Fic: Geometry of Chance (4/7) {BtVS}
Title: Geometry of Chance (4/7)
Fandom: Buffy
Author: Rummi (sharelle)
Pairings / Characters: Gen / Giles, Ethan Rayne, Willow, OC
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language and violent content (Trigger warning for violence involving children)
Word Count: 5,889
Summary: After escaping from the Initiative, Ethan Rayne goes to the Cleveland Hellmouth for a new start and a chance at real power. What he finds is a lot more than he bargained for. (Set a few weeks post-Chosen.)
Complete work can be found here: LJ Memories / FFN / AO3 / DW
IV.
Ethan Rayne was normally a heavy sleeper. It was a habit he really should have tried to break. One couldn't really traffic in the demon world without learning to sleep with one eye open, especially since bargaining with one clan usually meant making enemies with another. It wasn't always easy to juggle one's allegiances to benefit one's self and not leave a demon hoard clamoring for your blood.
Too many creatures out there didn't need an invitation.
But hubris was an awfully comfortable blanket to wrap in at night, and Ethan usually slept just fine. Which was why he was greatly surprised at waking up in the middle of the night to the sensation of being watched.
Ethan scrambled for the light at his bedside and flipped it on. The dim bulb lit up the room, and revealed a petite form perched at the foot of Ethan's bed like a small phantom.
"BAH!" He jumped, shifting on the bed and pulling the covers up to his chest like a shield. He blinked furiously to adjust his eyes to the change in illumination. When the bleariness left him, he saw that Frankie was sitting on the end of his bed, her chin resting on her knees as she stared at him with a small smile.
"You-, wha-" Ethan sputtered, sitting up straighter against the headboard. "What the bloody hell are you doing?"
Frankie shrugged, the secret smile still on her face. "Just watching."
"Wh-" he stammered as if he'd suddenly been robbed of any suitable words. He drew the blanket closer to his chin as though it would be enough to hide behind. "Why in God's name would you want to do that?"
Frankie shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know. I don't usually have anybody else to look at."
"Well, don't sodding look at me!" Ethan demanded. His voice nearly cracked. He continued to clutch the blanket against himself. It looked almost chaste.
Frankie giggled. "You look funny when you sleep," she said, ignoring his flustered demands. "Your face gets all scrunched up on the pillow, and I keep waiting for you to start drooling."
"Well, go . . . ," Ethan waved a distracted hand at her. ". . . wait in your own room!"
Frankie eyed him curiously. "Did you ever see me sleep?" she asked.
"Only when you pass out in front of the telly," Ethan replied dismissively.
"Do I look like that?"
"If I tell you the truth, will you go the hell away?" he asked. "You look like a bloody fish when you're sleeping. Your mouth hangs open, and you make these disgusting . . . gulp-y noises. And that's before the snoring starts. At night, I can hear you from in here; it's horrible."
Frankie giggled again, her shoulders squeezing girlishly around her ears. Then, her look softened, and she simply sat there staring at him for another moment. "I kind of want to kiss you, Ethan."
Ethan started, his body going completely rigid.
"What?" he spluttered in what seemed very close to panic. "Bloody . . . what the bloody hell for?"
Frankie looked down at the bed, shrugging her shoulders again. Her short hair hung partially in her face. "I don't know," she said. "Would that be wrong?"
"Yes!" Ethan insisted emphatically. "Absolutely, yes!"
"Why?" She looked up at him again.
"Because . . . ," he stammered, ". . . because, good God, you're what? Twelve?"
"I told you, I'm . . . ." At his stern glare, she amended her answer. "I'll be thirteen."
"That's still a big bloody difference," he asserted. "For God's sake, Frankie, I'm old enough to be your . . . dashing, middle-aged uncle."
Frankie frowned and nibbled her lower lip. "I'm sorry," she said, suddenly looking miserable and ashamed. "I heard what you said to that other man, and . . . I guess I thought you liked me."
Oh, sodding hell, Ethan grumbled inwardly. He shot an imploring glare at the ceiling and tossed the covers aside to shift closer to the crestfallen girl. He reached out with his hand and patted her clumsily on the upper arm. She looked up at him with stricken eyes.
"Oh, come on now. Don't do that," Ethan droned. "I do like you. You know that. Wasn't about to let the man take you away, was I?"
Frankie nodded halfheartedly. "Who was he?"
"Just an ignorant berk who thinks he's got all the answers," Ethan answered. "You handled him just fine. Rupert can stand to be knocked down a peg or two."
"He's not really one of the bad guys, though, is he?" Frankie said. It was more of a statement than a question.
Ethan couldn't help but laugh at that. "I suppose not, if you want to get technical," he said. "In fact, out of all the shades of gray in this world, Rupert is probably whiter than I am." Ethan shrugged. "He's got an intolerant streak in him, though."
"He said he was a Watcher," Frankie pointed out. "And you told me Watchers help the Slayers."
"They do," Ethan affirmed. "And I suppose, in a perfect world, Rupert would have found you first and had you falling in line with the rest of his merry band by now." Ethan flashed her a genuine smile and gave her shoulder a little squeeze. "But I meant what I said back in the graveyard. You are my Slayer, Frankie."
The little girl returned his smile, and after a moment she crawled forward on the bed. She wrapped her arms around Ethan's middle and tucked her head into his chest.
Ethan's arms hovered in the air as though he didn't know what to do with them. When he'd first taken the girl in, it was because she was the perfect little trump card - a way for Ethan to have the power of a Slayer in his back pocket. The fact that the girl seemed to like him only worked in his favor. He hadn't considered that he would actually start to like the little ragamuffin in return.
Ethan Rayne sighed, resigned. He put his arms around the girl and held her firmly against him. He could practically feel Frankie smiling into his chest through his undershirt as she tightened her grip.
"Umph," Ethan grunted, reminded once again of just how vice-like Slayer strength could be. Frankie released him and sat back on the bed with a nervous smile. "Okay, let's get you back to bed," he told her. "Big night tomorrow."
She nodded and hopped to the floor, allowing herself to be led back to her room at the rear of the apartment. There wasn't much in it aside from the sparse training equipment, but it had a real bed with a real mattress and clean sheets. Frankie climbed in and yanked the covers to her chin.
Ethan stood beside the bed. His right hand twitched as though he was trying to decide what to do with it. After a minute, he bent down and placed it on the girl's forehead, smoothing her bangs to the side.
Frankie gave a drowsy yawn.
For a moment, Ethan stood there. Then he narrowed his eyes curiously at the girl. "What's 'Frankie' the nickname for?" he asked.
Frankie rolled her eyes long-sufferingly. "Frances," she droned, making a face. She shook her head. "I know. It's old."
A small, genuine smile quirked a corner of Ethan's lips. "It's a very pretty name."
Frankie's returning smile was hesitant, as though it was the first time anyone had ever actually complimented her on her full name. "It was my mom's, too," she replied, absently fingering the metal cross at her neck.
Ethan nodded. He stroked his thumb over her forehead for another brief second, then straightened. "All right, then," he said. "Good night, Frankie." He closed the door behind him as he left the room.
"G'night, Ethan," she whispered into the silent shadows of her room. She twisted onto her side and hugged her pillow, closing her eyes and smiling sleepily.
Blast it!
Giles scattered some of the materials he had been using for the locator spell in frustration. He hadn't been able to find anything. Not a trace. Of course, it stood to reason that Ethan would know he'd be looking for them. He'd probably put up a ward or two by now, to keep Giles fumbling in the dark.
Giles was fuming. He had spoken with Willow, but there was very little she could do from England to help that Giles wasn't already doing. She could back him up with some sympathy and stern scowling over the phone, but, being so far away, that was it. She had offered to come to Cleveland right away, but Giles had refused. It wasn't because he didn't want her to come; truth be told, he would have been grateful for her help. But Giles didn't think he could justify using the amount of energy required for teleportation in this case. The world wasn't exactly ending, after all.
It would take far too long for Willow to get here without magic, and Giles knew that he would have to act as quickly as possible if he wanted to get that innocent girl away from Ethan Rayne's influence. Which meant he was on his own for the time being.
Giles scowled.
Ethan-bloody-Rayne.
Giles had never been so sickened by the lowlife's actions as he was at this moment. Ethan had performed many despicable acts in his day. However, this had to be, without a doubt, one of the worst. He was using a child as a means to his own selfish ends - whatever those might be - and Giles would not permit that to continue.
This girl was a Slayer. For all intents and purposes, she was one of Buffy's sisters in battle. She did not deserve to be led to ruin by the likes (and the lies) of Ethan Rayne. Giles would protect her with everything he had.
He re-gathered the material for another locator spell. Ethan and the girl would have to leave the wards at some point. Ethan believed himself to be a brilliant sorcerer, but not even he could maintain a shielding spell while on the move.
Wherever they were now, as soon as they left, Giles would be ready.
Frankie had to double the pace of her steps to keep up with Ethan's wide strides as they walked through the twilight of downtown Cleveland. She managed to keep up with him, however, and the two marched steadily along. She felt important, walking beside him to the big business deal he had been talking about for days. She didn't know anything about this 'Bartholomew Carter, Underworld Executive' they were going to see, but she did know she didn't want to let Ethan down after everything he had done for her.
She wore her best no-nonsense expression as she trudged along beside him. She also had an assortment of stakes strategically placed throughout her clothing. She was wearing a pair of long cargo pants Ethan had bought her the other day. Functional, he had said. They were a little big on her, but they had plenty of pocket room. Frankie took advantage of that fact by also sliding Ethan's pistol into one of them. She knew he would make a show of his disapproval if he found out, but he had also said she'd handled herself well with it last night.
Sure, she hadn't actually used it. But just seeing it had been enough to make that other guy back off.
And if things got hot, she wanted to make sure they were covered.
Ethan led them through a few main streets, though it wasn't long before they turned off the beaten path toward a network of alleyways. The world around them darkened as the buildings pressed closer together. After a few twisting turns, they found themselves in front of a large wooden door - one that looked far too old for the building into which it was set.
Ethan took a deep breath and exhaled, glancing down at the girl. "Ready?" he grinned.
Frankie nodded, all business. It was really rather charming, Ethan thought.
Raising his hand, he knocked.
An answer was fairly long in coming. Ethan raised his fist to knock again.
All at once, the heavy wooden door swung open and three men trooped out. They were tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed professionally in flawlessly cut suits - probably designed by someone Frankie had never heard of. But one glance was enough to tell they obviously weren't men. Their posture was erect and proficient, but their faces were as distorted as the creature from the graveyard last night. Even without sharpened Slayer senses, Frankie could tell right away they were vampires.
The back of her neck tingled steadily in their presence, but she stayed put, as Ethan had instructed.
The vampires towered over Ethan, but he didn't seem fazed. In fact, he appeared calm and natural, as though he worked with their kind every day. Frankie tried to match his self-assured composure. She crossed her arms and shifted all her weight to one leg, trying her best to look tough and dangerous. With the weapons scattered throughout her clothing and Ethan at her shoulder, her outward façade appeared infused with confidence. She wouldn't let him down.
The middle vampire turned his eyes to Ethan. "What do you want, human?" he growled. His voice was less professional than his appearance would suggest. His fangs gave it an odd mumbling sound. He reminded Frankie more of a well-dressed thug - which was probably what he was.
Ethan smiled coolly. "Ethan Rayne," he said as a means of introduction. "I have an appointment with Mr. Carter."
The middle vampire exchanged an amused look with the vamp on his right. "And what should we say this is in reference to, Mr. Rayne?" he asked sardonically.
"Mr. Carter is expecting me, boys," Ethan answered casually. "We have an agreement to conduct some business." He smiled. "Just tell him Ethan Rayne is here. He'll know why."
The vamp turned his eyes to where Frankie stood with a sharp scowl on her face. He grinned hungrily at her. "And who's this supposed to be?"
Frankie raised her eyebrow. "I'm his bodyguard," she retorted dryly.
The vampire snorted with impolite laughter. "Cute," he said. "But this ain't no playhouse, kid." He bent down to her level and grinned into her face. "We pick our teeth with skinny legs like yours."
Frankie's scowl deepened as she glared back at him. She wanted to look to Ethan for a signal - wanted him to tell her what to do - but she was afraid of taking her eyes off the vamp in front of her.
"Best be careful, mate," Ethan's voice filtered into the tense air between them. "That there's the new Slayer in town." He feigned a cautious tone. "Don't want to go making her angry."
The vampire didn't quake in fear at the mention of the word 'Slayer', but the fact that his smile faded and his body stiffened ever so slightly were enough to send a swell of pride and added confidence through the girl. She watched as he straightened back to his full height.
"Might be a good idea for you to run along and tell your boss I'm here, then," Ethan advised. "Before she gets cranky, that is." He leaned in toward the vamp as though sharing a secret. "You know how cranky little girls can get."
Frankie said nothing about that but tossed an irritated look at Ethan nonetheless. He didn't seem to notice as he watched the head vampire direct one of his cohorts back into the building. She shifted her stance in aggravation, casting small disparaging glances in her companion's direction.
Cranky little girl?
Ethan still hadn't looked at her.
Frankie crossed her arms in genuine annoyance.
A few minutes later, the vampire returned with an amused grin. He muttered something to the lead vamp, and the contagious grin spread from one to the other.
"Sorry," the head vampire drawled. "Mr. Carter says he doesn't know what you're talking about."
Ethan stood still for a moment. His jaw fell slightly slack. "That's impossible," he finally protested. "The arrangement with Mr. Carter was that I was to meet with him here - tonight. I have his money; you tell him that I will have what he promised me in exchange."
"We've already told him," the vampire said. "The boss doesn't want to see you."
"I'm not leaving without getting what he owes me," Ethan growled. The sound made Frankie nervous.
The demon in front of them smiled greedily. "Mr. Carter thought you might say that," he snarled. "He also said, if that's the case, we're free to indulge in a little on-duty snack." The vampire flashed his sharp, elongated fangs.
Frankie grew tired of waiting for Ethan to give her some sort of signal to act. She pulled a stake from her belt. "Go ahead and try, you bloodsucking freak!"
Immediately, she felt a hand clamp onto her shoulder.
"Ethan!" she protested as he started to pull her away. "What are you doing? I can take these jokers!"
Ethan rounded on her harshly. "We are leaving!" he hissed.
The vamps' laughter rang in her ears as Frankie allowed herself to be led down the alley.
An obese man sat behind his desk in a dimly-lit room, scratching an old-fashioned fountain pen across an official-looking document. His posture was unusually straight for a man his size, and he was dressed smartly in a tailored gray business suit. The entire room where he sat smelled of cedar and expensive soap. The 'ink' pouring out of the pen as he wrote was a deep, sticky crimson.
The man looked up briefly as one of his vampire minions entered the office for the second time that night. He met the creature's eyes momentarily, then immediately returned to the work on the surface of his desk, refocusing on what he had been doing.
"They're gone, boss," the vamp said. "The sorcerer and that kid he had with him."
"Fine, Boris," Bartholomew Carter sighed in a bored tone. "Thank you."
"Meaning no disrespect, Mr. Carter, sir," the vampire persisted. "It's your business whether you deal with him or not. But he did have the money you told him to bring. Why send him away? Why not just take it?"
Carter put down his pen and glared reproachfully at his vampire subordinate. He picked up the paper from his desk and blew gently across its surface, drying the 'ink'. He folded it in threes and placed it into a crisp ivory envelope. Then he reached for a stick of sealing wax and held it over the candle on his desk. He dripped the wax onto the fold of the envelope and pressed it closed with his large signet ring. Only when he set the envelope aside, did he address the vampire's question.
"Boris, I'm a very busy man," he said matter-of-factly, folding his hands upon the desk. "As such, I have numerous demands on my attention; you know this. Allowing the sorcerer into my office, only to play a droll game of cat-and-mouse before killing him, is a waste of my time. And I have no time to waste on dispatching two-bit fools like Ethan Rayne." He stood up and walked to where a hulking, barrel-chested figure stood in the corner. Grinning, he added, "That's what the hired help is for."
An enormous M'fashnik demon stood with thick arms crossed, looking with grim expectation at its employer.
"Rayne is a minor player," Carter said. "And his persistence is starting to become a nuisance. I have little time for his games and even less interest in whatever pocket change he accumulated. When I sent him out to collect it, I assumed the police would have him out of my hair within the week. Apparently, they are more incompetent than I thought."
A slow, feral grin spread across the man's broad features. "He did, however, manage to bring me something far more valuable tonight - something far more significant. And I don't even have to part with the items he wanted. The girl . . ." Carter paused and paced a bit, running a crooked finger along his lower lip thoughtfully. "If she really is a Slayer, her presence could become a greater concern. The Cleveland Hellmouth has been without a Slayer for many years now, and I wouldn't be very enthusiastic to see that change any time soon." His grin widened, displaying a neat row of perfectly white teeth. "If you know what I mean."
The M'fashnik smiled coldly in response. "You want me to kill the Slayer?" it said, though it wasn't really a question.
"And Rayne, as well, if you like," Carter shrugged pleasantly. Then, his small eyes darkened. "Just get rid of her. Think you can handle that?"
The M'fashnik's eyes gleamed; its scaly lips split into a grotesque smile, revealing rows of sharp teeth. Without another word, it stalked swiftly from the office.
Bartholomew Carter brushed his hands together as though cleaning them of a layer of dust. "With that nasty business concluded, I'm going to step out for something to eat." He grabbed his gray homburg hat from the rack by the door.
"And, Boris," he interjected to the vampire, motioning with his head toward the desk. "Do me a favor. On your way out, take that letter and have it mailed." He placed the hat on his head and adjusted his tie. "It's for the law firm in L.A. that represents my interests. Seems Wolfram & Hart has had a change in upper management - and I just want to make certain we're still seeing eye-to-eye."
Ethan was gravely quiet as they made their way back along the side streets. Frankie had to trot double-time beside him to keep up with his pace. She could tell he was upset, but what she didn't understand was why.
She was a Slayer. Ethan had said so himself. She could have handled those creeps the same way she had handled that Rupert guy last night. If Ethan had only given her the chance . . .
When she couldn't stand the silence any longer, she spoke up. "Where are we going?"
"Back to the flat," he answered curtly without looking down at her.
"Why?"
"Need my talisman," he muttered, striding forward with purpose. "Doesn't want to see me, my ruddy ass."
"Why do we need that?"
Ethan groaned. "Because I'm going the hell in there and taking what the joker owes me, that's why," he snapped impatiently.
"We could have done that, you know" Frankie retorted, trying to get ahead of Ethan's steps so he would look at her. "I'm a Slayer - isn't that why you brought me along? 'Vicious game face', remember? Ringing any bells?"
Ethan seemed to be ignoring her. "Should have brought the blasted thing with me in the first place."
Fed up, she grabbed him by the arm. Her grip was strong, and it was enough to stop him and spin him around to face her. "Instead of me, you mean?" Her eyes were narrowed in annoyance. "Brought your little time-warp lint brush instead of me?"
Ethan held his hands in front of him, fingers spread wide with exasperation. "Look, kid," he said, "I don't have time for this. I need what Carter promised to me, and I can't risk-" He cut himself off with another groan and turned to start walking again.
"Risk what?" she retorted. "Risk that I'll screw up? Like last night, with that vampire? Don't you trust me to watch your back?"
"Frankie, this isn't a game, all right?" Ethan shot back, raising a hand as if to brush her accusations aside. "I don't have time to play bloody cops-and-mobsters with you. You're a sweet kid, and you've got talent, but every minute I waste mucking around here with you, that's power slipping through my fingers. Real power that I need to get back." He shook his head single-mindedly. "I don't expect you to understand this."
Frankie glowered like she'd been betrayed. "I'm not a little girl," she snapped as she jogged angrily alongside him. Her feet thumped insistently on the grass as she and Ethan cut across one of the city's larger parks.
"Bloody . . . what?" he droned with obvious impatience.
"You told those vamps I was a cranky little girl," she accused. "I'm not!" She took several quick steps past him, so she was now walking backwards directly in front of him. "I get that this is important, Ethan. Yeah, I'm young, but I'm not stupid. You let me stand by you, you let me think that I was helping, and then you treat me like some kid. I know I can help if you'd just-"
"Christ, Frankie!" Ethan stopped short, his eyes flashing with anger. "This isn't about you, all right? If I've bruised your self-esteem, I apologize; we'll work on that. But this is something I need. After three years, this is something I'm due." He brushed past her, as she stood stationary on the lawn of the park. "And this is something I have to do my way."
Frankie watched his back as he went. Hot tears stung behind her eyes, and Ethan's retreating form began to blur. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of her hurt.
"Fine!" she yelled across the park as she spun around and marched in the other direction.
Just keep walking, Ethan thought to himself, fuming beneath the fury of both his dismissal from Carter's door and Frankie's unwarranted tantrum. I'll get the talisman and it will be in-and-out, just like the money heists. He growled to himself. We'll see the megalomaniacal bastard say he doesn't know me, then.
The kid didn't get it. She had some crazy idea that this was about Ethan harboring a sodding lack of faith in her Slayer abilities. But that wasn't it. Three years ago he'd been at the top of his game, wreaking brilliant chaos wherever he went; a veritable Trickster figure - a survivor - using wits, instinct, and brilliance to make his mark in the world. Three years ago, he'd met with a minor setback, but that didn't mean he couldn't build himself back up to where he had been, using those same attributes.
Wit, instinct, brilliance . . . and, of course, chaos. That was where he lived, damn it. And if some unholier-than-thou hood like Bartholomew Carter was going to reject his presence, then Ethan was going to rain all four of them upon his doorstep.
After all, being a big name around this Hellmouth was what he wanted. Maybe smearing egg in the face of Cleveland's resident honcho was the best way to do that. The talisman was his best bet - sneaky, effective, with little actual confrontation. Very Ethan Rayne.
It wasn't about the kid. It wasn't even about the sodding money that he'd apparently wasted his time collecting. (Which, he admitted, he was glad he wouldn't have to part with now.) It was about power - it always had been - and Ethan had bided his time long enough. It was time to get his power back.
It had nothing to do with the fact that, Slayer or not, he didn't want to see the girl get hurt. Not a bloody thing.
For Ethan, nothing was more important than this. Nothing.
He stopped.
For a moment, he stood there like a puppet with trimmed strings. His shoulders sagged, and his head rolled back to face the wide expanse of the night sky. He raised his hands in an exasperated 'why me?' gesture.
"I said, nothing!" he insisted to the heavens. But his resolve felt like a hollow weight inside him.
Bugger it all.
If he didn't find the bloody pest, she probably was going to go off and get herself hurt.
Ethan straightened again and, abandoning his march toward the flat, he turned to begin a swift but heavy trudge back in the direction that Frankie had gone.
He didn't expect the sudden bone-jarring impact of a massive fist slamming across his face and sending him flying sideways into the dirt.
Ethan was stunned and immobilized. He tried to crawl to his side, but his legs wouldn't stay solid beneath him. He kept toppling over - pained, disoriented, and dazed. He groaned and attempted to focus on his surroundings, but his eyes were bleary and stinging horribly. He raised his hand to wipe at them, and it came away wet and sticky.
And red. He was bleeding from somewhere.
When he finally did manage to get up off the ground, it was not under his own power. He was hoisted upward by the front of his jacket, and he hung flaccidly from a steel grip. His legs curled uselessly beneath him as his toes scraped loosely across the grass. Ethan managed to blink his eyes back into focus and stared indistinctly at the green, scaly face of what was probably the largest M'fashnik demon he'd ever seen.
"Where's the Slayer?" the beast growled without preamble.
"Wh-" Ethan mumbled groggily. "What?"
The creature hurled him backward, and Ethan struck one of the park's picnic tables. He slid off it and back down to the ground with a groan. He could see the demon's feet approaching him, and he did his best to roll himself over.
The M'fashnik bent down to his level and grabbed the scruff of his neck, forcing Ethan's eyes up. "You heard me," it growled again. "You said you had a Slayer with you." The creature leered at him. "Where is she?"
Unconsciously, Ethan felt the blood drain from his face, and his skin tingled with an uncomfortable chill. Before his brain even had time to process what he was doing, he heard his mouth say, "I don't know what the bloody hell you're talking about."
It was as though listening to another man speak the words. But Ethan knew they were his own.
They obviously hadn't been what the M'fashnik had wanted to hear.
Ethan felt a swift and crushing backhand across his jaw, and he dropped from the creature's grasp, landing on all fours in the grass. He could sense the M'fashnik straightening above him. He wanted to formulate some kind of assault or stasis spell, but his concentration was a shattered mirror, and for the moment, Ethan was too foggy to begin picking up the pieces.
There was one thing he did know for certain, however:
Frankie.
This thing was after the Slayer. And Ethan was the one who had paraded her in front of Carter's goons like a bloody show pony.
This was all his fault.
Ethan spat upon the grass, and the blades glistened red in the dim lamplight. He turned his face up at the M'fashnik and sneered. "Seems you got your signals crossed, mate," he rasped, his lips sticky with his own blood. He wiped at them with the back of his wrist. "Look around you; there's no Slayer here."
The M'fashnik crouched down to Ethan's level again, its face splitting into a grotesque grin. "I know she was with you," it said, its voice a harsh rumble. "And Mr. Carter's orders are to keep the Hellmouth Slayer-free."
Ethan groaned dramatically, trying to sit back on his haunches, so he could glare more effectively at the demon. "You mean that bratty little girl?" he said with a hollow chuckle. "That was just some kid from my neighborhood, you ignorant sod. Give her a chocolate bar and she'll agree to anything. It was a bluff and Mr. Carter called it. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some actual wound-licking to do."
The M'fashnik displayed nearly all its sharp teeth as it smiled. "Mr. Carter's not taking any chances."
Ethan continued to glare defiantly. "If you actually think a bloke like me would be able to get a real Slayer to work with him, then you're bleeding mad." He sneered. "And so's your boss."
The demon wrapped its thick fingers around the collar of Ethan's jacket and shirt, twisting the fabric and yanking the man closer to its face. "Tell me where she is, tiny sorcerer, or I'll take it out of your mangy hide," it snarled. Its acrid breath stung Ethan's nostrils.
Ethan was suddenly overwhelmed by a raw rebellious fury - a strange red protectiveness that he'd never felt before, not even last night with that vampire. He didn't know where it had come from, but it banished any fear for himself to the farthest recesses of his consciousness where his rational brain couldn't reach. He met the demon's gaze with fierce, defiant eyes.
"Over my dead body."
The M'fashnik grinned. "That will do for a start."
Continued in Part 5.
End Notes: Some references were made to Season 5 of AtS, and the BtVS Season 6 episode Flooded. (You can find an image of an M'fashnik demon here. Now picture it in a suit!)
Fandom: Buffy
Author: Rummi (sharelle)
Pairings / Characters: Gen / Giles, Ethan Rayne, Willow, OC
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language and violent content (Trigger warning for violence involving children)
Word Count: 5,889
Summary: After escaping from the Initiative, Ethan Rayne goes to the Cleveland Hellmouth for a new start and a chance at real power. What he finds is a lot more than he bargained for. (Set a few weeks post-Chosen.)
Complete work can be found here: LJ Memories / FFN / AO3 / DW
IV.
Ethan Rayne was normally a heavy sleeper. It was a habit he really should have tried to break. One couldn't really traffic in the demon world without learning to sleep with one eye open, especially since bargaining with one clan usually meant making enemies with another. It wasn't always easy to juggle one's allegiances to benefit one's self and not leave a demon hoard clamoring for your blood.
Too many creatures out there didn't need an invitation.
But hubris was an awfully comfortable blanket to wrap in at night, and Ethan usually slept just fine. Which was why he was greatly surprised at waking up in the middle of the night to the sensation of being watched.
Ethan scrambled for the light at his bedside and flipped it on. The dim bulb lit up the room, and revealed a petite form perched at the foot of Ethan's bed like a small phantom.
"BAH!" He jumped, shifting on the bed and pulling the covers up to his chest like a shield. He blinked furiously to adjust his eyes to the change in illumination. When the bleariness left him, he saw that Frankie was sitting on the end of his bed, her chin resting on her knees as she stared at him with a small smile.
"You-, wha-" Ethan sputtered, sitting up straighter against the headboard. "What the bloody hell are you doing?"
Frankie shrugged, the secret smile still on her face. "Just watching."
"Wh-" he stammered as if he'd suddenly been robbed of any suitable words. He drew the blanket closer to his chin as though it would be enough to hide behind. "Why in God's name would you want to do that?"
Frankie shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know. I don't usually have anybody else to look at."
"Well, don't sodding look at me!" Ethan demanded. His voice nearly cracked. He continued to clutch the blanket against himself. It looked almost chaste.
Frankie giggled. "You look funny when you sleep," she said, ignoring his flustered demands. "Your face gets all scrunched up on the pillow, and I keep waiting for you to start drooling."
"Well, go . . . ," Ethan waved a distracted hand at her. ". . . wait in your own room!"
Frankie eyed him curiously. "Did you ever see me sleep?" she asked.
"Only when you pass out in front of the telly," Ethan replied dismissively.
"Do I look like that?"
"If I tell you the truth, will you go the hell away?" he asked. "You look like a bloody fish when you're sleeping. Your mouth hangs open, and you make these disgusting . . . gulp-y noises. And that's before the snoring starts. At night, I can hear you from in here; it's horrible."
Frankie giggled again, her shoulders squeezing girlishly around her ears. Then, her look softened, and she simply sat there staring at him for another moment. "I kind of want to kiss you, Ethan."
Ethan started, his body going completely rigid.
"What?" he spluttered in what seemed very close to panic. "Bloody . . . what the bloody hell for?"
Frankie looked down at the bed, shrugging her shoulders again. Her short hair hung partially in her face. "I don't know," she said. "Would that be wrong?"
"Yes!" Ethan insisted emphatically. "Absolutely, yes!"
"Why?" She looked up at him again.
"Because . . . ," he stammered, ". . . because, good God, you're what? Twelve?"
"I told you, I'm . . . ." At his stern glare, she amended her answer. "I'll be thirteen."
"That's still a big bloody difference," he asserted. "For God's sake, Frankie, I'm old enough to be your . . . dashing, middle-aged uncle."
Frankie frowned and nibbled her lower lip. "I'm sorry," she said, suddenly looking miserable and ashamed. "I heard what you said to that other man, and . . . I guess I thought you liked me."
Oh, sodding hell, Ethan grumbled inwardly. He shot an imploring glare at the ceiling and tossed the covers aside to shift closer to the crestfallen girl. He reached out with his hand and patted her clumsily on the upper arm. She looked up at him with stricken eyes.
"Oh, come on now. Don't do that," Ethan droned. "I do like you. You know that. Wasn't about to let the man take you away, was I?"
Frankie nodded halfheartedly. "Who was he?"
"Just an ignorant berk who thinks he's got all the answers," Ethan answered. "You handled him just fine. Rupert can stand to be knocked down a peg or two."
"He's not really one of the bad guys, though, is he?" Frankie said. It was more of a statement than a question.
Ethan couldn't help but laugh at that. "I suppose not, if you want to get technical," he said. "In fact, out of all the shades of gray in this world, Rupert is probably whiter than I am." Ethan shrugged. "He's got an intolerant streak in him, though."
"He said he was a Watcher," Frankie pointed out. "And you told me Watchers help the Slayers."
"They do," Ethan affirmed. "And I suppose, in a perfect world, Rupert would have found you first and had you falling in line with the rest of his merry band by now." Ethan flashed her a genuine smile and gave her shoulder a little squeeze. "But I meant what I said back in the graveyard. You are my Slayer, Frankie."
The little girl returned his smile, and after a moment she crawled forward on the bed. She wrapped her arms around Ethan's middle and tucked her head into his chest.
Ethan's arms hovered in the air as though he didn't know what to do with them. When he'd first taken the girl in, it was because she was the perfect little trump card - a way for Ethan to have the power of a Slayer in his back pocket. The fact that the girl seemed to like him only worked in his favor. He hadn't considered that he would actually start to like the little ragamuffin in return.
Ethan Rayne sighed, resigned. He put his arms around the girl and held her firmly against him. He could practically feel Frankie smiling into his chest through his undershirt as she tightened her grip.
"Umph," Ethan grunted, reminded once again of just how vice-like Slayer strength could be. Frankie released him and sat back on the bed with a nervous smile. "Okay, let's get you back to bed," he told her. "Big night tomorrow."
She nodded and hopped to the floor, allowing herself to be led back to her room at the rear of the apartment. There wasn't much in it aside from the sparse training equipment, but it had a real bed with a real mattress and clean sheets. Frankie climbed in and yanked the covers to her chin.
Ethan stood beside the bed. His right hand twitched as though he was trying to decide what to do with it. After a minute, he bent down and placed it on the girl's forehead, smoothing her bangs to the side.
Frankie gave a drowsy yawn.
For a moment, Ethan stood there. Then he narrowed his eyes curiously at the girl. "What's 'Frankie' the nickname for?" he asked.
Frankie rolled her eyes long-sufferingly. "Frances," she droned, making a face. She shook her head. "I know. It's old."
A small, genuine smile quirked a corner of Ethan's lips. "It's a very pretty name."
Frankie's returning smile was hesitant, as though it was the first time anyone had ever actually complimented her on her full name. "It was my mom's, too," she replied, absently fingering the metal cross at her neck.
Ethan nodded. He stroked his thumb over her forehead for another brief second, then straightened. "All right, then," he said. "Good night, Frankie." He closed the door behind him as he left the room.
"G'night, Ethan," she whispered into the silent shadows of her room. She twisted onto her side and hugged her pillow, closing her eyes and smiling sleepily.
Blast it!
Giles scattered some of the materials he had been using for the locator spell in frustration. He hadn't been able to find anything. Not a trace. Of course, it stood to reason that Ethan would know he'd be looking for them. He'd probably put up a ward or two by now, to keep Giles fumbling in the dark.
Giles was fuming. He had spoken with Willow, but there was very little she could do from England to help that Giles wasn't already doing. She could back him up with some sympathy and stern scowling over the phone, but, being so far away, that was it. She had offered to come to Cleveland right away, but Giles had refused. It wasn't because he didn't want her to come; truth be told, he would have been grateful for her help. But Giles didn't think he could justify using the amount of energy required for teleportation in this case. The world wasn't exactly ending, after all.
It would take far too long for Willow to get here without magic, and Giles knew that he would have to act as quickly as possible if he wanted to get that innocent girl away from Ethan Rayne's influence. Which meant he was on his own for the time being.
Giles scowled.
Ethan-bloody-Rayne.
Giles had never been so sickened by the lowlife's actions as he was at this moment. Ethan had performed many despicable acts in his day. However, this had to be, without a doubt, one of the worst. He was using a child as a means to his own selfish ends - whatever those might be - and Giles would not permit that to continue.
This girl was a Slayer. For all intents and purposes, she was one of Buffy's sisters in battle. She did not deserve to be led to ruin by the likes (and the lies) of Ethan Rayne. Giles would protect her with everything he had.
He re-gathered the material for another locator spell. Ethan and the girl would have to leave the wards at some point. Ethan believed himself to be a brilliant sorcerer, but not even he could maintain a shielding spell while on the move.
Wherever they were now, as soon as they left, Giles would be ready.
Frankie had to double the pace of her steps to keep up with Ethan's wide strides as they walked through the twilight of downtown Cleveland. She managed to keep up with him, however, and the two marched steadily along. She felt important, walking beside him to the big business deal he had been talking about for days. She didn't know anything about this 'Bartholomew Carter, Underworld Executive' they were going to see, but she did know she didn't want to let Ethan down after everything he had done for her.
She wore her best no-nonsense expression as she trudged along beside him. She also had an assortment of stakes strategically placed throughout her clothing. She was wearing a pair of long cargo pants Ethan had bought her the other day. Functional, he had said. They were a little big on her, but they had plenty of pocket room. Frankie took advantage of that fact by also sliding Ethan's pistol into one of them. She knew he would make a show of his disapproval if he found out, but he had also said she'd handled herself well with it last night.
Sure, she hadn't actually used it. But just seeing it had been enough to make that other guy back off.
And if things got hot, she wanted to make sure they were covered.
Ethan led them through a few main streets, though it wasn't long before they turned off the beaten path toward a network of alleyways. The world around them darkened as the buildings pressed closer together. After a few twisting turns, they found themselves in front of a large wooden door - one that looked far too old for the building into which it was set.
Ethan took a deep breath and exhaled, glancing down at the girl. "Ready?" he grinned.
Frankie nodded, all business. It was really rather charming, Ethan thought.
Raising his hand, he knocked.
An answer was fairly long in coming. Ethan raised his fist to knock again.
All at once, the heavy wooden door swung open and three men trooped out. They were tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed professionally in flawlessly cut suits - probably designed by someone Frankie had never heard of. But one glance was enough to tell they obviously weren't men. Their posture was erect and proficient, but their faces were as distorted as the creature from the graveyard last night. Even without sharpened Slayer senses, Frankie could tell right away they were vampires.
The back of her neck tingled steadily in their presence, but she stayed put, as Ethan had instructed.
The vampires towered over Ethan, but he didn't seem fazed. In fact, he appeared calm and natural, as though he worked with their kind every day. Frankie tried to match his self-assured composure. She crossed her arms and shifted all her weight to one leg, trying her best to look tough and dangerous. With the weapons scattered throughout her clothing and Ethan at her shoulder, her outward façade appeared infused with confidence. She wouldn't let him down.
The middle vampire turned his eyes to Ethan. "What do you want, human?" he growled. His voice was less professional than his appearance would suggest. His fangs gave it an odd mumbling sound. He reminded Frankie more of a well-dressed thug - which was probably what he was.
Ethan smiled coolly. "Ethan Rayne," he said as a means of introduction. "I have an appointment with Mr. Carter."
The middle vampire exchanged an amused look with the vamp on his right. "And what should we say this is in reference to, Mr. Rayne?" he asked sardonically.
"Mr. Carter is expecting me, boys," Ethan answered casually. "We have an agreement to conduct some business." He smiled. "Just tell him Ethan Rayne is here. He'll know why."
The vamp turned his eyes to where Frankie stood with a sharp scowl on her face. He grinned hungrily at her. "And who's this supposed to be?"
Frankie raised her eyebrow. "I'm his bodyguard," she retorted dryly.
The vampire snorted with impolite laughter. "Cute," he said. "But this ain't no playhouse, kid." He bent down to her level and grinned into her face. "We pick our teeth with skinny legs like yours."
Frankie's scowl deepened as she glared back at him. She wanted to look to Ethan for a signal - wanted him to tell her what to do - but she was afraid of taking her eyes off the vamp in front of her.
"Best be careful, mate," Ethan's voice filtered into the tense air between them. "That there's the new Slayer in town." He feigned a cautious tone. "Don't want to go making her angry."
The vampire didn't quake in fear at the mention of the word 'Slayer', but the fact that his smile faded and his body stiffened ever so slightly were enough to send a swell of pride and added confidence through the girl. She watched as he straightened back to his full height.
"Might be a good idea for you to run along and tell your boss I'm here, then," Ethan advised. "Before she gets cranky, that is." He leaned in toward the vamp as though sharing a secret. "You know how cranky little girls can get."
Frankie said nothing about that but tossed an irritated look at Ethan nonetheless. He didn't seem to notice as he watched the head vampire direct one of his cohorts back into the building. She shifted her stance in aggravation, casting small disparaging glances in her companion's direction.
Cranky little girl?
Ethan still hadn't looked at her.
Frankie crossed her arms in genuine annoyance.
A few minutes later, the vampire returned with an amused grin. He muttered something to the lead vamp, and the contagious grin spread from one to the other.
"Sorry," the head vampire drawled. "Mr. Carter says he doesn't know what you're talking about."
Ethan stood still for a moment. His jaw fell slightly slack. "That's impossible," he finally protested. "The arrangement with Mr. Carter was that I was to meet with him here - tonight. I have his money; you tell him that I will have what he promised me in exchange."
"We've already told him," the vampire said. "The boss doesn't want to see you."
"I'm not leaving without getting what he owes me," Ethan growled. The sound made Frankie nervous.
The demon in front of them smiled greedily. "Mr. Carter thought you might say that," he snarled. "He also said, if that's the case, we're free to indulge in a little on-duty snack." The vampire flashed his sharp, elongated fangs.
Frankie grew tired of waiting for Ethan to give her some sort of signal to act. She pulled a stake from her belt. "Go ahead and try, you bloodsucking freak!"
Immediately, she felt a hand clamp onto her shoulder.
"Ethan!" she protested as he started to pull her away. "What are you doing? I can take these jokers!"
Ethan rounded on her harshly. "We are leaving!" he hissed.
The vamps' laughter rang in her ears as Frankie allowed herself to be led down the alley.
An obese man sat behind his desk in a dimly-lit room, scratching an old-fashioned fountain pen across an official-looking document. His posture was unusually straight for a man his size, and he was dressed smartly in a tailored gray business suit. The entire room where he sat smelled of cedar and expensive soap. The 'ink' pouring out of the pen as he wrote was a deep, sticky crimson.
The man looked up briefly as one of his vampire minions entered the office for the second time that night. He met the creature's eyes momentarily, then immediately returned to the work on the surface of his desk, refocusing on what he had been doing.
"They're gone, boss," the vamp said. "The sorcerer and that kid he had with him."
"Fine, Boris," Bartholomew Carter sighed in a bored tone. "Thank you."
"Meaning no disrespect, Mr. Carter, sir," the vampire persisted. "It's your business whether you deal with him or not. But he did have the money you told him to bring. Why send him away? Why not just take it?"
Carter put down his pen and glared reproachfully at his vampire subordinate. He picked up the paper from his desk and blew gently across its surface, drying the 'ink'. He folded it in threes and placed it into a crisp ivory envelope. Then he reached for a stick of sealing wax and held it over the candle on his desk. He dripped the wax onto the fold of the envelope and pressed it closed with his large signet ring. Only when he set the envelope aside, did he address the vampire's question.
"Boris, I'm a very busy man," he said matter-of-factly, folding his hands upon the desk. "As such, I have numerous demands on my attention; you know this. Allowing the sorcerer into my office, only to play a droll game of cat-and-mouse before killing him, is a waste of my time. And I have no time to waste on dispatching two-bit fools like Ethan Rayne." He stood up and walked to where a hulking, barrel-chested figure stood in the corner. Grinning, he added, "That's what the hired help is for."
An enormous M'fashnik demon stood with thick arms crossed, looking with grim expectation at its employer.
"Rayne is a minor player," Carter said. "And his persistence is starting to become a nuisance. I have little time for his games and even less interest in whatever pocket change he accumulated. When I sent him out to collect it, I assumed the police would have him out of my hair within the week. Apparently, they are more incompetent than I thought."
A slow, feral grin spread across the man's broad features. "He did, however, manage to bring me something far more valuable tonight - something far more significant. And I don't even have to part with the items he wanted. The girl . . ." Carter paused and paced a bit, running a crooked finger along his lower lip thoughtfully. "If she really is a Slayer, her presence could become a greater concern. The Cleveland Hellmouth has been without a Slayer for many years now, and I wouldn't be very enthusiastic to see that change any time soon." His grin widened, displaying a neat row of perfectly white teeth. "If you know what I mean."
The M'fashnik smiled coldly in response. "You want me to kill the Slayer?" it said, though it wasn't really a question.
"And Rayne, as well, if you like," Carter shrugged pleasantly. Then, his small eyes darkened. "Just get rid of her. Think you can handle that?"
The M'fashnik's eyes gleamed; its scaly lips split into a grotesque smile, revealing rows of sharp teeth. Without another word, it stalked swiftly from the office.
Bartholomew Carter brushed his hands together as though cleaning them of a layer of dust. "With that nasty business concluded, I'm going to step out for something to eat." He grabbed his gray homburg hat from the rack by the door.
"And, Boris," he interjected to the vampire, motioning with his head toward the desk. "Do me a favor. On your way out, take that letter and have it mailed." He placed the hat on his head and adjusted his tie. "It's for the law firm in L.A. that represents my interests. Seems Wolfram & Hart has had a change in upper management - and I just want to make certain we're still seeing eye-to-eye."
Ethan was gravely quiet as they made their way back along the side streets. Frankie had to trot double-time beside him to keep up with his pace. She could tell he was upset, but what she didn't understand was why.
She was a Slayer. Ethan had said so himself. She could have handled those creeps the same way she had handled that Rupert guy last night. If Ethan had only given her the chance . . .
When she couldn't stand the silence any longer, she spoke up. "Where are we going?"
"Back to the flat," he answered curtly without looking down at her.
"Why?"
"Need my talisman," he muttered, striding forward with purpose. "Doesn't want to see me, my ruddy ass."
"Why do we need that?"
Ethan groaned. "Because I'm going the hell in there and taking what the joker owes me, that's why," he snapped impatiently.
"We could have done that, you know" Frankie retorted, trying to get ahead of Ethan's steps so he would look at her. "I'm a Slayer - isn't that why you brought me along? 'Vicious game face', remember? Ringing any bells?"
Ethan seemed to be ignoring her. "Should have brought the blasted thing with me in the first place."
Fed up, she grabbed him by the arm. Her grip was strong, and it was enough to stop him and spin him around to face her. "Instead of me, you mean?" Her eyes were narrowed in annoyance. "Brought your little time-warp lint brush instead of me?"
Ethan held his hands in front of him, fingers spread wide with exasperation. "Look, kid," he said, "I don't have time for this. I need what Carter promised to me, and I can't risk-" He cut himself off with another groan and turned to start walking again.
"Risk what?" she retorted. "Risk that I'll screw up? Like last night, with that vampire? Don't you trust me to watch your back?"
"Frankie, this isn't a game, all right?" Ethan shot back, raising a hand as if to brush her accusations aside. "I don't have time to play bloody cops-and-mobsters with you. You're a sweet kid, and you've got talent, but every minute I waste mucking around here with you, that's power slipping through my fingers. Real power that I need to get back." He shook his head single-mindedly. "I don't expect you to understand this."
Frankie glowered like she'd been betrayed. "I'm not a little girl," she snapped as she jogged angrily alongside him. Her feet thumped insistently on the grass as she and Ethan cut across one of the city's larger parks.
"Bloody . . . what?" he droned with obvious impatience.
"You told those vamps I was a cranky little girl," she accused. "I'm not!" She took several quick steps past him, so she was now walking backwards directly in front of him. "I get that this is important, Ethan. Yeah, I'm young, but I'm not stupid. You let me stand by you, you let me think that I was helping, and then you treat me like some kid. I know I can help if you'd just-"
"Christ, Frankie!" Ethan stopped short, his eyes flashing with anger. "This isn't about you, all right? If I've bruised your self-esteem, I apologize; we'll work on that. But this is something I need. After three years, this is something I'm due." He brushed past her, as she stood stationary on the lawn of the park. "And this is something I have to do my way."
Frankie watched his back as he went. Hot tears stung behind her eyes, and Ethan's retreating form began to blur. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of her hurt.
"Fine!" she yelled across the park as she spun around and marched in the other direction.
Just keep walking, Ethan thought to himself, fuming beneath the fury of both his dismissal from Carter's door and Frankie's unwarranted tantrum. I'll get the talisman and it will be in-and-out, just like the money heists. He growled to himself. We'll see the megalomaniacal bastard say he doesn't know me, then.
The kid didn't get it. She had some crazy idea that this was about Ethan harboring a sodding lack of faith in her Slayer abilities. But that wasn't it. Three years ago he'd been at the top of his game, wreaking brilliant chaos wherever he went; a veritable Trickster figure - a survivor - using wits, instinct, and brilliance to make his mark in the world. Three years ago, he'd met with a minor setback, but that didn't mean he couldn't build himself back up to where he had been, using those same attributes.
Wit, instinct, brilliance . . . and, of course, chaos. That was where he lived, damn it. And if some unholier-than-thou hood like Bartholomew Carter was going to reject his presence, then Ethan was going to rain all four of them upon his doorstep.
After all, being a big name around this Hellmouth was what he wanted. Maybe smearing egg in the face of Cleveland's resident honcho was the best way to do that. The talisman was his best bet - sneaky, effective, with little actual confrontation. Very Ethan Rayne.
It wasn't about the kid. It wasn't even about the sodding money that he'd apparently wasted his time collecting. (Which, he admitted, he was glad he wouldn't have to part with now.) It was about power - it always had been - and Ethan had bided his time long enough. It was time to get his power back.
It had nothing to do with the fact that, Slayer or not, he didn't want to see the girl get hurt. Not a bloody thing.
For Ethan, nothing was more important than this. Nothing.
He stopped.
For a moment, he stood there like a puppet with trimmed strings. His shoulders sagged, and his head rolled back to face the wide expanse of the night sky. He raised his hands in an exasperated 'why me?' gesture.
"I said, nothing!" he insisted to the heavens. But his resolve felt like a hollow weight inside him.
Bugger it all.
If he didn't find the bloody pest, she probably was going to go off and get herself hurt.
Ethan straightened again and, abandoning his march toward the flat, he turned to begin a swift but heavy trudge back in the direction that Frankie had gone.
He didn't expect the sudden bone-jarring impact of a massive fist slamming across his face and sending him flying sideways into the dirt.
Ethan was stunned and immobilized. He tried to crawl to his side, but his legs wouldn't stay solid beneath him. He kept toppling over - pained, disoriented, and dazed. He groaned and attempted to focus on his surroundings, but his eyes were bleary and stinging horribly. He raised his hand to wipe at them, and it came away wet and sticky.
And red. He was bleeding from somewhere.
When he finally did manage to get up off the ground, it was not under his own power. He was hoisted upward by the front of his jacket, and he hung flaccidly from a steel grip. His legs curled uselessly beneath him as his toes scraped loosely across the grass. Ethan managed to blink his eyes back into focus and stared indistinctly at the green, scaly face of what was probably the largest M'fashnik demon he'd ever seen.
"Where's the Slayer?" the beast growled without preamble.
"Wh-" Ethan mumbled groggily. "What?"
The creature hurled him backward, and Ethan struck one of the park's picnic tables. He slid off it and back down to the ground with a groan. He could see the demon's feet approaching him, and he did his best to roll himself over.
The M'fashnik bent down to his level and grabbed the scruff of his neck, forcing Ethan's eyes up. "You heard me," it growled again. "You said you had a Slayer with you." The creature leered at him. "Where is she?"
Unconsciously, Ethan felt the blood drain from his face, and his skin tingled with an uncomfortable chill. Before his brain even had time to process what he was doing, he heard his mouth say, "I don't know what the bloody hell you're talking about."
It was as though listening to another man speak the words. But Ethan knew they were his own.
They obviously hadn't been what the M'fashnik had wanted to hear.
Ethan felt a swift and crushing backhand across his jaw, and he dropped from the creature's grasp, landing on all fours in the grass. He could sense the M'fashnik straightening above him. He wanted to formulate some kind of assault or stasis spell, but his concentration was a shattered mirror, and for the moment, Ethan was too foggy to begin picking up the pieces.
There was one thing he did know for certain, however:
Frankie.
This thing was after the Slayer. And Ethan was the one who had paraded her in front of Carter's goons like a bloody show pony.
This was all his fault.
Ethan spat upon the grass, and the blades glistened red in the dim lamplight. He turned his face up at the M'fashnik and sneered. "Seems you got your signals crossed, mate," he rasped, his lips sticky with his own blood. He wiped at them with the back of his wrist. "Look around you; there's no Slayer here."
The M'fashnik crouched down to Ethan's level again, its face splitting into a grotesque grin. "I know she was with you," it said, its voice a harsh rumble. "And Mr. Carter's orders are to keep the Hellmouth Slayer-free."
Ethan groaned dramatically, trying to sit back on his haunches, so he could glare more effectively at the demon. "You mean that bratty little girl?" he said with a hollow chuckle. "That was just some kid from my neighborhood, you ignorant sod. Give her a chocolate bar and she'll agree to anything. It was a bluff and Mr. Carter called it. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some actual wound-licking to do."
The M'fashnik displayed nearly all its sharp teeth as it smiled. "Mr. Carter's not taking any chances."
Ethan continued to glare defiantly. "If you actually think a bloke like me would be able to get a real Slayer to work with him, then you're bleeding mad." He sneered. "And so's your boss."
The demon wrapped its thick fingers around the collar of Ethan's jacket and shirt, twisting the fabric and yanking the man closer to its face. "Tell me where she is, tiny sorcerer, or I'll take it out of your mangy hide," it snarled. Its acrid breath stung Ethan's nostrils.
Ethan was suddenly overwhelmed by a raw rebellious fury - a strange red protectiveness that he'd never felt before, not even last night with that vampire. He didn't know where it had come from, but it banished any fear for himself to the farthest recesses of his consciousness where his rational brain couldn't reach. He met the demon's gaze with fierce, defiant eyes.
"Over my dead body."
The M'fashnik grinned. "That will do for a start."
Continued in Part 5.
End Notes: Some references were made to Season 5 of AtS, and the BtVS Season 6 episode Flooded. (You can find an image of an M'fashnik demon here. Now picture it in a suit!)