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Bella wakes up a day and a half later, a medical miracle with a splitting headache. (Between what she knows about her own construction and what the doctors mutter to the nurses, the demon stepped on her, it broke her spine, she passed out from pain and shock, and she could have easily died if she weren't blessed or the Slayer - both were probably called for.)
[Sherlock? Giles?] she attempts, when she's solicited and received pain medication.
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"Morning?" scoffs Bella. "But yeah, much better, I don't even have that headache anymore. It's probably even safe to hug me." She holds out her arms.
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Indeed. "So we may need magic sand that we can't get, and we have a distinctly finite square supply but those work in a pinch, and if there are more Defenders running around we don't know where?" she says.
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"Isn't that just grand. Well, they'll let me out of here sooner or later and I can help you look."
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She and the hospital wind up splitting the difference: she's free to go three days later. (She has Sherlock bring her demonology books and Charlie bring her laptop and Jarvis talk to her about Sunshine-type magic; she's annoyed by the confinement but not bored.) It's morning when she's free, so she can't go celebrate with Sherlock, but she can tie on her string of squares - the doctors interpreted it as a decorative belt and it's with the other clothes she was admitted in; thank goodness Shell Bell's coins are so pretty - and get started crisscrossing town in her truck, seeking Defenders or anything else out of the ordinary.
Sunnydale's got a good-sized population, but it's not that huge geographically, and it's surrounded by greenbelt on all sides; it doesn't take her even all day long to case the entire joint, at least insofar as she can from the cab of the pickup, and she finds nothing. She starts circling around the outskirts of town.
Someone's orange orchard has some unusual visitors today. They're breaking the beehives at the edges of the tree rows, heedless of the angry bees thereby stirred up. (Bella rolls up her window.)
[Giles, I found - five, no, six, Defenders, in an orange grove just outside town, running around destroying beehives. Are you as confused as I am?] she asks, puttering along on the shoulder of the road watching the goings-on.
Sunnydale's got a good-sized population, but it's not that huge geographically, and it's surrounded by greenbelt on all sides; it doesn't take her even all day long to case the entire joint, at least insofar as she can from the cab of the pickup, and she finds nothing. She starts circling around the outskirts of town.
Someone's orange orchard has some unusual visitors today. They're breaking the beehives at the edges of the tree rows, heedless of the angry bees thereby stirred up. (Bella rolls up her window.)
[Giles, I found - five, no, six, Defenders, in an orange grove just outside town, running around destroying beehives. Are you as confused as I am?] she asks, puttering along on the shoulder of the road watching the goings-on.
[...No, but I'm more worried,] he says. [Are they doing anything with the beehives? Are the bees behaving strangely?]
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[The bees are behaving about like I expect bees in destroyed hives to act - they're buzzing around in great big clouds, being pissed off - and they don't seem to be using them for anything, just smashing them and moving on, but maybe they'll come around and collect the pieces or whatever, later?]
[It could be. But it's also possible that they are just... destroying beehives. In some mystical traditions, killing bees or destroying their hives symbolizes other kinds of destruction, especially agricultural.]
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[...And does it take much for the symbol to turn into more widespread actuality?]
[I'm looking it up as we speak.]
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[You are handy!] She continues to follow the Defenders as they proceed from hive to hive. [They're leaving the trees alone...]
[Definitely sounds like bee-killing to me.]
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[Mmmhm. They're very mechanical about it. They run up to the first un-smashed hive, punch it for a minute, then run past all the others who've gone beyond them to get to the next un-smashed hive.]
[I'm finding references to bee-killing as a prelude to apocalyptic rituals,] he says. [Although usually it would be the future participants in the ritual who would kill the bees. How many did you say there were? Six?]
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[I count six. There could be more I can't see from the road. I could drive into the grove if you need an accurate count.]
[I don't think that information would be worth the risk you'd take to get it.]
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[Yeah, I'm not sure I could time it to not get in their way, although they do seem to quite ignore anything that doesn't get in their way and isn't a beehive.]
[The overall conclusion in the literature is that bee-killing is not a powerful activity by itself, but amplifies the power of certain kinds of malevolent magic.]
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[Maybe I should just see if I can follow them home. I have more than six squares on me, if they turn on something other than the hives.]
[...I shouldn't feel the need to tell you to be careful, and yet.]
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[I will be careful. I no longer expect to be able to maybe punch them into submission.]
[Good. Thank you.]