4

It was a Raymond Chandler kind of day, hot and dry, with a light, warm Santa Ana coming in over the hills and clearing away some of the smog. Logan figured it would be nice if they were down by the ocean or something, but instead they were in the hills, which was nice in spots, and in others just reeked of ostentatious wealth or shabbiness that had never been chic. He didn’t as a general rule support random mob violence, but if anyone wanted to have another riot, Logan would have gladly pointed out the towering mansions tucked safely behind high fences, and told them to go nuts.

Thrak led them to a curving road up in the hills, with trees and tinder dry brush on either side, as much of the middle of nowhere that you could get in this part of the hills. Thrak brought his cab to a frighteningly abrupt stop on the soft shoulder, which would have bugged him more if Hel wasn’t holding on to the door handle, her tail across his midsection like an extra seat belt. But even he could get whiplash (couldn’t he?), and he didn’t appreciate it.

Logan got out and stood facing the trees, closing his eyes and trying to let the Bob energy point the way. Even up here, he could smell the smoke of the wildfires down in the canyon, and wondered if this hideously bad fire season was just indicative of California’s changing weather patterns, or something that had been supernaturally goosed.

After a moment, he felt … something. It was almost hard to describe, but it was like an urge driving him towards one of the weedy lots. He walked down to it, golden grass brushing his thighs as dried stalks crunched under his feet, and he looked for signs of … something. Ritual or magic or something, some sign of help on this side of the dimension. But he didn’t see anything, which indicated one of two things: either these people were professional enough to clean up after themselves, or there had been no help on this side whatsoever. For some reason, he really didn’t like that.

He heard Helga coming up behind him, and she asked, “Got something?”

“It was a dimensional breech all right. Something came over.”

“I don’t suppose you can tell what from where,” Giles asked. He was farther behind them, but his voice carried well in the now still air. Just the three of them had accompanied Thrak and Rags up here, as they needed people to hold down the office until Angel and Bren showed up. Marc wasn’t crazy about staying behind, but he could hardly leave Xander and Matt - the Human and the neophyte - all by themselves. They always left a heavy hitter behind just in case, and Marc drew the short straw this time.

Logan shook his head, and wondered where the scent of burning tires was coming from. Had some cars caught on fire in the canyon? “I don’t think even Bob would know that, not without something more concrete.”

“Can you track them?” Giles continued.

Logan frowned and crouched down, trying to see if he could discern the scent from the gasoline that someone had once soaked into the ground here. There was probably a lot of car accidents on this hill. The burned tire smell was growing stronger, enough to make his eyes water, and the power in him started to … what? It was setting off alarm bells, although he wasn’t immediately sure why.

“Find anyfing?” Rags shouted from the shade by the side of the road. Both he and Thrak were up there, as far from the scene as possible without still being in the car.

Logan felt a minor tremor beneath his feet, like a heavy truck passing on the road, but the road was miraculously clear, a true rarity anywhere in Los Angeles. Then suddenly he knew. “It hasn’t left,” he told Helga.

She was looking down at him in alarmed curiosity while Giles, who was still too far away, shouted, “What?”

“We gotta move!” Logan shouted back, grabbing Helga’s arm and heading for the road. But they didn’t get two steps before the ground seemed to explode beneath their feet, sending them sprawling. Clods of dirt pelted down all around them, and there was a noise like an ultrasonic drill that vibrated in their bones as Logan dared to look at what had come up through the earth.

Basically it was a big worm. Or maybe a snake. Skink? Any how you looked at it, it was a big tubular shaped thing that towered thirty feet above them, blotting out their view of the sun. It was covered with glossy black scales the size of roofing tiles, and its head ended in a caiman like snout, long and full of sharp teeth the size of tire irons. It had five glowing green eyes in a sort of arch pattern over its long, thin snout, and wisps of smoke trailing from its nostrils, while the smell of burned rubber was overpowering.

Wait a second - smoke?

“Tell me that isn’t some kinda dragon!” Logan shouted at Helga.

But Logan wondered why he asked, as it wasn’t going to make much of a difference. They were a bit fucked either way.

***

Luckily Rogue had a room at a really cheap motel, so suggesting she sleep elsewhere wasn’t that awkward, but she told them in no uncertain terms they were taking her out for breakfast - or brunch, as that was probably the correct terminology considering the time of day. Bren and Sid went to get her, leaving Kier behind sleeping. Not only because he was a vampire that couldn’t venture out in sunlight, but also because he’d been staying up around the clock guarding his ass, and he deserved a break. Bren left him a note, though, in case he thought of some way to join them later without getting caught by the sun.

Rogue was staying at a cheap, professionally seedy motel, the type Logan usually stayed at - and he could, because only the terminally stupid would fuck with him. Without her powers, he wasn’t sure Rogue could withstand this kind of thing. Hell, Bren was pretty sure he couldn’t, at least not anymore. He’d been off the streets too long now, and had probably gotten soft. At least he had Sid with him - nothing on him was soft. Well, except maybe … no, he wasn’t gonna go there.

But Rogue survived the experience, although she complained she hadn’t been in a place so filthy since this one place on the Canadian border. Bren almost pointed out he’d stayed in worse places, which was true, but seemed petty, so he didn’t.

They went to this coffee shop that he knew about, owned by a couple of lesbians who were nice enough but looked like they could seriously kick all their asses without much trouble. It was a homey place, comfortable and not as corporate as Starbucks, and the three of them sat at a window table, enjoying overpriced coffee and rich pastries, talking as they occasionally watched people walk by on the street. She was hoping to surprise Logan, but that forced Bren to admit that he didn’t know where in the warehouse district that Bob had his loft. He’d never been there, and didn’t know the address. Now that he thought about it, he felt left out.

They were on latte number two, Sid questioning why people liked them so much, when Rogue’s glance out the window became a stare, and her eyes widened as she gasped, “Oh my god.”

“What?” Bren asked, suddenly afraid a sniper had just spotted them.

“It’s John. Over there, in front of the electronics store.”

“John?” he asked. “Could you be more specific?”

“Pyro.”

Bren almost spit out his coffee, and turned sharply to look more closely at the people on the sidewalk across the way. Eventually he saw him in profile, talking to someone he didn’t recognize. He looked much the same as he had when he last saw him, although he now had fiery red streaks in his hair (very funny), and wore these weird leather brace things on his wrists, visible because he was wearing only a t-shirt and jeans. “I thought most of Magneto’s crew died when Jean freaked out,” he said, suddenly wondering if he had been hired by someone to burn him alive. John might not know that the Gorgons would kill him for it; he probably didn’t know they existed.

“So did I,” Rogue admitted, sounding as nervous as he felt. “But Logan said he didn’t really know how many survived. He just knew that everyone in the base was toast. The ones outside who were far enough away and could run fast enough had a chance.”

“Do you think he’s here to kill you?” Sid asked blandly.

He had to just say it like that, didn’t he? The chocolate croissant he just ate felt like lead in his stomach. “I don’t know.”

Rogue looked at Sid intently. “You fireproof?”

“Not exactly.”

It was Bren’s turn to ask, “What does that mean?”

“My skin will be pretty much undamaged by fire exposure, but I’d have to keep my eyes closed, and I couldn’t breathe, as inhaling superheated air or flames would kill me just as soon as the next person. Unless the next person is Logan, but that goes without saying.”

Rogue let out a little sigh of impatience. “So you are fireproof, but only for about a minute, and you can’t see while doin’ it.  Great.”

“Do you recognize who he’s talking to?” Sid asked, ignoring her sarcasm. Actually it was better than both of them could claim. Without her powers, Rogue was a vulnerable as any civilian, and even though he was half Brachen demon, he was nowhere near fireproof. Maybe Sid had a minute, but they had two seconds at best.

Both he and Rogue stared at the guy Pyro was talking to, but he was just a random guy, with black hair and a t-shirt advertising the Mustang Ranch. She shook her head. “Not at all.”

The guy said goodbye to Pyro and turned and started walking north, while Pyro started walking south. For all appearances, his being here was coincidental. Supposedly. Or he wanted them to see him, or he had accidentally blown his own cover. “We should follow him,” Sid suggested.

“If he’s not here to cause trouble, we shouldn’t pick a fight,” Rogue said, sounding strangely cautious for her. Time was when she was the most reckless among them; maybe that went away along with her powers.

“Logan needs to know, in case he wants to start some trouble,” he replied sensibly, then stood up. “I’ll follow him and report back. Why don’t the two of you go to the office and see who’s there? Maybe Giles will have a spell capable of shutting John down.”

“Giles?” Rogue asked.  Had she not met him, or had she forgotten him?

“He’s a spellcaster, a former Watcher,” Bren told her, as Sid walked away from their table and out of the café. “Be careful!” Bren shouted after him. He didn’t know if he heard him or not.

After a moment, Rogue asked, “What if it’s a trap?”

“Oh shit.” He didn’t know if she meant for Sid or for him, but it honestly didn’t matter. “Come on, we have to get to the office.”

“What? Since when do you abandon a friend?”

“Since we’re not only fighting mutants and demons anymore. And I’m not abandoning him - I’m getting back up.” Besides, he wasn’t sure if he was the target or Sid was, but there was no point in bringing that up now. They were dead or they weren’t.

Bren really couldn’t express how betrayed he felt. Gods wanting to kill you was more than bad enough; it was totally appalling. But somehow a former so-called friend being a part of it made it all the more hideous.

But John wasn’t stupid. Selfish and perhaps megalomaniacal and vaguely genocidal, but not stupid. He had to know Logan was here - he knew what he could do. He wouldn’t challenge him. He wouldn’t fight him.

Would he? Was he so far up his own ass he thought he could take Logan and whoever else he had with him?

Frankly, if John was that far gone, he deserved whatever he got.

****

He had a vague idea where he was:  Los Angeles. It was some kind of city in this dimension, and he could feel his skin crawling at the strange feeling of the air here.  It was warm and dry and smelled of something rank, something tainted and mammalian and chemical.  But there was something else too, something that would be unknown to all but higher beings such as himself.

It was a feeling that wanted to repel him, one that made him want to open up another dimensional gateway and go elsewhere. He knew that that was a sign of Bob’s handy work, a subtle spell of repulsion that would only be felt by Highers. It was the god equivalent of territorial pissing, a subtle way of saying MINE, even though most gods weren’t so subtle. Most owned their dimensions without needing to put up a warning sign.

But that’s where this dimension was funny. It was a type of interstitial nexus point that no one would took responsibility for, and no one copped to creating. Sure, the PTB’s looked after it now in a half-assed way, but only to keep some of the greedier gods from snatching it up for themselves. It made him wonder if Bob hadn’t existed, what would the Powers have done? They’d have had to create him. Fallen or not, he was in essence a placeholder, a guard who also happened to be a convict in a very large jail. He was a prisoner policing other prisoners, although only the warden was aware of it. It was brilliant really; you really had to respect the Powers. They were smarter than most, far more cunning. Perhaps that’s where being a group mind was helpful - you could always outthink your single minded opponents.

He heard the high pitched, ultrasonic roar of the beast, and wondered if it had found a snack or the snacks had found it. Not that he cared much - he doubted his target was amongst them. The beast was probably dazed and confused, and it probably felt the repelling field as overwhelming, making it even angrier and more frightened. He felt sorry for it, but he needed the distraction. They’d assume it was the threat, the thing that came through, and it might even kill a few of them before it was cut down. A necessary sacrifice.

He supposed he should be concerned about the Gorgons, vicious little girls that they were, but he supposed they never considered the possibility that some gods were simply tired of existing. Oh, maybe there was some way to kill yourself, but that not only seemed undignified, but … mortal. In the big scheme of things, it was much better to be taken out by others, especially if it was in the service of a noble cause. And this was a noble cause, so much so that it almost shamed him. He was not a noble being and had no desire to die as one.

No, he was doing this because humanity needed a reminder of its place in the food chain, which was the bottom. Between Slayers and Bob’s corruption of the gene pool, they were going too far, getting too full of themselves as beings, when all they were was food. The Gorgons decision to promote a half-breed to messenger was simply the final straw. That couldn’t happen; chattel weren’t supposed to be given access to other levels.

But that was okay; if they wished to be dense, that was their decision. Perhaps if enough of them died, the Gorgons would realize that such fragile creatures were suited for nothing but the dinner table.

****

Somewhere over the ultrasonic din, Logan heard Giles shout something, and some kind of energy burst hit the demon’s head, making its snout turn towards him with an annoyed hiss. Whatever that spell was, it annoyed it more than it hurt it, but it bought them a moment. “Do you know what this is?” he asked Helga.

She shook her head. “No clue. Could be a demon god of some sort. They’re usually pretty big.”

“Fuck.  What kills it?  Losing its head?  Its heart?  All of it?”

“If it’s a god, dismemberment may not be enough.”

“Goddamn it,” he cursed, getting to his feet and charging it. Because its head was so high, towering above them and still aimed in Giles’s direction, it didn’t notice as Logan ran up to its chest - or abdomen, whatever, it looked like all of its snaky body wasn’t out of the ground yet - and plunged his claws straight into it.

Or at least he tried.

An unaccustomed pain shot up his arm as his claws hit something that refused to give - he had to push with all the strength he could muster to just get his claw tips in a couple of inches. This thing was made out of something almost as strong as adamantium.

“Logan!” Helga shouted in warning.

He looked up and saw why.  He had finally gained the demon dragon’s attention.

Oh, fuck.