Fonts of Wisdom: Hollow Years (Epilogue) by Anya

The Slayer, Buffy Summers, was a lithe, rather short blonde girl with a heart-shaped face and full, sensuous lips, currently turned down at the corners. Wide hazel eyes shot her Watcher, a slightly stooped, aging Englishman wearing tweed clothes and fumbling with his glasses a pleading look. Currently she sat at the foot of the Christmas tree in the Summers house, looking for all the world like a rather put-out angel. "C'mon... can't it wait?"

"Well," Giles cleaned his glasses again self-consciously, "I... I doubt whatever's coming out of the Hellmouth would be willing to... to wait till tomorrow for you, Buffy... and you did say you booked some movie tickets?"

"Yep!" Willow, a cheerful-looking redhead bounced (there was no other word for it) in from the kitchenette, holding a batch of cookies. "We're all going to watch the Lord of the Rings." She winked at her best friend under the tree, and they both chorused, "Legolas."

"Oh, and try some of these?" she pushed the tray of cookies under Giles' nose. "They're sort of my conscience speaking," Willow added sheepishly. "For the cat thing I summoned two days ago. I'm really sorry."

"No biggie, Will," Buffy said, accepting a cookie, "The only damage that one did was when it ripped my Guess shirt." And gave Spike a free show, she added mentally. The vampire had been extremely appreciative - and irritating. Especially since now she couldn't stake him, since there was a chip in his head that disallowed him from helping humans - and he did help her during patrols, though the snarky comments got on her nerves.

"So... what's Giles wanting you to do?" a new voice drifted down from the staircase. Dawn Summers, Buffy's sister, peered down at them. "Buffy! Can I wear your green Gap shirt?"

"What was it you told me last week?" Buffy raised an eyebrow. "'Sis, you have the fashion sense of a stunned pigeon'?"

Giles looked around and felt that the situation was getting out of hand again. "Buffy, Cordelia got the vision that someone was coming out of the Hellmouth... "

"Yeah, a man in a trenchcoat smoking a cigarette, in the heart of a giant blue bird made out of flame. I heard." Buffy uncurled to her feet. "And you know what? I think he can wait. Xander and Anya are coming in a while, it's still afternoon and the sun is shining, so Spike, hopefully, won't be here. And you know what? All these things that come out from hell always do it at night, so... "

"We still have to be careful, Buffy," Willow said, putting down the tray of cookies on the table. "I mean, we looked in the books, me and Giles, and we've never heard of any blue birds of flame, unless you count the Chinese Phoenixes, an they're mostly gold or red. As to the man in the trenchcoat, lots of guys wear trenchcoats and smoke."

The doorbell rang, and Buffy went over to open the door - to reveal Xander and Anya, both holding presents. "Merry Christmas, Buffy!"

Buffy smiled, despite her irritation at the inconsiderate Hellmouth. After her mother had died of cancer - these people were her family now, and she would not allow them to get hurt. At that moment, she made her decision. "Okay, I'd go to the Hellmouth."

"I'd go with you!" Willow said quickly. "I might be able to stop it... I wrote down some spells... "

"Will... " Buffy began uncertainly. Willow had, over the years, begun to use magic more and more often, until even Giles had confided in Buffy that the magic-usage was beginning to worry him. Apparently magic was a drug - possibly one of the most potent of drugs, and Willow was beginning to get addicted.

"Hellmouth? What about the Hellmouth?" Xander asked, breaking into Buffy's reverie. "Oh no. Now? Another demon? You know, Buffy, we really should publish some sort of schedule in the demony world for you. Sort of with reminders like 'Do Not Show Up On Public Holidays'."

"Could be one." Buffy described Cordelia's vision to them, leaving out the conversation she'd had with Angel before that over the 'phone. He'd wanted to come over and help, but she couldn't bear to have his presence close again - a physical remonstrance over the big problem she had with relationships.

"We'd make it a group outing, then," Xander said cheerfully. "After the thing comes out, and Buffy kicks its ass, we can all go for ice-cream."

"No. No Spike." Buffy said firmly. "It's bad enough I have to patrol with him at night, but this is the daytime."

Dawn's answer was cut off by the sound of a car pulling up outside - a black DeSoto, Spike's car, with blackened windows.

"Never heard of that sort of demon before, Slayer," Spike drawled in his cockney British, a marked contrast from Giles' accent. Spike was a peroxide blonde vampire of Master rank, with ice-blue eyes, a foul mouth, prominent cheekbones and a long, lean body that was absolutely gorgeous. Buffy tried not to think about how he'd look without his black leather coat, red silk shirt and black leather pants as she sat in the seat next to the driver's seat, with everyone else behind. Or maybe just in his black leather coat... no! Bad Buffy!

"Uh? Oh right." Buffy said, looking down at her hands. One axe, check. Stakes, check. Crossbow... Xander has one, check. Giles and Willow were happily discussing spells of confinement. Dawn, after a lot of argument, had agreed to stay in the house, though Anya had come along, since she had the best chance of identifying the demon on the spot, having once been a demon herself.

Cordelia's vision had pinpointed where the demon - or whatever - would be coming out... in a place with far too many bad memories for Buffy - Angel's old mansion, where, once, to close the Hellmouth she had to send her beloved to hell with a sword and a kiss. Death would have been a gift to him in his period of torture in hell.

"Here we are, luv," Spike drove up to the mansion and under a particularly thick copse of trees where he could get out without frying.

The interior of the mansion was dusty and lifeless, the air strangely cool. Buffy led them down to where Angel had been sent into Hell, and later come out of it, and she was relieved to find that, as yet, nothing looked out of place.

"Shut up, Spike," Buffy said automatically. "Will, is there a way to determine if the Hellmouth's been open already?"

Then she realized the rest of them were staring at her - or more specifically, at a spot behind her. Spike reacted first, grabbing her arm and dragging her back to the rest, and she tried to shout something at him, but he wasn't paying attention.

A large, ghost-like gate had appeared in the wall, so large that the top seemed to extend past the ceiling above as if it were insubstantial. On the gate was a huge human skull, the dark sockets containing two pinpoints of red light.

The doors swung away ponderously with a sound like the roar of a thousand furnaces, and though there was no heat, the room was flooded with flickering orange-red light that seemed to emanate from inside the doors - though all they could see was a bubbling, jelly-like black wall.

From this wall, a vaguely hand-like shape appeared, pushing at it, as though the wall was some sort of curtain and something was trying to get out. It was eerie to watch, as another hand appeared, then both locked their fingers together in claws and tore outwards.

The wall ripped apart and they were assailed by a stench that nearly caused them to gag.

The accent was so much like Spike's that for a moment Buffy thought the vampire had spoken, but it was the man that was busily climbing out of the fast-closing gap in the wall, dressed in a light brown trenchcoat, a stained white shirt and dark trousers. He was of average height, with a shock of short blond hair that crowned his comely face and a sardonic set to his mouth, which was currently in a curl of annoyance. The man continued with a constant litany of curses that progressively got worse, but he didn't seem to notice them.

The portal, closing fast, gained on him before he could pull out his legs. Seeing this, the man looked back and growled, "Meri! C'mon, a bit of help here!" Instantly, he seemed to catch fire, inside the heart of a blue inferno that was shaped like a huge bird of fire, and Buffy saw that each feather was perfectly formed, and perfectly beautiful. The wall gave, and the man tumbled hard on the ground in an ungainly sprawl, then the gates disappeared. "Bugger." Behind him, the biggest panther that Buffy had ever seen jumped out, saw them, then froze.

The bird glanced at them piercingly, then seemed to recede into the man's body. He scrambled to his feet and looked at them sharply, then at their weapons. "Some welcomin' party. Is this Sunnydale, California?"

"What if it is?" Buffy hefted her axe, stepping forward menacingly. The panther growled a warning.

"Christmas?" the man sniggered at some irony that he saw in this. "Funny world, innit? That's rich."

"John Constantine," Spike snapped his fingers, as if suddenly remembering. "S' you, innit? The last of your lot."

"You're a Constantine?" Giles stuttered. "That descended from Kon-sten-tyn who took the throne after King Arthur?"

Buffy looked at Giles, then at Spike, then back again. "Um, Giles... so do I slay him, or not?"

The man stared at her. "Great. Why'd I always run into psychotic maniacs after me blood?"

"Yep. She's the Slayer," Xander piped in from behind her. "Slayer. Slays demons, see?"

"Though the Constantine family is heavily involved in the darker bits of magic," Spike said idly. "Summat once told me that all of you - save one so far - lead violent lives, and die violent deaths."

"Bit of a family curse, that," John agreed. "Me ancestor's fault. Kon-sten-tyn."

"Hey, Slayer, not so fast with the stakes now," Spike protested. "'Twas a long time ago. When Angel was still Angelus... though then I was going around with Dru. That Constantine was a vicious bastard. Nearly shot off me head with a shotgun." He smirked. "I still have it around somewhere."

"If you are a Constantine... and human... then why are you coming out of Hell?"

"I'm not fully human," Constantine slipped his hands into his trenchcoat pockets. "Though that wasn't entirely my fault. As to Hell - it's a bit of a long story."

"You'd have to tell us," Giles said, "So we can be... be sure that nothing else's going to happen to the Hellmouth."

The man gave all of them a once-over, then seemed to think about it. "Any of you got Silk Cut?"

Spike reached into his pockets, and tossed him a packet of cigarettes and matches. Constantine smiled, lit one, and began puffing on it as though his life depended on it. Between smokes he agreed to go along. "Not like I've got anythin' else to do now."

"If I remember, this one has a chock-load of enemies," Spike pointed out. "One of which rules one of the planes of Hell. Not a very good guest."

They stared at him, and he smirked. "That plane just got a change of government."

"I'd tell you, luv... once I smoke a few more of these, get some decent beer, and a good, long shower."

"Lloth has spoken," Matron Malice, dressed in her finest robes and seated on her throne, raised her voice. She looked out over the Do'Urden family - if family could be such a word to describe them. Zaknafein, who did not meet her eyes, staring fixedly at the ground from where he knelt, his piwafwi shrouding the ground around him, two swords only visible by the hilts. Nalfein, next to him, mage robes gracefully pooling around him, his elaborate mage staff of a strange, magic-induced mixture of obsidian and adamantite that ended in a life-like carving of a deep dragon's head. The mouth held a circular plaque of jade in a strange shade of dark gray-green. Dinin, whose eyes darted around the room constantly, dressed similarly as Zaknafein, but whose expression was one of cold calculation. Rizzen, the patron with his pretty face and mediocre mage skills, who occasionally glanced with veiled dislike at Nalfein.

Then the females, who stood nearer to the throne - proud Vierna, cruel Briza, whose snake whip hissed and twisted itself into knots, and submissive Maya.

"She wishes to walk a material plane of waning magic, far from ours, to gain power from it and usurp the position of the newest - and inexperienced - Prince of Hell," Malice continued. "The Council has given us an artifact of potent magic to send Nalfein to this plane, with instructions on how to open its Hellmouth in the prescribed manner and allow Lloth to walk free. This would be the first test of Nalfein's new rank of Mage Lord."

"Make sure you succeed," Malice said coldly. "Or your punishment would be terrifying - and without end."

Shoshuna hummed a lilting tune as she closed up the playing board, while the rest of them talked about the game in the relatively relaxed tone of voice one had when one was reminiscing.

"Pity it didn't work," N'avsh agreed. "And now there is chaos in Hell. I like it."

"Well, if Morikan hadn't made those high throws to get the weapon and the save-chance against mine, I'd have won," GrayWolf said a little sulkily. "As it is, the entire thing is so damned pat."

He opened up his palm, and the figurine of a smoking human in a trenchcoat, as well as a figurine of a large panther and a dark elven female wielding two daggers, appeared in it. He closed his fist, and the figurines seemed to melt into his hands, flowing back into his spirit.

Little Notes and References:

DeSoto: Actually, I'm not really sure if this is Spike's, but nevermind. Heh. Yes, as you have no doubt guessed, I have a crush on Spike, and I'm a Buffy/Spike shipper.

Anya: I would like to state that I took on my nickname 'Anya' before the Anya on Buffy came out on television in Singapore. I don't like Buffy's Anya... she was cool at first, as Anyanka, the feminist vengeance demon, but after she turned human - bleh.

Timeline: This Buffy crossover would be in the time after Buffy's mom Joyce has died of cancer, Season 5. Technically, if I were to follow canon, Tara, Willow's girlfriend would be around, as well as Riley, but I hate both Tara and Riley, so they're out of the story. I need Willow to be straight in this story (heh), and if Riley was in the story, he'd be violently killed, plunging the story into 'R', so he'd be conveniently out of it. Actually I hate Dawn too, but she's necessary here.

"I'm going to rush a little," Zaknafein said, feeling self-conscious talking to the computer, and extremely irritated, as he always did when he had to help the Author with her stupid stories. "The Author has gone downstairs to meet the members of her considerable extended family, and so I'm left to talk about this story myself."

"I feel like a total idiot doing this," Zaknafein muttered to himself. "Ah hell. To get it over with - the next story, unless the Author changes her considerably scatter-brained mind, would be a Hellblazer cross with Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Dark Elf. No doubt the plot would get extremely obvious from chapter one, as it always does."

He took a fortifying drink from a half-full balloon glass of wine next to the computer, and continued. "Also, there will be mentions of the movie 'The Lord of the Rings', whatever that is, because the Author is currently mad over one of the surfacer elves in it. Played by a human." Zaknafein sneered. "I don't see why - I've seen prettier faces, but I suppose you humans have to settle for beauty that is in human limits... "

There was a growl behind him, and Zaknafein whirled around, swords drawn. Nothing met his suspicious eye. "Hmph. I think the Author may have put watchdogs in this room... " he murmured. "Damn. As I was saying, she likes this elf called 'Legolas'. Wallpaper on her computer, screensaver, and so far, forty-over pictures saved into the computer. She's a very pathetic person."

The growl was louder and more menacing this time. "What?" Zaknafein told it irritably. "Humans."

"She'd just got Throne of Bhaal, but with any luck, she won't write on it," Zaknafein smirked. "I have no idea why she keeps using Nalfein now either, but I don't really care."

The voices downstairs got louder, and Zaknafein froze as he heard footsteps approaching the closed door, as well as a babble of female voices. Somewhere in it was the Author, trying without much success to divert her relatives away from her room.

"Vith," Zaknafein muttered, glancing at the last thing on his list to say and skipping all the content in the middle. "Right. Merry Christmas to you lot. Goodbye."

As the door opened and several of the Author's aunts wandered in to poke at things, Zaknafein had already disappeared. At the doorframe, the Author let out a sigh of relief.