TITLE: 'Out of Africa' 17/31
AUTHOR: Pythia
E-MAIL: pythia@tiscali.co.uk
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Productions, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the UPN Television Network. The story is written for the pleasure of the author and readers, and has no lucrative purpose whatsoever. Please do not reproduce this story anywhere without the author's consent.

POSTING NOTES: *.* is for emphasis. {.} denotes thought and [.] implies translation from another language.

The museum was closing; security guards could be seen ushering a couple of late visitors through the door and down the steps just as Wesley pulled the car into the car park. "We're too late," he observed with a frown. "We'll have to come back tomorrow."

"Uhuh," Buffy objected. "Not tomorrow. Tomorrow's too late. *Way* too late." Her sense of impatience had been growing all day. She knew that they were running out of time, that - if they didn't act quickly - they might not have a chance to act at all. Some of that was driven by memories of the feral vampires and the carnage they'd wrought at the Bronze. Each night that passed gave the vampiress time to spawn more of her savage brood. Too many innocent souls had already succumbed to her hungry kisses - only to rise again as creatures filled with an insatiable appetite for blood. That fact alone would have been reason for urgency - but now there was another factor, another concern which tightened the knot in her guts and demanded that they act, and act *now*. Somewhere, out there in the gathering dark, the sorceress was busy crafting the key to her liberation; planning to use the essence of a stolen soul in order to deceive the ancient magics which had once been stolen from *her*. If she succeeded in gaining control of the staff, she would be unstoppable.

Buffy couldn't bear the thought of it - or that of her Watcher being used and abused in such a gross and unspeakable way. She'd tried to imagine what it would be like, to picture the unspeakable torment he was being forced to endure - and her mind had skittered away in dismay, unwilling to face the picture it was painting. She *couldn't* imagine it, couldn't encompass the horror of being trapped and helpless, captive to another's will - let alone being forced to become the instrument that would unleash Lilithu's true power on the world.

She had seen how much Giles had suffered, fighting the spell which had ensnared him; if what they'd uncovered were true, then it had been no more than a hint of what he had to be suffering now. Every second that they delayed was one too many.

"So what do you suggest?" Wesley was asking pointedly. "We break in and *steal* the tablet and the staff?"

Buffy threw him a look; this was hardly the time to become concerned about the niceties of the law.

"Yes," she answered. "No, wait …" She'd been scanning the building, wondering about the best way to get into it and noticed that there were still lights on in the exhibition hall. That meant someone was still working there - and with any luck, that would be Albrecht, and they could persuade him to let them in. "I think I can get us in. Come on."

She led the way across the grass and down the side of the building, Wesley and Cordelia following close behind. She wasn't entirely sure why Cordelia had elected to join the museum party, rather than the one bound for the hospital, but she suspected it had something to do with the list of spell ingredients Willow had sent Xander and Oz in search of. Powdered serpent's tongues, crocodile teeth, honey and dried lotus leaf had been okay - and then she'd balked at the need for a live cat and a freshly shed snake's skin. Buffy hadn't been entirely happy about the cat either - but Will had assured her that the animal would come to no harm. 'Kitties are sacred things,' the young witch had said, then had added, a little worriedly, 'I hope Giles isn't allergic …'

Buffy didn't think he was; he certainly hadn't been worried about the zombie cat that had invaded her house that time. Although that had been *dead*, and … her mind skittered across that sudden memory, recalling the stink of rotting flesh. She shuddered, hastily focusing on other things, like the fact that she'd arrived at the outer door of the exhibition hall, and there was someone there, locking up.

"Erm - Hi," she smiled at the uniformed guard. "We're here to see Dr. Kalskal? We have some - papers he wanted to see."

The guard looked the three of them up and down for a moment; two young, smartly dressed women and a studious looking man in an equally studious suit. Cordelia was the one clutching the file containing all the translations. She gave the man a radiant smile, one designed to convince him that she was an efficient, hard working secretary, and he half smiled back before recollecting himself with a frown.

"I dunno …" he started to say.

"I - I can assure you we won't be long," Wesley interrupted, responding to the subtle jab Buffy made with her elbow. "Um - I've just recently arrived from England, and - uh - I'm in possession of certain materials that I know Dr. Kalskal will be eager to receive."

This clearly clinched it; the guard relaxed and nodded, reaching to throw open the door. "Okay," he said. "Tell the Doc I'll come back and lock up in an hour or two."

"Thank you," Buffy smiled, slipping through the door before he changed his mind. He grunted and moved away, leaving Wesley to look slightly astonished at their success.

"I say," he said. "That was easier than I expected."

"It's the accent," Cordelia told him adoringly. "Makes you sound all - official and stuff."

"It does? Oh yes," he smiled. "I suppose it does."

Buffy grimaced, grabbing his jacket to pull him into the building. "Come on," she said. "Let's see if it works on Albrecht."

It did. It worked wonders. Especially when Wesley tugged out the faxes of Webber's notes and generously offered to leave the copies with him if - just for a moment - he might get a closer look at the tablet? So as to confirm that the translation was complete? Kalskal was delighted to oblige, practically beaming at Buffy and Cordelia as he led the three of them to the relevant cabinet. Wesley immediately went into paroxysms of scholarly enthusiasm, pointing out the way that Webber had been able to reconstruct some of the damaged areas of the text, and matching translated lines with the carving on the original. Kalskal nodded and agreed, while Cordelia desperately tried to look as is she knew what they were talking about. Buffy left them to it and wandered across to where the staff hung in its glass case. She couldn't help thinking that it should be *Giles* standing there, cradling the tablet as if it were the most precious thing in the world, and a part of her resented the enthusiasm of the younger man, along with the intrusion he represented.

{Still,} she rationalised, staring up at the intricate carving and the amber bands that spiralled around the polished ivory, {if he wasn't here, I probably wouldn't be here either …}

She and the Scoobies might have figured out the link between Lilithu and the staff, but without Wesley's connections with the council, they'd have never got hold of Webber's translations or worked out the stuff about the ritual. Giles, she suspected, might have been able to translate the tablet without the notes - but that, of course, was why the demoness had attacked him. Why she had targeted him in the first place.

It was also why his Slayer still wrestled with a deep seated and bitter sense of guilt. She should have protected him, should have stopped Lilithu before she had a chance to wreak her magic - before she could carry out her cruel and audacious theft.

She lifted her hand to splay it across the cold glass, using its chill to centre and focus her resolve. As soon as she'd arrived and seen the staff, she'd *known*. Known that Lilithu was on her way - was coming *here*, tonight - and whatever she should have done, whatever 'might haves' or 'what ifs' plagued her, there was no escaping the truth of what she was about to face. Wesley had recognised it - and warned her as best he could, as gently as he'd been able.

The Mother of eternal hungers had to be stopped - no matter what it took, no matter what the cost.

Unless Willow could conjure another last minute miracle, unless she could find a way to break the demoness' spell - then the price Buffy would be asked to pay might turn out to be more than she could bear.

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