Eddy watched the neon lights of the bar across the street flickering in the rain as he sat on the worn old stool of his favourite diner, nursing a half-eaten cheeseburger and a chocolate shake. The bar was a frequent stop for his brother, Carlos -- just as it had been for their late father. Both men, in turn, had left a young Eduardo sitting on that very stool, while they drowned their sorrows in a bottle or four of the house beer. How he wished was old enough to partake of the Rivera tradition.
Fighting with Kylie had always stung a little, but it was nothing he hadn't been used to. Carlos, his father, kids at school .... His whole life had been nothing but fodder for their laughs at his expense. He'd known his own worth, and it amounted to a whopping nada. At least, it had 'till he'd joined the Ghostbusters.
Sure, Garrett, Kylie, and even Roland still teased him, but he knew they were his friends. With them, he'd actually started to do something with his life; he'd finally found his calling. Being bitten by a werewolf, rather than making things worse, had only made them better; gaining strength, speed, and fast healing did a lot to make him fearless as well. And when Kylie had told him that she loved him, believed in him, well ... he suddenly had a life outside ghostbusting, too. For the first time in his life, he had entertained the idea of settling down with a family of his own.
For a while, life was bliss.
But lately, things had slid back to the way they were six months ago, just before Ed and Ky had started dating, if not even further back. Everything he did seemed to irritate her. Being brave, throwing himself at danger, it didn't impress her; if anything, it just seemed to piss her off. But was he supposed to just stand there when his lady was in danger? How could he, when he was nigh invulnerable and she was not? He couldn't take the smallest risk of something happening to her, not when it was within his ability to prevent it. But now when she taunted him, it hurt, and far worse than it ever had before.
He rubbed the tiny "wonga bag" charm, with it's worn gold thread stitched into a pentagram on the front, hanging from a cord around his neck. Then he pulled it loose, leaving it, and its herbal contents, to lie on the counter, the cord snapped in two.
Outside the diner, a few blocks away, Roland, Garrett, and Egon weren't really any happier. They'd been out looking for Eddy half the night. They were tired and hungry -- and worried.
"You're sure he'll be there?" Egon asked, sounding skeptical. For a man who spent his life chasing paranormal activity, he always sounded skeptical.
"Where else would he be? We tried his place, the arcade, the theatre, the park -- nobody's seen him. This is the last place to look."
"And if he's not there?" Roland wondered.
Neither Garrett nor Egon had an answer.
From his window seat, Eduardo saw a familiar red and white vehicle roll into view. He scrambled together his things, handed the waitress a ten-note, and beat a hasty retreat through the kitchen, into the back alley. The wonga bag lay forgotten on the counter.
Drenched to the bone and obviously chilled, three men came stumbling -- or in the case of one, wheeling -- into the diner.
"Oh, you poor things!" cooed the gum-smacking, middle-aged waitress at them, in a New York drawl. "Come in, come in, sit y'selves down, we got a fresh pot a coffee for ya." She immediately started pouring them each a cup, with the practiced ease and grace that comes from decades of experience.
Egon started cleaning the rain off his glasses. "Oh, thank-you, but no, really," he told her. "We just came in looking for our friend, Eduardo." Glasses moderately dried, he looked around. "And I see he's not here ..."
Indeed, the diner was empty.
"Oh, Eddy? Yeah, he was here." She scrubbed at a table with a rag, even though it was clear no one had been seated at it since the last time anyone had cleaned it. "He left a while ago, though."
Roland moaned.
Garret was drawn by the smell of hot coffee. "Say look, Egon, let's just stay long enough for a cup or two, huh? It's been a long night and we're all tired, we could use a pick-me-up before we go looking anymore."
Egon was about to tell him 'no' when Roland spoke up, "Guys, look at this!" He held up a cord, with a small object swinging from it. Gold thread glittered from the front.
"This could be very bad ..." Egon moaned.
Sephi dried her eyes with the back of a grubby hand. She would have all the time in the world to grieve the loss of her father, if she just survived this latest threat to her people, the Mole people, whose daily existence in the subways, sewers, and catacombs of New York were a struggle. Since her father had died defending them from it, carrying on his fight was the least she could do to honour him. But she knew she couldn't do it alone.
She needed the Ghostbusters.
Angel couldn't take much more. He wished their were a way to lock Captain Peroxide inside the damned trinket; the psuedo-ghost's fidgeting was making him fidget.
Spike pulled his head back into the cabin of their private jet. The plus side to being a ghost was that sunlight could no longer hurt him. Since he'd come to realise that, he couldn't help but pop his head outside now and again to enjoy a sunrise whenever he had a chance, and being 3500 feet in the air gave the whole experience a new perspective.
"I wonder why I can't fly," he wondered aloud.
"What do think you're doing right now?" Angel hissed at him, quietly. One thing about preternatural hearing -- it allowed them to speak at a volume only they could hear, and let their human companions sleep.
Spike shot Angel a pained look. "You know what I mean. You keep calling me 'Casper', but didn't Casper fly around -- without a plane, I mean?"
Angel shrugged. Then he thought about it a moment, and realised he did want to know how. "I dunno. I mean, how is it that you can 'sit' on things without falling through them? How can you walk on the floor without falling forever? I guess you can live as if you were still under basic natural laws if you don't think about them ...."
"Yeah, but shouldn't that mean I should be able to pick things up without thinking about it? And that I should have been bumping into walls and furniture from the start, not walking through them?"
"You actually can fly," Wesley muttered from his seat, eyes still closed. Apparently they hadn't stayed as quiet as they'd thought. "That's how you are able to 'sit' on things -- you're actually floating."
"Really?" Spike had to admit that the ex-Watcher made a sort of sense. He decided to try something. He fell through the bottom of the plane.
He continued falling, the ground rushing towards him at breakneck speed. Except he didn't have a corporeal neck to break. With another thought, he found himself gently suspended above someone's yard. A dog spotted him and started barking. He flew back into the sky, howling with delight. He could fly! He really could! Suddenly being a ghost actually seemed cool; he might be able to still see the sun if he'd become human, but he'd never be able to do this!
After a few minutes, he felt a tugging; the amulet, pulling on his leash, no doubt. Well, that didn't mean he had to go back into the plane. So long as he stayed lose enough to it, he could continue flying free -- away from Angel.
Back in the cabin, Angel sighed with relief. "Thank-you, Wes. Now maybe I can get a bit of sleep ..."
"Touchdown in thirty minutes," called the pilot from the cabin.
"Crap."
Wes smiled, and gently brushed a bit of hair from a still-sleeping Winifred's face.
Behind him, Gunn and Lorne snored on, without a care in the world, while Eve wore a look of disgust.
"Angel and his companions will be touching down within the next half-hour, Sirs."
The Senior Partners regarded Their lackey coolly. When They spoke, it was as one, "And We are certain that all he intends to do here is free the other vampire from the amulet?"
"According to what Eve knows, yes. Although she fears Angel may intend to help this Dr. Spengler with a 'werewolf problem' he supposedly has."
Their smiles sent chills down the man's spine, but he was careful not to show his fear. They could smell it, to be certain, but so long as he kept it in check, he would stay employed. If he didn't, he would be dead.
"See to it that Angel has whatever assistance he needs in hunting down this ... werewolf," They told him. "But make sure Eve explains to him that he is not at his office now. He is on Our coast, and We are in command here. He also must not be allowed to restore the vampire -- though we were certainly let him try. Let him think we want him to succeed ...."
The lackey nodded and bowed.
"And make sure he does not disturb our ... guest," They called to him as he turned to depart.
"Sounds like we're going to have our hands full," Willow remarked when Giles finished filling her, Xander, and Buffy in on the history of Dr. Spengler.
He was glad the Watchers Council's private jet was still intact; it was nice being able to talk without worry of "mundanes", as Andrew had taken to calling them, overhearing. He hadn't told them much on the ground, figuring there would be plenty of time for that when they got in the air.
What he'd just told them now was of how he'd met Egon Spengler in passing in his younger days, when the man and his friend, Ray Stantz, were being courted by the Council to become Watchers. Spengler and Stantz were very knowledgeable in the field of paranormal studies, but they insisted on maintaining a working relationship with a certain Dr. Venkman -- a man with a long history of brash behavior. A man the Council found most unsuitable to be a representative of their fine organization. When forced to choose between the resources of the Council and their friend, Spengler and Stantz opted for friendship. At the time, he'd thought them fools, but now Giles couldn't help but admire them for it. They had gone on to from an organization known as "The Ghostbusters", applying their scientific and occult expertise to a business venture that lasted several years before they finally disbanded.
Now it seemed Dr. Spengler had resurrected "The Ghostbusters" -- or rather, inducted a new generation. According to Gile's old friend and fellow Watcher, Halloman, one of Spengler's students was a werewolf. And now it seems there may be a Slayer among them. I'd say that's two very good reasons to be headed that way."
"What I want to know is, how did Halloman find all this out?" Buffy asked.
Giles shrugged. "While I hate to admit it, the Watchers' Council isn't called that for nothing. Doubtless it was brought to his attention by one of our many associates."
"You mean spies and snitches." Xander's distaste towards the Council was no secret -- especially since they all shared the sentiment, to some degree.
"Yes, well ... in this particular instance, I'd say they're not so bad to have around. We might never have found the girl otherwise."
"So, what are we going to do about the werewolf?" Willow asked, obviously not comfortable with the question. Her first lover had been a werewolf, after all; she knew better than most what a two-sided coin they could be. "I mean, are we going there to save it, or protect the Slayer from it?"
Giles started cleaning his glasses -- always a bad sign. "Well, Halloman's source was unclear, but he seems to think the Slayer is in some sort of danger from the werewolf. Still, I think it's best that we talk to Dr. Spengler first, and hope he can clue us in on exactly what is happening. And I took the liberty of calling Wesley; he's going to meet us there."
Faith popped her head over the back of the seat. "Wesley? He'll be there? Cool! What about Angel?"
Giles shrugged. "I honestly don't know."
Robin didn't look too happy. He and Faith had slowly but surely been getting to know each other; he knew how much his girlfriend adored the brooding vamp. What was it about Slayers and vampires?
Buffy didn't sound too thrilled either, although Giles wasn't sure if that was because she wasn't happy at the prospect of Angel being there or because she was annoyed at how pleased Faith seemed at the prospect. "A bigger question would be why is Wes coming?" she asked Giles while viewing Faith askance.
"Well, I called him because I thought Dr. Spengler might be able to assist him with a little problem he's been having ...."
Faith laughed. "I thought you said this guy was a parapsychologist, not a sex therapist!"
Xander mused that if that was what Faith said about her so-called friends, he didn't ever want to be her enemy again.