18: Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing

Chapter 18: Part 1. “Things won are done; joy's soul lies in the doing.” (Shakespeare)

Three pools of light lit the entrance lobby of the Hyperion Hotel. At the check-in desk, beneath the glare of the lamp, the shadowed figures of Wesley, Lorne and Drogyn hunched over the open Watcher’s Diary, their voices hushed.

“So each of our warriors represents one of the five elements,” Wesley concluded. “The four of matter; earth, air, fire, and water - by Buffy, Angel, Spike, and Connor. The fifth, the quintessential spirit, by…” Wesley flinched.

“By the name Spike so quaintly coined ‘Frillyria,“ Lorne finished. “That about sums it up, yes.”

“Just as knowing the true name of that which calls itself Wolfgang Hartram gives us power to summon him into our presence and banish him from this dimension…” Drogyn looked up from the Watcher’s Diary. “So when we shall find her true name it shall ensure the permanence of Winifred’s soul in this earthly form.” He turned his gaze towards the main staircase.

Beneath the stairwell, Willow and Fred shared floor-space with a large sheet of paper, a standard lamp, and Willow’s laptop, their girlish voices rising and falling at each new calculation and discovery.

"Illyria's a god born of chaos. Determined to bring a new order and all." Fred clutched Feigenbaum tighter.

"Right," Willow said. "Isn't it strange? It's always the gods of destruction that are loved the most in every culture."

"Feared the most, you mean."

"Well, that too."

Fred peered more closely at the screen. "Time can only exist because of the second law, the displacement of order…"

"When Illyria walks in time and dimensions, then at some point she is always you," Willow concluded placing her hand on Fred's shoulder.

Fred’s irises turned blue. “When I so choose. ” Illyria removed Fred’s spectacles.

“There is no choice. You can’t ride roughshod over the laws of physics,” Willow countered. “It’s all in the math.” She studied the diagram on the floor between them.

“Or…” She added the final letter to Connor’s name. “A combination of kabbalah-math and magic.”

“Magic incantations are merely consonant representations of mathematical transfiguration formulae,” said Fred pushing her spectacles back into place. “At least, that’s my theory.”

“This power of magic and science combined is what The Senior Partners sought to forestall by having Angel kill me.” Drogyn left Wesley’s side and joined Angel in the middle of the lobby. “They endeavoured to conceal the truth about Fred’s soul.”

Five candles flickered at the faintly marked points of the old pentagram. At its centre stood the mirror Illyria had rescued from City Hall. On the circular lobby bench beside the topmost point of the star, Angel watched Connor working his way down a pile of sandwiches on the table in front of them.

“You gonna leave some of those for the others?” Angel asked Connor.

“Hmmm?” Connor replied swallowing. “Oh, Sorry. I thought these were for me.”

“They are,” Buffy called over her shoulder from the other side of the seating. She got up, stepping over Spike who was stretched out on the floor, his eyes closed. “Are you sure about pairing Spike with me?” she asked lowering her voice. “”What with that chunk of missing memory, he’s…”

“He’s right here,” said Spike gruffly. “Hearing department in full vampire working order.” He rose to his feet and lit a cigarette from the candle flame at the lower right hand point of the pentangle. “In fact, back to full working order in every department.” He tapped his temple. “Firing on all cylinders.”

“You got your memory back?” Angel joined him beside the guttering candle.

“The second Frilly returned.” Spike exhaled in Angel’s face. “Yeah, ya big poof. I’m back. And itchin’ to kick some demon arse… No offence,” he grinned at Lorne.

“Spike…” Buffy left her seat and moved towards him.

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “Now’s not the time,” he said evenly as she reached for his hand. “Got a job to do. Second chance at putting things to rights thanks to Drogyn and Lorne.” He stubbed the cigarette out on the candleholder and snuffed the flame between finger and thumb with his other hand. “Right. Candles mark the spot. What’s next?”

“Choose your weapons,” said Lorne leaving Wesley’s side and moving towards the circle. “Then it’s lights, camera, action!”

“Now?” Angel glanced anxiously at Connor. “So soon? I thought I’d have more time…” He paused and appealed to Drogyn, his face crumpling. “I’m not happy with the whole ‘son fighting alongside the father’ thing. He never wanted… He has another life now. He never wanted any of this.”

“It’s OK, Dad.” Connor placed a hand on Angel’s arm. “Where else could I go? The Senior Partners gave me a family and took it away again. You’re my family and they tried to take that away too.” He picked a hunting knife from the collection Lorne had deposited on the table. “It’s payback time.”

“It is more than that, young one,” said Drogyn. “The Senior Partners spent much trouble trying to rid this world of you. They fear that you might do what Angel had tried and failed.” He took the knife from Connor’s hand and replaced it carefully in its sheath. “Destroy them.”

“Or at least return them to another dimension in a form from which there is no easy escape,” said Wesley placing three books beside the mirror.

“Who’da thought the Pilean laws governing physical properties would ever come in handy here?” Willow said brightly. “Just goes to show….” She stared at the faint outline on the floor. “You drew this to try to open a portal to Qu’or Toth? No wonder it didn’t work. It’s all wonky.” She glared at Angel. “And I bet you drew it in the wrong order. Did you even use a sword for an athame?”

“Athame?” Angel studied the floor. “It’s not that wonky.”

“It’ll have to be done again - accurately.” Fred joined Willow. “Wesley, would you go through the plan one more time while Willow and I prepare a new summoning pentagram and binding circle.”

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“Don’t you just love Suppes’ argument that hylomorphism offers a better conceptual framework than atomism for the Standard Model of elementary particles,” Fred asked excitedly handing Willow a jug. “One vessel. Fresh rainwater.”

“Both theories try to determine what exactly remains unchanged,” replied Willow looking round at the uncomprehending faces of her audience. She placed the jug beside the mirror and removed the old candles from their holders. “If nothing remained unchanged, then one would have no order at all because the change would be 100 percent chaotic.”

“Does everyone understand?” asked Wesley as he deposited the pile of weapons on the small table beside the lobby bench.

“You mean do we know what all that mumbo jumbo about numbers and kabbals and mathematical transfiguration formulae means?” Spike shook his head. "Not a jot." He picked up a sword and strode to the position marked as his on Willow's diagram. "Does it matter?"

"No." Willow grinned at him and indicated to Buffy where she should stand.

"Now the part about dicing, slicing and dismembering. That I get." Spike took the sword from its scabbard. "Just tell me what’s my target."

“You’ve got the brain,” replied Wesley.

“That’s debatable,” muttered Buffy sulkily.

“And Buffy, you’re his backup,” reminded Willow, passing her the axe. “Instinct versus reason.”

“Fred, you take out the heart.” Wesley handed her two blades without looking at her. “Reason and power striking at the seat of sentiment.” He turned away from her before adding, “I believe it would be wise for you to assume Illyria’s form.”

“Angel, You take the balls…”

Spike snorted.

“And act as back up for Connor,” finished Wesley, placing the hilt of a Chinese Dao in Connor’s hand. “Heart and emotion combating instinct.”

"Will it work?" Angel asked picking up a sabre and taking his place at the top left-hand point of the pentangle.

“You mean can we destroy the indestructible combination of the Senior Partners and The First intent on bringing about Armageddon, trapping the former in here and banishing the latter?” Wesley opened each of the three books, revealing their empty pages. “If Willow and I can hold the pairs together, we’ve got a fighting chance.”

“Better odds than your Dad’s suicide mission against ‘em, at any rate.” Spike grinned at Connor. “Never thought Mr It-takes-pure-artistry would throw caution to the wind and fling himself into a fight he knew he couldn’t win.”

“Maybe I learned a little from you after all.” Angel squared his shoulders, hoisting the sabre high as Willow began the summoning spell. “Not that I’d ever admit it.”

“Places everyone,” said Lorne shakily. “Don’t forget your cues. It’s Showtime!”