoreweaponsfromthecachewhereIlMaestrokeptthem.Alertedtoitspresence,aswarmofreddemonsrushedit,talonsflashinginthe

blacklight.Thepresencedeparted,andreturnedtoitsmaster.Fulcanelli opened his eyes and flexed his handsmeaningfully. The pitifully

smallfigureobservinghimneverchangedhisexpression.Fulcanelli made two fists, pressed them together, and whispered an

incantation in a language that was already dead in another realm before thisrealmborethinkingcreatures.Thenightwentcompletelyandutterlyblackas,onebyone,thestarswinked

outandthemoonwaschokedbeneathablanketofliving,breathingevil.

InsidetheGatehouse,WillowsaidtoAngel,“Um,Icanrunnow.”ItwasaveryweirdexperiencebeingcarriedaroundbyAngel,whowasinfull

vampface,ashekepthersafefromherboyfriend.Angelwasquitemuscularandhischestwasverybroad.Itwasneat,inagirl-responding-to-boyway.Andthatwasveryweird, all around, and she felt vaguelyguilty, like she shouldn’t tellBuffyaboutit.Ozeither.Ontheotherhand,shewasnotsogoodinthesecret-keepingdepartment.So,aftergraduation,noX-Filesforme,shethoughtgiddily.“Um,Angel?”“Hey,”saidavoice,anditwasOz’svoice.SheandAngelboth turned theirheadsat the same time.TherewasOz,her

guy,Oz,onlysometimeswhenhede-wolfed,hedidn’thaveonalotofclothes.Luckily,hewasstandingbehindachairdrapedwithawhitesheet.AsOztookinhisappearance,hebegantopullthesheetoffthechair.WillowpracticallyleapedfromAngel’sarms,nearlyfallingasshelandedon

herswollenandrapidlynumbingankle.“Whatgives?”Cordeliasaid,glancingatXander.Xander shrugged.Theyhadbeen running througha small, hexagonal room,

whichXanderandCordeliagotallexcitedabout,andAngelhadsaidtoWillow,“It’satwinoftheroomwedidtheRitualofEndowmentin.”Thatwastheritualthey had performed to make Buffy stronger, Willow doing her own part byremotecontrolinSunnydale.“Didsomeoneputoutthemoon?”Ozasked.Then, just as abruptly as he had become Oz, he threw back his head and

howled.Coarseblackhairspurtedoverhisfaceandbody,andhisfacebegantoelongate.“I’mthinkingyes,andnowit’snotout,”Xanderannounced.“Astheformer

Gatekeeper,mayIsuggestthatweallrunaway!”Cursing,WillowfollowedXanderandCordyoutoftheroom,Angelbringing

up the rear.Ozwasslashing theair justbehindAngel’sheadby the time theyreachedthecorridorandflewdownit.At the end of it, therewas an enormous curved stairwayWillow could not

rememberseeingbefore.Itwasn’ttheoneatthefrontofthehouse.The Gatehouse is beginning to lose its mind again, she thought anxiously.

Jacquesmust beoverloaded fighting IlMaestro.He can’t keep theGatehousetogether.

One look atXander’s andCordelia’s faces confirmed her thought. It didn’tmakeherhappy.Nordidthefactthateveryonebarreleddownthestairwaywithoutconsidering

thatitmightdisappearatanymoment.Ormaybethatdid.Maybefallingtwentyfeetorgettingwhiskedintoanother

dimensionwaspreferabletobeingdismemberedbyheronetruelove.Whowasgainingonthem.At the foot of the stairway was a large wooden door. Xander, in the lead,

pusheditopen.Willowblinked.Itwasthewayout,literally.Outside.OutoftheGatehouse.“Is this good?” Xander asked. Then his eyes widened and he yanked on

Cordelia’shand,shouting,“Jamit,Cor!”TheyranoutoftheGatehouse.Angelfollowedafter,stoppinglongenoughto

slamthedoorinOz’sface.Theystoodonanexpanseoflawnsurroundedbytreesandasmallfountain.

Xander and Cordelia were wheezing, staring uncertainly at the door as Ozslammedagainstitandstartedpummelingit.“I’mthinkingweneedmoredistance,”Angelsaid.“Hemaygetout.”“Isn’tthedoormagicorsomething?”“Ican try tobindhim,”Willowsuggested,butshewasn’tveryhappyabout

that notion. After all, this wasOz, not someOtherworld escapee. Shewasn’tsurewhatwouldhappentohimintheunstableGatehouse.“We’llsavethatasalastresort,”Angelsaid.Willowrelaxed,justalittle.Thenthedoordisappeared.“Oz!”Willowcried.“Oz!”Justassuddenly,thelawnbeneaththemdisappeared.Willowplungedintothe

murkydepthsoffrigid,darkwater,andlostsightoftheothers.She broke to the surface, gasping for breath, counting heads in the weak

moonlight.Xander,Cordy...Angel.“Whoa,” Xander said. “What the heck is Jacques doing? Hey, kid!” he

shouted.“Wecouldusesomehelp.”Treading water beside him, Cordelia shook her head. Her hair was slicked

back fromher face andhermakeupwasgone.She lookedvery cold andveryscared.“He’s not going to help us, Xander.Wemean nothing to him.He’s got to

concentrateonIlMaestro.”

Xander lookedperplexedandangry.“Noway.Isubbedforhimwhile thoseguystookhimtoDisneylandorwhatever.Besides,he’sthegoodestofthegoodguys.Sohecanjustpartthissea!”“He’snotgonnahelpus,”Cordeliasnapped.Shelookedattheothers.“We’reonourown.”“Okay, so swimming,”Willow said, only she was so cold she was having

troublemaking her arms and legsmove. In the icy water, her sprained anklereallyhurt.“Swimmingtowhere?”Cordeliashotback.Willowlookedaround.Allshesawwaswaterandmoonlight.Andthen,abouttwentyfeetaway,thewaterbegantochurn.“Oh,God,”Cordeliascreamed.“Whatisit?”“The Kraken,” Angel suggested. “The Gatekeeper bound it back into the

house.”“Willow,”Xanderurged,treadingwater.“Doyourthing.Now.”“Shecan’tbinditbyherself,”Cordeliasaid,splashingwildlyasshetriedto

swimaway.“Jean-Marchadtohelpher,remember?”ShegrabbedatXander.“Ican’tswim!Myclothesaretooheavy.I’mgoingtodrown.”“Here,”Xandersaid,puttinghisarmaroundher.“Willow,youhavetotry.”Sheclearedherthroat.Shewassofrightenedshecouldn’tthinkoftheexact

wordsoftheincantation.“TotheoldgodsIgiveallreverenceandhonor,”shebegan.“Pan,protectme.Icallupontheetobind—”Thewater roiled and bubbled.A hugewave rushed over the four, crashing

downonWillowasshesputteredandfoughttocompletethespell.“Pan,bemyguardian!”shetried.“Thosearen’ttherightwords,”Cordeliashoutedather.“Saytherightwords.”Thewater rushedandanotherwave smacked them.Then the sea seemed to

domeupward.“It’scoming!It’sgoingtoeatusup!”Cordeliashouted.Very softly, Angel said, “Buffy,” and Willow spared her no-doubt last

thoughtsforOz.Andherparents.Andthefact that itdidn’tmatteranymoreifshelostherconditionalstatusatBrynMawr.Then the Kraken rose from the depths and hovered over them. Willow

realizedhereyeswereclosed;sheopenedthemandtookadeepbreath.Thebig,uglyladywasgoingtowinafterall.Only itwasn’t thebig,ugly lady. Itwassomekindofdinosaur,witha long

neck and a little head, and it stared down at them almost as if it were asfrightenedofthemastheywereofit.“Oh,myGod,”Xandersaid,“it’s...”helookedatAngel.“You’relike,what,

Scottish?IsitwhatIthinkitis?”Angelnodded.“I’mIrish,andit’stheLochNessmonster.”“Oh.”Cordeliabrightened.“That’sokay.That thing is friendly, isn’t it? It’s

Nessie.”Shelookedveryproudofherself.“Oh,oh,right.”Xander’stonewassarcasticandalittleharsh.“TheCartoon

Networksaysso,right?”Cordeliascowledathim.“Hey,Xander,whodiedandmadeyou—”“Gatekeeper?”hezingedback.The creature threw back its head and trumpeted loudly. Then its head

plummetedtowardXander,butCordeliayankedhimoutoftheway.“Maybeitwantstoplay,”Xandersnapped,thenmanagedtoadd,“Thanks,”to

Cordeliaasthemonsterrearedbackitsheadandtriedagain.“ByPan,Ibindthee,”Willowsaidlamely.Shewasdrawingablank.ThenAngeltookherhandandmurmured,“Thinkitthrough,Willow.You’ve

donethisahundredtimes.Youcandoit.”Shewas still blank,but suddenly, shebegan to speak. Itwas as if someone

elsewereinherhead,likethetimeshehadspokenRumaniantorestoreAngel’ssoul.“TotheOldGodsIgiveallsupplication,anddeference,andhonor.”“Nowyou’recookin’!”Xandercheered.Hewasright.Shewasinthezone.“Icallupontheetoprotectallwithinthesewaters,”sheintoned.The Loch Ness monster trumpeted again. Then it blinked at them as if in

surprise.Intheflashofaninstant,itdisappeared,asdidallthewater.“Cool,”Willowsaidbrightlyastheylaysoakingwetonthelawn.“Ididit!”“Ornot,”Cordeliamuttered,pointing.OntheroofoftheGatehouse,Jacqueswassilhouettedagainstthefullmoon.

Boltsoflightningshotintotheareasurroundinghim.Sofarhewasuntouched,but fromwhere she lay,Willow could feel the force of the energy. If one ofthosehithim...Hegavethemawave.Willowwavedurgentlybackandsaid,“We’refine!Go

battle!”ShelookedanxiouslyatAngel.“Heshouldn’tbebotheringwithus.”

“I’mgladhedid,”Xandersaid.HegottohisfeetandhelpedCordyup.Angeldidthesame.Willowroseeasily.“Hey,”sheannounced,“hefixedmyankle.”ShegaveJacquesanotherwave.“Your full-serviceGatekeeper,”Xander said. “Now, if he can also save the

world,I’mforbuyinghimapresent.”Hemovedhisshoulders.“Whattheheck.Let’sgocrazy.We’llgetacake,too.”WillowflinchedasaboltlandedperilouslyclosetoJacques.Heleapedtothe

leftandfelltohisknees.“I’mnotlikingthis,”Willowmurmured.“Meneither,”Angelsaid.Then,asJacqueskneltandworkedaballofenergybetweenhishands,abolt

arceddirectlyforhim,honinginlikeacruisemissile.“No!Lookout!”Willowshouted.Theyallshouted.AndthenCordelia’sshriekofterrorwasconsumedbythehugeflashoflight

asthelightningstruckhome.Adirecthit,rightinthecenterofJacques’schest.Oneminutehewasthere,thenext...“Oh,myGod,Angel,”Willowsaid.“He’sbeenvaporized.”As if in response, the Gatehouse shifted and flickered. As they watched

helplessly,itbegantocrumbleinuponitself.

Chapter

14

FOR A HEARTBEAT, WILLOW COULD ONLY STARE AS ONE entirewingoftheGatehousebegantocollapseinonitself.Thenshescreamed.“Oz!”She started to run toward the house, her mind awhirl with fear for her

boyfriend,whowas kind and gentle and clever—when hewasn’t awerewolf.Willowhadbeen standing in the courtyardof theGatehousewithXander andCordeliaandAngel.TheyhadbeenwatchingyoungJacquesRegnier, thenewGatekeeper,insorcerouscombatwiththeancientFulcanelli.And then Jacques had lost. Suddenly, and unexpectedly, it was over. The

Gatehousewascollapsing,theGatekeeperdestroyed.Fulcanellihadtriumphed.Now the barriers between dimensions, the walls that separated their humanworld fromHell, and from theOtherworld—where somanymonstersofmythandlegendstilllived—werefalling.“OhmyGod,”shewhimperedtoherself,legspumping,heartpounding.“This

can’tbehappening.”Butitwashappening.The shriek of timber was punctuated by small explosions inside the house.

Fulcanelliwasoutside,ontheothersideofthefrontsegmentoftheGatehouse.Theyhadahandfulofmoments,perhapsseveralminutes,tofigureoutwhattodo,howtosurvive.ButfirstshehadtosaveOz.Heedlessofthedanger,Willowrantowardthehouseasoneentirewallbegan

tocrumble,pouringdownintothecourtyard.Stronghandsgrabbedher,draggedher down to the soft earth, and she lay there, panting, as dust rose from therubble.“Oz,”shewhispered.

Thenshebucked,shouting,“Getoffme!”“Whoa,justsavingyourlife.Noapplauserequired,but,y’know...”ItwasXander.Shestaredathimamoment—she’dthoughtithadbeenAngel,

scoopingheroutofharm’swayonceagain—butno.Xander.Heroldestfriend.Heavy-hearted,consumedentirelybythequestionofOz’sfate,Willowbarely

noticedCordelia’sscreaming.Xander,though,respondedimmediately.“Cordy,relax,”hesnapped,lookingatWillowwithconcern.“I’msureit’snot

theendoftheworld.”But thenWillow could see past Xander. She could see what Cordelia was

screaming about,whatAngelwas staring at in silence, andwhatXander nowturnedtolookat.“Okay,Itakeitback,”Xandermumbled.But noneof them found it even remotely funny.For theworldwasending.

Thatwastheundeniabletruthofit.Allaroundthem,saveforthewingthatwasnothing but debris, theGatehouse had begun to shimmer, as though itwere areflectioninapondratherthansomethingrealandtangible.Outofthatshimmeringreflection,monsterswerebeingborn.Monsters,anda

greatdealmore.Trolls andghoulsandhorrid flying thingsandawomanwithsnakesforhair...allmannerofcreaturestoretheirwaythroughthatportal.Allthe things that the house had held captive for so long, denizens of theOtherworldwhocouldneverreturntotheirownworld,eachwasoutnow.Free.Mostofthemwereprettypissed.Willowshouted inpainandcoveredherearsasasuddenskyquakesplit the

night,andthethunderouscrackboomedloudlyaroundthem.Toadsbegantofallfromthesky.Severalspheresofburningballlightninghoveredabout,andthenmovedtoalightinthestilltangiblewoodenrubbleofthecrumbledwingoftheGatehouse.Therewas a loud clanging, as of a distant buoy, and suddenly the skywas

blockedfromtheirviewbytheghostlyformoftheFlyingDutchman,hoveringabovethecourtyard.Severalofhercorpselikepiratesthrewropesoverboardandwere,evennow,descendingtotheearth.“Wearesodead,”Cordeliasaid,withmoreangerthanterrorinhernow.AngelappearedbesideWillow.Helookedatherintently.“Willow,”hesaid.

“Canyou—”Thenhiswordswerecutoffasaserpent-mansevenfeettallroseuponhistail

andpreparedtostrikeathim.Angelleapedfirst,movingintheblinkofaneye,grabbingtheopenjawsofthesnake-manandpullingthemopen.Willowheard

thecrackofitsjawfromadozenfeetaway,anditsickenedher.“Heh,heh,littlegirls.Ilike’emfresh,”saidarevoltingvoice.Willow spun to see a hunched, green-fleshedman eyeing herwith a vulgar

expression.Aghoul,shethought.Her hands gesticulatingwildly, she whispered a spell and tried to bind the

thingbackinto thehouse.Nothinghappened.Anditshouldhave, thatwas thekicker.Thehousewas falling apart, like an intricatelywovenpattern spinningoutofcontrol,thestrandsgoingeverywhichway.Buttheywerestillthere.Sheshouldbeabletotapintothatweb,thatmatrixofmagick,atleasttobuythemsometimeuntilitallcameapartcompletely.Butshecouldn’t.The ghoul lunged at her.Willow brought her palm up, stiff-armed it in the

face,shatteringitsnoseandsendingboneshardsintoitsbrain.Theghoulwentdown,dead.Willowstaredatherownhandsinastonishment.Cordelia screamed. Willow looked up to see that Cordy and Xander were

havingtroublewithseveralofthecrewmenfromtheFlyingDutchman.Inafewmoreseconds,theyweregoingtobedead.Shehadtofigureoutwhattodoaboutit.Angelhadbeenabouttoaskherif

shecouldbindthesethings.Sheknewthat.AndWillowknewnowthatshewasgoingtohavetosayno.Theonlywayforhertobeabletodothatwouldbeif—Behindher,somethinghowled.Willowfreaked,spuntoseewhere ithadcomefrom,andthenbither lip in

griefandagony.Shehadknownbeforesheturnedwhatshewouldsee,andhereitwas.Righttherebeforeher.Themansheloved.“Oz,no...”shewhispered.The werewolf sniffed the air and looked at her with nothing more than a

ravenous hunger in its burning yellow eyes. Then it came for her. It boundedacrossthecourtyard,snappingattheair,alltheviolencearounditdrivingitevenmorewildthanusual.Willowdidtheonlythingshecoulddo.Sheran.AndOz came after her.He had his sights set on her now, his prey, and he

wasn’t about to let her go. Out of the corner of her eye,Willow saw Angelfightinghand tohandwithsomethingmuch larger thanhe,somemythologicalcreaturewiththebodyofalionandtheheadandtalonsofaneagle.Itslashedat

himandtriedtopeckhiseyesout.She glanced back over her shoulder. Ozwas snorting, howling, gaining on

her.Pasthim,shesawXanderandCordyagain.Somehow,Xanderhadgottena

swordinhishands.HiseyesmetthefleeingWillow’s,andheshoutedhername.For a moment, hope rose in her chest. Then it was dashed as another pirateattackedXander,andhewastoobusysavinghisownlifetosavehers.“Great,”shewhispered.Willowrealizedtherewasnowhereshecouldgo.Thecourtyardwasasquare

ofwell-landscaped paths and gardens that was bordered on every side by theGatehouse.ThiswasthecenteroftheGatehouse,inaway.Butthreewallswereshimmering, disgorging creatures and things.The fourthwallwas nothing butrubble,whereJacquesRegnierhadfallen.Inbetweenwaschaos,andsheknewthat theman theycalled IlMaestrohadn’teven reallygottenstartedyet.Soonthewholeworldwouldlooklikethiscourtyard.IfIlMaestrohadhisway.Andhewould,too,becauseverysoon...Another skyquake rumbled above, and Willow felt as though she were

standing right in front of the amps at the Bronze. The thunderous noise cutthroughher,andaspikeofpainshotthroughherhead.Aballoffireblazedpasther face, and though sheducked in time,Willow felt her eyebrows and foundthemsinged.“Stop it!”shescreamedhysterically,panickingnow,barelyable tokeepher

feetunderherassheran.“Stopitstopitstopitstopit!”Willowfled toward thecrumbledpartof thehouse, theonlyplacemonsters

werenotcomingfrom.Ozshifteddirection,andnowhewasonlyafewpacesaway from dragging her down, ripping out her throat and then her belly andinnardswithhispowerful,grindingjaws...Willowwasheadedacrossthecourtyardwhen,suddenly,somethingoccurred

toher.She’dthought,onlyamomentbefore,thatthecourtyardwasthecenteroftheGatehouse.Upahead,nearlyhiddeninovergrowth,wasamarblefountain.Itwaswhere thepathsfromthefourdoorsfromthefoursidesof thehousemet.Thecenterofthecourtyard.Themiddleofitall.Thenshegot it.Willowran the fewextrasteps toward the fountain,putting

everyounceofstrengthintothatsprint.Shebarelymadeit.Whenshereachedit,shehoppedoverthelowwallandintotheicy,stagnantwater.Hermindhadput

itall togetheralmost tooquickly;sofast thatshedidn’thave timetoexamine,onlytogobyinstinctandhalf-rememberedtheories.She turned to face Oz. He leaped for her. Willow dropped down in the

stagnantwaterandheovershot.Itwouldtakehimtwo,perhapsthreesecondstorighthimself,andthenhewouldbeonher.Shedidn’tevenbothertostandfromthegreenishfountainwater.Willowraisedherhandsandscreamed,“MastersofOrder, Ibid theecome,

andseethygreatestcreation!Thecentermusthold!”Ozroaredandleapedforher,andwasinstantlyrepelledbyacracklingsphere

ofenergythatformedaroundher.“Thecentermusthold!”sherepeated.And thenshebegan tochant,asbest

she could, abinding spell shehad read inoldLatin fromGiles’snoteson theGatekeeper.Onhispawsagain,Ozbegantocircle,growlingdangerouslyatWillowwhere

shestoodinthevilefountainwater.Butsheignoredhim.Shewassafefromhimnow.Hewassafe,atleastforthemoment.Instead,sheclosedhereyes.Closedhereyestothehorrorsthatsweptacross

the courtyard.Closed her eyes to the sight of her dearest friends swarmed bymonsters,thesightofAngelgoingdownbeneaththepummelingfistsofafamilyofangrytrolls.Willowclosedhereyes.Shestretchedoutherhands. Inhermindshevisualized theskeinsofpower

thathadbeenwoventogethertocreatetheintricatewebofmagickthatwastheGatehouse.Thatwas themagickof this fountain. Itwas the center.She couldfeelit.WillowRosenbergwasnosorceress,nomagician.Shewasn’tevenawitch,

not really. What she was, she admitted most readily, was little more than adabbler, a spellcasterwho had attempted some things that ought to have beenbeyondher,andsucceededwithpurestrengthofwillandalittlebitofluck.But she didn’t need skill right now.What she needed,more than anything,

was that will and focus and intensity that she revealed to others so veryinfrequently.Butitwasthere.Ithadalwaysbeenthere.Inthemomentwhenshewasneeded,Willowwouldalwayscomethrough.Likenow.Shereachedoutfortheskeinsofmagick,thestrandsofspellsandritualsand

charms and glamours that had been built into this house in the course ofcenturies—reachedoutforthem,grabbedhold,andpulled.

Askyquakeshatteredtheair.Balllightningburnedinabacusrowsacrossthecourtyard.Monstersscreamed.Andwerepulled,physically,metaphysically,psychically,ectoplasmically...

whateverittook,theywerepulledbacktowardthehouse.Byalittlespellcasterwith a knack for magick and a strength of will that even she would neverunderestimateagain.“Willow!”sheheardXandershout.“Youdidit!”Sheopenedhereyes.AngelandCordeliaandXanderwererunningacrossthe

overgrowncourtyardtowardthefountain,whereshestood,herfeetnumbwithcoldfromthechillofthewater.“Idon’tknowhowyoudidit,”Cordeliasaidassheapproached.“I’mnoteven

onehundredpercentsureitwasyouwhodidit,butXanderthinksso.So...”Cordeliasmiled.“Thanks.”Willowshrugged.Lookedaroundnervously.“Itisn’tmuch.Itwon’tsavethe

worldoranything.Anditwon’tlastverylong.”“Long enough for us to get out of here,”Xander said. “Don’t sell yourself

shortthere,Rosenberg.That’syourparents’job.”Willowsteppedoutofthecold,filthywater,andjoinedherfriends.Shewas

abouttosaysomethingaboutgoingoutthroughoneofthesides,tryingtofigureouthowtoavoidFulcanelli.Thensheheardthegrowl.She’dforgottenaboutOz.Hehowledevenassheturnedtofacehim.Thenhelungedforherthroat.

Forjustamoment,therewaspeaceandcalm.Andorder.Thatwasallittook.Jacques Regnier had been badly burned by Fulcanelli’s magick, a horrible

spellthatcausedhismindtoshriekinagonyevenashisbodyburstintoflameandhetumbledbackontotheroofofthehousethatwasshatteringbeneathhim.Thenhewasfalling,fallingalongwithtimbers.Thehouseanditskeeperwereinextricablylinkednow,becausetherewasno

heir. No one else to take up the reins. What happened to Jacques Regnierhappened to theGatehouse.The samepains, the same fireandexplosions thatwrackedhisbodyandmindcausedthewestwingtocollapseinuponitself.Butamidtherubble,Jacqueslayinabubbleofcracklinggreenfire.Healing.

Aware.Fighting,evenatthattime,toregaincontrolofthehouseandeverythingaroundhim.Fulcanellihadnothadtimetomergewith theGatehouse.Jacqueshadbeenable to control that, at least.The sorcererwas alsoweakenedby thebattle.Therevelationofhis trueface, thecracked, leather,hellishface thathiseonsofintimacywiththeblackartshadtransformedhimintowasnowrevealed.Hisshellwascracked,andhispowerwasleakingoutofit.Somehow,Jacqueshadbeenable to tap intoallof that.Hecouldsense that

Fulcanelli feltexhilaratedwithhis truefaceshowing,but itwasafalsefeelingcausedbytheflowofpowerthroughhim...outofhim.Itwasagoodthing,forJacqueswasnotentirelypreparedforthejobthatlaybeforehim.Hehadhoped,somehow, thathisgrandmother’sghostwould remain toaidhim.But shewasgone,andhisfatheraswell.Still, all the memories, all the lessons, all the power of the entire line of

Gatekeepers, theRegnier family, livedwithin him. Itwas as though he couldconsult any of them at any time, so he was not truly alone. But such aconsultationwouldtakeconcentrationandfocus,andhehadtimeforneitheratthemoment.So he kept Fulcanelli at bay.And he healed his body.And he tried, oh so

desperately, to keep the house from falling apart completely, to keep themonstersin.Atthat,hehadfailed.Theyweretoopowerful,allrailingagainsthispower,

allstrugglingsimultaneouslytobefreeoftheircaptivityinthehouse.Itwastoomuch,allofitatonce.Orithadbeen.Then there had come that single moment of peace and calm and order.

Somehow, theGatehouse’s strength had been restored, just for amoment.Allthe monsters were back in their chambers, each with its own little pocketdimension,magickallyboundwithinthehouse.Itwasanenormouspuzzle,butitrevertedmostsuddenlybacktoform.Foraninstant.Andthatwasallheneeded.With a sudden burst of energy thatmade JacquesRegnier cry outwith the

pleasure of raw power, green magick spread out from him as though he hadwingsofflame.Andthenheflew.Up,outoftherubble.Behind him, the house repaired itself as he passed. Timbers righted

themselves.Awaveofsorcerysweptoverthehouse,andJacquesrejoicedwith

theknowledgethatitwasnothisdoing.Thehousewasrepairingitself,justashehad. It was returning to the pattern, so carefully crafted, that it had becomefamiliarwithafteralltheseyears.Jacquessoaredabovethehouse,flyingonwingsofmagick,feelingthenight

windagainsthisfaceandthepowerthrumming,burninginhiseverymuscle.Then he looked down, the euphoria dissipating. Fulcanelli still attacked the

house,stillstungitwithhisbleedingmagicks.ItpainedJacquesforthehousetobedamaged,andheknewthatitwastimetoputastoptoit,onceandforall.

Fulcanelli was infuriated. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. TheGatekeeperwasdead.“Dead,doyouhearme?”hescreamedatthefrontdoors,againandagain.Buttheyremainedclosedtohim.Hehadbeensoclose.Hehadbeeninsidethehouse,inthefoyer,battlingthe

would-beGatekeeperthattheHarrisboyhadbecome.ThentheRegnierheirhadreturned,andthebattlehadchanged.BeforeFulcanellievenrealizedthatthingshad changed appreciably, andbefore he couldprepare, theyoung Jacques hadusedmagicktodrivehimout, tothrashhimsoundly,andtoreconstituteheavyoakendoorsthatwerethenslammedinhisface.Thentheboyhadappearedontheroof,attackinghimfromthereasthoughit

were thebattlementofsomemythiccastle.Just likeaboyofelevenmightdo.Whichwas,intheend,whathewas.Fulcanellihad laughed then.Hewas justaboy.Andhewoulddie.And the

futurewouldbelongtoIlMaestro,andtononeother.Witheveryounceofpowerhecouldsummon,everybitofmagickcrackling

throughhistransformedbody,thehard,leatheryfoldsofhisfaceandarmsandchestsparkingwiththesheerenergyofit,Fulcanellihadreacheddeeplyintotherecessesofhismemory,intothevaultsofpainandagonyhehadmasteredlongago,andhehadthrustthatmagickattheboy.Andtheboyhadfallen.Thehousehadcrumbled,atleastpartially,andthewebofmagicksthatkept

themonstersboundhadbeguntounravel.Noneofwhichhehadreallywanted.ButiftheGatekeeperhadbeenvanquished,heknewhewouldbeabletohandlesomefewsmalldisappointments.ForvictorybelongedtoFulcanelli.Hehadrejoiced.Andthenhehadtriedtoenterthehouse.Anditwouldnotopentohim.

Sohehadstruggledforseveral longminutes, tryingtomagickallybatterhiswayin.Stillthehousehadresisted.Andnow...heheardhisname.“Fulcanelli!”Itwasthevoiceoftheboy,anditroareddownathimfromabove.IlMaestro

stoodon the reconstituted steps in frontof theGatehouse, andhe staredup inastonishment at a corner of the house that had now transformed itself into acastle battlement. Upon it stood Jacques Regnier, the boy who was now theGatekeeper.Theboywhomhehadkilledonlyminutesearlier.Fulcanellihadbeenrightabouttheboy’simagination.Thecastlebattlement.

Thehousehadcreatedittosuittheboy’sneeds,outoftheboy’smind.Thetwowerejoined,oneandthesame.Then IlMaestro knew that somehow, in all his machinations, he had gone

wrong.Bydeprivingtheboyofhisfather,byattackingwhentherewasnoheir,he had forced a union he could never have expected. The Gatehouse and itskeeperhadsomehowmergedinawaythatnoGatekeeperbeforehadmanaged...becauseneverbeforehadanyGatekeeperbeenpushedtoit.Thisboyhadnootherchoice.In thatmoment, IlMaestroknew thathehad lost.Heknew it, in fact, even

before the torrent of green magick swept down from the battlement atop theGatehouse and blew him off his feet and across the lawn,where he slammedagainsttheheavyirongate,hisbodyshattered.Helayonthegrass,brokenandbleeding.Dying.

“Ethan!”BuffylookedupatthesoundofGiles’svoice.Shehadbeenwipingherhands

on a paper towel from the rollGiles kept towork on the endless leaks of theGilesmobile,ashebegantobackup.Sureenough,EthanRaynewasstaggeringtowardthem.Fromthebackseat,Micaelasaid,“Hedoesn’tlookwell.”Buffyfrowned.“Good.”“No,Buffy,”Gilescorrected.“MuchasIhatetosayit,weneedEthan.”BuffyandGilesgotoutandapproachedtheBrit.Ethanlookedatthem,eyes

bloodshot,barelyabletomaintainhisbalance.Foramoment,Buffythoughthemightbedrunk.Thenshesawthefearintheman’seyesandnoticedhowrapidlyhewasbreathing,andsheknewthatalcoholhadnothingtodowithhiscurrent

state.“Whathappened?”Gilesdemanded.“Thesphere?Whathappened?”“Itworkedperfectly,”Ethandrawled,eyesrolling towhite inhishead, then

comingbacktofocusagain.“Order.Putrid,horrid,repulsiveorderconsumed...everything.The . . .demonsweredestroyed. I left . . .walkedout toseewhatthesehandshadwrought...”Hehelduphishandsweaklyastheybegantowalkbacktothecar.“TheSonsofEntropywantedtomakesureIwastellingthetruth.Sortoflike

you,dearboy.”There was a long pause, as though Ethan had fallen asleep. His eyelids

drooped. Buffy was about to slap him when they opened again. He swayed.Blinkedseveraltimes.“Whathappened?”“I’m just so bloody good atwhat I do,”Ethan sighed. “But somethingwas

wrong.What shewas fighting . . .Belphegor . . . too strong . . . andwhen itbrokethrough,intothisworld,itsentawaveofchaosacrossthetown,throughthesphere.“Itnearlykilledme.”“Whatashamethatwouldhavebeen,”Buffymuttered.Micaelaclimbedoutofthecar.Ethanbrieflyacknowledgedher.Sheliftedhis

droopingchin.Buffysawherthen,sawthefearandthepassioninhereyes,andshe trusted thewoman.Shewasbeautiful, herhoney-blondhair spilling abouther shoulders, her eyes piercing, but Buffy knew now that wasn’t what hadattractedGilestoher.Itwasthisburningfire.Shewasafighter.Shewouldstandwiththemagainst thedevilhimself.Buffywassureof that

now.Butitwasn’tmuchofacomfort.“Ethan,howdowestopit?”Micaelaasked.The two-bit wizard looked at her, a tiny smile played at the corners of his

mouth.“Ethan!”Gilessnapped.“Ifyouknowhowtokillthisthing,tellus,orsohelp

meGod...”Ethan looked at him blearily, raised his hands, unable to speak. Then he

collapsedinGiles’sarms.“Damnit!”theWatchersnapped.“Gethiminthecar!”Micaela whipped open one of the rear doors and Buffy helped Giles load

Ethanin.ShewasabouttoclimbinbackwithhimwhenMicaelaletoutashortgasp.“Rupert,”shesaidanxiously.Buffylookedacrossthecemetery,backthewaythey’dcome.Inthelightof

the full moon, she could clearly see that a long, thick, gray-mottled tentacle,linedwithrazortines,juttedfromthedoortothesepulchre.Andthentheentirecryptjustseemedtoexplode.In the sphere of order that still existed around the town, a crack formed.A

ripplethatspreadchaosandlivingevilintothecontrolthatorderhadtaken.Andtaintedit.Thespherehadheldbacksomanyotherhorrors,demonsandmonstershadbeendestroyedorcapturedbyit.Butthiswasdifferent.ThiswasoneoftheLordsofHell.Belphegorwascoming.“Giles,getusoutofhere!”Buffyscreamed.Evenasshehoppedintothebackseat,GilesandMicaelaslammedthedoorsto

his car, and Giles started it up. For once, the Citroen ran like a dream. Thesphere of order was still there, but it was falling apart, cracking like a hugeeggshellasBelphegorsurgedforth.Giles stomped on the gas and the Citroen shot forward, reaching speeds it

hadn’tseeninadecade.“Whatnow?”Buffyshouted.“Thereisn’tawholelotwecandowhilewe’re

runningaway.”“We’renotrunningfar,”Gilesreplied.“Justtothelibrary.Nowthatweknow

exactlywhatwe’re dealingwith, I believewe’ll be able to find someway todefeatit.”“Youbelieve?”Buffyasked,eyebrowsraised.“We’llfindaway,Buffy,”Micaelaassuredher,pushingherhairawayfrom

her face. “You’ll see. No matter how powerful Belphegor is, there is alwaysgoingtobesomethingmorepowerful.”“Great,”Buffysaid,sighing.“Let’sjusthopewedon’thavetofightthat,too.”

Chapter

15

OZLUNGEDFORWILLOW.SHESCREAMEDANDFELLbackwardintothe fountain. The cold water closed over her head and she collided withsomething hard. For a moment, she saw a rush of red and black dots, whichbegan to stretch into a dull haze.Ahum filled her head and she started to goaway somewhere. Understanding that she was about to pass out, she forcedherselfbackuptoasittingposition.Asshechokedonthefetidwater,shemadeherselfspititoutandscramblednottofalloveragain.Throughherwethair,shesawAngelinfullvampface,tryingtopullOzaway

from the fountain.Ozwhirled onhim and slashed a deep cut inAngel’s arm.Angelstaggeredbackward.Xander swung a fallen tree branch at the werewolf, striking him on the

shoulderandyelling,“C’mon,man,backoff!”OzgrowledandbackhandedXanderacrosstheface,sendinghimflying.“Willow,dosomething!”Cordeliashrieked.Willowheldoutherarmsandbeganthebindingspell.“To theoldgods, Igivealldeferenceandhonor,”shebegan.Tearswelled

andshe faltered. If thisworked,shewasgoing tobindOz into theGatehouse.She had no idea what that would do to him. And if the Gatehouse fell orcollapsedintoanotherdimension,whatwouldhappentoherboyfriend?Shehesitated.AsOzchargedAngelagain,Xandersatupononeelbowand

cried,“Go,Willow,keepgoing!”“Pan, hear my plea,” she said. Her voice wavered, but her resolve stayed

firm.She had found the depths of her inner strength today, and she knew shecoulddothis.Then, as Oz was surrounded by a brilliant light, Willow knew perhaps a

fraction of the sorrowBuffymust have feltwhen she had sentAngel toHell.BecauseOz turnedand roaredather just ashedisappeared, and she sworehe

understoodwhatshehaddone.WhereOzstood,thelightdimmed,andthenitwasjustthefourofthem.Willowexhaled.Shewascold;shestank;andallshewantedtodowastakea

hotshower,climbintoanice,warmbed,andsleepfortherestofherlife.AftertheysavedOz.Oh,yeah,andtheworld.Atthemoment,aprettylonglist.XanderandAngelbothreachedherat thesametime.Eachone tookahand

andgentlyhelpedheroutofthefountain.Heranklehurtworsethanbefore,andshetriedtohideitasshesteppedforward.ButitgavewayandshefoundherselfpressedagainstXander’schest.“Will, you did the right thing. Jacques will free him as soon as he can,”

Xandermurmured.Willowletherselfcollapseagainsthimforafewmoments.Theystoodinthe

gardenasWillowcaughtherbreath.Thenshenoddedonce,hard,andstartedtomove.Butheranklewasstilltender,andshehadtoleanonthemforsupport.“I’msorryI’msostinky,”shesaid.“You’renotreally,”Xanderreplied,ashecarriedheracrossthecourtyard.“Areyoukidding?”Cordeliaasked,thenglaredatXander.“What?”Xanderglaredback.“Youknowwhat.”She rolledher eyes. “Oh, the tact thing.”Sheclearedher throat and said to

Willow,“Well,let’ssee,youdon’tsmellasbadasalandfill.”ShenarrowedhereyesatXander.“Okay?Effortmade.Anditdoesn’tworkforme.Ijustcan’tdoit.”Willow almost smiled, but she was too worried about Oz to manage it.

Cordelia looked at her hard, then caught up to them and touched Willow’sshoulder.“ButIcansaythis,Willow.Youdidtherightthing.”Willowsighed.Great.Cordeliathoughtshe’ddonetherightthing.Somehow

thatdidn’tmakeherfeelmuchbetter.

They trooped into the house. In the same lavish roomwhere they had firsttalkedtoJean-MarcRegnier,therewasthelittlekidwhowasnowGatekeeper,hisbackturnedtothem.Cordeliahadneverbeensohappytoseeanyoneinherlife—evenXander,includingwhenshethoughthehaddiedontheghostroads—okay,maybenotquitethatmuch—butsherushedaheadoftheotherstotellhimattheveryleastthatshewasgladhehadn’tbeenannihilated.

“Hey,Gate-boy!”shebegan,excitedly.He turned around. His eyes were swollen from crying. Bitter, heavy tears

streameddownhisyoungface.Cordeliasaid,“Oh,”andtookastepback.“Forgiveme,”theboymurmured,wipinghischeeks.“Hey,Jacques,youokay?”Xanderasked.“What’swrong?”Willowadded,inthatgentlewayshehadthatusuallymade

Buffyspillwhateveritwasthatwaseatinghergutsthatday.WhichwasusuallyAngelorsomeothervariationoftheboy-girlscene.“It’s just that . . .” Jacqueswaved his hand. “This ismy life fromnowon.

Though I can no longer sense him, I’m certain Fulcanelli shall return, if nottodayortomorrow,theninayearoracentury.Isawtheghostofmyfatherforbutamoment,andnowheisgone.Asisthespiritofmygrandmother,whohasbeenreleased.”Hebowedhishead.“Inalltheworld,Iamquitealone.”“Hey,no,”Cordeliasaid,tryingtosoundcheery.“You’vegotus.And,well,

it’s true that if theworld doesn’t end,we’ll have to go back to Sunnydale tofinishsenioryear,butwecanalwayscomebackforavisit.”Shesmiledbrightly.“I can takeyou shopping and everything.Get you somegreat, ah,Gatekeeperfashions.”He actually smiled, andCordelia felt a flash of triumph.Let ’em keep their

tact.Shecouldwinfriendsand influencepeoplewith the truth just fine, thankyou.“You’re an exquisite lady,” he said, and that flustered her a little. Most

eleven-year-olds she knew didn’t talk like that. Okay, none. She wondered ifmaybeshewassupposedtocurtsyorsomething,butshejustwinkedathim.“You’renotsobad,either.MaybeI’llwaitforyoutogrowup,”shedrawled.“Oh,Iwon’tmarryforatleastahundredyears,”hereplied.“It’ssomethingin

our life pattern, theway theRegniers exist. I don’t understand it, but I knowthat’showitwillbe.”Cordeliablinked.“Wow.Icouldbedeadbythen.”Achillrandownherspine.

Sonotwhatshewantedtothinkabout.Willowsaidquickly,“Excuseme,butIsortofhadtobindmyboyfriendinto

theGatehouse—”“Andyouwanthimunbound,”Jacques finishedforher.Heclosedhiseyes.

“Hestillwearswolffur.Itwouldbedangerousforhimandforyou.”

“Thentellmehe’sallright.”Willow’sbigbrowneyeswerewideandhopeful.“Ormakehimallright.”Jacques touchedhis temples.“I seehimclearly.He’s ina roombyhimself.

Hedoesn’tlikeit,butthere’snowayhecancometoharm.“Youdidwell,spellcaster.”“Oh,well,I...”Willowshrugged.Cordeliawasalittlemiffed.True,Willowhadprettymuchsavedtheirbutts,

butwasthatanyreasonforhertoinsistonbeingthecenterofattention?“And I would like a heart, and Angel here wants to get back to Kansas,”

Xander cut in, stepping forward. “But seriously, Jacques, what should we donow,gotoDisneyWorld?”The Gatekeeper looked at Xander, and suddenly Xander extended his arm.

JacquesclaspedhissmallhandaroundXander’swrist,andXanderdidthesame.Itwasliketheywereinthesameclub.WhichCordeliasupposedtheywere,orhadbeen.TheGatekeeperClub.“Thankyou,”Xandersaid.“No,itisIwhothankyou,”Jacquesreplied.“Okay,whatever.”Cordeliawaved her hands. “You guys can do thismale-

bonding-Gatekeeper thing some other time. Because I’m betting there’ssomethingwehavetodorightnoworwe’llalldieorexplode,amIright?”Jacqueswalkedawaysapartfromthem.“Ineedsometimealonetobecome

accustomedtomysituation.Andtoputmyhouseinorder.”Heshrugged.“Sotospeak.”Theotherschuckled,butCordeliadidn’tgetwhatwasfunny.Nothingabout

thiswasfunny.Infact,itwasreallysad.

Outside theGatehouse, just beyond the edges of themagickal glamour thathid the house fromanypassersby, Fulcanelli laywrapped in a glamour of hisown. He wasn’t certain if he had successfully hidden his presence from theyoungGatekeeper.Butsincethechildhadn’trenewedhisattack,heguessedthatforthetimebeinghewassafe.Theancientsorcererclosedhiseyesandwilledfreshhumanskintogrowover

hisleathery,scarredface.Inthenewworldofhismaking,suchnicetieswouldbeunnecessary.Thatworld,however,hadyettobeborn,thankstothebratandhissupporters.ThatdamnedSlayer.

“Youmustnothateyourenemies,”Hadriushadsaidonenight,afterhehadbeatenGiacomosenseless.The tall,armoredmankneltoverGiacomo’spalletbythefireandexaminedthewounds.“Itisaluxuryyoumustdenyyourself.Elseyou’llstrikewhenitwilldoyounogood.”Giacomomadehimselflooksteadilyintotheeyesofhiscruelmasterevenas

his fingers wrapped around the dagger he clutched beneath his thin, coarseblanket.Hemustnotgivehimselfaway.IfHadriussuspectedanything,hewouldsurelyputGiacomotodeath.Slowly.“Ihatenoone,”Giacomosaid,buthisvoiceshook.Hadriuslaughed.Then,withouttakinghisgazefromGiacomo’sface,hetore

theblanketback,exposingthedagger.Giacomoblanchedbutdidnotcryout.“Welldone,”Hadriussaidapprovingly.“The timeapproacheswhenIshall

trulyfearyou.Butthattimeisnottonight,boy.”Stillsmiling,hepulledbackhisfistandslammeditintoGiacomo’sface.Giacomo’sheadsnappedbackwardandhecollapsedonthepallet.Inatrice,

thedaggerwasathisownneck, thepointpiercingtheskin.Ashegaspedwithpain, Hadrius ran it down the length of his throat, etching a thin line thatbobbledoverhisAdam’sapple, thencenteredin thehollowbetweenhiscollarbones.“Thereare somanyways to tortureone’s victims,”Hadrius said,his voice

almostwistful.“Ishallendeavortoshowthemalltoyou,beforeyousucceedinassassinatingme.”Confused,Giacomoswallowedhard,andthesharppointpushedmoredeeply

intohisskin.Heheardthetearofflesh,andtheroaroffearthatthreatenedtooverwhelmallhissensesasheshuthiseyes.“Coward,”Hadriussaidwithdisdain.Thepointwentinstillfurther.Giacomo’sforeheadbeadedwithsweatandhe

grittedhisteethtogether.“Fool,”Hadriusjeered,andpushedagain.“Stop!” Giacomo cried, grabbing at the dagger. He was surprised when

Hadriusyieldedittohim.“Nevershowyourbelly,ormenwillkickyoulikeadog,”themansaid,rising

fromthepallet.“Buonanotte,miofilio.”Myson.Soitwastrue.Giacomoshook.Hebithis lips sohard theybled.Tears streameddownhis

cheeks.Ashewiped themaway,somethingdeep insidehim,whichmayatonetimehavebeenhis heart, grewhardand cold andproud.The sonofHadriuswouldbestrongerthanHadriuseverdreamedofbeing.Hewouldbecruelerandmoreheartless.Itwastheonlywaytowinhisfather’srespect.Andtheonlywaytosurvive.

Later that same night, Giacomo crept through the keep, feet muffled in furwraps, in searchof thecastlewisewoman.Hiswoundswereweepingandhisforeheadwasblazing,thougheachicybreathcreatedamist.Hewassickdeepdownintohissoul;heneededapoulticeorhewoulddieahumiliatinglynaturaldeath.Staggering, henearly knockedovera full coat ofarmor standingbesidean

arched wooden doorway, which was always locked shut. Tonight, however, itwasajar,andmoansissuedfromit.Giacomohalted,listening.Wholayontherack?Whosefleshsizzledbeneath

a heated blade?He rememberedHadrius’ spoken desire to present to himallformsoftorture.Stealthily,witharepellentfascination,hetiptoedtothecrackoflightissuing

fromtheopeneddoorandpeeredwithoneeyeinside.Hewasstunnedbywhathesaw: thebeautifuldaughterof thewisewoman,

who could not be more than fifteen, lay locked in rapturous delight withHadrius.And the fearsome lordof thekeep, thedread,darkshadowwhomallfeared,appearedtobenothingmorethananakedmiddle-agedman,pleasuringhimselfwithaslipofamaid.Nowwouldbethetimetodoit, tostrikehimdownandendthetormentand

thehumiliation.“Cara,bellacara,”Hadriusmurmuredtothegirl.“Tiamo,bella.”He stroked her hair and her face with gentle fingers; she rippled with

pleasureandcriedoutformore.Then Hadrius turned toward the doorway and spread wide his mouth. His

teethflashedinthelight.Itwasmorethanagrin,itwasaleer.Itwasthemouthofabeast.AsGiacomowatchedinshock,hesankhisteethintothechestofthegirl.She

screamedandstruggled.Hegrabbedherwristsinonehandandburroweddownmoredeeply.Hisheadarchedback.Somethingrippedfromherchest,redandbeating.

Giacomoturnedandvomited.Heran.

*

Hethoughthewouldneversleepagain,butdawnhadbeguntocreepacrossthe stone floorwhenHadrius kicked at the pallet.Giacomo bolted awake, hiseyeshuge,andraisedthedaggermenacingly.“Good.” His hands full with a brass platter, Hadrius smiled approvingly.

Thenheblinkedatthedaggeranditgrewwhite-hot.AsGiacomocriedoutanddroppedit,itsludgedacrossthefootofhispallet,apuddleofmoltenmetal.“Now.Letusbreakthefasttogether,”thesorcerersaidwithasmile.HesatonGiacomo’spalletandshowedhimwhatwasontheplatter:themain

coursewas the sizeandshapeofahumanheart, surroundedby smallerones.Giacomofelthisbilerise,butthistimeheforcedhisstomachnottorevolt.“Better,”Hadriussaid.“Now.”Fromhissleevehewithdrewagoldenfork,

asitwasthecustomofthedaytocarryone’sowncutleryonone’sperson.HehandedtheforktoGiacomo.“Ifyoudonoteat,Iwillkillyou,”hesaid.“Ifyoudonotenjoy,Iwillbeat

yousenseless.”“Father,”Giacomoblurted. Itwas the first timehehadgivenHadrius that

title.Hadrius’facehardened.“Neverthinktotradeonmyaffections.Ihavenone.I

donotloveyouandInevershall.Thebestyoucanhopeforfrommeismyprideinyou.Andeveninthat,Ishallbemostsparing.”Giacomolookeddownattheheart.Therewerepiecesmissingfromit.Butatleastthegirlhadhadone.Hewas certain, from thismoment on, that if he touched the left side of his

chest,therewouldbenopulse.Forcinghimselftocalmness,hetooktheforkfromhisfatherandstabbedthe

heart.Hadriusproducedajeweledstiletto,andGiacomoacceptedthataswell.Hecutabite.Putitbetweenhislips.“It’s rather like venison, is it not? Gamey. The flesh of nobles is more

refined,”Hadriustoldhimeasily,stretching.“Dawnisnearlyhere.Whatadayitwillbe,boy.We’llhavetodosomethingglorioustoday.”Giacomo chewed. For an instant he wasn’t certain if he would be able to

swallow,butthenherememberedthathehadnoheart.Themorselwentdownwithsurprisingease.

HadriussatandwatchedwhileGiacomoatetheentirething.WhenGiacomohadconsumedthelastbite,herealizedhewasextremelyfull.Uncomfortablyso.Ahumanheartmadeforaprodigiousmeal.The pleased look on his father’s facemade the sinful food lie heavy on his

stomach.Giacomoknew themanwas intent uponmakinghim intoamonster,knewhewasmanystepscloserthismorning.“So.”Hadriusrubbedhishandstogetherandtooktheplatterback.Alsothe

fork,withwhichhespearedoneofthetinierheartsandpoppeditintohismouth.Hechewedwithrelish.“Dress,andwe’llbeoffonafineadventure.”Giacomoinclinedhishead,quiteawareofthejeweledstilettoinhishand.Hadrius began to leave the chill room. Then he snapped his fingers and

whirledonhisheel.“Your mother,” he said, as if suddenly recalling something. “You thought

yourso-calledfatherandhisparamourbetrayedher.”Hecockedhisheadandstabbedanothersmallheart.“Butnowyouknowbetter,don’tyou.”Hepoppedtheheartintohismouth.Giacomo stared at him. Nothing registered. Everything inside him, every

nerve,everythought,wentnumb.“Perhaps you didn’t hearme. Iwas the onewho sent the soldiers for your

mother.Iasmuchaslitthefireatthehemofthatfinenightdress.”Still Giacomo gaped. Unbidden, the memory of his mother burning and

writhing filled his brain and shotdown his spine. Rage ignitedwithin him. Itroaredastheflames.Itshotthroughhim,usedhim,movedhim.Shrieking, he flew at Hadrius, the stiletto aimed straight for the bastard’s

belly.Byanunseenhand,hewasthrownthelengthoftheroom.Heslammedhard

againstthewallandcrashedtothefloor.Hiswitheredarmburstintoflame.Hethrewbackhisheadandscreamedinagony.“Thusshedied.Feeling that.Feeling italloverherbody.AndIdid that to

her.”Giacomokeptscreaming.Thenheforcedhimselftoshriek,“Why?”At once the flames were doused, but the pain throbbed up and down his

blackenedlimb.Hadriusstaredathim,chewingthoughtfully.“Why?”Giacomoaskedagain,assumingtheobvious:thatHadriushadtired

ofher,orthatshehadbetrayedhiminsomeway.“In hopes that I might have this chat with you one day,” Hadrius replied

simply.“Onlyforthat,Giacomo.Onlyasalessonforyou.Forthesakeofyour

destiny,ofwhatyoumustbecome.Thinkofthat.Shemeantthatlittletome.”Giacomodrewbackhislips.Hatredfilledeveryfiberofhisbeing.Assoonas

hecouldmove...“Uh-uh-uh.”Hadriuswaggedhisfingerathim.“Haveyoulearnednothing?

Neverhateyourenemies.Never.”Hisarmburstintoflameagain.Hadriusturnedbackonhisheelandleft.Giacomo’sscreamsechoedbeyondthecastlewallsandintotheforest,where

thefewpeasantswhodaredtoentertherecrossedthemselvesandwhisperedtoboththeVirginandtheoldgodstosavethem.Theywerenotsaved.AndneitherwasGiacomo.

Andnow,dressedintheguiseofamodern-daypeasant—ahomelessmanhewas called in these times—Fulcanelli gathered up the scars andwrinkles thatonceagain linedhis faceand staggereddown the street.As thedawn rose,hestumbled toward Boston, knowing that to fight another day, hemust rest andrecuperate. The young Gatekeeper had let him go, foolishly allowed him tosurvive.Itwasamistaketheboywouldlivetoregretonlyforashortwhile.With a smile, he lurched forward, laughing silently to himselfwhen one of

Boston’sdenizensmutteredathim,“Getajob.”Thereandthen,hecreatedwithinthemananembolism.Asthemanclutched

hischestandgroaned,Fulcanellilaughedsilentlytohimself.Hewasfullyemployed,thankyousoforyourconcern.Busily ending theworld, so that such idiots as the freshly deadmanwould

serveausefulpurpose.

As theGilesmobilewobbledon thebrokenstreet toward the library, theskycrackedopenandfireraineddown.Thenahordeofmisshapenfigurescoveredwithhairlumberedinfrontofthecar,notevennoticingwhenGilessteppedtoolateonthebrakeandrammedoneofthem.Itfellover,rolled,gottoitsfeet,andlumberedon.“Okay,Ethan,”Buffysaid.“EnoughwithCousinIt,It,andtheirotherbrother

Darryl.What’sgoingon?”“I don’t understand,” Ethan muttered. “The sphere of order appears to be

collapsing.”Buffyturnedaroundtolookathimjustintimetoseehimgrin.

“Thisisamusingwhy?”shedemandedangrily.Heflashedheraguilty look, likea littleboytryingtocharmhiswayoutof

trouble.Whenshedidn’tsoften,heshruggedandsaid,“Ibelievethisissimplyproofthatallsystemstendtowardsentropy.”Buffystaredathim.“Disorderisthenaturalwayofthings,”headded.“Tellthattomymomnexttimeshewantsmetocleanmyroom,”Buffytold

him.“Andseehowlongyoulive.”Ethanbrightened.“Oh, Ido so love the sparringbits.Let’s see,howshall I

riposte?”“You’llcastanotherspell,iswhatyou’lldo,”Gilessaid.HelookedatBuffy.

“I’mafraidhe’sright.Order’sbreakingdown.We’regoingtohavetoworkfast.We can’t tolerate any added distractions. Belphegor must be destroyed, butwe’regoingtohaveahellofa timedoingthat ifwehavetofightvariousandsundryescapeesfromtheOtherworldand,frankly,Hellitself.”“Yeah,thatwouldbeamajordrag,”Buffydrawled.GilesgaveheraGiles look.“What Imean is, theywouldsimplyserveasa

distractionfromourmainpurpose.”“What Ripper’s trying to say,” Ethan drawled, “is that it would be a bit

awkward for you to be dismembered by, say, a family ofRumanian verdulakratherthanenjoyingthesublimeopportunityoffightingthebigcheesehimself.”Buffyshookherhead.“WakemeupwhenyouEnglishpeoplestartspeaking

English.”Gilessaid,“Whathemeantwas—”“Yeah, okay, thanks.”Over her shoulder, she said to Ethan, “Okay, I give.

Whatareverdulak?”Ethantsk-tsked.“Really,MissThing.They’reatypeofvampire.”“Iknewthat,”shesaid.Shelookedout thewindowat theMilkyWay-stylebarrageofball lightning

arcingacrossthesky.Theheavyrain,thepiecesofstreetshootingupliketitanicplatesor teutonicplatesorwhatever thatwholecontinental thingwasabout. Iftheworldgotthroughthis,theauthoritiesinSunnydalewouldhaveaheckofatimeexplainingall this away.But the funny thingwas, theywouldmanage it.Andeveryonewouldbelievethem.Pleasantville.Loveitorleaveit.Just then the hedges in front of the school assumed animal shapes—mostly

lionsandtigers,somebears—andbegantomovemenacinglytowardtheroad.

“ThecosmoshasbeenreadingoldStephenKingnovels,”Buffysaid.“GoodLord.”Gilesnearlylostcontrolofthecar.Nothingnewthere.“Please hurry,” Ethan said. “Obviously, my spell has been completely and

totallyoverruled,andsomeone’saddingnewingredients.Movinghedgerowsarenotasignofdisorder.Chaotic thoughtheymaybe.”Hesoundedbothpleasedandinsulted.KindoflikeCordeliawheneverXanderspoketoher.Justthen,somethingshotoutofthestreetdirectlyinfrontofthemandaimed

straight for thewindshield. Itwas an enormous reptilian creaturewith flappy,leatherywingstippedwithclaws.BuffygrabbedthesteeringwheelfromGilesandheadedstraightforthecurb.

Thecreaturereareditsheadinfrustrationandtrottedafterthem,trumpetinginahigh,shrillvoice.“YouknowwhatI’mthinking?”Ethansaidloudly.“ThatthiswouldmakeagreatrideatUniversalStudios?”Buffyreplied.She

saidtoGiles,“Okay,drivesomemore,”andturnedaround.“Please,Ethan,tellmewhatyou’rethinking.Especiallyifitinvolvesstopping

theinsanity.”“I’mthinkingIdoknowhowtostop it.”Hesmiledbroadly.“But Ihave to

confirmafewthings.Withthebooks.”“Steponit,Giles,”Buffysaid.

AndthenightGiacomoFulcanellikilledHadrius,hisfather?Itwasawinter’snight,coldandbleak,thestarsmercilessinapuncturedsky.Oflate,Hadriushadgrownsomewhatforgetful.Giacomowastakenabackby

the deterioration in the man. Rather than seize the advantage and thrust adaggerthroughhisheart,hewaitedtoseewhatwasgoingonwiththeolddevil.Itcouldbeatrick.Hadriuswasforevertestinghim...andpunishinghimwhenhedisappointed.But tonight, as Giacomo tossed on his pallet and listened to the man

murmuring spells to himself down the hall, the wind whistled plans to him,urginghimtopatricide.Thekillingofone’sfather.Themurder,ifyouwill,ofpartofoneself.Giacomolistened.Herosefromhisbedbarehandedandtiptoedthroughthedraftykeep.Years before, the wise woman, whose daughter Hadrius had so viciously

butchered,hadkilledherselfonanightjustlikethis.NowitseemedtoGiacomothatherghostglidedalongsidehim,begginghimforvengeance.

ButGiacomohadlearnedhislessonswell.HedidnothateHadrius.NowhereinsidehisboneslivedthewishtopayHadriusforhiscruelty.Heobservedonlythatitwasnecessarytokillhisfatherifhehadanyhopeofinheritinghisroleasthemost fearsomeconjurerof theblackarts in this plane. Simpleambition, acleardirection,aneed—thosewerethethingsthatspedhimalongthehall.Andagainst such clarityof thought—without accompanying emotion—Hadrius hadnodefense.Giacomo simply came up behind him, put his hands around the old man’s

neck,andsqueezedthelifeoutofhim.Hisfatherputupsurprisinglylittlestruggle,andwhenhisheadplungedinto

the boiling cauldron of noxious liquid, no dark shadow rose out of him, asGiacomohadexpectedtosee.Themansimplydied.Giacomowasalmostdisappointed.Itwasnot until centuries later that he remembereahow tohate again.And

thatwaswhenRichardRegnierthreatenedhispositionatthecourtofFrancisI,inthesixteenthcenturyatFontainebleau.

But thatwas another story.Now, as thedaybegan, he foundhimself at theentrancetowhatwassocharminglycalledaresidentialhotel—astoragefacilityfortheindigent.Nevermindtheniceties;hewavedhishandatthedeskclerk,whohandedhim

akey.Thenhestumbledinside,intoabarrenroomwithabedandasmalltable.Helayonthebed,closedhiseyes,andwilledhimselftobemadewhole.Theworldawaited.Itcried.Itbegged.Despitehispain,hesmiled.

Chapter

16

AS GILES PRESSED THEGAS PEDAL TO THE FLOOR—NO guaranteethere that the car would actually go any faster—the section of road that haddisgorgedtheflyingreptileblewupinahailofblacktopandconcretesohotthatitwasmolten.Gobsofitpeltedthehoodofthecar,burningholesrightthroughthemetal.Sofar,theenginestillworked.“Giles!”Buffyshouted,“Reverse.Reverse!”“Youknowmycarhatesreverse,”heretorted,butmadethegearshiftscream

anyway.Theybegantobackup.“Um,”Ethansaid,“alsonotagoodidea.”BuffyturnedtolookjustasMicaelaletoutascream.Thedeadwereonthemarch.Rotting corpses, some in their moldy Sunday best, staggered mindlessly

toward the Gilesmobile. Eyes missing, still they stared. Their jaws clackedtogether like some kind of demonicwindup toys. Among them, ex-folks in aworse state of decay—cleaned skeletons missing limbs or skulls—draggedthemselvesalong.Surrounding the zombie army, hideous, bruise-colored demons with scarlet

wraparoundeyesandenormous,fang-infestedmouthsrodeblack,fire-breathinghorsesthatglidedover theroad.Whipssnappedover theirheadsandlashedatthecadaversthatlurchedandstaggered.“Let’s go sideways,”Ethan suggested, andBuffywas sure hewas about to

whipupaniftyspelltodojustthatwhensomethingtallandgelatinousshotupfrom theground to their right.Likea largebeachball, it rolled slowly towardthem. It glowed a sickly green, and where it touched the road, the blacktopmelted.Ontheothersideofthecar,astreamofOtherworldcreaturesappearedonthe

horizonandrushedthecarinafrenziedpanic.Trolls,unicorns,sprites,amaninVictorianclothes,andBuffy’soldfriends,thepantherguys,swarmedfromwhathadtobeanenormousbreachjustoutofsight.Thefirstrankslammedintothesideofthecarasiftheydidn’tunderstandthatitwassolid.Thecarwasrockedwildlyfromsidetoside,everyoneinsidethrownaroundlikedolls.AsEthan shouted in fear andMicaela started a binding spell, someone—or

something—managedtoyanktheleft-handpassengerdooropen.AsBuffytriedtoscrambleovertheseats,anenormousfiguremadeofgreenleavesandgreenvinespulledEthanoutofthecar.Thenhedisappearedintothemob.“No,” Buffy cried, not so much because she cared about the sorcerer, but

becausehewastheonlyoneamongthemwhohadtheslightestideahowtokillBelphegor.“Givehimback,youguys!”Okay, time for a Slayer assessment of the sitch: Ethan was nowhere to be

seen, and the creatures kept coming.On the other side, the gelatinous thingielumbered toward them.Hell itself looked tobeopeningup in frontof thecar,andthedeadweremassingattherear.Pushedby the throng,agreenghouldove inafterMicaela,butbetweenher

spellandthestakeinBuffy’shand,atleastMicaelamanagedtostayinsidethecar.Butforhowlong?“Look,”Gilessaid,pointing.“That’sthecauseoftheirpanic.”In thedistance,behind thehundredsofOtherworld inhabitants,a rowof the

same bruise-colored demons that were herding the dead had fanned out onhorseback and were forcing the creatures forward. Though many of theOtherworldbeingswererunningawayfromthemoutofanimalinstinct,othersclearlyknewwhatthescorewas:demonseverything,andeverybodyelse,gooseeggs.Buffysaid,“I’vegottagetEthan.”“No,”Micaelablurted,reachingoutforher.“They’llkillyou.”Giles pushed up his glasses and dodged another flying lizard-thing as it

rammedthewindshield.ItsleftwingbroketheglassatthesametimethatitspitsomekindofacidatGiles,whoexpertlydodgedit.Thesprayshotthroughthecarandtookouthalfthebackwindow.“Shehasapoint,”Gilessaid.“Aboutthekillingbit.”Ashespoke,thegelatinouscreaturecollidedwiththepassenger’ssideofthe

car,andtheGilesmobilebegantomelt.Then the first column of the army of themortally challengedmade contact

withtherearbumperandbegantopushit towardthefierychasmthatyawneddirectlyaheadofthem.At the same moment, the driver’s door was ripped from its hinges, and

somethingverytall,darkgreenandbrownandcoveredwithscalesandgillsandspikeswrappedaroundGiles’sheadandarm.“Giles!”Buffyshouted,herhandsglommingontohisotherarm.Butthepain

from the spikesmade her jerk back in surprise; before she could realizewhatwas happening,much less do anything about it,Gileswaswhisked out of thecar.Sheflewafterhim.Herheartwaspoundingasshepunch-kickeda troll that

leaped into her path, then rammed her fist into the face of a small, fleshycreaturethatseemedtobealleyes.Withthatone,shewasn’tsurewhereitcamefrom—Hell or the Otherworld—and come to think about it, the line betweendemonandOtherworldlymonsterwassortofdisappearingforher.On the other hand, some of the monsters from the Otherworld looked

downrightterrifiedofthedemons.So,okay,nopicnicfortheboysfromlimbo,either.“Outofmyway!”shebellowedatthedozensofthingsthatblockedherpath.

“Slayercomingthrough!Giles.Giles!”Partofherrealizedthatshewasdoingitagain:shewasallowingherselftobe

distracted fromwhatwasnecessaryby trying to save someone she loved.HerfirstpriorityhadtobeEthan.TheworldwascountingonhertostopBelphegor.Millions—billionsoflives—dependedonher,andyet,hereshewas,willingtothrowitawayforoneman.Buthewasn’tjustaman.HewasGiles.Anditdidn’tmatter.Shewasoutofthecarnow,andshewascommitted.The

rightsideoftheGilesmobilewaslittlemorethanapileofoozysparepartsandthehair-gelmonsterwasstillrolling;BuffyhadnoideaifMicaelahadsurvived.Sad tosay—Giles’snewflameornot—thedaughterof IlMaestrowas lowonherlistofpriorities.SheknewEthanshouldbeatthetopofit,butevenasshethrewafierceroundhousekickintothefaceofatree-woman,stillshesearchedforherWatcher.The tree-woman staggered backward, but each time Buffy succeeded in

pushingbackoneattacker,adozenmoretookitsplace.Sheknewitwasonlyamatteroftime.Shewasgoingtodie,andtheworldwasgoingtoend.

“I’msorry,”shebreathed,thinkingofWillow,Oz,andXanderinBoston.Hermother,atAngel’shouse.Giles.And,asalways,Angel.Angel,whohadbeentoHellandback,andmightreturntherethisveryday.“Soverysorry...”Buffy’sheadwhippedup.Thewordswerehers,butthevoicewasnot.Shecouldn’thelp the intakeofbreath, themomentofsheerpanic that froze

her to the burning ground. The demons and monsters had all drawn back,terrifiedofwhatwascoming.Risingfromthecavernthathadoncebeentheroad,coveredwithsteamand

blood,Belphegortoweredoverher.“Sssslayer,”itgreetedher.Itstentaclesslitheredtowardher.Itssevenmouths

openedandsomethingstreamedout,somethingthickandblackandreeking.Shecoveredhermouthtokeepherselffromthrowingup.“Atlast.”“Yeah, it’s about time,” she said, choking back her intense desire to retch.

“Timeforyoutodothatwhole‘whenceyoucame’bit.Timeformetoabandonmyladylikepretensionsandkickyourdemonass!”“HowIhavelongedforthis.SomuchsothatI’malmostsorryitwillbeover

soon.”“That’swhattheyallsay.”Sheflashedasharp,brittlesmileasshehunkered

down intoposition for battle.Shehadnoweapons.Nobackup.Buthope, shehadplentyof.“Andyouknowwhat?”sheflungatit.“They’restilllonging.’Causewithme,

see,it’sneverover.That’smydestiny,right?Myresponsibility.”“Tothelast,ahero.”“Let’s cut the chitchat, all right? It’s really cheapening the moment.” She

doubledherfistsandtookadeepbreath.Ifthiswasit—ifshewasgoingtodie—shewantedtodoasmuchdamageas

possiblebeforeshewentdown.“Ifitwasinmetospareyou,Iwould,”Belphegortoldher.Buffyliftedherchin.“Whatademon.You’reallheart.”“Notatall,”Belphegorresponded.“Ihavenoheart.”

Angel saw the beamsof sunlight across thewall of theGatekeeper’s parlorandsaid,“Ineedtogodeeperintothehouse.”

Hewastired,andthedawnwasmakinghimsluggish.Hewishedthatweren’tso;heagreedwithJacquesthatIlMaestrowouldprobablymakeanunscheduledreappearance,andAngelwanted tobe infighting trimwhenhedid.Butat themoment, he needed to rest. He figured he would be more useful if heacknowledgedthatfactandtookcareofhimself,butitstillfrustratedhimthatitwasnecessary.“Go,” Jacques saidwithawaveofhishand,as ifheweregivingAngelhis

permission.“IfyourunintoOz,”Willowbegan,andthenshebrightened.“Hey,morning,”

shesaideagerly.“Nomorewerewolf.”Jacquesinclinedhishead.“You’reright.Icanreleasehim.”He closed his eyes and murmured to himself, gesturing briefly with his

fingers.ThenhesmiledandlookedatWillow.“Hewillbejoiningusinafewminutes.”“Oz?”Willowcalledout.ShelookedattheGatekeeper.“Whichway?”“Angelwillescortyou.”JacqueslookedatAngel.“Downthehallandtothe

right.”“Thankyou!”Willowsangout,racingoutoftheroom.AngelflashedacrookedsmileattheyoungGatekeeper.“Love,”hedrawled.TheGatekeeperlookedhardatAngel.“Indeed,”hereplied,asthoughaboyof

his age could even begin to understand all themeanings encompassed by thatoneword.Jacquesturnedaway,andAngelwalkedoutoftheroom.Angelfollowedhis

directionsandcameacrossWillow,whowaswrappedinOz’sarmsandplantinglittlehappykisses all overhis face.Oz,whowaswearingabathrobeof sorts,woreanexpressionofpuredelightashereturnedWillow’skisses.Notforthefirsttime,AngelwonderedhowBuffywas.Theothersdidn’ttalk

about it, either, but he knew theywere all worried sick for her. And not justbecauseshewastheSlayer;no,notbecauseifshefell,theworldwouldfall.Itwasbecausetheylovedher.Becausehelovedher...A door to a dark, quiet room hung open. By the scent ofwerewolf, Angel

realizedthiswaswhereWillowhadboundOz.Hehadbeensafeinhere.Angelwouldbesafe,too.Heshutthedoorandcrossedintothedarkroom.Againstthewall,hefounda

softmattress on the floor, whichOz had not touched. Gratefully, Angel sank

downandclosedhiseyes.As he drowsed, he saw in his mind’s eye a shadow drift across the wall.

Whichdidn’tmakesense;theroomwastoodark.Yetthesilhouetteofawomanwaftedthroughtheblacknessinslowmotionlikeacloud...Orlikeadream.AndthoughAngelknewthisdreamwasagifttheGatekeeperwasgivinghim,

it seemed so real that in the dream, he held his arms open to Buffy, and shewrappedherselfaroundhim.Herheartpoundedagainsthischest;herbreathwaswarm on his neck. He would never forget what Buffy smelled like, a sweet,spicyfragrancethatwassometimesahintoflavenderandsometimesawhisperofvanilla.Hewouldalwaysrememberhowslendershewas,yethowpowerful.Herkisses...Angeldriftedinsleep,andsmiled,andsighed.Buffy.Ifthegodsheardtheprayersofvampires,theywouldkeephersafe.

Itwasalongshot.At the last, Fulcanelli sent himself deep into the Pit, and stood now before

anotherdemon,onethatwasthepeerofBelphegor.Itwasred,andveryevil;itworehornsandwasknowntomenastheDevil.Butitwasmorethanasimplesymbol,afigurehead.ItwasoneofthemostpowerfuldemonsinHell.TheFatalOnestrokeditssore-encrustedfaceandlaughedheartily.“So,youhavelostcontrolofmybrother,andyouwishtogoagainsthim?”it

asked.“Andyouwishtosquandermyarmiestodoit?”“Exactly,”IlMaestrosaidboldy.“Andyouproposetodothishow?”Fulcanelli realized he had been shortsighted to depend onmortal followers.

True, someof theSonsofEntropyhadbeen first-rate sorcerers,but therewasnothinglikeminionsofHelltoreallygetthejobdone.“FirstI’llkilltheGatekeeper,”heassuredhisnewsponsor.“ThenI’lloverrun

theghost roadsand takeBelphegordown inSunnydale,wherehehasgone tokilltheSlayer.”“Ah, yes, the Slayer.”The demon leaned forward fromhis throne of bones

and skins and flexed its jagged fingernails as it folded itshands.“Anychanceyouwilldeliverhertome?”Fulcanellihesitated.“Isthatyourprice?”Thedemonsmiledevilly.“Iamnot that foolish.ThepowerofaSlayerisa

temptationindeed,butIhavelivedthislongwithoutit.Still, ifyougavehertome, I would look upon you most kindly. In this world, and the next, and thenext.”ItsmiledbroadlyatFulcanelli.“Idon’tsupposeitwouldsurpriseyoutoknow

that there areworse places thanHell, and that I have friendswho rule them.Friendswhocouldproveveryhelpfultoyou.”“Proveit,”Fulcanellisaid.Blinking, thedemonthrewbackitsheadandburst intolaughter.“Yourtone

withmybrotherwasverydifferent.Withme,youspeakasanequal.”Thoughhewas fearful,Fulcanellihad learnedover thecenturies tohidehis

feelingsverywell.Alegacyfromhisfather.Nowhemanagedacarelessshrug.HehadlearnedanimportantlessoninhisdealingswithBelphegor:nottoshowquitesomuchdeference.Themostpowerfuldemonstookandtook,andtheydidnotstandonceremony;theydidnotgiveyourespectunlessyoudemandedit.“Ihavegivenupthecharadeofcourtesy,”Fulcanellisaid.“Mypreviousally,

Belphe—”Thedemonraisedhishand.“Please,donotspeakhisname.Youknowitisa

sourceofpower.”Thesorcerershrugged.Intime,hewouldlearnthisdemon’snameaswell.“Asyouwish,”hesaid.“That’sbetter.”Thedemonclappedhishands.“Iwill joinwithyou,mortalman. Iwillgive

youwarriorstobattletheGatekeeper.Butifyouwastethem. . .”HeimitatedFulcanelli’sshrug.“I,too,willgiveupthecharadeofcourtesy.”For one second, Fulcanelli wavered. One only. Then he said, “It is always

goodtoknowwhereonestands.Wehaveabargain,then.”“Indeed,”thedemonanswered.

Cordeliawished they had something good to read at theGatehouse.A guywhowasgoingtolivehundredsofyearsinoneplace,you’dthinkhe’dsubscribetoa fewmagazines—at thevery least,EntertainmentWeeklyorTVGuide.OrmaybeBetterSorcerersandGardens.Shesmiledatherownjoke—hey,Buffyandtheothersweren’ttheonlyones

withasenseofhumor;hers justgotoverlookedbecausetheykeptfocusingonthe tact thing—and rearranged herself on the burgundy velvet loveseat.Everyone was dozing except Jacques, who kept vigil at the window. He wascertainthatIlMaestrowouldbeback,andwithreinforcements.

Cordeliahadafeelinghewasright.WhenonehungwiththeSlayerandhercrowd long enough, lots ofweird bad stuff seemedmore normal than no badstuffatall.Andsureenough, justasshewasabout to fallasleepdreaming thatJacques

hadpay-per-view,hetensedatthewindowandmurmured,“Icalluponallgods,ancientandnewborn.Isummonmyguardianspirits.Acrossthecosmos,Ialertmyforefathers.”“Um, so . . .” Cordelia began, then uneasily got up from the loveseat and

walkedovertoJacques.“What...?”Shelookedoutthewindow.Thatwaswhenshelostit,completelyandtotally.Cordeliahadwiggedmanytimesinthepastthreeyears.WhensheandBuffy

hadalmostbeensacrificedtothereptilegod,Machida,ofthatsnootyfraternity,shehadwigged.WhenshethoughtSpringheelJackwasgoingtotoastbothherandXander,shehadwigged.Infact,thefirsttimeshehadfoundoutBuffywastheSlayer,shehadwigged.But now, as she stared down at the lawn of the Gatehouse, she felt every

singlepartofherbodygonumb.Hereyesrolledbackinherheadandshesanktothefloor,onlyslightlyawarethatshenarrowlyavoidedcrackingherheadonthelegofJacques’soverstuffedchair.Then shewentdown toaplacewhere itwasdarkand therewasnothing to

thinkabout,andshedecidedtostaythereforawhile.

Demons straight from Hell were massing on the Gatehouse. A slathering,bestial band of unspeakably hideous and malformed creatures rushed thewrought-irongatesasJacquesattemptedtomagickallyrepelthem.Jacquessentforth everyounceof his energy, bloodvessels bursting from the strain.Sweatpoureddownhisface;hestankwithfearandconcentration.Hedidnotknow if thesewereBelphegor’sminions,or thoseof someother

demon.Hedidknowthatitwaspossibletheyweretoostrongforhim.“Father,”hewhispered,feelinghorriblyaloneandinadequate.Heclosedhis

eyesand,withoutwords,calledforhelponcemore.Nonecame.At thatmoment, theGatehousewasassaultedbyeveryformofmagickever

knowntoJacques:cracklingtendrilsofenergy,thegaleforceofahurricaneandtheshockwaveofanearthquake.Ashefoughttheattack,hestruggledtokeep

theGatehouseintact.Asbefore,hecouldonlysucceedatonetask.TheGatehouseflickeredinandoutofexistence.HeheardFulcanelli’svoice

insidehishead,accompaniedbythelaughterofthelostandthedamned:“Soitends, boy. I shallmake you nothingmore than a curiosity of theOtherworld,beforeIdestroyyou.AndIshalldestroyyou.”“Father,”Jacquescalledagain,doublinghisfists.TheGatehouseflickered.Witharoaroftriumph,Fulcanelli’stroopschargedthegatesandpushedthem

down.

Astheroomlightened,thendisappearedaltogether,Angelshoutedinsurpriseandpain.Thesunburnedhislegandarm,makingthemsmoke.Herolledoutofthe path of the rays to a dark corner, only to discover that the corner hadflickeredoutofexistence.Hegotupandranintothecorridor,butthatwasflickering,too.Hewasintrouble.Verybadtrouble.ThenOz,Willow,andXanderracedtowardhim.Theirfacesweregray.“Angel,we’rewading in thedeepstuff,”Xandersaid.“Therearemajorbad

guysoutsideandtheywantin.”“Ithinkthey’resucceeding,”Angelsaid.Aroundthem,thecorridorfadedandthesunhitAngel.Heshoutedandwent

down.Xanderleapedontopofhim,yelling,“Coverhimup!”The corridor became solid again.Xander slid off him, saying, “Don’twrite

thatinyourdiary,”andhelpedhimtoastandingposition.Willowlookedaround.“Thisisreallybad.Reallybad.”“It’sbeenbadbefore,”Angelsaid.Xander nodded. “Except onTuesdays,when they serveburritos.”He raised

hishand.“AllinfavorofcheckingoutwhatJacquesisupto?”Itwasunanimous.They dashed into the roomwhere theGatekeeper stood, a revivedCordelia

shrieking at his side. Energy ricocheted around the room, and though Jacqueswastryingtoreturnfire,hewasoutgunned.AngelknewJacqueswasn’tgoingtowinthisone.Nevertheless,hejoinedtheboyatthewindowandgesturedtheothersover.“Wegotogether,”hesaid.Xander nodded. Willow and Oz held hands. Cordelia whispered, “Oh, my

God,”andmovedtoXander’sside.Angel lookedat themall foramoment.Thenhe saidwhathehopedwould

comfortthemmost.“Buffywouldbeveryproudofyou.”“Andyourparents,too,”OzwhisperedtoWillow.Then the Gatehouse jittered like a neon sign about to go out, and Angel

steeledhimselfforthepain,withonelastthoughtofBuffy.

*

Just as Buffy prepared herself for Belphegor’s attack, a decomposing bodylauncheditselfather.Shemovedtoslamitoutofherway,thenblinkedasthebodybouncedoffsomekindofshieldsurroundingher.“Itwon’tholdlong,”saidavoicebesideher.ItwasMicaela,whohadbravely

climbedoutofthecarandjoinedher.“It’saspellofprotection.”“Anditwilldonogoodagainstme,”Belphegorinformedher.“Yeah,well,youcan’thaveeverything,”Buffysaid.Then, as she watched, Micaela raised her hands and Giles and Ethan rose

limplyabovetheheadsofthemobofcreaturesandmonsters.Bothofthemwerecoveredwithbloodandtheirclotheswerepracticallytornfromtheirbodies.ButEthan,atleast,appearedtobealive,asMicaelamagickallyloweredthemtothegroundjustbehindBuffy.Ethangestured towardBelphegor,but thenhiseyesclosedandhishead fell

forward on his chest. Buffy shouted, “Ethan,wake up!” and gave him a hardkick.Therewasnoresponse.Then,asclearlyasifhewerestandingnexttohertalking,BuffyheardEthan’s

voice:

“BornfromthebowelsoftheOldOnes;TheLordoftheVileFlesh;Hisheartawhisperofshadow;Hewatchestheworldofmanwithhumaneyes;Theeyesofman,thedarkestpassage;Thepathhemustfollow,theworldwhichhecovets;Belphegor,scionofworldsoldandnew;WandererinDarkness,shyingfrominfernalflame;

Yetthedawnofmanshallnotburnhiseyes;Yettheswordofmanshallnotcuthimdown;Forman’sonlyweaponmustbehimself.”

BuffylookedatMicaela.“What’sgoingon?Who’stalking?”Micaela gestured toEthan. “His subconscious.To you.And you only,” she

saidpointedly.“Don’tspeakaloud.”“But—”“Sssslayer,”Belphegorwhispered.“Ihunger.”Buffy couldn’t help the tremor of fear that went through her. She had no

weapons,andnoideahowtokillthisthing.Butshehadto.Therewasnootherwaythiscouldcomedown.Shehadto.Butshewaslosingit.Everythinginsideherscreamedathertorun.Thiswas

deathstaringherintheface.Herdeath,andthedeathofeverything.For an instant, she saw her mother’s eyes and her mother’s smile.

Rememberedsomanythings—thefirsttimeshe’dmetWillow;thetimewhen,underAmy’sspell,shehadcomeontoXander;Angel’sfirstkiss.Mylifeispassingbeforemyeyes,shethoughtdesperately.I’mgivingup.Belphegorswipedatherwith twoof its tentacles.She leapedback,her fear

threateningtooverpowerher.Makehernumb.Makeherclumsy.“Micaela!”sheshouted.“There’sgottobemore.”ButMicaelawaschantingaprotectivespelltoshieldGilesandEthan—aspell

thatmightholdback someof theothers, butwouldn’t affectBelphegor in theleast.ShehadnowordstospareforBuffy.Thensuddenly,Buffysawthewordswrittendown,inwhatshehadtoassume

wasEthan’shandwriting.Butwhy should she trust him?For all sheknew,Ethanhadcut adealwith

Belphegor.Hewasstillalive,wasn’the?“Ethan,damnit,”shemutteredtoherself.“Wakeupandtellmewhattodo,”

shesaid.Heremainedashewas.Butitwasn’treallyEthanshewantedadvicefrom.It

wasGiles.Andmaybehermother,too.Thetwopeoplewhoseexpectationsshehadrailedagainstsooften...nowshewantednothingmorethantheircounsel.Withasickeningexpulsionofair,Belphegorcameatherwithallitpossessed

—mouths,whippingtentacles—andBuffy’sSlayerreflexescameintoplay.She

dodged and kicked and hit and shewould have bitten him if she’d thought itwouldhelp.Awindwhippedup.Theskywentblackandlightningpiercedtheroadaround

them.Dozens ofOtherworld creatures and zombies shot into flame. They ranscreaming.Belphegorwasclearinganarenafortheircombat.Surroundedbyflameseruptingseveralstorieshigh,Buffyleapedforwardand

grabbedaswordfromatrappedmanwhowashalf-horse,half-goat,soontobeneitherbecausehewasonfire.Shehadtorunhimthroughtomakehimletgoofthesword,andshewasalittlesorryforthat.Thenawomanwithsnakesforhairrushedher,andBuffycutoffherhead.Thewalkingdeadcame,andBelphegorburned themat the same time thatBuffy fought themaway.Fora fewbizarremoments,theyactedtogether,towardthesamegoal.Thentheyfacedoffagain.Buffy’schestwasheaving.Herlegsweresotired

theywereshaking.Butshekeptherchinupandhervoicesteadyassheflungatit,“Okay,youbig,uglything.Nomoretimetowaste.Let’sdoit.”“Excellent,”Belphegorsaid,withdeepandobvioussatisfaction.Thewindstormrosearoundher,fanningtheflamesofthefire.Cinderssinged

herandherhairbegantosmoke.Herarmsblisteredandtheswordwasgrowingwhite-hot. If she didn’t defeat the demon soon, she would probably burn todeath.Shedidn’tcarewhathappenedtoherifshecouldsavetheworld.Notinthis

fierce, surreal moment when she faced the one thing even the Gatekeepersfeared. Thiswas nominor demon, the likes ofwhich she’d fought and killeddozensof times.Thiswasoneof theLordsofHell,oneof themostpowerfulcreationsof the inferno.In itspath, theSlayerwassoverysmall.Thiskindofevilwassupposedtobeconfrontedbyahostofangels,orwhatever.ButSunnydaledidn’thaveanyangels.ItonlyhadBuffy.Again,unbidden,Ethan’swordssnappedintofocus.Sheshookherhead,but

thewordswereetchedintohereyelids.

Hewatchestheworldofmanwithhumaneyes;Theeyesofman,thedarkestpassage;Thepathhemustfollow,theworldwhichhecovets;Belphegor,scionofworldsoldandnew;WandererinDarkness,shyingfrominfernalflame;

Yetthedawnofmanshallnotburnhiseyes;Yettheswordofmanshallnotcuthimdown;Forman’sonlyweaponmustbehimself.

Man’sonlyweapon...Buffytookadeepbreathandthrewdownthesword.Fromsomewherebeyondthecircle,Micaelashouted,“Whatonearthareyou

doing?”“Theswordwon’tdoanygood,”Buffysaid.“I’mtheweapon.”Atthat,Belphegorwithdrewjusta little, retreatedmaybeoneor twoinches.

Buffyfeltaflickeroftriumph.Whatwastherestoftheincantation?Hewatchestheworldofmanwithhumaneyes;Theeyesofman,thedarkestpassage...Butwhat did thatmean exactly? She had to fight him herself, that seemed

clear. Her own hands, that was all. But what good were her bare hands, nomatter how hard she hit, against that? Unless the references to human flesh,man’sweapon...maybetheweaponwasn’tonlyherstrength,butitsweakness.But Belphegor did not watch the world with human eyes. Its eyes were

crescent-shapedandlizardlike.Red.Nothumanatall.Forcing herself to stand upright in thewild wind, Buffy frowned. Her hair

streamedbehindher.Shedidn’tunderstand.Shewasgoing tofailbecauseshedidn’tunderstand.“Ethan!”sheshouted.“Giles!”Belphegor raised its tentacles and they whipped out at her. One of them

slapped her in the face and she tumbled to the blacktop. She heard her nosebreak and felt the crunch of bone, the immediate torrent of blood down hercheeks.Thetentacleslashedather,rippingoutchunksoffleshalongherbackandthe

backsofherarms.She tried togetup,but theweightwas toogreat.Thepainwasunimaginable.Shecouldn’tgroan,couldn’tbreathe.Couldn’tthink.It traveled toward her. She felt its nearness, smelled its rotten odor. She

couldn’thelpbutvomit.Thenthetentaclesroseforanotheronslaught,andtheSlayerrolledoutofthe

wayandontoherback.ThatwaswhenBelphegorleanedoverher.Andlookedatherwithitsdemonic

eyes.And also with the single, massive eye in the center of its forehead, which

begantoopenslowly.Thethicknessshehadassumedwasascarwasitseyelid.

Itwasahumaneye.Overlylarge,true,butnotatallliketheothers.Belphegorsaid,“Thiswastooeasy,Slayer.Youdisappointme.”Grunting,Buffymanagedafliptoherfeet.Shewhirledaroundandjumpedas

hardandhighas shecould.Extendingbotharms, she tookabreath.Her righthandhitBelphegor’sthirdeye.Foramomentitpressedagainstthemembrane,andthenpiercedit.Belphegorshriekedandtriedtojerkaway.Yes,Buffythought.Keepinghold,herfingersshovedthroughthelayers,hittingthefluidbeyond,

andthehornedcurveofthesocket.Black liquidsprayedher ina torrent.Shehung,her fingersgrabbingaround

thesocket,andshotherotherhandthroughtheruinsoftheeye.Then,withbothhands,shepulledoutward,yankingthebitsandpiecesfrom

Belphegor’sforehead.Itscreamedwithfuryandthrewhertotheground.Itstentaclesflappedwildly.

Itbentoverherwithitsmouthsslashingandcutting.Buffy foughtbackwitheveryounceofher strength,withevery fiberofher

being.Shekicked,shepunched,andnowshebit.Shehit,andhit,andhit.Shekepthitting,evenwiththewinddieddownandthefiresbanked,andthe

wailofambulanceskeenedinthedistance.Until Micaela, beside her on the ruined section of roadbed, touched her

shoulderandsaid,“Buffy,it’sdead.”

In Boston, the great sorcerer Giacomo Fulcanelli, sometimes known as IlMaestro,shriekedinrageandhorrorandagonyashisbarelyhuman,centuries-oldbodyburstintoflameandwitheredinaninstant.TiedsolongtothedemonBelphegor,hissoulhadbeenclaimedatlast.

At the windows of the Gatehouse,Willow stared, wide-eyed, as Fulcanelliburned.TheGatehousesolidifiedoncemore.Aninstantlater,thedemonssimplydisappeared,leavingonlythebeautyofaspringdawnonBeaconHill.WithOzatherside,shebegantocry.

Buffy andMicaela stoodover the still formsofGiles andEthanRayneandwatchedastheholeatthecenterofBelphegor’sheadbecameakindofabyss,adarkvoid thatgrewandgrew.Thedemonsscreechedandwailedas theyweredraggedtowardit,intothatportaltoHell.

“Theeyesofman,”Buffycroakedweakly.“Thedarkestpassage.”Byrippingout thateye,shehadopenedapassageintoHell.Butitshorrible

vortexdidnotaffecther,noranythingelseofthehumanworld.Evenasthelastofthedemonswaspulledthrough,thepolicesirensstillashortdistanceaway,thecreaturesoftheOtherworldbegantoscreamaswell.Onebyone,inrapidsuccession,theydisappearedintonothingness.Buffy glanced at Micaela. “So, I guess the Gatekeeper got things under

control.”Theburgeoningsorceresssmiled.“Orsomethinglikethat.”Thesunwouldnot rise forseveralhours,but toBuffy, it felt likedawnhad

alreadyarrived.

EpilogueGILES’SEYESFLUTTEREDOPEN.HECOULDHEARBIRDsongoutsidetheopenwindow,andalightbreezeblewacrosshisface.Itwasquitepleasant,actually. Until his vision came into focus, and he realized that he was, onceagain,inhospital.“Oh,thisisjusttoobloodymuch,”hemurmured,andtriedtositupabit,only

tobedefeatedbyasuddenboltofpain,andanoverallweaknessthatmadehimdespair.Then,intothatdespair,arayoflight.A soft smile on her face, her honey-blond hair flowing over her shoulders,

MicaelaTomasimovedtotheedgeofhisbedandreached,sotenderly,forhishand.“Rupert,”shebreathed.Gilesoffered apainedhalf smile in return.Hehoped sheunderstood that it

wasthebesthecouldmanageatthemoment.“Youlookwell,”heobserved.And itwasanunderstatement.She lookedsimplysmashing.But rather than

the velvet she had donned the night they’d met, today she had chosen morecasualattire:bluejeansandascarletsilkshirt.“WhereasI,”hecontinued,“probablylookrathercatastrophic.”Shechuckledat that.“Youlookadamnsightbetterthanyoudidwhenthey

broughtyouinhere.”Gilesconsideredthatamoment,andthenrealizedshemeantthathishealing

hadbeenhelpedalongbyaspotofmagick.“IguessIshouldthankyouforthat,”hesaid,trulytouched.“Well,me...andEthan,”shesaid.Heblinked.“Isee.That’sabitofasurprise.AndEthan’sgonenow,ishe?”“Longgone,”Micaelareplied,grinningnow.“Infact,whenhewasdonehere,

Buffycouldn’tgetridofhimfastenough.”“Allyes,Buffy.Tellme,howdidshedefeatBelphegor,afterall?”“I’msureshe’llexplainittoyou,Rupert.Asforme,I...”Her words trailed off, and then Micaela’s smile began to crack. Then it

disappeared entirely, and tears began to well up in her eyes. Giles started tospeak,toaskherwhatwaswrong,butsheshushedhim,andbentovertopress

herlipslightly,lovingly,againsthis,beforehecouldprotest.Notthathehadanyintentionofprotesting.The kisswas long and tender, andwhenMicaela broke away,Giles took a

deep breath. There were so many questions involved in his . . . attraction toMicaela. She had been so badly used by Fulcanelli for so long, and she hadacquitted herself well, no doubt. But she had betrayed the Council, and himpersonally,andhewasafraidthatnomatterwhatelse,therewouldalwaysbealingeringtaintbetweenthembecauseofthoseactions.“Iknowwhatyou’rethinking,”Micaelasaidquickly.“Andyoushouldstop.”Gilesraisedhiseyebrowsandlookedatherguiltily.“I’msorry?”“I’mgoingback,Rupert,”shesaidquickly, turning to lookout thewindow,

avoidinghisgaze.“I’mgoingbacktoLondontopresentmyselftotheWatchers’Council.I’lltellthemeverything,andthenI’mgoingtoaskthemwhatitwouldtakeforthemtobegintotrustmeagain.”Sheturnedtofacehim,herfeaturesgrimlydetermined.“It’swhat Imustdo. I’vedoneagreatdealofwrong,and I intend tobegin

makingupforit.”Gilesswallowed.Thereweresomanythingshewantedtosay,buttheywere

thingsthatMicaelaalreadyknew.Instead,hemerelyreachedoutforher.Shecametohim,andheheldherhandsinhis.“Youalreadyhave,Micaela,youalreadyhave,”hesaid.“Iwon’tforgetyou,”shesaidquickly.“Iwon’tletyou,”hescolded.

LessthantenminutesafterMicaelaleft,Buffysweptintotheroomwithhermother, both of them loaded down with flowers. Buffy trailed multicoloredballoonsaswell.“Hey,lookwho’sawake!”Buffysaidhappily.Joyceputahandonherdaughter’sshoulderandgreetedGileswarmly.“Flowersfrom,well,everyone!”Buffyexclaimed.“Andtheballoonbouquet,

fromXanderandCordy.”“Balloonbouquet?”Gilesreplied.“Whataninsidiousconcept.”“That’s justwhat I said,” Buffy nodded. “But I didn’t knowwhat itmeant

either.”Gilesdidn’thavetheenergytoengageintheusualBuffybanter,buthewas

extremelypleasedtoseeherinanycase.Shelookedlike,well,Buffy.Andthat’sallGileshadprayedfor.

“I’msogladyou’reallright,”hetoldher.“Weallare,”Joyceconfirmed.“Thishasbeenalmostanentiremonthofhell,

likenothingelseyouguyshaveruninto.IknowthatBuffyhasa...well,adutytotheworld,butIhopesheneverhastogothroughanythinglikethisagain.”Giles felt it then, that moment of tension between himself and Joyce

Summers, between her expectations and hopes forBuffy’s future, andGiles’sterribleknowledgeofthegirl’sdutyanddestiny.Butallhesaidwas,“SodoI.”Buffy glanced back and forth between Giles and her mom. But before she

couldbreakupthestaringcontest,thetwosmiledatoneanotheragain,andallwasrightwiththeworld.“So,Buffy,howdidyoudefeatBelphegor?”Gilesasked.Buffy opened her mouth to respond, and then glanced at her mother.

“Y’know,”shesaid,“maybethat’sastoryforanothertime.Mom’sgettingoverastomachbugand,well,itwasprettyvomitrocious.”“Wonderful,”Joycesaid,rollinghereyes.“Butallisbacktonormal,eh?InSunnydale,andattheGatehouse?”“Yeah,”Buffysaid,mindwandering.“TheGatehouse.”“Buffy?Whatisit?”Gilesprodded.Sheshrugged.“Nothing,Iguess.Just thinkingaboutJacques.Itreallysucks

for him. I mean, he’s just a kid, and now he has all this responsibility justdumpedonhim.It isn’t likehehadachoice,right?Imean,he’saRegnier,sothereyougo,bam!Gatekeeper.Andifhetriestoblowitoff,thewholeworld’sinjeopardy.”JoycepulledherdaughterintoatightembraceandkissedBuffy’shair.“Soundsalot likesomeoneelseIknow,”shesaidsoftly.“Andyou’reright,

honey.Itdoessuck.I’ddoanythingtomakeitallgoawayforyou.ButIcan’t.I’mjustyourmother.”Buffy smiled wanly at that, pulled back, and gave her mom a kiss on the

cheek.“Yup,”Buffysaid.“Iguessweallhaveourdestinies.Yoursistoworrylike

hell,andthenbetheretotellmeit’sgonnabeallrightwhenIgethome.”Joycesmiledback.“Youknowwhat?Icandothat.”

AbouttheAuthorsCHRISTOPHERGOLDENisanovelist,journalist,andcomicbookwriter.Hisnovels include thevampireepicsOfSaintsandShadows,AngelSouls&DevilHearts,andOfMasquesandMartyrs; therecenthardcoverX-Men:CodenameWolverine,theupcomingStrangewood,andsixBuffynovelswrittenwithNancyHolder.HislatestprojectisaseriesofyoungadultmysteriesforPocket,thefirstofwhich,BodyBags, isonsalenow.Golden’scomicbookwork includesThePunisher,aswellasPunisher/Wolverine,TheCrow,andSpider-ManUnlimited,andanumberofBuffycomicbookprojects.The editor of the Bram Stoker Award-winning book of criticism CUT!:

HorrorWritersonHorrorFilm,hehaswrittenarticlesforTheBostonHerald,DisneyAdventures, andBillboard,amongothers, andwas a regular columnistfor the worldwide service BPI Entertainment News Wire. He is one of theauthors of the recently released book The Watcher’s Guide, the officialcompaniontoBuffytheVampireSlayer.Goldenwas born and raised inMassachusetts, where he still liveswith his

family. He graduated from Tufts University. Please visit him atwww.christophergolden.com.

NANCYHOLDER haswritten three dozen books and over 200 short stories.ShehasworkedonnineBuffyprojects,includingsixnovelsandTheWatcher’sGuidewithChristopherGolden (with assistance fromKeithR.A.DeCandido),aswellasTheAngelChronicles,volumes1and3,andTheEvilThatMenDo.Gambler’s Star: Legacies and Lies, the second book in her science-fictiontrilogy forAvonBooks, is availablenow.Shealsowritesnovelsbasedon theTVshowSabrinatheTeenageWitch,forArchway/Minstrel.Holder is a former editorwith FTLGames, aswell as the author of comic

booksandTVcommercials inJapan.Shehasalsotaughtwriting.Recentshortstoryappearancesinclude“LittleDedo”inIntheShadowoftheGargoyle,and“Appetite,”inHotBloodX.She has received fourBramStokerAwards, one for her novelDead in the

Water and three for short stories. She also received a sales award fromAmazon.com forTheAngelChronicles. Volume 1.She has been published inover two dozen languages and is a former trustee of the Horror Writers

Association.HolderlivesinSouthernCaliforniawithherhusbandanddaughter.Aformer

balletdancer,shegraduatedfromtheUniversityofCaliforniaatSanDiego.Golden and Holder started working together when Holder sold an essay to

Golden’sCUT!HorrorWriters onHorror Films. Theywrite together via theInternet,and todatehavecollaboratedonsevenbooksaswellasshort fiction,including “Hiding,” for The Ultimate Hulk, and “Ate,” which appeared inVampireMagazineintheU.S.andCanada,andVampireDarkinFrance.

ASunnydalestudentgoesonaviciousshootingspree,leavingthetownshell-shocked.Whatcouldhavesparkedtherandomrampage?BuffySummerscanguess.Consideringthepropheticdreamsshe’sbeenhaving,theSlayersuspectspossessionbyanespeciallymalevolent

force.

WiththepressureinSunnydalemounting,theresidents’reactionstostressgrowincreasinglyunpredictable.TheSlayercontinueshersearchforanswers,narrowlysurvivinganattackbyawell-trainedandpowerfulvampirewhobroughtagruesomedeathtoeverySlayerwhocrossedherpath.Isthisancientcreaturebehindtherecentinfluxofevil?Oristhere

anotherinfluence...closertohome?

TheEVILTHATMENDO

ByNancyHolder

PublishedbyPocketBooks