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Disclaimer: Characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer are property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, the WB, and UPN.

Part VII

Cordelia had begun by laying out the basic history — the Cliff Notes version — and the current crisis. Explaining the re-ensoulment spell, the reason and the need for it, was going to take more time, and she wasn’t about to trust the privacy of the back booth in a coffee shop. She drove Jonathan to Weatherly Park (he was nearly hyperventilating at being in the same car with her, and once again Cordelia felt a pang that someone so needy and so basically decent should also be so regrettably undesirable), and at an open picnic table where she could confirm by Slayer sight and hearing that no one was nearby, she sketched out a fuller picture.

When she had finished, Jonathan said, “I can’t do it.”

“I believe in you, Jonathan.” Cordelia wet her lips and leaned toward him. (Forget sainthood, she was definitely hell-bound.) “I told you Slayers get these psychic flashes, right? Well, I’ve seen … like a future version of you. I know what you’re capable of.”

“Someday, maybe.” Jonathan shook his head. “See, for you it all came at once, zap! and you were the Slayer and you just needed to get better at it. It doesn’t work that way for other people. I don’t know anything about magic, but I know I can’t just jump in and do it. We’re talking training, study, learning my limits and working my way in slow. If you’re right and I have a natural feel for magic, then it’s telling me I can’t do what you want. Not right now, not for weeks. Months would be better.” He sighed. “What you need is somebody who’s been doing it for years.”

“I only know one person like that,” Cordelia said, thinking of the crippled Giles. “And, confidentially? not my biggest fan just now.”

“What about Amy?” Jonathan said suddenly.

“What?” Cordelia said. “Who?”

“Amy Madison,” he prompted. “You know her, she was on the cheerleading team for, like, five seconds? I heard stuff about her mother, and Amy —”

Oh, right. Except it had been Catherine Madison, wearing her daughter’s body, who had become a cheerleader, in part by temporarily blinding Cordelia in her pre-SlayFriend days; she’d finally learned the full truth on becoming an active part of the group. “Amy won’t be able to help us,” Cordelia said. “I know how it may have looked, but she isn’t what we need right now.”

“Oh.” Jonathan’s face fell, then he frowned. “So how did she hypnotize Ms Beakman? Was that, like, an actual mutant power instead of magic?”

What? “What?” Cordelia said.

“Uh, it was what made me suggest her. A while back, couple of weeks ago maybe, I saw Ms Beakman take a handful of nothing from Amy, and act like it was a major paper. She wasn’t pretending, either, she looked blank for a second and then her face went kind of goofy. And the way Amy was smiling … well, I just thought —”

“Jonathan,” Cordelia said, standing, “why don’t we go have a talk with Amy?”

The girl lived with her father now, in a house more like Buffy’s than the baroque gloominess Buffy had described as Catherine Madison’s witchy abode. Amy opened the door when Jonathan rang the bell, and when she saw who was standing outside, Cordelia watched a series of lightning calculations race behind the other girl’s eyes. “Somewhere else,” Amy said. “My father doesn’t know. Okay?”

“I’ll drive you,” Cordelia agreed. And it was back to the park.

Amy required less explanation than had been necessary for Jonathan. She already knew the basics, both from her prior experience and from the things she had learned once she began exploring her birthright; mostly it was a matter of bringing her up to date on events and personalities. About Angel, she said, “For real? I knew he was a vampire — he kind of stands out, for somebody who’s supposed to survive by not drawing attention to himself — and I knew he was serious bad news, but I didn’t know he was your ex. And the business where he used to have a soul … you’re sure about that?”

“Trust me,” Cordelia said. “If you ever saw Angel with a soul, you’d know the difference. And you will, if you help me put it back into him. Which is basically what we want you for.”

Cordelia explained the history of Angel’s curse, including the escape clause, and Amy nodded understanding. “Chaining the demon to a human soul,” she said approvingly. “Now that’s punishment. Tough luck for the human involved, but pretty good as revenge goes. I can’t really figure turning the demon loose again if the human side ever knows any happiness, though. No kind of logic there — oh.”

“What?” Jonathan asked, before Cordelia could.

“They had to leave an out,” Amy said. “Like a pressure valve, sort of. Sentencing a demon to eternal torment is one thing, but you can’t bind a human soul like that. Not this side of heaven or hell, anyway. The only way they could use the soul at all was to include conditions where it could someday attain freedom. They just talked themselves into believing it was their idea. A face-saving thing, kind of.”

“So Angel … is free now?” Cordelia said wonderingly.

“Free as any other soul.” Amy studied Cordelia appraisingly. “I’m not sure he’d thank you for tying him back to the murderous fiend you’ve been trying to kill.”

It was a new thought, and not at all appealing, but Jonathan said, “Is it better to leave the vampire out there, killing whenever he gets an appetite or gets bored?”

“It’s a weapon,” Cordelia said, shoving back her qualms. “A way to stop … to stop Angelus, if we can’t find any other way.”

“So why him?” Amy asked. “Why do you need a secret weapon against him if he’s trying to help you stop Armaggedon?”

“Because I don’t trust him,” Cordelia said. “Because he’s a liar from way back. Because it would be just like him to use me to take a world-ending Whatever away from Spike, and then activate it himself and laugh at the look on my face while the sky catches fire.”

“Okay,” Amy said. “I’m all for not burning up with the rest of the world. The spell you’re describing, though … I’d have to look at it, but I’m not sure I could pull it off. Gypsy magic, that’s wild stuff: plenty of passion, and when they need discipline to hold it together, they just pour in more passion. It may not be the most powerful stuff out there, but it’s plenty volatile. I’m not sure I could handle it, not jumping in cold.”

“Damn it,” Cordelia said, vexed. “Everybody I talk to says they can’t do it. Is it too much to ask if magic-users will actually use magic?”

“Lighten up, queen bee,” Amy shot back while Jonathan goggled. “Look, there’s not just different kinds of magic, there are different ways to go about it. Mess up the combinations, it’s like mixing the wrong chemicals.”

“What do you mean, different ways?” Jonathan wanted to know.

Amy turned to him, intrigued. “You’re interested?” she asked.

“Well …” Jonathan shot an involuntary glance at Cordelia. “There are some things that make me think I might have an aptitude.”

Amy laughed. “That’s part of it, all right. The way I look at it — and understand, I’m self-taught here — magic comes to you by three paths. There’s power, and there’s knowledge, and there’s talent. Most practitioners, the ones that can actually do anything, start off calling on their own power. That’s simplest, and easiest to control, and you can get some solid results if you have decent power to start with.” She smiled. “Like I do. After awhile, though, they usually want to push past their own limits. That’s where knowledge comes in, either shaping your own power more effectively or calling up power from elsewhere. Or both. I like to invoke power from the entities represented in the Graeco-Roman pantheon: they’re better known, and easier to understand, and more likely to honor a fair bargain. Even so, you want to be sure you don’t contract for more than you’re willing to repay.

“That leaves the last part: talent. Somebody who has a true feel for it can tap into all types of power that surround us on all sides. That’s where you really begin to get some bang for your buck, with that kind of control, and that’s what I’ve only just started investigating.”

“Right,” Jonathan said, nodding eagerly. “Like the Flash.”

This time Cordelia and Amy said, “Huh?” together.

Jonathan colored, but forged ahead. “In the comic books, they were always arguing whether Superman’s super-speed was equal to the Flash’s. They’d have races sometimes, only the writers always set it up so the race would get interrupted or something would force a tie. Finally the writers said, Yeah, Superman has as much innate speed, but the Flash can channel an extradimensional power-source called the Speed Force. Because of that, the Flash can theoretically achieve infinite acceleration. Superman uses his own speed, but the Flash is a conduit for Speed itself.”

Cordelia and Amy exchanged looks, and Amy said, “Would you believe that makes sense? A conduit, yes. I never thought of it that way, but he’s right: someone with the right kind of aptitude could be a conduit for far more power than she could ever contain. That’s what I’d like to do, what I’ve started working on.” She shook her head. “I’m not there yet, though.”

“We’ll see,” Cordelia said, glad that the conversation had returned to ground she could control. “We’ll print out the spell Miss Calendar found, and we’ll study it, and we’ll see.”

*               *               *

An hour later, Amy dropped the printout onto the table in front of her and said, “I can’t do it.”

“Too hard?” Jonathan asked sympathetically.

“Too tricky,” Amy corrected. “The internal control you’d need … I have enough power, but nowhere near enough discipline. This thing is like handling nitro; you’ve got to have absolutely steady hands, and even then you’re cooked if you so much as hiccup.” She shook her head. “Where something like this is concerned, I’m nowhere near steady enough. Won’t be for years.”

“We may not have years,” Cordelia said. “I’m not inclined to take Angel’s word on anything, but I can’t see him crediting Spike with what it would take to bring on an apocalypse, not unless he knew Spike was already there and just filling in the details.” She looked to Amy. “We may not have a choice here. If we had to take a shot, what would be the odds?”

“No better than one in twenty,” Amy said. “Even then it might kill me. I told you, this stuff is beyond me; even giving it all I’ve got, we’d basically be praying for luck. More likely, I’d explode and take out everything in a four-block radius around me. You can forget it, I won’t take that kind of chance.” She gestured at the pages. “Besides, this really calls for at least three people — four would be better — and I don’t think you could be one of them, so that would leave us short.”

“Three people?” Cordelia asked. “What for?”

“Anchors, it looks like,” Jonathan said, peering at the spell printout. “Yes, right here: one leader and caster, and two or more to balance the energies. And you’re right, four total is better than three, having only two anchors makes the caster too much of a pivot. That wouldn’t be good, too easy to veer out of line.”

Amy’s eyebrows went up. “You can see that?”

Jonathan nodded, as if the answer were obvious. “You can’t?”

“Now, yes,” Amy said. “But you just got dropped into this, what, today? Looks like you really do have an aptitude.”

“So that makes two,” Cordelia said. “And why can’t I be part of it?” Not that she really wanted to be, she was more for fighting hands-on, but she hated to be excluded.

“It’s like polarity,” Amy explained. “Magic comes out of me, but magic was put into you. Totally wrong resonance for something like this. We’re aiming for balance, and you’d tilt it clear into the next county. Better to have a magic-null than someone like you. And don’t forget, that’d still leave us one short. Two, without you.”

“We’re going to need a bigger boat,” Jonathan intoned … then, at the uncomprehending looks they turned on him, he clarified. “More people. We can’t do this by ourselves. It’s a team effort, and we’re not a big enough team.”

Cordelia thought about that. Two more people. Two who would know enough to understand the stakes, and still be willing to commit themselves to the effort. In Sunnydale, the candidate pool was small; adding Jonathan and Amy had been a fluke in itself. “I’m just guessing here,” she said, feeling her way as she spoke. “You’ll have to tell me if it makes any sense. But you said something about years of discipline, and you said something about a magic-null. What if I knew somebody who’s done a few spells here and there, but doesn’t have any power of his own? Somebody who manages it all by things he’s learned, like over twenty-five or thirty years?”

“That might help,” Amy said. “In fact, for some things it would help a lot. But you’d definitely need the fourth person then, someone with at least a touch of magical ability, or at least potential.”

“I heard Willow try some kind of healing or bolstering spell, a few weeks back,” Cordelia said. “I think. If that’s true, then she’s at least inclined in that direction.”

“Willow,” Jonathan repeated, then looked to Cordelia with sudden understanding. “And the non-magical one with all the knowledge —?”

“Giles,” Cordelia confirmed. “My … the Watcher. That would make four.”

“I thought they didn’t like you very much these days,” Amy said, one eyebrow cocked. “Or trust you, for that matter.”

“They don’t,” Cordelia agreed. “But I’m betting they’ll like the whole end-of-the-world business even less.”

For awhile she had thought that, cut off from the support of her former friends, she might build a new group around her. She should have known it couldn’t be as simple as that.

“I can see it,” Amy said. “A power center — me — balanced by an adept null who controls the spell mechanics while I focus on controlling the energies, and stabilized on either side by magical beginners … It could work. At least, it’s something I might be willing to try, because this way I don’t, you know, detonate.” A wide smile spread across her face. “Guys, I think we might actually have a plan here.”

Jonathan regarded her with some interest. “You’re enjoying this.”

Amy shrugged. “This morning I was working on a glamour to make my jacket look like real leather, and seeing if I could get the fish in my aquarium to change color in time to the music on the radio. Suddenly I’m a major player. What’s not to like?”

“All of it,” Jonathan said. “I’d rather I didn’t even know about it.” A pause. “No: I’d rather not know, and it not be true.”

“Really?” Cordelia regarded him with some curiosity. “At the first, it seemed like you were excited by the whole thing.”

“I didn’t know how much was at stake,” Jonathan said. “Having the fate of the world resting on you, knowing it all ends if you mess up … How do you deal with that?”

Cordelia sighed. “Believe it or not, after awhile it starts to seem normal.”

*               *               *

Broaching the subject to Giles could have been a delicate issue; Cordelia had, after all, burgled his home to find the diskette that held the re-ensoulment spell. (And why exactly had she done that? It had seemed necessary at the time, but now her reasoning eluded her.) Having taken that step, her possession of the spell became a problem in itself. Once she had decided on a course of action, however, the Slayer tended to favor the direct approach. Facing Giles in his apartment, she said, “I had one of those dreams. You know, one of those dreams. A voice in my head told me Jenny had found the spell to restore Angel’s soul. It told me to look for a diskette in her computer lab. I looked. I found the diskette.”

(Every word true. Every word pointing away from the truth. When — why — had she gotten so good at lying?)

At the mention of Jenny’s name, Giles’ face had set into the mask that concealed his thoughts. “Understandable,” he said. “Less so is your decision to involve Amy and —?” He paused, lifting an inquiring eyebrow.

“Jonathan,” she reminded. “You don’t know him, he’s only been by the library for totally routine stuff. He actually came first, the same thing that told me where to look for the diskette made me think he could be a help. He was the one who pointed me to Amy.”

“And you took this step without consulting me. Kept it a secret from all of us, as a matter of fact.”

His voice, and the eyes behind those glasses, were completely steady. There was nothing to indicate anger or warning, but both were there, and Cordelia knew that the scholar in the wheelchair, appearances notwithstanding, could be the Slayer’s deadliest enemy if he so chose. “I also didn’t report what brand of body-wash I used in the shower this morning,” she answered sharply. “You don’t own every detail of my life. I saw some possibilities and I checked them out, and as soon as I knew I had something worth telling, I came here.”

Nothing changed in Giles’ face. “Yet you’re asking me to keep this secret from the others,” he said.

Cordelia shook her head. “Not all of them. Not even most of them. Just the ones we wouldn’t actually need for this … which is only coincidentally the same ones who hate me.”

“Marcie doesn’t hate you,” Giles corrected. (Which meant he agreed that Xander did.) “And I doubt anyone will be pleased at the thought of bringing in outsiders while excluding several of our own.”

“Well, I can’t make you keep this one private,” Cordelia conceded. “I can only ask. They’ll argue, Giles. Xander and Marcie will both make a big deal out of this just because it’s me suggesting it. I have a feeling we’re getting close to the wire here. I was hoping we could skip the hassle and the wasted time.”

“The ‘hassle’, as you put it,” Giles said, “comes with belonging to a group of persons who have independent minds. Attempt to avoid the disadvantages, and you risk denying yourself the benefits as well.” His gaze was even, pitiless. “You had a recent lesson in that principle. You claim to have learned from it. The evidence argues against that.”

The precise, measured words were like a slap in the face. Cordelia took it without allowing her own expression to change. “I brought this to you,” she said. “As soon as I had something solid, I came here. So are we going to do this, or not?”

At last Giles’ eyes flickered, from resignation or acknowledgment of a point or perhaps simply from weariness. “I shall call the others here, and present the matter to them. We needn’t yet include Jonathan and Amy at this point … and it might be best if you absent yourself as well.”

“Fine.” Cordelia stood to leave. “If you have any trouble convincing them how important this is, just use two words: Slayer dream.” And with that final statement, she made a quick departure.

Leaving it to his judgment had been the best she could do. She needed him to work the spell, and Willow as well, and Willow’s involvement meant there was no way she could keep it from Oz. Even apart from the warning he had given her, there just weren’t any secrets Willow and Oz kept from each other. Sweet, and more than a little envy-making, and deeply inconvenient in the here-and-now.

The late-afternoon sunlight bored into her eyes and her brain, and Cordelia shook it away. So much she had to handle right now, so many balls she had to keep in the air … because even now, presenting the matter to Giles, she’d left out the heads-up Angel had given her about Spike. She wasn’t quite sure why, maybe her subconscious was nudging her toward something her waking brain was too sluggish to recognize. Better to take as few chances as possible, commit herself to nothing till she was completely sure.

She’d been tempted to try and skip over Giles entirely. She still had the cell number Ethan Rayne had given her; she’d burned the card right in front of him to emphasize the HELL, no! of her refusal, but not before she’d noted and memorized the number just in case. He probably would have served just as well in this particular situation … but no, they still needed Willow for a fourth, there wasn’t any ready substitute for her. Besides, there was really no guarantee Ethan wouldn’t trigger an apocalypse himself, just from sheer love of creative calamity.

She’d told Giles. That was all there was to it. Now she just had to find something to keep her occupied till he and the others had argued their way to a decision.
 

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