Blind and Dangerous - Act 1
She knelt on the cool grass with unexpected tears in her eyes. She had avoided coming to this place for a long time. Since the internment. With a weak arm, she reached out and let her fingers run down the polished surface. The lovely polished granite was still warm from sitting in the sun all day. This was a beautiful spot.
Niki’s fingers traced out the name carved in the headstone. Richard Jeffery Addison. He was down there, six feet beneath the cool grass which had sprung up around the headstone. He really was dead. The British Consul had decided not to fly his body back to England for burial, since Addison had been in disfavor with the Council at the time of his death. So here he lay, in a simple coffin, with a simple headstone, on a little hill with the girl he had destroyed kneeling and crying in the dying rays of the sun.
As the last of the light had been eaten up by shadow, Niki swallowed her tears and turned her head slightly, noticing the fresh dirt above the grave to her left. As if on cue, a hand thrust out of the ground.
Niki grated her teeth and turned back to Addison’s name, tears still in her eyes. “I hate you.”
She stood and pulled her jacket on, gripping the stake tightly. It had been a while, as a matter of fact, since she had done some honest slaying. But it was like riding a lawyer; the moves never changed and the outcome was always a little disappointing.
She waited patiently as the young vamp pulled herself from the earth, gasping for breath and glaring through yellow, wolfish eyes at the fresh evening which promised blood. Niki stared back, readying herself for the timeless duel, the simplest expression of the unending struggle between evil and whatever Niki herself was: Whatever side Niki fought for always won the battle, but the war never ended.
The vamp lunged, tackling Niki around the middle. The two went tumbling to the ground, the Slayer taking several punches to the face before she kicked the vamp over her head then jumped to her feet. Tensed and ready in an instant, Niki lunged this time, kicking high and striking the vampire in the face, sending her staggering backward.
Niki grinned, charging forward when she felt the vampire was ready again, twisting to the side at the last minute and avoiding the vamp’s bear hug, ending up behind to thrust the stake hard into the vamp’s back.
With a scream and the hiss of ash, the vamp collapsed to cool grass below. Niki took a breath and nodded with satisfaction, her inner turmoil momentarily forgotten. The Slayer slid the stake back into her pocket and tugged at the collar of her jacket, getting some air under it on this warm evening. Then an unusually cool breeze sent her hair blowing across her face. She frowned and tightened her jacket around her.
A blazing blue light soon exploded out of nothing to her right and the ice cold wind intensified, seeming to come from the light. In a heartbeat, the light and the wind were gone and Niki was left standing with an confused frown.
“Who the hell are you?”
The figure stepped out of the blurry after image which plagued Niki’s vision. Finally her vision cleared and she brushed her blond hair from her face. The figure was short for a demon, certainly not fear-inspiring. Niki couldn’t really tell whether it was male or female, it was so emaciated.
It wore a burlap robe which was tied at the waist with a twine rope. The robe had no sleeves and the figure’s skinny arms moved about as if they weighed nothing. From what Niki could see of the legs, they seemed as skinny as she could imagine was possible.
The figure’s head was so starved it was nearly skeletal, every feature of its jaw outlined beneath paper thin skin. Its eyes were sunk back into its head, but they were alive and active, looking around with a crystal clear intensity. Upon the bald head was a simple burlap skullcap which covered the top of its head and hung down the back of its neck.
In its left had it carried a small tree branch, a few dead leaves still clinging to one end. The figure made a slow step forward and Niki tensed. If this thing was as fragile as it looked, a fight like this would be very short. In the blink of an eye, the figure was standing inches from the Slayer, its sunken eyes staring deep into her with a haunting intensity.
“Give it to me,” the skeletal figure ordered in a thin voice which sounded as if it weren’t used to speaking. Its breath smelled like a dozen dead bodies — something Niki had smelled in her lifetime.
The Slayer took a step back. “Give you what?”
The figure shook the stick between them, its leaves rustling. “Time will tell,” it breathed, sucking in a deep breath. With a disgusted look, Niki watched as flesh filled out the skeletal form, muscle grew beneath the skin and the eyes rose from their deep pits. Soon the figure was anything but fragile, bulked with muscles and the stature of a heavyweight wrestler.
Niki shifted her weight, ready to fight. This was some kind of demon the Council had summoned. That thought being all the incentive she needed, she scissor kicked it in the jaw, her foot feeling like it was hitting stone. The figure lifted the branch, which seemed to have found new life, its leaves green and thick. With a shake and a rustling of leaves, Niki was thrown back into a large tombstone. She slid to the ground with a groan.
Some kind of wizard, she thought, getting to her feet and charging. The stick was the key, though. She twisted around it as the figure raised it against her and snatched it from muscular hands. The instant her hand touched it, however, an incredible pain overtook her and she dropped it to the ground, screaming in pain. She lay on the ground, fighting her body's commands to pass out. With a deep breath she jumped to her feet again, her arm still feeling like it was on fire. The figure was gone.
Niki looked down to where she had dropped the stick. It too was gone. Where it had been was a patch of dead grass, barren earth outlining where the stick had actually lain. She swallowed. That was some demon. She shook the receding pain away from her arm, suddenly overcome with dizziness.
She collapsed to her knees, doubling over in nausea. A blur of images and sounds charged through her brain for a split second, leaving her on the grass, panting for breath. A moment later, another blur and another shout of pain.
After a long minute of gasping for breath and praying the pain would end, Niki managed to get back up onto her knees. She slowly looked over to the polished granite surface marking the grave of her late Watcher, drawing in a deep breath.
“That all you got?”
Logan glanced up from the mess of papers on the coffee table. Rachel was sitting in the easy chair, silently reading a novel. The silence between them was like a taut piano string. If it broke, it was going to hurt someone.
Logan swallowed and carefully turned a page over, trying not make any noise. It was ridiculous, but Logan knew Rachel was watching him. Not now. Not with her eyes. But all the time he was out of the house... he was sure someone was following him.
Logan had managed to convince the court to drop the jail time associated with vehicular manslaughter, but the crime was still on his record and it was going to take some time to pay off the fine. The Watcher Logan had run over obviously didn’t have anyone to stick up for him, which surprised Logan. Some men, likely from the Council, had come and collected his belongings and let the city cremate and inter him.
The fact that Hanna was a Potential Slayer had taken him by surprise and he didn’t feel he had done anything a good father wouldn’t do to protect his daughter by killing her would-be Watcher. He had also learned something valuable about Michael, namely that the so-called angel didn’t actually kill people. He hung around death, that was for sure, and he seemed able to predict it or foresee it — Logan wasn’t at all clear on that point, but he was getting to be as cryptic and annoying unhelpful as Whistler, so Logan had abandoned his attempts to get more out of him.
He slowly turned the page and scanned the words printed there. Rachel had figured out that Logan had run the brit down because he had thought he was being followed and had since stopped acting outwardly angry at him. She knew, he supposed, that he would do the same with his car to anyone else he suspected was encroaching on his privacy. Logan had, in fact, not seen anyone tailing him since that night. Turn the page. Suddenly, the piano string of tension snapped with the sound of the doorbell.
Logan leapt to his feet and Rachel snapped her book closed.
“I’ll get it,” he said louder than necessary. Walking quickly to the door, he opened it to an unfamiliar face.
The young man was a little shorter than Logan and had short, spiked, red hair. He didn’t recognize the band on his shirt, and didn’t at all like the way he was staring at Logan. The young man swallowed.
“Uh... hey. I obviously have the right house... There’s — there’s someone I think you should meet. D’you want to come for a walk with me?”
Logan frowned. “Are you selling something?”
The young man shook his head, his gaze locked on Logan’s face, slowly dropping to his button up shirt. “I think you’re really gonna want to meet him.”
Logan shrugged and grabbed his khaki jacket, closing the door behind him. He was grateful to get out of the house and even if this kid wanted to kill him, at least he would get some exercise. “Just so you know,” Logan said cheerfully, “I ran over a guy last month just for thinking about my daughter.”
The young man swallowed. “I believe you. It’s this way.” He led Logan down the street a little, under the cones of light thrown by the streetlights. They passed a tall hedge and, out of the surrounding darkness, Logan could feel something. Something terrifying and familiar at the same time. Unnaturally familiar.
The man stepped from the shadows and looked Logan up and down with a slow grin. He slowly took a deep breath, his chest rising under his white silk shirt. Logan had seen a shirt like that before, under a blue silk tie and worn by an angel who insisted he was not associated with death.
The young man cocked his head, looking intently from one of their faces to the other. He made a sound of amazement.
Logan frowned and squinted, looking through the shadow covering the man’s face. As the man in the silk shirt stepped forward a little into the light, Logan’s eyes nearly jumped out of his head. He opened his mouth to swear, but his suddenly dry mouth couldn’t find the words.
“Oz, this is Logan,” the man in the silk shirt facilitated the introductions, “Logan, this is my friend Oz. And of course, we’ve met before.” The man cracked a smile. “Every day in the bathroom mirror.”
Logan looked in utter disbelief as his own face stared back at him from beneath a mess of long, shaggy blond hair. It’s a trick his mind insisted. A spell or something. But why?
“Who the hell are you?” Logan demanded, taking a careful step back and trying to summon the electricity in his hands.
The man in the silk shirt smiled even more. “My name is Loki. I’m you... about twenty years from now.”
Logan flexed his fists. As powerful as he knew he was, it was always something that came at times of emotional stress. It wasn’t something he could really conjure on command. He swallowed. Stall. Say something. Pretend you believe him.
“I look good,” Logan noted, finding not a single grey in the mop of blond hair. “Though I could use a hair cut.”
Oz smiled a little but said nothing. Loki took the comment with grace. “Twenty years might change your mind. I know it’s changed mine.”
“What... what am I doing here... twenty years from now?” Logan looked down at his hands, not even a flicker from the power that hid somewhere within him. He snapped his fingers, trying to get a spark. Nothing.
“I’m here because I need your help. My help – whatever.” Loki kept his wry smile and sighed. “We have to stop a demon called the Timekeeper. It wants to kill someone called Wilson.”
Logan looked quickly from Oz to Loki. “What... what do you need my help for?”
Loki shrugged a little. “Two me’s are better than one. This is the point in time, I know, where I am at my strongest. A little out of control, I’ll be the first to admit, but strong nonetheless.”
Logan blinked. “Uh... thanks. I think.” He swallowed again, then pointed to the young red haired man. “And who’s he again?”
Loki looked to the young man with surprise, as if he hadn’t really thought about it. “That’s Oz.”
Logan’s brow creased a little. “Is... is that like a joke? The Wizard and Oz?”
Loki laughed out loud but Oz frowned. Loki patted the young man on the shoulder. “Ha! I’d never thought of it that way... See? I’m clever in any decade.”
Logan shook his head once, his frown becoming one of distrust. “No, I’m sorry, you’re going to have to give me a little proof. You could be any one of a dozen demons that wants to use my power for its own purp—”
“I sang Hanna to sleep again after I made her break up with her boyfriend.” Loki stood with his arms crossed and his eyes challenging Logan to call him a liar. “I was a complete ass for cheating on my wife with a skanky Slayer... at least, that’s what I told her. The truth is—”
“Okay, I believe you,” Logan held up his hands for the other man to stop. “But this... this is kinda weird. Like... does you being here change the timeline or something?”
Oz nodded. “Yeah... He tried to explain it to me... it took three aspirin to get rid of that headache.”
Loki smiled. “I’m not changing the timeline... see, I remember all this happening. I remember standing where you are and hearing me say these things. But try explaining that to the Timekeeper.”
Logan shook his head to clear the confusion. “Who’s the Timekeeper again?”
Loki sighed, the smile disappearing. “The Timekeeper’s the demon who’s going to try to kill us all.”
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