Fic: In Sunshine or In Shadow, part 2
~.~.~.~
"Oof!"
"Not a fan of the upper window drop?" Buffy asked, helping Xander to his feet.
"If we're going to make a regular habit of entering after hours, can't we get a key made? Maybe a master key? One that opens morgues, museums, and the Magic Box?"
"That would cover most of the bases, wouldn't it?" she replied as she and Xander helped Willow inside.
"There's probably a spell for that," mused Willow, then sighed. "Way too far above my skill level."
"Let's see if we can find Prof. Koppenberg's office," suggested Buffy. The name plate for on all the doors made that easy enough. Buffy studied the professor's door, frowning. "I wasn't expecting locked doors on the inside. I should have worn different shoes."
"How about we try the knob first?" suggested Xander, as he gave the knob a twist and the door opened.
"Ooh! Good call," Buffy said, stepping around him and into the room.
He shrugged. "I guess they figured there was nothing left to steal."
There were lots of diplomas on the wall and pictures of what was probably the professor at various digs, complete with sunglasses and a floppy hat. With her dark and heart-shaped face, she sorta kinda maybe looked a bit like Ms. Calendar.
Which lead to the guilty thought of wondering if Giles had a type, and assuming the professor wasn't dead, if she'd be it. And even guiltier thoughts that she wouldn't be worried about setting Giles up if Angelus hadn't killed Jenny.
"Ooh, packing list!" declared Willow. "It's from Germany and the delivery date is right."
"I'll go find the copier. The sooner we're out of here, the better," said Xander.
"No need. There's only one item on here, which really isn't much of an exhibit."
"What's the item, Willow?"
"It was the Pipe of Hameln."
"Hameln?" asked Buffy. "Why does that sound familiar?"
"Ditto on the sounding familiar - and I slept through most of history and geography."
"Speaking of sounds, did I just hear the door open?" asked Willow.
"And lights!" whispered Buffy. "Let's go!"
"Can't we just hide here?" asked Xander.
"Bathroom. Now!" hissed Buffy.
"Oh, that kind of go."
Buffy shot Xander a look of death, which seemed to work, as he was silent and moving. They made it to the bathroom, which, thankfully, had a window. A tiny window. She mentally measured it, hoping Xander was in for another six foot drop and not being stuck like Winnie-the-Pooh.
~.~.~.~
He rolled on his back, twisting and squirming, but to no avail. Panting, Angel flopped back, limbs akimbo. He'd anticipated needing to fight his way out, but he'd assumed that it would be against Piper. Or the Rat-King while the music from The Nutcracker Suite played in the background. But that wasn't the case.
Piper was gone and the door wide open. Most of the rats were gone, but here he was, stymied by a damn cat harness. Thankfully no one was present to observe his humiliation. Contorting his body again, he tried to wriggle out, but still it didn't come off.
Think. He couldn't run solely on instinct. Ignoring the feel of the harness, he studied what held him to the wall: the leash. It had enough lead that he could sink his teeth into it. He purred with satisfaction and got to work.
Once freed, Angel jumped down, bulleting out the warehouse door, thankful it was dark. He wasn't sure whether being a cat cancelled out being vulnerable to sunlight. Moving as quickly as possible toward the inhabited portion of Sunnydale, Angel reviewed his options. Piper's current plan trumped Buffy's request for space and time. Not that she would recognize him anyway. One problem at a time.
~.~.~.~
"You two go first," Xander whispered. "In case…"
Buffy shook her head. No one was getting stuck, and she'd go last; that's how it worked. She was relieved that they didn't argue. As if they were of one mind, they boosted Willow up on the sink, and then out the window. Xander's exit was less elegant and noisier than she would have liked, but still successful.
Climbing up on the sink, Buffy poked her head out the window, judging the distance. She grasped the top of the frame and pulled herself up, her feet pushing through the opening. She dropped to the ground in a smooth crouch.
"How do you do that?" asked Xander. "Okay, I know how, but still. How do you do that?"
Buffy smiled. "Let's see if there's a car in the lot. I want to know who else is making an after hours visit."
They snuck around the side until they reached the parking lot.
"Jackpot!" said Xander. "Uh, now what?"
"Do you know what the make and model of that car is?" Buffy asked.
"Yeah…"
"Good. We'll need that. Let's go tell Giles."
Between the license plate number she'd written on her hand and the car's description, Buffy knew Willow could hack the answer to who owned the car.
~.~.~.~
Shifting the stack of books to one arm, Wesley fished his house keys out of his coat pocket, and with minimal fumbling he inserted the proper key into the lock. Just as he prepared to step over the threshold, something bumped against his legs and caused him to trip. The momentum sent the books tumbling to the ground. Berating himself for carrying these priceless volumes so casually, he dropped to his knees and inspected them for damage.
An unearthly screech sounded behind him. Scrambling back to his feet, he caught sight of a blur of brown and black rolling over and over until it hit the retaining wall. The blurs were a rat nearly as big as his forearm and there was an even bigger black cat with its teeth sunk into the rat's neck.
Dear lord, was that what he'd nearly tripped over? Perhaps the larger rats were more active because they were consuming the smaller ones.
Before he could retreat to the safety of his home, the cat's yowl stopped him short. Its harness and leash had gotten wound around the branch of a shrubbery, giving the rat a decided advantage. After a hairsbreadth of hesitation, Wes inched behind the cat, giving wide berth to the rodent, and unclipped the leash.
No sooner was the cat free, than it pounced the rat again, sinking its teeth into the rat's neck and shaking it until its neck snapped. Grasping the now dead rodent it its jaws, the cat dragged and deposited the carcass on Wes’s welcome mat. It looked up at him expectantly. Wes had heard of cats bringing their kill to whomever they considered their alpha, but certainly not to a stranger. And this cat must have an owner, given the harness, though why one would try to walk a cat was beyond his reasoning. Adding to the peculiarity, the cat quickly lost its look of triumph, slinking back away from the door.
"Uh, thank you?" The cat lifted its head, its ears swiveling forward, and Wesley could have sworn its face held a look of relief. He wasn't sure what moved him to ask, but he did. "Would you like some milk or such? I just purchased it Friday. It should be fresh."
He took the meow as a yes.
~.~.~.~
"The Pipe of Hameln," Giles repeated as he wandered off toward of his book cases. "That does sound familiar."
"That's what we said!" exclaimed Willow, coming close to gesturing with the hand that was holding the tea cup.
"Ah, here," said Giles, leafing through a book. "Just as I thought. The Pipe of Hameln was used by the piper of Hameln. You might be more familiar with the tale by the name "The Pied Piper of Hamelin."
"Is that the one about the guy who played a song and all the rats followed him out of town?" asked Xander.
"And when the town didn't pay, he took away all the children," added Buffy with a shiver, wrapping her hands around her tea.
"Unfortunately, yes. There are some who believe he turned the children into rats before taking them away."
"That's horrible!" said Willow.
"Quite." Giles removed his glasses, polishing them before returning them to his face. "What is not widely reported in the tales is that the pipe was made of bone. There are those who believe that it's demon bone - and has the power to control demons."
"Do werewolves count? Can they be controlled?" asked Willow.
Or vampires, Buffy wondered.
"We're not close to a full moon, that should improve his chances, but I'm unsure how far the power of the pipe extends." Giles frowned. "Which in the wrong hands-"
"Like Mayor-shaped hands," said Buffy. "What if his people took it?"
"Regardless of who took it, we need to find it."
They all nodded their agreement.
"I'm calling Oz right now, if you don't mind, Giles," said Willow.
And Buffy had to find Angel.
~.~.~.~
Angel's stomach growled. Perhaps he should have waited for the milk, but the wind had picked up, delivering the unexpected surprise of Piper's scent. As much as he wanted to find Buffy and relay what he knew - somehow - what would it matter if he couldn’t lead them to Piper?
When he found her, she was standing on her door step, wringing her hands as she answered the questions of a police officer. The flashing lights and the handful of neighbors watching from their own doorsteps held a delightful thrill of schadenfreude. Slinking under the shrubbery, Angel settled in to see where this might end.
~.~.~.~
"Angel?" called Buffy. "Are you home?"
She looked through each room, then the garden, then back to the rooms again - just in case they'd somehow passed each other. He wasn't there. It didn't even look like he'd been there since her last visit. Angel owned, like, six things and kept them so tidy it was hard to tell if he'd been home an hour ago or last week.
Digging in her bag, she found a pen and a notebook with lots of blank pages. What to even say? When in doubt, the K.I.S.S. rule.
Angel, there's a new big bad in town. We need to talk.
How to sign it? Love? Too much. Sincerely? Too formal. Maybe she could avoid that whole thing by not signing it. As if anyone else were leaving him messages on school paper with purple ink.
Her pen hovered over the paper before she finally scribbled Buffy.
Chewing on the end of her pen, she gave it an addendum.
P.S. Be careful.
Ripping it out, she folded it in half, wrote his name on it and tented it on the fireplace mantle.
He better come home soon.
~.~.~.~
"The creature was well over a foot in length!" declared Wes.
Giles frowned. "That's unusual, even for this area."
When Wesley had drawn them around a library table, saying he had an intriguing development to share, Buffy hadn't really believed him, not compared to the Pipe of Hamline thing, but this did sound strange.
"By 'this area', you mean 'Hellmouth'," said Buffy.
"Well, I was thinking California, but it sounds rather large for the Hellmouth as well," answered Giles.
"One might even say a rodent of unusual size," chimed Xander.
"Yes, Xander," said Wesley, nodding his head vigorously, "that quite accurately describes them. Mr. Giles, did you have any luck finding Whitcomb's Animal Fetishes and Figures?"
"Yes. Which I read last night, but had no reference to oversized rats."
"We need a name better than 'oversized rats'," said Xander. "Ohh! How about R.O.U.S.'s?"
"R.O.U.S.'s?" Wesley asked.
"For 'Rodent of Unusual Size'," Xander said solemnly.
"Quite creative, Mr. Har- Xander. It's perhaps unnecessary, though."
"Please?"
"Well, if it means that much-"
"Excellent! R.O.U.S. it is!"
"Yes, yes, Xander," Giles interrupted, "And 'mawidge is what bwings us togewer today'. Can we get back to matter at hand?"
Xander gapped at Giles. "You've seen The Princess Bride?"
"And in a theatre, even. You don't need to look that surprised."
"May I ask what you are talking about?" asked Wesley.
"Something that is not germane to the matter at hand," Giles offered. "Were you able to dispatch the rat with a ramekin or other appropriate rat skewer?"
"This is where the story gets even more peculiar!" said Wes, launching into a detailed description of a cat and the pursuant struggle.
"Maybe it was a very small puma," Willow offered.
"I… No, it was a house cat," said Wesley. "It wore a harness, of all things, and had a white mark on its chest. One might say it was cross-shaped. Quite distinctive."
"A white mark on its chest? Like the Cat Sídhe?" asked Giles.
"I hadn't considered that possibility, but yes, I suppose it could be. It would be rather out of place here," said Wesley.
"The tag line of the Hellmouth is 'We Make the Impossible Possible'," said Xander.
"So what's a Catchy?" asked Buffy.
"Phonically, it's pronounced 'caught shee'," explained Giles, writing it out phonically on a note pad and passing it her before continuing. "Irish and Scottish folklore talk of a fairy or a witch that has been transformed into a large, black cat with a white mark on its breast. Perhaps it was turned by the pipe. Once I see the cat, I might have a better idea of what we're dealing with."
"See the cat," repeated Wesley.
"You did detain it, didn't you?"
"I, ah… I took the torn harness off of it, and then went to get it milk. When I returned, it was gone."
"There goes that lead," muttered Buffy.
"Is this a good time to announce that things are getting curiouser and curiouser?" asked Willow. "I looked up the car that was at the museum last night. It belongs to Maggie Koppenberg - Dr. Maggie Koppenberg."
"The one who's missing?" asked Xander.
"Was missing," said Willow. "She showed up this morning. The report says, 'She claimed it was all a big mix up. That she'd gone out of town to have the pipe authenticated.' And if you believe it, the case is closed."
"Unlike Sunnydale's finest," said Xander. "I smell a rat."
~.~.~.~
Blanching, Buffy ran her knife across the rodent's throat, putting it out of its misery. The sound it made was gurglier than that of the R.O.U.S.s when they had their movie death.
"So why is it that the Watchers are going to the museum instead of us?" asked Xander.
Using the toe of her boot to push the rat out of the way, she said, "Apparently two men with British accents, dressed in tweed, fit in better at an exhibit opening than high school students."
"I still think I could have been quite convincing. At least as being an undergrad," said Willow. "It would probably be too much of a stretch to pull off being a grad student."
"You'd be more believable than the grad student," Oz assured her.
"As long as it means we get our hands on that pipe and get rid of the rats, then Giles and Wesley can be double-oh-five and six anytime," said Buffy.
"It's just as well, this way we get to be the Three Musketeers," said Willow."Complete with our own rapiers. Or at least Buffy has one."
If anyone could find the silver lining to this, it was Willow.
"But there are four of us." Xander pointed out.
"That's okay, d'Artagnan joined Athos, Porthos, and Aramis," she explained.
"So why not the Four Musketeers?"
"It's like the Hitchhiker's Guide books being called a trilogy," said Oz.
"Oh, okay. So if the musketeers had swords, did the swordeteers have muskets?" asked Xander.
"Another mystery of history we’ll never know the answer to," said Buffy, wiping the gore from her blade.
As she stood, Xander gave her a nudge, pointing down the street and whispering. "Buffy. Do you see that cat? Do you think it's the one Wesley was talking about?"
"Where?" Buffy squinted, trying to see where he was pointing. "And why are we whispering?"
"Didn't want to scare it off?"
"Good point. But what are the odds of it being the same cat?"
"Ooh, I see it!" yelped Willow before dropping her voice. "It's up ahead, kitty-corner from the Magic Box. Does it have that white mark on its chest Wesley talked about?"
“Kitty-corner,” Xander repeated, grinning.
"I don't know. The way it's all tucked up, I can't tell," said Buffy.
As if on cue, it sat up and looked directly at them.
"Guess we can stop whispering," said Buffy, squinting at it. "It does have some sort of mark on its chest."
"I think it is a cross," Oz said.
Buffy turned toward him. “You can see that far?"
He shrugged. "Werewolf thing, I guess. But Xander's the one with the good eyes, noticing it first."
"Thanks," replied Xander.
Buffy and Willow exchanged a look. That, what ever that just was, was major. It seemed weird to follow it up with cat talk. But then again, even weirder to talk about the normalizing of relations.
Hesitantly Willow asked, "Should we get the cat or check in at the Magic Box first?"
"I'm not sure that four teenagers asking questions about whether there's been any run in product lately is going to make Mr. Whosit - or whatever the current owner's name is - eager to answer."
"Talk about another high turnover job in good old Sunnydale," observed Xander. "If we graduate, I say we do whatever it takes to get out of this town. Or at least find safe work like… Is there safe work in this town?"
Oz's unexpected overture must have affected Xander more than he wanted to admit. That was some quality clown babble. Buffy decided the best plan was to keep going as if he weren’t babbling like a brook. Possibly create a little breathing space as well.
"Willow, do you and Oz want to see what he'll tell you? Xander and I will keep an eye on the mystery cat."
"Sure, Buffy!"
~.~.~.~
"We're from the British Museum, here to see their current indigenous people’s exhibit and determine if we'll agree to their request to loan them part of our traveling collection," repeated Wes as the reached the entryway to the museum. "Yes, I think this ruse will work."
"Right," said Rupert. "May I suggest not offering those credentials until asked? Perhaps it won't be necessary.
He understood Rupert's nervousness. It would be dishonest to say he didn't feel a bit of it himself. But as his father always said, all energy could be channeled for one's own propose. Let the adventure begin.
They stood in the doorway, taking in the dozen or so persons in the first room. The light buzz of voices suggested more people around the corners in the other display areas. Wesley pulled at his cuffs, smoothing the lay of his dinner jacket. This was his environ - s, unlike that free-for-all called a high school. Here, in this place, their mission would be a success.
"Perhaps if we split up?" suggested Rupert. "The sooner we find the-"
"- bone pipe, the better!" finished Wes.
Giles glanced around, his unease clear, and in a low voice said, "I was going to say Dr. Koppenberg, but yes. Now if you'll excuse me, I believe the professor's office is off this way."
"If she's not in the exhibit area, then I should go with you," Wes suggested.
Rupert took off his glasses and used his pocket square to clean the glass. How did one pair of spectacles warrant so many smudges?
"While I cannot claim I've been a mover or shaker in Sunnydale," Rupert began, "I have been here long enough to have raised my profile to the point that I am more likely to be recognized. That would make our cover less than convincing, compromising this plan. You, on the other hand, would only be recognized by Principal Snyder, who is not a patron of the arts and exceedingly unlikely to be here. Then there are the Mayor and Faith. We're agreed it is unlikely they are tied to this matter and given his more pressing matters, unlikely to show. Mingle, see what you can learn. Besides, it should be an enjoyable exhibit."
"Yes! The Lost Colony of Roanoke. Did you know-"
"I am familiar with the case. Keep in mind we are both more familiar with the matter than the people here."
Wes bristled. "I can manage this quite well, thank you."
"I'm sure you can," Rupert conceded. "I'll be back as soon as possible."
"Rupert!" he called after they'd each taken steps in their prospective directions. "Shall we synchronize our watches?"
Rupert's mouth was in a tight line as he turned to answer. Shaking his head no, Rupert continued back down the hallway.
"Right, then." Perhaps that was a little too James Bond. Wesley moved into the room, accepting an offered glass of punch, and then studying the first placard with its history of the settlement.
"It's just so spooky, isn't it?"
Turning, Wes found himself next to a woman in a sapphire blue dress that she filled out very nicely indeed. Finding his tongue, his said, "Spooky?"
"The way they all just disappeared," she said.
"Oh, yes, the disappearance. Not so much a disappearance as a-" He was going on exactly the manner Rupert had warned him about. "My apologies. I'm going on and we haven't even been properly introduced."
"I'm Amanda Smith," she said extending her hand. "And you have the most delightful accent."
He took her extended hand. "Why thank you. I'm Wesley W-" Perhaps not wise to use his own surname. "Wesley Smythe."
"Smythe? What would be the odds of a Smith and Smythe meeting?" She smiled and drew closer to him, still holding his hand. "So what brings you here, Mr. Smythe?"
"I'm from the British Museum, here to see their current indigenous people’s exhibit and determine if we'll agree to their request to loan them part of our traveling collection."
~.~.~.~
Now that Buffy was in his sights, Angel found himself reluctant to approach her. She wouldn't recognize him and he had no decent way of communicating with her. Maybe it was better this way; maybe being turned into a cat would force him to do what he hadn't managed to resolve with Buffy. But before he could slink off, they had spotted him. And were talking about him. He had a white mark on his chest?
Buffy and Xander weren't just watching, they were crossing the street and slowly drawing closer. He crouched down, fighting the urge to run and reminding himself that they were friends, more or less. Buffy being the more and Xander the less, but regardless, they didn't mean him harm.
"Hey, cat," said Xander, crouching down and reaching out a hand.
Angel sat motionless, studying them, reluctant to return the greeting. What was wrong with him? It was as if he was taking on the cautious nature of a cat. He was the look Xander and Buffy exchanged, then she shrugged, kneeling down as well.
Buffy held out her hand to him. "Ah... thanks, cat for helping Wes. There would have been a lot of screaming and flailing around if you hadn't stepped into take care that rat." She sighed. "I wish I had some treats."
"We do!" said Willow, joining them.
"From the Magic Box?"
"Yeah, but they aren't magic treats. Oz killed a rat for Mr. Whitter, and he wanted to thank us, and I knew he had a cat - who was smaller than the rat, poor thing - and so when he asked what he could do, I asked for a cup of cat food."
Willow handed it to Buffy, who set it on the ground, and then they all turned and looked at him again. Not the most comfortable situation. He wondered if all cats felt this way.
"Here, kitty?" Buffy offered.
"Maybe we should give him a little space," suggested Oz.
"Good idea." Buffy and Xander both stood, moving back with the others.
Dried kibble was not Angel's idea of a good time, but he'd been reluctant to eat the demon rats he'd been killing. He moved forward, sniffing it. It smelled like chicken. Maybe he could pretend it tasted like chicken. Compared to what he usually ate, he couldn't complain. It didn't take long before it was gone and he found himself licking his paws and running them across his face. It worked well for getting the crumbs out of his whiskers.
"So what did she say about magic supplies?" asked Buffy.
"Nothing out of the ordinary. I guess that's good," said Willow. "She must have been hungry, poor thing."
Willow was doing a nice job of scratching just so between his ears, so he'd overlook that she'd mistaken his gender.
"I think he's a he," said Oz.
"How can you tell?" asked Xander.
"Smells male." Oz scrunched his nose. "And familiar. But I don’t know why."
Angel studied him. It made sense that a werewolf might recognize his scent.
"We should take him with us," suggested Willow. "Maybe to your house, Buffy? It's closest."
Buffy looked at Angel dubiously. "I don't know. Usually, me and cats? Unmixy things."
"You're not a cat person?" asked Willow.
"It's not that. I'm all about the cats, but cats are not Buffy persons."
"That's because you're a dog," said Oz.
"A dog." She was smiling, and Angel had a feeling it was due to Willow's look of horror at the comment. "I haven't been called that lately."
"It's your vibe. You've got a dog vibe. The way I have a wolf vibe. You should see the reaction if I'm within twenty feet of the pet store."
Buffy crouched down. "So how come you're not giving us the whole hair-on-end hissing cat routine?"
Angel placed his front paws on her knee. He couldn't resist kneading them slightly as he bumped his cheek against her hand. If anyone ever asked, he was blaming it all on cat instinct. Buffy ran her hand across the top of his head, along his back, and then was scratching right at the base of his tail. Oh… that was just…
"Normally I hate being pawed," she told him.
"Ah, but then maybe you've never been pawed properly," said Xander.
"If I didn't know better, Xander," said Buffy as she looked closely at Angel, "I'd swear this cat just rolled his eyes at you - and what big brown eyes you have."
"Everybody's a critic."
"Or has good taste," she teased. Then brushing a finger across the tops of his paws she added, "And I can't believe Wesley didn't mention the cute little tufts of fur between your toes."
Gently Buffy lifted his paws and set him to the ground before straightening up. "We should get home. The rats are getting more aggressive."
"But what about the cat?" Willow asked.
"If he follows us, I guess we'll have to take him in."
"And if he doesn't? Don't we need to keep him to show Giles?"
"We can't make him come with. He's way bigger than any normal house cat I've ever seen. Add in those teeth and claws? Short of going back and getting Giles' tranq gun, it's gonna have to be voluntary." Buffy leaned down, rubbing his head between his ears. "The good news is I think he wants to come with us. Won't you?"
Angel purred in agreement. As long as they let him stay nearby, somehow he'd figure out a way to communicate with them.
~.~.~.~
It had only been a hunch, but even so, Rupert was surprised to find the professor at her desk, a small lamp creating a pool of light in the darkness. Her black dress was appropriate for the event, yet she seemed oblivious to the fact it had started, her hair falling in a curtain as she studied some sort of book lying on her desk.
He knocked on her open door. "Professor Koppenberg?"
As she looked up, he noticed two things: the way her grip tightened around an object in her lap and the unusualness of her eyes - one was blue and one was brown.
"May I help you?" she asked.
He stepped into the room, wanting to get a better view of the book and the item she held. "I… I saw your light. Will you be coming down to the opening? I've heard that the ongoing theme of Mysteries of History was your idea."
"I'll be down in a bit. Once I finish this. You know how it is, a scholar is always too fascinated by the next thing to appreciate what's going on around her."
Her laugh was less than convincing, particularly given the tightness of her mouth and eyes. And in her attempt to better hide the object in her lap, he was privy to seeing a flash of white against the dark fabric, its shape right for the pipe.
"I do understand how… things can get away from one in the name of scholarship," he suggested.
"Do you?" she asked. Her tone suggested he had no idea. "Who are you?"
They'd been certain that the perpetrator's intentions were evil. What if they were something less malevolent? "Perhaps I am someone who can help."
part 3
~.~.~.~
Part 1