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Witchfinder

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This story is No. 3 in the series "Rainbow in Sunnydale". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: There is a serial killer killing New Age women in San Fransico,it looks like he might be planning an acension. But he just broke pattern, his latest victim is an owner of a night club called the P3. Part Three of ROS

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Multiple Crossings > GeneralJoeBFR151854,9441619545,0254 Jan 085 Jul 14No

Chapter 16

 Witchfinder Chapter  16

 

Disclaimer:  Red Storm and Tom Clancy own Rainbow and Characters.  Joss Whedon owns Buffy and Characters.   I make no profit of the following except to have a little fun.

 

Spoilers: Buffy to present.  Rainbow to Bear and the Dragon.

 

Authors note 1:  This is a continuation of the story started in ‘Rainbow Over Sunnydale’.  It would be helpful to read that fic first.

 

Authors note 2: I can’t seem to get Fanfic to except my special formatting.  So anytime you see this ‘{*} anything inside is in a foreign language.  And if you see this [*] it’s some ones thoughts.

 

Authors note 3: 

Thanks to all that reviewed.  Constructive criticisms always welcomed.  Flames cheerfully ignored.

 

Fic Starts Here:>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>  

 

Clark snorted, “Quentin Travers was talking to Buffy Summers two minutes before the explosion. No one left the building between when he hung up and the building blew up. There were no survivors so that makes you The First.  I have better things to do than to listen to you, so, go away.”

 

The entity claiming to be Travers scowled, “I don’t suppose it occurred to you that the reason that thing appears as the dead is so when a real spirit shows up with vital information it’s ignored?”

 

“No,” Clark replied, as he turned to leave the office.

 

“I guess we do this the hard way then,” Travers muttered and then moved.

 

Clark wasn’t sure how it did it, one instant it was on the other side of the office, the next it was right next to him and reaching for his wrist.  Clark pulled his arm back, but it did no good as he felt an icy band close around his wrist and then everything went dark.

 

Light came back, but it was very dark, a little light that was spilling around the corner of the tunnel Clark suddenly found himself in.  Clark looked around quickly, he found Travers standing in the tunnel with him, “Where am I? What did you do to me” He asked angrily.

 

“In the distant past General Clark, there is something I must show you. It’s around the corner, but before we go there, you must understand the situation.  “Are you familiar with Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol?”

 

Not seeing the relevance, Clark decided to tweak Travers, “Yeah, I thought Bill Murray did a lot with the part.”

 

Travers frowned like he didn’t understand the reference. Going on none-the –less, “What you are about to see are shadows, they will not perceive us, we cannot affect them. I say this to prevent you from attempting to engage in any heroics.”

 

Clark nodded that he understood.

 

“Very well then,” Travers said as he gestured with his hand, inviting Clark forward.

 

Clark didn’t understand what was happening to him, but he figured that if he went along with it, he’d be back in his office and he’d be able to get someone to check him out to make sure nothing had been left behind in him. So, he went around the corner of the tunnel. He found himself facing a young woman, nearly naked, he thought she was young anyway; there was no doubt to her near nakedness, chained to the ground with three men chanting over her.  All of them were of African descent, and given the language he was hearing he thought likely whatever was happening here was happening on that continent.  The girl was covered in some kind of white makeup, probably clay based from the look of it. It covered her face, torso, arms and legs, mimicking a skeleton.  The chains that bound her were heavy and iron, she clearly wasn’t going anywhere, not that she wasn’t trying.

 

The three men that were chanting wore woven clothing; it looked cotton, so it couldn’t be that far back.  Suddenly, black mist rose from the floor, it seemed to flow toward the girl, who backed up as far as her wrist chains allowed her too. It wasn’t far enough.  As the mist started to rise up her body, it was all John could do to keep himself from throwing himself forward, though he suspected, even if he had been there when the spell had been originally cast such an action would likely have just gotten himself dead.  The mist seemed to cover the whole girl, then sink in. The girl threw back her head and howled, it wasn’t a human sound, more animalistic, almost like a big cat would make.  As that sound faded from his ears, Clark found himself back in his office.

 

Glancing around he found ‘Quentin Travers’ was still there, “What the hell was that?” Clark asked, shaken by what he had just seen.

 

“I just showed you the origin of The Slayer,” the ghost replied, unperturbed.

 

“Now I know you are setting me up for something,” Clark replied. “Those guys were wearing woven cotton clothing, and the girl was chained down with iron chains.  I’ve talked with Buffy and Giles about what they know about the origin of the Slayer.  From what they’ve said, the origin had to have been a lot earlier than that.”

 

“Unfortunately, no, it wasn’t,” Travers said. “Field Watchers are trained to believe that the Slayer is older than it is, to heighten the mystique, but the Slayer was created about 1300 BCE and the Watchers Council took our name from the three mages who watched as the Slayer was created, has successfully managed the process, until now.”

 

“So why tell me?” Clark asked.

 

“Because Rupert Giles has already failed at what must be done, and of the others currently involved with Buffy Summers, I believe you are the only one with the ruthlessness to get the job done.”

 

“Which is?” Pretty sure he wasn’t going to like it, and being he was pretty sure he was talking to The First, wasn’t sure why he was bothering listening.

 

Travers looked the x-CIA man over, “First I have to explain something about how magic, specifically summoning works. You’ve seen, either in a movie or maybe read in a book how a magician draws an elaborate circle on the ground with chalk or salt, chants some mumbo-jumbo and a demon pops up, ready to do his bidding.”

 

Not seeing the relevance, but deciding to play the game, Clark nodded.

 

You remember when Giles said the bit about how the demons that originally invested Earth lost their grip on reality?”

 

Again Clark nodded.

 

“That isn’t quite correct, they didn’t lose their grip. The energy state of the universe got to the point that there wasn’t enough energy to sustain them in this plane, they had to ‘Ascend’ to a plane with a higher energy state to survive.”

 

“So how can they be summoned?” Clark asked, in spite of himself, he hated playing the straight man.

 

“The Summoning Circle creates, for want of a better word, an air lock.  The symbology of the circle allows a higher energy state to exist, temporarily, so a portion of the demon’s consciousness can exist in this reality.”

 

“Which is why if the circle is disturbed there is a large explosion, it’s not the demon escaping, it’s simply the built up energy being released.”

 

“You have two minutes to get to the point,” Clark said, getting bored, “Then I’m leaving.”

 

“You might change your mind,” Travers remarked, then went on as Clark started tracking the second hand of his watch. “You saw the black mist in the cave.” Travers asked.

 

“A demon of some kind I’m guessing,” Clark replied

 

“No, the original Watchers wanted the Slayer to be able to deal with any demon, no matter how powerful. That was a very small part of the essence of an Old One. So small a part that it doesn’t notice, its attention held by other things.  However, that essence changes its vessel, to be more excepting of the power, the longer a Slayer lives, the more power of the Old One she will contain, eventually the Old One will become aware of the vessel, and if the Slayer lives long enough, the Old One could pass back over.”

 

Despite himself, Clark couldn’t help asking, “How long?”

 

“Probably twenty or thirty years, it would take that long to prepare a Slayer’s body to accept the energies of an Old One, any less and the Old One would have to give up most of its power or explode.”

 

“Okay, I don’t see the urgency then,” Clark said as he turned to leave.

 

“Because after only ten years a Slayer will be so changed by the process that she will not be fully human, will likely begin hunting whatever strikes her fancy, and will take a fair size nuke to be sure you kill her.”

 

Okay, that got his attention, “You guys were playing a hell of a game, weren’t you?”

 

“It was necessary, I assure you. Plus we took precautions to make sure a Slayer really didn’t last that long. So there was no danger, well not much.”

 

Clark snorted.
 

“Tell me, has Buffy or Giles spoke to you of the Cruciamentum?”

 

Clark shook his head.

 

“It is a test, really our means of ensuring that a Slayer doesn’t last until she becomes a danger. The Slayer’s Watcher strips her of her powers, and then she is locked in a location with a vampire.  Usually she is killed, in the rare case that she survives the test, her trust in the Watcher, in most cases the only other person in the world she has to rely on is shattered, and she quickly falls in battle.  Neat, and we end up not having to worry about an Old One popping up on Earth.”

 

Clark could only stare in disgust, “So, you want me to kill Buffy and Faith?”

 

“Of course not!” Travers replied in a ‘Are you that dense?’ tone of voice. “You need them to deal with The First, but after, assuming there is an after, you need to be aware of what you are dealing with.  The Watchers Council will have to be reformed, and you and Sir John Patrick Ryan are just the people to do it!”

 

Hyperion Hotel
1481 Hyperion Ave.
Los Angeles, CA
9Nov2002
06:05hrs<br> <br>

Doctor Clarisse Golden sat back and sighed, she hadn’t been able to get much sleep last night, understandable she supposed, so she had wandered down stairs to see if she could find something to eat.  She’d found Winifred Burkel sitting at the front desk tinkering with something that looked like a toaster, seeing the battle axe on the desk next to the young woman, Clarisse made sure she made a noise to alert ‘Fred’ to her presence.

 

She was glad she had, the young woman’s head whipped up and she reached for the axe, seeing the psychologist, she blushed and said, “Doctor Golden, I’m sorry, you startled me.”

 

Clarisse smiled, “I didn’t mean too.  I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to see if I could get something to eat.  Is the kitchen stocked, or do I have to see if there is a corner deli open?”

 

Fred got up and waving the doc forward replied, “We have the kitchen open, I wouldn’t suggest trying to find a deli at this time of the morning, that would be because of muggers, not vampires,” she explained.

 

Clarisse had not considered vampires as an issue, she would probably have to adjust her habits there, of course that reminded her of how close she had come to dying last night.

 

Fred noticed the doc shiver and guessing what caused it said, “It gets easier.”

 

Doc Golden nodded her thanks. Intellectually she knew that, now she just had to get her emotions to go along with it.

 

Thirty minutes later the two women were back at the front desk eating what Fred had called ‘Breakfast Taco’s’.  Clarisse had to admit they were good, even kosher, made with chicken, rather than the normal pork product. While they sat and ate Fred had explained her history to the doc, Clarisse was trying to think of a PSTD expert in the area that she could steer the young women too, of course she would have to explain how the world really worked, she wondered if she had the right to do that to someone?

 

The phone ringing distracted her from her train of thought, Fred reached over, picked up the receiver and said, “Angel Investigations, we help the hopeless.”


Clarisse wondered who had come up with that jingle.

 

“One moment please,” Fred said and cupped her hand over the receiver, “There is a Jack Ryan on the phone; do you want to talk to him?”
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