The Man With A Thousand Faces: Twenty Nine
by redmoon
Twenty Nine
16 October, 2001, Sunnydale
“Gentlemen,” Warren stood, his back to the other two, “prepare yourselves, if possible, to be stunned and awed...” He turned around to face Jonathan and Andrew who sat in Warren’s basement before him. He held it by the edges of its thick plastic case. “Mint condition, original edition, platinum series.... Luke Skywalker.” The shiny, holographic edges of the trading card glittered in the sunlight penetrating the basement’s high windows.
The other two were speechless for a moment. “C- can I touch it?” Andrew asked tentatively, holding out a hand.
Warren immediately pulled the card out of reach. “Hey, this thing cost, like, three month’s salary.” There was a pause as he seemed to consider the advantages of touching it himself. “Okay,” he said at last, “but where gloves,” he tossed a pair of latex gloves to the young man.
As Andrew caught them, the phone rang. Jonathan jumped up and leaned over as it rang again. “Long distance,” he commented, almost under his breath.
“Let the computer trace it,” Warren advised, setting the card back in its case, to Andrew’s disappointment.
“Hello?” Jonathan said, holding the receiver to his ear. The computer beside the phone immediately began to track down the origin of the call.
“Hello, boys,” said the voice on the other end.
Jonathan frowned as the small spinning globe on the computer screen shifted and slowed over Asia. He pressed a key on the telephone and then hung up the receiver. “You’re on speaker,” Jonathan acknowledged.
“Thank you,” said the voice, gentle but slightly husky. “This is the lair of super-villains, is it not?”
Andrew gave Warren a quick glance. “Of course,” Warren said irritated. He frowned as the computer enlarged a section of southern China, cross-hairs searching over the Tibetan plateau.
“Excellent,” Loki said, pleased. “As you’re probably aware,” he said, gazing into his Now Sphere, “I am calling you from quite a ways overseas, and this phone call is costing a — a Jedi’s ransom, so I’ll make this short.” Despite his claims for ridiculous rates, Loki paused for a long moment. “I hear you three are sporting for some fun. Some real fun.”
Warren glanced at the whiteboard, upon which had been scrawled the recently revised list of mission goals. He frowned. It has seemed like enough fun—
“Believe me,” Loki said, as though reading his mind, “I’m suggesting something seriously more rewarding than a shrink-ray.” This evoked a surprised and worried look from the other two. Warren, however, remained more irritated than anything.
“Who are you?” The young man asked, stepping closer to the phone.
“A very powerful conjurer,” Loki said, amused, assuming his best authoritative tone. “And I find I have use for some seriously evil super-villains.”
“Hold please,” Jonathan pressed another key and silenced the audio on the speaker phone. He turned to the others with a frown. “Hey guys, I think this is for real.”
“Of course it’s for real,” Warren swatted him annoyed on the shoulder. “Nobody knows my mom’s phone number and that we’re super-villains. He must be a conjurer.”
“But–” Jonathan rubbed his arm, “he wants an evil trio of villains.”
Andrew scoffed. “I think that’s implied by villains.”
“Andrew’s right,” Warren nodded. “Evil’s a tool, like the Death Star, and if it falls into the right hands, we can make it do whatever we want.”
Andrew’s eyes lit up. “Can you imagine if the Rebellion got its hands on the Death Star?” He and Jonathan shared a mischievous laugh when the phone, which was supposed to have been muted, spoke up.
“Listen, boys,” Loki said as Jonathan rushed to the phone. The cross-hairs had focused on a small mountain chain west of Chamdo. To emphasize his power, Loki turned their computer off before it could isolate his exact coordinates. “I’m in need of some serious havoc in Sunnydale. I’ve got a problem and I need you to create a distraction so I can solve it. That’s not too big a job for you — is it?”
Jonathan swallowed and turned back to the other two. Andrew shrugged but Warren smiled. “Havoc is our specialty. We run this town.”
“Excellent,” Loki said again. Already the likely futures as seen through the Dagon Sphere were shifting. Buffy was becoming more distant, more troubled. Spike was more violent and bitter at her rejections. She wouldn’t mind so much now if—
“Hold on,” Warren approached the phone, crossing his arms. “What do we get out of it?
The other two nodded in agreement. “Yeah,” they said in unison.
“Boys,” the conjurer said gently, tapping the red sphere, satisfied with his small interference, “I have more power than you could possibly imagine. The question isn’t ‘what can I pay you.’ The question is ‘what do you want, more than anything in the world?’” He waited, already having foreseen their response.
Jonathan had no sooner keyed the phone when the three answered in unison, “Chicks.” They all nodded in agreement.
Jonathan activated the phone’s receiver again and Warren spoke up. “We will consider your offer,” he said, hiding the excitement he and the others felt.
“Perfect,” said the voice. The computer screen blinked on with a picture of a demon and a summoning spell beneath. The three gathered around to look at it. “I have taken the liberty,” the voice went on, “of preparing a suitable chaos demon.”
“I think we can summon our own demons,” Andrew said petulantly. “We are evil, you know.”
“Of course,” Loki said, “I apologize for the presumption.”
“You’ll have your havoc,” Warren eyed Andrew, “just be sure to pay us when we’re finished. Remember — whatever we want.”
There was a short pause. “Of course, Warren,” the young man did a double take, “everything you’ve worked for will pay off.” Then with an audible click, the connection was terminated.
Andrew and Jonathan looked to each other triumphantly. “Girls, girls, girls,” they said together. Warren remained silent for a moment.
Finally he turned to the other two. “You heard him; start summoning that Mm’demon thing.”
Loki ran a hand through his shoulder length hair. He finally let the smile spread across his face. He reached out and stroked the red cloudy ball. The opportunity was quite a ways off —and there were preparations to make— but the single clear image shown by the Dagon Sphere was that of Loki watching, rapt, as the slayer dusted William the Bloody, after the vampire had tried to force himself on her.
Loki’s smile widened. I could stand to see that, he thought, I could let a slayer have my revenge. The revenge, he realized, did not belong to him alone, but to the slayer also. It was part of her heritage —something passed from generation to generation— the right to dust this vampire who had killed so many. So many slayers.
Loki paused, momentarily. How many other slayers had Spike killed? Niki’s Watcher had abandoned her when she started ignoring his advice, so there were no Council records indicating that Spike had been her killer – and Logan had made sure, for his own protection, that Spike himself didn’t remember that day. Not that it seemed all that clear anyway. How many others were there that he might not recall? A good knock to the head on the subway had jumbled Spike’s memory for ten years; what else might he not remember that earned him death?
Loki noticed the smile had fallen from his face. He stood from the table he had acquired and paced the stone chamber he used for a study. Once he had cleaned away the bodies —most of them— he had been able to convince several prelates and Buddhist monks to return to the lamasery. Even the garden was starting to look better.
Loki paused from his pacing as there came a knock to his door. He frowned and opened it. A young red haired man smiled back.
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