“Buffy!” Willow screeched as the fireball erupted, blowing them all backwards, even as they stood across the street from the hotel.
“Anya!” Xander cried, running back across the street. Oz tackled him.
“Xander! No! You can’t go in there!” the werewolf shouted, struggling to hold his friend back from the fiery building.
“I have to! She’s in there!” Xander shouted, pulling away and barreling to the hotel. He reached the front door, now littered with debris, and began fighting his way back inside.
Spike joined him. “Buffy and Angel were in there too,” he muttered to Oz, climbing over pieces of wood, avoiding the glass that was littered everywhere.
“Angel’s right there!” Oz shouted, pointing. The blast had thrown Angel out of the hotel and he was now lying in a heap on the ground, unconscious.
“I got him…get inside if you can…find them!” Spike ordered, picking up Angel and flinging him over his shoulder.
Inside Xander was fighting against the smoke and flames, dodging the falling debris of the thrashed hotel. “Anya! Buffy!” he shouted before doubling over from smoke inhalation.
“Xander, go…I can do this…” Oz told him, sniffing the air. Even over the smoke he could make out the faint smell of both women.
“I’m not leaving here without her,” Xander said, leaving no room for argument.
Oz stared at him for a split-second but nodded and began following his nose. “This way!” he shouted and ripped a curtain off the wall to smother some flames that were blocking their way across the lobby. The floral pattern of the curtain was soon engulfed by the fire.
“Damn,” Oz muttered. “They’re in there,” he pointed across the lobby to a room where the door had been blown off and now lay cock-eyed against the wall, smoking heavily.
“Let me,” a voice came from behind him. Willow was at his side. She muttered a few words and her eyes went black while her feet slowly rose off the ground. Without warning rain began to fall from the ceiling, dousing the flames enough that they could safely cross them.
“Handy,” was Oz’s only comment before following Xander over the rubble and towards the bathroom.
Xander was screaming for his wife, dodging pieces of falling debris and struggling to get across the vast lobby. The building was shaking, fire was still burning around them, and the dust and clouds were making it impossible to breathe.
“Willow!” Oz called, looking back to where his girlfriend hovered in the air. Her head jerked in the direction of the sound but she did not speak. “Can you do something about the smoke?” he called before a coughing fit took over.
Willow said nothing but opened her mouth and began to blow the air from her lungs. As she did the smoke and dust before the two men began to clear, revealing a direct path to the bathroom. Oz and Xander hurried as best they could across the room and tackled the task of moving the heavy door that had been blown off its hinges but still blocked entrance. Willow hovered behind them and with a flick of her wrist the door flew from its resting spot and landed several feet away.
Xander and Oz took a second to exchange a surprised glance before running into what was left of the once elegant bathroom. “There!” Oz shouted pointing to a lifeless form on the floor. It was Anya, Buffy lying just off to the side, both unconscious and covered in dust and soot. Between them was a giant black puddle.
Xander rushed to Anya’s side and dropped to the floor. “Anya, Ahn…Anya!” he shouted.
Oz knelt beside Buffy, found her alive, and dipped his fingers in the puddle between them. “Blood,” he told Xander. “I don’t know whose.”
Xander paled and picked up Anya, heading to the door. Oz mirrored him with Buffy, slowly picking his way out of the rubble. Overhead the building continued to come down around them.
“Hurry!” Willow screamed at them as they made their way across what remained of the hotel lobby. “It’s going to cave in!”
The men burst outside, taking huge gulps of the clean air. Spike leapt up from Angel’s side, where he and Giles were attending to the bloodied vampire, and helped Oz carry Buffy. They gently laid the two women on the sidewalk.
Xander was crouched over Anya trying to wake her up. “Anya, Ahn,” he called over the roar of the burning building.
“Lots of blood,” Spike murmured, looking quickly from Anya to Buffy. He sniffed. “I think it’s just Buffy’s,” he told Oz, realizing how loudly he had spoken a moment too late.
“I’m fine!” Angel growled, leaping up and away from the ex-librarian who had been trying to tend to Angel’s head wound. He was at Buffy’s side in a flash, kneeling and trying to prop her head up.
“Buffy…honey…wake up. Come on, Buffy…” he whispered more to himself than to her. “So much blood…” Quickly he removed his coat, then his over-shirt, and used it to apply pressure to the wound on the back of the Slayer’s head. It was steadily pumping out blood, as was a giant gash on her leg. The smell of her blood filled his senses and he knew that Spike was feeling it too. Slayer’s blood even smelled powerful.
Willow, having freed herself from the dark magic, knelt with Angel. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know,” Angel told her. “She’s lost a lot of blood. Buffy!” he called more loudly. “Buffy!” he began to shake her gently.
Behind them Xander, Spike and Giles were sitting beside Anya when she began to cough and come to. “Anya!” Xander cried, wrapping his arms around her.
Her eyes opened and for a moment she struggled to focus. “Xander?” she asked finally, her voice scratchy.
He smiled at her gently. “Hi.”
“What happened? I was…” she broke off to cough.
“Shh…” he whispered. “Don’t. You’re okay now.”
She gave him a faint smile then opened her eyes with a gasp. “Buffy?” she asked.
Xander threw a glance behind him where Angel was desperately trying to get through to an unconscious Buffy. The shirt being held to the back of her head was almost soaked through with blood. “She got out,” was all he said, turning back to his wife.
“Oh, good,” Anya said, closing her eyes again.
Seeing that the ex-demon was okay Giles and Spike moved to where Angel was now pleading with Buffy to wake up. “She…she won’t open her eyes,” Angel said helplessly.
“I know this isn’t the right thing to say,” Willow said quietly, “but we need to get out of here. We can’t be found…by the people who did this or by the police.”
“I’m not moving her,” Angel snarled.
“Listen, Angelus,” Spike cut in. “I’m not too keen on moving the Slayer either. But we can’t stick around here for the police to start butting in.” He moved in closer to his grand-sire. “She blew up your hotel, mate. She’s kidnapped your crew. This chick’s in a serious mood. We need to get out of sight.”
Angel glanced over his shoulder at the burning hotel, most of which was now a pile of rubble, and tried not to remember that the love of his life and a friend had just moments before been trapped in that same building…left to die…and that he had been no help in their rescue. The sound of police sirens broke him from his thoughts and he noticed for the first time that a crowd of onlookers was beginning to gather.
“Angel, I hate to admit it, but he’s right. We need to get out of here. We don’t have time to be questioned by the police,” Giles said quietly.
Angel hesitated then finally nodded. “We move, quickly, quietly. To Caritas. The Host has a back room we can rest in and figure out our next move.” He bent over and gently scooped up Buffy, careful to keep the make-shift bandage on her head. He placed her in the back seat of his car, placed a loving hand on her forehead, then hopped in the driver’s seat.
The group walked to their separate vehicles and then sped off towards the club.
***
“So I’m guessing the Bates Motel would have been a better choice, judging by the way you all look,” was the first thing they heard when they entered the club a few minutes later.
“Long story,” Angel told him briskly.
The Host looked at her thoughtfully for a split-second. “Someone has a problem with you…and loads of TNT,” he concluded.
“She’s hurt. Bad. We need to use that back room of yours,” Angel said. Without waiting for an answer he began carrying Buffy’s body to the far end of the club. T
he Host’s gaze moved to the ex-vampire. “Normally I’d make some witty comment on how you’re a super-human-hero now and you still dress like you’re in perpetual mourning, but this girlie needs some medical attention, STAT, so I’ll save my quips for another time. Come on, all of you.”
He led them to the back of the club as quietly as possible and into what appeared to be a small apartment, equipped with a bed, couch, sink and dresser.
“What is this place?” Xander asked.
“My first home,” the Host explained, shuddering. “Before I could afford my own place I lived here. Talk about movin’ on up…” he sang to the tune of The Jefferson’s theme song. “You, wolfie, there are bandages and the like under the sink…witchy woman, you get to play Clara Barton.”
Willow and Oz moved quickly to the sink retrieving the bandages and rushing over to Buffy’s side. Angel laid her on the bed and then turned her around to get better access to her head wound.
“Jeeesh,” the Host exclaimed, recoiling. “I don’t know if just my Band-Aid’s are going to help you here honey, even with a little Neosporin.”
Angel spared him a glance as he cleaned the injury to her head. “She heals fast…if she’d just wake up.”
“Ahh,” the Host said. “Right. Slayer…mojo medicine’s built in. Good thing kiddo.” He turned to the others, deciding it was his job to distract them. “Now…while you clean up our girl-wonder, what’s say the rest of us make introductions? I’m Lorne, but you can call me the Host. I’m the proprietor of this fine establishment.”
Anya’s eyes widened. “This is that club with the green guy where you sing? And you, being the green guy, read our future?”
The Host exchanged a glance with Angel. “At least you could have the good grace to look sheepish. Green guy? Humph!” the Host said, straightening the collar of his bright purple shirt. “Let’s just keep it at the Host, okay doll?”
“That explains how you knew about Oz and Willow from the start. I’m Xander, and this is Anya,” Xander quickly interjected.
“Willow.”
“Giles.”
“Oz.”
“Spike.”
“Well…all we need is a partridge in a pear tree and we’d have it all, wouldn’t we?” the Host laughed. “You’d be the saint…the tin-man, the witch, the father, the wolf…and you…you’re not part of the Ten…”
Spike rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. “Oh bleedin’ Christ. It’s always about the Ten, isn’t it?” he cried.
“Woah woah woah oh thee of the lightened locks. Just because you’re not part of the Ten doesn’t mean I don’t get some major waves off of you,” the Host informed him.
Spike looked around. “Yeah?” he said, grinning. “Vibes like…you see me swimming in money, fancy cars…women?”
The Host gave him a look. “Calm down, Hefner. I’m just saying you might have a future…that’s it.”
Angel looked up angrily from tending to Buffy. “Be quiet,” he snapped. His gaze moved to the Host. “What can you tell us? I’ll sing, but only if I have to.”
The Host looked him cryptically. “Cordy and the others are in a bad way. This chick who’s after you? She’s not a happy camper. It’s bad…we’re talking Blair Witch bad.” He glanced around. “Did anyone else think that movie just sucked?” They stared at him. “Right…anywho…Laren…she’s got a partner. Someone you don’t like. Someone who really hates you…and sleeping beauty.”
Xander looked at him quizzically. “A partner who hates us? An evil partner? Wow…something evil that hates us. Stop the world.”
The Host went back to examining them. “And…that’s all I’m getting…it’s pretty hazy from there.”
Angel grimaced. “Singing?”
The Host grinned. “Looks that way.” Angel glanced at Buffy. “I’m not leaving her.”
“You don’t have to. Just do a quick little number and we’ll be out of here.”
Angel hesitated. “Fine,” he sighed. “Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb, Mary had a little lamb whose fleece was white as snow. Is that good enough?” he cried, frustrated.
The Host patted his shoulder. “Have you ever considered a little voice-training? I mean, a lesson once a week or something?” Angel growled, cutting him off. “Well, I suppose that’s not the issue right now…ok…here’s what I see.”