TITLE: 'Out of Africa' 19/31
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.

"You are sure about this?" Albrecht Kaskal said, puzzled. "The statue, the tablet and the staff - all mentioned in the myth?"

"Yes, yes," Wesley answered enthusiastically. "Look - here, and here - the tablet mentions Lilithu by name. And these glyphs - the ones set apart between the cartouches? They describe the wording for the ritual. You see?"

The older man frowned. "Well," he agreed reluctantly, "it certainly looks as if that is the case … Dr. Webber's work does seem to indicate that those who carved tablet also believed that the statue held the spirit of this evil goddess. You say that the translation is incomplete?"

{We really don't have time for this …}

The Slayer was busy watching the darkness of the outside world, anxiously waiting for the Watcher to finish what they came for. She knew he was doing his best, but it didn't seem enough somehow. She wished - she really wished - that Giles was there, adding his own particular influence to the debate. She missed him; missed his stalwart support, his comforting presence; missed his input and his perspective; missed his wisdom - and his resolute courage, which always armoured her own. Her sense of impending menace had been growing stronger and stronger. She'd been hard put not to start pacing, certain that - any moment now - hell was going to break loose, and she'd find herself in the middle of it.

As usual.

Cordelia was hovering at Wesley's elbow, trying very hard not to look bored, and Buffy began to wonder if bringing her along had been an entirely good idea. She'd proved herself relatively capable when faced with the average vampire, but the creatures they might be about to confront were anything *but* average. It was, however, far too late to suggest that she leave. Night had fallen, and the streets were no longer safe for anyone to walk them unescorted. Even waiting in the car would be a bad idea - especially with who knew how many of Lilithu's brood about to make an appearance. Buffy had initially hoped that they'd get the last lines of the ritual, persuade Albrecht to lend them the staff and then be able to confront the vampiress in a location of *their* choosing - but that was looking less and less likely as time went on.

For one thing, Kalskal was asking so many questions that Wesley hadn't been able to concentrate on locating the missing lines. For another, the German was so sceptical about the whole idea of his missing statue actually being the one the tablet described, that it was looking less and less likely that he'd even let them *handle* the staff, let alone walk away with it.

{Come on, come *on* …}

Buffy turned to glower impatiently at the scholarly pair arguing over a dusty piece of stone. Didn't Wesley know how important this was? The Englishman glanced up as she turned, his look conveying an echo of her own edginess, and her anger retreated a little. He was trying his best - and the elderly German was being justifiably stubborn, since the Watcher had, understandably perhaps, decided against taking the approach which began, 'actually your statue is Lilithu and she's on her way here to reclaim the staff.' Without that explanation, the need for urgency was very hard to justify.

"Perhaps if I had time to study the papers," Kalskal suggested, taking the tablet out of Wesley's hands and carefully placing it back on its plinth. "The tablet has resisted my attempts to translate more than a fragment of it - and I am not certain how much of Dr. Webber's work will reflect the misconceptions of his era. These glyphs are much older than the ones on the Rosetta stone, you know."

"Yes, yes, I know," Wesley agreed patiently, darting sideways glances at the section he was interested in. "If I could just …"

Just *what*, neither Buffy nor Albrecht Kalskal would ever know.

Because time had run out.

The smash of glass heralded the attack. A snarling figure leapt through one of the larger windows, scattering fragments everywhere. A second vampire crashed through the unlocked side door, and a third came howling through the skylight, tearing its way through a hanging Indian carpet to land, crouched and snarling, practically at Buffy's feet. A hot, fierce wind tore into the room with them. It swept away photo-laden panels, ripped hangings down from the walls and sent carefully printed labels fluttering high into the air.

Kalskal stepped back with a startled curse as a creature straight out of a nightmare loomed up in front of him. Cordelia screamed.

So did Wesley.

Not entirely without justification, it had to be said. Taloned claws had raked in his direction, ripping their way through the sleeve of his jacket as he'd jumped away. The vampire lunged after him and he hastily dodged behind a nearby display case, looking decidedly terrified.

Buffy moved like lightning, spinning round to kick away the nearest vampire as it scrambled back to its feet. The blow took it firmly in the shoulder and sent it flying - straight through a stack of tribal drums and onto the top of a nearby table case. The case immediately collapsed under the creature's weight, spilling a mixture of glass, broken pottery and stone axes across the floor.

She didn't wait to see whether the thing got up or not. She was already half a step away, turning to confront the next one; it too, went flying, crashing through several flimsy panels and taking half the Koenigsberg family tree with it.

"Buffy " Wesley squeaked, still playing dodge and feint around the exhibits with the third vampire. "Help I mean - aah -your assistance would be - eep - much appreciated "

She took three steps in his direction, her expression creasing with a hint of amused exasperation, then turned back as the main doors of the exhibition flew open with decided force, driven by another gust of the unearthly wind. Two more of the feral, snarling vampires loped in.

And Lilithu arrived.

She swept in with regal authority, her hands lifted to direct the fury of the wind which had preceded her. Display panels tumbled like dominoes, the intricately constructed walkways which had filled the centre of the room unravelled into scattered fragments, leaving a semi-cleared space that offered little obstruction to the vampire's view. Her eyes glanced round the room, alighting - first on Buffy, then on the rest of her company; on Kalskal, who'd nobly pushed Cordelia behind him, and on Wesley cowering behind angled glass. Her smile, which started out arrogant and amused, tightened briefly with a hint of anger - and then relaxed back into a confident sneer.

"Well," she said, gesturing at her brood to stay where they were. "This is a surprise. I was not expecting to see the Slayer tonight - and yet here you are, ready to witness my triumph. I see they sent you a second Watcher. Did they despair so quickly of the first?" She took a few paces forward, down the steps into the main body of the hall. Buffy watched her move closer, her eyes narrowing as she judged the distance between them. There had to be a way to keep her - and the rest of her brood - busy, at least until Wesley could complete the translation and begin the ritual. She hoped he had the sense - and the courage - to begin edging back towards the tablet.

"Have you no care? No loyalty, child?" Lilithu was looking at her with cruel amusement. "To seek another's guidance while a faithful heart lies stricken in your service? Perhaps it was a kindness that I took him from you. You could not protect him. Do you think to guard this one any better than you did the last?"

That was a low blow. Buffy took a step forward, her eyes flashing with anger and her fists balling up with fury. "That's far enough," she said tightly. "You're not in Egypt or Africa any more. You're on my turf, sister , and you are going down."

"Am I?" The vampire laughed softly. "Such spirit in one so young. Such anger. Such *certainty*. But I am Lilithu, and I am eternal. I am the giver of life and death; in *my* hands lies the fate of the world."

"Oh, give me a break," Buffy said with a roll of her eyes. "Bad enough I have to fight you guys. Do I have to listen to the speeches too?"

Lilithu's eyes flashed with a sudden hint of anger. "You have no sense of courtesy," she snapped. "Nor do you understand who it is you face. Your defiance is merely irritation; you are lucky that it amuses me to see you exercise it."

The Slayer blinked at her. "And we learned to speak English in *which* century?" she enquired sarcastically. "Look -are we going to do this, or what? Because I do have other things to do, even if you don't. Like get on with my life?"

Somewhere off to her left, she glimpsed Wesley inching his way back along the mask decorated wall, trying not to look conspicuous about it. That was good. That was what she needed him to do.

"Your life is mine," the vampiress considered coldly. "And you have only kept it so far because I have promised it to another." The cold look became a calculating smile. "One who cherishes it above his own."

{Giles …}

Buffy shivered, despite a determination not to. "What have you done with him?" she asked, keeping her voice low and her tone resolutely fierce. "Where is he?"

"At my side," Lilithu laughed, crooking her finger to beckon someone - or something - in from behind her. "And in my service." She turned her head and issued a soft command - one phrased in her own, ancient tongue. A shadowed figure shuffled forward, stepping obediently to its mistress' side.

"Mein Gott," Kalskal exclaimed. Wesley drew in a shocked breath. Cordelia let out a little shriek of disgust and horror.

And Buffy's blood ran cold.

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