Waiting for the Sky to Fall [9/10]
Previous.
* * *
Saturday
* * *
3.00am
Having no idea where Spencer is or what kind of state he's in makes getting up from a warm comfortable bed quite a lot easier than it usually is. Bob's eyes feel gritty and sore, and he definitely hasn't had enough sleep really in... way too long, now, but it's going to be enough to get through the day. It's got to be.
He stumbles out of his room and heads to the kitchen to turn the coffeemaker on again, and then raps on the door of the second bedroom with his knuckles. It opens almost under his hand, Jon yawning and walking stiffly, Brendon right on his heels. "Ryan?" Bob asks, and then his vision adjusts enough that he can see Ryan standing by the bed, buttoning up his shirt again. "Awesome," Bob says quietly, and follows the other two to the kitchen for a council of war.
Jon's made a beeline to the coffee and is staring at it, waiting for it to start dripping into the pot, with a single-minded focus that Bob envies. He's moving pretty stiffly himself -- that fight earlier hadn't done him any favours -- and he has a feeling even the strongest coffee in the world isn't going to do much to simplify his mental state right now. The only consolation is that it does seem as if this woman Savanti needs Spencer for something. So he's probably still okay.
"Is there anything, like, magical we can do to find this unicorn?" Brendon asks, scrubbing his hands over his eyes furiously, as if that'll help wake him up better. Heck, it might, who knows.
Bob shrugs, and looks at Jon. For better or worse, Jon's the established expert here, given how wrong most of Bob's material has been.
Jon scrunches up his face, thinking hard, but has to shake his head, fighting off another yawn. "Not that I know of," he says, "or the guys would've used it. Witches we do get on with."
"So we have to do this the hard way," Ryan says, resigned.
"How are we even going to approach it when we find it?" Brendon asks, looking from Jon to Bob, clearly hoping one of them will have an answer. They exchange a look.
"I... fuck, I don't know, Bren, sorry," Bob says, feeling spectacularly useless and totally unequipped for this.
"I'm going to call the other guys back in," Jon says, "if we all split up we can cover a lot more area, and if we're not trying to approach it, we can maybe get a rough idea of its location and then call you guys in."
"Sounds like a plan," Bob says. It's about the best they'll be able to do, anyway.
* * *
5.47am
Jon's reinforcements have split to every part of town that Bob, Ryan and Brendon could identify on the map as a potential unicorn-hunting ground, and they're all checking in half-hourly, marking off where they've been, if there's any trace of the unicorn, and if so, how old it is.
"I am uncomfortably reminded," Ryan says, kicking through some vegetation behind Jon, "of how almost anywhere people think is a good place to neck is also a great place to dispose of a body." He and Brendon had opted to follow Jon and leave Bob running things from his place, figuring that way they'd maybe be able to split the distance the non-wolfy people would have to cover if they were closer to wherever they wound up finding the unicorn.
Brendon just stares at him. "You're thinking positive," he mutters, and Ryan wants to say that that's not what he meant, but Jon's loping back towards the car park again now, and he needs all his energy to climb over what is the fifth or sixth fence of the morning, and definitely the fourth hill.
Ryan's phone rings, then, the ringtone loud in the pre-dawn darkness, and he has to scramble to get it out of his pocket without dropping it or tripping over anything.
"Other Ryan just checked in," Bob says, "he thinks he's close."
"Where-?" Ryan pants, stopping for a second to catch his breath, and realizing with an uncomfortable mental twist that he's actually kind of hungry.
"He said he's at Sunset Park, out by-"
"McCarran, I know," Ryan says, impatient. "Did he say where in the park? It's pretty big."
"By the water?" Bob sounds unsure. That's pretty much downtown, and they don't actually get out there too often; most of the serious shit seems to go down in the suburbs, or at least places where there's not a million people wandering around with cocktails and video cameras at all hours of the day. Probably even the vampires don't want to end up on 60 Minutes. Or, worse, America's Funniest Home Videos.
"Yeah, I know it," Ryan says, and, "We're on it. Call you when we've checked it out."
"You better," Bob says, and then Ryan flips his phone shut, jogs over to Brendon, standing by the car, and updates him and Jon while they drive.
Jon's wrapped up in a rug -- he's been staying mostly wolfy since they've been looking, and apparently it's easier to trot on three legs than it is to limp on two, but Brendon had insisted he wear a seatbelt when they were in the van, and that meant having arms and legs. Brendon glances in the rear vision mirror and catches enough of a look of Jon that he reaches over to pump the heat up a little more without being prompted.
"Thanks," Jon says quietly, and Ryan can hear him shifting, trying to wrap himself tighter. If they have to drive anywhere else after this, Ryan's sitting in the backseat, too; Jon's sounding a little croaky and totally worn down, as if he's getting sick, and Ryan doesn't bleed heat like Brendon does, admittedly, but he figures even his scrawny frame has to help at this point.
* * *
6.15am
The sun is just starting to come up with Brendon, Jon and Ryan park near the tennis courts and head into the park proper. Brendon's gotten Ryan J's number from Bob and has been narrowing down a place to meet. Ryan just wonders where he's been keeping his phone when he's in wolf form, and then, on further reflection, wishes he hadn't. He feels a little sheepish when Ryan J lopes up from behind a stand of fir trees with a bag in his teeth.
He jumps into the van with Jon, and then sticks a tousled head out around the door a couple of seconds later. "I'm pretty sure it's hanging out down near the lake," he says, "the end where there's some mini boats or something? There's a little beach and everything."
"Right," Brendon says, and starts walking, fast.
"Uh, what're you going to be doing?" Ryan asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He wants to go now to find the unicorn, but some more backup would be nice. It's possible Jon's stories have sort of freaked him out a bit, even taking into consideration that they're now totally sure that the unicorn hasn't actually hurt anyone and it was all Ed.
"I'm gonna yell at Jon for a second for not looking after himself properly," Ryan J says cheerfully, "and then we'll circle around so we're downwind and work our way back to you guys."
"Good," Ryan says, and he means that for both plans.
He and Brendon are probably not the stealthiest guys ever as they head towards the lake, aiming for the shed that Ryan remembers the remote control boats being stored in. He's kind of nervous, they're both tired and stumbling a little, and they're each craning their necks in opposite directions, looking for a flash of white in between the trees, cursing at the wind ruffling the leaves and making it harder to hear anything in all the little noises made by nature around them.
Ryan nearly trips over a rock by the path, and grabs for Brendon's hand automatically as he flails about, trying to stop himself falling. It's that which probably saves them, because Brendon squeezes his hand comfortingly once Ryan has his balance back, and doesn't let go. And that's when Ryan stops dead, and realises the patch of dark-coloured shadow fifteen feet away isn't moving because it's not a shadow after all.
Brendon's voice rings in his head again, "You saw a sparkly white pony?" and then Jon's immediate "No," and Ryan can't believe none of them thought to ask about that other little assumption they'd been making, too.
"Bren," he hisses, and jerks his chin to the right. Brendon's eyes widen, and he stops walking, too.
"Um, hi?" Ryan says, which, thank god unicorns have been around for thousands of years or whatever, because if that was going to be First Contact, then it was not even remotely the smoothest example of human interaction ever.
"Look, we're... sorry to bother you, but we would like to ask for your help?" Brendon sounds uncertain, and Ryan squeezes his hand again. He's not sure what else he can do, at this point.
There's a pregnant pause, and then the shadow ripples towards them, and even from, like, five feet away it's still really hard to see, mottled coat blending in amazingly in the dim morning light and underbrush.
"What on earth would two cute little human boys want my help for?" it says, in perfectly understandable, unaccented English, and Ryan blinks hard, trying to get a better look. It's- roughly horse-shaped, yeah, but it's also the size of a small pony -- he hates to be a cliché, but he was totally expecting something bigger -- and it does certainly have a horn spiralling out of the middle of its forehead. The horn is reflecting what little light there is, and he totally gets why people have described it as glowing, yeah.
"Um, it's a long story," Brendon starts, and then shoots Ryan a helpless look. As if Ryan has any better ideas.
"And we'd appreciate it, like, a lot, if you don't mind at least hearing us out?" Ryan tries. Mostly because he wasn't really sure they'd even be able to find the unicorn, and now that they have, he really, really doesn't want to have to go chasing it. If nothing else, he doesn't think this plan has a hope in hell of working without its willing cooperation.
"Shoot," the unicorn says, and stamps a hoof as if to say 'get on with it'. It's actually more unnerving to hear that voice coming out of something that looks like it should be giving rides at a fair than almost anything else Ryan's seen since Spencer became the slayer; there's something about a mythological creature talking like an actor in a sitcom that makes him feel very unbalanced.
"Well, firstly, I know there's been a werewolf attacking people lately, and trying to. Uh. Frame you for it." Ryan says. "We're really sorry about that and we wanted to say that we've caught him, so you don't need to worry about that any more."
The unicorn snorts as if worrying was the last thing on its mind, but doesn't say anything.
"The thing is- he was working with someone else, someone who's been stealing magical items and casting spells, and she's kidnapped our friend -- he's the slayer -- and we think she wants to use him to get at you, somehow. The, um. The other werewolf said something about how she had some uses for unicorn hair. And. Other things." Ryan has a feeling you shouldn't prevaricate in front of a unicorn, but it seems over the top to start telling someone how you need them to help you find someone else who wants to cut them into tiny pieces and make, like, magical soup or whatever out of them.
"Ah. One of those," the unicorn says, sounding disgusted. "Run the part where you need my help by me again, huh?"
Brendon steps forward, his hand slipping out of Ryan's, and opens his mouth to explain. And then stops dead, looking confused. "Where'd you-?" he asks, and Ryan stares, horrified, because the unicorn is just- it's gone.
"Still here," comes the voice out of a shadowy patch of what he'd have sworn was once more thin air. It sounds resigned, and a little amused. Ryan is this close to telling the supernatural to kiss his ass, frankly. "Go back to your boyfriend there if you want to see," it suggests, and Brendon does. The second Brendon's back in his personal space -- not even touching, just closer -- the unicorn fuzzes back into view.
"Holy shit," Ryan breathes, because that's some camouflage. That sure explains more than it doesn't.
"Yeah, comes in handy," the unicorn says, "no idea how it works down on the itty-bitty metaphysical doo-dah level, but unless you're with someone you have fuzzy feelings about? I'm just a blurry spot you don't even see out of the corner of your eye. Good, good, good vibrations for the photoelectric excitation, man," and Ryan and Brendon both chorus "Huh?" because, seriously, did the unicorn just quote the fucking Beach Boys at them? More things on heaven and earth indeed, Ryan thinks, and also, Jesus fucking Christ.
"Anyway," Ryan says, "our friend has been kidnapped by this woman. And we think, well, if she's trying to lure you- actually, do you have a name? I feel kind of stupid calling you 'you' or 'the unicorn'."
The unicorn gives him a measuring look, and flicks its tail. "Rather not. Names are dangerous, I'm not down with sharing mine indiscriminately, no offence intended."
"Fine," Ryan says, because he doesn't actually care all that much, just so long as it helps, and since it hasn't run off anywhere yet, he's taking that as a good sign. "If she's trying to lure you in for whatever purposes of her own, we thought that maybe you could let us know and we could ambush her."
"We think it's going to be out near Lake Mead, where the music festival is," Brendon adds helpfully, and the unicorn says, "Huh, I was actually planning to wander out that way. Lots of kids getting all worked up, sounds like a good time to me."
"So... would you mind helping?" Ryan asks, biting the inside of his cheek. He doesn't want to beg, but it's Spencer and he totally will if he has to.
"Can't see why not," the unicorn says, and then, a little more bitingly, "so long as you tell me what the catch is. Like, why there's a dude over in the bushes down there," it nods its head in the direction of the lake, "who makes all the hairs on my neck stand on end, and believe me, that's a lotta hair."
"Oh. Uh." Brendon says. "It's not just us who're looking for Spencer -- that's the slayer. Our other friends are too. Um. Some of them are werewolves? But they're good werewolves! And, like, they're not going to give you any trouble, I swear."
The unicorn snorts again, appears to think it over, and then says, "Ah, what the hell. Sure. Can't hurt, and you did warn me, anyway. So, how're you wanting to run this?"
"I'll call Bob," Brendon says, and, "I think we should set up a base somewhere a bit closer to the festival," Jon adds, having obviously taken the unicorn's agreement as an invitation to come a bit closer.
"How fast can you move around town?" he asks, after a moment's thought. He's still limping slightly, but he's dressed again, looking a lot warmer, and he tucks himself in between Ryan and Brendon without even a moment's pause.
"Faster than you'd expect," the unicorn says.
"Huh," Jon says, as the unicorn comes into focus, but he doesn't say anything else.
* * *
9:26am
Their kidnapper comes back into the room not long after Spencer and Cassadee wake up, stiff and bruised from falling unconscious -- again -- where they've been sitting for however many more hours. Spencer really wishes he knew her name, for convenience's sake if nothing else - although there are some nifty tricks that can be done with someone's real name, too, which Spencer wouldn't mind trying at this point. Not getting enough sleep makes him cranky, and having to spend god knows how many hours chained to a fucking wall makes him crankier. Like, infinity squared crankier. Seriously ready and motivated to kick some super-villain ass, at least as soon as he can get his hands free. He's strong, but those bolts are just not giving an inch, and he doesn't want to tear his wrists up by trying too hard now.
Eventually she's going to have to let them loose for some reason or another -- and thinking about that doesn't help his bladder any; there is some shit they definitely left out of the movies, and that's that being kidnapped is actually pretty boring so far and involves a lot of not thinking about bathrooms if at all possible. Escaping. Escaping is a much better thing to focus on. If nothing else, he's fucked if he's going to let anything happen to Cassadee; protecting the innocent is kind of his raison d'etre and all. And he might be chained up with some kind of super-strong magic stuff, but she's made the mistake of leaving his legs free, if nothing else, and the chain's plenty long enough to work with if she just comes close enough to him. Spencer still has options. They're not great options, but they're options.
"What's going on?" Spencer asks, pulling at his cuffs, even though he knows it's futile. "Why are we still here, what exactly are you doing?" He gives Cassadee an imploring look, but she shrugs awkwardly. They're being pretty thoroughly ignored, as the kidnapper goes over to the haphazard pile of magic shit (and yeah, Spencer knows exactly what's been going on with the tour, no way is this one-woman magical chop-shop getting away with it now) on the opposite wall and begins rummaging.
"What's she doing?" Cassadee hisses to Spencer.
They get an off-hand "Shut the fuck up," and it doesn't sound really menacing or anything, but Spencer recognizes some of the artifacts from Bob's enforced slayer study hours, and some of them are seriously fucking lethal. He's pretty positive they've been kidnapped for a reason, but he's probably pushed his luck enough, so he just gives Cass a look he hopes is apologetic. It might not come across that way, his dominant emotion at the moment is "fucking pissed off."
"Hah," he hears from across the room, and when he looks back up at the kidnapper, she's heading back for the door with a distressingly self-satisfied grin and a necklace she's found in the pile, a huge tarnished silver monstrosity with a loopy kind of knot hanging from it. Spencer swallows with dread, a cliché it turns out is actually real.
"This is not good," he mutters after she's left.
Cass, of course, picks up on it. "What? What was that, what do you know?"
Spencer sighs. He's really been hoping to avoid this conversation, especially since the woman doesn't seem to know he's the slayer and she might have some kind of surveillance on them. No way around it, though; if he's right about what's to come, it'll be pretty apparent, pretty quickly. "Look," he starts, taking a deep breath. "I know this is going to sound nuts, but... magic is real."
Cassadee just stares at him. "Are you high?" she demands. "No, I'm serious. Have you gone crazy, do you have Stockholm Syndrome or whatever? Is it too much D&D?"
"You can't ask how I know," Spencer tells her, kind of frantically, "but I swear, it is, and I think that thing she just grabbed is going to make us do what she tells us to, so look, don't fight it, okay? I need to figure out what she wants us for, and I swear I know what I'm doing, so unless she tells you to do something to, like, hurt yourself, just do it, okay?" It's about the longest speech he's ever made to Cassadee, normally she'd interrupt him about ten words in. She's too busy gaping right now.
"Just do it," he hisses as the door opens back up.
* * *
9.28am
Apparently the unicorn's mojo-visibility trick works for people who used to be dating as well as people who still are, because when Brian turns up at the park (it's more an overgrown patch of scrub behind a truck-stop, but it'll do) where Brendon, Jon and Ryan assure Bob the unicorn is going to meet them, the disembodied voice that had been theoretically helping them plan ways to find Spencer and to deal with this Savanti (and in practice, kind of flirting with Bob, and after having met poltergeists, there was no way he was encouraging that, even if it was going to help them find Spence) suddenly resolves itself into a blotchy dark pony-sized, well. Okay, it's a unicorn. Bob probably shouldn't have been expecting much else. It makes the flirting kind of more disturbing, though.
The unicorn sidles closer, and gives Brian the most considering look an equine face can manage.
"Aren't you something?" it says, and then, "Ooh, and don't the two of you have quite the history. Feeling better now you can see me, dear?" it asks, this last addressed to Bob, who just growls -- it might be true, but that doesn't mean he has to like it, or to take that kind of comment from a four-footed walking purity test; it's bad enough that he has to get comments on his love life from everyone else he knows.
"Let's just get on with this," Bob says, and goes back to, with Brian's help, plotting ways to find Spencer wherever she's stashed him. They're assuming it'll be around the venue, somewhere. It's a huge place and there are a lot of places to look, and with the other guys from Chicago all back at their own hotel to snatch a couple hours sleep before their set, they're down to just Jon right now in terms of supernatural senses. Unless Mikey can come up with something in the mean time.
"What're we going to do when we catch her anyway?" Ryan asks, looking uncomfortable.
"Depends," Bob says. He's not too comfortable with this part of the plan either, but they don't know what kind of firepower -- literal or metaphysical -- Savanti will have to throw around, and he's not going to let anyone else get hurt if he can help it. If that means taking her down, then, well. So be it.
"I can take care of any magical ability," the unicorn puts in, to Bob's surprise. It sounds a lot more serious than it has all morning so far, he gets the feeling that part of this is all just a delightful, diversionary game for it so far. "I expect you can deal with mundane threats?"
"We've got some contingency plans for that, yeah," Bob says, frowning. He had... not expected that, at all. And the unicorn seems to read that in his tone, too, because it sighs audibly and walks over, leaning against him for a second. It's surprisingly warm -- he has a feeling it'd show up nicely on infra-red even if it's not in the normal visible spectrum, and he vows not to share that little comment with anyone -- and its coat feels soft and sleek against his fingers. He has to fight the urge to pat it -- that's probably not a good move with a powerful and largely unknown supernatural creature, however much it looks like a regular pet horse.
"I prefer to avoid killing other creatures," the unicorn says softly, "wherever possible. I'm sure you can do the math as to why your werewolf friends and I don't generally get on. And if I can do something to help you stop this woman without killing her, then it's a simple choice."
"Thanks," Bob says, and dares a light touch to the creature's shoulder.
* * *
9.50am
"You're not claustrophobic, are you?"
Their kidnapper doesn't sound like she's terribly concerned by whatever the response will be. Spencer looks at the drum case open in front of him and gives her a look of absolute loathing. He's not, and he doesn't want to be, but if she's serious about putting him in that- well. Spencer has never wanted to be quite that close to his instrument before, and he really wasn't planning to change now.
"I'm really going to enjoy kicking your ass later," he says to her, gritting his teeth.
"Get in," she says, "it's not for long, I'm not going to let you go out of your little mind before I can use you."
"I'm so sorry, Cass," Spencer says, looking over his shoulder at Cassadee, who's standing in front of a road case that's just a little bigger than she is, looking seriously pissed.
"Despite the evidence to the contrary," she says, "I do get that this isn't actually your fault. I've wound up worse places playing hide and go seek, right?" She sounds a little unsure at the end, but tucks herself gamely into the case all the same.
"Don't even think about screaming," their kidnapper warns her, "no one will hear you. Or if they do, they won't care for long. I can make sure of that." She fingers a little clay charm hanging off her wrist and smiles sunnily.
"Seriously," Spencer says, as the woman -- J-something, he's almost certain, it's right on the tip of his fucking tongue now -- bends over to snap the locks closed on Cassadee. "There aren't even words in the English language for how much I'm going to make you pay for this." It's not entirely bravado; so long as he can get them out of this basement and pretend to be playing along, they'll probably get an opportunity to make a break for it. And if she's taking them out to the festival -- which seems most likely, given the gear cases to smuggle them along with, and the fact that she's probably going to be wanting to keep her job for a little bit longer and that'll require actually turning up to work -- then surely Spencer will be able to do something there. All he has to do now is retain the power of free will.
And maybe watch his fucking mouth a little better, because that last comment was maybe a step too far. He's willing enough to get into the drum case -- he's wriggled inside his own kick drum case once before on a dare, and he knows he fits -- and that it'll be something uncomfortable and unpleasant but a step to getting them out of there. But it seems like she wants him a little more cowed than that, because she's advancing towards him with that necklace in her hands, and Spencer abruptly has a really bad feeling about this.
"I'm in, I'm in," he says, trying to step forward and forgetting about the cuffs still holding him tight to the wall, pulling him up short with a jangle of chain. "Oh, shit," he says fervently, and then tries to echo that with a second, stronger curse a second later, but she's dropped the heavy silver links around his neck, and Spencer's muscles aren't under his control any more.
She gives him a nasty smile. "Stand still," she says, and he feels his muscles lock up even more than they had been already.
"Ooh, just the autonomic functions, huh?" she says speculatively, and shoves a finger into his stomach where she'd kicked him last night. It hurts, and Spencer wants to flinch away, but he can't move or cry out or even try to tighten his stomach muscles so it'll hurt less. "I've been wanting to try this thing out," she goes on, and then steps behind him, unlocking the chains with a word -- so, huh, magical lock. Spencer can take "bitching himself out for not learning to pick locks yet" off the list of reasons he's a complete failure as a slayer. Not watching his own back better is still number one on that little list.
Spencer stands stock still, hands still behind his back, and he wants so badly to rub his wrists, shift his shoulders, which feel like they've been cemented in place at an angle that he knows is not good for them. "You will only obey my orders," the kidnapper says clearly, and there's a muffled curse from the case that Cassadee is locked in; looks like she'd worked out that little loophole herself, too. "Get in the case," she says, and as Spencer obediently bends to start folding himself inside the small space, she laughs and adds, "Slayer? Knock your head on the top a couple of times, while you're at it."
It's so fucking petty; Spencer manages to keep the literal meaning of 'couple' in the forefront of his mind as he does what he's been told, but it still hurts, and he has to blink to clear the spots of black out of his vision. He knows he's not exactly functioning at his best now, and that can't have helped.
"Slayer, stop hitting yourself," she taunts, and, seriously, Spencer has never wished more fervently to be able to shoot actual literal laser beams out of his eyes. She bends over to snap the locks closed on the case he's in then, and it's dark and quiet for a little while; just the noise of things being shifted, and then a grunt of effort and some more barely audible words that sound like spellcasting, he can feel himself being moved. The case tilts on the stairs -- she must have something rigged up to get heavy things in and out -- and then levels out. Spencer counts slowly in his head, one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three... and is at about three hundred rivers in the south when he hears engine noise. It's not difficult to identify it as a van, and the thunk as his case gets shoved to the back is echoed by another not long afterwards; one that's punctuated by a soft curse. He's pretty sure it's Cass -- well, really, who else is it going to be? -- and wishes like crazy he could say something to reassure her.
The drive out to what Spencer assumes is going to be the venue doesn't take as long as he expects. He spends most of the time worried about Cassadee, worried about himself, not thinking about what his parents must be assuming right now and having elaborate fantasies about just how good it's going to feel to take their kidnapper down. His attention snaps back to his surroundings as they come to a halt. Either they started out nearby or she has some kind of mystical skill that involves avoiding traffic, as well. Either way, he's incredibly relieved when it's what feels like less than an hour before there are other voices outside and the engine noise cuts out.
"I need these all backstage," he hears, and then, "Don't open anything; the guys don't need most of this gear today, I just need to go through it and then return the rental van. Also? You're not going to hear anything weird. Now go."
There's more noise, a "Fucking hell, what's in here?" from one of the guys moving things as his case slides out of the van and then gets dropped -- Spencer hits his head on the side again wholly unintentionally this time, and fuck, apparently basic physics aren't excluded from whatever charm is on the necklace. Other people can move him, he just can't move himself. Also, ow.
His case stays sideways, and fuck, 'uncomfortable' was apparently the understatement of the decade, because then it's bumping along over what can't be terribly even ground, unwilling passenger on a dolly cart until it gets tipped off onto the ground. He hears Cassadee make an involuntary noise as her case is stacked next to his, but the guys doing the work clearly don't, or whatever suggestion they've been given means they don't register it, at least. Spencer tries to look on the bright side: he's not face-down any more, if nothing else.
It's still a huge relief when he hears the locks being unsnapped, and weak sunlight floods his eyes, faintly blinding at first. "Get out and sit on the ground over there," she orders him, pointing to a pillar in the middle of the room. Spencer takes advantage of what leeway he has with that order to walk as slowly as he can -- which isn't exactly by design, he's all kinds of stiff after being stuck in one position for so long -- and watches as she bends over to open Cassadee's case.
She's just starting to straighten up when Cassadee launches herself out of the case, fists swinging and kicking out, determined. Spencer has to admire the hell out of the effort; it almost works, and she gets one good shot in which looks like it's going to leave a nasty black eye. But she's been stuck in that case even longer than Spencer has, and adrenaline can only compensate for so much -- Cass stumbles trying to knock her down, and she regains the advantage, hooking an ankle around Cassadee's and sending her flying onto her knees, barely catching herself before her head hits, grazing both palms in the effort. She tries to get up again, but gets a solid kick to the shin for the effort, and then there's a snikt of metal on metal, and when Cassadee looks up, it's to see a thin, lethal looking sword held in their kidnapper's hands, clear and present threat.
Cassadee sighs, and sits back on her haunches, looking seriously pissed. Spencer has great taste in friends, he has to admit.
"Go over there," she -- Juliet, it's just come back to Spencer now, her coming into the room backstage on Thursday, Frank thanking her, maybe all the head trauma was good for something -- points the sword tip to Spencer, "and if you try something like that again, I'll start getting creative with your boy there. I need him alive. In one piece is optional."
Spencer is gratified to realise he can actually roll his eyes. Or maybe, with that lovely B-movie dialogue, that counts as an autonomic response as well.
* * *
11.55am
"I need to get back," Brian announces, turning back from where he'd been talking with Bob and the unicorn. "You guys should be able to get in about a half hour from now; your passes'll get you backstage, too, so find me if you need to or just poke around anywhere that looks plausible. Anyone gives you any trouble, you've got my number."
"Great," Bob says, and goes back to pacing. Jon's not going to be surprised to see a path worn into the asphalt when they leave, the way Bob's been doing that. He'd be more worried about how little a plan they actually have if he had more energy. The nap helped, yeah, but he's basically feeling like death warmed over by this point, and the sooner they find Spencer, the better.
"Any ideas on why Savanti needs Spencer in particular?" Brendon asks again. They've been going over this at regular intervals ever since they found out who had him, and none of them have had any brilliant flashes of insight yet, but they keep trying. It's as if they hope that if they ask at the right moment, someone's going to figure it out.
"What did you say?" Brian asks, coming to a dead halt, hand on his car door.
Jon straightens up. Maybe Brian has an idea after all.
"I wondered why she needs Spencer specifically," Brendon says, and Brian shakes his head.
"No, did you- you said Savanti." He's bouncing on his toes now, and he clearly knows something. Jon hopes he'll share soon; the last coffee he had is wearing off and as shameful as it is, all he wants to do now is to curl up in Ryan's lap and sleep for a while.
"Yeah," Brendon says, looking puzzled. "That's the name the werewolf gave us. We figured, you know, evil mastermind, only has one name, yadda yadda."
Bob is staring at Brian, too, hope dawning in his eyes. "You're shitting me. She used her real name?"
Brian grins back fiercely, features alight with unholy amusement. "Amateurs," he says scornfully, in perfect unison with Bob. "That's our sound tech," Brian goes on. "Juliet Savanti."
Bob's on his feet, and, huh, Jon is, too. He's clearly more out of it than he'd realised. "So you know where she is," Bob says, and Jon's pretty sure that if they had subtitles right now, Bob's interior monologue would be all "let's go let's go let's GO." He's fidgeting worse than Brendon usually does, desperate to get moving.
"I don't know where she is right now," Brian corrects, "but I know where she's going to be. Let's get moving."
* * *
12.01pm
"And now, I need this for a little longer," Juliet says, ducking in to lift the necklace over Spencer's head. He slumps back against Cassadee for a second as the awful compulsion to sit up straight and not shift at all finally leaves, but as much as he'd love to fight back now, he still can't really move. She'd had him hold Cassadee's wrists still while she tied them up again -- they're trussed up even more securely than they had been in the basement; wrists tied together (although in front of them this time, at least, Spencer is not overlooking that small mercy), and Spencer's got more rope and that chain around his waist attaching him to the pillar at his back. Cassadee's ankles are tied as well, but she's got a bit more freedom than he does. As soon as Juliet leaves them, Spencer has plans for that.
"Ow," he says with feeling, letting his head fall back against the pillar, before looking around to take stock.
"Are you okay?" Cass asks, looking worried. She's probably bruised and sore herself, but she's not complaining about it at all, just shifting as much as she can within the bonds, trying to keep herself functional.
"I'll be fine," Spencer says, and pretends like he's not starting to get a pounding headache. "That was a good try before," he says, because she deserves to hear that. "Next time don't hit someone in the face, though. You'll hurt yourself more than them."
"Duh," Cassadee says, "I was just trying to distract her so that- you know what, whatever, it wasn't like I could kick her in the balls; that's sort of more the type of self-defence I expect to be employing, I improvised."
"Good improvising," Spencer says, trying to turn his wrists to see if he can pick at the knots at all.
"It would've been if it'd worked," Cass mutters, and then looks down at their wrists. "What do you need me to do?"
"See if you can get a grip on that- yeah, that knot," Spencer says.
Cassadee does her best, but even with them working together, it's slow going. Spencer is pretty sure that he'll see Juliet coming back in before she can see what they're doing, though -- they're in a pavilion area; it looks semi-permanent with one big window along the wall and a door on the opposite side, canvas walls rolled down and tied to posts holding the roof on -- and he's facing the door. They can hear a low buzz of noise outside -- the festival, Spencer figures -- but if they're anywhere, it's backstage, and he doesn't think she'd have left them alone if there was any chance yelling would get attention. One day Spencer's going to learn that soundproofing charm himself. And the counter-spell.
There's a bunch of boxes all around them -- some of it looks like gear, the rest is pretty obviously the pile of magical stuff that had been in the basement with them. Most of it's boxed up still, but two of the boxes are open. Spencer thinks that dagger Juliet had earlier was from one of them.
"So," Cass says conversationally, trying to grasp a loop of cord between her index finger and Spencer's thumb to pull on it, "what's a slayer?"
Spencer freezes up.
"I have no idea what you're-" he starts.
"Other than a crappy-ass metal band," Cassadee says, looking steadily at him, "because I might've been in a fucking box, but I heard her call you that. More than once. What's the deal, Spence? Level with me. We're freaking kidnapped and tied up here, it's not like I'm gonna do anything with this information."
Spencer sighs. "I'm a slayer. The slayer. I..." he pauses, bites his lip. He never feels less stupid saying this. "I slay vampires. It's, like, a fated destiny kind of thing."
"Normally I'd be asking you what you were smoking, and when you last saw a shrink, but," Cassadee's shrug encompasses the room around them, the pile of magical artifacts and the fact she'd just seen and heard Spencer bespelled into immobility.
"...yeah," Spencer sighs.
"So this is all in a day's work for you?" Cass asks, sounding slightly hopeful. "Because if so, I gotta say, I'd prefer not to be a hostage next time, too. I always pictured myself more the ass-kicking type than the one running screaming in a filmy nightgown. Do vampires really go for that?"
It's a bit of a screeching subject change, but if he tries, Spencer thinks he can maybe see her logic trail there. Either way, he answers honestly. "Mostly they go for 'breathing'. They're not exactly discriminating. Anne Rice and all that are definitely way off base."
"Huh," Cassadee says, and goes back to working on the knot on top of her right wrist.
* * *
Next.
* * *
Saturday
* * *
3.00am
Having no idea where Spencer is or what kind of state he's in makes getting up from a warm comfortable bed quite a lot easier than it usually is. Bob's eyes feel gritty and sore, and he definitely hasn't had enough sleep really in... way too long, now, but it's going to be enough to get through the day. It's got to be.
He stumbles out of his room and heads to the kitchen to turn the coffeemaker on again, and then raps on the door of the second bedroom with his knuckles. It opens almost under his hand, Jon yawning and walking stiffly, Brendon right on his heels. "Ryan?" Bob asks, and then his vision adjusts enough that he can see Ryan standing by the bed, buttoning up his shirt again. "Awesome," Bob says quietly, and follows the other two to the kitchen for a council of war.
Jon's made a beeline to the coffee and is staring at it, waiting for it to start dripping into the pot, with a single-minded focus that Bob envies. He's moving pretty stiffly himself -- that fight earlier hadn't done him any favours -- and he has a feeling even the strongest coffee in the world isn't going to do much to simplify his mental state right now. The only consolation is that it does seem as if this woman Savanti needs Spencer for something. So he's probably still okay.
"Is there anything, like, magical we can do to find this unicorn?" Brendon asks, scrubbing his hands over his eyes furiously, as if that'll help wake him up better. Heck, it might, who knows.
Bob shrugs, and looks at Jon. For better or worse, Jon's the established expert here, given how wrong most of Bob's material has been.
Jon scrunches up his face, thinking hard, but has to shake his head, fighting off another yawn. "Not that I know of," he says, "or the guys would've used it. Witches we do get on with."
"So we have to do this the hard way," Ryan says, resigned.
"How are we even going to approach it when we find it?" Brendon asks, looking from Jon to Bob, clearly hoping one of them will have an answer. They exchange a look.
"I... fuck, I don't know, Bren, sorry," Bob says, feeling spectacularly useless and totally unequipped for this.
"I'm going to call the other guys back in," Jon says, "if we all split up we can cover a lot more area, and if we're not trying to approach it, we can maybe get a rough idea of its location and then call you guys in."
"Sounds like a plan," Bob says. It's about the best they'll be able to do, anyway.
* * *
5.47am
Jon's reinforcements have split to every part of town that Bob, Ryan and Brendon could identify on the map as a potential unicorn-hunting ground, and they're all checking in half-hourly, marking off where they've been, if there's any trace of the unicorn, and if so, how old it is.
"I am uncomfortably reminded," Ryan says, kicking through some vegetation behind Jon, "of how almost anywhere people think is a good place to neck is also a great place to dispose of a body." He and Brendon had opted to follow Jon and leave Bob running things from his place, figuring that way they'd maybe be able to split the distance the non-wolfy people would have to cover if they were closer to wherever they wound up finding the unicorn.
Brendon just stares at him. "You're thinking positive," he mutters, and Ryan wants to say that that's not what he meant, but Jon's loping back towards the car park again now, and he needs all his energy to climb over what is the fifth or sixth fence of the morning, and definitely the fourth hill.
Ryan's phone rings, then, the ringtone loud in the pre-dawn darkness, and he has to scramble to get it out of his pocket without dropping it or tripping over anything.
"Other Ryan just checked in," Bob says, "he thinks he's close."
"Where-?" Ryan pants, stopping for a second to catch his breath, and realizing with an uncomfortable mental twist that he's actually kind of hungry.
"He said he's at Sunset Park, out by-"
"McCarran, I know," Ryan says, impatient. "Did he say where in the park? It's pretty big."
"By the water?" Bob sounds unsure. That's pretty much downtown, and they don't actually get out there too often; most of the serious shit seems to go down in the suburbs, or at least places where there's not a million people wandering around with cocktails and video cameras at all hours of the day. Probably even the vampires don't want to end up on 60 Minutes. Or, worse, America's Funniest Home Videos.
"Yeah, I know it," Ryan says, and, "We're on it. Call you when we've checked it out."
"You better," Bob says, and then Ryan flips his phone shut, jogs over to Brendon, standing by the car, and updates him and Jon while they drive.
Jon's wrapped up in a rug -- he's been staying mostly wolfy since they've been looking, and apparently it's easier to trot on three legs than it is to limp on two, but Brendon had insisted he wear a seatbelt when they were in the van, and that meant having arms and legs. Brendon glances in the rear vision mirror and catches enough of a look of Jon that he reaches over to pump the heat up a little more without being prompted.
"Thanks," Jon says quietly, and Ryan can hear him shifting, trying to wrap himself tighter. If they have to drive anywhere else after this, Ryan's sitting in the backseat, too; Jon's sounding a little croaky and totally worn down, as if he's getting sick, and Ryan doesn't bleed heat like Brendon does, admittedly, but he figures even his scrawny frame has to help at this point.
* * *
6.15am
The sun is just starting to come up with Brendon, Jon and Ryan park near the tennis courts and head into the park proper. Brendon's gotten Ryan J's number from Bob and has been narrowing down a place to meet. Ryan just wonders where he's been keeping his phone when he's in wolf form, and then, on further reflection, wishes he hadn't. He feels a little sheepish when Ryan J lopes up from behind a stand of fir trees with a bag in his teeth.
He jumps into the van with Jon, and then sticks a tousled head out around the door a couple of seconds later. "I'm pretty sure it's hanging out down near the lake," he says, "the end where there's some mini boats or something? There's a little beach and everything."
"Right," Brendon says, and starts walking, fast.
"Uh, what're you going to be doing?" Ryan asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He wants to go now to find the unicorn, but some more backup would be nice. It's possible Jon's stories have sort of freaked him out a bit, even taking into consideration that they're now totally sure that the unicorn hasn't actually hurt anyone and it was all Ed.
"I'm gonna yell at Jon for a second for not looking after himself properly," Ryan J says cheerfully, "and then we'll circle around so we're downwind and work our way back to you guys."
"Good," Ryan says, and he means that for both plans.
He and Brendon are probably not the stealthiest guys ever as they head towards the lake, aiming for the shed that Ryan remembers the remote control boats being stored in. He's kind of nervous, they're both tired and stumbling a little, and they're each craning their necks in opposite directions, looking for a flash of white in between the trees, cursing at the wind ruffling the leaves and making it harder to hear anything in all the little noises made by nature around them.
Ryan nearly trips over a rock by the path, and grabs for Brendon's hand automatically as he flails about, trying to stop himself falling. It's that which probably saves them, because Brendon squeezes his hand comfortingly once Ryan has his balance back, and doesn't let go. And that's when Ryan stops dead, and realises the patch of dark-coloured shadow fifteen feet away isn't moving because it's not a shadow after all.
Brendon's voice rings in his head again, "You saw a sparkly white pony?" and then Jon's immediate "No," and Ryan can't believe none of them thought to ask about that other little assumption they'd been making, too.
"Bren," he hisses, and jerks his chin to the right. Brendon's eyes widen, and he stops walking, too.
"Um, hi?" Ryan says, which, thank god unicorns have been around for thousands of years or whatever, because if that was going to be First Contact, then it was not even remotely the smoothest example of human interaction ever.
"Look, we're... sorry to bother you, but we would like to ask for your help?" Brendon sounds uncertain, and Ryan squeezes his hand again. He's not sure what else he can do, at this point.
There's a pregnant pause, and then the shadow ripples towards them, and even from, like, five feet away it's still really hard to see, mottled coat blending in amazingly in the dim morning light and underbrush.
"What on earth would two cute little human boys want my help for?" it says, in perfectly understandable, unaccented English, and Ryan blinks hard, trying to get a better look. It's- roughly horse-shaped, yeah, but it's also the size of a small pony -- he hates to be a cliché, but he was totally expecting something bigger -- and it does certainly have a horn spiralling out of the middle of its forehead. The horn is reflecting what little light there is, and he totally gets why people have described it as glowing, yeah.
"Um, it's a long story," Brendon starts, and then shoots Ryan a helpless look. As if Ryan has any better ideas.
"And we'd appreciate it, like, a lot, if you don't mind at least hearing us out?" Ryan tries. Mostly because he wasn't really sure they'd even be able to find the unicorn, and now that they have, he really, really doesn't want to have to go chasing it. If nothing else, he doesn't think this plan has a hope in hell of working without its willing cooperation.
"Shoot," the unicorn says, and stamps a hoof as if to say 'get on with it'. It's actually more unnerving to hear that voice coming out of something that looks like it should be giving rides at a fair than almost anything else Ryan's seen since Spencer became the slayer; there's something about a mythological creature talking like an actor in a sitcom that makes him feel very unbalanced.
"Well, firstly, I know there's been a werewolf attacking people lately, and trying to. Uh. Frame you for it." Ryan says. "We're really sorry about that and we wanted to say that we've caught him, so you don't need to worry about that any more."
The unicorn snorts as if worrying was the last thing on its mind, but doesn't say anything.
"The thing is- he was working with someone else, someone who's been stealing magical items and casting spells, and she's kidnapped our friend -- he's the slayer -- and we think she wants to use him to get at you, somehow. The, um. The other werewolf said something about how she had some uses for unicorn hair. And. Other things." Ryan has a feeling you shouldn't prevaricate in front of a unicorn, but it seems over the top to start telling someone how you need them to help you find someone else who wants to cut them into tiny pieces and make, like, magical soup or whatever out of them.
"Ah. One of those," the unicorn says, sounding disgusted. "Run the part where you need my help by me again, huh?"
Brendon steps forward, his hand slipping out of Ryan's, and opens his mouth to explain. And then stops dead, looking confused. "Where'd you-?" he asks, and Ryan stares, horrified, because the unicorn is just- it's gone.
"Still here," comes the voice out of a shadowy patch of what he'd have sworn was once more thin air. It sounds resigned, and a little amused. Ryan is this close to telling the supernatural to kiss his ass, frankly. "Go back to your boyfriend there if you want to see," it suggests, and Brendon does. The second Brendon's back in his personal space -- not even touching, just closer -- the unicorn fuzzes back into view.
"Holy shit," Ryan breathes, because that's some camouflage. That sure explains more than it doesn't.
"Yeah, comes in handy," the unicorn says, "no idea how it works down on the itty-bitty metaphysical doo-dah level, but unless you're with someone you have fuzzy feelings about? I'm just a blurry spot you don't even see out of the corner of your eye. Good, good, good vibrations for the photoelectric excitation, man," and Ryan and Brendon both chorus "Huh?" because, seriously, did the unicorn just quote the fucking Beach Boys at them? More things on heaven and earth indeed, Ryan thinks, and also, Jesus fucking Christ.
"Anyway," Ryan says, "our friend has been kidnapped by this woman. And we think, well, if she's trying to lure you- actually, do you have a name? I feel kind of stupid calling you 'you' or 'the unicorn'."
The unicorn gives him a measuring look, and flicks its tail. "Rather not. Names are dangerous, I'm not down with sharing mine indiscriminately, no offence intended."
"Fine," Ryan says, because he doesn't actually care all that much, just so long as it helps, and since it hasn't run off anywhere yet, he's taking that as a good sign. "If she's trying to lure you in for whatever purposes of her own, we thought that maybe you could let us know and we could ambush her."
"We think it's going to be out near Lake Mead, where the music festival is," Brendon adds helpfully, and the unicorn says, "Huh, I was actually planning to wander out that way. Lots of kids getting all worked up, sounds like a good time to me."
"So... would you mind helping?" Ryan asks, biting the inside of his cheek. He doesn't want to beg, but it's Spencer and he totally will if he has to.
"Can't see why not," the unicorn says, and then, a little more bitingly, "so long as you tell me what the catch is. Like, why there's a dude over in the bushes down there," it nods its head in the direction of the lake, "who makes all the hairs on my neck stand on end, and believe me, that's a lotta hair."
"Oh. Uh." Brendon says. "It's not just us who're looking for Spencer -- that's the slayer. Our other friends are too. Um. Some of them are werewolves? But they're good werewolves! And, like, they're not going to give you any trouble, I swear."
The unicorn snorts again, appears to think it over, and then says, "Ah, what the hell. Sure. Can't hurt, and you did warn me, anyway. So, how're you wanting to run this?"
"I'll call Bob," Brendon says, and, "I think we should set up a base somewhere a bit closer to the festival," Jon adds, having obviously taken the unicorn's agreement as an invitation to come a bit closer.
"How fast can you move around town?" he asks, after a moment's thought. He's still limping slightly, but he's dressed again, looking a lot warmer, and he tucks himself in between Ryan and Brendon without even a moment's pause.
"Faster than you'd expect," the unicorn says.
"Huh," Jon says, as the unicorn comes into focus, but he doesn't say anything else.
* * *
9:26am
Their kidnapper comes back into the room not long after Spencer and Cassadee wake up, stiff and bruised from falling unconscious -- again -- where they've been sitting for however many more hours. Spencer really wishes he knew her name, for convenience's sake if nothing else - although there are some nifty tricks that can be done with someone's real name, too, which Spencer wouldn't mind trying at this point. Not getting enough sleep makes him cranky, and having to spend god knows how many hours chained to a fucking wall makes him crankier. Like, infinity squared crankier. Seriously ready and motivated to kick some super-villain ass, at least as soon as he can get his hands free. He's strong, but those bolts are just not giving an inch, and he doesn't want to tear his wrists up by trying too hard now.
Eventually she's going to have to let them loose for some reason or another -- and thinking about that doesn't help his bladder any; there is some shit they definitely left out of the movies, and that's that being kidnapped is actually pretty boring so far and involves a lot of not thinking about bathrooms if at all possible. Escaping. Escaping is a much better thing to focus on. If nothing else, he's fucked if he's going to let anything happen to Cassadee; protecting the innocent is kind of his raison d'etre and all. And he might be chained up with some kind of super-strong magic stuff, but she's made the mistake of leaving his legs free, if nothing else, and the chain's plenty long enough to work with if she just comes close enough to him. Spencer still has options. They're not great options, but they're options.
"What's going on?" Spencer asks, pulling at his cuffs, even though he knows it's futile. "Why are we still here, what exactly are you doing?" He gives Cassadee an imploring look, but she shrugs awkwardly. They're being pretty thoroughly ignored, as the kidnapper goes over to the haphazard pile of magic shit (and yeah, Spencer knows exactly what's been going on with the tour, no way is this one-woman magical chop-shop getting away with it now) on the opposite wall and begins rummaging.
"What's she doing?" Cassadee hisses to Spencer.
They get an off-hand "Shut the fuck up," and it doesn't sound really menacing or anything, but Spencer recognizes some of the artifacts from Bob's enforced slayer study hours, and some of them are seriously fucking lethal. He's pretty positive they've been kidnapped for a reason, but he's probably pushed his luck enough, so he just gives Cass a look he hopes is apologetic. It might not come across that way, his dominant emotion at the moment is "fucking pissed off."
"Hah," he hears from across the room, and when he looks back up at the kidnapper, she's heading back for the door with a distressingly self-satisfied grin and a necklace she's found in the pile, a huge tarnished silver monstrosity with a loopy kind of knot hanging from it. Spencer swallows with dread, a cliché it turns out is actually real.
"This is not good," he mutters after she's left.
Cass, of course, picks up on it. "What? What was that, what do you know?"
Spencer sighs. He's really been hoping to avoid this conversation, especially since the woman doesn't seem to know he's the slayer and she might have some kind of surveillance on them. No way around it, though; if he's right about what's to come, it'll be pretty apparent, pretty quickly. "Look," he starts, taking a deep breath. "I know this is going to sound nuts, but... magic is real."
Cassadee just stares at him. "Are you high?" she demands. "No, I'm serious. Have you gone crazy, do you have Stockholm Syndrome or whatever? Is it too much D&D?"
"You can't ask how I know," Spencer tells her, kind of frantically, "but I swear, it is, and I think that thing she just grabbed is going to make us do what she tells us to, so look, don't fight it, okay? I need to figure out what she wants us for, and I swear I know what I'm doing, so unless she tells you to do something to, like, hurt yourself, just do it, okay?" It's about the longest speech he's ever made to Cassadee, normally she'd interrupt him about ten words in. She's too busy gaping right now.
"Just do it," he hisses as the door opens back up.
* * *
9.28am
Apparently the unicorn's mojo-visibility trick works for people who used to be dating as well as people who still are, because when Brian turns up at the park (it's more an overgrown patch of scrub behind a truck-stop, but it'll do) where Brendon, Jon and Ryan assure Bob the unicorn is going to meet them, the disembodied voice that had been theoretically helping them plan ways to find Spencer and to deal with this Savanti (and in practice, kind of flirting with Bob, and after having met poltergeists, there was no way he was encouraging that, even if it was going to help them find Spence) suddenly resolves itself into a blotchy dark pony-sized, well. Okay, it's a unicorn. Bob probably shouldn't have been expecting much else. It makes the flirting kind of more disturbing, though.
The unicorn sidles closer, and gives Brian the most considering look an equine face can manage.
"Aren't you something?" it says, and then, "Ooh, and don't the two of you have quite the history. Feeling better now you can see me, dear?" it asks, this last addressed to Bob, who just growls -- it might be true, but that doesn't mean he has to like it, or to take that kind of comment from a four-footed walking purity test; it's bad enough that he has to get comments on his love life from everyone else he knows.
"Let's just get on with this," Bob says, and goes back to, with Brian's help, plotting ways to find Spencer wherever she's stashed him. They're assuming it'll be around the venue, somewhere. It's a huge place and there are a lot of places to look, and with the other guys from Chicago all back at their own hotel to snatch a couple hours sleep before their set, they're down to just Jon right now in terms of supernatural senses. Unless Mikey can come up with something in the mean time.
"What're we going to do when we catch her anyway?" Ryan asks, looking uncomfortable.
"Depends," Bob says. He's not too comfortable with this part of the plan either, but they don't know what kind of firepower -- literal or metaphysical -- Savanti will have to throw around, and he's not going to let anyone else get hurt if he can help it. If that means taking her down, then, well. So be it.
"I can take care of any magical ability," the unicorn puts in, to Bob's surprise. It sounds a lot more serious than it has all morning so far, he gets the feeling that part of this is all just a delightful, diversionary game for it so far. "I expect you can deal with mundane threats?"
"We've got some contingency plans for that, yeah," Bob says, frowning. He had... not expected that, at all. And the unicorn seems to read that in his tone, too, because it sighs audibly and walks over, leaning against him for a second. It's surprisingly warm -- he has a feeling it'd show up nicely on infra-red even if it's not in the normal visible spectrum, and he vows not to share that little comment with anyone -- and its coat feels soft and sleek against his fingers. He has to fight the urge to pat it -- that's probably not a good move with a powerful and largely unknown supernatural creature, however much it looks like a regular pet horse.
"I prefer to avoid killing other creatures," the unicorn says softly, "wherever possible. I'm sure you can do the math as to why your werewolf friends and I don't generally get on. And if I can do something to help you stop this woman without killing her, then it's a simple choice."
"Thanks," Bob says, and dares a light touch to the creature's shoulder.
* * *
9.50am
"You're not claustrophobic, are you?"
Their kidnapper doesn't sound like she's terribly concerned by whatever the response will be. Spencer looks at the drum case open in front of him and gives her a look of absolute loathing. He's not, and he doesn't want to be, but if she's serious about putting him in that- well. Spencer has never wanted to be quite that close to his instrument before, and he really wasn't planning to change now.
"I'm really going to enjoy kicking your ass later," he says to her, gritting his teeth.
"Get in," she says, "it's not for long, I'm not going to let you go out of your little mind before I can use you."
"I'm so sorry, Cass," Spencer says, looking over his shoulder at Cassadee, who's standing in front of a road case that's just a little bigger than she is, looking seriously pissed.
"Despite the evidence to the contrary," she says, "I do get that this isn't actually your fault. I've wound up worse places playing hide and go seek, right?" She sounds a little unsure at the end, but tucks herself gamely into the case all the same.
"Don't even think about screaming," their kidnapper warns her, "no one will hear you. Or if they do, they won't care for long. I can make sure of that." She fingers a little clay charm hanging off her wrist and smiles sunnily.
"Seriously," Spencer says, as the woman -- J-something, he's almost certain, it's right on the tip of his fucking tongue now -- bends over to snap the locks closed on Cassadee. "There aren't even words in the English language for how much I'm going to make you pay for this." It's not entirely bravado; so long as he can get them out of this basement and pretend to be playing along, they'll probably get an opportunity to make a break for it. And if she's taking them out to the festival -- which seems most likely, given the gear cases to smuggle them along with, and the fact that she's probably going to be wanting to keep her job for a little bit longer and that'll require actually turning up to work -- then surely Spencer will be able to do something there. All he has to do now is retain the power of free will.
And maybe watch his fucking mouth a little better, because that last comment was maybe a step too far. He's willing enough to get into the drum case -- he's wriggled inside his own kick drum case once before on a dare, and he knows he fits -- and that it'll be something uncomfortable and unpleasant but a step to getting them out of there. But it seems like she wants him a little more cowed than that, because she's advancing towards him with that necklace in her hands, and Spencer abruptly has a really bad feeling about this.
"I'm in, I'm in," he says, trying to step forward and forgetting about the cuffs still holding him tight to the wall, pulling him up short with a jangle of chain. "Oh, shit," he says fervently, and then tries to echo that with a second, stronger curse a second later, but she's dropped the heavy silver links around his neck, and Spencer's muscles aren't under his control any more.
She gives him a nasty smile. "Stand still," she says, and he feels his muscles lock up even more than they had been already.
"Ooh, just the autonomic functions, huh?" she says speculatively, and shoves a finger into his stomach where she'd kicked him last night. It hurts, and Spencer wants to flinch away, but he can't move or cry out or even try to tighten his stomach muscles so it'll hurt less. "I've been wanting to try this thing out," she goes on, and then steps behind him, unlocking the chains with a word -- so, huh, magical lock. Spencer can take "bitching himself out for not learning to pick locks yet" off the list of reasons he's a complete failure as a slayer. Not watching his own back better is still number one on that little list.
Spencer stands stock still, hands still behind his back, and he wants so badly to rub his wrists, shift his shoulders, which feel like they've been cemented in place at an angle that he knows is not good for them. "You will only obey my orders," the kidnapper says clearly, and there's a muffled curse from the case that Cassadee is locked in; looks like she'd worked out that little loophole herself, too. "Get in the case," she says, and as Spencer obediently bends to start folding himself inside the small space, she laughs and adds, "Slayer? Knock your head on the top a couple of times, while you're at it."
It's so fucking petty; Spencer manages to keep the literal meaning of 'couple' in the forefront of his mind as he does what he's been told, but it still hurts, and he has to blink to clear the spots of black out of his vision. He knows he's not exactly functioning at his best now, and that can't have helped.
"Slayer, stop hitting yourself," she taunts, and, seriously, Spencer has never wished more fervently to be able to shoot actual literal laser beams out of his eyes. She bends over to snap the locks closed on the case he's in then, and it's dark and quiet for a little while; just the noise of things being shifted, and then a grunt of effort and some more barely audible words that sound like spellcasting, he can feel himself being moved. The case tilts on the stairs -- she must have something rigged up to get heavy things in and out -- and then levels out. Spencer counts slowly in his head, one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three... and is at about three hundred rivers in the south when he hears engine noise. It's not difficult to identify it as a van, and the thunk as his case gets shoved to the back is echoed by another not long afterwards; one that's punctuated by a soft curse. He's pretty sure it's Cass -- well, really, who else is it going to be? -- and wishes like crazy he could say something to reassure her.
The drive out to what Spencer assumes is going to be the venue doesn't take as long as he expects. He spends most of the time worried about Cassadee, worried about himself, not thinking about what his parents must be assuming right now and having elaborate fantasies about just how good it's going to feel to take their kidnapper down. His attention snaps back to his surroundings as they come to a halt. Either they started out nearby or she has some kind of mystical skill that involves avoiding traffic, as well. Either way, he's incredibly relieved when it's what feels like less than an hour before there are other voices outside and the engine noise cuts out.
"I need these all backstage," he hears, and then, "Don't open anything; the guys don't need most of this gear today, I just need to go through it and then return the rental van. Also? You're not going to hear anything weird. Now go."
There's more noise, a "Fucking hell, what's in here?" from one of the guys moving things as his case slides out of the van and then gets dropped -- Spencer hits his head on the side again wholly unintentionally this time, and fuck, apparently basic physics aren't excluded from whatever charm is on the necklace. Other people can move him, he just can't move himself. Also, ow.
His case stays sideways, and fuck, 'uncomfortable' was apparently the understatement of the decade, because then it's bumping along over what can't be terribly even ground, unwilling passenger on a dolly cart until it gets tipped off onto the ground. He hears Cassadee make an involuntary noise as her case is stacked next to his, but the guys doing the work clearly don't, or whatever suggestion they've been given means they don't register it, at least. Spencer tries to look on the bright side: he's not face-down any more, if nothing else.
It's still a huge relief when he hears the locks being unsnapped, and weak sunlight floods his eyes, faintly blinding at first. "Get out and sit on the ground over there," she orders him, pointing to a pillar in the middle of the room. Spencer takes advantage of what leeway he has with that order to walk as slowly as he can -- which isn't exactly by design, he's all kinds of stiff after being stuck in one position for so long -- and watches as she bends over to open Cassadee's case.
She's just starting to straighten up when Cassadee launches herself out of the case, fists swinging and kicking out, determined. Spencer has to admire the hell out of the effort; it almost works, and she gets one good shot in which looks like it's going to leave a nasty black eye. But she's been stuck in that case even longer than Spencer has, and adrenaline can only compensate for so much -- Cass stumbles trying to knock her down, and she regains the advantage, hooking an ankle around Cassadee's and sending her flying onto her knees, barely catching herself before her head hits, grazing both palms in the effort. She tries to get up again, but gets a solid kick to the shin for the effort, and then there's a snikt of metal on metal, and when Cassadee looks up, it's to see a thin, lethal looking sword held in their kidnapper's hands, clear and present threat.
Cassadee sighs, and sits back on her haunches, looking seriously pissed. Spencer has great taste in friends, he has to admit.
"Go over there," she -- Juliet, it's just come back to Spencer now, her coming into the room backstage on Thursday, Frank thanking her, maybe all the head trauma was good for something -- points the sword tip to Spencer, "and if you try something like that again, I'll start getting creative with your boy there. I need him alive. In one piece is optional."
Spencer is gratified to realise he can actually roll his eyes. Or maybe, with that lovely B-movie dialogue, that counts as an autonomic response as well.
* * *
11.55am
"I need to get back," Brian announces, turning back from where he'd been talking with Bob and the unicorn. "You guys should be able to get in about a half hour from now; your passes'll get you backstage, too, so find me if you need to or just poke around anywhere that looks plausible. Anyone gives you any trouble, you've got my number."
"Great," Bob says, and goes back to pacing. Jon's not going to be surprised to see a path worn into the asphalt when they leave, the way Bob's been doing that. He'd be more worried about how little a plan they actually have if he had more energy. The nap helped, yeah, but he's basically feeling like death warmed over by this point, and the sooner they find Spencer, the better.
"Any ideas on why Savanti needs Spencer in particular?" Brendon asks again. They've been going over this at regular intervals ever since they found out who had him, and none of them have had any brilliant flashes of insight yet, but they keep trying. It's as if they hope that if they ask at the right moment, someone's going to figure it out.
"What did you say?" Brian asks, coming to a dead halt, hand on his car door.
Jon straightens up. Maybe Brian has an idea after all.
"I wondered why she needs Spencer specifically," Brendon says, and Brian shakes his head.
"No, did you- you said Savanti." He's bouncing on his toes now, and he clearly knows something. Jon hopes he'll share soon; the last coffee he had is wearing off and as shameful as it is, all he wants to do now is to curl up in Ryan's lap and sleep for a while.
"Yeah," Brendon says, looking puzzled. "That's the name the werewolf gave us. We figured, you know, evil mastermind, only has one name, yadda yadda."
Bob is staring at Brian, too, hope dawning in his eyes. "You're shitting me. She used her real name?"
Brian grins back fiercely, features alight with unholy amusement. "Amateurs," he says scornfully, in perfect unison with Bob. "That's our sound tech," Brian goes on. "Juliet Savanti."
Bob's on his feet, and, huh, Jon is, too. He's clearly more out of it than he'd realised. "So you know where she is," Bob says, and Jon's pretty sure that if they had subtitles right now, Bob's interior monologue would be all "let's go let's go let's GO." He's fidgeting worse than Brendon usually does, desperate to get moving.
"I don't know where she is right now," Brian corrects, "but I know where she's going to be. Let's get moving."
* * *
12.01pm
"And now, I need this for a little longer," Juliet says, ducking in to lift the necklace over Spencer's head. He slumps back against Cassadee for a second as the awful compulsion to sit up straight and not shift at all finally leaves, but as much as he'd love to fight back now, he still can't really move. She'd had him hold Cassadee's wrists still while she tied them up again -- they're trussed up even more securely than they had been in the basement; wrists tied together (although in front of them this time, at least, Spencer is not overlooking that small mercy), and Spencer's got more rope and that chain around his waist attaching him to the pillar at his back. Cassadee's ankles are tied as well, but she's got a bit more freedom than he does. As soon as Juliet leaves them, Spencer has plans for that.
"Ow," he says with feeling, letting his head fall back against the pillar, before looking around to take stock.
"Are you okay?" Cass asks, looking worried. She's probably bruised and sore herself, but she's not complaining about it at all, just shifting as much as she can within the bonds, trying to keep herself functional.
"I'll be fine," Spencer says, and pretends like he's not starting to get a pounding headache. "That was a good try before," he says, because she deserves to hear that. "Next time don't hit someone in the face, though. You'll hurt yourself more than them."
"Duh," Cassadee says, "I was just trying to distract her so that- you know what, whatever, it wasn't like I could kick her in the balls; that's sort of more the type of self-defence I expect to be employing, I improvised."
"Good improvising," Spencer says, trying to turn his wrists to see if he can pick at the knots at all.
"It would've been if it'd worked," Cass mutters, and then looks down at their wrists. "What do you need me to do?"
"See if you can get a grip on that- yeah, that knot," Spencer says.
Cassadee does her best, but even with them working together, it's slow going. Spencer is pretty sure that he'll see Juliet coming back in before she can see what they're doing, though -- they're in a pavilion area; it looks semi-permanent with one big window along the wall and a door on the opposite side, canvas walls rolled down and tied to posts holding the roof on -- and he's facing the door. They can hear a low buzz of noise outside -- the festival, Spencer figures -- but if they're anywhere, it's backstage, and he doesn't think she'd have left them alone if there was any chance yelling would get attention. One day Spencer's going to learn that soundproofing charm himself. And the counter-spell.
There's a bunch of boxes all around them -- some of it looks like gear, the rest is pretty obviously the pile of magical stuff that had been in the basement with them. Most of it's boxed up still, but two of the boxes are open. Spencer thinks that dagger Juliet had earlier was from one of them.
"So," Cass says conversationally, trying to grasp a loop of cord between her index finger and Spencer's thumb to pull on it, "what's a slayer?"
Spencer freezes up.
"I have no idea what you're-" he starts.
"Other than a crappy-ass metal band," Cassadee says, looking steadily at him, "because I might've been in a fucking box, but I heard her call you that. More than once. What's the deal, Spence? Level with me. We're freaking kidnapped and tied up here, it's not like I'm gonna do anything with this information."
Spencer sighs. "I'm a slayer. The slayer. I..." he pauses, bites his lip. He never feels less stupid saying this. "I slay vampires. It's, like, a fated destiny kind of thing."
"Normally I'd be asking you what you were smoking, and when you last saw a shrink, but," Cassadee's shrug encompasses the room around them, the pile of magical artifacts and the fact she'd just seen and heard Spencer bespelled into immobility.
"...yeah," Spencer sighs.
"So this is all in a day's work for you?" Cass asks, sounding slightly hopeful. "Because if so, I gotta say, I'd prefer not to be a hostage next time, too. I always pictured myself more the ass-kicking type than the one running screaming in a filmy nightgown. Do vampires really go for that?"
It's a bit of a screeching subject change, but if he tries, Spencer thinks he can maybe see her logic trail there. Either way, he answers honestly. "Mostly they go for 'breathing'. They're not exactly discriminating. Anne Rice and all that are definitely way off base."
"Huh," Cassadee says, and goes back to working on the knot on top of her right wrist.
* * *
Next.