Beyond Any Shadow of a Doubt - Act 2
“What do you mean, I made the wrong choice?” Niki paused her protein intake. The waitress walked by and set down two fresh mugs of beer. Niki glanced up, then back at the Demon, leaning in and lowering her voice. “I went to see your prophet,” she hissed, dragging the beer closer to her protectively, “and he told me exactly how much time I have left.” She straightened up and lifted the mug. “You’re just like the rest of them. I’m the Slayer. The one and only: Get over it.”
As the Slayer, the one and only, took a long pull of her beer, Whistler tried to think of how to explain this. The young woman across from him had fought tooth and nail just for the right to be herself — to be alive. She knew no one accepted her, everyone thought she was a failure or dangerous... how to convince her she was exactly what she was meant to be... and that what she was meant to be was dead.
“The Deceivers,” he said all of a sudden. “How’s that going?”
Niki wiped the foam from her lips with the back of her hand and reached for the nuts again. “It’s hard to tell, really. That seer, Jessica, explained what the Deceivers are but not who they are or how to find them.”
“How to kill them...?” the demon prompted.
The Slayer nodded. “Yeah, I have to kill the one who conjured the Deception. But, of course, I have no idea who that is.”
“Is that why you went to the prophet?” Whistler took a few nuts for himself.
Niki nodded emphatically through a sip of beer. “Yup. Turns out he was crazy though. Everything was numbers... the lives of all the Slayers were a big set of numbers that I couldn’t really understand. Except for a few. Like when I’m going to die.”
Whistler smiled a little. “So, I figure that’s why you’re not too concerned with... anything.” He indicated her homeless and penniless state.
She shrugged. “Pretty much. He gave me a time for the Deception to end too...” she frowned. “Or a clue or something. That number was a bit fuzzy.”
“Which number?” Whistler munched curiously on the quickly dwindling Brazil-nuts.
“Five,” she shrugged. “Two and three is five, the guy said. Whatever that means. Did I mention he was crazy?”
“Are you looking for the Deceiver?” Whistler’s words struck a chord and Niki slumped. “I take that as a no.”
“No, it’s not that,” she set the beer mug down dejectedly. “I just... I’d been hoping it was Addison. You know, I thought —I hoped— he’d been the one who was having me deceived. To get rid of me.” Whistler was shaking his head. Niki nodded – it could never be that easy. “But I guess not.”
“You’re looking at this all wrong,” Whistler gestured for the waitress to come over. “Two more beers,” he requested politely. The waitress nodded and wandered away.
Niki frowned. “But you haven’t even touched yours.” The demon shrugged.
“They’re both for you.” He folded his hands and took a deep breath. “You’re trying to think of reasons why forces are trying to get rid of the Slayer. Normally, that’s a pretty effective thought process, but for right now, I’m asking you to think of why someone would want to get rid of you, Niki Valtaine.”
The Slayer shrugged helplessly. “I’m not exactly a threat to anyone. I can’t think of anyone — besides the Council who might actually be afraid of me.”
“Again, you’re looking at this all wrong. I’m telling you now you are threatening: every breath you take is a threat, but not to anyone who could be doing this to you. If any person was really afraid of you, there are many easier magical ways to have you killed — just look at how the Council is dealing with you. They’ve initiated the Termination Procedure. They’re not concerned with mucking about with the truth.”
Niki looked hard into the demon’s face. He had a point. “So what are you saying? Whoever’s Deceiving me isn’t trying to kill me?”
Whistler shook his head. “No, what I’m saying is: Whoever is Deceiving you isn’t afraid of you. Isn’t worried they’ll be caught. They’re sitting back and enjoying the show.”
Niki’s expression clouded over. “When I find them, I’m going to kick their ass so hard they’ll taste their back pockets.”
“But don’t forget about the Council,” Whistler pointed out, taking the first sip of his first beer as Niki’s second and third arrived. “If they want you, they’ll stop at nothing to get you.”
Niki frowned, starting on her second pint. “Yeah, getting back to that... you mentioned some ‘Termination Procedure’... what’s that about?”
The demon exhaled hesitantly. “Well..” he looked down at his beer. This whole situation was against his nature. He was by nature one of the good guys. He was supposed to be on the winning side. The side that survived. Helping destiny along was supposed to mean saving peoples lives... not this.
“Come on,” Niki prodded. “You opened pandora’s box, I just want to see what’s inside.”
“The Termination Procedure,” the demon said reluctantly, “is one of the most carefully guarded secrets of the Watcher’s Council. I assume since you went to the desert you know the nature of the Shadow Men?”
Niki frowned. “Uh, yeah. They created the first slayer — they were the original Watchers.”
Whistler nodded. “They did it by forcing the heart of a demon into a young girl. The name of that demon has been lost over the centuries, but something has been passed on from generation to generation among the Watchers: a way to vanquish the demon inside the Slayer — inside you.”
Niki’s eyes widened with shock and disgust. “Why would they keep something like that?” she demanded, suddenly put off of beer and nuts.
“Because,” Whistler argued calmly, “there exist forces in the world which could corrupt a Slayer; turn her to evil or worse. They needed a failsafe. An emergency backup plan incase the most powerful weapon for good turned against them.”
Niki slowly dropped her gaze, the full meaning finally registering. “Like me. Turned against them like me.” The demon nodded. “They’re going to use it against me — kill the demon inside me?”
Whistler nodded regretfully. “They’re probably going to try. It’s dangerous because they have to be right in front of you — the demon inside you has to hear the Word. Then...” he made a gesture like letting go of dust.
Niki glanced back up. “What’s the Word?”
Whistler frowned, allowing a little laugh. “Well... I’m not going to tell you. I’m not going to do their job for them.”
Niki sighed. “Well... how would I recognize it? It’s not English, is it?”
Whistler shook his head. “No— but you’ve seen it before.” He pulled a napkin from the dispenser box and lifted a pen from the inside of his jacket. He scribbled the Tamasheq letters onto the white surface and slid it over to the Slayer. “It’s Tuareg. It’s a spell. If it’s said with the right incantation, the demon inside you gets driven out.”
Niki slowly lifted the napkin from the table top. She had indeed seen the word before: glowing on the wall of the cave, the Shadow Men had offered to ‘unchoose’ her using this word. But that didn’t make sense... “It won’t kill me?” she frowned.
Whistler cocked his head. “I have no idea. It’s never been used before. As far as the Council knows, it could end the Slayer Line. That’s why it’s an absolute last resort.”
“Well, I’ll keep my eyes open for any more Council types who come looking for me toting books or scrolls.” She folded the napkin in half and stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans.
It looked like Niki was getting ready to leave, so Whistler slid her third beer towards her. “We still have to talk about the D word.”
The Slayer blinked, standing from her chair. “Which one?”
“The one that rhymes with breath,” the demon replied.
Niki sat back down, sullenly taking hold of her third mug of beer. “I hate that one.”
Kenneth slowly lifted the stone tablet from the foam packing which filled his briefcase. On it was carved the Tuareg word which spelled death for the demon heart of any Slayer. Never been used and it was hoped never to be needed, but Kenneth had been given explicit instructions should he meet the Slayer to use it without hesitation. They were that afraid of her.
The intellectual in Kenneth looked at the tablet more for its archaeological significance rather than its tactical potential. And yet potential was his specialty.
Slowly and with the care of a student of history, he set the tablet back in the foam packing, closing the briefcase and turning to the hotel telephone. After a few moments of wrestling with the American dialing procedures, Kenneth had the coven on the line.
“Yes,” he said to the cautious voice on the other end. “I’m in the city. You said you’d give me an address once I’d landed.”
He listened patiently as the exact location was given, spelled out and repeated just in case. Kenneth scribbled it down on a pad of paper and stuffed the note into his vest pocket. Wouldn’t she be surprised to see him...
Apparently she had the one called Logan Kilpatrick watching over her. The Termination Procedure would do little to stop him, Kenneth smirked, except maybe confuse him for a minute or two.
“Thank you,” he said to the voice on the other end, hanging up the receiver. He’d look up the place in the morning: it was getting late and prowling around a city ruled by a rogue Slayer was asking for the kind of trouble Kenneth wasn’t at all prepared for.
Kenneth was all about the future. And if the coven was to be trusted, then like it or not, the future was upon them all.
“Could you sing me to sleep?” Hanna asked, a little hopeful gleam in her eyes. She lay under the covers in the semi-darkness of her bedroom. She wasn’t a child anymore and she knew Logan knew it, but she also knew he liked to sing to her and asking him was as good as an apology.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, he smiled warmly. “What do you want to hear?”
“Boxer,” she said without hesitation. Logan had been singing Paul Simon to her since before she could remember and even though she doubted she would ever admit to anyone that she liked it, the few minutes before sleep with her father used to be the best of every day.
“I always sing Boxer,” Logan protested, poking her in the ribs. “How about something else? For Emily, wherever I may find her.” Hanna nodded dreamily and closed her eyes, sinking back into the thick pillows. It was a moment before her father’s still gentle voice filled her senses, and in that darkness she couldn’t help but see flashes of the nightmares which for the past few nights had haunted her. Then the song came and everything seemed like it would be okay.
“What a dream I had, pressed in organdy,
Clothed in crinoline of smokey burgundy,
Softer than the rain...
I wandered empty streets down past the shop displays,
I heard cathedral bells, tripping down the alleyways,
As I walked on...
And when you ran to me, your cheeks flushed with the night.
We walked on frosted fields of juniper and lamplight.
I held your hand...
And when I awoke and felt you warm and near,
I kissed your honey hair with my grateful tears.
Oh, I love you, girl...
Oh, I love you...”
With screams and terror, Hanna watched as the creatures she knew to be vampires massacred the churning crowd. But something was fighting them. Something was killing them.
As Hanna’s disembodied perspective shifted, she could see a girl, a girl not much older than her, fighting the vampires — killing the vampires. With dust and screams the vampires fell before her. But they were like a tide and she was only one.
Then the dream spun sickeningly and the perspective shifted again — a different feel, a different taste and smell to the air. A different girl fighting different vampires in a different way. Again they overwhelmed her. Hanna was unable to look away as her blood spilled out onto the ground.
With a lurch, she was somewhere else, in a different time, different vampires and a new girl, fighting hard, killing many. But she too fell. They all fell. They all died.
Hanna awoke covered in sweat and breathing hard. It wasn’t terrifying like the other dreams, just exhausting and it wound her up with stress so that her fists were clenching the sheets so hard she thought she might sprain something.
It was pitch black and Logan was gone. The memory of his voice brought no comfort to her now. Even that long evolved power to drive away nightmares had proved ineffective. Then with a frown she realized what had woken her up. The noise came again and she recognized it.
She moved to the window and looked down to see Matt waiting below, readying to throw another pebble at her window. Her gaze narrowed and she slowly drew the blind closed. Getting back into bed, she hardened her heart and closed her eyes. Her father may not be able to protect her from bad dreams, but he had proved he could protect her from bad boyfriends. She slept dreamlessly for the rest of the night.
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