The Wind Beyond the Walls of the
Mind
Chapter 6
The Guardian
by Gaius Petronius
DISCLAIMER:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the characters that appear on
the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, the WB, Fox
and Mutant Enemy, Inc. This story can be read on its own or as
a sequel to H. P. Lovecraft's "The Haunter of the Dark"
from which the Ancient Ones, the Shining Trapezohedron and the
character of Robert Blake are derived.
The Wind Beyond the Walls of the Mind is set
roughly in mid-season four shortly following the death of Doyle
but before the creation of Adam and the death of Maggie Walsh.
* * * * * *
The following morning, the office of Angel Investigations
was quiet, the stillness marred only by the occasional distant
honking of horns outside on the street. Wesley sat asleep in Cordelia's
receptionist's chair. He was plopped forward onto the desk and
he snoozed with his face buried in his folded arms. His glasses
lay loose out on the table in front of him. He fidgeted in his
sleep, snorted and twitched with a nightmare.
Lieutenant Kate Lockley, detective in the Los
Angeles Police Department, stood silently in front of the desk,
her arms folded in disgust. She glared down at Wesley for a few
moments. Her long blond hair spilled over her shoulders and its
brilliant color stood out like a beacon in the dingy office. She
wore tight fitting jeans and a snug blouse that accentuated the
full lines of her figure. Her service revolver, strapped in a
shoulder holster across her chest, stood out prominently under
her brown leather jacket. Impatiently, she gave Wesley a sharp
prod.
"Hey! Wake up!" she snapped curtly
at him.
Still half asleep, Wesley jumped and whimpered.
"Oh! . . . I'm sorry, Mummy, I couldn't
help it! I'll change the sheets and wash them . . ."
"HEY!" Kate shouted.
"Oh dear," Wesley sputtered, finally
awake, and realized where he was. "You're that policewoman,
Kate."
"Who are you? Where's Angel?" Kate
asked, what little patience she had now wearing extremely thin.
Wesley fidgeted with his glasses and puffed
himself up, trying to look important and even threatening.
"I am Wesley Wyndom Price," he announced
pompously, "Rogue Demon Hunter!"
Kate eyed Wesley as if he had just declared
he was the envoy from Mars.
"What the hell's a 'Rogue Demon?'"
she asked sarcastically, "Where's Angel . . . and that secretary
of his?"
Wesley struggled to regain his composure.
"I'm sorry but Angel is out of the office
right now. If you would like to leave a message . . ."
"Where is he?" Kate interrupted,
now speaking through gritted teeth.
Then Wesley made his biggest mistake. He got
snippy.
"And why should I reveal that information
to you? He hasn't done anything."
"Not done anything?!" That was it.
She decided the Demon Hunter needed a learning experience. She
let her infamous temper, never too far below the surface, well
freely out.
"No, we've only got reports of a '67 GTX
matching the description of Angel's speeding down the freeway
in the middle of the night with the occupants throwing Molotov
cocktails at passing vehicles!!"
Wesley's eyes bugged out as Kate bent down
and grabbed him by the lapels of his rumpled tweed sport jacket.
"So listen up you dopey little man with
your coke bottle lenses!" she growled, her voice dripping
with her best "bad cop" threatening tone. "Where's
Angel?"
"I don't know . . ." Wesley stammered
as he began to cave, "He left to drive Cordelia home last
night and never came back." Suddenly, Wesley's natural huffiness
returned. "Besides! I can't reveal that information to you!
It's confidential!"
Suddenly the phone rang causing Wesley to nearly
leap up out of the chair. He pulled away from Kate and picked
up the receiver. Miraculously, he punched the correct button for
the incoming line.
"Angel Investigations, 'We help the hopeless,
how may we . . ." Wesley stopped as the voice on the other
end of the line interrupted him. " . . . Angel!" he
exclaimed, "That's you? It doesn't sound like you . . . You're
where? . . . Sunnydale? . . ."
Kate listened carefully, picking out all the
information she needed within a few seconds and grinning all the
while.
". . . You're at Cordelia's old house?"
Wesley sputtered, "But I thought the IRS seized it from her
father. . . . Oh, . . . well you should have checked in earlier.
You had me worried."
Wesley listened over the phone for a moment,
all the while glaring suspiciously at Kate.
"No, everything's been quiet," he
continued, "That Kate woman's here looking for you, but don't
worry. She won't get any information out of me! . . . Right .
. . I'll take messages."
Wesley hung up the phone and gave Kate his
best "Rogue Demon Hunter" stare.
"There! You see, Angel's not here,"
he declared at the same time waving his hand dismissively at the
policewoman, "Now you'd best 'shoo' and be on your way!"
Kate struggled not to burst out laughing. She
couldn't resist one more question.
"Yeah, I guess you're right," she
answered, grinning all the while, "Oh, about your secretary
Cordelia. Is her father the Chase guy up in Sunnydale that got
busted by the IRS and skipped town?"
Wesley's mouth almost dropped open. He couldn't
believe she had asked such a personal and intrusive question.
No one with any breeding discussed other peoples' personal finances.
"I don't think Cordelia's family financial
difficulties are any of your concern!" he snapped.
"Right," Kate smiled as she was about
to turn and leave. She hadn't had this much fun on an interrogation
in weeks. One last dig should be good for laughs. "Thanks.
Ya know what, Wesley Wyndom Price 'Rogue Demon Hunter?'"
Kate bent down and reached out towards Wesley.
Expecting another lunge for his collar, he lurched back from her
extended hand but instead, Kate playfully patted Wesley twice
on the cheek, grinning sarcastically as she did.
"You're okay," she smirked, with
her face a little too close in to his for comfort.
Kate then stood up to her full height, straightened
her shoulder holster and walked away as a flabbergasted Wesley
stared after her. As she passed out the office door she muttered
to herself under her breath.
"'Rogue Demon Hunter!' Christ, Angel!
Where the hell do you dig 'em up!"
* * * * * * * *
Professor Margaret Walsh stood in front of
a computer monitor on the main floor of the Initiative Headquarters.
She and Hunter, a lab coated assistant, stared at the screen and
evaluated information scrolling by. All around them, workers,
camouflaged Initiative soldiers and lab technicians scurred to
and fro. Although from all appearances it was a "normal"
morning at the secret underground operation, the headquarters
reeked with an air of building tension.
Initiative members cast furtive glances over
their shoulders as they hurried about their business. No one spoke
or dared break Walsh's concentration for fear of a verbal lashing.
Hunter waited patiently. A relatively new recruit, he had been
in training under Riley Finn. He had been the butt of constant
jokes for his short size although his wirey frame was as strong
as any of the larger soldiers, and Riley noticed his natural ability
with strategic planning.
Then Professor Walsh without explanation pulled
him out of the unit. Apparently she had spotted in his file his
skill with computers, electronic equipment and programming code.
Although, he realized that he was advancing within the Initiative
structure, he also understood, due to his patron's volatility,
that the position was precarious at best. He also knew how to
keep his mouth shut. Nervously, he ran his hand through his short
curly brown hair as he waited for Walsh to comment on the outrageous
sensor readings now running across the monitor screen.
Suddenly, a young technician holding a clipboard
walked up and stood behind Professor Walsh.
"Ma'am?" he asked tentatively.
Walsh, her face hard and cold as if she were
annoyed beyond endurance by the interruption, looked up at the
technician. She didn't reply.
"The alpha charged weaponry packs are
on the loading dock," the technician continued, "We
need your authorization to remove them from their protective lead
packing."
Walsh quickly signed the clipboard, gave the
technician a stare that could crack granite and returned her attention
to the screen.
"I see our bogey was active again last
night . . ." she finally mused. Hunter wondered whether the
remark was directed at him or the bare white walls.
"Yes, we've isolated its movements to
three grids," he volunteered, "The first is block M561."
Hunter pointed at the screen.
"This dormitory on the college campus.
The second, block E375," he said pointing to another grid,
"an older area of downtown Sunnydale and here . . . B234."
"What's the large building in that grid?"
Walsh asked with interest.
"Apparently it's the Sunnydale Convalescent
Hospital."
"What about E375?" Walsh continued.
Hunter was puzzled by this last location.
"It's mostly old shops and several abandoned
buildings. It's the part of town targeted for revitalization."
"There's a link there somewhere,"
Walsh said as if the observation were a command.
"Ma'am?"
"Those three sites have attracted its
attention," she declared analytically, "This is not
some random hostile or irrational subterrestrial demon we're dealing
with. This entity manifests intelligence and moves with a purpose.
I want to know what it is. If we find the link between the three
sites, we'll know it's objective."
"Yes, Ma'am," Hunter said, preparing
himself for the barage of orders he knew was to follow in the
next several seconds. Professor Walsh was highly predictable that
way and Hunter wasn't disappointed.
"I want a list of all the students living
in grid M561," she snapped, "I also want an inventory
of all the shops, employees and property owners in E375 and the
names of all the employees and patients in B234. Understood?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
Professor Walsh suddenly looked around her
at the flurry of activity on the main floor of the Initiative.
Hunter could tell she wanted more information, anything to further
the development of "The Project" that she always referred
to cryptically. Hunter didn't know and didn't want to know what
that was.
"Have our patrols made any further contact?"
"Agent Riley had an encounter last night.
His report's in your office."
"Good . . ." she muttered to herself
as she turned back to the monitor, ". . . I want this thing
. . . It's getting stronger every night. We're going to capture
it . . ."
Hunter knew he shouldn't open his mouth, but
keep his observations to himself if he wanted to progress any
further in the Initiative hierachy. But he had to speak up. It
was the sensor readings on the screen from last night's outbreak
of "hot spots" around Sunnydale.
"Excuse me, Ma'am," he said hesitantly,
"but those infra red readings are almost off the scale right
now." He knew as he finished the sentence that it was a mistake
but there was no backing out now.
"I can read the data, Mister," Walsh
growled through her teeth.
Hunter knew he was treading on dangerous ground
but the guys in the units needed some voice of rationality behind
the scenes. Someone had to look out for them. Screwing up his
courage, he pointed out the completely obvious conclusion from
the data appearing on the monitors in front of them.
"Well, with the teams going up against
those kind of energy levels, we're not certain how effective .
. . I mean we don't know whether the new alpha particle packs
will have the punch to knock this . . . 'thing' . . . down."
"Well then your munitions people better
make sure they have that capability, don't you think?" Walsh
answered with ice in her voice.
"Yes, Ma'am," Hunter said, standing
down from what he understood Walsh interpreted as a challenge
to her unquestioned authority. Actually, he thought he got off
easy and maybe even pushed the point through. She didn't bust
him immediately to shoveling out demon cages in the detention
wing.
"Now get on those lists," she snapped,
"I want that information within the hour."
"Right away, Ma'am," he said as he
scurried away, glad he had survived yet another encounter.
Professor Walsh, her face almost twitching
with suppressed excitement, stared at the computer screen. Why
was it, she thought as she shook her head, that no one else understood
the data they had been accumulating over the past week.
"All that raw power . . . " she muttered
to herself in envious admiration of the unknown entity that was
creating it, "to control it . . . harness it for 'the Project.'"
Walsh shook her head at the same time grinning
through gritted teeth.
"If I can just combine the near invulnerability
of the hostiles, the durability of the subterrestrials and the
energy output of my little 'bogey' here . . . I'll create an army
of fighting machines unimagined in the annals of military history!"
* * * * * *
Anson MacDuffie relaxed by his desk in his
New Age Curiosity. By now the midmorning sun was illuminating
the darkest recesses of the cramped and cluttered store. He turned
around in a swivel chair, so that he faced the rest of the office.
He held a cup of hot tea and admired the others in the room busily
wandering from case to case and studying everything scattered
about on the dusty shelves. Willow, Xander and Anya, each with
their own cups, were busy examining all the cabinets filled with
ancient and arcane objects. Every so often, Anya casts a nervous
glance over at MacDuffie.
"More peppermint tea?" MacDuffie
said to Willow.
"Yes, please," she grinned back.
Willow walked over to MacDuffie's desk. Carefully,
he poured her a little more tea from a small porcelain pot steeping
on a hot plate.
"Thank you."
"You know, with that tummy, you really
should give up the coffee," he offered.
"Yeah, I know but sometimes I gotta be
awake for class," Willow said trying to be perky after the
all night research. Besides, we were over at Giles' all night."
"I'll take the matter up with Mr. Giles,"
MacDuffie answered grinning, "He knows better. Oh and your
freshly picked chamomile will be in this afternoon."
"Thanks," Willow said as she sipped
her tea. She gazed across the shop at Anya and Xander who were
staring at a particular case. She wandered over to join them and
find out what had their attention.
"Those are really beautiful amulets,"
she said, half to herself and half to the others.
"Yes," MacDuffie answered, "the
lapis lazuli was highly prized by the Egyptians. They used it
where especially powerful protective charms were needed."
Anya crinkled her nose and sniffed.
"Those things wouldn't stop a demon,"
she announced as she pointed at one set in particular, "That
one would have barely made me sneeze. And that one . . ."
Anya suddenly fell silent as she studied a
particular amulet. Without warning, she stepped back quickly from
the case, her face a mixture of suspicion and a little fear.
"Well maybe that one," she admitted
as she looked up at MacDuffie. MacDuffie smiled reassuringly back
at her.
"It's all right, Anyanka. All is forgiven."
Anya bristled at her old demon name as she
turned to Xander and Willow.
"You don't know who this guy is, do you,"
she said warily.
"Uhh, the shop owner maybe?" Xander
said trying to diffuse what he sensed was his girlfriend's growing
uneasiness.
"You're a Guardian . . ." Anya said
curtly to MacDuffie as she brushed Xander's hand off her shoulder.
Her remark went completely over Xander's head,
but Willow instantly recognized the reference. She turned to face
MacDuffie with awe and a little fear. He was still the same middle
aged shop keeper from whom she had always bought her herbs, but
now she sensed something more, something ominous but not quite
threatening.
". . . Mr. MacDuffie . . . are you . .
. a Guardian?" she asked softly. Before he could answer,
Anya cut in once more. She chattered nervously now as she hovered
close by Xander's side.
"It's okay. I'm over the demon thing,"
she said keeping her distance from the desk where MacDuffie still
sat sipping his tea. "I'm on you guys' side now, right? Here,
I'll prove it."
Anya pointed to the case of amulets. "I
know from personal experience that most of those things wouldn't
do squat against a demon."
"You're quite right," MacDuffie answered
slowly.
Willow looked up in surprise as MacDuffie nodded.
"In and of themselves," he said,
"they are nothing more than crafted pieces of blue stone.
But in the hands of one with great faith, the stone channels the
prayer from here . . ." MacDuffie placed his hand over his
heart, " and it is from that source that the protective power
springs forth."
"I never understood how that worked .
. . " Anya announced, "but somehow, now it all makes
sense. How's that?"
MacDuffie rose from his desk and walked across
the shop to stand by Anya's side. He smiled and placed his hand
on the top of her head, stroking her blond hair gently as if she
were a little child.
"Because, dear Anya . . . " he said
soothingly, "a demon lacks the source from which the power
is born, . . . hope residing in the human heart. And since you
are now a human . . ."
Anya suddenly sucked in her breath and positively
beamed at the thought.
"Wow," she whispered as she turned
to Xander. Without warning, she wrapped her arms around him and
kissed him with a passion and almost ferocity that made Willow
turn away and put her hand over her mouth to surpress the giggles.
"Anya!" Xander sputtered not so much
in protest as in embarrassment.
"What's wrong?" Anya snapped as she
broke off her embrace, "I'm happy!"
". . . Mr. MacDuffie . . . ?" Willow
asked, her voice betraying her anxiety. "You didn't answer
my question. Are you . . . a Guardian?"
MacDuffie looked over to Willow. She swore
she could see what only could be described as a peaceful sadness
accentuated by the age lines that creased his face. It was a look
she imagined someone would have who could see bits and pieces
of that which was yet to come. He did not reply immediately but
only sipped his cup of tea.
"I heard Giles mention once that the Guardians
are only legendary," she continued nervously, "that
they are beyond the Council, even The Powers That Be. That they
only manifest themselves in times of greatest danger. And then
this morning when Giles was talking to Angel on the phone, he
said he'd received a communication from . . . a Guardian. The
e-mail . . . that was you."
MacDuffie did not break his gaze at Willow.
She sensed his dark brown eyes looking deep into her soul. She
backed away a step as she spoke.
"All this time, I've bought my herbs from
you. You've helped me with my spells and my writing. You've told
me these marvelous stories from ancient times. You've let me to
see wonders and worlds I never imagined existed. . . . Why? .
. . What are you?"
Slowly MacDuffie strode over to the front window
of the shop. Standing in the morning sunlight, he held up his
teacup and stared out at the scattered signs of activity in the
street. His shadow stretched across the floor of the dimly lit
shop.
"My dear lassie, . . ." he answered
quietly, not taking his gaze from the window, "it is not
what I am . . . I have little more time and am of no consequence
here. I am only a witness to that which is past, and my role is
almost done. It is not of me you should ask the question, 'Who
is the Guardian?'"
MacDuffie turned to face Willow, Xander and
Anya.
"Rather you should look to the future
. . ." he said speaking to all three of them, "and ask
it of yourselves."
There was a long pause. Finally, as if in imitation
of Giles, MacDuffie grinned broadly and raised his teacup in what
might be mistaken for a toast.
". . . more tea? . . ." he asked
with a cheery voice.
* * * * * *
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