Part Thirty-six: Burning
They were losing. Justine was certain of it. She didn’t know exactly why the skies were turning red, but she knew it was a bad omen.
“Wesley blew it, didn’t he?” asked Faith, under her breath. Justine nodded blankly. Neither woman took their eyes off Doc, who stood brandishing a sword at them. Connor was behind them, standing between Xander and Dawn. Marcie seemed to have disappeared. More so.
“Well, then,” said Doc. “Seems we have a bit of a problem. The pocket dimension is gone.”
“Does that mean …” stuttered Faith.
“Sure does,” said Doc. “Means the dimensional gateways to Earth are beginning to open. Pretty soon it’ll be tourist season for pan-dimensional visitors.”
“We have to get to Wesley,” said Justine.
“Go,” said Faith. “I can take him.”
“Oh, by all means,” said Doc, and it bothered Justine just how level and friendly his voice remained. “You see to your friend. The lady and I will finish up here, and I’ll catch up.”
Doc’s smile was the most frightening thing she’d ever seen. Justine glanced once more at Faith, to be certain, and as soon as she did, Faith leapt forward, she and Doc embraced in combat. Justine ran.
She didn’t know where she was going, so she just ran on instinct. Minutes passed, and she seemed drawn to an electric hum in the air, a subliminal pulsing of energy. She followed it, and it led her to a gargantuan temple, as ruined and monolithic as everything else here–A house for gods that no longer existed.
Justine entered cautiously. The Watcher, Giles, was unconscious on the floor. The witch, Willow, was down, too—injured and bleeding. And Amy stood in the middle of a mystical vortex, a whirlwind of energy engulfing her. Her skin seemed on fire, and she was screaming.
“Amy,” said Justine, tentatively reaching her hand toward the engulfed witch. “What’s happening? What are you doing?”
“She’s … holding the flood gates closed,” said a weak voice. It was Willow. “Can’t … help her. Too … weak.”
“Who did this?” said Justine, panic running through her veins like ice water. “Where’s Wesley? Where’s…”
“Ethan,” said Willow, obviously near blacking out. She needed medical attention immediately. “Betrayed …”
Amy seemed to stare out of the flame at Justine. The energies were tearing at her—Justine could see the agony etched on her face. She didn’t know what …
“Will,” muttered the Watcher, starting to come too. Justine looked to the young witch lying bleeding, and realized she’d already removed her jacket to try and staunch the wound.
“No,” said the Watcher, pointing toward Amy. “Lend her … your will.”
There were things she knew to her bone. She knew she was a slayer—albeit one that was called among many. And she knew slayers served Watchers, although Buffy had broken that rule, too. And she knew that what Watchers did was sacrifice their slayers for the greater good. This was why she’d been called: to be sent to her death.
Justine didn’t reply. She just stepped to the edge of the fire, and without a word, she thrust her arm into the flame, grabbing Amy’s hand. The energy was consuming both of them now. She felt the heat down to her bones, to her cell structure. There wasn’t a part of her that wasn’t on fire. She clenched Amy’s hand tight, and grit her teeth. She didn’t scream, and her tears evaporated as she burned in silence.