Wham! A roundhouse kick sent the vampire sprawling to the ground. With the practiced grace of experience, Buffy Summers almost casually plunged the stake into the creature. It had time to gasp once before exploding into dust. She turned to address her companion.

“Okay, one down. Dusk, how’s life in your corner?” she queried wryly.

Her companion, Alec “Dusk” Giles, was engaged in some kind of elaborate kung fu fighting with the second vampire. As opposed to Buffy’s ‘Beat them senseless and stake them’ approach, Dusk preferred a sort of liquid-dancing style of fighting that was one-part gymnastics, one-part dancing and involved almost a Hollywood quality choreographed fighting style, consisting of a lot of blocks, parries, summersaults and combinations of punches and kicks. She watched, admittedly a little impressed, as Dusk snapped out a few kicks to the vampires head, then torso ending the combination of strikes with some kind of spinning-cartwheel kick that propelled the vampire into a tree and impaled him upon a tree branch, where he too, exploded into dust. Dusk took a moment to savor the victory before addressing the slayer.

“No complaints here,” he quipped in that inherited light British accent of his.

For a moment, his head tilted in a perfect imitation of his father’s when he was amused or pleased with himself. The difference being that his father—her newly exonerated Watcher, Rupert Giles—was usually more proud of himself for having unearthed an obscure, yet vitally essential piece of lore, rather than his fighting prowess. Still the resemblance between father and son was, at times, unmistakable.

“You know,” Buffy started as she picked up her bag that had been discarded during the fight, “You never did tell us what style of fighting that was.” She arched an inquiring eyebrow to the older man. Buffy herself was quite skilled at martial arts, however unlike Dusk, she saw it as a means to an end. Dusk turned it into an art form in and of itself.

Dusk shrugged “It’s a base style of Wushu with a mixture of several types of different martial arts; Judo, Muy Thai, Ju-jitsu, Krav Maga, Jeet Kune Do.” Dusk fell into step next to her, “I’ve never found just one set of movements and philosophies that totally agree with me.”

Buffy snorted, “Obviously. Guess you’ve had a lot of time on your hands.” She turned to regard him as they left the graveyard.

Dusk hesitated a moment before carefully offering an explanation, “Time moves differently in the demonic dimension. I’ve had several decades to practice.” Dusk ceased to speak, clearly uncomfortable to offer any further information.

To be fair since Dusk's arrival to Sunnydale less than four months ago, he’d been remarkably forthcoming about himself to the slayer and to his father. He was Giles’ son by birth, having been the result of a fling between the watcher and an acquaintance of his, Diedre, during his youth. Along with a circle of friends, they had practiced dark magic to savor the rush it gave them. Unfortunately, they’d made the grievous error of summoning a very powerful demon named Ehyghon. The demon in turn, possessed and murdered nearly everyone in the circle, before finally being slain by the combined efforts of Buffy, Giles, and her lover at the time, the vampire Angel. Before being stopped however, Ehyghon had possessed Diedre, upon doing so discovering the unborn child in her womb.

Rather than simply killing the baby as he would eventually kill the mother, years later having finally tracked down Giles in Sunnydale, Ehyghon infused it with his own demonic energy and transported it to his home realm: the demonic realm. There, it was further infused with a greater Keeper demon, a darkness demon.

Unlike most other demons, the Keeper demons were notoriously pragmatic and disdainful of their demonic brethren, this particular one found other demons especially distasteful. It took the child under its wing and tutored it in all matters of both the occult and combat, in the hopes of using it as a weapon against other demons.

Time moved differently in that realm, as Alec had stated. A hundred years in the demonic realm was barely three and a half on earth. His aging was retarded by the keeper demon’s power, giving him much more time to train and prepare. Upon reaching maturity, the child now man, christened 'Dusk', in honor of his darkness demon-half, was ready to be returned to Earth to start slaughtering demons that found their way there. Before doing so, however, Dusk ventured into the realm of the dead, where all souls resided, in search of his mother.

Instead, he encountered the soul of the techno pagan, Jenny Calendar; who had been attracted to his presence because of the blood he shared with her beloved, his father. She revealed to him his heritage, his family name and told him where to find his father. She implored him to join his father’s crusade against the forces of evil. Dusk readily agreed, and now bearing another name, Alec Giles, he left the realm of the dead…and arrived in Sunnydale, California. That was as much as he was willing to reveal of himself, to Buffy anyway, and she respected his privacy enough not to pry. Besides, her experience with Angel had taught her that sometimes, there are things better left unsaid.

“So,” Buffy tossed out trying to uplift the mood of the conversation, “Are we going to go see your dad?” She smiled, noticing that Dusk's expression softened a little.

“It’d be a good idea,” he turned to regard the blond woman with a wry smile. “You know how Dad worries.” Dusk knew that Giles loved the slayer with a father’s love, rather than being threatened by it, Dusk decided to treat the girl like the younger sister he never had. Buffy and Dusk had grown especially close over the last few months, though often Buffy found herself attempting to placate her far more serious “older brother”. His time in the demonic realm had emotionally aged him far beyond his apparent twenty-three years to her twenty.

Buffy smiled at him. “Yeah, you know how fathers can be.” She caught herself just as Dusk’s face fell. “Or you don’t, but if you did,” she added hurriedly, “You’d know that Giles is top notch. Really. He’s just the best,” she finished; fervently hoping that she hadn’t induced another bout of melancholy in the somber youth. Dusk smiled slightly, much to her relief.

“Yes. My father truly is the best.” he smiled indulgently at her and tousled her hair affectionately, appreciating her efforts to cheer him up.

Buffy squawked in protest, “Cut it out, Alec! I have a date tonight!” She socked him in the shoulder as Dusk chuckled.

“Oh yes, I forgot, girls can’t afford to have a single hair out of place, lest their attractiveness plummet to abysmal depths,” he sighed melodramatically, “Americans.”

Buffy chuckled good-naturedly, “Oh really? Perhaps I should clue Willow in towards this attitude,” referring to her best friend and Dusk’s current paramour.

They had met his first day here and it had been love at first sight. They had been inseparable ever since and their relationship had been so disgustingly super-romantic, their friends began referring to them as “Mr. And Mrs. Giles,” a thought that neither of them seemed to have any problem with. Dusk shot her a wry look.

“Willow is the exception,” Dusk added carefully. Buffy snorted.

“R-i-i-i-ght. And this would have nothing to do with the fact that if I did tell her this, she’d turn you into something icky?” Willow had become a witch of no small ability over the past four plus years.

Dusk stopped, his face suddenly grim, Buffy jolted to a halt a few steps ahead of him.

“What? I was kidding. Joke. Ha ha?” Buffy exclaimed. Dusk shook his head.

“It’s not that, I just…I hate having to keep things from her,” Buffy instantly understood. Aside from herself, her boyfriend Spike, and Giles, no one knew that Dusk wasn’t completely human, a fact that Dusk kept under very tight guard. Buffy placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“Look, you have to tell her sooner or later. She’s Willow, she’ll understand,” Dusk sighed.

“I know it’s just…” he struggled for the right words.

“Hard to trust when you have so much to lose?” Buffy gently asked. Dusk sighed again.

“Exactly. I haven’t felt about anyone the way I feel about her, not ever, and between her breakup with Oz and Tara mysteriously up and leaving her right after that whole debacle with Adam, the last thing she needs is the stress and uncertainty that accompanies dating outside her species,” Dusk spat out, a large dollop of self-loathing readily apparent in his tone.

“Hey….” Buffy took his arms and looked up into his face, “What Willow needs is a guy that will love her like crazy, that’ll take care of her and help her take care of herself.” She placed his hands on the sides of his face, shaking him for emphasis. “And I know that you totally qualify. So cut yourself some slack, Willow could do a lot worse than you,” she smiled at him. Dusk relented and smiled back, leaning in to kiss Buffy’s brow, resting his head against hers.

“You’re a good sister,” he whispered. Buffy smiled wryly.

“Yeah well, I’ve gotten kind of used to having a big brother around, even if he does mess up my hair right before a date.”

Laughing she reached up and tousled his dark hair in revenge. He chuckled. She released him and fell back into step beside him as they headed towards Giles’ magic shop.

A voice called out in a thick Cockney accent.

“That was touching, fetch me a hankie, I think I’m gonna weep,” Buffy rolled her eyes and turned, not surprised to see a pale, peroxide-blond man leaning against a tree smoking a cigarette.

“Oh you are, are you?” she sauntered over him, “That doesn’t sound very effective. Bet I could do some things to you that would have you bawling like a widdle baby,” Buffy finished this in a little-baby voice, pouting her lip.

Spike snorted, “Yeah, right. You and what army?” He flicked the cigarette and looked down to regard the slayer arrogantly. She leaned in close to him, eyes batting seductively.

“Oh, I think you know,” she whispered demurely. Spike grinned.

“Yeah? Well, maybe I need a reminder,” he shot back challengingly. Buffy put a perfectly manicured fingernail to her lip and contemplated.

“Hmm, well, okay.” Reaching out she grasped a fistful of Spike’s black T-shirt and pulled him into a long kiss. Dusk had the courtesy to keep his eyes averted. Finally after what seemed like quite a while, they parted. Spike smacked his lips pleasantly.

“That was a pretty convincing argument. I’ve got a better one, though.” Grinning wickedly, he leaned in and cupping his hand over her ear, whispered something to Buffy. Buffy’s face went from amused, slid right into shocked, and finally settled at mock outraged.

“Spike!” she cried out swatting the chortling vampire. She turned to look back at Dusk who was making a pointed effort to not stare at them, then she turned back to regard her lover demurely. “Later,” she whispered, her voice full of innuendo towards hours of ‘convincing arguments’, before nestling against his chest and kissing him again.

Spike, still chuckling, wrapped an arm around her and walked over to the waiting Dusk. Dusk coughed once in politeness then turned to regard the pair. They had started seeing each other shortly after Buffy’s previous boyfriend, the ex-commando Riley Finn, had been recalled by the government and reassigned to God-knows-where, Nevada. What had started out as a particularly bizarre rebound relationship seemed to have deepened past that, for despite—or perhaps because of their constant bickering—there was a real undercurrent of mutual care and affection between the two.

“Still got that hankie, Spike? I think I may need it now after THAT display.”

Spike shot him a wry look and laughed. “Sod off, mate. I’ve got the most beautiful girl in the world here.” He gave Buffy a tight squeeze, causing her to squeal in delight. His expression became wicked, “and later on I intend to—Oof!” He gasped as Buffy casually slammed her elbow into his abs. Shooting him a dangerous look, Buffy interrupted.

“He intends to be a perfect gentleman and not say things that are going to get his ass kicked,” she looked up at Spike with mock adoring eyes, “right, honey?”

“Right. Sure. What she said,” Spike managed to groan out, gingerly rubbing his aching stomach, “Bloody hell.” Buffy smiled and turned back to Dusk.

“Good,” she added perkily, “then let’s go visit Giles and then we can discuss what you intend to do later, all right, lover?” Leaning forward, she patted Spike’s stomach, eliciting another groan of protest from the vampire, before flashing a huge little girl grin at the both of them and bounding away gaily. Dusk and Spike exchanged looks, Spike held up a warning finger.

“Not one word, mate, I mean it,” he growled out. Dusk held his hands up placating.

“Furthest thought from my mind, honestly,” Dusk reassured him.

Spike snorted and pointed to his head, “Good 'cause remember, this bloody chip in my head says I can’t harm people. You being half-demon and all, I think it’s within my capacity to beat you senseless.” Dusk sent him an amused look.

“Well, it’s within your capacity to TRY. But I don’t think the Initiative installed a chip that would allow you to actually succeed. Unless, of course, government issue is now capable of miracles,” Dusk finished wryly.

Spike and Dusk had formed a fast friendship that involved, amongst other things, mutual torment. With both of them coming from across the pond sharing similar interests in the finer things in life: mainly beautiful women, loud music and strong drink, the pair were as close as brothers though neither would admit it.

Spike was about to comment when Buffy’s voice echoed from up the street.

“Boys?”

“Coming!” Dusk and Spike answered in unison.

Sending Dusk another dangerous look, Spike headed up the street while being mindful of his still-aching abs.

Dusk chuckled and slapped Spike on the shoulder comradely. “Look at it this way, it could be worse.”

Spike sent him an amazed look. “I’m a vampire dating the bloody slayer. I can’t pummel anything without horns. I can’t even feed myself without raiding the slaughterhouse. How could it possibly be any worse?” he demanded. Dusk leaned in and whispered something to Spike whose eyes widened in terror.

“That’s not due for another two and a half weeks!” he cried out. Dusk grinned wryly.

“You’ve got it memorized?”

Spike snorted and nodded emphatically. “You bloody well better believe it! She’s enough of a handful the other twenty-seven days out of the month,” he leveled an accusatory finger at Dusk, “And don’t tell me the man dating the powerful witch doesn’t have her little cycle-o-joy committed to memory as well.”

Dusk acquiesced to the fact and grimaced. “Point. It’s knowledge vital to our survival as men, I suppose,” Spike snorted.

“Yeah well, most men suffer from broken chinaware during their girls' monthly insanity. I suffer from possible broken bones and you may wind up turned into a newt.”

Dusk grinned. “A newt?” He asked innocently.

Spike caught his eye and grinned.

“‘I got better!’” they finished in unison, laughing.

“God bless Monty Python, mate,” Spike said grinning, “only good thing to come out of England in the last thirty years."

Dusk nodded. “Punk rock and footy; Manchester United,” Dusk added.

Spike agreed emphatically. “Amen.”

“BOYS!” Buffy’s voice barked out. Spike and Dusk shot each other alarmed looks.

“Coming!” they repeated in unison.

Spike regarded the other man. “Let’s—”

“Yeah, let’s be going,” Dusk nodded.

“Good idea.”

“Yeah.”

The half demon and the vampire quickly hurried up the street. After all, there are some creatures you just don’t keep waiting.

The bell above the door rang pleasantly as the slayer, her vampire lover and her half-demon brother entered the magic shop. Rupert Giles was busy stacking some glass jars on a high shelf as he craned his neck to regard the new arrivals.

“Hello. Welcome to—” He stopped his automatic greeting as he recognized the new arrivals. “Oh. Hello Buffy, Spike,” he smiled warmly. “Hello son.” Buffy and Spike both nodded greetings to the Watcher.

Dusk smiled. “Hi dad.” He walked up to him as Buffy and Spike took seats against the wall, chatting.

Giles turned around to regard his son, “How have you –” his hand accidentally brushed against the stack of jars and without warning, they began to quiver and pitch forward.

Dusk yelled in alarm, “Dad! Watch out!” Giles frowned in puzzlement before turning to see the stack of glass jars toppling upon him.

“OH!” Giles yelled, throwing his hands up to brace himself against the onslaught of heavy glass. The onslaught never came. Dusk shot his arms out towards him and two thick tendrils of ropy darkness erupted from under the skin of his wrists, streaked towards the tumbling glass stack and wrapped themselves firmly around them, holding them together and still. Giles warily lowered his arms as Dusk maneuvered the tendrils to carefully place the glass jars back upon the shelf. Giles turned to face him, sighing in relief.

“Thank you, Alec. That could have been most…unpleasant.” He smiled and tried not to stare at the tendrils of thick inky cohesive darkness that had emerged from his son’s forearms that served as an obvious reminder of his demonic heritage. Dusk smiled tightly at him.

“Not a problem.” Finishing with the jars, Dusk snatched his arms back, causing the tendrils to snap and shoot backwards into his skin disappearing from sight. Dusk shook his arms gingerly, attempting to remove the pins-and-needles feeling that always accompanied using his powers. Buffy and Spike walked up from behind him.

“Nice save, Bro,” Buffy smiled and patted Dusk’s arm, making a pointed emphasis to show that she wasn’t bothered in the least by Dusk’s abilities. She looked up to survey her watcher. “Giles, you cool?” Giles nodded shaking himself from his uncomfortable reverie.

“Yes, thank you.” Moving away from the shelf, he stepped out and clapped his son on the shoulder gratefully, before sliding into ‘Watcher Mode’. “How was patrolling tonight, Buffy?”

The slayer shrugged, “Only two vampires, not much of a problem for the dynamic duo,” she shot Dusk a wry look, “Of COURSE, it would have gone by quicker if one of us would just use their little bag of tricks to dust the vamp instead of Darth Maul-ing it to death.”

Dusk smirked, “It pays not to be too reliant on anything but your own prowess. Self-reliance is the name of the game here.” Buffy rolled her eyes, smiled indulgently, and sighed.

“Okay, whatever you say, Bro, I’m just saying that if I had nifty little tendril thingies that shot out of my wrists and stuff, I’d use them for a lot more than merchandise management,” she finished gesturing to the newly-restored stack of jars.

Dusk turned and favored his father with a long-suffering glance. Without looking at her, he replied, “That’s because you, dear sibling, have a chronic dread of close quarters combat for fear of ruining your manicure.” Dusk finally turned to regard a mildly outraged Slayer.

“Hey, this was NOT a cheap manicure,” she retorted, gesturing to her fingernails.

Spike snorted behind her, “Yeah, I’ll attest to that fact, mate. Got the claw marks to prove it.” Dusk tried vainly to stifle a laugh, failing miserably; Buffy whirled around to confront her lover.

“You are SO asking for it, blondie!” she growled.

“Yeah? Look who’s talking?” he gestured to her own mane of blond hair. Exasperated, Buffy threw her hands in the air.

“Men!” she cried and sauntered over to Spike, dumping herself onto his lap.

“Oof!” Spike exclaimed, “Bloody Hell, how does such a tiny slip of a thing get to be so bleedin’ heavy?” Dusk chuckled as Buffy favored first him, then Spike with a lethal glance leveling a warning finger just under his nose.

“Watch it, lover, or its six inch stiletto heels in two and a half weeks.”

Spike’s jaw dropped and he shuddered slightly in horror. “Okay, I’m being good.”

Buffy instantly perked up. “Good!” Kissing the now quietly protesting Spike on the forehead, she turned her attention to the father and son observing all this, one with slight puzzlement, and the other with wry amusement. Buffy blushed slightly.

“Private joke. Couply stuff,” she offered as an explanation.

“Ah!” Both the Giles said in unison, bobbing their heads in perfect time with each other in an expression of understanding. Buffy stifled a laugh.

“Oh no, you two aren’t related at ALL!” she grinned. Dusk snorted.

“You should have seen the debates we had regarding what music to listen to,” he turned to offer his father a condescending look. “Bay City Rollers, indeed.” Giles returned the look defensively.

“What about that...din, you insist on listening to? That ‘six inch nails’?” Dusk smirked.

“I think you mean Nine Inch Nails, dad.” Spike and Buffy chuckled. Giles flustered slightly.

“Yes, well, be that as it may, it’s still noise pollution,” Giles countered haughtily. Buffy piped up.

“Oh come on, Giles, why don’t you tell him about that collection of Cream albums you showed my mother during that candy incident?” Giles desperately attempted to shush her as Dusk laughed.

“Cream? You listen to Cream?” Dusk howled with glee, “I love it! When was this?”

Giles had turned a rather embarrassed shade of red, scowling at the slayer who had betrayed him so grievously.

“It was…years ago, I doubt I still have them. Probably came to my senses and pitched them out with the rest of the rubbish,” Giles then hurriedly went to rearranging a shelf of crystals. Dusk smirked.

“Uh-HUH,” Dusk commented sardonically. He threw Buffy a conspiring wink which was quickly returned. “Whatever you say, Dad.”

Giles sighed and continued to busy himself with the shelf. Still laughing, Dusk patted his father’s shoulder affectionately and walked over to a chair opposite the cooing couple, who were wholly oblivious to his presence. Chuckling quietly, Dusk picked up a book and began to flip through it. He’d inherited his father’s love of lore and reading.

A few minutes later, the door swung open, the small bell tinkling as four pairs of eyes lifted from what they were doing to regard the new arrival. Willow Rosenberg bounded in, a font of red hair and cheerfulness.

“Hi everybody,” she smiled and waved at Buffy, Spike and Giles. Her eyes fell upon Dusk, and her smile instantly became coy and demure. “Hey, you.” She meandered over to him. Dusk’s dark eyes lit up and he smiled slightly.

“Hey,” he purred, catching her hand in his and placing a warm kiss to it. Willow shook her head.

“Nuh-uh, mister, I want the whole package.” Swooping down she captured his mouth in hers in a long tender kiss. After some time, Spike cleared his throat noisily, earning him a swat from both Buffy and Dusk. Dusk finished his kiss and draped the redhead over his lap. She smiled and squirmed getting comfortable, before resting her chin on his chest. Dusk looked down at her amused.

“Is Milady comfortable?” Dusk inquired amused. Willow rocked her head back and forth.

“Uh-huh,” she batted her eyes at him, before snuggling against his chest, he smiled and stroked her hair, inhaling deeply her scent, savoring the way the smell of her hair and skin mixed to form a fragrance that was fully Willow.

“Awwwwww,” came from opposite them as Buffy and Spike regarded the lovers with deep amusement.

Dusk shot them a look, “Silence. The both of you.”

“Yeah,” Willow chimed in, “I haven’t seen this guy all day, and I’m having happies right now.” She replied haughtily.

“Yeah, imagine that. A whole day,” Spike scoffed. Dusk shot him a warning look.

“Spike? Think newts,” he cautioned the vampire.

Spike shut up immediately as Buffy shot him a confused look.

“What about newts?”

“Yeah,” Willow lifted her head up to regard Dusk lazily. “Was that a derogatory witch crack?” Dusk held up his hands.

“No, no. Monty Python reference,” he assured her. “I hold witches in very high esteem. One in particular,” he smiled at her as she got a big sappy grin on her face.

“Good,” she mumbled before nestling back into his chest. Spike shot Dusk a look. NICE SAVE, he mouthed silently. Dusk grimaced in agreement, before setting back comfortably into the chair. Giles spoke up,

“Alec? Will you be coming back to the house to gather the rest of your belongings tonight?”

When Dusk had arrived in Sunnydale, originally he had been living with Giles. However as time wore on it was obvious that Giles simply didn’t have the space. So, at Spike’s suggestion, Dusk had moved into the abandoned mansion on the hill that Spike, his sire, Drusilla, and Angel, had resided in years before. Dusk was still in the process of moving out.

Alec craned his neck towards his father; careful not to disturb the affectionate witch he had on his lap. “Probably, unless something comes up.”

Buffy’s cell phone rang, interrupting the little domestic moment that Buffy and Spike were currently indulging in. With a groan of annoyance Buffy eased herself up off of Spike’s lap and dug around in her purse for the ringing irritation. She found it and quickly checked the display.

“My mom,” she explained, before hitting the talk button and placing the phone to her ear. Spike sighed in frustration and went about examining the contents of the magic shop, bored. Buffy spoke into the phone.

“Yeah, Mom? What’s up?” Buffy placed a hand over her other ear to hear her more clearly.

“Buffy, I have to go back to the gallery; we’re having an emergency. An entire shipment of impressionistic work never arrived,” her mother explained hurriedly.

Buffy closed her eyes in dread, pinching the skin at the bridge of her nose in tension; she knew what was coming,

“So, would you mind too terribly coming home to watch Dawn, until I get back?” From somewhere in the room with her mother came a wail of protest.

“Moooom, not Buffy! Come on, I DON’T need a babysitter, I’m fourteen years old!” Dawn’s voice cried out in dismay. Buffy heard bits and pieces of an argument she’d heard too many times in person.

(Goodbye date, Goodbye Spike, Goodbye fun.) Buffy sighed defeated, placing a hand to her head. Spike caught her look of frustration. WHAT? He mouthed silently. Buffy put a hand over the mouthpiece. “Dawn,” she sighed, “Mom needs someone to play babysitter tonight.”

“Goh!” Spike’s eyes widened in frustration as he cursed and kicked the table in front of him, sending it careening into Dusks legs. His head shot up suddenly from its resting place atop Willows head, perplexed.

“What’s up?” he asked, gently shushing Willows protestations at the sudden lack of his cheek against her hair. Spike sighed disgustedly.

“Buffy’s got to go watch the rugrat,” he bit out gesturing to the slayer. Dusk nodded.

“Oh,” Dusk replied neutrally as he stroked Willow’s hair thoughtfully as she made happy noises. Meanwhile Buffy had returned to her phone call.

“Look, mom, as much as I’d LOVE to watch Dawn,” she hoped her mother hadn’t caught the not-so-subtle hint of sarcasm in her voice, “I have plans, can’t someone else do it? How about Xander? Dawn likes Xander,” Buffy pleaded. Dusk frowned, not sure why a sudden surge of something resembling envy raced through him like an electric current. He quickly gave himself a good hard mental shake. After all, enamors of a fourteen year-old girl certainly were not his concern.

“I’m sorry, Buffy. Xander says he’s out with Anya and –” she stopped and addressed Dawn “What? What is it? What do you want?” There was some more commotion as Dawn said something inaudible. “Dusk?” her mother repeated puzzled. Buffy’s eyes lit up.

“Dusk? She wants Dusk to stay with her? Hey, that’s perfect, he’s right here I can ask him,” placing her hand over the mouthpiece again, she turned…and stopped as both Willow and Dusk regarded her coolly. Willow spoke first.

“Did you just volunteer MY boyfriend for babysitter duty because otherwise YOU wouldn’t be able to spend time with YOUR boyfriend?” Willow asked quietly. Buffy’s manner became instantly sheepish.

“Oops. My bad, Will, if you and your man have plans tonight…?” Her manner was half-imploring, half-embarrassed.

Willow let her sweat for a few more moments before harrumphing, “Well, you’re just lucky that I have to go study for that theology exam, or else you’d be in big trouble, missy.” She stuck her lip out in a pretty comical attempt at being fierce.

Buffy smiled relieved then frowned, “Uh Wills? It’s Christmas break, remember? No school?” Willow’s jaw took on a stubborn tilt.

“Unlike some people I know, I believe in being prepared,” she retorted, miffed. Buffy just smiled, indulging the academic workaholic.

“Thanks Will,” she turned back to the phone when Dusk cleared his throat nosily. Buffy looked up again.

“What?” she demanded, and then she blushed again, “Oh sorry. Alec, would you mind watching Dawn tonight? Just for a few hours? Pretty please?”

Spike chimed in. “Yeah mate, pretty please?” Dusk shot him a withering look.

“THAT was pathetic,” he leveled a finger at Spike, “You owe me, man.” Spike nodded.

“I owe you, mate, whatever you want,” Spike spread his hands in a grand gesture of generosity. Dusk considered.

“Your copy of the Sid and Nancy vinyl,” Dusk replied. Spike’s face darkened.

“I don’t owe you THAT much,” Dusk grinned.

“All right then, how about a recording?”

Spike nodded, “Deal.”

“Upup! AND a bottle of scotch: the Macallan, the twenty-five,” Alec added.

“You’re evil mate.”

“You want to get laid?” Alec grinned. Buffy looked mortified as Spike growled

“Goh, mate! You’ve really got me by the stones!”

“That’s right and that will be the most attention your…stones will be seeing unless my demands are met. Savvy?”

Spike laughed, “God yes, thank you. Fine, you have a deal, now will you do it?” Spike implored.

Dusk sighed before turning to Buffy, “Tell your mother I’ll be over shortly,” Dusk said. Buffy grinned in glee and kissed Dusks’ cheek.

“You’re a good big brother.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dusk fumed quietly before gently easing Willow off his lap and getting to his feet. Buffy turned her attention back to the phone.

“Mom? Dusk would be MORE than happy to watch Dawn for a few hours.”

There was a silence on the other line before her mother spoke up, sounding relieved and a little amazed.

“Well that idea seems fine by Dawn, so I guess I’ll be going. Tell Dusk to help himself to anything in the fridge. Oh, and it being Christmas break, tell him Dawn can stay up as late as she likes.”

“Right, Mom, I’ll tell him. Bye,” Buffy hit the END button and tossed the phone into the bag before lowering herself back down onto Spike’s lap. She turned to address Dusk; he cut her off with a finger.

“Don’t say it,” he warned her. Buffy grinned.

“I owe you one,” she said in a sing-songy voice. Dusk growled in annoyance.

“Spike, get her under control before I get a razor and shave her head bald!” Spike, chuckling, drew the slayer into his arms.

“Come on now, luv, let’s not tease the nice man who’s letting you off the hook so we can go enjoy ourselves tonight.” Buffy pouted.

“Oh all right,” Buffy smiled and kissed him as Dusk collected his coat. He turned and addressed Willow.

“Come on princess, I’ll walk you home,” he offered his arm, which she gladly took. Turning his head, Dusk called out to Giles.

“Dad, I’ll see you later on tonight,”

“Yes. Of course, have a good night, son. Goodbye, Willow,” Giles replied. Willow waved at him as he went back to sorting through a bin of talismans. Chuckling, Dusk turned to Buffy and Spike.

“Later brat,” he teased, mussing up Buffy’s hair again, ignoring her wail of protest. Spike held up his hand, which Dusk slapped. Spike looked up at Dusk.

“Thanks again, mate,” Spike said. Dusk snorted.

“Just make sure that recording is a good one, all right? No slapdash dubbing.” He turned to the woman on his arm.

“Shall we?”

Willow sighed and shrugged melodramatically, “If we must,” grinning she pecked him on the cheek. Smiling, he held the door open; she caressed his face with her hand as she walked by. He quickly followed, the bell above the door signaling their departure.

Dusk stood at the Summers’ front door. After rapping, it opened revealing a contrite young woman.

“Hi Dusk.” Dawn smiled shyly and straightened out the dress she was wearing. A dress she had changed into the instant she heard that Dusk was coming over. Dusk smiled warmly at her.

“Hey petite, how are you?” Inwardly, Dusk was confused. There was this…feeling he had around Dawn. Not like with Willow, certainly not even remotely sexual. But there was...something there. Dawn smiled at him.

“I’m good, I’m really good, I’m very…of the good.” She blushed and bit her lower lip, humiliated that she was rambling. “How are you?” she asked hurriedly. Dusk smiled wryly.

“Cold. Are you going to let me in?” The autumn chill in Southern California had been unusually bitter for the area. Dawn turned a little redder.

“Oh God, I’m sorry. Please com-come on in.” She held the door open for him as he stepped into the house. His back was to her as she sent a suffering look skyward, before looking back at him and smiling as he turned around.

“So what’s on the itinerary for the evening?” Dusk asked pleasantly.

“Oh we can do anything you want to, I mean if there is anything you want to do because I want to do anything you want to do. I’m going to be quiet now.” Dawn shut her mouth with an audible clack and blushed. Dusk just smiled and on impulse, stroked her hair affectionately. Dawn closed her eyes blissfully as a feeling of utter warmth, security, and peace filled her. Suddenly Dusk’s brain caught up with him and he quickly jerked his hand back. Dawn's eyes opened and she made a soft sound of protest. An uncomfortable silence pervaded the room.

“Movie?” Dusk asked timidly, pointing to the living room.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Let’s go do that.” Dawn hurried out of the hallway into the living room leaving a fairly confused Dusk to follow sedately.

“Okay,” Dawn called out, peering intently at a shelf of videos, “what do you feel like watching?”

Dusk sat on the couch watching the news. Without looking up, he answered, “It’s your call, petite, whatever you want is fine with me.” Her face still to the videos, Dawn felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks as she gave THAT notion some thought, before biting her lower lip and turning around with a movie in hand.

“This looks good.” Putting the movie into the VCR and hitting play, she turned and headed towards the couch. Dusk cleared a space beside him and Dawn sat tentatively down next to him.

“What are we watching?” Dusk asked.

“‘Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail’,” she looked up at him. “Is that all right?” Dusk smiled broadly.

“One of my favorite movies. Thank you, petite.” Dawn smiled, deeply pleased, and settled into the couch to watch it. They laughed as the black knight came onto the screen, Dusk mimicking him while they watched, Dawn laughing. At the scene with the virgins of the castle Anthrax, Dusk tried to cover Dawns’ ears.

“You’re way too young for this,” he chided gently. Dawn responded by slugging him with a pillow, putting behind it enough force that would have made her sister proud. They quieted down and continued watching the movie. Dawn focused on the film a lot harder than normal.

(What IS it about this guy? Aside from the fact that he’s tall, dark and gorgeous. Is this how Buffy felt around Angel?)

Dawn had once stolen Buffy’s diary and had read it cover to cover. She had read about her first meeting with Angel and how he had made her feel. Sneaking a quick peek at Dusk, she stared at his dark eyes. They were black with hints of deep green and violet in them and they shone almost iridescently, very odd. (And penetrating. VERY penetrating.) Dusk noticed Dawn staring at him, turned and smiled that little half-smile of his that turned her insides to liquid.

“Everything okay?” he asked politely.

“Huh?” Dawn responded unaware, before her brain caught up with her. She mentally shook herself hard. “Sure. Everything’s fine, you just….” She struggled to come up with something, “…your hair looks weird in this light.” Inwardly, Dawn groaned. (Your hair looks weird? Nice one, doofus. ) Dusk reached up and patted his dark hair smooth, smiling slightly. He returned his attention to Dawn.

“Better?” he asked, eyebrows arched in amusement. Dawn blushed.

“Yeah much, that looks much better. Not,” Dawn added hurriedly, “that you looked bad before, exactly.” Dawn sighed and decided to give up talking before she went back to the movie. Dusk smiled and returned his attention to the film as well.

As the film ended, it was near ten o’ clock; Dawn yawned and turned to Dusk.

“So did you have fun–” she stopped as she noticed Dusk, his chin resting lightly on his chest, dozing quietly. Dawn very carefully stood up and shut off the television, and then she stood there a while.

(I could just go to bed, and mom or Buffy could wake him up when they got home.)

Dawn started to turn but then stopped. She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t pass up this opportunity. Carefully creeping to the couch, she took a black blanket from the top of it and gently sitting next to the slumbering Dusk, she covered them both with it. Curling her legs underneath her, she sighed and very slowly, laid her head on Dusks’ shoulder. She closed her eyes, feeling his body rise and fall with each breath. She inhaled deeply, picking up a trace of something. (His shampoo or maybe his aftershave? Old Spice?) She inhaled again, comforted by the scent and quietly drifted off.

Dusk opened his eyes a while later, feeling groggy. He tried to lift his arm, but it felt like something was weighing it down. Looking to his side, he discovered the cause. There was Dawn, curled up against his arm with her head resting against his shoulder. Dusk smiled even though confusion raced through his body. He studied the way her face looked while she slept; the childlike innocence and peace that pervaded her features. The way her eyelids fluttered every now and then. Gently, he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

At his touch, Dawn gave a contented sigh, her lips curling into a lazy blissful smile. Dusk smiled and very gently picked the slumbering girl up, carrying her in his arms up the stairs toward her bedroom. She stirred slightly, before burrowing into his chest, making unintelligible sounds of gratification. Reaching her door, Dusk focused slightly, and a shadow from the wall detached and slid under the door and into the room. A few moments later, it was confirmed that the room was in fact empty. Releasing his control over the shadow, Dusk entered the room and gently laid the young girl upon the bed, first removing her shoes and socks. She made a sound of protest as he released her from his hold. Her face frowned in her sleep and she began to stir.

“Shhhhh,” Dusk whispered, stroking her hair back. Her face eased, she quieted and drifted back to sleep. Then, carefully, he covered her with her blanket. He smiled slightly at the sheets.

(Harry Potter. Nice.)

Satisfied, Dusk stepped out of the room, taking a long moment to gaze at the sleeping girl, a thousand different emotions playing across his face. Finally, with a sigh of resignation, he quietly closed the door, leaving Dawn to her dreams.

Buffy opened the front door sometime later whispering, “Shhh, I don’t know if anyone’s awake.” Dusk materialized out of the shadows by the door.

“Someone is,” he stated quietly. Buffy nearly yelped in surprise before whacking him in the arm with her purse.

“Don’t DO that. New rule: no shadow-tricks in my house, okay?” Dusk smiled slightly and Buffy turned to address Spike, still outside. “Good night.” She smiled and kissed him; once, twice, and then on the third kiss, she started laughing and pushed him away, closing the door and laying her back against it, her expression blissful.

“Ahem,” Dusk coughed politely. Buffy brought herself back to reality.

“Huh? Oh hi.” She smiled sheepishly. Dusk smiled amused.

“A good date, then?” he asked wryly. Buffy swooned and twirled before draping herself against Dusk, staring up at him adoringly.

“I SO owe you, big brother.” Smiling, she batted her eyes and dotted a quick kiss against his cheek. Dusk smirked and gave her a playful shove away from him.

“Away with you, you lovesick brat.” Grinning, he shook his head. “Did Spike give you –” He stopped as Buffy handed him a tape from her jacket. Dusk smiled. “Cool.” He investigated the tape carefully. “He used a metal tape, I’m honored.” Chuckling, he it into his jacket.

Quizzically, he looked at Buffy. “When did he have time to make this?” Buffy grinned naughtily.

“Let’s just say, thank GOD for hands-free one-touch recording.” She continued to smile wickedly. Dusk shook his head.

“Don’t tell.”

“Don’t ask,” she replied smirking. “Oh and he said he’ll bring the scotch by tomorrow night. He claims he needs some time to ‘grieve’ apparently.” She chuckled and nodded toward the stairs. “Is she asleep?” Dusk followed her gaze.

“Yeah, I checked to make sure everything was secure there. You know, just in case.” He shrugged.

“Meet Dusk, the overprotective babysitter.” Buffy gave him a wry look. Dusk snorted.

“In Sunnydale, there’s no such thing as ‘overprotective’,” he gestured to Buffy, “You, of all people, should know that.” Buffy gave him a strained look.

“Alec, I’m riding a very nice hormonal high. I had a great night, do NOT even begin to attempt to get me all serious or you WILL be hurt. Clear?” Dusk laughed quietly.

“Quite clear,” Dusk collected his coat, “It’s late and I’m beat. I’m going to see if dad needs any help closing shop.” Dusk checked his watch. “It’s only quarter to eleven and dad doesn’t close up for another fifteen minutes, so I’ll just get there in time.” Buffy smiled and nodded fervently.

“Well done, the responsible offspring.” Dusk graced her with a patient look; Buffy smiled, kissed his cheek and trudged up the stairs.

“Good night, Alec! Thanks again,” Buffy called out. Dusk listened as she padded to her room and closed the door. Chuckling, Dusk opened the door.

“Kids,” he said smirking as he closed the door quietly behind him.

He had made it three blocks when he felt it, a presence, just on the edge of his awareness. Dusk stopped and turned, scanning the gloom of Sunnydale at night. There was nothing he could see, and yet…

“It’s late and I’m bloody knackered. Show yourself,” he issued out into the night. From his left, a rich laughter reached his ears.

“Come now, young man, surely you possess more congenial manners than that,” said a voice wrapped in power and sheer confidence, heavily laced with an eastern European accent. Dusk gave it a three-count, before turning.

The vampire was tall, but not overly so, with aristocratic features and a fine boned face, piercing blue eyes and dark brown hair. He had an air about him of utter grace and self-assurance. Something that sent warning bells all through Dusk’s mind. This was not your average fang-banger, this was a vampire that was confident in his own abilities, and had no problem proving them. The vampire bowed cordially.

“Permit me to introduce myself.” He curled his lips into a cordial smile and dipped into a sweeping bow. “I am Dracula.”

The minutes stretched on into uncomfortable silence. Alec had heard of him of course, but from what Buffy had told him, she had staked him...twice. Dracula, for his part, stood waiting patiently for Alec to reply. The young man cleared his throat.

“Vlad, the dragon prince. Warlord of Romania. Defended his country against the Turks and, recently, was staked twice by my sister,” Alec recited simply, with perhaps a hint of challenge. Dracula laughed a low rolling laugh.

“Indeed, the Slayer, Buffy. I had gravely underestimated her and paid the price for it.” He smiled slightly. “She is fierce and lives up every bit to her reputation. I daresay that I should prefer not to engage her in mortal combat again. I doubt I would be so fortunate twice in a row.” Alec scoffed.

“She’s formidable,” the young man commented. Dracula smiled appreciatively.

“Yes. This is so. But then, so are you, my young friend,” the vampire replied as he pulled his lips back into an expression of predatory delight. Dracula slowly advanced on Alec. Alec winced as he felt pressure begin to build in his head, like someone trying to pry their fingers into his brain and open it like an oyster. Alec snarled and focused, fighting off the invasion. The pain doubled without warning. Dracula smiled.

“Ahhh, I sense much fear in you. Fear that you are not strong enough to protect your loved ones; your sister, your father and especially the girl—”

With a scream of unhinged fury, Alec attacked.

Alec’s eyes flashed as inky darkness filled the pupils and spilled over into the whites, soon his eyes were nothing more than two pools of swirling darkness. Dracula had a chance to hiss in surprise before tendrils of darkness, honed to a razor tip lashed out of Alec’s hands and skewered the place the vampire had occupied not a half second before.

Dracula snarled like an animal as he dodged, flipped and wove, attempting to escape the onslaught of blackness.

“Foolish half-breed! You understand nothing!” Dracula spat then closed his eyes and spoke a few words in Romanian. With a flash there were not one but eight images of Dracula circling the young man, smiling tauntingly.

Alec, his eyes filled with a blackness that seemed to trickle down his face like tears, spun this way and that, teeth clenched. From between each tooth, darkness leaked out of his mouth like blood.

Dracula laughed, “Your power is nothing, young man. I could snuff the light from your life like that!” Eight Dracula’s snapped their clawed fingers. “Or perhaps I could put those you love on sharpened stakes, the ultimate irony, as I did to the sultan’s men over six centuries ago,” Dracula continued to taunt the young man, then smiled evilly. “Or perhaps, I could show the young girl you treasure so how I truly earned the title ‘The Impaler’.”

The vampire then got a good look at the young man’s face and realized he had gone too far. After that, it was too late to realize anything.

With a low, almost sub-harmonic howl, Alec threw his head back and eight spikes of darkness shot out from his body in perfect unison, skewering each of the Dracula images. All vanished save one that screamed in pain as he was run through and hoisted high into the air before being slammed down into a metal dumpster.

Dracula groaned and then gasped as Alec was suddenly right there. A shadowy hand lashed out and caught the vampire by the throat and lifted him up clear from his feet. Alec’s face was a swarm of roiling blackness, no trace of humanity to be seen in his now bone white features. Dracula nearly blanched in horror at the sight.

“What ARE you?” the vampire cried out.

“I am the dark,” Alec rasped in a voice that sounded like it came from the bottom of cold stone tomb, hollow and empty. “Die now.” The young man began to squeeze the vampire’s throat. Cracking sounds began to fill the air and in a last desperate attempt, Dracula forced words to come from his mouth.

“Destroy me…and you doom all that you love and hold dear,” he choked out.

A flicker of something human crossed Alec’s inhuman features and he released the vampire, letting him tumble unceremoniously onto the concrete. The multitude tentacles of darkness evaporated as Alec’s eyes drained from all black to their normal shade, his face once again that of a young man.

“What do you mean?” Alec demanded. The Count rubbed his throat gingerly and got to his feet.

“I came to Sunnydale, because I had felt a deep disturbance emanating from this area.”

Alec shrugged, “The pull of the Hellmouth, it’s been here for years. Why would you suddenly be concerned with it?” Dracula looked him dead in the eye.

“Because it is afraid.”

Alec froze. “What do you mean ‘IT’S’ afraid? How can ‘it’ be afraid? It isn’t sentient.” Dracula held up a finger.

“You are mistaken, my young friend. Have you never wondered how such a place came about? How so much dark power became focused? There is something under the ground in California. Something…deathless … greater than vampire, man, or demon. And it is afraid. It is afraid of the Summers' women.” Dracula concluded. Alec eyed him warily.

“Not that I put an ounce of stock into what you’re saying, but why is the Hellmouth afraid of Buffy?” Alec asked him.

Dracula gave him a condescending look before explaining, “Buffy has proven herself the champion of right and light far beyond any who came before her. She has grown powerful; her body, her blood, her very soul, all these thing surge and roll with this power. She herself has already utilized it once, using it to defeat the abomination you called ‘Adam’, I learned of this when I supped from her veins.”

Dracula’s eyes gleamed with avarice. “She stands on the threshold of a massive metamorphosis. She stands ready to transcend all death and become immortal. The Hellmouth fears this greatly, for it too stands on the threshold of transformation. Only one of them, however, shall live to see it through to its conclusion.” His eyes shifted from avarice to calculating.

“And her sister, the one called Dawn, is the key.” A low, wet growl emanated from deep in Alec’s chest, where the grave voice had come from. Alec’s hands tightened into fists, his knuckles white as darkness began to leak from between his fingers. Dracula’s eyes widened as power began to crackle around Alec again. He raised a hand imploringly.

“Hear me out! I swear that I seek no harm upon either woman! I swear it on the clan Dracul!” Alec calmed down slightly at the Count's vehemence and the already coalescing darkness fell away.

“Keep talking,” Alec bit out. Dracula, much relieved, lowered a hand.

“I think it better if we spoke with Buffy as well as her watcher, your father Rupert Giles, present. He will be able to validate my claims.” Dracula reached out, handing Alec a card. “Meet me at this place, with Buffy and Mr. Giles.” A small mocking smile graced his lips. “I trust you will have no reason to fear for your safety. Between you and the Slayer, I do not believe my destruction would be difficult.” Alec took the card tentatively as Dracula turned to leave.

“Give me one good reason why I should believe any of this,” Alec grumbled. Dracula stopped and turned, favoring him with another condescending smile.

“Because, my young friend, you know it is true. You have felt a connection to the girl Dawn that you cannot explain, yet cannot control or deny. It haunts you, granting you no peace, rebelling against all sense.”

Alec paled and his eyes went wide as the counts words hit home.

Dracula laughed at the sight. “Come tomorrow, and you will have answers.” Then with a great bound, Dracula’s body lifted high into the air and flew from sight. Alec looked high into the sky, before looking back down at the card.

THE BRONZE ROOFTOP
MIDNIGHT
-D


Buffy woke up suddenly, unsure what had awakened her. She sat up ramrod straight in her bed and scanned the darkness of her room. Her eyes saw nothing, but her slayer sense screamed at her that she was not alone anymore. Her hand reached out to flick on the light…and she nearly screamed as hand came down hard to grip her wrist out of the darkness.

Combat reflexes took over and Buffy lashed out with a fist, only to find nothing there but shadows. She kicked at the place where a person must have been, only to hit thick darkness. The hand was joined by another, gentle this time, which reached out to wrap tenderly around her shoulders as the first hand released its grip on her wrist to become a warm hand holding hers, entwining long fingers with her own. Buffy understood.

Alec formed out of the dark, eyes draining back to normal to reveal a deep, sorrowful gaze. He squeezed Buffy tightly. Buffy returned the hug, very confused and VERY troubled by the look in her brothers eyes.

“Alec?” she whispered. “Are you all right? You shouldn’t shadow-step, it’s not safe,” Buffy told her brother. Alec had manifested the ability to literally BECOME darkness and cross distances like that…but at great personal discomfort and risk.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” his voice rasped. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” He pleaded. Buffy’s dread became a solid block of ice in her chest.

“Alec I don’t—” She started.

“Dawn isn’t human, is she?” His voice was warm in her ear but ragged and raw. Buffy’s mouth sagged open. (He knows!) She closed and opened her mouth again to deny it. But the words wouldn’t come, and she sighed in defeat. Kissing him on the head gently, she pulled away.

“How did you know?” she whispered quietly, not meeting his gaze. Alec stood and paced across the bedroom floor.

“I met an old friend of yours. Dracula.” Buffy’s head shot up like a rocket, her eyes wide in a mixture of fear and disbelief.

“That’s not possible, I staked him…TWICE!” She cried out. “There’s no way he’d be dumb enough to show his pointy toothed face again.” Alec just looked at her and she immediately fell silent.

“Get dressed and meet me at my father's. We have a lot to discuss.” Without looking back at her, Alec stepped into the shadowy corner of her room and the darkness reached out to take him.

“Alec! Don’t!” Buffy cried out, appalled at how reckless he was being in his anguish. Alec simply looked back at her with those despairing eyes as the darkness consumed him and took him away from her. He was gone, and she was alone.


“…So Dracula wants us to meet him there tomorrow night,” Alec finished recounting his story to his father and Buffy. They were in Giles’ living room. Both of them wore very troubled expressions as if they couldn’t, or didn’t want to believe, the Count's words. Giles was the first to speak.

“He’s not lying,” he said simply. Two pairs of shocked eyes turned to meet the Watcher’s gaze.

Giles sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I’ve often theorized about the Hellmouth possibly being a sentient entity. And looking back on the past four and a half years, I’m inclined to believe that this is so.” He turned his eyes to Buffy. “And if the Hellmouth is sentient, then you will have to fight it, Buffy, when the times comes.”

Buffy looked pale. Fighting vampires was one thing, fighting demons another, but attempting to fight an evil as old as mankind itself seemed impossible. Giles continued.

“We did something, Buffy, something was…unleashed within you, when we invoked the enjoining spell and contacted the first slayer. I’m not sure what but you are changing or soon will be. Can you tell me what it was like, that final confrontation with Adam?” Buffy did her best to shake off the fear she felt and replied.

“I don’t remember very much, it was…overpowering. Like my body wasn’t mine anymore but a whole army. It was like my body didn’t stop at my skin but stretched out past myself. And everything was under my control. I was aware of all that I was and everything that was around me, because it was a part of me.” She looked up into Giles’ face. “Giles, what does this mean? What’s going to happen to me? How can I fight the Hellmouth?” She felt panic rising up in her throat to choke her.

“I don’t know, Buffy, but I think we should meet with Count Dracula and learn what we may from him,” Giles replied.

Alec cleared his throat and their attention shifted to him.

“All right, now which one of you is going to explain to me about Dawn?” He demanded quietly. Buffy and Giles exchanged looks and began to tell him what they knew. About the monks and her not really being Buffy’s sister, but some great force of light called The Key and how Dawn didn’t have a clue about any of it. Alec took it all in impassively. After a while, the young man spoke.

“Dracula said that she was the Key, and that the Hellmouth was afraid of both of you, not just you, Buffy. If Dawn has no idea who or what she is, she couldn’t possibly tap the power that she carries. If that’s the case, why would the Hellmouth fear her?”

Giles shook his head. “I truly don’t know, Alec, but perhaps Dracula does.” Sighing, he got to his feet. “However, I don’t understand why he would be telling us all this unless he stands to gain from it.”

Buffy shrugged. “He knows either one of us can kick his ass. My guess is that he’s more afraid of the Hellmouth.” Alec shook his head.

“No. No, Dracula doesn’t fear us,” Alec replied. He looked up at the two of them and added, “or the Hellmouth for that matter, but he is concerned about how this plays out. I think he may have something to gain by seeing the Hellmouth destroyed, but I think it more likely he has something to lose if it isn’t.” Giles nodded thoughtfully as he paced the room.

“That sounds logical. We’ll have to see come tomorrow night.”

“Question,” Buffy chimed in, “Should Dawn be present at this meeting? If it’s this important and it concerns her so much, she may need to be in on it.” Giles considered before shaking his head.

“No, at this point we know so little about what’s happening. The less she knows, the safer she’ll be,” Giles answered. Alec snorted quietly at this but didn’t disagree.

“What about the others?” he chimed in, “Willow, Xander, Anya and Spike?” he asked. Giles nodded slowly.

“We’ve already seen what happens when secrets are kept within the group,” he gave Buffy a long look. Buffy returned it unwaveringly. Alec decided not to ask and his father continued. “We should alert everyone; Dawn being the only exception.”

Giles turned his head to regard them both, “We’ve kept them in the dark this long because we did not want them treating Dawn any differently than if she actually were Buffy’s younger sister. However, given the direness of the situation, I think the time for such sensibilities has passed.” Giles rested his eyes on the Slayer. Buffy exhaled hard. This wasn’t going to be easy to break to the rest of the gang.

“What about me?” Alec asked, “Is it necessary for me to come clean as well?” Buffy jumped in.

“No. No it’s not, Alec, this isn’t about you, it’s about me and Dawn. You should tell the others when you’re ready, not because you’ve been forced into it.” Buffy told him fervently as she took his hand in hers. Alec gave her hand a long squeeze in gratitude.

“Thank you,” he replied quietly. She smiled slightly at him before releasing his hand and turning her attention back to Giles.

“Okay, Round Robin tomorrow night, before we meet with Dracula. I’ll give everyone a call to let them know.” Buffy got to her feet. “We’ll all meet here before the meeting at the bronze tomorrow night.” Giles nodded.

“All right,” Giles answered. Buffy and Alec turned to leave when suddenly Buffy froze, a confused and distant look on her face. Alec stopped to peer at her concerned.

“Sis? You all right?” He asked her. Buffy snapped out of it.

“Yeah I’m fine, just…for a second there I felt,” The slayer laughed a little embarrassed. “Forget it, I just need a nap.” Giles looked worried.

“You’re sure, Buffy?” Giles asked gravely. Buffy hesitated for a moment, frowning before replying.

“Yeah, sure. Really I’m fine. See you tomorrow, Giles.” Giles relented.

“Yes. See you then,” Giles reassured her. Before leaving, Alec turned to regard his father questioningly.

“‘Round robin?’ ” He inquired. Giles smiled slightly.

“It’s a long story. I’ll regale it to you some other time,” The watcher told his son. Alec chuckled quietly and after giving his father an affectionate pat on the back, he turned and followed Buffy out of the house. Giles, casting a worried look at the quickly retreating pair and slowly closed the door.

“So what do we do now?” a voice called from behind him. Resting his head on the door, Giles didn’t turn as he addressed the speaker.

“If Dracula is here, then things truly have become dire. I cannot believe that Dawn's and my son’s arrival is a coincidence. Not now with Dracula returning so quickly after Buffy’s experience with the First Slayer.” Giles turned to examine the other man. “I believe something is coming. Something terrible. Something we’ve never faced before.” The other man nodded, folding his hands into his long dark coat.

“Between Cordelia’s visions and this, I’d say you’re right,” the other man said. “But that doesn’t answer my question. What do we do now?”

“We wait, Angel,” Giles quietly addressed the vampire before him, “and pray.”

“So that’s the situation.”

Buffy finished her story to the collective audience consisting of herself, Alec, Giles, Spike, Xander, Willow, and Anya. They had all assembled in the back room of the magic shop, which was closed for the morning. When the story had started out, most of them (with the exception of Alec and Giles) had expressions of confidence. They’d fought the Hellmouth before and they could do it again, but as Buffy’s tale grew steadily bleak, so did their expressions.

It was Xander who finally spoke. “Dawn? Dawn is the Key of Power?” he asked incredulously, “Your Dawn, the Dawn that pitches a fit if we don’t let her watch Dawson’s Creek?” he exhaled hard.

Buffy nodded, smiling slightly. “Good disguise, isn’t it?” She replied.

Anya piped in. “Well, I think it’s absolutely brilliant to disguise the Key of Power as an obnoxious pubescent child,” she said with her usual tartness. Alec caught himself shooting her a nasty look, which she chose to ignore.

Willow shook her head. “I just can’t believe that I missed it. Me, the good witch of the Scooby gang,” she lamented, looking downcast until Alec put a hand on her shoulder supportively.

“Chances are that whoever these monks are or were, they put enough shields on her that she’d be impossible to detect. For her protection.” Alec comforted his lover before turning to Buffy. “If Dawn is meant to go head to head with the Hellmouth that means she’d have protection against all kinds of magical scrying.” Buffy nodded her agreement as Alec turned back to Willow. “Dawn’s protected from the Hellmouth’s minions detecting her. Don’t feel bad that she didn’t register sweetie,” Alec assured her. Willow smiled and rested her cheek against his hand and he stroked her face with his thumb, gently dissipating her worries.

Giles cleared his throat before simply stating, “I think it would be best if we do not treat her any differently than we have been.”

Anya shrugged. “I have no problem with that. She’s small and makes loud noises.”

Spike snorted. “Yeah? I’m willing to bet you do too pet, when it’s with Xander and closed doors are involved,” he quipped, ignoring Xander’s look of shocked outrage.

Anya considered the question. “It depends,” she answered thoughtfully, “like last night he did this thing with his—”

“Anya!” Xander cried out before laughing nervously, “Let’s get back to the subject at hand.” Anya shrugged casually snatched up Xander’s hand squeezing it in a gesture that might have been equal parts affection and impatience. Spike and Alec exchanged wry looks.

“Xander and Anya’s sex life aside, we need to make a plan,” Buffy told them all with a grin

Giles smiled slightly. “Buffy wishes to make a plan? The end of the world must truly be upon us,” he cracked. There was a round of laughter from the group as Alec clapped his father on the back.

“My father made a joke. That’s not much further down on the dark omens list,” Alec added. Chuckling, he gave his fathers shoulder a reassuring squeeze before turning back to the group. “Buffy’s right, we need a plan. But first,” he got to his feet to address each one of them in turn, “this is going to be unlike anything any of us has gone up against before. This isn’t slaying vampires or killing demons: this is entering the depths of the earth to do battle with evil incarnate. So if anyone wants out or just is afraid that this is too big or too bad, say so now, and you’ll be released with no strikes against you. But speak now, because after tonight, there’s no going back,” he finished and waited patiently.

Xander spoke first, slowly rising to his feet. “Dusk, you haven’t been around very long, but you’ve been a pretty good guy, so I trust your gut feeling on this. But the gang has been through some pretty dark times and come out in one piece,” Xander told the other man with a shrug. “If Buffy’s going up against the Hellmouth, I’m going with her.” Xander walked over to Buffy’s chair, showing himself firmly behind her.

Willow got up and spoke next. “Darn tootin’! I’ve got three people I love going down into that pit, and I am not about to let them go in without my help. I’m in!” she exclaimed with only a hint of tremulous bravado. She smiled at Alec who returned her look of love warmly as she came to stand behind Buffy as well.

Anya rose next.

“When you fought that icky mayor person, I thought it was suicide, but this I KNOW is suicide.” She sighed in defeat. “But what am I going to do, get old and die instead, with nothing but funny-smelling cats and cross-stitch to keep me company? Count me in too.” Anya got up and stood beside Xander holding his hand tightly. “Besides old people don’t have very good sex.” She looked at Giles. “No offense.”

Xander rolled his eyes and kissed her forehead as Giles turned red and cleared his throat.

“I make no guarantees about our chances, but four years ago I gained a daughter,” he smiled at Buffy, “and four months ago, a son.” He turned his gaze to Alec. “What kind of father would I be allowing my children to face such peril without my aid?” He walked over to the pair and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “It will be an honor to fight beside you.” Buffy’s eyes watered and Alec clasped his father’s arm tightly, too moved to speak. Releasing his father’s arm, he shifted his gaze to Spike who was the only one to remain sitting. He held his hand out to the blond vampire.

After several silent moments, Spike spoke. “Hell, I need to kill something anyhow, and it’d be nice to be known as ‘Spike: the guy who made the Hellmouth soil its demonic knickers’.” He grinned and slapped Alec’s outstretched hand hard. “Screw it, let’s do some damage.” he came over to stand behind the slayer. “Besides, I’m not about to let the best piece of ass I’ve ever encountered get herself killed.”

Buffy laughed slightly through her tears, she was touched deeply by this display of her friends’ loyalty. She socked Spike on the arm.

“You’re a creep,” she sniffled.

Spike smiled wryly. “Yeah, but I’m a tremendously good lay.”

Buffy laughed and wrapped her arms around him. “Just hold me, you big jerk,” she whispered softly, squeezing him tightly. Spike just held her.

Alec smiled and looked around. “I guess that’s everyone.”

Giles cleared his throat and gestured to door on the other side of the room. “Not quite,” he informed them.

Buffy released Spike and wiped the tears from her eyes and turned. “Giles, what’re you talking abo—” Her voice trailed off as the door opened and a man stepped inside.

There was a collective exclamation of surprise from the group and a low growl from Spike as he placed a possessive arm back around the slayer; she was too stunned to notice.

“Angel?” she whispered. Angel nodded and remained where he was.

“We’ve had our differences, Buffy, but this is more important than any of that.”

Buffy patted Spike’s arm and he reluctantly released her as she slowly walked towards her ex-lover.

Angel continued, “What’s happening is very real and serious, and I want to help.” He looked down at the floor.

“How?” Buffy managed to whisper.

Angel met her glance evenly. “Cordelia had a vision about a great battle; darkness and light rising.” He shrugged. “Sounded like something serious was going down. The Powers That Be mentioned something like this happening someday. I guess this is it,” Angel finished and regarded her.

Buffy spun on Giles. “When? When did he get here?” she demanded.

Giles met her glare calmly. “Last night before you and Alec arrived,” he replied simply. “We didn’t want to reveal his presence until we were sure about which course of action to take.” Giles looked down and Buffy spun to glare at Angel.

“So that was you I felt last night,” Buffy exclaimed. Spike’s face darkened at this and Alec put a hand on his shoulder to restrain him.

Angel shrugged. “I don’t know, but it might have been.”

Buffy went right up to him and without warning, she slammed a right hook across his chin. He stumbled back even as Buffy’s hand howled in protest. The display caused Spike to grin.

“Yeah-hah,” he laughed before Alec shushed him.

Angel regained his composure and straightened up. “I see. That’s how it’s going to be then.” He sighed and turned to leave.

Buffy grabbed his arm and spun him around hard. “That was for trying to cover up the fact that you were here.” Her face was tear-streaked and her lower lip trembled. “And this is for coming here thinking I needed your help.”

Angel braced for another blow, but instead, Buffy threw herself against him, hugging him so tightly that if he had had breath it would have killed him. Angel gently held her. Spike cursed quietly.

“Thank you,” Buffy whispered brokenly, tears streaming freely from her face.

Angel held her a while longer before letting her down. She wiped the new tears from her face and turned to the group. They were regarding the pair with a myriad of expressions. She shuffled her feet uncomfortable before looking up.

“Okay, is THAT everyone?” She smiled slightly. “We’re not going to have any other blasts from the past show up, are we?”

Giles smiled. “No, that about does it.” He chuckled before Angel broke in.

“No, it doesn’t,” Angel said, turning to the rest of the group. “May I have a minute to talk with Buffy alone please?” Spike stepped forward glaring hard at Angel and was about to speak when Alec laid a hand on his shoulder. Spike turned to glare at him.

“She’ll be all right, mate. Come on, let’s go look at weapons,” Alec said.

Spike turned back to stake Angel with a lethal glare before stalking out of the room, nearly bowling over Xander and Anya in the process. One by one, the rest of them filed out of the room quietly. Alec was the last to leave, turning to give Buffy a concerned look. She met his gaze and nodded, signaling that she’d be fine. Alec nodded and closed the door. She turned to address Angel.

“Okay, what is it?” She asked him.

Angel gripped her shoulders and studied her intently with those dark eyes of his as if trying to gaze into her soul. “Someone else is here. Someone you probably won’t be all that happy to see.”

Buffy frowned and then her eyes widened in comprehension. She stared wordlessly at Angel.

“You didn’t,” she breathed.

Angel shook his head. “We need all the help we can get.” He turned and addressing the darkened doorway said, “Come on out.”

There was movement as a woman stepped from the shadows. She tried to smile at Buffy.

“Hiya, B. Long time, no see.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed to vicious slits. “Faith,” she bit out like a curse.

For a long while, the two slayers regarded each other. Buffy noticed changes in the rogue slayer. Her hair was cut short and a long scar starting from her left eyebrow and cutting down her eye to end raggedly just below her cheekbone marred her face. The eye that was once brown was now a very pale blue. Faith noticed the look and tried to smile.

“You like it?” She absentmindedly stroked the scar. “Some prison betty tried to make me her bitch. No candy or flowers even.”

Buffy was still glaring daggers. “Let me guess: You killed her, right? I mean, hey, that’s what you’re good at isn’t it, Faith? Ending lives? Stealing lives?” Buffy snarled at her. Faith flinched like she’d been hit and looked down. Angel reached down to grab Buffy’s shoulders.

“Buffy – ”

Buffy cut him off angrily, shaking off his grasp. “How dare you! How dare you bring HER here now!” She stepped back, jabbing a condemning finger at Angel. “You don’t know what she is! You could never know what she’s done to me! What she put me through!” She turned a hateful glance to Faith. “What’s the matter, Faith? Heard the end of the world was coming and thought you’d come down and help speed it along? Maybe kill a few innocent people just for old time’s sake?”

“No,” Faith responded quietly, not looking up.

Buffy turned back to regard Angel. “What gives you the right –”

Angel’s self-control snapped. “Buffy, shut up!” The vampire snarled.

Buffy, in shock, did in fact shut up. Angel continued crushing her under his gaze.

“Whatever is happening here is real evil, Buffy. It’s bigger than any evil you’ve ever faced. Bigger than the Judge, bigger than the mayor, bigger than Faith and bigger than me.” His eyes turned cold. “And bigger than your new boyfriend, Spike.” The color in Buffy’s face drained like water and her whole body shuddered as Angel’s words continued to hammer her. “Spike has killed more people than Faith’s ever met. And yet you and he are now star-crossed lovers? Why don’t you ask him sometime, Buffy? Ask him about the women he had crucified with railroad spikes as they begged for their lives! Ask him about two dead slayers!”

“Shut up!” Buffy screamed at him, “shut up, shut up, shut up!” She placed her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear it! I don’t care anymore! I hate you! I hate both of you!”

Choking back sobs, she ran from the room. Bursting into the store, she nearly knocked Alec over as she opened the door and slammed it shut behind her. Without a backwards glance, she raced out into the noontime sunlight.

Spike ran up to the door and opened it to follow. A ray of sunlight caught him across the arm and as flames burst, he yowled in pain. Alec tackled him to the ground, smothering the flame and getting him out of the daylight. The smell of burnt skin seeped into the room. Giles and Xander helped them to their feet.

Angel sighed. “That could have gone better,” He mused, placing a hand on Faith’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go make introductions.”

She mutely followed.

Buffy returned to the Magic Box around sundown. Entering the backroom unnoticed, she stopped dead when she saw Faith and Angel amongst the rest of the group, discussing strategy. For a moment, she stared, dumbstruck.

“How can you do this?” Buffy cried out. Everyone dropped what they were doing to regard her in surprise. “My God! Have you all forgotten what she’s done to us?” She pointed an accusatory finger to Faith. “Have you all forgotten that she’s a murderer, and evil, and sick, and psychotic?” She turned her gaze to Willow, who was sitting on Alec’s lap. “How she kidnapped Willow?” She paused before turning to Xander. “And you! You were used, and discarded, and then she tried to kill you. Oh, and let’s not forget ANGELUS here.” She turned her hateful gaze on Angel as he flinched. It was the first time she had ever addressed him by that name. “How he murdered our friends, and tried to get the world sucked into Hell? So, what, now it’s ‘forgive and forget’?” Buffy scoffed before muttering, “I don’t think so.”

“Buffy,” Xander called as he watched her turn to go. “Angel’s paid for what he did, and he’s paid back the debt several times over.”

Buffy spun around, her mouth sagging open. Xander was DEFENDING Angel?

“He saved all our lives at graduation,” Xander continued, “and from what Oz told us, when he got back from L.A., Angel’s done his best over there to make amends. If what’s coming is as bad as everyone seems to think it is, then we’re going to need his help.” Xander grinned wryly as Willow, Buffy and Angel all gaped at him. “Besides, Angel is always welcome to help in a nice non-key capacity.” He smiled at Angel, and the vampire shook his head with a light chuckle.

“Thanks, Harris,” Angel replied. “I appreciate it.”

“So, you’re all ‘buddy buddy’ with Angel now, huh?” Buffy asked with a scoff. “Now I KNOW the end of the world is coming. So, what about Faith? Huh, Xander? Does she get into your ‘fine and dandy’ book as well? What’s her excuse?”

Xander’s smile faded, as the rest of the group exchanged worried looks. They’d never heard Buffy talk like this. It took Xander several moments before he could find his voice once more.

“Well, I mean, … Spike’s been trying to kill us a lot longer than Faith has, and he’s welcome to help, so I figured – ” That was as far as he got, before Buffy walked over, and slapped him hard across the face.

The sound was like a gunshot as Xander spun around and fell hard against the table, a large red handprint blazoned against his face.

“Buffy!” Willow cried out in shock, as she leapt to her feet.

Even Spike looked stunned as he cautiously stood. “Hey, come on, love. That wasn’t necessary. I mean, he’s right,” he offered with a slight grin. He had hoped to ease her anger as he reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, but she knocked it aside.

“Don’t touch me, got it?” Buffy growled. She carefully moved back up the stairs toward the exit. Anya was tending to Xander; his cheek was already swelling up, red and ugly. For an instant, Buffy looked horrified, but her eyes hardened again, and she gestured to her friends. “The way I see it? Faith is evil, and anyone who helps her? Well, they’re not much better. I don’t want your help. I don’t need your help. I’m going to deal with the Hellmouth like a slayer should.” She opened the door. “By myself!” she screamed at them, and slammed the door shut behind her.

There was a collective flinch from the group at the sound, and a stunned silence followed, with the exception of Anya trying to comfort Xander.

“Anyone want to go after her?” Alec asked quietly after a long silence.

“Yeah, she’s my girlfriend…I think. Guess it should be me,” Spike commented glumly.

“Normally, Spike, I’d agree,” spoke Giles, as he removed his glasses, and began to clean them. “But I don’t think it would be a good idea, right now, given the fragile state of mind she’s in.” Spike started to protest, but Giles raised a finger to silence him. “Spike, she struck Xander. I’ve never seen her so incensed. She’s clearly not thinking rationally.” Giles turned to his son. “Alec, you seem to be the closest to her without having such an extensive past attached. Would you…?” Alec held up a hand to signal that Giles didn’t need to finish his question.

“I’m on it,” Alec assured his father, as he rose to leave.

“Be careful,” Willow muttered with a hint of caution. “I’ve…I’ve never seen her like this. Not even after the Master killed her, and she was acting like a complete bitca.”

“No worries, I’ll see what I can do.” Alec smiled slightly and kissed her lips gently in reassurance. Willow’s lip trembled slightly. The sight of her friend so unhinged was beginning to take its toll. Alec gathered her up in a tight hug. “Don’t worry, baby. She’ll be okay,” he whispered as he released her.

Willow sniffled, and nodded tearfully, before walking over to where Anya and Faith were tending to Xander.

“Make her understand, mate,” Spike pleaded as he placed a hand on Alec’s arm. “She can’t fight this thing on her own. She’ll get herself killed.” His eyes burned with concern for his lover.

“I’ll do my best, man.” Alec placed a firm hand on Spike’s shoulder, offering him a smile of assurance. Spike nodded, and his hand fell, to return to his side.

Casting another look at the group, Alec swept out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.



He found her sitting on a swing in a playground, sobbing pitifully. He waited for her to acknowledge his presence. Wiping her eyes angrily, she glared at him with all the hatred she could muster through her tears.

“I know what you’re going to say. ‘How could you be such a bitch? What are you thinking? You can’t fight the Hellmouth by yourself!’.” She sniffled, and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Well, I can, and I will, and I don’t need you, or Xander, or Willow, or Giles, or Spike, or Angel, or anyone else’s help to do it!”

Alec regarded her calmly, leaning against the pole of the swing set with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Well?!? Say something you… you demonic freak!” She snarled. “You half-breed, say something!” She rose to her feet, ignoring the swing as it bounced off the back of her legs, and she stalked over to him. “Say something, or so help me...!” She reared her hand back to hit him, but her arm was easily caught by Alec, and he held her tightly.

She began to curse, and scream, as she struck him. “Let me go! I hate you! I hate all of you! How could you betray me like this? Faith is evil! Why can’t any of you see that? You don’t know what she did to me! Let me GO!” She pummeled futilely against his chest.

Finally her resolve broke, and the guilt and shame of what she had done washed over her. Her knees grew weak as the sobs continued, making her seem nothing more than a scared and hurt little girl in his arms. Alec gently supported her, while whispering soothing words to her. She poured all her hate, her fear, and rage into him, and he accepted it stoically. He did not judge her, but merely offered quiet love and support. As the sobs lessoned, and soon stopped, she hiccupped slightly, and regarded him with tearstained eyes.

“Oh God, what did I do? I hit Xander! I said awful things! You must all hate me!”

“No one hates you, Buffy,” Alec said gently, hushing her worries. “Not me, not Xander, not anyone. We’re just worried about you.” He used a finger to tilt her chin up to look at him. “You’re better than this. Better than unthinking hatred. Yes, Faith has sinned, against you especially, and that’s not an easy thing to forgive or forget. But she’s here now, and she’s willing to fight to atone for those sins. Just like Angel, and just like Spike.” He smiled wryly. “Although, you try getting Spike to admit he’s sorry for anything.” The last comment made her smile slightly.

“Yeah, really,” Buffy replied weakly. Alec smiled at her, and then grew serious.

“We’re all here for you Buffy, you have Xander, Willow, Angel, Spike, Anya, Faith, my father… and you have me,” he kissed her forehead tenderly, Buffy closed her eyes and sighed, shuddering. “I can’t speak for Faith, or Anya, because I don’t know them well enough, but I know the rest of us love you dearly, and we’re not going to let you go face this thing alone, you hear me?” Buffy nodded, sniffling. She started to say something, but Alec cut her off.

“You’re welcome,” he told the slayer, as he smiled, and wrapped an arm around her.

“Come on. Dad’s in full research mode, and Xander’s going to go on a doughnut run… as soon as the swelling in his face goes down.” Buffy laughed a little at that.

“Jelly doughnuts?” she asked hopefully.

Alec nodded. “Preferred pastry of Slayer and Watcher alike.”

Buffy smiled again.

“Well, … okay,” she pointed a finger at him, mock serious, “but ONLY because there’s going to be jelly doughnuts there.” Alec laughed, and gathered her up in a tight hug.

“That’s the law of the universe, fight immortal evil and you get all the jelly doughnuts you can eat.”

Buffy smiled and rested against him.

“You’re a good big brother,” she whispered. Alec smiled, and gently bopped his forehead against hers affectionately.

“Ouch,” she sniffled mildly, before laughing gently.

“Come on, let’s go, before Dad eats all the jellies,” he took her hand, and led her back to the magic shop.


The bell over the door rang, and all heads swiveled towards it. Alec, and a significantly calmer looking Buffy, entered. Spike got up and walked over to her, putting a hand on her shoulder, gazing into her eyes, concerned.

“Are you all right, baby?” he asked. She nodded, and patted his hand.

“I’m good, and I’m sorry about the things I said,” Buffy assured him. Spike waved it off.

“Yeah, well, I’ll think of someway for you to make it up to me later,” he replied cockily with a leering grin. She smiled, and he kissed her cheek before leading her to the table. The vampire sent a grateful look to Alec, who nodded in return as he followed the pair back to the table where their friends were anxiously waiting.

Buffy took a deep breath and spoke, “I had no right to say the things I did or to hit Xander.” She turned an extremely apologetic look to her friend, who was seated at the table still cradling an icepack to his face. “I’m really sorry, Xander. Tell you what, I’ll spring for donuts.” Xander continued to ignore her while nursing his jaw. “And pizza?” she added hopefully.

Xander still continued to regard her humorlessly.

“And ice cream?” he interjected.

Buffy sighed with relief and smiled. “Deal.” She leaned down to gather her friend in a tight hug.

Xander flinched. “Ow! Cheek is still of the hurting.”

Buffy gasped and released him quickly.

“Ooo! Sorry!” She smiled apologetically at him, and then she turned her attention to Faith, who was seated across from Giles. The tension level in the room grew noticeably, and Willow—who was seated between the two slayers—cautiously got up and moved out of the line of fire to stand next to Alec. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and patted her reassuringly.

“Faith,” Buffy began. “You’ve injured me in ways I really never thought could exist. You’ve tortured my friends, you’ve stolen my body, abused my loved ones, and nearly helped bring about the end of the world. This isn’t stuff you just forgive.”

Faith looked down, ashamed in the face of Buffy’s accusations.

Buffy let the moment hang a while, before continuing. “But Angel is right, this is bigger than any of that, and if we’re going to survive, it’s going to be as a team.”

Faith's head began to lift in hope and disbelief.

Buffy saw the look and held up a hand. “We are NOT friends, Faith. I don’t like you and I don’t trust you… but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re here and you’re willing to help. So, for the duration of the emergency only, you’re on parole.”

Faith began to smile in relief. The relief didn’t last. Buffy leaned in close to her scarred face and bared her teeth in a way that could not be mistaken for a smile.

"But if you screw up just this much," Buffy growled as she slowly held up two fingers in front of Faith's face, spacing them out to indicate less than an inch, "I am going to find a bigger knife and a taller building. Are you hearing me crystal clear Faith? Are we “five by five”?" She demanded with a snarl as she finished the threat. Faith swallowed hard and nodded indicating that she did.

Buffy backed away a little before sitting down next to Spike, who was regarding her with a mixture of shock and awe while gently tugging at the collar of his shirt uncomfortably.

Xander spoke up, “Okay, so, since Buffy is buying, who wants what on their pizza?” Eight pairs of eyes turned to regard him, uncomprehending.

He shrugged. “What? I’m hungry.”

Willow tentatively put up a hand.

“I’ll have mushrooms please,” she put forth meekly. The room dissolved into light laughter and smiles as the tension drained out of the room. Alec looked down at her, and made a face.

“Fungus, love?”

She shrugged, and Giles smiled slightly.

“I’ll make the calls,” said the Watcher, but then stopped, and added almost hopefully, “Someone is going for doughnuts, yes?” There was another round of quiet laughter. Alec grinned at his father’s well known affection for the gooey treats.

“Jellies for all, dad.”

Giles smiled in relief and went to go make the calls.



Six pizzas, and two dozen doughnuts later, the group discussed their options.

Giles spoke first.

“I think it’s safe to say that this isn’t going to be any kind of quick skirmish or a single battle. This is going to be a protracted campaign. It is bigger than anything we’ve ever done and it will need a lot of preparation.”

Xander raised a hand.

“How exactly does one ‘prepare’ to face primordial evil?” he asked sardonically.

“Carefully,” Alec put in wryly. “Carefully and thoroughly.”

“Hear, hear,” Angel added.

Giles cleared his throat. “Precisely, and that being the case, I suggest we set forth a list of priorities. The first thing we’ll need to do is, not surprisingly, research.”

This promptly elicited groans from the table; save Angel, who had grown used to doing research during his tenure in L.A., and Alec and Willow, who both relished a little book worming.

Giles held a hand up for silence. “I’ve consulted most of my books regarding both the Hellmouth, and the Key, but I’m afraid I just don’t have the proper tomes.”

Faith quietly spoke up, “The mayor had a pretty good sized collection of books.” She turned to Willow for support. Willow bobbed her head emphatically in agreement, remembering her brief and wholly unwilling extended stay at the building.

“That’s right! Maybe he’ll have something on the Key! He certainly should have something regarding the Hellmouth,” Willow replied as she looked back at Faith. The dark-haired slayer slowly nodded her head.

“Yeah, he once told me he founded Sunnydale so that demons could feed here. It’d make sense he’d know a ton about the Hellmouth before doing so,” She added before turning to Buffy. “Is City Hall still up and running?”

Buffy regarded her coolly before catching herself and sighing. She tried desperately to beat down the rush of hatred that filled her.

“Yeah, although it’s pretty vacant now. After the Mayor’s little performance at graduation, a lot of people regard City Hall as sort of a haunted house.” She shrugged. “I keep hearing plans of closing and tearing it down, but nobody seems to get around to it.”

Faith smiled slightly, and turned back to address the group, “Then I’ll go down and get the books.”

Spike snorted slightly. “What, you’re just going to ask the non-existent secretary for the keys to the ex-demons office then? And I thought my slayer was the only one who couldn’t keep a sane plan to save her life.” Spike chortled.

Buffy swatted him upside the head. “Look who’s talking, Mister ‘let’s put together a giant demonic Smurf and unleash him on a Cineplex.”

Spike was about to retort when Alec cut in.

“I think it’s safe to say that it’s going to require both a little discretion and someone who knows enough about arcane lore to grab the right books.” He got to his feet. “Either way, that means me. Faith and I will go to City Hall and get the books.” He addressed Buffy, “We’re going to need supplies too. Do you still have that commando friend of yours’ address?”

Buffy frowned.

“Riley? No, he was recalled and put in Nevada. I have no idea how to get in contact with him,” she told him.

Alec pursed his lips together and turned to Willow.

“Lover, can you hop online and find him? You’ll want to check the national records database, subcategory armed forces; it’ll have some pretty impressive firewalls so you may have to work a little magic to nudge it along.” Alec turned to Giles. “Jenny told me she gave you a disk once containing a few techno pagan rituals?”

Giles frowned in thought, and then said, “Yes, but I’ll have to go back to the house to get them.”

Alec nodded and turned back to Willow. “You feel like committing a felony, love?” he asked her wryly.

She smiled, and bounded to her feet.

“My parents pay taxes so I think I’m entitled to raid the federal database,” she replied.

Buffy interrupted, “So, once we get Riley’s address, then what?”

Alec turned to her. “That’s where Xander comes in.”

Xander was talking to Anya. His ears perked up at hearing his name.

“Huh? What? Am I key guy again?” he asked with equal parts bewilderment and anticipation.

Alec regarded him inquiringly. “You still possess any of that army know-how?”

Xander smiled and nodded his head. “Aye-firmative. What’cha need? Rocket launcher? C-4? Heavy ordinance preferred by slayers everywhere,” quipped Xander, waggling his eyebrows and earning a grin from Alec.

“Perhaps. I need something like a shotgun, but a little faster on the draw. Also, I need incendiary rounds, you know, like they have in flare guns. Anything spring to mind?” Alec asked.

Xander frowned as he thought about it. “Maybe. That doesn’t sound as easy as your generic rocket launcher, but I’ll think of something,” he assured the other man.

Alec nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Figure it out, and when you get a hold of Riley, ask him for a lot of them. Give him the Cliff Notes version of what’s going on, and make sure he can get them out here in a hurry. Riley might be risking a court martial here, so stress how important this is, and ask nicely.”

“Yes, sir,” saluted Xander.

Alec nodded, and turned to Angel and Spike.

“Angel, Spike: head to Willy’s. We need the “word on the street” as well. Buffy once told me that whenever there’s serious evil in the ground sub-terraneanians tend to vacate. Find out if that’s happened, and if so, exactly why. Also, we need to find as many entrances to the underground as we can; natural cave formations, service access tunnels, sewers, crypts. Everything. Maybe we can find an optimal approach for this thing,” he told them.

Spike interjected with a frown, “Ah, excuse me, mate, but I’m not exactly popular down at Willy’s anymore.”

Alec arched an eyebrow. “Well, if you’re afraid, I suppose you could always help Dad with research,” he suggested mildly.

Spike's face darkened and he leapt to his feet.

“Bloody hell! Bring it on!” cried the bleached vampire, and shook his fist in the air, earning chuckles of amusement, and a slap on the butt from Buffy.

“That’s the spirit, honey,” she joked wryly. Spike looked down at her with a grin.

Alec chuckled before turning to Giles.

“Dad, get Quentin on the horn and find out what they can tell us. Stress the whole ‘end of the world’ angle,” he told his father.

“Yeah, find out if they can send some sort of special ops team like they’ve been known to. Usually at the worst possible time,” Buffy added sending Faith a look. Faith averted her eyes, and studied an open book.

Giles cleared his throat.

“Yes.” He checked his watch. “It’s about midnight there, so I’ll be waking the old man up.” The elder Giles smiled with a hint of wickedness in his expression. “I don’t think I have a problem with that. I’ll call him from my house.”

Alec nodded.

“All right then, that’s the plan. Buffy, Dad, Willow, Xander: You go to Dad’s house for hacking, phone calls, and heavy ordinance procurement. Angel, Spike: Willy’s for information. Faith and I will go raid City Hall.”

Anya spoke up, “What about me?”

Alec tightened his lips together in thought. “Anya, stay here and keep an eye on the store.”

An idea struck him. “Willow, do you still have that glyph that demon gave you?” he asked.

Willow nodded and answered, “It’s back at the dorm.”

He turned to Buffy.

“Buffy-?” Alec began.

Buffy was already on her feet. “On it,” she told him. “Willow, where is it?”

“Oh, it’s in my jewelry box, next to the box of cond – ” Willow stopped as her hand flew to her mouth and her face quickly colored to match her hair. Spike gave the witch a cynical look. Buffy mirrored it and grinned teasingly before patting Willow on the shoulder.

“In the jewelry box. I got it, Wills.”

Buffy turned to Anya.

“Do you think this demon guy is likely to help?”

Anya frowned.

“D’Hoffryn is pretty set in his ways.” She exhaled slowly. “But I suppose I could go to all the trouble of asking him,” she added with a huff.

Buffy nodded curtly and turned to Alec. “I’ll have Giles drop me off at the dorms, and then I’ll run back here, and drop it off before heading back up to his place,” she told her brother.

Alec nodded.

“Sounds good. So, we’re all set then?” he asked. There were general sounds of assent from the table. Alec got his coat, and, for the first time, noticed the odd looks he was getting from everyone.

“What?” he finally asked.

Buffy spoke up. “When did you get all ‘take charge with the delegating and the plan’?”

Alec stopped to regard her. “If you have a better idea, sis, I’m all ears,” he stated simply.

She shook her head. “It’s a good plan, it’s just a side of you I haven’t seen,” Buffy commented as she leaned forward to kiss his cheek and then pinch it. “You’re so cute when you’re all take-charge macho man.” She grinned as he rolled his eyes and shoved her gently away.

“Am-scray, time is moving and we are standing still,” he said. Everyone got to their feet and filed out into the night. “Don’t forget, Buffy, Dad. Midnight - the Bronze,” Alec called after them.

“Will do!” Buffy yelled as she, Willow, Xander, and Giles piled into Giles’s new sporty red car. Angel and Spike headed in the opposite direction towards Angel’s car, a black ’67 Plymouth GTX with the top down.

“Good luck,” Angel told Alec.

“You, too,” Alec replied. He shook Angel’s hand, and slapped Spike's palm before leveling a warning finger at the vampire.

“Remember: ‘information’ not ‘body count’, comprende?” Alec warned his friend. Spike growled good-naturedly and lit a cigarette.

“Bloody Hell, you’re as bad as your sister,” he said, grinning as he shook his head and followed Angel. As they retreated, Alec could just make out the two vampires bickering.

“A vampire with a convertible, you really are a professional sufferer, aren’t you?” Spike mocked the elder vampire.

“Spike, don’t start on my car, it’s a good car. And get rid of the cigarette,” Angel retorted. Alec heard Spike mutter something obscene as he and Angel piled into the car and headed off towards Willy’s.

Chuckling, Alec turned to regard the only people remaining: Faith and Anya. He turned to Anya, who wore an unhappy expression on her face. Alec patted her shoulder sympathetically.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be back soon,” he assured her, referring to Xander. She shook her head.

“It’s not that. Willow just reminded me that I forgot to buy condoms,” Anya lamented. “That means Xander and I can’t have sex tonight.”

Alec laughed. “We’re going to be a tad too busy preventing the apocalypse for you and he to get some loving in.”

Anya glared at him.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” she snarled as she stalked back into the store.

Still laughing quietly, Alec turned to Faith.

“You ready to go?” He asked her.

Faith sighed long and hard before looking at him.

“Why did you volunteer to go with me? You know full well I could handle it by myself,” she pointed out.

Alec shrugged. “Actually, it makes sense. You could use someone who knows the occult well enough to grab the right stuff. Besides, I figured you’d feel more comfortable traveling with someone who wasn’t around when all this insanity involving you and the Mayor occurred,” he told her. This made Faith grimace.

“Point,” she conceded, though her gaze was still hard. “That still doesn’t explain why,” she added.

Alec turned to go. “We’ve all got things to atone for. Maybe I can help you along. You coming or not?” he called over his shoulder. Faith sighed again and followed.

“Hey, chief, it’s a long walk from here to City Hall,” Faith interjected. Alec favored her with a sardonic grin.

“Who said anything about walking?” he replied. He led her behind the shop where something was gleaming in the dark. Faith inhaled sharply as she saw it.

“Sweet!” she exclaimed as she gazed adoringly at the viciously sleek-looking black and red sports bike leaning against the wall. “This is a bad-ass machine,” she commented appreciatively as she ran her fingers across the smooth curves of the bike, pushing a fingernail probingly against the leather of the double saddle, which made Alec chuckle.

“Does this suit your fancy?” he asked her, smiling crookedly. She bit her lower lip and grinned, a glimmer of the old Faith shining through.

“Does it ever! Man, the feeling of this baby between my legs. Grrrr!” she exclaimed as she threw a leg over the saddle with a grin. Alec shook his head, laughing quietly, and mounted the bike, handing her a helmet. Faith dutifully strapped it on before placing both her hands on his shoulders.

“Let’s ride, bad boy,” she purred into his ear. Alec just snorted in amusement and secured his own helmet.

Kick-starting the bike, the engine roared to life and elicited a squeal of delight from the slayer behind him. Gently easing the bike out of the alleyway, he gunned it and shot like a rocket down the street.

“Whoo-hoo-hoo!” Faith whooped as the bike turned gracefully around a corner. “God, I want this thing to bear my children!” she cried out in ecstasy.

Alec thought it best to change the subject.

“So, how long have you known Angel?” he asked.

Faith immediately calmed down, becoming morose.

“Since I first got here. I tried to kill him a couple of times, here and in L.A. For some reason, he’s stuck by me. Helped me to do what was right,” she told him.

“Yeah, what was that?” Alec asked, as he eased the bike around another turn.

“Turn myself in, and confess to multiple counts of homicide,” Faith answered with a sigh. “I had a pretty high tab to pay to the world. I guess coming out here is my way of doing it.”

Alec spared her a look over his shoulder. “So, how’d you get out of slam?” he asked.

Faith shrugged.

“Dunno. Today, I get hauled out of my cozy cell, and dumped before a parole board. Next thing you know, I’m out on the streets and some guy called Gunn is picking me up from the slammer telling me Angel needs me down in Sunnydale. I owed Angel, so here I am.” Faith sighed again. “I was probably safer in the slammer with Bertha the gnash hound gunning for me.”

Alec chuckled. “Probably, but if you’re serious about making amends, this is the way to do it.”

Faith snorted. “Terrific. Another Jiminy Cricket conscience, do guys like you come in some sort of karmic six-pack, or what?”

Alec chuckled again, not offended in the least.

Faith pointed down the street. “There it is: that big building on the left.”

Alec nodded, and slowed the bike to a stop in front of the main entrance. Getting off the bike, and helping Faith off, he stripped the helmet from his head, and gave the building a cursory glance, noting the darkened windows.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” Alec commented. Faith took her helmet off, and after taking his, tossed both onto the bike.

“Yeah,” she whispered back, her voice sounding strained.

Alec turned to face her. “You all right?” he asked.

Faith shook her head as if to clear it. “Yeah, just a lot of memories,” she said with a sigh and trudged up the front stairs. She pointed to a darkened window on the third floor. “That’s his office there.” She turned to regard Alec. “So, how do we get in?”

Alec sighed with a hint of dread, and turned to her. “Can you keep a secret?” he asked tentatively.

Faith shrugged and looked at Alec in confusion. “Sure. Why?”

Alec looked back up at the window reluctantly and then stepped into a nearby patch of shadow. The shadows lunged out and consumed him. Faith jumped back in surprise.

“What the fu-?” she peered into the darkness. “Hey, D, you still there?”

The window above her opened suddenly, and Alec peered out from it.

“Stay put, I’ll toss down a rope,” he called out to her.

Faith looked up at him, confused. “How the hell do you do that? And what rope?” She yelled back.

She got her answer a minute later as a long thick cord emerged from the window, and sinuously writhed down the side of the building to come to a stop before her face. Looking deeply apprehensive, she tentatively took it… and yelped in alarm, when the cord wrapped itself around her arm and dragged her up the side of the building with dizzying speed. Before she knew it, Alec was helping her through the window into the office.

Faith spun to him. “What the hell was…?!” her voice trailed off as she noticed the tendril of inky darkness uncoiling itself from her arm to shoot back underneath the flesh of Alec’s arm. The skin bulged grotesquely for a moment as the darkness writhed underneath and then it was gone.

Alec flexed his arm uncomfortably as he looked at her.

“Just a little trick that comes in handy every now and then. Keep mum about it, all right?”

Faith shook her head. “Sure. Whatever,” she assured him, smiling appreciatively. “Handy trick though.”

Alec snorted gently. “I hear that a lot from Slayers,” he replied quietly as he looked around for a light. Finding a desk lamp, he flipped it on.

Faith’s face pinched with emotion. Aside from some dust that he would have never tolerated, the office of Mayor Wilkins hadn’t changed at all since she had last stood here – right before that last fight with Buffy that had ended with her nearly gutted and in a coma. She felt a hand gently settle on her shoulder. She jumped and spun around only to have Alec regarding her with concern.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked. Faith sighed and hung her head. She nodded before pointing to a large cabinet.

“All his freak stuff was in there,” she informed him quietly.

Alec gave her shoulder a brief squeeze before releasing her and turning to study the cabinet.

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” He turned back to Faith. “You want to wait outside?” he asked her sympathetically. Faith looked up suddenly—ready to protest—before sighing and nodding her head.

“Yeah, thanks,” she replied before turning back to the window.

Gently, Alec extended another tendril of darkness that wrapped around her slim waist, and without so much as a sound of protest, Faith was picked up off her feet, and carried out the window, down to street level. Willing the darkness to dissipate into nothingness, he shook his head in commiseration, and then went over to the cabinet. Fingering a large padlock, Alec smiled slightly.

“Trusting sort, wasn’t he?” he commented dryly.

Placing a fingertip to the keyhole, a tiny tendril of darkness sprung out from under Alec’s fingernail and penetrated the hole. A few seconds later, the lock sprung open and Alec opened the cabinet.

“Wow,” he whistled softly as he took it all in. Shrunken heads, a fetus in a jar, and various other fairly macabre items graced the shelves. “This was not your average public servant,” Alec commented, as he began gingerly reaching behind the various items, his fingers probing along the walls.

“Ah ha!” he exclaimed, as his fingers discovered a small catch switch.

Pressing it in, he stepped back as the bottom part of the wall beneath the cabinet slid open, revealing a pair of bookshelves containing several tomes. Crouching down, he began examining them.

“Necronomicon, Tobin’s spirit guide, Books of Ascension.” Alec shook his head in wonderment. This was a pretty eclectic bunch of reading material. “Hmmm… this could be promising.” He fingered the binding of one book. “ ‘La Boca de la Inferno, the mouth of Hell’.”

Taking the book from the shelf, Alec flipped through it. It looked to be written in Spanish, and bore some sort of missionary seal. Setting it aside, he continued to peruse the titles. Finding nothing else of interest, he was about to close the compartment when a small leather-bound bundle of papers fell out. Alec picked it up and examined it.

“ ‘Diary of Richard Wilkins, circa 1898?’ ” His eyes widened, and he shook his head. “Definitely NOT your average public servant.” Stuffing the diary in his jacket, he quietly closed the compartment. Picking up the other book, he relocked the cabinet, and walked over to the window.

“Faith!” Alec called out the window.

The slayer was leaning against his bike, fidgeting. She looked up.

“Catch!” he yelled, laying the book flat on its side, and dropping it; she caught it easily.

Throwing one leg over the window ledge, Alec dangled himself over it, and summoned a shadow from within the room to close the window. Then he simply let go of the window and fell.

“Dusk!” Faith cried out as she rushed futilely to try to catch him. He fell a short distance, and then his coat exploded outwards into a huge wave of trailing darkness, billowing out, quickly slowing his descent. He landed gracefully on his feet.

Faith whistled appreciatively. “Not bad, D! Very McFarland.”

Alec eyed her quizzically. “The impressionistic artist?”

“Comic book artist,” she replied, grinning. Alec shrugged as his coat became a thing of cloth once more. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked.

“Yeah, think so,” he replied. As he reached into his jacket, he removed a small cell phone and speed-dialed Buffy.

“What’s up, bro?” Her voice came to him over the earpiece.

“We got what we came here for. How are things on your end?” Alec asked. He heard Buffy say something to someone else in the room before coming back on the line.

“We just got Miss Calendar’s program up and running. Willow’s having a field day with it.” Alec smiled crookedly at that.

“I’ll bet. Any word from Spike and Angel?”

“Yeah, they just called from a pay phone. They’re on their way here,” Buffy replied.

“All right, we’ll be there shortly. See you soon.” Hitting END, he put the phone away, and turned to Faith.

“So, what’s the story?” she asked.

“Willow is hacking into the Pentagon with Jenny’s magic program, and Spike and Angel are on their way there,” Alec told her casually.

Faith nodded, grinning slightly. “Sounds like a typical night for the Scooby Gang. Guess we should get going. Don’t want to miss all the fun,” Faith cracked Throwing one last look at the building, she pulled on her helmet, and mounted the bike.

“Guess so,” Alec replied quietly.

Strapping on his helmet and getting on the bike, he kicked it to life and rocketed away from the dark building, and the dark memories it held.

Alec and Faith pulled into Giles’s driveway just as Spike and Angel were heading up the walk. Angel headed over to the pair as they stripped off their helmets.

“You got it?” he asked.

Alec grinned as he took the book from Faith and handed it to him.

“Everything you’ve always wanted to know about the Hellmouth, but were afraid to ask,” Alec replied. Angel nodded solemnly.

Spike gagged. “Bloody hell, mate! Woody Allen?!” he spat in disgust.

Alec grimaced in agreement. “I know, I know - Lucas was robbed in ’77,” he replied. Both Alec and Spike shared a secret love for the Star Wars trilogy, though neither would admit as much to anyone else. Shaking his head, Alec dismounted his bike. Faith also hopped off and walked past Alec and Spike into the house. The blond vampire was eyeballing the bike with obvious disdain.

“Nice crotch rocket,” he snickered. “What, a Harley or a Valiant too much machine for you?”

“Harleys just don’t have the style I’m looking for,” Alec snorted back just as derisively.

Spike glared at him. “You HAVE no style, mate,” he retorted. Alec was about to respond when Angel politely interjected.

“Guys? Now’s not the time, we’ve got things that need doing.” Brooding, and with book in tow, Angel brushed past them both, heading up to the front door, opening it and, without a glance, proceeded to leave it ajar and drifting to bang against the wall. Alec and Spike exchanged glares, an indication of a disagreement between friends that had not been quite yet forgotten, before following.

The door was open, Buffy, Willow, and Xander were huddled around a computer, Faith was already watching TV, and Giles was on the phone. He nodded in greeting to his son before continuing his conversation.

“Yes, I realize that Quentin is a very busy man and needs his sleep, but this is of the gravest importance,” Giles demanded into the phone. A silence followed in which Giles’s face became a study in strained patience. “Listen, you silly little sod! I don’t care what you have to do, get Quentin Travers on the phone, NOW!” he barked. Everyone in the room turned to regard him in mute shock. The Watcher looked back at them, and had the good grace to appear abashed.

“Please!” he snarled into the phone as an afterthought.

Alec slapped his father on the back good-naturedly before going over to the computer. Willow was in the driver’s seat with Xander and Buffy huddled around her. Both of them offered greetings to Alec as he placed a kiss atop Willow’s head.

“How we doing, lover?” he asked, leaning against the desk to peer at the myriad of programming code that was flashing across the screen.

The redhead smiled at him and replied, “Miss Calendar’s techno-rites are really top notch. They act sort of like a search engine, except that they check all the information on the Internet, not just what’s publicly available.” She whistled softly. “It’s amazing; they’re a blend of magic and programming. I can’t wait to see what else they can do!” Willow beamed at him like a kid with a new toy. Alec chuckled and kissed her cheek.

“Happy Hannukah, dear,” he whispered. Moving away from the screen he turned to Xander.

“Any thoughts on what we ask Riley Claus for Christmas?” Alec asked.

Xander chuckled before turning to address him. “I’m thinking a Daewoo USAS-12 full-auto shotgun. It looks sort of like a really big rifle with an eleven round clip. Problem is, the kick is pretty punishing so we should issue them only to the fairly tough. You, me, our two femme fatales, and those lacking a pulse shouldn’t have a problem.”

Alec nodded. “Think Riley will be able to get them?”

Xander shrugged. “It’s not exactly a standard issue M-16. It depends on where Riley is stationed.”

“Got it!” Willow cried out triumphantly. “I am cyber-witch! Kiss me!” she demanded, which garnered smiles from the group. Alec swooped down to steal another kiss.

“Well done, baby. Where is he?” he asked.

Willow punched a few keys before snorting in disbelief.

“Area 51, Nevada.” She looked up at him, chuckling, before turning to Xander. “I owe you ten bucks.”

Xander was grinning widely, not saying anything, then turned to face Spike as the vampire came over to tell him something.

Alec must have looked confused, because Willow took a moment to elaborate. “I made a bet with Xander when we were kids that aliens weren’t real. Looks like I was wrong.” She smiled as she turned back to the screen. “From vampires to Martians, poor Riley.”

Buffy laughed. “Can we get in touch with him?” the slayer asked.

Willow nodded. “Yep, looks like he’s got an e-mail address and everything.” She tapped a few more keys in rapid succession. “Just in case the government’s playing ‘big brother’ with him, I’m encrypting the message.”

Buffy frowned. “Will, if you encrypt it, how will he be able to read it?”

Willow smiled indulgently at her. “Oh, ye of little faith. The encryption will have a password prompt. He’ll have to answer a question correctly before accessing it. All I need is a question to ask him that no one else would know the answer to.”

“I’ve got this one covered, Red,” Spike volunteered. Grinning, he walked over from talking with Xander and, cupping his hand over her ear, whispered something. Willows face colored scarlet.

“Spike - I can’t ask that!” she cried, mortified.

“Why not? Bet you anything Uncle Sam doesn’t know that,” he countered, grinning.

“Know what?” Buffy asked cautiously as the still-furiously blushing Willow began typing again. Spike leaned over and whispered something into the blonde slayer’s ear. Buffy’s face morphed right into embarrassed outrage.

“Spike! They are not that big,” she yelled as she swatted him.

Spike held up his hands to protect himself. “Check the label yourself, if you don’t believe me, love,” he replied. Spike continued cackling as Buffy stormed out of the room and into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her.

“What did you say to her?” Alec asked incredulously.

Spike shrugged. “I just suggested the question Willow might want to ask Riley to make sure it’s him,” the vampire said with a wolfish grin.

“And that was…?”

“The Slayer's bra size.”

Alec stood stunned for a minute, and then howled with laughter, quickly joined by Xander. Angel looked uncomfortable and Faith was too busy watching TV to care.

“That’s brilliant man, that’s just perfect,” Alec commented, shaking his head and laughing. “But what makes you think Riley will remember?” he asked.

Spike snorted. “The three things you must always memorize when dating a woman - her birthday, your anniversary, and her measurements. I figured the first two might be on public record.” Spike continued to smirk like the cat that ate the canary.

Willow looked up from her work. “Alec, dear, do you have those memorized?” she asked innocently.

Alec scoffed. “Of course I do. April 10th, September 22nd and 36-” he stopped dead as Willow began to blush.

Abruptly, the dark-haired man turned his attention to the living room. “Faith? What’s on TV? Is that Billy Idol?” he asked as he beat a hasty retreat. Along the way, Alec was nearly run down by his adopted sister emerging from the bathroom, red faced.

Spike arched an eyebrow. “Wel-” he began to ask.

“Shut up!” Buffy snarled at him before sitting down on the couch, her arms folded over her chest. Spike just leered.
“It’s fun to be right,” Spike chortled as he got up and joined the others watching TV.

Willow, who was very much trying not to succumb to a sudden urge that involved her rolling around on the ground and howling with laughter, finished the encryption work before turning to Xander. She was not surprised to discover that her childhood friend was locked in a serious struggle for the remote control and thus not giving her his full attention.

“Okay, Xander, you’re up. Write what you need to and just hit ‘send’ afterwards,” she told him.

Xander relented in his struggles for the remote with a sigh and plopped down into the chair. “Sure, Wills, I got it,” he told her before he began to type. Occasionally, he would laugh quietly to himself, and shoot glances at Buffy, who simply crossed her arms tightly against her chest and glared at him.

A few moments later, Giles entered the room, no longer on the phone.

“Well, the council will not send anything in the way of manpower for assistance. Apparently the happenings of a rogue slayer and a disgraced Watcher are not high on their collective list of priorities.” The watcher turned his gaze to Faith, who had shifted her focus from the television to him and was now regarding the older man with a hint of dread.
Giles met her gaze steadily. “I did not reveal to them that Faith is with us,” he added pointedly. Relief and gratitude flooded the other woman’s face. She did not want to fight off another Watcher task-force sent to apprehend her and drag her back to England for trial. “The council still believes she is in police custody, locked safely away in prison,” the watcher explained.

Buffy nodded, her face returning to a less-humiliated skin tone. “Good call, Giles,” she told him, nodding approvingly.

Giles continued. “However, I did convince Quentin to send us a collection of Watcher and Slayer diaries. They date back several centuries and should prove quite insightful. With any luck, they will be here by morning.”

Buffy sighed. It was really all she could expect from the Council. You either played by their rules, or you were considered benched for the duration. Turning to Spike, who was still grinning like an idiot, she addressed him, but not before giving him a dire look which promptly caused his lecherous leer to vanish.

“What did Willy have to say?” she asked him.

Spike became grim. “Something serious is up, love. Everything that has laired either underground, or in the sewers, has vacated,” he told her. Xander turned from the computer, which was busy sending the finished letter to Riley, his jaw sagging open.

“Everything? All of them? Just like that?” Xander exclaimed incredulously.

Spike nodded. “It gets weirder, mate. Apparently, those that didn’t jump ship fast enough vanished,” He snapped his pale fingers. “Poof! Just like that!”

Giles frowned. “What do you mean they ‘vanished’? They were… killed?” The watcher asked, disbelieving. Angel shook his head as he interjected.

“Not according to those that went looking for them. In most cases, their havens were untouched, here and there a sign of a scuffle, but no blood, no bodies. Nothing.” Angel shook his head and continued in a quieter, even more somber tone. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Vampires, especially those that make their havens underground, do not simply up and leave without telling anyone. Not like this.” Angel sent Buffy a grave look. “Something is very wrong here,” he said quietly.

Buffy paled a little, and turned to address Spike. “Did anyone have a clear idea about what happened to them?” she asked him.

Spike shook his head. “Those that had a clue were not talking. Not even with a lot of persuasion, and believe me, love, I used a lot of bloody persuasion,” Spike assured her, then frowned. “I must be losing my touch.”

“Willy was scared out of his mind, Spike,” Angel put in. “I think whatever put the fear in his heart may be more vicious than you,” he said with a slightly barbed tone in his voice. Spike jerked his head up to glare at his grandsire.

“Bollocks! What would you know of ‘vicious’, you great poofter?” Spike retorted with a sneer.

Buffy cleared her throat with more than a hint of frustration. “If you don’t mind, boys, can we get back to the matter at hand here?” she asked with strained patience. “What you’re saying is that something has managed to convince everything under the ground to vacate, and not everyone made it out?” she asked, addressing them both.

Spike nodded. “More or less, you should have heard Willy griping about how this is costing him business.” Spike grinned, flashing his fangs a little. “I was almost tempted to silence the little twit when the Great Sod over here” - he casually gestured to Angel - “implied that torturing the barkeep was out of fashion.”

With a concerned look, Buffy turned her attention away from the bickering vampires and addressed Xander.

“Xander, do you remember two Christmases ago, when Angel was having some serious dark mojo worked on him?” she asked her friend. Xander nodded.

“Yeah, something called ‘the One’ ”? he replied, frowning in thought. Buffy nodded her own head.

“Right, do you remember if there were any demons or vampires in the bar that night?” she asked him. Xander bobbed his head, again, though more slowly this time.

“Y-e-e-ah. Yeah, there were. I remember, because Willy made a big deal about you walking in there and a couple of the patrons sort of slinked away. Why?” he inquired, confused. Buffy turned back to Spike.

“Spike was there anyone at the bar besides Willy?” she asked. Spike furrowed his brow in concentration before his eyes widened in comprehension.

“No,” he told her as he turned his head to lock his eyes with Angel, whose expression was equally stunned. “Not a bloody soul. That’s why it was such a perfect time to torture that little creep Willy. No witnesses,” Spike informed Buffy as he turned back to her. “Of course, with this sodding chip in my head, murdering Willy in a slow and creative way might have given me a splitting headache. But still…Willy’s was completely deserted,” he said with a shrug. “I thought we’d just missed happy hour or something.”

Alec re-entered the room, apparently more daunted by Faith’s choice in viewing programming than the blonde slayer's indignant modesty. Angel shook his head.

“No, most vampires head to Willy’s right after sundown for a quick breakfast. It being deserted means that…” Angel’s voice trailed off.

“…it means that whatever is under the ground is more frightening than whatever it was you faced that Christmas.” It was Alec that finished the sentence for the rest of them in a quiet voice. He turned to gauge Buffy’s reaction.

Buffy shuddered, remembering her encounter with the demonic manifestation of the late Miss Calendar. It was only in its last moments, as it prophesized Angel’s death gloatingly, that it revealed its true, monstrous form just for a moment, before vanishing.

But Buffy had had nightmares about it for weeks. That last, terrible moment had been enough to sear itself into her mind. And whatever was under their feet right now was supposedly even worse.

Spike, noticing the sudden ashen complexion of his lover, quickly moved next to her and gathered her into a tight embrace. In his arms, he was horrified to feel her shaking with fear. He’d never seen her like this. Not when she’d faced Angelus, faced Adam, not even when she had faced him and Dru, all those years ago. He stroked her hair soothingly.

“Shhh, it’s all right baby, it’s going to be okay,” he reassured her quietly as he sent a challenging look at Angel, expecting Buffy’s ex to be jealous, or angry, at the display. Angel’s expression did not disappoint Spike and the tension between the two vampires seethed hotly.

Alec cleared his throat and gestured at Angel. The vampire shifted his glare from Spike and focused his attention on the other man before him. The young man gestured to his father. Angel took the hint and, stalking away from Buffy and Spike, handed Giles the book Alec had given him.

“That’s the book we found at the mayor’s office,” Alec informed his father. “It looks like some sort of record or factual account.” Giles opened the tome and began looking through it as his son continued to speak. “It has a monastic seal on it. My guess is it’s a record written by the first pilgrims here,” Alec finished. Giles nodded his approval at his son’s reasoning.

“Yes, I believe so. It’s written in some sort of Spanish dialect.” Giles took off his glasses and squinted at the pages of the book, concentrating. “It looks like a hybrid of old world Latin and Spanish.” Giles closed the book and replaced his glasses on his nose, looking up to face his son. “It’ll take some time to translate,” he told Alec.

“I’ve got a pretty good translation program, Giles,” Willow chimed in. “Give me some time to adapt Miss Calendar’s technomancy to it and I can scan it into the computer.”
Buffy, having calmed down a little, turned to address her the young witch.

“I dunno, Wills, you and scanning old texts don’t have the best history together. You may want to check it first, just to make sure the Mayor didn’t try to get clever with it,” she warned Willow.

“That sounds like him,” Faith added, having torn her attention from the television. “He was pretty good at that magic stuff, managing to make himself invincible and all.” Faith turned her head away from Buffy to Alec. “The cabinet wasn’t protected?” she asked the young man. Alec shook his head.

“If there had been any sort of protective incantations placed on it, they probably dissipated once he died. Still, it’s a good idea,” he conceded before turning to address his father.

“Dad, do we have the necessary ingredients at the store?” Alec asked. Giles scoffed gently.

“Oh, come now, Alec, of course we do,” he replied; a hint of wounded professional pride creeping into his voice. “We can stop at the store to check the book for wards on the way to the Bronze,” Giles said.

Spike looked up.

“You’re sure this meeting is a good idea, old man? I mean, Drac was never exactly a man of his word or anything.”
Alec favored Spike him with a wry grin. “Whereas you are a paragon of virtue, right?”

Spike muttered something obscene which garnered a laugh from the group.

“Hold up,” Faith interrupted. “‘Drac?’ as in Dracula? Like, THE Dracula, the prince of Darkness, Bela Lugosi, Gary Oldman, THAT Dracula?” Faith exhaled hard in excitement and shot Buffy a wistful look. “Wouldn’t that be the staking of a lifetime, eh, B?” she asked. Buffy actually smiled a little at that.

“I have staked him twice, and apparently he’s still around, so I’m not sure that’s really do-able,” Buffy admitted. Faith, still shaking her head in wonder, went back to the television. Alec checked his watch.

“Well, we better not keep the Count waiting.” He turned to Willow. “Come on, love, we’ll drop you off at the magic store on the way there. You can play ‘Let’s find out if this book has a magical booby trap’,” he joked.

Willow rolled her eyes at her boyfriend, sticking out her tongue.

“Gee, my favorite game,” she commented, dead-pan, before stopping and glaring at Alec. “Hey, wait! I wanna see Dracula again!” Willow whined, perhaps suffering from a little intellectual curiosity. Alec shook his head.

“It’s not that big a deal; he’s actually much shorter in real life,” he told his girlfriend, smiling indulgently at her.

“Yeah, and he’s got bad breath, too,” Buffy added. Alec shot her an inquiring look. Buffy just shrugged, offering no explanation.

“Never tell me,” Alec demanded quietly. Buffy crossed her heart. With a quiet sigh, he changed the subject.

“Did you get Anya that talisman?” he asked his sister. Buffy nodded.

“She said she’d give her demon buddy a chant tomorrow; something about the moon being in the right phase or something.” Buffy shot Xander a mischievous look as she remembered his enjoyment of her earlier humiliation. “She also asked if Xander could stop at the all-night drug store. She said he’d know why,” she added in a voice much louder that it needed to be. With a vengeful grin of her own, Buffy watched Xander flush crimson as several pairs of eyes scrutinized him intently.

“Gum, she wants gum,” Xander retorted defensively.

Spike laughed derisively. “Yeah, what kind: ribbed or lambskin?” the vampire asked.

Alec stifled a laugh. Faith didn’t even bother with stifling.

“The Earth is doomed,” Giles declared morosely as he took in this display of childish behavior.

Buffy patted his arm in mock sympathy. “Now now, if we had a dime for every time you’d said that,” - she stopped and frowned, suddenly at a loss for words - “we’d… have… a lot of dimes,” the fair-haired slayer finished awkwardly. Giles looked at her askance at her verbal blunder.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that was witty,” he commented dryly.

Buffy glared at him. “Heel,” she barked at him as she left for the door. Spike instantly achieved a melodramatically contrite manner.

“Yes, dear, anything you say, dear…” he trailed off in a faux-meek tone, his head bowed as he followed her out the door. Faith laughed as she observed it.

“Man, B’s got her man whipped,” she commented. Xander turned to her.

“That’s only if he asks nicely,” he joked. Faith flashed him a smile and continued to laugh as she headed out the door. Willow, Giles, Angel, and Alec followed. Angel stopped to confront Alec.

“You didn’t tell me Dracula was here,” his said quietly to the other man in a mildly accusatory tone as they stepped out of the house.

“You didn’t ask,” Alec replied simply, as he closed the door and locked it behind him. Angel grumbled something about Dracula owing him money and headed to his car.

Spike was already in the passenger seat; his leg dangling over the side with his head thrown back, smoking a cigarette and banging on the dashboard in time to the Sex Pistols blaring out of the car speakers. Angel swatted his leg, hard.

“Feet in the car,” Angel said tersely as he reached out and plucked the cigarette out of Spike’s mouth just as the other vampire opened it to protest. “And no smoking,” he finished with a growl. Spike gave him the finger as Angel got in the car and carefully backed it out of the driveway.

“You know, you weren’t this much of a sodding berk when you were lacking a soul. Why don’t you go get fleshy with a piece of crumpet so you can have that stake rammed up your arse you call ‘a soul’ removed and so I can go back to having a good time?” Spike ranted contemptuously. As Angel cut the wheel, he ‘accidentally’ smacked Spike upside the head.

“Hey!” Spike protested. “Watch the hair!” he smoothed his hair back. Angel gritted his teeth.

“Spike, trust me, if I ever lose my soul again, your immediate future is going to consist of being made able to fit in this ashtray,” Angel snarled as he reached down and jerked open the car’s ashtray… only to stare at it in stupefaction - it was completely filled with ash, and cigarette butts. Spike favored Angel with a bitter half-smile.

“Yeah? Want to bet?” he commented.

Angel reached over and tore the ash tray clean out of the dashboard, then hurled it to his right without a glance; as it sailed past Spike to land onto the street with a clang (in the process, dumping its contents all over the blond vampire), the ashtray nearly clipped him in the head.

“Bloody Hell!” Spike roared as he brushed at his clothes and hair; trying to get the cigarette butts and ash out. Angel continued to stare straight ahead.

“So, a nice young woman for me to bed for a night? That’s what you want, is it Spike?” Angel asked in a quiet tone. Spike, not really paying attention, scoffed and nodded his head vigorously as he continued to fuss at his clothes. Angel whipped his head around to stare at the other vampire, who was still brushing at his clothes furiously and not paying any heed to the older vampire.

“Know any?” Angel asked casually in that same, lethally soft voice.

Spike froze mid-brush, and turned to face Angel very, very slowly. A growl that could not have come from a human throat, a vampire’s growl, low and vicious, rolled out from between Spike’s lips as the two vampires locked eyes.

Angel's knuckles tightened on the wheel until they popped and the steering wheel creaked audibly, a sound of strained leather and plastic as it was slowly compressed by the unrelenting strength of an angry vampire.

They drove on in dangerous silence.

As the lights of Angel’s car faded off down the road and into the dark, Giles, Xander, Faith, Buffy, and Willow had all piled into Giles’s car. The watcher turned to address his son, who was mounting his motorcycle nearby.

“Meeting us at the Bronze then?” the elder Giles asked.
Alec nodded. “I’ll scope it out just to make sure everything’s kosher,” he told his father. Willow hurriedly lurched out from between the two slayers in the backseat, shoving past Faith to stick her head out of the car door window and stare intently at her beloved.

“Be careful, Alec,” she warned him, sounding a little worried. Alec winked and blew her a kiss.

“No worries, luv. All is well, and all is well, and all will be well,” he quoted to her.

Willow face broke into a wide grin in recognition of the reference.

“Mr. Wednesday from ‘American Gods’! You remembered!” she exclaimed, joy and amazement melting away her fear for him.

Alec grinned his crooked grin at her; the one she found so endearing.

“Of course I did, baby, your favorite book and all.” He offered as a wry explanation before strapping on his helmet and starting up his bike.

“I love you!” Willow cried out, trying to make herself audible over the high-pitched whine of the sports bike. Alec stopped the engine and, taking off his helmet, met her eyes with his.
“I love you, too, Willow. More than anything,” he told her, quietly but firmly.

Willow smiled, and pulled her head back into the car, pointedly ignoring the bemused looks she was getting from the others. Giles was backing out of the parking lot as Buffy snapped open a compact to fuss with her make-up, peering intently into the tiny mirror.

“You know,” Faith began, “I read that book once, at the prison library. Doesn’t Mr. Wednesday turn out to be a bad guy in the end?”

Willow smiled, and shook her head as, outside, the sound of Alec’s bike starting up, again, could be heard.

“Not my ‘Mr. Wednesday’. Never in a million years,” the red-haired witch assured the scarred slayer. “You may be an expert in vampire butt-kicking, Faith, but you don’t know what it’s like to be loved by a man like that.”

Faith turned to look back out the window at the dark; to stare, more specifically, at the point where the taillights of Angel’s car had disappeared.

“Yeah, you got that right, Red,” Faith whispered softly. Willow, lost in the joy of being loved, didn’t hear her. Faith, lost in her thoughts, didn’t say anything further.

Buffy, however, who was lost in neither at the moment, watched her own reflection watch Faith in the tiny mirror of the compact. The same mirror that had just allowed Buffy to witness the entire exchange without anyone noticing. The same mirror, in fact, that now granted Buffy the opportunity to scrutinize the play of emotions across Faith’s face as it was reflected, faint and ghost-like, in the glass of the car window that the disgraced slayer was now staring out of.

Longing and a deep, abiding ache; that was what Faith’s reflected face now displayed, that was what Buffy saw in the compact mirror.

Buffy turned the compact mirror back to face her now, to stare at her own reflection; only to find her eyes had become twin slits of malice and jealousy that now stared back at her, full of accusation.

Buffy snapped the compact closed with a quick and violent motion. Willow jumped and regarded Buffy curiously. Faith didn’t appear to have noticed it. Buffy, cramming it back into her purse with tight, angry movements, proceeded then to fold her arms across her chest and stare out her own window, now also lost in thought.

Giles’s reflection, however, which had watched Faith, had watched Buffy watch Faith, and now watched them both from its place within the rearview mirror, did not appear to be lost in anything. It was sharp-eyed as it continued to observe them unawares. That reflection, Giles’s reflection, studied them with an expression so blank and devoid of emotion as to be more of a mask than a face; save for two, troubled eyes, hidden behind glasses. The reflection of those troubled eyes continued to peer out from behind the blank mask of a face, captured in the rearview mirror. It took in the state of the two slayers in the backseat and it was not pleased. Not pleased at all.

Giles’s hand tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white as the blood was forced from them by the intensity in which the man squeezed the wheel.

They drove on in dangerous silence.

“There’s Alec,” Buffy said as she pointed to the young man reclining against his bike in front of the Bronze, “Looks all right,” she observed. Giles nodded assent and gently pulled the car over to the side of the street. Before shutting off the engine, he looked to Alec for some signal that all was well. Alec caught his look and flashed him a quick reassuring thumbs-up. Giles sighed, and releasing a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, shut off the car engine and got out, taking a few minutes to look around. Meanwhile Buffy walked up to meet Alec.

“How’s it look, Bro?” Buffy asked Alec, walking towards him. Alec shrugged.

“Not a soul in sight,” he checked his watch.

“That’s comforting” Buffy snorted.

“Right, forgot, Vampires lack souls.”

POW!

“Hey!” Alec cried out as he rubbed the spot on his arm where Buffy had just punched him, “What the hell was that for?” he demanded.

Buffy just glared daggers at him, waiting for the revelation to come to her brother: it did.

“Angel.” Alec said simply.

Buffy nodded and didn’t say anything else as Giles approached them.

“No sign of our esteemed host?” the older man asked. Alec shook his head.

“Negative. We are a few minutes early though,” Giles nodded as Buffy gave the building a quick look.

“So are we breaking in and taking the stairs or are we fire escaping it?” she asked. Alec gestured to the front doors.

“I’ve already unlocked them. Shall we?” Heading towards the doors, he turned and regarded his father for a beat.

“Ready to meet the most famous vampire of all time?” he asked dryly.

“Thrilled,” Giles responded, just as dryly. Alec chuckled and held the door for them as they entered.

They made their way through the deserted club, found the stairwell rooftop access and trudged up the stairs. A little quick shadow play from Alec unlocked the door and they were up on the rooftop. Alec inhaled a deep breath of night air and gazed up at the stars.

“Well, here we are … now what?” Buffy asked.

“It would seem that we wait,” Giles responded.

“Guys?” Alec spoke up, a strange tone in his voice.

Slayer and Watcher turned to face him, “I don’t think we have to wait long.” He pointed up at the night sky. Confused, the others followed his gaze and stiffened when they saw it.

A long trail of green and white mist lazily curled through the air, coming down out of the sky and pooling opposite the three. The mist piled higher and higher onto itself, slowly taking on a more definite shape, finally, as if he were stepping out of a fog into clear view, Dracula stood before them. He bowed sweepingly.

“Good evening,” he said in a voice that rumbled. The rumble became a purr as he noticed Buffy. His blue eyes danced with amusement, “Ah, Buffy, How nice it is to see you again,” he growled, flashing her his most dazzling smile. Buffy, however, had long since been immune to his charms.

“Pleasure’s all yours Count,” she retorted. Dracula chuckled and regarded the eldest of the group.

“Ah, the infamous Rupert Giles. Van Helsing of the modern world,” he bowed cordially, “I pay homage to such a learned man.” Giles, far from being flustered by the regal behavior, rose to the occasion.

“And I pay respect to the Vampire Prince,” he returned, mirroring the Count's bow with a dignified nod of the head. Dracula chuckled in amusement, for a moment ignoring Buffy, to regard father and son.

“There is much of your father in you, young Alec Giles. Even without your demonic essence, I sense a great power,” his fangs flashed in that same display of predatory appreciation, “you would have made a formidable vampire.” All three of them narrowed their eyes at this comment. Alec cleared his throat,

“I believe you had some information for us?” he inquired. Dracula conceded to the heavy-handed attempt at changing the subject with his usual unflappable grace,

“Just so, young Giles, what is it you would know?” Alec gestured to Buffy, allowing her to speak.

“What happened to everything that was living in the sewers and caves before this?” she demanded. Dracula smiled unpleasantly,

“Alas, those that did not flee fast enough were made part of a larger whole. I imagine it was quite unwilling,” he informed her cryptically. Buffy frowned,

“What do you mean ‘part of a larger whole’? Are you saying they were killed?”

A faint smile graced the Counts lips, “If they were vampires, were they not already dead?” Buffy growled in frustration and was about to speak when Giles interrupted her,

“What of the Key? Why does the Hellmouth fear it, Count Dracula?” Dracula’s head inclined slightly in appreciation of the genial courtesy in his tone.

“Ah, so there IS one amongst you with some knowledge of proper decorum, this is good. Proof that etiquette truly is the purview of the elder.” Dracula smiled appreciatively at Giles before continuing, “the Key, like any key, can serve two functions,” he held up two long, perfectly manicured fingers to signify this, “ it can unlock a door, or it can lock it. The Hellmouth, in some ways, is such a door. The Key could either open it, unleashing demonic wrath upon the world, or it could close and lock it forever,” the Count finished, “ but this analogy only applies if you consider the Hellmouth as a door, and such an analogy has its flaws, I’m afraid.”

“Why now, though?” Buffy interrupted the Vampire Prince who scowled in disapproval but let it go, “Why is now so important?” Dracula sighed patiently and spoke as if he was addressing a small, not terribly bright, child.

“Because now it has the energy to do so, energy that you have helped provide,” he replied, pointing a long pale finger at her like a knife. Buffy leapt back as if stung.

“Me? What are you talking about? I haven’t done anything!” she protested. Dracula chortled.

“Really? For over five years, you have been the most successful slayer in the history of the world; every manner of demon or vampire has fallen to you in combat. Did you really think that that would account for nothing?” He asked incredulously. There was something he wasn’t telling them, something he wanted them to figure out. Alec reached it first,

“It’s been giving the Hellmouth strength hasn’t it? All those slain vampires and demons?” he answered quietly. Dracula clapped his hands together approvingly,

“Ah, the blood of the Watchers has graced you with a keen mind, young hybrid,” Dracula laughed quietly, “to answer your question: yes, the slayer's astonishing success rate has given it a steady diet of negative energy to feed from.”

“Negative energy?” Giles inquired, unfamiliar with the term, Dracula smiled indulgently,

“Yes, as opposed to positive energy. Call it life force, mana, vitae – it makes little difference. Positive energy is that which animates all life, from plants to people, and it is this energy that a vampire gains sustenance from when he feeds on the living. The blood is merely a method of conveyance. The sun is also a source of positive energy, though it is far too powerful to be utilized in the same fashion,” Dracula gestured to himself, “hence the somewhat volatile reaction a vampire has to the rays of the sun.” Alec spoke up,

“So if positive energy is what animates the living, then negative energy…” his thoughts trailed off.

“…Is that which animates the dead. It is the power of darkness, of death and of the night,” Dracula finished. He raised a finger to gesture at Alec, “You, my friend, are such a creature, to some degree. The power that flows in your veins is not that of sun and life, but that of that of shadows and the cold void between the stars.”

“But Alec can go out during the day without being burned alive,” Buffy interjected, shaking herself out of her grim reverie. Dracula sighed and nodded indulgently,

“Yes because, despite this, he is still alive. His heart beats, his lungs breathe and blood flows in his veins. Vampires are beings powered entirely by negative energy, as are ghosts and most demons. A vampire that ventures into the sun is bombarded by its positive energy, which reacts violently to the vampire’s negative energy; this is what causes the vampire to combust upon being exposed to the light of day,” he smiled a cold bemused smile, “please bear in mind, that this is a terribly simplistic view of things. However, I do not believe you are yet ready for the more comprehensive explanation.”

“So every time Buffy killed a vampire, its negative energy was released to be absorbed by the Hellmouth,” Alec finished quietly. Dracula nodded,

“Correct. Sunnydale, and to a lesser extent, all of California, has a most peculiar effect on the newly risen. Something happens to these vampires after they are put to into the earth but before they arise for the first time. Some sort of...infection stains their minds and souls, rendering them vicious and beastlike,” Dracula smiled slightly, “well MORE vicious anyhow. In my homeland of Transylvania, the very soil has power. It is fortified with the essence of the people there, their resilience, their…strength of heart,”

Alec thought he detected a hint of native pride creeping into the Count’s voice. His interest now peaked, the young man listened intently as Dracula continued to speak.

“And so, a vampire that hails from that region, may sleep in the earth of his homeland, and awaken rejuvenated.” He concluded.

“The legends of vampires gaining power by sleeping in their native earth are true then?” Giles asked. Dracula nodded,
“To an extent, yes. My home possesses great power. In every patch of soil, in every tree and drop of lake water: power.” Dracula’s face darkened, “The land here though is…tainted somehow. Corrupted by the Hellmouth’s foul touch, I assume.” A look of extreme distaste crossed the Count's features before he continued, “The vampires here are unlike any other in the world. It is as if their demon has completely taken control, robbing them of their rational mind.”

“Isn’t that the norm for vampires?” Buffy asked sarcastically. Dracula shook his head.

“Not necessarily, a vampire, freshly risen, is as a newborn child. It has no concept of right or wrong. The slate upon which was written, its living moral code, has been wiped clean. It knows only the hunger that wracks its body. For most vampires, hunting down a human for food remedies this. Unfortunately for humanity, this ingrains a deep sense of amorality into the vampire. Once a newborn vampire learns to regard humans as food; that is what they shall ever be to him: cattle to be slaughtered for sustenance and nothing more. Thus, the vampire loses touch with their humanity, becoming instead beasts and not men. THAT is what makes most vampires inherently evil. That one deed, in order to satisfy their appetites, eventually leads to the vampire’s eternal servitude to evil.”

Buffy snorted in disbelief: a coarse sound coming from such a delicate-looking woman and one that raised the ire of the Count, who narrowed his eyes in displeasure at the unladylike display. Clearly disturbed by what she was hearing, Buffy did not appear to notice.

“So what you’re saying is that vampires that are born outside of California are nicer?” She asked in disbelief.

“That they are nicer: no. This is not so,” Dracula corrected. “Only that they are more balanced; less disposed to one moral extreme or the other. I have known vampires that were greeted by their sires who had the foresight to procure jars filled with blood for them to sup upon. Once having done so, the vampire does not then automatically associate human beings with food. A vampire may still decide to kill for their meals, most do so, but it is at least aware that there IS an alternative. The vampires I’ve seen here however are hence unaware of such alternative. They know only that in order to live, the living must die,” Dracula finished.
Giles had grown a rather pasty white through all of this as some of the most base beliefs of the Watcher’s themselves were shaken down to their very core. Alec turned to Buffy.
“Buffy, have you ever noticed that every vampire that comes out of its grave, their face has already undergone the change?”

Buffy shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, so?”

Alec smiled grimly and turned back to the Count, “That’s not normal, is it Count? Vampires where you’re from do not rise from the grave with their faces already distorted by the demon, do they?” Dracula smiled in obvious pleasure at the young man’s perceptiveness.

“This is so. The face of a freshly risen vampire is as smooth as yours or mine; its first emotion is confusion, not demonic, homicidal mania.

Giles cleared his throat. “Let me see if I understand this clearly, Count: the Hellmouth corrupts vampires in their graves. Since a vampire already has predatory tendencies, it simply takes these tendencies and infuses them with demonic essence, which is evidenced by the distortion of their faces?”

Dracula nodded, “This is so.

Giles continued, “And so when they arise, they immediately attack, because their first impulse – what has been programmed into their minds – is that they need to kill to feed,” he looked up at the Count of confirmation, the Count nodded slowly.

Giles continued his train of thought, “Which means, that since the Hellmouth knows the Slayer is here and is usually waiting for them when they awake, it’s essentially convincing them to commit suicide, thus releasing the very demonic energy that animates it, the same demonic energy that twists its mind,” he looked up at Dracula, “the same demonic energy that the Hellmouth itself put into it in the first place.” Dracula smiled, pleased.

“Thus it grows stronger,” the vampire finished for him. Buffy frowned, puzzled.

“Wait a second, how can it grow stronger if it just animates a vampire that gets killed five seconds later anyway?” she asked. Alec answered,

“Because, in the very act of killing a vampire, or killing anything for that matter, more negative energy is produced. Vampire, demon, human being, it’s all the same. When something dies, violently, I’m guessing, there must be some kind of resonance that finds its way back to the Hellmouth,” he turned to regard Buffy, “It’s the perfect cycle, sis: when a vampire kills and turns someone, that negative energy, released from the violent death of the living, breathing person is absorbed by the Hellmouth. Once the vampire-to-be is buried, the Hellmouth twists its mind, riling it up into frenzy. It emerges, and instead of running away or trying to communicate with you – as I imagine most vampires would…” Alec turned to the Count to verify this; Dracula only smiled encouraging and gestured for him to continue. Alec resumed, “It attacks you, seeing you only as food. You kill it and, in the act of doing so, release more negative energy for the Hellmouth to consume. In essence, the Hellmouth is getting TWO deaths from ONE person with all the accompanying negative energy.” He turned his eyes back to the Count, “And this has been going for how long?” Alec asked.

Dracula spread his arms in a grand gesture. “Since time immortal, it is only recently, however, that the Slayer’s success has reached such levels that the Hellmouth finds itself well-fed and fully sentient and ready to free itself once and for all,” Dracula informed them.

“It’s been playing me, this whole time,” Buffy whispered in shock, “It’s been getting me to do its dirty work, sending it more death to make itself stronger.”

Dracula nodded and smiled. “Brilliant, is it not? If you slay the vampires, it gains life from their death. If you do not slay them, the vampires kill the living, make more of their own, twisted kind and the Hellmouth reaps the power of all these deaths. Truly, the Hellmouth possess a diabolical mind.”
But,” Dracula held up a finger and smiled slyly, “it has made a mistake; or rather it has taken a calculated risk; for while at this very instant it stands at the threshold of ascension, it is now also at its most vulnerable.” The Count explained. Giles scratched his chin thoughtfully.

“As it was in the case involving Mayor Wilkins, invulnerable until he transformed,” he commented thoughtfully. Buffy nodded her agreement, still a little dazed by the sheer scope of the Hellmouth’s deception. Alec however, scrutinized Dracula.

“You said the Hellmouth was now at its most vulnerable. How?” He asked intently. Dracula nodded.

“The Hellmouth does not exist on merely one plane of existence,” Dracula began. “In the distant ages, when the world was still young, the Hellmouth resided mostly in the negative material plane; a plane of existence where there is only the energies of entropy and decay – a so-called ‘demon dimension.’ In that place it would feed on deaths from the prime material plane – this plane, this earth – that would trickle down into the negative plane from time to time.”
Buffy’s brow furrowed slightly. “I don’t understand,” she said, sounding befuddled.

Dracula sighed, with an air of strained patience, and tried again. “Think of a weed; its roots deep in the soil and its stem and leaves in the air. When it rains, water falls from the air, and soaks into the ground to be absorbed by the roots of the weed, yes?” Buffy bobbed her head slowly in half-understanding whilst Alec and Giles were hanging onto the Count’s every word.

Dracula continued. “Now picture that the soil, from whence the weed grows, is the negative material plane. This is where the roots of the Hellmouth lay. The point where stalk and shoots sprout, emerging from soil into air, is the prime material plane. Imagine then, that the Hellmouth itself is the weed, from roots to stem: in the beginning, nothing more than a seed. Instead of rain, however: death, hate, entropy, decay, and necromantic power trickled down from your world into its world. There, these energies of evil, soaked into the roots of the Hellmouth. The weed now grows larger: more and more of it broke through the barrier between dimensions and climbed higher and higher into the sky, the sky once again being this dimension here. Over eons and eons, the Hellmouth grew; every unnatural death, every murder, every black hex cast was just more proverbial rain to be soaked up by hungry roots, making this weed of evil stronger. Until at last, the weed is no longer a simple weed, but instead has become a vast underground network, with its roots stretched out across the entire state of California,” Dracula snorted quietly. “I imagine it had quite the feeding frenzy once its roots reached Los Angeles. ‘City of the Angels’ indeed,” Dracula waved a hand in dismissal and continued. “With humans butchering each other in the streets, it would have grown quickly, true, but still would not have reached maturity this rapidly. However, if the deaths’ of humans is as a trickle of rainwater…”

“…Then demonic and vampiric death is like a flood to it, especially since the Hellmouth can control how much sustenance it gets by riling up vampires into suicidal frenzy. Once the vampires are killed, I imagine it has no problem assimilating the negative energy released. After all, this thing has already had its roots in these vampires since the beginning. This is simply the Hellmouth taking back what already belongs to it, plus a little interest on the side,” Alec finished.

Dracula smiled and grinned evilly at Buffy, as if he were enjoying a private joke at her expense. “And what better tender of the garden, then the slayer, who is bound by sacred duty to provide the Hellmouth with what it so desperately needs: unnatural death of creatures abundant with negative energy,” Dracula crowed with all the flourish of a triumphant stage magician.

Giles, Alec, and Buffy looked mildly ill, but the Count's logic tracked clean. They, the entire Watcher organization, the slayers and every bit of accumulated lore over countless generations had been twisted to serve the Hellmouth’s purposes. Buffy recovered from the shock first.

“So how do we stop it?” She demanded. Dracula nodded and smiled.

“Ah, thus we get to the heart of the matter. I will continue with my plant analogy. The plant has now reached maturity, so much so that it now has the capacity to influence things more directly. It can kill on its own; now no longer requiring the Slayer’s diligent ministrations. It has ceased to be like the Venus Fly trap; merely awaiting the arrival of the next batch of the Slayer’s kills. It has now achieved full sentience. It can think more clearly now, it can manipulate its surroundings with greater efficiency, and it can manifest more directly.”

“The sudden disappearance of everything living in the sewers and underground,” Alec blurted out. Dracula nodded.

“I imagine that it is the result of the Hellmouth stretching its vines and opening its petals so to speak. However, this newfound freedom has not come without a cost. In order to do this, the Hellmouth has pulled itself up by the roots, as it were. It can no longer draw substance from all that dies unnaturally; it must feed directly to gain the strength it needs to finally emerge unto the surface. It must kill with its own ‘hands’ in a manner of speaking.”

“So what you’re saying is that the Hellmouth isn’t getting its jollies from me sending it morsels anymore. It has to get its own before it can fully come into this world?” Buffy asked him.

Dracula shook his head, remorsefully. “No child, it has ALREADY fully entered this world. The Hellmouth has awakened and emerged; it writhes and grows under our very feet.” Buffy paled and into the silence, Alec spoke,

“But if it’s fully in our realm that means…” Alec stopped short and shot a look to Buffy.

Dracula smiled. “That is correct: for the first time since its birth, the Hellmouth is vulnerable. In the history of the world, only now can it kill directly…and only now can it die. All it lacks is freedom from its underground prison, the freedom to move through the race of man, like locusts move amongst crops; devouring all in their path and growing stronger for it. It cannot do so yet. The Hellmouth’s strength has not quite reached that point. It still requires one more element.”

“The Key. Dawn,” Alec breathed.

“If the Hellmouth succeeds in consuming young Dawn, it will have all the power it needs to free itself and begin to devour the world; returning this world it to its demonic state,” Dracula replied.

Alec’s face went numb with horror. “No, not for anything, not for the world, it is not taking her,” he growled with a vehemence that caused odd looks to cross the faces of Buffy and Giles. Dracula just smiled, as if he was not surprised by Alec’s behavior.

“However, all is not lost, for like fish bone on a dinner plate; what it attempts to swallow may instead choke it. Dawn contains the power to utterly destroy the Hellmouth, once and for all. But not alone,” Dracula held up three fingers. “She needs three items of great power, three talismans, as it were. Alone they are quite powerful, but together with Dawn, they have the power to annihilate the Hellmouth. The first: a gem, whose location is known by no man. It is known only as the Everstone: that which balances light and dark. The second: a sacred text, a benediction that contains no words, was written by no quill, and exists on no parchment in the world, yet contains the power of absolute holiness. And the third,” Dracula smiled slightly, “the most potent of all, the blood of the Neverborn; said to be “of the darkness to defy the darkness,” Dracula quoted as he closed his hand into a fist. “These three things, combined with Dawn, and in the presence of the Hellmouth, will eradicate its taint from the prime material plane utterly. Furthermore, because it has already abandoned its home plane: the Hellmouth will wither and simply cease to be.”

Buffy looked overwhelmed by it all, her companions did not appear much better off.

“Terrific, so all we need to stop the Hellmouth from devouring the world is a stone that no one knows where to find, a prayer that was never written, and the blood of someone that was never born, and my kid sister, who as we speak is probably throwing a temper tantrum to my mother about going to bed,” Buffy finished exasperated.

“Precisely,” Dracula replied simply, earning him a withering glare from the slayer. “Beware though, Slayer” he warned in a dark tone, “the Hellmouth is not unaware of its sudden vulnerability. I would say that it is very much aware now, perhaps for the first time since its birth. And being aware as it is, it can now both hunt and kill. It commands the forces of rot, entropy, decay, and death. All that is impure or corrupt answers its call. You must find these artifacts, Slayer, before the Hellmouth or its servants find you…or Dawn,” Dracula stated, his voice now lowered to an ominous rumble that filled Buffy with dread.

“Question,” Alec interjected, “What’s in it for you? I mean, you’re still a vampire, surely you wouldn’t object to having your species being given free reign over the world once again?”

Dracula straightened proudly and his voice became regal as he spoke, “I love my people, young Giles, I love my homeland. I will not see the Hellmouth’s infernal taint corrupt the very soil that has granted me life twice over. I will not see it twist my country as it has twisted hers,” he spat, pointing at Buffy, “and I will not see it twist the hearts and minds of my countrymen for whom I once fought for and sacrificed so much to protect. The Hellmouth is an abomination. It must be destroyed. For the sake of my people and my home, all that is left that I love and cherish still, the Hellmouth must never bury its roots in the native earth of my home.” Alec acquiesced to the point with a nod.

“So, now what do we do?” Buffy asked, still sounding forlorn.

Dracula considered, “As to the nature of the prayer and the blood, I cannot help you, but to the stone I have a name: Grigori Estate; a name that has come to me only through much time and divination. There you should perhaps find a clue that will point you in the correct direction.”

Buffy snorted, “Terrific, where is it?”

Dracula shook his head, “This I do not know.” Buffy threw her hands into the air, exasperated.

“Well that’s helpful!” she exclaimed before sighing heavily. As she brought her hands back down she was surprised to see that they were shaking. And in that moment, the full scope and size of the forces she was pitted against washed over her like a wave, threatening to crush her, to drag her down and drown her deep in the cold dark. She heard a whimper of fear, and was shocked to realize that it came from her. Instantly she felt two pairs of strong arms wrap around her, as the elder and younger Giles held her tightly.

“We can do this, Buffy,” Alec whispered fiercely. Giles nodded and squeezed Buffy tighter, united with his son in his unwillingness to allow the woman he’d come to love as his own daughter to succumb to despair.

“Indeed you can, young warrior,” Dracula declared before he turned his attention from Alec to Buffy. “You are a light, Slayer, the light of all lights. You are a warrior who does not know death. And even as the Hellmouth’s strength grows, so too, shall your own strength grow.” Dracula shook his long mane of hair in a gesture of admonition, “Do not forget that for every generation, there has been a slayer, the chosen warrior for the forces of light. You descend from a long and noble line of warrior-women. Cry out to them, and they shall hear you, my child.” In a single fluid motion,
Dracula crossed the distance between them and, reaching out, touched Buffy’s hair gently, almost reverently. Buffy started at the touch as Giles and Alec’s arms fell away from her.

“I know this power is within you. I have known this power for generations upon generations,” the Vampire Prince stated and, for a moment, his face lost its usual cold regality and was replaced by something that could only be called longing, “Oh yes. I know this power,” Dracula smiled slightly before regaining his former poise. “Never forget what blood runs hot through your veins. It is the blood of ages and of iron, young woman, the blood of noble crusaders, and those who stood against the forces of darkness; beating the forces of Hell back with might and honor.”

Buffy found herself entranced by his words, and within her, somewhere deep in her heart, she felt a spark of hope. She inhaled deeply, her back straightened from its defeated slump, and her eyes cleared of despair.

“Thank you,” she murmured softly.

Dracula started to reach again, as if to caress her face, before he seemed to catch himself. The hand dropped and a twisted, self-mocking smile formed upon the vampires lips. “It is I, who should thank you, Buffy Summers. It will be you that saves all that I love from this unspeakable evil,” his reverential tone of voice wildly contrasting with the bitter expression etched upon his pale features. Taking her hand in his, he bent low and kissed it, before moving back, his fingertips lightly dancing against the skin of her hand.

Buffy was suddenly seized by a strong impulse to go to the Vampire Prince, to comfort him, and she had to stop herself from reaching out.

Dracula straightened from his bow to regard the two men proudly, “Protect her, gentlemen and protect her kin. Never forget that these women shall be the salvation of the world,” he told them both gravely and with a cordial nod to each of them, he turned and walked towards the roof’s ledge.

“Hang on a second,” Alec called out, detaching himself from the rest of the group to confront the Count.

“You told me the other night, that I would receive answers tonight,” Alec whispered as he shot a wary look to Giles and Buffy. Satisfied that they were not listening, he continued in a hushed tone, “You haven’t explained to me why I have these…feelings for Dawn.”

The Count smiled enigmatically at him, “Ah, but you forget, young Giles, I said tonight you would receive answers. I never said to which questions though, did I?” he taunted. Alec’s face darkened dangerously and at the sight, Dracula held up a placating hand, “You will know what you must, when you must, young Giles. That will have to satisfy you for now,” he said simply. With another regal nod, he stepped up onto the ledge...and stepped out into empty space, dropping from sight. Alec walked carefully to the ledge and peered over.

The Count was nowhere to be seen. As Alec strained to detect some hint of the Vampire Prince, his ears picked up a whisper of a sound, carried on the night air: laughter; rich and dark, with an edged tone that sounded like a man enjoying a private joke at another’s expense.

With a sigh, Alec pushed away from the ledge and headed back to the Slayer and her Watcher.

From the Desk of Deacon Rayne
01/02/08

Greetings, Salutations and Happy New Year,

Well, I imagine if you’re reading this, then you already know who I am and so I will forgo the introductions so that I may instead, right now, take this opportunity to thank you. Thank you for the attention and thank you for the time you have spent with my story: it has, and continues to be, both my honor and privilege to receive your patronage, to share this story with you, and to have you share your thoughts and wishes regarding it, with us, in return.. After being absent for many years, only to come back and, almost effortlessly, reacquire the sustained interest of you, the readers, was a gift that I had neither expected nor had earned. You, reading this now, and leaving the comments you’ve left, are absolutely vital. Not only does art absolutely REQUIRE an audience, but your interest and your comments, ranging from suggestions to simple words of encouragement and expressions of interest help sustain all of our efforts: by helping us remaine motivated and, speaking for myself, helps me become a better writer in the process.

Unfortunately, not even the best motivation will overcome the occasional complications life throws at us.

By now, you’ve noticed that the Friday update did not go up as scheduled last week. Regrettably, a combination of people not being available for the holidays, technical failure, and the loss of an editor stretched our resources to the breaking point and this last week, my colleagues and I simply could not get the chapter posted in time.

“A mistake is not a mistake the first time it is made; it is a learning experience”. That’s a saying I’ve always enjoyed and I believe that it holds true for this “learning experience” as well. A new editing schedule has been set up and responsibilities have been redistributed so that this does not happen again.

This should not have happened at all: if you, (I am not speaking of “you” in the “anonymous fan-base” sense, but YOU, specifically, the reader, right now reading this) are going to devote the time and energy to faithfully tune in every Friday Night to read the latest chapter of the Hellmouth Ascendant Trilogy (much as all of us tuned in to see Buffy or Angel every week), then we have an obligation, to you, to see that your devotion is rewarded by ensuring that every week, the material is there and ready for your enjoyment.

Speaking personally, I used to get really upset when Buffy or Angel would be preempted for a holiday special or an episode would be axed completely due to the political climate (especially in the US; see below). Thus, if I intend to avoid hypocrisy, then I intend to make sure I don’t do the same thing, for whatever reason.

At any rate, below are a few pages of BRAND NEW material. Beginning with this chapter, the Hellmouth Ascendant Trilogy truly begins to earn its title of “Re-Vamped Edition”. I have done everything in my power to remain true to the canonical material of the Buffy/Angel ‘verse (including the official comics that make up Season 8) in regards to this story and to the new material. I ask your indulgence in the event that I make a mistake: I offer no excuses, merely the simple fact that nobody is perfect.

These pages are my gift to you specifically and to you all as well, it is my way of saying three things to you:

“I am sorry for not making sure that this was not waiting for you when it was wanted and when it was supposed to be”

“I am truly grateful for everything all of you have given me over the last few years: all the support and encouragement and feedback. Thank you all very, very much”

And finally

“I promise each and every one of you who have been reading, who continue to read and who are just starting to read this story; this will never happen again if I have any control over it whatsoever”.

I sincerely hope that not only will you all continue to read this story but that those of you who have added, or have yet to add, comments will do so.

Enough talk. Enjoy the new material. 2008 will be a year of failing light, darkness, and the coming dawn. I invite you all to join me on the journey.

Remember, it could have been a lot worse as far as this delay: do any other US citizen’s remember how long it took to finally see “Becoming Part 2” and “Earshot”?

See you Friday
Yours Faithfully,

Deacon Rayne



And now: a preview of “Chapter 9: Kind Lies”

The creature jerked suddenly to focus its glowing green eyes on Dawn and they narrowed, hungry and hunting. It raced towards her, emitting another horrible shriek. Dawn had no time to react, the pain hit her like a freight train and she was completely paralyzed as it closed on her. It reached her, jaws open.

And with a roar of maternal fury, Joyce, coming up from behind the table, slammed a meat cleaver half the size of a machete up into the creatures jaw. The carbon steel carved up through the creatures jaw and continued, utterly unimpeded, up past the jaw and all the way up and out of the beast’s slimy head. The creature looked…confused, staring at her uncomprehendingly through its now-bisected face.

Joyce hefted the weighty meat cleaver up, taking a moment to hold the blade before its glowing green eyes, before bringing it up over her head and squeezing it tightly with both hands.

“You get the hell away from my daughter,” she snarled and she brought the blade down with all the might of a mother defending her child.

The head came away entirely and landed on the floor with a rotten splat! Overextended by the force of her blow, Joyce lost her grip on the knife, it tumbled down the now-exposed trachea of the decapitated beast which had collapsed in a heap, now thumping and twitching, making wet, painful sounds. Without taking her eyes from the beast, Joyce reached behind her, feeling for her daughter.

Dawn took her hand and wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist, staring coldly at the thing that had killed her sister. “It’s not dead,” she warned her mother.

Joyce nodded and, still focused on the creature, carefully knelt down and clutched several of the other razor sharp knives that had spilt onto the floor when Dawn had tipped the table.

“It will be,” Joyce answered in a quiet voice that promised a long and torturous death for the thing that she had seen killed Buffy, her little girl; the thing that had taken her baby away from her.

“Good,” Dawn responded in just a quiet a voice as her mother raised the first knife up.

And then the thing spat at Joyce through one of its tiny, cleft mouths.

The slime struck the woman with the force of a cannonball knocking her off her feet and sending her flying backwards past Dawn to slam into the wall behind her. The slime hardened over her face and she couldn’t breathe or see as she beat it with her hands, blind and suffocating in the dark.

“Mom!” Dawn screamed. Dawn tried to rush to her mother’s aid when another glob of slime splattered before her feet. Dawn gasped and jumped back, just in time to dodge a third stream of slime, this one coating the doorway leading out of the kitchen, forming a sticky, rock hard web that effectively sealed her in.

Dawn spared the blocked doorway a passing glance, she wasn’t planning on leaving anyway: not with the pain this thing had caused her and her family. Dawn picked up a pair of the knives and regarded the slimy beast with a calm that has defined warriors since time immemorial.

A calm that only comes when a warrior embraced their own death in order to purchase the death of their enemy.

To read the rest, please continue on to the next chapter...

The ride back to Buffy’s house was quiet. Giles and Buffy were lost in thought, with Alec behind them on his bike in much the same state. They’d decided that they’d had enough for one night. Calling from her cell phone, Buffy told Willow to let everyone know she’d decided to head home. Willow didn’t ask what had happened, but had let Buffy know that indeed there was a minor incantation protecting the tome from the Mayor’s office. She’d been able to take care of it fairly easily. Buffy also told Willow to make sure Spike and Angel do not go into the sewers for any reason whatsoever.

“Is it bad?” Willow asked her when Buffy was finished.

“It's beyond bad,” Buffy replied. “I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”

Willow wished Buffy a good night and hung up.

Giles and Buffy pulled into her driveway with Alec right behind them. After exchanging a few supportive words with Buffy and Alec, Giles backed out of the driveway and headed back to the shop to begin work translating the journal.

Alec shut off his bike, and walked over to Buffy. “Hell of a night, eh?” he said.

Buffy snorted slightly before responding.

“Yeah, you could say that. You sticking around?”

Alec nodded. “I’m going to go check on Dawn. Figure I’d say hello,” he told her.

“You really got a soft spot for the kid, don’t you?” she asked, amused.

Alec shrugged uncomfortably.

“I suppose. Guess I just don’t think it’s fair for a child to be saddled with such a burden,” he replied as he turned to regard the Slayer. “I’m assuming you can relate.”

Buffy froze; she’d never considered that,

“Yeah. Yeah, I can,” she admitted, exhaling hard. “Guess I should cut her some slack, huh?”

Alec nodded. “It’d be a good idea. Unlike you, she has absolutely no idea what’s going on. It’s going to be quite a shock,” he said as he shook his head. “It’s not easy to go from ‘Backstreet Boys’ to H.P. Lovecraft.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Backstreet boys are WAY scarier, ” Buffy joked.

Alec laughed as he opened the door, and he and his sister stepped inside the warm house.

Joyce came out to greet them with a plate of cookies. The whole house had been done up in lights and a large kerosene heater glowed in the corner brightly, staving off the unusually cold weather for California.

“Buffy! You’re home!” the older woman exclaimed as she hugged her daughter. Buffy looked at her mother, a tad confused.

“Mom, it’s like 1 A.M. What are you doing up…and baking?” she asked.

“I know, honey, but I couldn’t sleep, I’m just so excited. The holiday season coming up and all,” Joyce explained.

Buffy nodded solemnly. “Yeah, way to pre-empt Christmas,” she commented sardonically as she took a cookie from the plate.

Joyce lifted her head to regard Alec. “Oh, Dusk, I can’t tell you how grateful I am for you watching Dawn the other night, let me get my purse so I can pay you,” she told the other man.

Alec shook his head. “Forget it, Ms. Summers. Consider it a Christmas present,” he told her.

Joyce and Buffy stopped and stared at him, dumbfounded, and with Buffy in mid-chew. Neither of them had ever heard of someone watching Dawn who didn’t want to be paid handsomely.

“You sure, Bro?” Buffy asked incredulously. “I mean, you stayed with her for hours, you’re at least entitled to hazard pay.”

Alec grinned, taking a Christmas cookie from the plate. “Just keep me in ready supply of these cookies, Ms. Summers, and we’ll call it even. Fair enough?” he asked.

Joyce blushed. “Fair enough, Dusk,” she replied, smiling at the compliment.

Buffy smirked as she patted Alec’s arm.

“Smooth talker,” she commented.

Alec cleared his throat and looked upstairs. “Dawn still awake?” he asked gently.

Joyce nodded. “I decided to let her have one of her presents early. She’s upstairs with it right now.”

Alec nodded, turning back to face them. “I’m just gonna go upstairs. Wish her a goodnight. Will that be all right?” he asked, gauging their reactions. He was relieved that neither showed any indication that they believed his motivations ran deeper than what he had presented.

Because they do not! Alec thought to himself forcibly.

Buffy gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. “Go tell the little monstrosity I said hi, would you?” she asked her brother.

Alec nodded ands assured her, “Not a problem.” Munching contently on his Christmas cookie, he headed up the stairs. Reaching Dawn’s room, he quietly knocked.

“Go away!” came the response from the other side of the door.



There was a pause, then a familiar voice emitted from the other side of the door.

“Okay. Sorry.”

Dawn’s eyes widened and, nearly dropping her new video camera, she dove for the door, fumbled with the lock, and yanked it open hurriedly to reveal the young man.

“Alec!” Dawn cried, grinning widely at him. “Hi. Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” she explained, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Alec smiled slightly. “I guess so. Can I come in?” he asked.

Dawn bobbed her head. “Uh-huh, sure,” she answered, stepping aside for him to enter.

“Cute pajamas, flannel is you,” Alec told her, gesturing at them and flashing her his unique smile.

Dawn blushed furiously. “They were a gift,” she offered as an explanation as she tried desperately not to go weak in the knees at that smile, as she almost always did.

“Ah, I see,” was his only reply.

Alec stepped through the doorway and as his back was turned; Dawn stuck her head around the door, hurriedly scanning the hallway back and forth to make sure they were, in fact, alone. Upon seeing no one else in the corridor, she nearly hopped with glee before closing it.

I’ve got this guy, in my bedroom, at night. This is SO going in my diary she thought excitedly. Quickly regaining her composure, she raced past him, jumped back onto her bed, and pulled the blankets over herself. Then, as if she’d forgotten he was there (which was not very likely at all), she reached over and patted a place on the bed next to her, indicating for him to sit as she shifted her feet out of the way.

Alec, still smiling, sat down next to the young girl. “What’s this?” he asked as he picked up Dawn’s new video camera.

“Isn’t it cool? Mom gave it to me,” she replied, with an excited grin. Taking the camera from him, she turned it on and started filming him. “Alec, you’ve just won the World Series, what are you going to do next?” she asked in her best impression of a serious TV reporter.

Alec laughed as he addressed the camera, “Why, I’m going to Disneyland.”

She giggled and continued to film him, every now and then zooming in on his eyes or his lips. She suddenly noticed her heart was pounding and quickly asked more questions in a rush to fill the silence.

“So what did you do today? Fight vampires? Save the world?”

“Still working on it,” he replied, shaking his head.

Dawn grinned and bit her lower lip in pleasure at the warmth in his tone. “Oh, come on, you can tell me. How does it feel to be a real-life action hero?” she asked him.

The question struck a chord with Alec and he considered it for a while before answering, looking intently into the camera.

“Dawn, we’re all heroes. We get up in the morning, go to work so we can provide for our families, or go to school and try to learn something about the world we live in, we all do what we have to do. That’s all a hero is, luv: someone who simply does what they have to do,” he finished.

“Ommmmmm,” Dawn hummed mantra-like, giggling. They both laughed at that.

“All right, Grasshopper, what do you think qualifies as a hero?” Alec asked her.

It was now Dawn’s turn to consider a while. “Someone who isn’t afraid of anything. Who’ll never quit and never die and will always win in the end,” she said, never taking the camera off him.

Alec smiled and shook his head ruefully. “You think I’ll never die, eh, luv?” he asked, bemused. He tilted his head and looked up at her through the bangs of his hair.

“The good guys never die, and you definitely qualify,” she assured him, nodding her head vigorously.

Alec smiled; this time it was a little sad-looking. “How I wish that were true,” he said quietly, for a moment lost in an unidentifiable but wholly unpleasant feeling. He gave himself a good mental shake to snap out of it, and turned his attentions back to the girl next to him. “You’re wrong about the other part though, Dawn,” he continued.

Dawn frowned a little. “What do you mean?” she asked, confused.

“Being a hero doesn’t mean you’re never afraid,” he explained. “It means doing the right thing, despite being afraid. It means willing to give everything you’ve got and more, to do the right thing, the thing that needs doing, you know? ‘Fighting the good fight’.” Alec paused a moment in his explanation, to make sure he wasn’t boring the young girl. Dawn eagerly nodded to indicate that, no, she wasn’t bored, and gestured for him to continue speaking.

“A hero also is someone who, after they're gone, people will still remember. The ones they left behind try to live as their hero had lived. Heroes inspire others to do the right thing, because they themselves do all they can to do the same. They don’t always succeed, but the point is that they try and try and try again, doing whatever it takes and giving it their all,” Alec told her with a smile. “I imagine, in a way, heroes never really die. They live on forever in the hearts and the actions of the people they inspire.”

Dawn’s smile, which had yet to leave her face since Alec had first entered her room, now turned impish.

“Wow. That was deep,” she joked.

He laughed, “Oh, you’re tough,” he said.

“On that note, this is Dawn Summers, live with Alec “Dusk” Giles, signing off,” she informed all her imaginary viewers in her TV reporter voice.

Pressing a button on the camera, she zoomed out to get as much of the young man as possible in the frame before speaking, “Say goodbye, Alec.”

Alec gave her his infamous ‘Warm-Fuzzies-Causing’ crooked-smile (as she liked to think of it) and he looked intently into the camera again before speaking quietly.

“Goodbye, Dawn.”

Smiling, Dawn shut off the camera and put it down.

“You think I’d make a good reporter?” she asked Alec, still grinning.

He nodded. “I know I wouldn’t be able to refuse you an interview,” he assured her as he tousled her hair affectionately.

She smiled and gently nuzzled her head into his palm like an affectionate cat. For a time, he sat there, gently stroking her hair and Dawn’s expression went from blissful to serene. Her eyes closed and her grin became a small smile: a fragile thing, innocent and gentle, a perfect expression of utter peace, warmth, and contentment.

“Dusk? Dawn?” Joyce called from downstairs.

Abruptly, Alec snatched his hand from Dawn’s head, causing her eyes to snap open and she gasped in displeasure, as if she had been rudely awakened from a nice dream. Alec didn’t seem to have noticed as he reached over to open the door.

“Yes, Mrs. Summers?” he called out.

“Why don’t you and Dawn come down for some more cookies and hot chocolate? I’ve even got those little marshmallows everyone seems to like.”

Alec snorted with amusement; Spike’s love of those little marshmallows was legendary, apparently it was also well known.

Contemplating killer vampire berserkers and their love of little marshmallows, Alec laughed quietly as he got up from the bed and turned to Dawn. “You feel like som –,” he stopped short and nearly gasped himself at what he saw then.

Like a sudden and violent car wreck, Dawn’s delicate face had crumpled into an utter wreckage of an expression: it was pure agony - a soul-hurt: a visage of pain and of loss total and complete in its desolation. The kind of suffering that didn’t die, but lingered cancerously in someone until it consumed them utterly.

It was horrific for Alec to see such a look on features as innocent as hers. No one should ever look as the young girl did right now and especially, not Dawn.

“Hey,” Alec whispered, sitting back down next to her and trying not to let on how disturbed he was by what he was seeing, “Are you okay?”

Without replying, Dawn burst into frantic action; she clawed at her blankets in desperation, they tangled and writhed at her frenzied assault and, with a cry like a wounded animal, she hurled the tangled massed of fabric from her.

Alec didn’t have time to finish gaping at the sheer ferocious intensity of what he was seeing as Dawn threw herself against him hard, wrapping her thin arms around his body and squeezing as tightly as she could. Stunned, Alec put his arms around her and held her, not really knowing what else to do.

“You’ll always be my hero, Alec,” Dawn whispered in voice that was the tonal equivalent of her earlier, tortured expression.

It was not the tone of a lost little girl, as Alec had expected, but that of a grown woman, shed of all childish naiveté and immaturity, a woman that had her innocence forcibly replaced with a hard-won wisdom and strength.

A woman that had lost all she held dear in this world.

“Alec…” she whispered again, still holding him.

Alec frowned: she had rarely called him by his human moniker in the past and hearing her say it as she sounded now only added more fuel to his already-disturbed thoughts.

He rocked her soothingly. “Hey, come on, luv,” he coaxed gently as he pulled away from her gently, touching her face. Alarmed to see tears welling in her eyes, he tried to smile comfortingly. “Why the water works?” he joked.

His efforts were rewarded and the quip had the intended effect as, with an embarrassed little laugh, Dawn pulled away, sniffling slightly. The moment and all the painful seconds that composed it, had been broken.

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just tired,” she told him as she sniffled again. “It’s nothing. Really, I’m fine,” she put on a brave smile to reassure him and perhaps, to reassure them both.

“A disturbance in the Force then?” he replied in a dead-pan Obi-Wan Kenobi impression.
Dawn scoffed and rolled her eyes in an attempt to sound exasperated by his bad crack. “You are such a sci-fi dork,” she replied in a mock-scolding tone.

Alec smirked indulgently as he spoke, “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid.” He leaned over and placed a lingering kiss against her forehead. Dawn closed her eyes and smiled, the last of the misery seemed to drain from her features to be replaced by contentment.

A few moments later, his lips left her brow and he gave her hair a gentle stroke. “Come now, little one,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual. But the pet name now seemed to leave a cheap taste his mouth, like a greasy coin between his teeth. Alec smiled just a little harder in an attempt to sell his demeanor of confidence, and inwardly, he was grateful that she had her eyes closed as she was unable to see how miserably he was failing at his kind lie.

“I bet I can eat more Christmas cookies than you can,” Alec added, managing a fair approximation of a playful and challenging tone in an attempt to cheer her.

Once again, his efforts were rewarded, much to his relief.

Dawn’s eyes opened; the tears from them gone and now replaced by her usual child-like mischief. “Not if I get there first!” Dawn yelled. She gave him a hard shove and he tumbled off the bed, onto the plush carpet below.

As she raced past him, he made a futile grab at her leg. “Well, she takes after her sister,” he observed dryly from the floor.

Dawn stopped as she reached the doorway and turned to look down at him. “Well, are you coming?” she demanded querulously.

With a small laugh, Alec got to his feet. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, crossing the threshold and exiting her room.

Dawn followed a few steps when she suddenly sighed in exasperation. “Ugh!” she cried.

“Dawn?” Alec asked her, turning with a frown.

“Yeah, no, I’m okay, I just forgot to plug in my camera,” she explained. “I’ll be right down. You better save me a cookie!” she warned him direly, waving a small finger under his nose.

Alec nodded solemnly and bowed deep at the waist. “It shall be as you command, your highness,” he replied.

“And don’t you forget it. Off with you then, lowly peasant,” she commanded as she made a regal gesture of dismissal.

Alec laughed, this time it was the boisterous, exuberant laugh that Dawn always associated with him. “Definitely takes after her sister,” he said to himself as he bowed again to Queen Dawn and walked away.

Dawn made sure he was out of sight before stepping back into her room and closing the door. At the click of the closed door, all the strength fled from the young girl, and she sagged heavily against it, her hands covering her face.

She was relieved that her efforts at humor just now had been rewarded: Alec and the others had enough to worry about without her adding to it by saying she had a “bad feeling”. She took a deep breath and brought her hands away from her face. “I’m fine,” she whispered to herself, her eyes squeezed shut. “I’m fine and everything is going to be okay. There’s nothing wrong. I’m fine.” She said this to herself a few times, gaining confidence with every repetition. Carefully, she opened her eyes.

Her reflection, and its pale, haunted expression, called her a liar and she saw that her hands were shaking.

She didn’t understand what was happening, it made no sense at all to her, but she was past the point of caring as she brought her hands back up to her face. Against all reason, logic and knowledge, she cried, until there was nothing left in her but a hollow feeling in her stomach, cold and clammy.

Dread.



Alec descended the stairs and walked into the kitchen. Buffy was seated at her “breakfast nook” as she called it, casually eating Christmas cookies while Joyce was cutting up more cookie dough with an unusually large knife. Joyce smiled when she saw his look of confusion at the knife.

Alec gestured. “Nice knife,” he said casually. “What’s the occasion?”

“The dishwasher doesn’t seem to be working,” she offered as an explanation, “So I make do,” she held up the knife and gestured with it to an ornate cutlery block on the table, filled with other large knives, “Carbon steel knives, carving set of twenty.”

“Full tang I’d wager. Are they as sharp as they look?”

Joyce smiled, enjoying the other man’s interest and attention to detail.

“I picked them up in China while I was on a purchasing trip for the gallery. You can’t get them here: the full tang and the steel quality make them too strong and sharp to be classified as ‘kitchen utensils’ so they’re considered ‘dangerous weapons’ by customs,” Joyce’s smile turned wicked and expectant as she told the tale.

Alec took the bait. “So how did you manage it?” he asked.

“I said ‘difficult’ not ‘impossible. You’d be amazed what you can import if you list it as part of the exhibit,” she confessed with a grin.

Buffy scoffed at her mother. “I’m pretty sure one of you is corrupting the other, but I’m not sure which,” she commented, rolling her eyes, as she turned to face Alec. “But, yeah, Mom was psyched about those knives. We actually started eating a lot of bagels and lox just so she could use them a lot.” Buffy suddenly had a wicked smile of her own as she turned her attention back to her mother. “And then came the day she learned that they had to be sharpened. Often.”

“Oh, don’t remind me!” Joyce lamented. “Fortunately, though, for me, I have a daughter who, besides using her magical gifts for fighting monsters, can occasionally put them to use helping her poor, overworked mother.”

Buffy nearly choked on her cookie and Alec laughed out loud.

“Okay, I know I’m going to regret asking this: but why not just use a regular knife?” he asked Joyce.

Joyce smiled patiently while favoring him with a look that was usually reserved for well-loved idiots. “Because then I wouldn’t be able to use my cool, smuggled, Chinese knives,” the older woman told Alec.

Dawn entered just then, in mid-explanation, and Joyce’s expression became parental. “Besides, someone keeps forgetting to wash the dishes,” the older woman added in a near-casual (though nowhere near enough) tone as she fixated a “mom” look on Dawn.

Dawn for her part ignored her mother and smiled innocently at Alec. “Hi, Alec, you did save me a cookie, right?” she demanded in that imperious tone again.

With exaggerated care, Alec slowly picked up a warm cookie from the plate and, putting it down on one of the smaller plates on the table slowly, handed the whole thing to Dawn as if it were a Faberge` egg. “Your cookie, milady. Please, milady, don’t shove me to the floor again,” Alec pleaded in his most Dickensian voice.

Dawn giggled and covered her mouth with her hands as Buffy sent her sister a wry look before turning to regard Alec.

“I told you, you needed hazard pay to take care of this little nightmare,” The Slayer admonished him affectionately as she reached out and tousled Dawn’s hair. Dawn responded by sticking her tongue out at her, which was covered in half-digested cookie goo.

Buffy made a face. “Oh yeah, the honeys will be banging at your door ASAP with that little display,” she said with a snort. Dawn shrugged and went back to her cookie.

Alec snickered at their antics and walked over to the stove to get some cocoa for himself when he noticed an odd smell. He inhaled once, twice, the scent was very faint. Methane? he thought, frowning. Shaking his head, he poured some cocoa for himself. Adding a couple of marshmallows, he joined the others at the table.

“So, what are your plans for Christmas dinner, Ms. Summers?” he inquired.

“Oh, I don’t know, Dusk. I can’t seem to make my mind between turkey and ham. Plus, I need to work on a guest list,” Joyce replied forlornly.

Alec chuckled in sympathy. “If Buffy’s planning on bringing everyone, you’re going to wind up feeding half of the living population of Sunnydale,” he commented, and paused a moment, before adding in his trademark sardonic tone, “And possibly one or two of the walking dead.”

Buffy socked him in the arm for this transgression.

“If Spike is planning on attending,” Joyce replied with an uncomfortable shrug, turning her attention to Buffy. “Is Spike planning on attending?” she asked, clearly tentative.

Buffy smiled in consideration and shook her head. “Spike isn’t big on turkey, mom. It’s okay. I promise that only the living will be eating Christmas dinner this year,” she assured her mother.

Joyce smiled, perhaps a little relieved. She clearly was uncomfortable with her daughter dating a vampire that she’d once hit with an axe. But, if Buffy wanted to do that and was comfortable and well treated, what right did she have to complain?

At least she’s never dated a psychotic robot, Joyce thought to herself with a touch of grim humor.

“Chances are, he will stop by, Mom, but he won’t linger,” Buffy added hurriedly as soon as she saw her mother’s expression begin to tense again, “He tells me he makes a mean pecan pie,” Buffy added, chuckling at the thought of Spike cooking. “He also tells me you have to be over twenty-one in order to eat it.” Joyce smiled a little at that.

Alec chortled. “Likes to ‘spike’ his pastries, does he? No pun intended, of course,” he commented.

Buffy shot him an amused look. “No pun intended at all, of course. And yes, something like that, dear, sweet brother,” she replied, her sarcasm getting lost over the sound of the pipes which had picked that moment to start groaning and rumbling loudly. She frowned and sniffed the air. “You smell something?”

He nodded. “Yes, smells vaguely like methane,” he replied as he turned to Joyce, who was headed to the sink to wash her hands, “Ms. Summers, do you have a septic system or anything like that?” Alec asked her.

Joyce shook her head as she twisted the knob on the sink, frowning as no water came out. “No, we use public water. Which doesn’t seem to be – UGH!” she cried out as black ooze splattered over her hands. The stench of methane and rot was now overpowering.

Dawn made a face. “Mom, what IS that?” she asked.

Buffy and Alec were both on their feet and slipped instantly into “combat mode” as their friends had called it. It had become habit for the pair, cultivated by a shared and intense dislike of being caught by surprise on the Hellmouth. Heightening their awareness of the immediate surroundings and each other whilst, simultaneously, tuning out the rest of the outside world, had allowed the siblings to gain a Zen-like focus and bond in battle which was used to devastating effect upon their enemies.

Now walking almost in unison: Buffy’s nimble gait lightly contrasting with Alec’s, heavy, powerful stride, they flanked Joyce protectively as she wiped the foul smelling goo off with a dishtowel.

Joyce turned to look at her daughter. “I don’t know, honey, it just came ou –,” she began.

And with a groan of tortured metal, the whole faucet tore itself free from its base and shot up like a bullet sending plaster and metal shrapnel flying as a geyser of black ooze spewed volcanic ferocity into the air.

Joyce shrieked and fell back, Dawn knocked her chair back as she moved to tend to her mother. The sink began filling with the vile substance that was bubbling up through the drain, thick and black, the stench was overwhelming.

Suddenly, something writhed in the pool of muck and some sort of pseudo-pod lashed out and wrapped itself around Joyce’s neck hoisting her high into the air.

“Mom!” Buffy cried out as she dashed to her mother’s rescue wrapping both of her hands around the tendril that held her mother and trying to pull it free with all her might.

Alec however raced to the table, and with a single movement, snatched up the knife Joyce had been using. It was surprisingly heavy, but perfectly balanced and strong, he could tell that instantly, and he also knew that the heft would add momentum to his throw.

All this he knew from decades of experience and was processed in a single second even as he reared back and launched the blade from his hand in a smooth, over the shoulder throw, sending the knife hurtling towards the dripping tentacle that was crushing the life out of the poor woman.

The knife scythed through the air and carved neatly through the viscous appendage just missing the Slayer’s hands and spraying muck against the wall.

Joyce dropped to the floor hard as the tentacle and its hold on her was severed. She choked and coughed, and a high-pitched wail of pain reverberated through the room as the creature retracted the now-stump of the tentacle back into its body. Buffy dropped to the floor and sheltered her mother’s body with her own.

“Mom, are you all right?” she asked, nearly hysterical. Joyce, still coughing, nodded weakly.

“Buffy? We have company!” Alec yelled.

Buffy frowned, Alec sounded worried. She’d never heard him sound worried

What could possibly-? she thought as she began to turn her head back around.

And then she saw it.



A shapeless, dripping form was rising up from the ooze: the slime congealed and flowed until it took the form of an androgynous human torso, entirely without any kind of detail and missing a head. Like an abscess, the form continued to grow and swell, with a sound and smell akin to the contents of a septic tank brought to a thick boil.

Buffy choked back the rising tide of vomit in her throat as she tried to turn her eyes from the gruesome spectacle: it seemed to last hours yet she knew it was only heartbeats.

Alec tore his eyes from the thing with an effort, and turned his head to take in Dawn’s state: the girl was afraid but still lucid, still in control. “Dawn! Take cover!” he yelled.

Without missing a beat, Dawn flipped the table onto its side, spilling cutlery heedlessly all over the floor as she ducked down behind it, rising only enough to peek over it at Alec. He smiled at her encouragingly and took a moment to admire the young girl’s composure.

Abruptly, a new sound began. Alec whipped his head around to confront the thing that had now completely consumed the entire counter with its girth.

Something writhed and squealed beneath the “skin” of the abomination. Portions of the creature continued to bulge and pop even more loudly and with a wet, tearing sound, as if diseased flesh was being pulled from an incredibly large bone: a head, horned and monstrous, the head of a demon, birthed from the creature’s body with a high-pitched squealing sound. The sound deepened to a loud roar that shifted its pitch even higher, until the intensity was akin to a legion of claws down a huge blackboard. The thing brushed the ceiling now with its new head. It appeared almost like a huge, slimy gargoyle as it hunched over to fit in the increasingly cramped kitchen.

For a moment there was silence as the creature took a moment to acclimate itself to its new body. Buffy and Alec had time to exchange a grim look.

“This is going to suck,” Buffy commented.

“Yes. Yes it is,” her brother-in-arms replied.

And then the creature opened eyes of glowing green and dove at them, reaching for them all with dripping, grasping hands as it flowed out of the sink to land with a splattering thump and a loud cracking sound as the tiles beneath it were crushed into powder underneath its weight. It had no legs, its lower portion was nothing more than a thickly corded tendril of slime that terminated somewhere in the ruin that had been the kitchen sink.

The thing reared up like a great snake before them. Suddenly, clefts burst from its body, oozing and raw. They flexed and puckered and from them came an burbling alien chorus of voices.

“Give us the Key,” it said.

Buffy couldn’t believe what she was hearing: it’s voice wasn’t just once voice, she heard the voices of men, women, and children in that voice; both young and old. A thousand different people’s voices, different accents, and tones and pitches, now speaking as one voice - its voice. As the Slayer’s mind was forced to comprehend the Cthulhonic nightmare that towered above her, she realized that those clefts were mouths and her mind reflexively grasped the truth before it could shy away from the horror it would bring - these were the voices of the consumed, those that were made “part of a larger whole”. Buffy nearly went stark white with the evil of it all.

“Bite me,” was Alec’s only response to it.

Both the Slayer and the rotting monstrosity turned their respective heads and in perfect unison, they both stared at Alec in sheer shock at the audacity and the black fury he had put in those two words. Taken aback by Alec’s eyes, which now writhed and brimmed with darkness, and the tone of his voice even darker than his eyes, both Buffy and the monster actually hesitated a moment., as if unsure that violence involving this man would be a wise thing.

Then, the creature attacked. It let loose with another inhumanly high-pitched shriek, deafening in its volume, causing windows to shatter.

The Summers’ women clamped hands over their ears at the awfulness of it. It set their teeth grinding and caused their eyes to clamp so tight that tears, stinging like liquid acid, were squeezed out from under their eyelids. It was all in vain as the pitch and pain of the creature’s awful shriek chewed through their bones and made their blood boil.

A tendril of darkness lashed out and severed the creature’s head from its body, silencing it abruptly.

Alec stood in the center of the room, calm but wary, as he observed the creature writhe in its death throes. Tiny threads of darkness that had insulated him from the creature’s sonic bombardment withdrew wiggling from his ears and slithered up into his hair to vanish completely.

He had only taken his attention from the beast once during the attack; a quick glance to verify that everyone was still okay, that they couldn’t see the strands of darkness that had flowed both into and out of his body. He now turned to scrutinize them closely: Buffy was getting to her feet and Joyce had apparently taken shelter with Dawn behind the upturned table.

“Well, it appears-,” he started.

He never got a chance to finish the sentence; a ropy tendril of slime slammed him hard against his back and sent him flying across the room to smash into the kerosene heater with enough force that it broke. Fuel gushed onto the floor as man and heater lay crumpled in a kerosene-soaked heap, very still.

“ALEC!” Buffy cried out.

The thing hissed from a newly reformed head and snapped at her with wide, fanged jaws, like a snake’s. Buffy dodged the bite and, pulling back, launched a punch with all her slayer-granted might, right down the things throat. It blasted past the creatures open, dripping mouth, down its slick throat and burst out the back of its head.



The creature wailed in pain and Buffy smiled grimly while trying not to gag at the smell.

“Yeah, choke on it, buddy,” she said with a snarl, flexing the muscle in her arm, determined to do as much damage pulling her way out as she did punching her way in, and with a stab of pure fear, she realized she couldn’t retract her arm; it was stuck in the tar-like viscosity of this thing’s body.

A new head formed as the old one melted back into its body, trapping Buffy’s arm in what was now its torso. It peered down at her struggles to get free with something approaching amusement.

And then it brought its head down and swallowed her whole.

“Buffy!” Dawn cried out as she saw her sister disappear down its throat, having brought her head up over the cover to see what was happening. There was a slight bulge to mark her passage, then nothing at all.

“No!”

The creature jerked suddenly to focus its glowing green eyes on Dawn and they narrowed, hungry and hunting. It raced towards her, emitting another horrible shriek. Dawn had no time to react, the pain hit her like a freight train and she was completely paralyzed as it closed on her. It reached her, jaws open.

And with a roar of maternal fury, Joyce, coming up from behind the table, slammed a meat cleaver half the size of a machete up into the creatures jaw. The carbon steel carved up through the creatures jaw and continued, utterly unimpeded, up past the jaw and all the way up and out of the beast’s slimy head. The creature looked…confused, staring at her uncomprehendingly through its now-bisected face.

Joyce hefted the weighty meat cleaver up, taking a moment to hold the blade before its glowing green eyes, before bringing it up over her head and squeezing it tightly with both hands.

“You get the hell away from my daughter,” she snarled and she brought the blade down with all the might of a mother defending her child.

The head came away entirely and landed on the floor with a rotten splat! Overextended by the force of her blow, Joyce lost her grip on the knife, it tumbled down the now-exposed trachea of the decapitated beast which had collapsed in a heap, now thumping and twitching, making wet, painful sounds. Without taking her eyes from the beast, Joyce reached behind her, feeling for her daughter.

Dawn took her hand and wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist, staring coldly at the thing that had killed her sister. “It’s not dead,” she warned her mother.

Joyce nodded and, still focused on the creature, carefully knelt down and clutched several of the other razor sharp knives that had spilt onto the floor when Dawn had tipped the table.

“It will be,” Joyce answered in a quiet voice that promised a long and torturous death for the thing that she had seen killed Buffy, her little girl; the thing that had taken her baby away from her.

“Good,” Dawn responded in just a quiet a voice as her mother raised the first knife up.

And then the thing spat at Joyce through one of its tiny, cleft mouths.

The slime struck the woman with the force of a cannonball knocking her off her feet and sending her flying backwards past Dawn to slam into the wall behind her. The slime hardened over her face and she couldn’t breathe or see as she beat it with her hands, blind and suffocating in the dark.

“Mom!” Dawn screamed. Dawn tried to rush to her mother’s aid when another glob of slime splattered before her feet. Dawn gasped and jumped back, just in time to dodge a third stream of slime, this one coating the doorway leading out of the kitchen, forming a sticky, rock hard web that effectively sealed her in.

Dawn spared the blocked doorway a passing glance, she wasn’t planning on leaving anyway: not with the pain this thing had caused her and her family. Dawn picked up a pair of the knives and regarded the slimy beast with a calm that has defined warriors since time immemorial.

A calm that only comes when a warrior embraced their own death in order to purchase the death of their enemy.



Dawn tightened the grip on her knives.

“So you can grow heads? “ She asked the beast’s newly-emerging head. “Grow as many as you want ‘cause I’m going to cut off each and everyone one of them until there’s nothing left of you but a stain,” she promised the thing softly. She raised her knives as the creature descended, like creeping death, to face her.

She met its eyes with hers, defiant and strong and murderous. “You killed my family, you son-of-a-bitch…” Dawn spat and, quick as a flash, her delicate hands plunged the blades into first one and then both of the creatures glowing eyes. Fast as a butterfly beats it wings, she twisted the knives, flexed and bent them before tearing them free of the creature’s slimy face.

The wail of pain the horrid thing emitted was nearly drowned out by Dawn.

“…you’re going to pay for that!” she finished in a scream of raw, animal hatred. She gathered up another pair of knives and stalked towards the creature. It was already trying to grow a new face, she noticed. She also didn’t care at this point.

“I’m not done with you yet, you over-grown sack of slime,” she snarled, squeezing her knives in white-knuckled hands.

The slimy demon-headed thing only hissed at her, a low contemptuous sound as its face began to repair. It continued to hiss as Dawn brought her knives up and it began to steadily increase in pitch and volume. Dawn then realized that it was going to emit that screeching cry that it used earlier: that it would paralyze her with agony; cause her bones to go rigid and her blood to howl and boil and while she was incapacitated by the excruciating pain, this thing would come to her and it would kill her, as it killed Alec, Buffy, and her mother.

Dawn knew all these things in an instant, but her weapons did not waver. As the hiss began to reach its peak, she spoke quietly,

“Give me your best shot.”

“Me first!” a voice called out and the creature’s hiss abruptly died in its throat. It gurgled and flowed as fast as it could to see what was happening to it, even as it felt its power start to wane.

Dawn’s eyes widened in shock and her heart clutched at an impossible hope. But she couldn’t see anything past the creature’s bulk. With a jolt, she instead raced to help her mother, who was flailing weakly at the substance on her face.

Alec stood where the kitchen sink had been. The sink and the rest of the kitchen countertop were now completely submerged in the pool of black ooze made up of the bottom part of the creature. Unhurriedly, he retracted a tendril of darkness, invisible against the dark color of the slime, and held up a metal object: the twisted, badly mutilated form of a kitchen sink faucet.

“Clog in the loo can ruin anyone’s day, mate,” he said with a vicious grin. Tossing the broken fixture away, he began to steadily advance on the creature. “Throw in a clogged drain and cinched up pipes, well there’s just nothing getting in…” he continued to inform the oozing, reeking monster casually. It began to back away from the man; it began to shrink and its putrid skin began to lose its fluidity, the slimy hide becoming dry and brittle-looking.

Alec stopped before the now-recoiling beast, and smiled up at it, a smile nearly as vicious as Dawn’s had been earlier,

“…Or out.” He finished.

“Alec?” Dawn called out in desperate hope. She and her mother, who was shaken but breathing thanks to her daughter’s careful work with the knife, still could not see past the creature’s bulk in order to learn who was speaking, “Alec is that you?”

The answer was all she could have hoped for.

“Right here, luv,” Alec called out to her past the beast between them, “just letting Beastie here know that it’s closing time.” He raised his voice as he addressed the ooze monster. “Closing early due a busted tap and broken pipes,” he continued to taunt the slimy thing. “Don’t have to go home then, but you can’t sleep here.”

The creature, now only a fraction of what it had been in size, hissed at him as it tried to somehow make it past him, back down the drain, back to its home.

“Nuh-uh, mate,” Alec said, “there’s no going home for you tonight.”

And then, Alec attacked.

The creature reared back as he leaped upon the monster and, conjuring darkness from his hands, wrapped bands of shadow around the creature again and again and again, drawing them tight.

Dawn cried out in joy, followed quickly by fear at the sight of him grappling the rotting nightmare.

“Alec!”

Alec couldn’t spare any attention to answer her at the moment, instead he continued to wrap thick ropy tendrils of darkness around the thing, weaving a cocoon that was invisible against its murky black body but was as strong as steel - steel that was rapidly constricting.

“Get you good and snug there, eh, Chief?” Alec quipped with a cruel laugh, “‘Snug as a bug in a rug’ as they say!”

Suddenly the creature shifted tactics, no longer trying to escape; it reformed around Alec, forming coils of its own. Alec gasped as he felt the folds of reeking slime begin to constrict, squeezing the air out of him and making it impossible for him to draw breath.

“Alec!” Dawn called out again, seeing what was being done to him.

The creature slithered and brought its head down to eye level with the man trapped tight in its coils. The man’s breath came in shallow pants, his eyes were beginning to flood red, and the sounds of bones creaking, as they were pushed closer and closer to their breaking point, became audible. The oozing fiend at that moment may have felt a moment of satisfaction deep in its cancerous heart.

That feeling fled the instant Alec looked at him…and grinned.

“Snug enough then, pillock?” he asked in short, pained breaths. The creature hissed again and opened its mouth to bite…

…and its torso came apart as Buffy burst from the dried-out skin of the beast; now stretched too taunt and tight in the act of constricting Alec. Like poking a hole through a thin sheet of paper, Buffy’s slayer-strong fist had blasted clean through it.

“That was disgusting!” Buffy cried as she hacked at the shreds of flesh that still clung to her, using none other than her mother’s Chinese meat cleaver that had been last seen tumbling down the trachea of this very creature. “I’m going to need to bathe for a month!”

“Buffy!” Dawn and Joyce cried out. Rushing to her, they hugged Buffy desperately, completely unmindful of the layers upon layers of decomposed slime and rotted muck that caked the Slayer.

“I missed you guys, too,” Buffy said quietly, holding them tight.

“Sis! Your assistance would not go unappreciated!” Alec called to her, still trapped deep within the beast’s coils. The creature apparently still had some fight left in it, it seemed, even after being eviscerated by Buffy’s emergence.

“Work, work, work,” Buffy quipped, trying to regain a bit more of her confidence after being swallowed.

Alec smiled slightly; he could feel the coils loosening already. He’d be free in a moment.

And in that moment, the fangs of the creature struck deep into Alec’s shoulder. He screamed, loud and long as he felt fire lancing through his body.

“No!” Buffy cried out at the sight of the demon’s fangs plunged deep into her brother’s body. With a cry she charged the beast, cleaver in hand and started hacking furiously at it.

“Why! Won’t! You! Die?!” she howled in frustration as blow after blow carved out chunks of decayed plant matter, putrescent fluids and heaps of rotting muck, apparently to no effect.

“Buffy!” Alec screamed.

Buffy looked up. Even from here she could see Alec was in bad shape; he look flushed and feverish and his body wracked with spasms.

“The…the light!” he rasped.

Buffy looked up and saw the light. And knew what she needed to do.

Taking the cleaver she threw it at the kitchen light which had somehow managed to survive the last few minutes. The pale yellow light the only source of illumination in the otherwise dim room.

Buffy’s aim was on the mark and the light exploded in a shower of glass and sparks.

“You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?!” She cried out in defiance to the monster as blackness, thick and complete, blanked the room. In that one moment where the last of the light had faded, she heard her brother’s quiet reply.

“You will be.”

The creature began to scream at that point, not hiss or screech but scream through all its mouths, a high, horrible scream, a sound of ultimate suffering and mutilation inflicted on another life form. It was liked hearing a year’s worth of torture crammed into a span on seconds all in the pitch-black darkness of the room.

Buffy closed her eyes at the wailing sounds and at the ones following afterwards; wet, ripping noises, tearing and angry; killing noises. They filled the room and the smell of methane grew so strong she could barely breathe.

Buffy scrambled blindly on her hands and knees to the ruins of her breakfast nook and, finding her family, huddled there in the pitch-black and darkness of her kitchen, filled only by the bloody sounds of death. Sweaty hands, warm and familiar, found hers; hands of her mother, her sister. These hands found each other and squeezed tightly.

“What’s happening?” Dawn asked, sounding afraid. “Where’s Alec?”

“Alec is fighting it, he’s okay,” Buffy assured her then quietly to herself she added. “I hope.”

“Buffy, the knives, they’re not here anymore. All of them are gone,” her mother whispered to her in the darkness urgently. Buffy gingerly felt around on the floor, not wanting to cut herself. Her mother was right; every single blade that had been in the cutlery block on the table and had spilt onto the floor when the table was tipped over was missing.

“Where did they go?” Buffy asked, a little foolishly.

“I took a few, like, four?” Dawn replied.

“And the cleaver, that’s five, so there should be fifteen or so razor sharp blades somewhere in our immediate vicinity,” Buffy countered, getting frustrated.

“Hang on, I have a light,” Dawn whispered.

“Dawn! Not a lighter!” Joyce whispered. There was an edge of stark terror in her voice, “Not with all the gas and kerosene fumes!”

“No mom, a flashlight. Geez, give me a little credit.”

Dawn clicked the little light on; it was a small flashlight, not particularly powerful but after the overwhelming gloom of the last few minutes, it seemed as bright and cheering as the sun.

“Gimme that!” Buffy demanded, snatching it away from her sister. Ignoring Dawn’s look of outrage, Buffy broke cover and hurriedly began scanning the room for some sign of her brother or the rotting fiend that had been grappling him,

“You know the kitchen seems a lot bigger than I remember,” she commented to herself as she moved through the wreckage.

“It’s the dark, playing tricks on you,” a voice rasped back to her. Alec.

Swinging the light around, she scanned a patch of darkness that was slowly receding from the flashlight’s little beam, like ants scurrying away from water. It revealed what she was looking for: there was Alec, propped up in a sitting position against a wall, wounded but still alive. There was the creature; Alec had it by the throat it looked. And there was…

“Oh,” Buffy commented, “I guess I know where the knives went.”

Fifteen individual tendrils of darkness clung to fifteen knives plunged deep into the creatures body. From the raw number of stab wounds that Buffy could see, it looked each knife had been used more than once on it.

Alec looked to be in great pain, the tendrils of darkness were all anchored to his body; arms, hands, legs, shoulders and they quivered with tension and strain. Strain showed on his face as well, he had gone very pale and his eyes held no humanity in them, still being nothing more than twin pools of inky blackness. When he spoke, little trickles of darkness, like tears, leaked out from his eyes, jostled by the movements of his mouth. Buffy could see that his teeth and tongue were both stained black as well.

“I feel pretty,” Alec commented dryly.

“You look it,” Buffy replied with a small laugh.

“You need….to burn it, sis,” he told her weakly.

“What are you talkin-?”

“You. Need. To. Burn. It. Buffy,” he repeated, enunciating every word with painful intensity as he shifted so that Buffy could see him more clearly.

Buffy’s eyes went wide: The beast was still wrapped around him and it was still alive.

Alec gripped it by the jaws and was holding it steady; she could see it straining to get at him though. Through the wreckage of what was left of its face, she could still see teeth trying to edge closer and closer to the young man.

“I can’t…let it go, Buffy. You need to burn it. Before it regenerates,” he whispered and Buffy could, in fact, see it beginning to knit itself back together, as if being exposed to the night air helped heal it.

No, not the night air. Sunnydale air. Hellmouth air. she thought, Wait a minute, what night air? Buffy looked around the kitchen and gaped: the entire back wall of the kitchen, where the sink had been, was gone, completely decayed by the ooze. She panned the light around: all the adjacent walls had been destroyed and even large portions of the floor were missing.

“What the-?” she started.

“When it emerged,” Alec explained in short, pained pants, “it used the house as a fixture, an anchoring point. The walls, the floors, the ceiling, it glued itself to it all to help stabilize it. I’m sure it also was rotting away and consuming whatever organic material it could find: food in the kitchen, basement,” he smiled weakly, “If you had a roach or mice problem before, I’d say it’s been pretty well resolved.”

Buffy laughed again, it sounded hysterical. “You know, I thought this place seemed bigger during the fight. Talk about a ‘binge eater’.” She looked around at the destruction in shock. “I guess we’re just lucky he didn’t have the time to eat the whole floor or the ceiling or something,” she added.

At that point the entire house seemed to groan, like a wounded beast - a wounded beast that would collapse and kill them all at any minute.

Alec glared up at the house ceiling balefully, trying to ignore the teeth inches from his face and hungry. “Yeah. Lucky,” he commented bitterly.

“Buffy? Did you find Alec? Is everything all right?” Dawn’s voice came from behind them. Buffy spun the light around and then frowned in confusion; the light didn’t penetrate more than a foot or so.

She turned to her brother, questioningly, “Alec-?“ she began.

Alec held up a hand. “It’s a little shadow-play. I didn’t want them to see this,” he answered bleakly. A tendril of darkness slithered out form the shadows around him and carefully picked up a shattered piece of something smooth and brightly colored, holding it up to the light. They both recognized it easily: a piece from the cookie plate they had all eaten from earlier this evening, when this was still a kitchen and they were all still happy and safe in their home.

Alec sighed angrily and the shadow hurled the broken shard away. Ignoring it he looked up at Buffy intently. “It’s regenerating Buffy; I can feel it getting stronger. Right now, it is feeding on all the microscopic life in the air, whatever it can get: skin particles, pollen, air-borne organisms, all of it. It is feeding from them and they are making it strong again,” Alec’s voice took an even darker tone as it dropped down to a whisper, “and something else, in the air and in the earth, is feeding it too.”

The beast lunged suddenly with a gurgling growl. In a flash, Buffy wrapped an arm around it and pulled it back away from Alec. Alec’s entire body was shaking with strain.

“Do you see?” he asked her.

Buffy nodded slowly,“ Yeah, yeah I see. And I know what you’re talking about. But you can’t ask me to set my own brother on fire!” she yelled out.

“Buffy? Are you all right?” Joyce called out from beyond Alec’s veil of gloom.

“The darkness muffles sounds as well as light, sis,” Alec explained, “But not forever, we need to do this and do it now if we want to spare Dawn and your mother the sight of it.”

Buffy looked utterly lost, “But what do I tell them?” she asked.

Alec sighed. “Tell them the truth, sis; that the slime of this thing,” he offered, gesturing with his head towards the drooling, reeking jaws next to his head, “gave me a chemical burn from its corrosive slime.”

“It’s a lie!” she countered, sounding aghast.

“Then it’s a kind lie!” Alec snapped at her, his patience spent, “Buffy, this thing is going to be back up to fighting strength far sooner than any of us will be. That happens, and I will bloody well guarantee you that it will only pause in abducting Dawn long enough for it to rot the rest of us down to liquid and slurp us up for lunch!” For a moment Buffy looked hurt by his words, but then, that had been his idea all along: get her strong, get her cold, get her ready to do this.

“What do I need to do?” she asked simply.

“Tell your family to get down and stay down until you come and get them. I’ll thin out the dark a little bit to make that possible,” he began.

Suddenly, the creature began to thrash wildly, slinging rancid spittle everywhere, saturating both siblings in the process.

“Do it!” Alec growled through gritted teeth, his arms felt ready to snap like kindling.

“Guys? Hit the deck!” Buffy yelled out into the dark.

“Why?” came back Dawn’s voice, “what’s going on? Where’s Alec?”

“Just take cover and stay put!”

Silence answered her that time. Buffy strained her ears; she thought she could hear her mother gently coaxing a vehemently-protesting Dawn to take cover.

Alec laughed a little, it sounded like it hurt to do so. “You have a delicate touch, sis,” he joked. He tried to give her his crooked grin, but his lip split with the effort of it and black liquid spilled from it. It made him look ghastly instead and when he saw Buffy pale at the sight, he immediately stopped trying to smile. “Find a place for cover,” he told her quietly.

Buffy looked around and found something that would work: the fridge, now toppled over onto its side and having vomited forth its contents, all, of course, rotted into mush. Buffy put a hand down and casually flipped the heavy appliance over, trying to ignore the putrid food,

“Damn it and I had a frappacino in there,” she lamented.

Alec chuckled. “Yeah, me too,” he said.

“Really?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Buffy swallowed a lump in her throat, “Alec, how-?”

“I’ve been soaking in kerosene every since Swamp Thing here…,” he gestured again with his head towards the beast which definitely looked healthier than it had a few moments ago, “…tossed me into the heater. All I need is a light,” he explained.

“But what about-?” she began.

“Buffy! We. Do not. Have Time,” he said forcibly.

For a moment, he reminded her of Giles when he needed to be stern with her. Oh God: Giles. Willow! How do I tell them this? How do you tell Giles I had to kill his son? Or tell Willow I had to kill her honey?

And as if in answer to her unspoken thoughts, Alec looked up at her and began to whisper.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her weakly.

Buffy’s thoughts jolted to a halt as she regarded her brother in shock, “How did you-?”

“What else could you possibly be thinking of at a time like this, sis?” Alec joked. “You can be painfully predicable at times, you know.” The smile was softer this time and sad, but all were relieved to see that his lip, at least, did not split again.

Instead, Buffy thought he looked…like her brother and that made it much, much worse.

“Alec-“

“A light, Buffy. I need a light. Please, Buffy,” his expression and tone became imploring, “Please do not make me watch you all die. Don’t do that to me, Buffy, please. For whatever love you have ever held for me, spare me that much at least.” He closed his eyes, too drained to continue on talking.

Alec felt something small, smooth, and metallic placed gently on his leg. Not daring to take his eyes away from the beast for a second, he extended yet another shadow tendril towards it.

The tendril looked thin and pale and it flickered in and out of existence, like a TV screen with bad reception, but it held together and lifted the object up for Alec to see.

A Zippo lighter, with Sid Vicious giving the middle-finger, silk-screened onto it.

Alec laughed when he saw it. “I’ll make sure Spike gets this back,” he told Buffy.

Buffy smiled, tears flowing freely down her face. “Keep it. I don’t smoke anyways.”

“Yeah, that’ll kill you.”

Buffy laughed again, certain that if she did so once more, she would never stop laughing and would lose her mind. She cut the laugh short and wiped at her eyes.

Alec’s smiled faded though; he could feel the creature getting stronger. “You ready?” he asked his sister.

“Yeah. Are you ready?” she asked her brother in reply.

“Oh, you know me, I’m always ready,” he said casually and the siblings shared a tight smile at his lame attempt at humor, before the creature lurched again and nearly took off his fingers. “Doesn’t matter though, this bastard’s sure enough ready.”

“Well, then we shouldn’t make him wait anymore, right?” the Slayer asked.

“It would be unforgivably rude,” the young man agreed.

“Yeah. Hey, Alec?”

“Yes, Buffy?”

“I love you.”

“I know, sis.”

“Do you love me, too, bro?”

Alec smiled slightly and studied her face; it was study in sheer agony and Alec was struck by how much it resembled Dawn’s face, not an hour or so earlier, and he felt a strange sense of déjà vu. With great care, he used his arm to gag the beast and prevent it from snapping his head off. He then reached out to the young woman. With a broken, little sob, Buffy dove for his hand. She caught and clutched it desperately, squeezing it so tightly; he was worried she would break it.

“Of course I love you, dummy,” he told her.

Buffy almost laughed again but stopped herself. She felt as if she were ready to burst at any moment. “Okay. Good, I just needed to make sure you hadn’t forgotten,” she told him.

“No worries there. Better get behind cover now, sis.”

And the Slayer did the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life: she let her brother’s hand go, crawled over to the fridge and got behind it.

Alec flicked the lighter open and placed his thumb on the wheel. He noticed that the creature, still choking on his arm, had began to slowly but inexorably unhinge its jaws and was beginning to widen its jaws enough to swallow both, his arm and him.

Alec paid it no mind as he called out, “Hey, sis?”

Buffy’s voice came out from behind the fridge; she had no intentions of having to watch what happened in the next few seconds. “Yeah, bro?”

“One request?”

“Anything.”

“Take a bath, you look a frightful mess.”

Their shared laughter, high and loud and defiant, spared them both from having to hear the loud flick of the lighter. It could not, however, protect them from what was to be heard next.

The door to the Magic Box burst open, causing everyone within to jump. Willow’s head shot up out of whatever book she was reading. Xander, who had been dozing quietly with his head on the table, lurched to wakefulness with a startled sound. Anya, who had been using him as a pillow, sounded even less pleased than he did. Even Spike and Giles, normally unfazed by the abruptness of life on the Hellmouth were startled. Only Angel, amongst them all, was already up on his feet and headed towards what had suddenly appeared in the doorway.

Though even he was not prepared for it.

“We need your help,” a scorched and battered Dawn told them. She was both bloody and bruised, her hair a tangle of slime and blood from a head wound and her clothes were soiled beyond all recognition.

For a moment, everyone just stared at her uncomprehendingly. Dawn’s expression took a on frantic, angry look before she barked, “NOW!”

That command, like a gunshot, set everyone else on their feet. Angel had a head start; he took Dawn’s arm, placed it around his shoulder and helped her stagger from the doorway to a chair upon which she collapsed in a heap. People began buzzing around her, a thousand questions from their lips:

“Bloody Hell, what’s all the noise about-?”

“Where’s Buffy, Dawn, what’s happened? Is your mother-?”

“Alec? Is Alec with you, Dawney-?”

Dawn brought her hands up over her ears, squeezing her eyes tight and trying to blot them all out; there were so many voices, so many people demanding to know things from her, demanding answers from her, it was more than she could bear.

And then the questions abruptly ceased.

Buffy and Joyce, in even worse shape that Dawn, slowly came into the room, cradling a large bundle in their arms, wrapped in black cloth. Wisps of smoke trailed lazily off it and it reeked of fire and death.

Spike looked confounded. “What in the blazes…?” he began.

And then, a sleeve came loose from the smoking bundle, declaring that the cloth was actually, a jacket - a full-length black woolen duster.

And then they knew. Then they knew everything.

“ALEC!” Giles cried out and rushed to Buffy and Joyce.

Spike moved faster; grabbing, nearly tearing the bundle out of the exhausted women’s arms and, shoving his way past everyone else, stalked to the table. With a single, brutal movement, he swept the table clear of books and leftover pizza; it all came crashing down to the floor.

“Baby…?” Willow whispered, staring with wide, uncomprehending eyes, her face the chalky white color that only comes with severe shock.

Xander rushed over to Buffy. Anya looked on, a little irritated at her boyfriend’s show of concern. “Buff, what happened?” he asked fervently. Buffy looked at him, her expression shell-shocked and it shook Xander to the core to see it. His friend, the Slayer, Buffy, looked broken.

She didn’t say anything, just shook her head, sat down in a chair next to Dawn and Joyce and stared at the smoking bundle now on the table.

“Mate?” Spike whispered quietly, his teeth gritted with the effort of keeping his tone level. He took a firm hold of the cloth and tensed his arm, ready to jerk.

A hand as cold and strong as his, clamped down on his arm. “No!” Angel shouted, squeezing Spike’s arm into immobility.

“Piss off ANGELUS!” Spike roared. “He’s my best bloody mate!”

“You can’t-!”

“Get out of my way, I need to see my son!” Giles roared, stalking past them all, prepared to shove his way heedlessly past the two furious vampires to get to the man in question.

Angel spun around and grabbed the man. “Rupert, no, you can’t just yank it off!” he yelled at the Watcher; the effort of attempting to grapple both a grieving father and an enraged vampire clearly beyond him at the moment.

The three men’s shouts ran together into a miasma of noise.

“He’s my son!”

“Rupert, listen to me! If he’s burned-!”

“Let go of me you great, flaming ponce before I tear your fangs out the back of your head-!”

“He’s right,” that voice, Buffy’s voice, dead and hollow but audible over everyone else, silenced the argument. The three men stopped to look at her and she slowly raised her head to face them as she spoke, “He’s right, Angel’s right, Alec was burned.”

Willow sobbed aloud then; the confirmation that the smoking, reeking bundle was indeed her beloved broke through her shock and shattered the young woman’s composure. She sank to the floor, weeping.

Dawn, sitting across from her with her head down, looked up at the crying red-headed girl in a heap on the floor in front of her. Dawn slowly, painfully, reached out and touched Willow’s shoulder. Willow’s hand snaked up and took hold of it, squeezing tightly through painful, shuddering cries.

Suddenly, she looked up at Dawn: eyes wet but now-filled with a crazed, desperate light. It matched Willow’s tone as she spoke, “Dawnie? He’s okay though, right? Alec’s okay? I mean, we can fix him, right? Right, Dawnie?! Right….?!””

The last word was sobbed out, but Willow still desperately, agonizingly, maintained eye contact with Dawn, frantically searching the other girl’s face for some…small shred of hope.

And then Dawn began to cry.

With an agonized wail, Willow tried to scramble to her feet, grasping unthinkingly at the air in vain for purchase as she tried to hoist herself up, staggering to her feet

“ALEC!” she screamed. Her feet slid out from under her and Willow crashed hard to the tile floor. Bruised, and blinded completely by her tears, she would not be stopped though. Instead she crawled, clawing her way across the floor, her nails bent back and then broke with loud, snapping sounds, but she didn’t even seem to notice. So determined was Willow to go to him, to Alec, that if she had to break every bone in her hand, in her body, she would still go to him.

And then Dawn, half-staggering, half-sliding on her feet and knees, came to a skidding halt in front of Willow, bent down low and gathered the other girl in a tight hug.

“Let me go! Let me go! I have to go to him, I have to fix him! I have magic! I can fix him! I can save him! LET ME GO!!” Willow snarled and thrashed and screamed; Dawn held on tightly to the other girl until the fight drained out of the witch, and she crumpled, shuddering silently, her body curled in the fetal position.

And Dawn just held her as they grieved for the man they both loved.



“In Vietnam,” Angel began, “I served under this…crazy colonel with air cavalry, first of the ninth. He loved napalm, used it all the time.” Spike and Giles just listened, the latter took off his glasses and squeezed his eyes tight at the mention of ‘napalm’.

“One night, he used too much; the wind caught it, something caught it, I have no idea what. But it blew back on us and a couple of the guys on the ground took it full on.” Angel swallowed; a dry, reflexive swallow full of anxiety, and continued. “I remember… what they looked like, lying there on the ground. I remember watching the medic trying to tend to these… smoking, peeling objects that used to be soldiers.”

“This little stroll down memory lane going anywhere, mate?” Spike asked quietly.

“I remember there was one who’d pulled some canvas, some tarp that’d been near when he’d gotten burned. He had it pulled over himself like a blanket, probably because the breeze on his skin felt like hell. And after it’d been a while, the medic came and pulled it off him.” Angel looked up at them both sharply before finishing.

“And his face came off with it.”

“Oh…sod!” Spike said, breathing out hard.

“Get me a pair of scissors. And some cool, but not cold, water,” Giles instructed with a voice sharp enough to draw blood, “and some alcohol, please. And also the scissors, from the first aid kit in the back.”

“Yeah,” was all Spike said as he went to get them.

Giles turned to Angel. “How many of those men survived?” the Watcher asked the vampire calmly.

“None of them did,” Angel told him simply, looking him right in the eye. “Including that colonel. He had a little accident the next night.”

Angel’s tone left absolutely no question as to what or who had been responsible for the colonel “accident”.

Giles’s tone also left nothing to question, he turned to look at the smoking shape on the table, and replied,

“Good.”



Hours later later, the last thread was cut and it was time.

Giles had worked with all the care and skill of a surgeon; gently snipping and cutting away at cloth that had bundled and stuck and clung until it formed a cocoon, within which, his son lay, possibly dying if not already dead. The only sign of life was the occasional shifting from inside the bundle and every now and then, a wheezing, whispering breath, like dead leaves blowing in a weak breeze.

Giles put the scissors aside; there were faint traces of blood upon them. Not all that needed to be cut away could be separated from flesh.

The librarian-turned-shopkeeper looked more like a combat surgeon now: his sleeves had been rolled up, tweed had been cast aside and his glasses were smudged with blood and smeared with sweat and grime.

But his hands were steady, remarkably steady, as was his expression through it all. One could almost think he were cutting swaths of fabric to be tailored into pants, rather than what might be his only son’s burial shroud.

“There. It’s done,” he announced to no one in particular. Everyone however was huddled around the make-shift operating table, now splashed with puddles of water and alcohol, all of it having a slight red tinge that no one tried to pay attention to. No one had made a sound: not a weep, nor a moan, nor a question or even a breath, it seemed. All was still.

“Do it,” Buffy finally said in that dead voice she’d had since she arrived.

Giles nodded and gestured to Angel as he spoke, “Angel, will you please hand me those tweezers?”

Angel took the instrument from the first aid kit and, wordlessly, passed it to Giles.

Giles gingerly gripped a corner of the fabric and slowly, carefully, began to pull. There was a sound, like cellophane wrap being pulled apart and everyone shuddered at it, save Giles, who remained calm and focused as ever.

Inch by agonizing inch, Giles gently peeled bits of fabric away from his son’s mangled body. The sound grew louder and the smell grew worse. Little tendrils of steam rose from where Giles parted the fabric: it was incredibly hot and more than once, Giles pulled his hands back, red and stinging.

At a drawn-out instance of the tearing sound, the form suddenly gave a little start.

“You’re hurting him!” Dawn cried out. Joyce shushed her as Giles waved the young girl’s concerns away with an irritated shake of his head, struggling to retain his focus.

“Rupert,” Angel said quietly and pointed.

Fresh blood snaked a path out from underneath the bundle, leaking onto the table to mix with the alcohol and water that had pooled onto the table. Soon, the only color there was the black of the cloth and the red of the bloody water.

“Is he dead?” Willow asked in a whisper. These had been the first words she’d spoken since her collapse earlier than evening.

Giles raised his eyes to meet Angel’s. The vampire nodded, they both had the same thought.

“The dead don’t bleed,” Angel told them simply.

“Then he’s alive,” Dawn whispered breathily.

Giles didn’t answer them: it was time. Carefully, he pulled back the last bit of cloth from the area he thought was his son’s head.

And then he almost died.

Steam rose up from Alec, thick and nauseating; like barbequed meat left out in the sun too long. People coughed and wiped at eyes that suddenly stung and were teary or they swallowed back gorge and tried not to be sick at the smell.

The sight was worse.

Alec didn’t even look human anymore: his skin was charred dead-black, it flaked off with the slightest contact. Ears, nose, lips, hair, were all gone. Just gone.

“Son….” Giles whispered, broken-hearted.

Xander threw up then; Willow and Dawn clung to each other and trembled violently, Joyce behind them, a hand over her mouth in horror at the sight, but ready if her daughters needed her. Even Spike swore and averted his face from the sight.

Only Buffy, Anya, Angel and Giles kept their gaze fixed on the form.

“That looks like it hurts,” Anya observed simply. Spike glared at her until she shrugged and went to go help keep Xander from vomiting out any internal organs.

“How did this happen?” Giles asked very quietly.

Everyone turned to face Buffy, even Dawn and Joyce, who had neither seen what had happened nor had received any kind of explanation from Buffy.

Buffy swallowed hard now and opened her mouth to speak,

“I-“

“Dad?”

The voice was weak, but it was alive and it was Alec’s.

Everyone crowded around as Alec opened one eye and looked up at them all: the sclera was a yellowish-red mixture and the pupil had been damaged, leaving the eye a ruined looking thing, but it saw them all. He saw them all, it focused and he appeared able to recognize them.

‘Dad?” Alec called out again; he tried to shift, to bring his hand up to reach out towards the sound of his father’s voice. A withered hand pulled itself free of the fabric, leaving bits and pieces of tissue behind and reached for Giles.

Giles took it very gently and laid it back down: it was like holding ash in his hands, the slightest pressure and bits of charred flesh would come away. Giles could feel things shifting and liquefying under his touch and he cradled his son’s hand tenderly.

“I’m here son, don’t move, you’ve suffered terrible injuries,” he told his son calmly.

“He needs a doctor,” Angel spoke up.

“He needs a big, black suit of bloody armor is what he needs: complete with iron lung and chest-mounted Lite Brite,” Spike put in.

There was a short jerk from Alec and a quiet sound came from him: a laugh.

“Vader-worthy, huh?” the boy whispered weakly. Then Alec started to shudder and cough, Giles reached out to hold him, to keep him from tearing his fragile body apart with coughing.

“Son? Son? Stay with me,” Giles urged.

“It hurts, dad,” Alec replied.

“I know, son, I know it hurts: you’ve suffered damage to your lungs through heat and smoke inhalation, along with carbon monoxide-“

“No, dad. Not my lungs. My shoulder. My shoulder hurts, dad,” Alec strained to look at his father through his one ruined eye as he spoke,

“Only my shoulder hurts, dad. Nowhere else, just my shoulder.”

“He’s suffered heavy nerve damage, Rupert,” Angel said quietly, taking Rupert aside. “There’s a good chance he can’t feel anything anymore.”



“Alec?” Willow whispered. Alec’s eye swiveled in its socket to peer at her.

“Hi,” he rasped.

“Are you, I mean, how do you-?” she couldn’t finish.

“Extra-crispy, love,” he replied, a touch of humor in his voice.

Willow laughed quickly. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

“Not until we know that none of my body parts are going to come off, if played with too roughly,” he replied and then winked at her, a painful-looking but entirely roguish, wink; as good as any vaudeville showman, playing to the crowd, could have mustered.

And Willow laughed again, this time heartily. Even Alec chuckled weakly. She bent down low and with infinite tenderness, kissed his charred black brow.

“I cannot lose you,” she whispered to him.

He looked up at her then: his one good eye burned but intent as he said simply,

“You won’t.”

“The dead don’t bleed, but neither do cauterized wounds,” Giles said with finality, taking his leave of Angel and coming back to the table, he caught Willow just as she was settling back on her heels. “Just now, Willow, when you kissed him, did he feel it?” he demanded.

Willow gaped at Giles: his demeanor suddenly possessed a volcanic intensity as he impaled her with his stare, his tone was as sharp and cracking as a whip. “I don’t know,” she stammered by way of reply. “I just-“

And with a jerk of his head, Giles shunned the young girl and focused on his son.

“Son, when she-?”

“Yes, dad, I did,” Alec answered.

“Which shoulder hurts?”

“The left; front and back. Like a snakebite.”

“Pair of puncture wounds then, through the front and out the back? Clean through?”

Alec shook his head. “No,” he told his father. “No, shoulder’s broken, but I can feel something wriggling in the wound.”

“Spike, knife,” was all Giles said in reply.

A flurry of movement and Spike, who had been hovering around the table with everyone else, put a butterfly knife in the other man’s hands, blade gleaming.

“It’s sharp, mate,” the English vampire warned.

“That’s the plan,” Giles confirmed as he scrapped the edge of the blade at Alec’s shoulder, clearing away dead skin. Alec winced suddenly and Giles put his glasses back on as he peered at what he had uncovered: a pair of bloody wounds; symmetrically spaced, deep and red.

“There we are,” Giles said with a sigh.

“Big snake,” Angel commented as he joined Giles in scrutinizing the wound. “There’s the source of the blood loss,” he added, pointing at the leaking wounds. Giles nodded and braced himself.

“What are you going to do?” Willow asked.

And in a single fluid movement, Giles slide the blade into the wounds.

Alec lurched nearly upright but Angel had been prepared for the reaction: he clamped a hand down on the wounded boy, as firmly as he dared, holding him in place and keeping him from thrashing under his father’s ministrations.

“What are you doing?” Willow cried out.

“You’re hurting him!” Dawn echoed.

Giles ignored them both; he worked the blade all around the wound, digging deeper and deeper as he prodded and pushed.

And then he felt something push back.

“Jar,” Giles demanded.

“Here,” Xander replied as he emptied out a tiny jar of herbs he’d taken from one of the store displays and handed it to the man. Giles took it with a grunt of gratitude.

Meanwhile, Anya frowned at Xander.

“You know, that’s shoplifting?” she said testily. Xander, trying to remember how much he loved his girl and also how amazing she looked naked, put on the kindest tone he could as he addressed her,

“Ahn…” he began.

“…shut up or I’ll kill you,” Spike finished for him, with a growl.

“What he said,” Xander added, turning his attentions back to what was happening on the table and doing his best to ignore Anya’s look of extreme displeasure.

“Just saying…” she muttered to herself.

Meanwhile, Angel held at the ready whilst Giles poked and made tiny, stabbing motions with the knife over and over again. Finally there was a crunch and something bulged momentarily up from underneath Alec’s burnt body.

“What the hell is that?” Spike asked flabbergasted.

“Let’s find out,” Giles replied. “Angel?”

“Spike, take over,” the vampire instructed. Spike nodded and took Angel’s place at the thrashing boy’s shoulders, holding him down as best he could without hurting him.

With his free hand, Angel helped Giles coax the wiggling bulge closer and closer to the surface, out from underneath Alec’s skin, and with his other, helped the Watcher gently coax the unknown object towards the hole in the young man’s shoulder.

A final stab and the wiggling stopped. Alec went rigid, then limp. Giles looked up and shot Spike a sharp, inquiring look.

“Still among the living, Rup,” Spike assured him.

Carefully, Giles pushed the blade as deep into the now-still object as he could. He felt resistance, resistance and then a pop. Little rivulets of black, foul-smelling fluid began to dribble out of the wound.

Giles spoke, without taking his attention from his work, “Angel?”

“On it,” came the reply. Angel dabbed gauze, cleaning as much of the reeking ichor away from the open wounds. It was a safe bet that the substance would do Alec little good if any appreciable amount was left to seep into his bloodstream.

“What’s happening?” Willow asked. Dawn looked up, too.

“I think we hit the prize at the bottom of the box,” was the only response offered, courtesy of Spike.

With slow, steady hands, Giles pulled the knife out, bit by bit until he felt resistance. Angel reached up and peeled the flaps of bloody skin back, making the hole as large as possible without hurting the boy further. Giles nodded his thanks, and pulled the last of the blade out.

A bizarre hybrid of flat-worm and leech was skewered on the tip of the knife. It was about three inches long and darkish-red in color with streaks of black and green.

“What the hell is that?” Spike repeated.

Suddenly the thing gave a shudder and lurched, flexing. Spike jumped back as did most everyone else save the Summers’ women and Angel.

“It’s still alive!” Xander yelled.

“No, it’s not,” Angel said quietly. “It’s moving, but it was never ‘alive’.”

“Alcohol,” was all Giles said.

“We’re out,” Angel informed him.

“Here,” Spike said, thrusting a flask at Giles, “keep it. 1814 was a terrible year for scotch.”

Giles nodded his thanks and placed the worm/leech in the jar. It was still thrashing, trying to wrest itself off the knife blade. But when Giles poured the scotch onto it, it began to screech, a thin high-pitched wail.

Dawn and Buffy both lurched at the sound. Angel caught the reaction and frowned in question, but neither of them offered any sort of explanation.

“Little bastard can’t hold his grog,” Spike said with a sneer at the thing drowning in scotch. Giles said nothing. Instead, he sealed the jar, and putting it and its thrashing contents to the side, took the flask and splashed it over the wounds in his son’s shoulder. They bubbled and fizzed, and putrid yellow foam began to rise from them.

“Infection,” Angel commented dispassionately.

“Yes, fortunately for us though, these creatures seem to respond poorly to alcohol,” Giles replied.

A few moments later, it was all over. Alec laid still and his breathing seemed easier.

“He still needs a doctor,” Angel commented.

“No…” Alec’s voice replied.

Everyone stopped to look at him. Both of his eyes were open now and he certainly seemed more coherent.

“No, not a doctor,” he insisted, his voice sounding stronger with every moment.

“Son, are you certain?” Giles asked, concerned.

Alec nodded before rasping, “Willow?”

“I’m…I’m right here, Alec,” Willow assured him, coming up to the table to stand beside him. “What is it?”

“A spell, that healing spell, you used it when I broke my arm a few weeks back,” he whispered.

Willow frowned. “Ummm, yes, I remember that. But that was a broken arm, baby, not…not all… THIS,” she said, helplessly gesturing at Alec.

“‘Size matters not’,” quipped Spike helpfully.

“She lied,” Alec retorted from his prone position, earning a grin from the blond vampire. Alec turned his attention back to Willow and spoke with fervency, “You can do it, Willow-Witch. I promise you.”

The young girl let out a long-heavy sigh. “Okay,” she said finally. Gently placing her hands on Alec’s chest, she closed her eyes and began to chant.

“Goddess Hecate, work your will and weave your spell. Mend bone and blood, knit skin and sinew, and mend heart and breath whole again.” Taking a sewing needle from her pocket, she pricked her finger and placed a drop upon Alec’s breast.

“With this needle, I do mend the heart of my heart,” she whispered. Then, she moved her finger slightly, dripping a single drop of blood on either side of the first, flanking it.

“With this needle, I mend the breath of my breath,” she continued. Finally, she dripped a single drop of her blood upon Alec’s brow.

“With this needle, I mend the soul of my soul,” she finished, pulling her hand away and watching intently.

Nothing happened.

Spike scoffed as he spoke, “Well, that was catchy, put it to music and you’d have a right nice-“

Alec’s entire body lurched into an upright position. He howled, the wail a sound of agony, ecstasy and overload. Everyone nearly jumped out of their skin.

“Uh, is this supposed to happen?” Anya asked.

“I have no idea!” Willow replied frantically as she turned her attentions to her lover. “Sweetie?”

And without warning, Alec dug both his hands deep into the flesh of his face and began to tear the black skin clean off. In great greasy handfuls, Alec pulled and peeled and tore at the skin, tossing it aside to splatter onto the floor.

“I’m going to throw up, again,” Xander announced.

“Yes. I am going to ‘throw up, again’, too,” Anya commented grammatically incorrectly, but, as it turned out, quite accurately, as it was both of them that vomited.

Alec brought his hands to his face and, in a final loud scream, dug his nails in at the brow and peeled every last bit of black skin from his face. The ruined mass sloughed off into a heap on the floor with all the rest. He sat there for a while and panted heavily, hands over his face, bits of black skin still clinging to his fingers.

“Son, are you all right?” Giles asked.

“Honey?” came Willow’s voice.

“Alec?” that was Dawn’s tremulous tone, he knew that instantly.

Slowly, Alec removed his hands from his face and looked up.

Bright red and raw, without a single hair upon it, Alec’s face was, nevertheless, whole.

“That feels a little tender,” he put forth mildly.

The entire room erupted in cheers. Willow dashed forth to hug him tightly.

“Careful! Careful, love. Still a little tender and crispy,” Alec warned her.

“But alive,” she whispered in his pink ear fiercely.

Alec smiled and nodded. “Aye, still alive, baby,” he assured her, also whispering.

“Never leave me!”

“Not in a million years, Willow.”

“I love you, Alec.”

“I love you, too.”

Willow smiled and kissed his tender cheek gently. “You better, or else I’ll turn you into a newt!” she threatened direly.

Alec sighed. “Yes,” he admitted, “I imagine you would.” And then they were kissing and hugging and laughing: two young people in love, who had come through the dark and found each other at the end.

A chiming noise sounded suddenly in the store, the bell on the little door signaling that someone had entered.

“Hey, what’d I miss?” Faith asked.

Everyone stared at her for a long time.

“What?” she asked defensively, holding up two large plastic bags. “I brought sushi,” she offered by way of placation.

“Good,” Alec commented straight-faced, “I can’t handle anything cooked right now.”



A short while later, Alec, who had eaten nearly his own body weight in sushi moments ago, and Willow had gone to bed. Everyone was thanked repeatedly for all their help with Alec, and everyone else in turn understood that the couple required some “alone time” after the ordeal and they were willing to oblige the couple.

Midnight came and went. Everyone else had squared away for the night as far as sleeping arrangements went and pretty soon, nearly everyone was asleep.

Nearly everyone.

Buffy sat on the front stoop of the store, staring up at the sky: the moon was bright and the night cool and crisp, a clear sky with no promise of the snow that surely had to come soon.

“You were awfully quiet in there tonight, lov,” Spike commented as he stepped out of the dark near Buffy. “Quiet during the bad times is one thing, quiet during the good times afterwards though…” Spike shook his head in consternation.

“So, Angel’s not the only vampire who can do that whole ‘I appear from the shadows’ trick, huh?” she asked in a tone that was usually reserved for starting fights. Spike nearly went for it; nothing got his non-existent blood pressure up like the mention of his grandsire’s name.

Instead he simply asked, “What happened out there tonight, Buffy?”

Buffy looked up at him in surprise. Not ‘Slayer’, not ‘pet’, nor ‘love’… Buffy. It was rare for him to call her that.

“I set Alec on fire,” she told him. She was surprised how easily it just came out of her.

Spike just nodded. “Okay, why?” he asked.

And so she told him all about that night and how it had ended. How Alec had just gone up in flames, how the force of the explosion, caused by all the methane and by the creature detonating as well, had nearly broken every bone in his body, how it had fused him to the wall, how she’d had to pull him free, and the way he smelled and looked and how he felt and what it sounded like.

“Okay, love. I hear you,” Spike interrupted as his lover’s tone grew more frantic. “A bad night all around.”

“Yeah,” Buffy replied.

“Doesn’t sound like you set him on fire though, baby,” Spike commented thoughtfully. “Sounds more like he did it to himself to deal with the beastie.”

“That’s what he said,” she replied dully.

“But?”

Buffy sighed. “He asked me to lie, well, told me is more like it,” she confessed. “He told me to not tell anyone that I’d done this, that instead the creature had burned him with its acid.”

Spike scoffed. “Safe bet that was before he realized exactly how thorough a mess the fire was going to make of him. A big difference between acid-burnt and crispy-critter,” he replied.

“He wanted me to lie, though, to all of you: to Willow, to Giles, to you,” Buffy went on as she looked up at Spike. “And he asked about it so…”

“…easily,” Spike finished, “casually.”

“Yeah.”

“And that bothers you.”

“It really does.”

“Why?”

Buffy thought a moment before answering, “Because the people we love, we should trust enough to be honest with.”

“Sometimes, the truth hurts, though, love,” Spike pointed out.

“I think lying just makes it worse,” Buffy replied. “Especially lying to the people you care about.”

There was a long silence after that.

“There’s no way Red’s spell could have done all that, that fast,” Spike said quietly.

“I know,” Buffy replied.

“What does that mean?”

“It means…we still have some work to do, if we’re going to be honest with each other,” Buffy answered.

“You love the guy, right? ‘Brother you never had’ and all.”

“I really, really do,” Buffy admitted, whispering now.

Spike wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close; she offered no resistance and soon lay against his chest out there on the doorstep of the store.

“Then take it from me, baby. Let him do this the way he needs to,” he advised. “After all, if these people are family, we can afford to let them keep a few secrets.”



Giles closed the door to the office and stood a moment, alone in the dark.

And then he promptly threw up.

For a while, he crouched there, hunched and heaving over the wastebasket next to his desk.

Tonight my son almost died, he thought to himself.

He opened the desk drawer with a key from around his neck, kept hidden under his shirt. There were three objects within the drawer, he removed two of them: a bottle of scotch, and a small crystal, about the size of a snow globe.

For a while, Giles stared at them both. Then, as if reaching a decision, he took the bottle in hand and began to pour a drink for himself. And then another. And another. And another after that.

When the last drop of amber liquid trembled and then fell free from the mouth of the bottle into the glass below it, Giles tossed the empty container aside carelessly; it clanked and rolled noisily against the floor.

He picked up the glass full of scotch in one hand and the crystal in the other. Downing the drink in a single motion, he then turned his attention to the crystal.

“Hello, Ethan,” he said simply.

A beat and then a new voice spoke.

“Why, Ripper! After all these years! Why, I haven’t seen you since I changed you into a demon and your little slayer tried to gut you. How did that heal by the way?”

“May I assume then that it wasn’t a glamour I saw the Initiative hauling away like garbage?”

“Hmm? Oh, the white hats? No, sorry to disappoint: basic doppelganger spell. Just swapped my face out with some unfortunate sod and went on my merry way. I imagine that after the spell wore off, whoever the spooks did eventually lock up was quite unhappy. And they say no man is imprisoned unjustly in the Land of the Free,” Ethan’s voice chuckled darkly as he said this.

“I didn’t make contact with you, Ethan, so that you could laud your supernatural prowess,” Giles growled.

“No, I imagine you didn’t, Ripper,” Ethan admitted. “But judging by the way you’re speaking I’d be forced to say that not only have you had copious amounts to drink, dear boy, but it doesn’t seem to have improved your mood a lick.”

“I’m coming back out of retirement and going active,” was all Giles said.

There was a long silence.

“What’s happened?” Ethan asked; all traces of humor and jest gone from his voice.

“My son was very gravely injured tonight,” Giles explained.

“Diedre’s son?”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“Really no need to come to me with this, Rupert,” Ethan’s voice said through the stone. “Membership amongst The Brethren is for life, after all.”

“You heard about what happened between Quentin and I?” Giles asked.

“An over-blown bureaucrat with delusions of grandeur; no one has any reason to listen to a word that he or his cronies have to say, I assure you.”

“Then I have your support?”

Another pause, longer this time.

“Yes. Yes, Rupert, you have my support,” Ethan said finally. “I’ll pass the word that you’ve ‘come in from the cold’, as it were.”

“Just that easily?” Giles asked suspiciously.

“Just that easily,” Ethan confirmed.

“Tell me why.”

“Two reasons: One, I always liked Diedre, she had a good heart. Didn’t deserve what you did to her.”

“No. No, she didn’t. But she’s dead now, so helping me won’t mean anything to her.”

“Ah, but the boy. Helping her son, I believe, would be something she would appreciate.”

“Very well. And the second reason?”

There was a final pause; much, much longer than any of the others.

“You’re not the only one with something to lose anymore, Rupert,” Ethan’s voice said in a tone Giles had never heard from his friend-turned-nemesis.

“What do you mean?” Giles asked.

And then, Ethan laughed.

“Poor sport, Ripper, you’ve only answered one of my questions to my answering of two,” Ethan admonished the other man in that sing-song taunting tone he only took when he was about to do something really horrible.

Giles braced himself. “Ask,” he said simply

“Have you taken Lily out of her box yet?” came the response.

The crystal made a sound like wind chimes when it hit the wall, shattering into a thousand rainbow shards. Giles, struggling to regain his self-control, sat back down in the chair heavily with a sigh. He took his glasses off and pinched the skin at the bridge of his nose, taking long deep breaths, calming himself.

Then he reached into the drawer and removed the last item: a sleek, vicious-looking firearm.

It fit the man’s hand like a glove. His fingers explored every groove of its worked surface, remembering each niche and millimeter of surface, like a well-remembered lover.

Finally he turned it over and looked at the inscription underneath.

NEVER FORGET

There was a date and an etching of a flower, a lily, entwined amongst the lettering.

“Your favorite flower,” Giles whispered quietly to himself, lost in the past. “I’ve never forgotten. Not for an instant, not even at the end, not ever. I have never forgotten the words.”

Giles put the gun down and spoke into the darkness, into the dust where only ghosts could hear him.

“To the joy that magic brings, Diedre…” he said quietly.

And to magic joy brings back, Rupert he heard her voice, echoing from long, long ago, finish.

Giles spent the rest of that night like that: in the past, with only the dust, the dark, the ghosts, and Diedre’s lily resting on the table beside him, gleaming and ready to be used once more.

Alec, as if climbing a long staircase, slowly came out of a deep sleep and into a state of drowsy awareness. He became aware of details, the sun shining on his face, the sound of people talking in the next room, the smell of Willow. This last observation caused him to open his eyes and, as he did so, he became acutely aware of the soft touch of Willow's body, pressed against him. He turned to regard his sleeping paramour with deep care and love. For a moment, he felt no guilt about his feelings toward Dawn. That he felt a strong sense of affection and protectiveness to the younger Summers sister was undeniable, but this, this feeling of bliss and contentment, this belonged solely to Willow.

Gently, he reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear; she smiled and made a contented sound. Her eyes slowly opened to regard him tenderly.

“Hey, you,” she whispered.

“Hey back,” Alec replied.

“Last night was really horrible,” she said in a tremulous voice.

“I know.”

“I never want to see something like that happen to you ever again.”

“Nor do I.”

The uncomfortable moment lasted for a while. Willow’s lip quivered slightly and Alec feared that she would cry…

…and then she grinned that irrepressible grin, child-like in its combination of innocence, mirth, and glee.

“Then let’s make sure it never does!” she said simply.

Alec laughed as he rolled over onto his back with his hand clapped over his eyes.

“Agreed, love.”

There was a knock at the door.

“One sec!” Willow called out.

“Oh, goodie - company,” Alec said with a groan.

Willow smacked his shoulder lightly. “None of that mister, you are going to be both friendly and social,” she insisted.

“Can’t I just be one or the other? I can be very friendly so long as I am not required to actually speak,” he lamented.

“No, now come over here and be nice.”

Alec growled, pulled the blankets over his head, and rolled over, offering his back to his lover.

Willow huffed in frustration at her lover’s stubbornness as she shifted her attentions and called out to the door, “Come in.”

Xander entered, tiptoeing in an over-emphasized manner that had Willow grinning.

“How is he?” Xander inquired gently.

“He’s fantastic, next stupid question,” a snarled reply rang out, though not from Willow.

Willow rolled her eyes slightly.

“He’s a little cranky,” she explained in a condescending, parental tone.

“I was mauled and set on fire. How about a little understanding for the guy that lost his bloody skin?” came Alec’s reply.

Xander considered this. “Actually, I would say more ‘extra-crispy’ than ‘bloody’,” he commented with a grin.

Willow looked slightly mortified, but then again, she was intimately familiar with her childhood friend’s twisted sense of humor.

“Sod. Off. Wanker!” came Alec’s reply. Both people in the room could actually hear the words being spat out between gritted teeth.

Willow sighed quietly. She hated it when he got like this; grim and humorless and just way too intense. Fortunately she also knew how to fix it.

Her tone became pleading and soft. “Alec? Alec, please, don’t be mad, Xander was just making a joke.”

Alec’s responded by curling up even tighter under the blankets, doing his absolute best to ignore her.

“Alec? C’mon. Come be with me. I miss you.”

By now, the sound of gritting teeth could be heard audibly in the room.

Willow moved in for the kill. “Pleeaaaaassse?” she said in her most adorable voice, the one that always worked on him.

With something akin to a sigh and a cry of frustration, Alec whipped around to face her. Her face was a perfect study of a pout: lower lip jutting out, eyes wide, eyebrows arched slightly to form an inverted “v” on her delicate face that always made her look endearing to the point no longer supported by the laws of reality.

“Pleeeeeeeeeeeaseeeeee?” she said again, her voice and eyes filled with longing, hope and affection.

Alec uttered a string of words that, had his father heard them, he would have been convinced it was his duty as a parent to wash Alec’s mouth out with soap, half-demon or not.

“Does that always work with everyone?” Alec demanded, shooting a look at Xander.

Xander shook his head ruefully. “Remind me to tell you how I lost my entire comic book collection,” he lamented before dragging a chair over to sit by Willow, who was tending to Alec.

Some of the color had come back to his face, and the lines of pain had eased, but, as he sat up, he winced in pain and nearly gasped.

Willow nearly leapt from out of bed and took Alec’s hands in hers.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Willow asked, reaching up to stroke his face. He caught her hand and kissed it.

“Extra-crispy,” he replied dryly. Xander laughed.

“Yeah, well, you don’t look half as appetizing as a bucket of original recipe,” Xander said, grinning.

Willow shot him a mildly offended look. “Speak for yourself, Alexander Harris. I think he looks very yummy.” She informed him sternly before turning back to her lover with a flirtatious and slightly hungry expression.

Alec gave her a disbelieving look. “You’re a rotten liar, woman,” he replied sardonically. He tried to swing his legs off the bed and get up, but his strength gave out and he collapsed, nearly tumbling off the couch, until Xander and Willow caught him, helping him down into a sitting position on the edge of the mattress.

“Slow down there, chief, you’ve had a busy night,” Xander chided gently. Carefully, he helped Willow ease the injured man back onto his stomach.

“Yeah,” Willow put in, “don’t make me kick your ass.”

Alec arched a sardonic eyebrow.

“Well, don’t make me get Buffy to kick your ass,” she amended.

Alec snorted and coughed before relaxing against the pillows. “Are they all safe? Dawn, Buffy, Joyce?” he asked worriedly.

“They’re fine,” Willow soothed, “a little grimy around the edges, but fine. I’ll have Buffy come pay you a visit as soon as she gets out of the shower.”

And then, like a British tsunami, Spike burst into the room.

“Here he comes to save the day!” Spike sang out incredibly off-key and grinning.

He dropped into a chair on the other side of the foldout mattress, resting his elbows on his knees as he leveled a finger at Alec.

“I selflessly donated my best scotch in order to nuke the little buggers that had taken refuge in your worthless hide.” Alec chuckled as Spike continued his tirade.

“So you’d best be compensating me. If I’m anything even remotely resembling sober come New Year’s due to a lack of quality booze, I’m coming for you, mate.”

Alec groaned and folded his hands over his head. “Honey, turn the noisy man into a newt, would you please?” he implored.

Willow turned and, pointing a finger at Spike, began chanting in Pig Latin.

“Ix-nay asty-nay ampire-vay,” she said with a maniacal cackle.

Spike drew back alarmed. “Knock it off, Red, I mean it,” he growled and rose to leave, grumbling. “Sacrifice your best booze for a bloke and he sics his black-magic woman on you in gratitude. It bloody well figures.” Muttering to himself, and trying not to let show how happy he was that his friend was okay, Spike left the room.

Alec shook his head and smirked. “One-track mind, that one: sex or booze,” he commented dryly.

Willow smiled, her lips curled in a lazy gesture of seduction. “Oh, yeah, and what’s on your mind?” she purred.

Alec turned to regard her, aghast, and exclaimed, “You’re not serious!”

Willow just nodded. “Xander, can you excuse us for a moment please? I need this man to tear all my clothes off,” she stated, sweetly.

Alec’s eyes widened. “Xander, if you ever held me as your friend, I beg you - do not leave me alone with her!” he cried.

Xander just laughed, still amazed at Willow’s bravado, and held his hands ramrod straight in front of him, Frankenstein style.

“Must. Obey. Witch. Cannot resist. Will not my own. Must obey,” he spoke tonelessly, rising to his feet like an automaton.

Willow laughed as her childhood friend lurched zombie-like away from the couple. She then turned to regard her helpless mate. Slowly, she licked her lips, savoring what was to come.

“But what about me having a busy night? And needing to get my strength back? And the whole ‘I lost my bloody skin’?” he protested meekly, though a slow grin was starting to creep across his face as he rolled gingerly over onto his back to regard the beautiful woman with amusement. By his expression, it was clear that the pain had diminished, even from just a few moments ago.

Demurely, she gently straddled his hips, mindful of the fresh bandages they’d applied right before bed. Reaching into her pocket, she removed an item that she’d taken the time to retrieve from her dorm room; taken from a box right next to her jewelry box.

“Oh, I’d say your morning’s about to redefine ‘busy’ for you,” she promised in a husky whisper, tearing the wrapper off with her teeth.

Alec laughed in disbelief. “Where in the world did you get tha –” He was abruptly silenced as her mouth covered his.

A few moments later, he didn’t care anymore.



Buffy, toweling her hair dry, tentatively knocked on the door to the back room, where Xander had left looking slightly dazed.

“Alec? Willow? Are you in there?” the blonde slayer asked.

No reply. She knocked again.

“Go ‘way,” came Willow’s voice through the door.

Buffy frowned. “Guys? What’s going on?” she asked.

“Physical therapy. Very conducive to the healing process,” Alec replied.

Buffy heard Willow giggling quietly. A slow grin spread across Buffy’s features and she shook her head, laughing softly. A stray memory clicked; her mother’s telepathic confession of exactly what had happened between her and Giles during that candy incident.

“He SO takes after his old man. A regular stevedore,” she commented. Still laughing to herself, she left the lovers to their ‘therapy,’ which, oddly enough, kept the both of them occupied for quite some time.



Alec rolled over and sighed lazily, awash in a sea of endorphins as Willow made herself cozy next to him, lifting his arm (she was far too weak in the limbs to do it herself so Alec helped) and, wrapping it around her shoulders, rested her head on his chest. Their hair matted to their heads, coated in a thin sheet of sweat, they looked at each other… and, in a drowsy, post-coital bliss, grinned.

“What’cha thinking about?” Willow whispered in sleepy curiosity as she took his hand in his, kissed it and pressed it against her face, cradling her cheek in it.

Alec smiled. “I’m thinking about how I have this amazing woman very much naked on this somewhat lumpy fold-out couch-mattress-“

“Mmm, I think we worked most of the kinks out, hot stuff,” Willow interrupted with an impish grin.

“May I continue, please?”

Willow made a zipping movement over her mouth, which was difficult to do with that grin she had plastered on her face.

Alec didn’t quite pull off a convincing appearance of being annoyed as he cleared his throat and resumed speaking,

“As I was saying, I’m thinking about how I have this amazing woman, who is currently very much naked, on this horrible, though considerably less lumpy, couch-mattress, …” Willow’s grin got even wider at that bit, “…that I happen to love very much,” he finished, grinning his crooked grin.

“You love the couch?” Willlow asked in mock confusion.

“No. I love you.”

Willow smiled and closed her eyes, savoring his words. No matter how many times he said it, it still made her heart shiver in delight. She leaned in and gently kissed his mouth and Alec reached up to stroke her face, inhaling her scent.

The couple parted and shifted positions, now resting their faces against one another and gazing deeply into each other’s eyes, their eyelashes entwining.

Butterfly kisses, Willow had once called them. She smiled perkily.

“Ask me what I’m thinking about,” she requested demurely. Alec stretched out an arm, and wrapped it around her; the red-head quickly nestled against him, resting her face on his shoulder, staring up into his face.

“Okay, what are you thinking about?” Alec asked with a smile.

Willow grinned and picked up the top of the sheet, peeking underneath. “I’m thinking how I have this amazing man, VERY much naked, on this not really all that horrible couch, who I happen to love more than anything in the world.”

Alec smiled and closed his eyes, deeply touched.

She leaned forward to kiss him, when suddenly, her stomach gurgled loudly, protesting the fact that they’d slept through breakfast. Willow blushed and Alec laughed, earning him a playful swipe from the red headed witch.

“I’m thinking it’s time for breakfast,” Alec commented wryly.

Willow covered her face with her hands, mumbling in agreement and laughing self-consciously, her face turning the same color as her hair in mortification.

Smirking, Alec stroked her hair, whispering, “It’s okay because…” without warning, he jerked the sheet up over his head and dove under it to kiss her bare stomach, “…I love your noisy stomach too.”

Willow shrieked and batted at his head under the sheet. “Hey! You leave my noisy stomach alon – Oh!” she exclaimed in surprise; a surprise that quickly melted into a deep purr of pleasure. Alec was definitely NOT just focused on her stomach anymore.

“I guess we can postpone breakfast a little longer,” she conceded, breathlessly. Biting her lower lip in amusement, she yanked the covers over her head to join him. Much giggling and various other sounds of delight soon ensued.



Finally, Alec emerged from the back, clad only in a pair of black jeans and the bandages still on his back. Quietly, he padded into the shop area and smack dab into the outskirts of an argument.

“I’m telling you, B, there was something fishy going on with the skipper and his ‘little buddy’,” he heard Faith declare. Buffy’s response was a snort of disbelief.

“You’re deeply disturbed, Faith, you know that, right?” Buffy responded. “There was absolutely NOTHING going on between Gilligan and the Skipper. Gilligan was lusting over Ginger. Anyone with half a brain could see that!”

Alec sighed, relieved. While chances were the two were far from being close, they did seem to be on the road to reconciliation. He stepped into full view of the slayers, who were seated in front of a small TV, which was currently showing, not surprisingly, a rerun of “Gilligan’s Island.” Alec met their nearly identical looks of deep amusement with his inherited ‘stiff-upper lip’.

“Top of the morning,” he greeted.

Buffy snickered and got to her feet, walking over to him.

“Try ‘bottom of the mid-afternoon’ there, bro,” she said with a toothy smile. “Busy night?”

Alec got a stupid looking grin on his face. “Well, …” he began to say and then decided to let it trail off as he rubbed a hand up and down the back of his neck modestly, and didn’t meet her gaze. His face colored slightly.

Buffy cackled in glee, sharing a moment of sibling confidence.

“You animal!” she exclaimed.

Alec placed a hand over his face. “She started it,” he mumbled through his hand as a way of defense.

Buffy continued to chuckle as she patted Alec’s arm. “Sure she did,” she humored him.

Alec glared at her, and then began to chuckle himself. “There is coffee somewhere here, right?” he asked, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.

Buffy nodded. “Right there, over on the hotplate,” she indicated, pointing.

Alec made a desperate lurch for the pot of instant cure-all. “Thank God,” he muttered, pouring himself a mug full of the lukewarm liquid and taking a long pull from the cup.

Buffy just shook her head, mock disapprovingly. “We really need to talk about this caffeine dependency of yours, Alec, it’s not healthy.”

Without stopping to put the cup down, Alec gave her a dirty look as he nosily drained the contents of the cup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Lowering the mug slowly away from his face, he extended a finger on the other hand to point accusingly at the slayer.

“This…” he mumbled around the last mouthful of coffee before swallowing, “…coming from the woman who, last month, pulled an all-nighter fighting Tockra demons and then decided to drink an entire pot of espresso so she could be coherent enough to take a final exam, only to wind up having to run to the bathroom every fifteen minutes?”

Faith laughed at this. “Way to get in touch with your inner Starbucks there, B!” she teased.

Buffy shot her a nasty look and snarled. “Faith, go back to pondering how a coconut radio works, and try to remember that the nice people in the flickering box aren’t actually talking to you, okay?”

With a smirk, Faith turned her attention back to the T.V. and continued watching the show.

Alec grinned, but then the expression slid straight into confusion as he scanned the room. “Speaking of ‘nice people’, where IS everyone?” he inquired.

Buffy explained, counting off on her fingers. “Spike and Angel headed back to Spike’s place to wait out the day, your dad went back to his house to check on my mother and Dawn, oh, and he’s also planning on stopping at the science lab on campus to see if he can’t get his hands on a microscope so we can take a closer look at those parasite thingies we pulled out of your back,” Buffy made a face at the memory then continued, “and Xander and Anya snuck out of here around five this morning, I’m guessing to go back to Xander’s place.” She shot him an insinuating glance before concluding. “My guess is it had something to do with that bag of goodies he picked up at the drug store last night.”

Alec snorted. “No bet,” he replied dryly.

With a mirthful expression, Buffy headed over to a table with a large plastic bag on it, and held it up for Alec to see.

“Here’s a change of clothes,” she explained as she put the bag down and walked back over to Alec. “Let’s take a look at those wounds, huh?”

“Yeah. Okay,” Alec conceded with a sigh, putting the drained coffee mug down as he turned his back to Buffy.

She bent over and examined the bandage then looked up at him. “How do you want this: slow or quick?” she asked him.

Alec frowned and began to reply, “What are yo –”

Without warning, Buffy tore the bandage off her brother’s body in one swift motion.

Alec swallowed a scream and squeezed his eyes shut. “Thank you, sis, that was… cool,” he gasped in a strained voice, blinking back tears of pain and exhaling hard. “That’ll wake you up in the morning,” he commented dryly with a shaky smile.

Buffy studied the freshly healed skin. The wound in his shoulder had all but vanished. “Well, you look good to go,” she announced as she straightened and leered playfully at him. “Willow must really have the healing touch.”

Alec nodded emphatically. “You have no idea,” he replied with a little smirk and scratched at the newly healed flesh.

“Thank you, Claus Von Bulow,” she referenced with a roll of her eyes, then suddenly swatted at his hand. “Don’t pick at it, it’ll never heal.”

Alec regarded her as if she had gone insane. “You did not just say that,” the young man insisted.

Buffy shrugged. “Says you. Besides, I’ve just always wanted to say that,” she smiled and patted his arm before thrusting the bag of clothes into his chest.

He took the bag stoically, giving her a patient look. Gingerly, he pulled out a black t-shirt, which he quickly pulled on and then removed a folded black duster from the bag.

“Best Dad in the world. Doesn’t forget a thing,” he whispered affectionately to himself. Putting the duster aside, he padded back to the backroom door and knocked.

“Lover? You up and about?” Alec inquired tentatively.

A groggy voice answered, “You’re not coming back into this room, unless you’re bearing coffee,” the voice growled at him.

Buffy laughed and went to pour another cup. Alec took it gratefully from her, trying his best to ignore the barely-constrained hysterical laughter all over her face, and he smiled sheepishly.

“She’s not a morning person,” Alec offered as an explanation. “Or an afternoon person for that matter,” he added thoughtfully after a moment’s consideration.

“COFFEE!” the voice on the other side demanded, promising dire repercussions if her wishes were not carried out.

Starting a little, Alec opened the door just enough for a slender white arm to snatch the coffee mug from his grasp and close the door in his face. He turned back to Buffy whose shoulders were heaving silently in mirth.

“She’s really NOT a morning person,” he reiterated.

Buffy burst out laughing for what seemed like the umpteenth time this morning. It was good to have her brother back.

“Obviously,” she smirked and gave him another sympathetic look before her eyes wandered down to his feet. “Good luck getting your shoes,” she added.

Alec looked down at his bare feet and groaned. “Thank you,” he responded dourly. Girding himself, he knocked on the door tentatively. “Uh, … love?”

“Further negotiations will ensue only with a steady infusion of caffeinated products,” Willow informed him through the door. It opened and the slender arm reappeared, dropping the now-empty coffee mug into Alec’s hands. The hand made a gesture of dismissal before retreating back into the room and closing the door.

At this point Buffy was howling with glee, earning her nasty looks from Faith, who was still trying to figure out just what were the implications of the term ‘little buddy’.



Ten minutes, (and two or three cups of coffee later) a fully clothed Alec sat at a table talking with Buffy, Faith, Willow, and his father, who had just gotten back. Giles had set the Summers women up in a fairly nice motel about a block from here. Wards of signaling and protection had been placed, so, in case there were any further attempts on Dawn, everyone would know and could reach them before the magical enchantments were breached. The shopkeeper also had hung a sign on the front door of the store, claiming that it was closed for the day for cleaning.

Giles took off his glasses and cleaned them. “I must say, Alec, Dawn was really quite upset when I told her you weren’t quite up and about this morning,” he informed his son, replacing the glasses upon his face and pushing them up onto the bridge of his nose with a look of paternal amusement towards Alec. “I daresay your heroism last night left quite an impression on the young woman.”

Alec shrugged uncomfortably and threw Buffy, who was pouring over some sort of demonology book, a look.

“It’s a phase, it’ll pass,” he mumbled.

Willow took this opportunity to look up from her laptop and tease him. “Hmmm, maybe I have competition, then? Perhaps I’ll just have to turn her into something icky,” she joked as she made a face.

Even though Alec was fully aware that she was joking, a rush of something… aggressive and dark filled him and he gritted his teeth to keep from barking out an angry retort. “Some other time, all right, dear?” he tried to joke back lightly.

Willow smiled unaware of her lover’s suddenly roiling state of mind, and went back to the translation program she was working on in order to decipher the book Alec had taken from the Mayor’s office.

Alec turned his attention back to his father. “I’ve got a bit of a radical suggestion,” the young man declared. Giles frowned in concentration, focusing on his son as the latter spoke. “I think that Buffy and I should go down into the sewers and try to track this thing, if we can get rid of it, everyone will be a lot safer.”

Giles shook his head. “That’s terribly risky, Alec, in close quarters like that, and given the fact that we have no idea what it is that attacked you.”

“So it’s better to stay here and wait for it to take another shot at us?” Alec retorted, fire in his voice. “To blazes with that, I say we go down there and incinerate anything that shambles and oozes that shouldn’t.”

“Son, try to be reasonable-“

“I’m tired of being reasonable!” Alec roared as he got to his feet. “Reasonable ended sometime between being nearly having my ribcage squeezed into paste and the third-degree burns!

As everyone else was looking at Alec in shock, Giles, very calmly, took off his glasses and began to clean them again before responding.

“I understand that last night was extraordinarily traumatic…” Giles began, “but we do not have even the slightest idea of what is down there.”

“Oh, yes, we do,” Buffy interrupted. Hoisting the book up, she placed it down for all to see, pointing to an illustration of a creature made of slime and rotted vegetation. “That’s what played Santa Claus of the sewer at my place last night. I knew I’d seen a picture of it somewhere,” she told them.

Giles leaned forward to study the description. “A… golobulan,” he read frowning. “It says here that a golobulan is a greater servant of the forces of rot or decay. They’re also known as ‘Abominations of Golobulus’.”

Buffy frowned. “Who – or what – is Golobulus?” she asked.

Giles put a finger to his lips thoughtfully, before rising from his chair and scanning a bookshelf, searching.

“I know I have it somewh – Ah ha!” He exclaimed as he pulled down a large tome, carrying it back to the table and depositing it the center with a thump!

Buffy leaned over to study the title. “ ‘Codex Borbonicus’?” she read from the cover and looked up at the Watcher, frowning.

Giles opened the massive book as he explained, “The art of the pre-Columbian cultures of the Americas sometimes included something called a codex, which was a manuscript on which they illustrated stories, usually of religious or cultural significance.”

“Like those illustrated kids’ bibles they have at Sunday school?” Faith asked. Four pairs of eyes lifted in unison to regard her in stunned disbelief. “What? I was raised in Boston: bible-thumper capital of New England. I did a brief stint as a catholic school girl,” she clarified defensively.

Alec and Willow went back to paying attention to Giles. Buffy was still having trouble wrapping her mind around that little tidbit of information.

The older man found the page he was looking for and gestured to it, continuing to speak in what Buffy had affectionately dubbed ‘Watcher Mode’.

“This page, here,” he gestured to a large illustration, “shows the Aztec gods Tezcalipoca,” he pointed to large man with green and red feathers, “and Quetzalcoatl, in the form of a green serpent devouring a man, here,” he indicated a large, green snake eating a man.

Buffy leaned in to get a better look and made a face. “That looks unpleasant,” Buffy commented as she sent Faith a dark look. “Remind you of any former employers, Sunday School Girl?”

Faith snorted and ignored the comment.

Giles calmly, but with a glare that looked to be carved from ice, raised his head from the book slowly, and made eye contact with each of the slayers. They quieted themselves immediately as he continued.

“It’s been put forth by anthropologists that stories such as the one recorded here may relate the importance of human sacrifice in Aztec religion, as well as to the Aztec legend that Quetzalcoatl, the exiled god, would one day return to rule the Aztec people."

“Okay, now for the sixty-four thousand dollar question,” Buffy asked, “was Quetzalcoatl a nice little deity that loved and cherished his followers and wanted nothing more than peace and love in the world, or was he ‘other’?”

Alec scoffed. “Given the fact that this shows him eating a guy, I’m leaning towards ‘other’”.

Giles nodded absent-mindedly, but he was paying very close attention to the sibling byplay as he continued to lecture.

“Actually some historians believe that the whole story of Quetzalcoatl is based on the exile from Tula, of a priest-king also named Quetzalcoatl in the 10th century,” Giles leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. “It was rumored that Quetzalcoatl was exiled for practicing forbidden rites and communion with unnatural powers.”

“Like this Golobulus?” Buffy asked.

Giles nodded. “Precisely, after his banishment in the 10th century, Quetzalcoatl headed north into what would later be California. Once there he assembled a cult of followers and began preaching the teachings of Golobulus.”

“I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what was Golobulus associated with? What was his thing?” Buffy asked with a sigh.

“Rot. Corruption. Decay, both physical and spiritual,” Giles replied instantly.

Buffy sighed again. “I knew I was going to regret it,” she lamented.

Alec spoke up. “Hang on,” he turned to Buffy, “do you remember, just before that thing showed up, that weird smell?”

Buffy nodded slightly. “Yeah like gas or methane.” She looked up at Giles suddenly and asked, “Isn’t methane caused by stuff rotting?”

Giles nodded. “Yes, during the stages of decomposition of organic matter, methane is released.” He scrutinized the young woman. “You… actually paid attention in biology class, Buffy? How on earth did that happen?” he asked in amazement.

Buffy ignored him as she turned to Alec, continuing. “And when it exploded, the thing lit up like the Fourth of July.”

“It was doused it in kerosene first, but still, that wouldn’t attribute it exploding like it did,” Alec replied carefully.

Buffy nodded. “Yeah, it went up like a big, rotten flambé,” she confirmed as she turned back to face Giles. “So, this is what, some kind of ancient Aztec god we’re dealing with?” she asked incredulously.

Giles shook his head. “I don’t think so. Remember what Dracula said regarding the Hellmouth? He told us that it had spread its roots far into the ground. Maybe it had spread all the way into central Mexico, and what Quetzalcoatl encountered was, in reality, a portion of the Hellmouth. Perhaps that’s what Quetzalcoatl, in fact, came to know as ‘Golobulus’ and that is what he built his religion around.”

“Why go to all the trouble of attracting new followers, when you can con your way into acquiring a pre-assembled flock?” Xander commented darkly as he shook his head, squeezing Anya’s hand. “Clever.”

“Diabolically so,” Giles agreed.

“So, let me get this straight,” Faith started. “This guy Quetza-whatever runs into something he thinks is this god of rot, Golobulus, but actually is the Hellmouth. He starts worshipping it, he gets caught and booted out, and he heads up to sunny California and starts it all over again?” she finished, looking a little pale. “This is one twisted M.F.”

Giles frowned. “ ‘M.F’?” he queried.

“Yeah, Rup, one twisted motherfu –”

“Faith!” Buffy interrupted. “Thank you, we get it,” she stated as she turned back to Giles. “So, after this Quetzalcoatl got his little cult together, only this time closer to the Hellmouth’s home turf, what happened next?” she asked.

Giles cleared his throat and continued to read aloud. “Well, it says here that he and his followers engaged in several profane acts: including human sacrifice, ritualistic torture, bodily mutilation, visceral interc –”

“We get it, Dad,” Alec interrupted, exhaling hard. “Sick, bad man. So, what happened to them?”

His father shook his head. “It doesn’t say. It just says that sometime in the early 11th century, Quetzalcoatl and his followers were wiped out. No one knows by who or how,” he shook his head, puzzled.

“Uh, guys?” Willow chimed in; she’d been silent through the whole discussion. “I think I can help you with that.” The others rose from their seats and huddled around Willow's computer screen. She gestured to it. “I just got done translating the book that Alec got. It wasn’t written by pilgrims, it was written by –”

“ – the order of San Miguel,” Giles finished, leaning closer to the screen, peering at it intently.

Willow looked at him slightly miffed. “I was going to say that,” she said, her voice laced with wounded pride.

Alec smiled indulgently and kissed her head. “Good work, love, you get a cookie,” he assured her.

Willow swiped at him lightly with her hand. “Well I WAS,” she pouted.

“So, who was the order of San Miguel?” Alec asked.

Everyone leaned in closer to hear as Giles cleared his throat and explained.

“Michael, who, incidentally, wasn’t a saint, but the archangel of – amongst many things – battle, was an order devoted to the extermination of demonic creatures. Theologians have long claimed that it was he who cast Lucifer out of heaven during Lucifer’s war on God.”

“ ‘Now war arose in heaven,’ ” Faith began to quote. “ ‘Michael and his angels fighting against the dragon; and the dragon and his angels fought, but they were defeated and there was no longer any place for them in heaven. And the great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the Devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole earth – he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him.’ -- Book of Revelations, chapter twelve; verses seven to nine,” she finished and noticed again the stares of shock she was receiving. “My Sunday school teacher was a Harvard hottie, so I was big on class attendance,” she offered as an explanation with a shrug.

Shaking her head in wonder, Buffy smirked in disbelief as the others continued to listen intently. “If he was such a hottie, why’d you stop going?” she asked.

Faith counted off on two fingers. “Two things. One, I hit puberty and decided Sunday mornings were better spent recovering from Saturday night, and two, a little thing called a vow of chastity,” she said wistfully, “which is a shame, really. I’ve heard that priests are great on their knees,” the dark-haired girl added with a wicked grin.

Buffy closed her eyes. “Scarred for life. Thank you, Faith,” she said with a sigh.

Meanwhile Alec was, at this point, nearly delirious with laughter. “Priests! ‘Good on their knees!’ ” he howled, laughing so hard that tears sprang from his eyes. “Bloody Hell, if I live to be a thousand, may I never forget that one.” Reaching over, he gave the still-grinning Faith a high-five.

Willow looked up at him, puzzled. “I’m not sure I totally get it,” she ventured mildly.

Gasping for air, Alec put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll clue you in later, sweetheart, let’s get back to the matter at hand.” He composed himself and cautiously regarded his father, who was looking at them all with a mixture of disbelief and resignation. Alec immediately turned back to the computer screen, but not before flashing Faith another appreciative grin.

Giles cleared his throat, making that clucking sound in his throat that everyone knew translated into ‘I’m too British to yell at you, so I’ll be forced to kill you if you do not start behaving yourselves.’ Once everyone settled down, he began to speak.

“Yes, well, the order of Saint Micheal, was made up of crusaders: Holy warriors, paladins, I suppose, both very strong and very fierce. They traveled around the world, battling enemies of the church, but, unlike those who fought in the Holy Crusades,” Giles held up a finger to emphasis his next point, “the order of Saint Michael slew only humans that were completely devoted to the service of otherworldly evil or such creatures as demons and vampires. Contrary to the vast majority of religious orders during that time, they were not interested in converting other cultures. They simply hunted down and destroyed infernal creatures. Now, the history is a little sketchy but it mentions here,” he added, pointing to the computer screen, “that the order broke away from the church completely near the end of the Forth Crusade after the sacking on Constantinople in 1204.”

Buffy frowned. “Wait a minute, if these guys were such bad-ass priests, why would they ditch the church?” she asked, bewildered.

Giles pursed his lips in thought. “Perhaps their code of conduct could no longer condone the church’s actions during those centuries of war,” he offered, straightening up from peering at the computer screen. “I can only theorize, but it’s not unreasonable to believe that the Order came to regard the church as a corrupt institution after they sacked Constantinople, their own city. It’s possible these men believed the church was more interested in increasing its base of power than protecting its followers from demonic forces.”

“Yeah, imagine the church only looking out for its best interests and not caring who got burned at the stake along the way,” Willow jeered. Several pairs of eyes turned to regard her curiously as she blushed. “Sorry, witchy prejudices at work here.” She looked over at Giles, apologetically. “Continue, please.”

Giles resumed, definitely looking like he may just hex the whole lot of them into silence so that he could finish getting this out.

“In any case, the Order of Saint Michael followed a code called Via Caeli, which roughly translates into ‘Road of Heaven.’ Apparently, this code taught them that it was not only their obligation, but their holy duty, to combat the forces of evil. And it would seem they were very, very good at their job.”

“Pretty hard to fight fanatics, especially the ones that come equipped with equal parts brains and fervor,” Alec pointed out.

Giles nodded in agreement, indicating to everyone assembled that his son was exempt from his father’s frustration with the constant interruptions.

“So, what happened? The God Squad ran into our boys from Mexico and proceeded to lay the smack down on them?” Buffy joked.

“It would appear so,” Giles answered. “Unlike the rest of the church, they did not believe that sorcery and witchcraft was inherently evil, but rather a tool that could be used for either noble or sinister purposes.”

“Yay for the order of Saint Michael!” Willow cheered. Alec stroked her head affectionately, as always enjoying her sudden bouts of extreme cuteness.

There was a sudden, deafening crash, causing everyone to jump and spin round.

Anya, who had been leaning too far over the table and had managed to knock a stack of books to the floor, was glaring at everyone fiercely, hands on hips.

“Uh-oh,” Xander groaned, taking in her posture and knowing instantly what it meant - his girlfriend was not pleased.

Anya didn’t even seem to notice the pile of books on the floor as she began to yell. “Oh come on, all of them were murderous, holy fanatics! They did nothing but hunt down nice, innocent demons and cut off their heads or stick swords into them! They all needed to die horrible, screaming deaths. Every last one of them!”

Her tirade had managed to stun all those assembled into silence.

Xander recovered first. “Uhh, ... Ahn? Is there something you’d like to get off your chest?” he asked mildly.

“It frightens me that there might be more,” Alec countered.

With a frustrated growl, Anya began to hike up her shirt.

“Anya!” Xander cried. “We talked about when is ‘good naked time’ and when isn’t. This isn’t.”

Anya glared at him and lifted her shirt up to expose her stomach and a long, angry looking scar.

“I got this back in the 11th century during the sack of Jerusalem,” she began, “Your ‘holy warriors’ were slaughtering everything in sight: men, women and children. Not that I had a problem with that, mind you, I was there punishing an unfaithful wine merchant – ” Anya suddenly turned her head to focus on Xander, “ – he’d been caught with two tavern wenches and a pirate,” she explained.

“Moving along, baby?” Xander suggested.

“Fine,” she huffed. “Anyhow, there I was, completely minding my own business and you know, making this merchant swallow everything he sold,” again she paused, thoughtful. “You know, I bet he wished that he sold fruit, instead of armor, after the first ten minutes of that.”

“ANYA!” everyone cried out.

“What?! She snarled back defensively before she got it. “Oh, right! The nasty men in the armor. Anyhow, there I was, minding my own business, when one of these people stick a flaming sword through me. And of course, being doused in holy water, I got to have a big, ugly scar for the rest of my life, which I don’t need to tell you-”

“But you’re going to anyway,” Alec interrupted.

Anya glared at him. “Which I don’t need to tell you,” she continued, “is a very long time to have a huge gash on your stomach.” She gritted her teeth and added, “And that is why I can’t wear a two-piece.”

“I thought you said that scar was from falling off a motorcycle back in the ‘50’s,” Xander argued, “and that you didn’t wear two-pieces because they made your butt look big.”

Everyone at the table winced at Xander’s tactlessness, but Anya simply shrugged. “That too,” she stated. “Anyhow, they were all jerks.”

“In any case,” Giles continued with a sharp glare at Anya that the ex-demon pointedly ignored, “the order, apparently, was skilled at more than just combat. Sorcery, herbalism, alchemy, even some very basic astronomy and metaphysiology: all learned from the Muslims of that area, many of whom were academics. The knights of this order were scholars as well as warriors and it also states that most of them were highly skilled in the medicinal arts. They often served as healers or apothecaries during outbreaks of disease, much like the Knights Hospitaller. In cases of leprosy, it’s said that an acolyte of San Miguel could heal a victim of said disease, using a combination of medical knowledge and the rite of ‘Laying on hands’.”

“‘Laying on hands’?” Buffy reiterated uncertainly.

“Faith healing, B,” Faith chimed in. She then began to address Giles, “I dunno, Rup, between the fanaticism and the sorcery, I’d say they sound a lot more like the Knights Templar.”

Giles shook his head. “No, the allegations of black magic against the Templars were nothing more than a ploy by the church to seize their assets by King Phillip and Pope Clement the Fifth, in the year 1307, so that they could pay off their debts and secure more power for themselves,” he said heatedly. “The Templars are not, and never have been, associated with demons-“

“No kidding,” Anya bit out.

“Let me finish,” Giles growled, momentarily losing his trademark composure and causing everyone to exchange looks of concern as his resumed.

“These allegations were false, and all confessions admitting otherwise were obtained under extremely questionable circumstances involving an inordinate high amount of duress involving torture. They were betrayed and abandoned by their own superiors and it has been a blot on history since then.”

“Wait a minute, didn’t the Vatican come across the Chinon Document which clearly stated that the Pope had actually absolved them of any guilt in 1308 and only recanted due to the influence of that king?” Faith argued and then frowned. “And what do you mean by ‘The Templars are not, and never have been, associated with demons?’ They got axed and the last of their leaders was turned into a charcoal briquette a few years later,” Faith finished flippantly.

Giles’s face grew dark with anger and he opened his mouth to speak before Buffy intervened.

“Okay, not important right now who screwed whom seven hundred years ago,” she stated. There was a pause as everyone calmed down before Buffy addressed the other Slayer, “And how the hell do you know all this?”

“Hot Sunday school teacher, remember?” Faith repeated.

‘OH,’ Buffy mouthed silently, shaking her head in disbelief at Faith’s newest insight.

“Out of curiosity, Dad,” Alec jumped in. “How was the order founded?”

Giles, having now regained his composure, focused on the computer screen.

“Well, it’s impossible to get a completely accurate answer,” he explained. “The legends range from a saint with divine power, blessing a squire who eventually would establish the order, to a knight who received visions and had been branded a heretic by the Church, to the actual archangel Michael himself, handpicking people and training them in the art of battling demons.”

Faith whistled low. “How do I sign up for THAT program?” she asked, impressed.

Giles shook his head. “Apparently, one cannot do so any longer,” he gestured again to the screen as he spoke, “there’s no mention of the order after the thirteenth century. All that remains is a footnote, mentioning that sometime in the mid-thirteenth century, the entire order mobilized to confront a nameless evil that resided…” Giles’s voice trailed off, his eyes wide in disbelief. “Good lord,” he whispered, stunned.

“What, what is it?” Buffy demanded.

Alec leaned over to read the text as Giles took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly agitated.

“The entire order mobilized to confront an unspeakable evil that resided La Boca de la Inferno, – ” the young man read aloud. He then shifted his glance to regard his sister gravely.

“ – In the mouth of Hell.”

“The Hellmouth!” Xander yelped, having calmed Anya down by this point. “The order took on the Hellmouth.”

“And they were never heard from again,” Willow put in. “Okay, it’s official, I’m having a wiggins.”

Alec placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, which was meant to convey more confidence than he actually felt at that point.

Giles rubbed his eyes and replaced his glasses upon his nose. “They were no less than five score knights that went to face the beast,” he was frowning in consternation as he read, the group hinging on his every word, “there was only one survivor, a young knight, named Esperanza,” he stopped and faced everyone. “Apparently, the order considered the sexes equal under the eyes of God, and thus had both women and men serving within their ranks.”

Xander smiled a little sickly. “Heh. Well, you know, a knight gets lonely,” he joked. The joke fell flat.

“How progressive of them,” Alec stated dryly. “Now get to the part where they were all slaughtered.”

Giles continued to read aloud. “It says here that Esperanza was driven mad from her experience. Accounts are unclear, but apparently, she spent her last remaining days in a madhouse, raving about…” he squinted in concentration, “… quote, ‘a cathedral of flesh’ and ‘beasts that grew in the belly of the dragon’ end quote,” he shook his head in dismay. “And then she cut her wrists and scrawled some sort of message in her own blood before dying,” he finished, looking a little sickly himself.

Buffy swallowed audibly. “Nice,” she croaked. “Any idiot can use a Bic, but in your own blood, that’s really something.”

“What was the message?” Alec asked quietly.

Giles took a long time before he responded. “Her last words were ‘In Vita. In Vita et Digestium en Carne de la Terra.’ ”

Buffy closed her eyes and said, “Yet another thing I’m certain I’m going to regret asking; what does that mean?”

“ ‘It lives. It lives to devour the meat of the world,’ ” Giles responded.

“I hate being right all the time.”

A long silence passed.

“Isn’t anyone else freaked?” Xander asked.

“Yes!” everyone said in unison.

“Glad I’m not the only one,” Willow mumbled quietly.

Giles rubbed his eyes and thought. “You know, it really may not be as bad as it seems,” he commented mildly.

Everyone gaped at him slack-jawed.

“I’m sorry, but what alternate universe are you from? What is it, some kind of crazy loony universe? Are you some kind of ‘evil Giles’ because the one I know wouldn’t look at an army of demi-saints getting slaughtered and say ‘It really might not be as bad as it seems!’ ” Buffy ranted.

“Are you quite finished?” he asked her calmly.

“Yes, but only until I think about this again for longer than two seconds. Then get ready for more wigging.”

The Watcher cleared his throat nosily in a “please shut up” manner and continued to speak. “Yes, well, that’s what I’m talking about. Dracula said that for the first time in its existence, the Hellmouth was vulnerable, yes?”

Willow got it first. “There was no way for the order to win, then,” Willow breathed. “Because there was still some of it in its home plane where it couldn’t be harmed.”

Giles nodded. “Precisely. If the order still existed today, I imagine things would be very different.”

“Yeah, for starters, they wouldn’t have been turned into demon chow,” Faith put in, snorting.

Giles nodded hesitantly. “Well, yes, there is… there is that.” He went back to peering at the screen.

A knock on the door interrupted their grim reverie.

“I’ll get it,” Giles said straightening immediately and, almost dashing to the door, he opened it to encounter a bland-faced man in the familiar brown garb of U.P.S.

“Mr. Rupert Giles?” the deliveryman asked, bored.

Giles nodded. “Yes? Yes, I am he,” he frowned. “May I help you?”

The delivery man thrust a digital clipboard at him and instructed, “Sign on the line, please.”

Puzzled, Giles did so, and handed the device back to him. The deliveryman shoved a large parcel into Giles arms.

With a parting “Have a nice day, sir,” he turned and left.

Giles sighed. “Pleasure was all mine,” he muttered under his breath. “Americans.” With another sigh of strained patience, he brought the package to a table, setting it down.

“And what do we have here?” Buffy inquired, a little color returning to her face as she walked over to inspect the new arrival.

Giles shrugged. “I have no idea,” he frowned. His tenure on the Hellmouth making him very cautious about opening things he didn’t know a lot about.

Buffy leaned over to check its markings. “It’s postmarked from England,” she informed him.

The Watcher snapped his fingers. “Of course, the diaries!”

He immediately set to work on the tape that sealed the box shut. After a few minutes of struggling, he sighed and turned to Buffy imploringly.

“Buffy, would you mind?”

Keeping her smile in check, Buffy punctured the tape with her fingernails and tore the cardboard box open. Smiling, she held her hand up inspecting the nails, blowing a stray piece of tape from one of her nails. Throwing a wry look back, she called out.

“See, Alec? I TOLD you it wasn’t a cheap manicure.”

Alec looked up at her, frowning in puzzlement, before smiling and shaking his head, going back to reviewing the information on the screen with Willow. Giles began taking out several small leather bound sheaves of paper, some with what looked like official seals on them, others that looked to be personalized. He quickly separated them into two stacks.

“In this stack,” he gestured to the stack of diaries that bore the official emblem, “are the collected Watcher’s Diaries, dating back as far as the tenth century; I’ll review these. You and Faith review these.” He gestured to a second, far larger stack of diaries, each one a different shape and size. Some bound in leather looking quite old, others, no older than the one Buffy wrote in. “These are the diaries of the slayers that resided in North America and Europe, stretching back to that time.” He took a moment to give Buffy a stern look. “Do I even need to remind you that these are priceless and utterly irreplaceable and that damaging one is grounds for expulsion from the Watchers’ Council?”

Buffy smiled wryly. “Don’t worry, Giles, I haven’t forgotten that the punishment for damaging one of your books is a horrible screaming death.”

Giles snorted slightly. “Yes, if you’re fortunate,” he retorted dryly.

Buffy chuckled and shook her head, very carefully picking up the first diary and flipping through it with exaggerated care.

“What about that lab equipment from the campus?” Alec asked, looking up from the computer screen.

Giles shook his head. “Only partial success. I couldn’t bring it here, but I did manage to make a reservation for a little later on tonight,” he replied, reaching over to a shelf and taking down the jar containing the three parasites. They floated, nearly comatose, in some sort of clear liquid; he brought the jar over to Alec for him to examine.

The young man gingerly took the jar and peered into it. “Charming. What’s this they’re floating in?” he inquired.

Giles cleared his throat. “Alcohol. Apparently the parasites have some sort of allergic reaction to it, thus rendering them insensate.”

Alec nodded. “Can’t hold their liquor, huh?”

Giles smiled slightly at his son’s ability to take a complex matter and boil it down to a five-second sound bite.

“More or less,” the elder Giles commented.

“Could we use it as a weapon? Get enough alcohol to flush this monster out and then roast it?”

“No, Alec, it’s still too dangerous to confront this creature directly.” Giles sighed, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his noise, trying to breathe deeply and remind himself that this was his son.

“I appreciate your zeal, and your desire to protect your family, but this would be suicide.” He began to count off his fingers. “One, we’re not even sure there’s enough alcohol in all of Sunnydale to flood the labyrinthine passages below the streets-”

Buffy snorted. “I dunno, you should see Spike’s booze cabinet. It’s huge; I don’t see how he got it up the stairs, vamp strength or no.”

Giles ignored her as he continued to lecture his son. “Two, we have no idea what it’s capable of.”

“We learned it hates fire,” Alec shot back.

“Yes, and the explosion that would result from using that much fire on a creature that is apparently methane-based would annihilate Sunnydale.”

“Look around you, father,” Alec gestured out the windows as he spoke. “Sunnydale is already on the brink of annihilation. We need to act now if we’re going to avoid being sucked down the drain one piece at a time after this thing recoups from its attack on Buffy’s house and hunts us down one by one!”

“Damn it, Alec! Listen to me-!”

“If we don’t get down there and kill this thing now-“

“Alec,” Faith called out.

Alec whirled on her, his teeth clenched in anger. “What is it?” he demanded.

“Your dad’s right,” Faith said simply. “Home turf advantage, no idea what it can do, only way to kill it would kill us all in the explosion - even I wouldn’t play those odds.”

Buffy and Alec both stared at her in shock.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Faith advocating caution rather than insane pummeling as she has been prone to doing in the past,” Buffy commented.

“The past is dead, Buffy,” Faith said quietly, turning to face the other slayer. “Let it remain buried where it belongs; keep heading towards the future, and it’ll be five by five.”

Buffy was stunned. Faith had rarely, if ever, called her by her proper name. She opened her mouth to say something, closed it again, opened it again, then just said nothing, exhaling hard instead and looking away from Faith.

Alec turned to look at this father, locking eyes with him.

“Two slayers, …” the half-demon gestured to Buffy and Faith, “… two vampires, …” he gestured out towards the door Spike and Angel had left through, “… and a girl with her head crammed full of over eleven hundred years of demonic lore, …” continuing to gesture outside, where Anya and Xander had also left, “… a brilliant and powerful witch, …-” without breaking eye contact, Alec whipped his hand around to point his finger at Willow.

The finger looked more like an accusation than praise and Willow shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

“Alec, I don’t think-“ she began.

“-… A third brawler, who is one of the most competent men I’ve ever known, …” Alec continued, steamrolling over Willow’s words as he gestured to Giles, who was scrutinizing his son closely.

“… And you have me, father, someone who has spent a thou-” he stopped, and suddenly shot a glance at Willow, “-his entire life…” he amended, “…studying the occult and martial arts and who has followed in your footsteps, becoming just as knowledgeable and just as combat capable as you.”

Buffy gasped out loud at that, and the others weren’t far behind her - none of them had ever heard someone claim to be Giles’s equal when it came to knowledge and lore.

Alec ignored them as he held his father’s gaze, his tone going from aggressive to conciliatory. “You know as well as I do, Dad, it’s out there right now, it doesn’t sleep, it doesn’t truly need to eat, and it will not stop until we are all dead and this town and the rest of the planet goes to Hell,” Alec explained imploringly. “Now is the time to strike, before it has a chance to gather an army of these… converted and consumed beings that were made ‘part of a larger whole’ to use against us. Because if you’ve forgotten how dangerous this thing can be, I advise to look in your bin, there’s a pile of my scorched flesh that will help remind you that this monster plays for keeps. ”

The room was very quiet as everyone stared at father and son.

Giles calmly put his glasses back on his nose, his expression calm, but chilly, as he spoke.

“You are my son, and I love you very much. But you have a great deal left to learn, Alec, and getting yourself killed, or worse, letting your recklessness and lack of discipline get all of us killed, would gain you nothing but a lingering death.”

Alec went bone-pale at his father’s words. “My… lack… of… discipline?” he said in a shaky tone that literally quivered with rage.

“Yes.”

Alec drew a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and opened his mouth to speak words that would give no quarter and ask for none.

Suddenly, there was Willow at his side, gently touching his arm.

“It’s okay, baby. Everything is fine. Calm down,” she whispered to him, and said something under her breath Alec couldn’t understand.

Alec sighed, Well, maybe they’re right. I have been a little wound up since that attack and-

He froze, horrified, jerking his head around to face Willow.

“You used magic on me?” he whispered in accusation.

“What?” Willow looked stunned. “No, I-“

“Don’t you EVER use magic on me without my permission again,” Alec bit out in a tone that had Buffy on her feet in an instant, though what she was going to do was anyone’s guess.

“Alec, I just wanted-,” Willow tried to explain.

“It is a violation against someone to attempt to twist their heart, or their mind, using magic,” Alec spat. “You had no right.”

“I’m sorry, but you were getting so mad!”

“Yes. And now I’m mad at you.”

Willow’s chin trembled at this and she began to cry. Buffy moved to hold her friend close, sending her brother an unreadable look.

“Nice one,” she whispered harshly.

Alec looked around the room - Faith, Buffy, Willow, his father, they had all united against him, none of them appeared to hold to his notion even in the slightest.

“Son?” Giles said quietly.

“Yes, father?” Alec responded.

“I play for keeps, too. Don’t ever forget that. Should you leave me no choice, I shall remind you. With whatever method is necessary to do so,” Giles continued, still very calm.

Alec turned slowly to face his father, he knew a threat when he heard one.

“That sounded rather like a threat to me,” Alec commented.

“It is fatherly advice. Should you want more, my advice is simply this: do not be so obsessed with the pain and suffering that the outside forces can cause, that you ignore your own destructiveness.”

Alec looked at Willow crying, Buffy glaring, Faith looking confused and angry, and his own father; speaking to him in that cold, dead tone that promised a great deal of pain and suffering of its own to those foolish enough to ignore it.

“Okay,” Alec said quietly. “All right. You’re right. You’re all right: going down there would be folly.”

With a cry, Willow tore herself from her friend and dashed into Alec’s arms, squeezing him tightly and burying her face in his shirt.

“I just think about losing you, Alec. You’re so brave, but you just don’t seem to… care if something happens to you and that just scares me so bad it hurts,” she whispered. “It’s like you think you’re invincible, but that you’re the one person that doesn’t deserve saving.”

“Shhh, it’s all right, love,” Alec whispered, stroking the young girl’s hair. “Everything’s all right now, Willow.”

“Everyone receives that which they deserve, in the end, Alec,” Giles commented.

Alec didn’t even look at his father. Instead he just kissed Willow’s hair over and over again as he whispered, “I’m sorry, too, love.”

“I promise not to use magic on you ever again,” she whispered back to him.

Alec smiled slightly. “Well, you know I wouldn’t object to that healing magic when it’s called for. Not that I particularly mind looking like a burnt plate of nacho,” he joked.

Willow laughed a little and socked him in the chest with her fist.

“Sacrilege. Nachos are never burnt. They are perfect. If they are burnt, they cease being perfect and so they’re not nachos anymore,” she insisted.

“Thank you for clearing that up for me baby. When all this is over, I promise you the biggest plate of nachos in California.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah, yeah, I promise, Willow. I love you very much.”

“I love you, too, Alec.”

Sniffling, she moved away from him and he let her go. She wiped at her eyes and smiled a little awkwardly.

“Boy, I’m glad Xander isn’t here to see me like this. He’d freak,” she muttered.

Just then, the door to the shop swung open, heads turned as Anya bounded into the room, leading a very weary-looking Xander.

“Good morning, everyone!” the normally cranky ex-demon exclaimed cheerfully. Generally confused greetings were returned as everyone attempted to return to normal and relax a little.

Alec sneaked a peek at Xander, who was shambling along at a pace that would have made a paraplegic sloth seem frisky in comparison.

“Xander, you look like you’ve been through war,” Alec observed dryly. “All of them.”

The man in question groaned a little and collapsed, boneless, into a chair. Anya turned to regard Alec.

“Xander and I had sex many times last night,” she informed him. She frowned in concentration. “I’m not sure how many times, I lost count after five,” she stated matter-of-factly. Alec snickered, Buffy and Faith laughed aloud.

“Please, not the ‘S’ word, all right?” Xander groaned and begged weakly.

“Xander, you commando of love, you!” Alec clapped his hands together, laughing, as Buffy came over wiping streaming tears of mirth from her eyes.

“Someone ate their Wheaties yesterday.” She turned to Alec. “What is it about impending apocalypse that makes everyone so…?” she struggled for the right word.

“Desperately horny?” Faith supplied helpfully.

Buffy shot her a look. “I was going to say ‘distracted’, but thank you for that, Faith.”

Faith flashed her a sardonic smile. “Oh, any time, B. I’m here for you, sister.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “That’s so very comforting,” she retorted, before turning back to Xander who looked like he was praying quietly for death.

“It’s a tension releaser,” Alec commented dryly. “Although, looking at Xander, here, that might not be readily apparent.”

Chuckling, he addressed the younger man. “Well, Xander, if you’re feeling ‘up’ to it, why don’t you go limp yourself over to the back room and slip into a nice restful coma?” he suggested wryly. Xander nodded weakly and shambled towards the back.

Anya bounded next to him. “I think I’ll go with you, Xander. I feel like a little… privacy,” she added with a naughty smile, making the man’s eyes widen in an expression of indescribable terror.

Buffy put a hand on Anya’s shoulder. “Now, now, let’s let Xander have some rest. Remember, if you break him, you can’t play with him anymore,” she advised, giving Xander a sympathetic look that was laced with deep amusement.

Anya sighed, disappointed, before nodding. “I suppose you’re right,” she turned her attention back to her boyfriend, who still looked like he may suffer a massive heart attack at any moment.

Anya patted his arm and said, “You go back and rest, and I’ll come wake you up in an hour.” She smiled and turned away, completely missing Xander's expression of dread, before he slumped his shoulders and marched into the backroom, closing the door behind him morosely.

Alec turned to Anya, amazed. “What did you DO to him?” he asked incredulously. Anya leaned over and whispered something into his ear. Alec’s eyes widened in astonishment as he turned to regard the smaller woman in awe and a little fear.

“And he can still WALK?” he exclaimed. He turned his attention back to the closed door of the back room and shook his head in wonder.

“Hardy lad,” he commented, before chortling quietly and heading back to the computer.



A few hours later, Faith and Buffy were poring over the Slayer diaries; Alec and Giles, the Watcher diaries; and Anya and Willow were still reading the book on St Michael.

Buffy sighed resignedly, and tossed the Slayer diary she was reading onto the table.

“Nothing, not a thing about the Hellmouth or how to fight it. All it talks about is a few vampires and why the Puritans were a bunch of creeps.”

Faith looked up from the diary she was reading, which bore a tie-dye cover.

“You should read this one, B, it’s from a Slayer during the seventies. Some pretty sordid details here, including a tryst with some blond vampire at Woodstock and a pitcher of kool-aid,” she grinned and returned to the diary.

Buffy snorted. “Terrific, so far all these diaries have yielded are editorials and pornography,” she sighed disgustedly then her brain caught up with her. Blond vampire… no, it couldn’t be, she thought.

Alec looked up from the Watcher’s diary he was reading. “Count your blessings, sis, …” he gestured to the book he held, “… this Sir Reginald, goes on and on for pages about what kind of scones go best with what kind of tea,” he sighed and turned to his father. “Was the Council always this… dry?” he asked.

Giles shrugged. “I happen to consider what scones go best with what tea very useful knowledge, thank you,” he retorted, a little miffed.

Faith snorted in derision. “Yeah, and if we're gonna invite the Hellmouth over for a tea party, we’ll know what to serve it just before it devours the entire world.”

Alec and Willow snickered, and even Buffy smiled at this. Anya looked up, a little perplexed.

“We’re serving it scones and tea? I want scones and tea,” she demanded.

Buffy sighed and turned to her. “Anya, it’s metaphorical scones and tea, not real scones and tea.”

Dejected, Anya sat down, crossing her arms. “I still want scones and tea,” she pouted.

Alec suddenly sat up in interest. “Here’s something: a reference to the head of the Watcher organization, ex, actually - ‘Alastair de Counde’,” he frowned. “Says, here, he was ousted recently too.”

Buffy came over to stand at her brother’s side, peering down over his shoulder at the book. “Does it say how recently?” she asked.

“No, in fact, it’s all very discrete, almost concealed deliberately. It just mentions his name, and another Watcher named ‘Abigail,’” he finished.

Faith jerked her head up suddenly. “My watcher’s name, the one that died,” she whispered, “her name was ‘Abby’, is that her?” she asked.

Giles shook his head as he spoke. “I doubt it, Faith, for three reasons. One, the diary deliberately makes no mention of when this ‘Alastair’ was deposed; if it was written fifty years ago, World War II would have been considered ‘recently’.

“This book doesn’t look like its fifty years old, Dad,” Alec pointed out.

“You can thank our superior archivists for that,” Giles replied, a hint of professional pride in his voice. Everyone exchanged amused looks at that as Giles began to scratch under his nose, absent-mindedly.

“Okay, Dad, that’s one reason; what are the others?” Alec asked.

Giles cleared his throat. “The second is that, often times, when these meetings are held, the attendees go by pseudonyms,” he explained.

“For secrecy,” Alec said, comprehending, “That makes sense, I suppose.”

“That still sounds like paranoia to me,” Buffy commented.

“Yes, well, when dealing with the supernatural elements that the Watchers are exposed to, one learns to be careful,” Giles replied. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“Okay, that makes sense. What’s the third reason?”

“Ah… Ah…” Giles began.

“Dad, you okay?” the younger Giles asked as he put the book down and came to his father’s side

“AH-CHOO!” Giles sneezed loudly.

And the book just burst into flames. Faith leapt out of her seat with a yelp as she was closest to it. Everyone else just gaped at it until Faith grabbed a fire extinguisher and hosed the flaming book down.

“What the hell was that all about?” she demanded.

Giles, finished now with wiping his eyes, and his glasses now back on his face, explained.

“Oh, yes, now I remember. Occasionally, these books will have flash packs, minor explosives, set into the binding, or magic glyphs that are imbued with the ability to self-destruct to keep the book’s lore secure.”

“By incinerating it?” Alec asked incredulously. “That’s a strange way to keep lore ‘secure’.”

“On the contrary, son, with this method not only is the lore kept away from the eyes of those who would use it for ill, but it serves a powerful message, a warning, to those who would attempt to pry where they are not wanted.”

“ ‘Touch our books and we’ll blow you up’,” Buffy commented wryly. “Yeah, that’s a pretty strong message, Giles. You guys over there better be careful or I sense fiery-explosion badness in your future.”

“Yes, well, that only happened once,” Giles replied a little testily.

Everyone caught the hint.

“I have to go talk to D’Hoffryn,” Anya declared as she got to her feet, “Maybe he will have scones.” With that, she strode out of the store.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I think I’ll go patrol,” Buffy said aloud.

“Yeah me, too,” Faith added, turning to Buffy. “How many graveyards are there in Sunnydale anyhow?”

“I’ve lost count.”

“So, two or more?”

Buffy scowled at Faith’s attempt at humor. The dark-haired slayer went from grinning, to looking very uncomfortable, very quickly.

“I’ll just… check out the sewers,” Faith amended.

“Do that,” Buffy replied in a cold tone.

“Yeah…” Faith headed out the door without a word as Buffy watched her go.

Alec had watched them both, as had Giles, and they now exchanged a frustrated, concerned glance with each other.

“I believe I’ll remain here and finish going through the diaries,” Giles gestured to the fire-damaged table. “I believe I’ll also attempt to get the scorch marks off my table…” Giles added dryly before looking pointedly at his son, “…again.”

“Dad, if you want me to stick around, I figure I owe you for the scorched mess I caused earlier?” Alec assured his father with a grin.

“That’s quite all right, Alec. Why don’t you go patrol with Faith, I’m sure you can catch up with her,” Giles suggested.

Buffy looked irked. “What? Why?” she demanded.

Giles sighed with strained patience, Alec didn’t look much better.

“Because,” Giles explained, “you have the home advantage: you know where to fight, where to run, and what to fight and run from - she does not.”

“Oh. Fine,” Buffy replied, gathering her coat and heading away from the pair without looking back.

“Oh, this isn’t going to blow up in our faces at all,” Alec commented darkly.

“One would think that by now, you’d be used to that, son,” Giles joked with a small smile.

Alec laughed uproariously. “Fair enough, Dad, see you in a bit.” With that, he left.

As soon as the door closed, the smile on Giles’s face vanished, replaced by the cold look he had worn during his evening with Lily.

Giles tossed the red foci stone he had palmed during his argument with Alec on the table. Personally, he couldn’t fault the young man his temper or impatience. He himself had been far worse when he was Alec’s age, but the argument made for a nice distraction while the Watcher gathered what he would need to cast the evocation spell that would destroy the book.

Reaching up, Giles took down another crystal, this one a pale blue. Arranging the diaries of both Slayer and Watcher in a tidy stack, he placed the crystal on top and his palm over that.

“Alastair de Counde,” he said out loud, “ Abigail or ‘Abby’ Starkweather, Quentin Travers, Knights Templar: 1307 to 1308, Ethan Rayne, Philip Henry, Dierdre Page, Thomas Sutcliff, and Randall.” One by one, Giles listed off names, dates, people, and places.

“The demon Eyghon, The Lazarus Project, The Cruciamentum,” Giles stopped, sighing, he hung his head for a moment and took off his glasses, tossing them carelessly on the table before taking a deep breath and looking back up again.

“Giles: Anthony, Rupert, Alec.” He finished.

There was a small hissing sound and printed words slithered out of the books, like black snakes, and crawled up into the crystal. Giles closed his eyes as the sound of all the different passages were whispered aloud as they were sucked into the foci: this was the part of the ritual he hated - having to listen to every last word that was being purged.

The last sentence crawled over Giles’s hand and into the crystal. The books suddenly became thinner, empty pages being removed, passages being condensed to accommodate the sudden loss of content. Soon, the very last trace that there had been anything removed from them, vanished.

With a sigh, the Watcher slipped the blue crystal into a hidden pocket in his tweed coat: tweed was always good at hiding things away without exhibiting a tell-tale bulge. Giles smiled as he remembered Wesley attempting to do the same with an amulet and failing miserably.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Giles reached out and knocked over the stack. The books all fell into a heap on the table, once again looking like a disorganized mess as they had been left by the others.

Giles went into the other room and came back with a tumbler of scotch and a glass.

He frowned suddenly at the still smoldering remains of that one Watcher Journal. Alec had been too quick with the fire extinguisher and there were still pages left undamaged.

The Watcher poured a glass of scotch and splashed it onto the blackened remains of the book.

Palming the red crystal again, he aimed it at the book.

“Ignis,” he invoked, not needing to cover the word up with a sneeze this time, and thankful he didn’t need to coat his finger in dust again to bring about the sneeze in the first place.

The book burst into flames anew. Giles sat down in a chair and poured another drink for himself, setting the bottle back down on the table, within easy reach for the inevitable refills.

Raising the drink in a sardonic toast to the flaming book, he sat quietly, sipped his scotch, and watched it burn with cold eyes.

Buffy walked through the graveyard. At this point it was as familiar and oddly comforting as a treasured playground from the days of childhood, or the half remembered images of a home, perhaps a few houses before the current one, even before LA.

“There’s a comforting thought,” she muttered to herself. “Yay - graveyards o’ nostalgia.”

“Pardon me, miss,” a familiar voice called out from the gloom, “but you got a light?”

Buffy laughed as the face of her lover was illuminated by the flick of a lighter, a new one, she noticed.

“Hello, babe, come to keep a girl company?” she asked coyly.

“Yeah, don’t know what kind of dangerous people might be out and about,” Spike replied, sauntering over to her with a grin.

“Mmm, I think I do. And guess what?”

“What’s that, baby?”

“They taste good…” Buffy whispered hungrily before she grabbed a fistful of Spike’s t-shirt and damn near tore it from his body as she pushed her mouth hard against his in a kiss that was both hot as blood and cold as the grave.

“Bloody Hell, they do at that, don’t they?” Spike commented, when the long kiss finally ended, being very glad he didn’t have to worry about oxygen deprivation.

Buffy giggled. “Glad you approve,” she quipped.

“Too right I do, baby,” Spike replied hungrily as he pushed himself against her in a distinctly male way. “What do you say to seconds?”

“I’d say, yes, but not right now. I actually have work to do tonight,” Buffy said with a sigh.

Spike blew a wisp of blonde hair away from her face in an attempt to semi-groom his lover, but mostly just to draw attention to the errant strip of golden hair. Buffy rolled her eyes up at it, stuck her lower lip out, and huffed, sending the lock of hair up into the air only for it to flutter back down again. She sighed and looked up at Spike, who was looking at her with infinite affection.

“Whatever you say then, baby,” Spike whispered to her, uncharacteristically gentle, almost tender. He stroked her face gently with cool fingers and she nuzzled his palm.

“Okay. Good,” she replied, placing a kiss on one of his fingers. The pair then walked deeper into the silent graveyard, the stone angels of mausoleums and sepulchers their only company; the statues watched the pair with envious eyes of blank stone, coveting the warmth of the living girl and envying the luck of her dead lover.

“So, what was that you were saying about ‘nostalgia’?” Spike asked.

“Well…” Buffy began.



“… And over here is where I beat a vampire to death with a trash can lid, and over here was where I shot one in the head with a crossbow, that was a real mess, and- ” Buffy continued to babble as Spike tried desperately to recall just how delicious that mouth of hers tasted when it was spewing tale after gruesome tale recalling her systematic annihilation of most of his undead brethren.

Suddenly, he stopped and frowned at a gravestone, pulling his attention from Buffy to focus upon it. The sudden shift in him did not go unnoticed.

“Hey, what’s up?” his chattering slayer/lover asked him.

“This was Dru’s stone,” Spike whispered quietly.

“Huh? Oh,” Buffy said sounding distinctly unthrilled as comprehension set in. “Drusilla. The ex. Got it.”

Spike didn’t say anything as, sweeping his leather duster out of the way, he knelt down to clear bits of grass and dirt away from the stone. With meticulous care, he cleaned the cold granite with even colder hands until the inscription could be read.

Buffy squinted. “ ‘Emily Audland: 1859 to 1880’,” she read aloud, then her brow furrowed, “and something in German about angels: ‘Und Auch-‘“ she began.

“ ‘Und auch der engel singen’ - ‘And the Angels Sing’…” Spike finished in time with her words quietly. He looked up at Buffy standing over him. “You never told me you spoke German.”

“You never told me there was someone whose grave you visited, let alone it belonging to psycho-girl. What you saw in her-“

“This is her baby.”

Buffy’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click.

“Her… wha?” Buffy tried to speak.

“When she hustled herself off to the convent way back when, “Spike began, “she was ‘in the family way’, I think the saying goes. She gave birth at the convent and the ol’ biddies there shipped the kid off back to her folks.” Spike sighed. “And when Angelus abducted Dru’s family to put the bite on them not ten days later, he left the little poppet here…” he gestured at the gravestone, “…safe in her crib at her soon-to-be-dead parents’ estate.” Spike scoffed. “He even kissed the babe on her little head before he left - a big, bloody kiss from having just torn the throat out of her nanny.”

“Charming,” Buffy said a little uneasily, she was never comfortable discussing these aspects of Angel’s past, ex-status or no.

“Yeah, well, Angel’s always been a charmer. Bastard,” Spike growled.

“What is it between you two, Spike?” Buffy asked, bluntly. “It’s not just about me, or Dru, or male ego or whatever the vampire equivalent is, so what is it? Is it just stress ‘cause you’re like, his great grandchild, vampire style?”

Spike shook his head. “That’s not a box that will be opening tonight, love, and for the record, he’s my grandsire,” he informed her testily.

“Yeah, yeah, I remember; your ‘yoda’, as I recall,” Buffy huffed. “So, why won’t you tell me what the deal is?”

Spike sighed unnecessarily and slumped, leaning forward in his crouch to rest his head on the gravestone. He slowly closed his eyes and began to whisper.

“It’s a lot of horror, love. A lot of things that he did, and that we did, for which there’s no forgiving or redeeming: the kind of thing you need an evil soul to be able to pull off, not just an absent one.” Spike suddenly rocked back on his heels and, taking out a fresh cigarette, screwed it between his lips and lit it. He took a long, steadying drag before continueing.

“And it’s… just bloody twisted…” Spike struggled for the words, but couldn’t get them, instead taking another hard drag off the cigarette, blowing it out through clenched teeth before sucking it back in through his mouth and snorting it out his nose. To Buffy, it made him look like an angry dragon: white peroxide-blonde horns, streaks of black and red for hide, and smoke curling from his nostrils, hinting at the fire that lay within and could only be seen in his eyes.

“The little thing got rescued by some late-night callers over at Dru’s and they raised it as their own. And then they lost their money, got really poor and really cold, and the wee girl here, now a pretty li’l thing got really sick, and then really dead,” Spike bit out. “And I remember watching them, there in the streets… crawling, and begging, like animals…” Spike had two fistfuls of dirt in his hand and was currently squeezing them so tight, his pale knuckles nearly split with the force of his clenching fist. “…And I remember that no one stopped - no one seemed to care, to even bloody notice these people just… dying. Just sort of… fading away, quietly.” Spike laughed bitterly and threw the dirt at the stone.

“And Angelus and Dru are both there, I don’t know where the blond bimbo wandered off to, and Dru doesn’t even recognize her, she’s so far gone, and I’m fresh out of my grave, and Angelus just throws his head back and laughs, and says, ‘Ah, there’s no place like London!’, and what a shame it is that she ‘couldn’t have followed her mother’s footsteps’ - as a spaced out, blood-sucking, sadistic BITCH!” Spike snarled as his face changed into its demonic visage as he leapt to his feet and slammed a booted foot against the stone, over and over again, furious.

“You bloody bastard! You sick, twisted, son-of-a-bitch! I’ll kill you!” Spike screamed slamming his foot over and over into the stone until, finally, his strength gave out and he dropped to his knees, breathing hard and reflexively, his face changing back as the rage drained out of him.

“What happened?” Buffy asked quietly, having watched the entire affair with a sort of detached numbness.

Spike sighed and got to his feet, stopping to clean the scuffmarks off the gravestone, and sticking yet another cigarette between his lips.

“She died,” he answered simply, lighting the cigarette and taking a long drag from it. “They all just… faded away and died - like they’d never been there at all.”

“If she died in London: what’s the grave doing in America then?”

“I made it, during my first trip out to the States. I used to take a pretty good turn at stone carving before I found my ‘true calling’ -” Spike’s sarcasm was enough to choke someone, “ – as a poet. Time came to come to Sunnydale, I yanked it out of the ground where it was and brought it with.”

“Why?” Buffy asked simply.

“Because there’s a difference between being ‘without a soul’ and being just bloody ‘empty’,” Spike told her cryptically, gesturing at the stone again. “I got her this thinking it would, I dunno, jog her memory, bring her down to earth, help get some bit of human back in her.”

“Okaaaaayyyyy…” Buffy dragged the word out in great uncertainty, “but, you were vampires.”

“Yeah, and unlike your bloody ex, we were in love,” Spike snapped back. Buffy looked hurt and the vampire sighed. “Well, at least I was. And you can’t love someone, or be loved by someone, who hasn’t got a shred of humanity in them. I’ve said it before Buffy - love isn’t brains, it’s blood.” He took another pull from the cigarette, blowing smoke into the air. “Blood screaming at you to work its will. But blood belongs to the living, in the end,” Spike admitted sadly. “We just borrow it for a bit. Just like we borrow life from it,” he turned to face the gravestone again, “just like we borrow love from it,” he finished in a whisper, his expression haunted.

A slow rumble of thunder began then - the weather in Sunnydale had been odd lately and a thunderstorm in the middle of December was not out of the realm of possibility.

Buffy shivered slightly, at the roll of thunder and at Spike’s words - she’d forgotten that, every now and then, he could be profoundly insightful and say or do things that struck a chord so deep in her that she nearly shuddered. It was part of why she loved him, she imagined, they were two of a kind.

“Is that when ‘William’ died and ‘Spike’ was born?” she asked him.

Spike shrugged and actually laughed a little. “No, but it was definitely a bloody nail in the bloody coffin of poor ol’ Willy.”

“Did Drusilla, you know, ever…?”

Spike shook his head. “No, the gravestone never meant anything to her. She saw it once, and mumbled something about ‘dancing butterflies’ before killing a couple of teenagers snogging against a tree over there.” He gestured with his cigarette. “Never bothered showing it to her again and she never asked. But I always stopped by here a lot whenever I could,” Spike smiled slightly and looked askance at Buffy, “between bouts of getting my arse kicked or having a pipe organ dropped on my head by a certain blond Slayer,” Spike added.

Buffy looked embarrassed: sometimes it was difficult to remember how vicious their hatred of each other had actually been back in the day.

Spike continued to speak. “Anyhow, like I said, I always came out here, to take care of the grave, take care of the girl that should’ve been alive, and happy, with a mum that remembered who she bloody was or who gave a damn. And to remind myself.”

“Remind you of what?”

Spike looked at her straight on then, unflinching.

“To remind myself what its like to be ‘empty’, to feel nothing at all, just like poor Dru, and just like your ‘Angel’,” he bit out.

“ ‘And the Angels Sang’,” Buffy whispered to herself, suddenly understanding the awful bitter sentiment the passage was meant to convey.

“Oh, he will, someday, love, that I promise you - for this,” Spike gestured at the gravestone, “and for other things.”

Buffy looked up, shocked at the sheer malevolence, the raw, cold hatred in Spike’s voice.

“What… kinds of ‘things’?” she asked him tremulously.

“Worse things. Much. Worse. Things,” he annunciated each word into a separate sentence for emphasis.

“What… kind of worse things?”

Spike opened his mouth to answer, when a bizarre call rang out through the graveyard. The thunder rumbled again, louder, as the voice rose up in some kind of rising, desperate howl that sounded almost like…

“…Singing?” Buffy said in disbelief, her dread vanishing as she slipped into ‘combat mode’ the instant the first sound reached her ears.

Spike composed himself and shook his head. “Not singing, love, dirging, it’s a vampire trick - singing without breathing, let’s you do weird things with your voice.” Spike shrugged self-consciously. “I’ve been known to enjoy a tune once or twice,” he admitted by way of explanation.

Buffy smiled slightly, trying to banish the darkness that had settled upon her heart from the last few minutes. “Well, then, let’s see who’s feeling musical,” she replied as she plunged into the darkness.

Spike began to follow, then stopped and looked back at the gravestone: a small, humble thing, badly scuffed with bootmarks, the fresh ones covering much, much older ones. They mingled with dents that could only have been made by a furious vampire, regularly, over the last hundred years and change.

“I’m sorry, poppet,” he said quietly before heading after his lover. Whether he was apologizing to the stone, or to the spirit of the young girl it represented that had “faded away” before his newly-dead eyes, was not to be pondered by anything that remained in the silence following his departure… save for the shadows and the dust.



What awaited them, however, was something neither the living nor the dead were entirely prepared for.

There was Dracula, now dressed in a pair of leather pants, motorcycle boots and nothing else, lounging bare-chested upon a crypt, arms outstretched to either side of him, and howling exultantly in that bizarre musical tone.

“Okay, now, are you certain you’ve never read Anne Rice, ‘cause I’m having a serious Townsend moment here,” Buffy quipped.

Dracula arched his back to crane his neck, bringing the Slayer into view, albeit upside-down.

“Ah, Buffy, welcome,” he purred. “To answer your question: no, I am not a ‘Lestat rip-off’ as you have insinuated, nor am I ‘pimply’ or ‘overweight’,” he continued with an air of semi-wounded pride as he rolled over onto his flat stomach and got to his feet, shaking the dust off his bare shoulders.

My god, does he have that right: the man could make doing laundry look sexy Buffy thought as her stomach did flip-flops. Buffy forced herself to pay attention to what the vampire was saying as opposed to doing or wearing or not wearing as the case may be.

“Granted, Radu, may have been known as ‘The Handsome Prince,’ the Turkish Sultan certainly seemed to think so…” Dracula spat the words like bile as his face twisted into an expression of pure bitterness. Catching Buffy’s look, he quickly regained his composure. “…but, nor was I some kind of ‘leper king’ or ‘afflicted nobility’,” he assured her, using terms she’d never heard, but a tone she knew all too well - a guy trying to impress a lady.

He’s trying to impress me! Buffy thought with a more than a hint of girlish glee.

Spike scoffed. “Yeah, so far, the only ‘affliction’ is your amazing ability to turn any conversation into an occasion for grand poof-ery,” Spike mocked. “The great Count Dracula-“

“ ‘Prince’,” Dracula corrected him. “It is now ‘Prince Dracula’, I’ve reclaimed my birthright as Prince of Romania.”

Spike just shook his head. “Yeah, whatever you say, Drac…” Dracula frowned at this in irritation, which was probably Spike’s intent. “…But what are you doing rolling half-starkers on a bloody grave-slab?”

“I am reveling,” Dracula replied. “Refueling the spirit for the dark times to come.”

“ ‘The dark times to come’?” Buffy said with a gulp.

The Romanian Vampire favored her with an indulgent smile. “Oh, I know that I have no need to lecture you about how dark times can become, and how quickly they can become so: after all, you are a slayer in Sunnydale.”

“You are so not wrong,” Buffy affirmed.

Dracula chuckled, low, and deep in this throat. “I know, and it is good to not be wrong… most of the time at least,” he admitted, for a moment seeming to lose touch with the present and reality.

“Regardless, though, I come bearing a tribute,” he told her. Buffy frowned and caught Spike’s eye, who simply shrugged in a “who-the-hell-knows?” manner of fashion, indicating that he had no idea what the vampire prince would produce next.

Bringing his hands up and away from a patch of grass near the tomb he was resting upon, he came up holding a large black lump of rotting vegetation that reeked badly of decomp.

Buffy frowned, trying not to gag at the familiar smell. “Oh, good, I was hoping I’d be able to choke on this particular smell, again, real soon,” she grumbled. “What the hell is it anyhow?”

And then the object went thump-thump and Buffy jerked her head up to meet the Count’s eyes with a gasp, even as a loud ka-boom of thunder rumbled in the sky above.

“No way!” she said in amazement.

Dracula grinned, showing a bit of fang in the process. “The heart of your enemy - the slain Golobulan - and my gift to you and your kin. The Summers women have undergone a terrible ordeal, I hope this at least will purchase you all some peace of mind,” he consoled.

“You have no idea,” was her only reply.

“To use the language of the times, do you want to bet?” Dracula retorted.

“Hang on a second then,” Spike interjected as he examined the heart, gesturing at it with his lit cigarette. “This thing’s supposed to be a mass of rot, how’s it got a heart?”

Dracula’s grin turned predatory as he spoke. “My dear William…-“

“Don’t bloody call me that,” Spike interrupted with a growl.

Dracula kept right on talking over him.

“…have you not learned by now that it is not what is outside, but what lies within that truly has value?”

With that, Dracula squeezed the heart gently and a tiny spurt of black slime shot out of it and struck the lit tip of Spike’s cigarette.

There was a whoosh as the cigarette burst into flames. Spike’s hand nearly did as well as the vampire dropped the burning object with a yelp and stomped on it with his thick boots. Dracula simply laughed, watching the English vampire’s antics as he furiously tried to stamp out the fire and wring his hand in pain at the same time.

“WANKER!” Spike roared and lunged for Dracula.

“Be still,” was all the other vampire said. The effect was instantaneous. Spike jerked to such an abrupt halt that he toppled over and, had Buffy not been there to catch him, would have landed with his face at Dracula’s feet.

“Okay, boys, let’s play nice,” Buffy admonished them, gently helping Spike to his feet. “You all right babe?” she asked him.

“Yeah, yeah, bloody perfect,” Spike growled.

“Not bad for ‘showy gypsy tricks,’ what say you, William?” Dracula asked, wryly.

“Don’t bloody call me-“

Dracula arched an eyebrow.

“Sod off, mate,” Spike muttered his breath with a sigh.

Satisfied for the moment that Spike had learned his place, Dracula turned his attention to Buffy.

“Your family? They are well?” he asked.

“They are alive,” Buffy replied, astonished that there was actually concern in Dracula’s voice. “ ‘Well’ might be stretching it, but they are all in one piece. Or two separate but equal pieces, but, well-“

“Thank you, Buffy, I comprehend your meaning entirely,” Dracula assured her, holding up his hand to signal that she needed to stop speaking.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” Spike growled at her between clenched teeth.

“Shut up and go back to nursing your hand,” Buffy growled back at him. Neither one of them had bothered taking the other aside and Dracula watched the entire exchange with bemusement.

“Ah, yes. Spring, ‘when a young man’s fancy turns to love’,” the elder vampire quoted.

“It’s winter, and you can go straight to Hell,” Spike growled.

Suddenly, there was a burst of dust and stone fragments, and the entire slab that made up the cover of the tomb upon which Dracula had been resting on barely moments earlier, shot off like a rocket and landed with a thud off in the distance.

“I believe we have someone who will accommodate that wish, William,” Dracula replied warily. This time, Spike didn’t even notice the unwelcome name as he frowned, trying to peer though all the dust. Buffy, meanwhile, was keeping one eye on the dust cloud and the other peeled for any friends it might have.

“What the hell is it?” Spike muttered.

A vine encrusted skeletal hand reached up and gripped the granite rim of the tomb.

“I don’t need to know, do you, honey?” Buffy asked Spike, her eyes wide at the sight that was hauling itself up out of its stony confines.

“ Yeah, no, I’m fine with not knowing,” Spike agreed in a hurried tone of voice. “ In fact, I’m all for leaving now, getting a giant onion and a pitcher of beer and maybe just not ever knowing what is about to come out of there.”

“Come now, William, you know what they say about the curious cat and how satisfaction will always bring it back,” Dracula chided them both gently.

“Screw the cat, what’s going to bring us back?” Spike retorted.

“I dunno, we’ll think of something,” Buffy replied distractedly as she settled into a fighting stance, “but meanwhile, we have company.”

A rotting corpse, once human, climbed up and out of the gray tomb. Where it’s body was not rotted through by the decay of time, now-familiar black vines wrapped their way inside and around its body, forming a creature that was one part plant, one part zombie, and entirely horrific.

“Oh, fan-freaking-tastic!” Buffy groaned, “Golobulan 2.0!”

“These are not Golobulai,” Dracula was quick to assure her. “They are weaker things, puppets, nothing more.”

“Good, because the only way we made it out of the last one is with my brother’s help and without him I’d say we’d be screwed.”

“Alec Giles?” Dracula shook his head, “No, you may trust me in this, Buffy, there is far more danger for you in the keeping of his company than with its absence, this I promise you.”

Buffy frowned, turning to face Dracula. “Okay, what are you- ”

“He’s brought his mates!” Spike cried out.

Buffy whirled around, cursing herself for taking her attention from the fight, and gaped as she saw multiple creatures, just like the one before her, closing in on them at a speed that belayed their shambling gait.

“Do you have any suggestions?” Dracula asked the Slayer quietly.

“Me? You’re the one that held off 90,000 Turks with only 30,000 men,” Buffy whispered back fiercely.

Dracula whirled on her in shock, his blue eyes wide. “How do you know this?” he demanded.

“Umm, you’re the most popular vampire since Brad Pitt?” Buffy countered. “It’s not like I can’t look you up online.”

“Oh,” Dracula said, his pride again sounding slightly wounded. “So, because of movies and magic computers then?”

“Will you just shut up and start killing things already?!?” Spike screamed.

“As you wish.”

And with a blinding flash, a bolt of lightning came down from the sky and struck a patch of earth in front of several of the vine zombies. Electricity raced up into their bodies and they jerked and writhed for a split second, then exploded as the methane that fueled their botanical portions ignited.

“Holy-!” Spike cried out, as he and Buffy turned a shocked look at Dracula.

Dracula smiled magnanimously. “I was afraid my storm would not make it here in time. As I said though, it is good to be wrong sometimes,” he informed them with a smile. More zombies approached, and, as rain began to come down in sudden, heavy sheets, Dracula’s eyes shone iridescent blue in the rain.

“And this is how you deal with Turks,” Dracula snarled, his smile turning feral as he bit his thumb and flung blood upon the ground, shouting something in Romanian.

Buffy frowned.

“What the hell does ‘the rage of the forests mean’?” Buffy shouted, spitting out a mouthful of rainwater. The rain was coming down in a powerful torrential downpour: a true ‘dark and stormy night’ had been summoned by the vampire prince’s power.

“Watch and see!” Dracula cried out in exultation.

“Make it fast or it’s ‘bugger all’!” Spike yelled. The zombie horde had almost reached them, Buffy had lost count of their numbers.

And then the ground trembled where Dracula’s blood had been spilled and giant wooden stakes erupted from the earth, impaling zombie after zombie.

Buffy and Spike stared, dumbstruck, at the carnage as Dracula laughed in delight.

“Behold! I give you the legendary ‘Vlad Tepes: the Impaler Prince’!” he yelled mirthfully as the zombies writhed and wailed as they were one by one, impaled by Dracula’s weapons.

And then the mirth turned to rage in the blink of an eye.

“No!” he roared and swore in Romanian. “You wretched land, how dare you!”

Buffy had to squint to see through the rain in an attempt to discern what had so enraged the vampire, but she saw it, at last - the wood with which the giant stakes were made from was rotted, pitted and black and slimy; Buffy could see insects burrowing through it, transforming them into mounds of wooden mush. Before her eyes, the zombies pulled themselves free of the rotting stakes, making the wood crumble into more mush, and then the zombies advanced.

“You look pissed,” Buffy commented.

“Those stakes were weapons from the war. With them I impaled my enemies and set them along our borders to warn those who would enslave us. The land granted me the power to summon them and now this wretched place has corrupted them,” Dracula growled.

“A vampire using stakes, fighting alongside a slayer; that’s got to be a new one.”

“Not as new as you may think. Now hearken, they are upon us.”

“About damn time!” Spike cried out. “Bring it on!”

And with that he charged into the melee.

“Spike!” Buffy called out after him.

Spike didn’t hear a word, he had entered a berserker state of mind, typical for when he was in combat, and was loving every second of it. The blond vampire threw punches and felled creatures, kneecaps and ribs shattered under his boots, skulls too, if they were knocked to the ground. Necks were broken, and heads were torn free of their bodies entirely. He was having a wonderful time.

He also was in trouble. He’d charged without support into the thick of things and the zombies had closed ranks behind him, cutting him off from the others and surrounding him.

“Outnumbered, outgunned, and staring death in the face,” Spike commented off handedly before a grin spread itself across his face. He reached down and grasped his crotch with one hand, giving the monster the ‘V’ sign with his other hand: the English equivalent of a very common (and very obscene) American hand gesture.

“All right, my beauties! Balls of British steel here for the taking!” he cried out, still holding his crotch. “Come and have a go, if you think you’re hard enough!”

The zombies were not impressed with his bravado and they came to him readily enough.

“These odds suck,” Spike growled. “There definitely needs to be more of them. Oh, well.” With that, he went to town on them.

But there were just too many of them… those he knocked down got back up, and even those whose skulls he crushed were giving him trouble - vines would explode from their bodies and entwine themselves around his feet, tripping him up or try to burrow under his skin.

But then he found the groundskeeper’s shovel.

With a cry, Spike snatched it up and promptly decapitated three zombies in a row, far enough away that their vines couldn’t entangle him.

“A grave shovel!” Spike shouted in joy. “Haven’t seen one of these since I got turned!” He turned to the zombies. “All right, you bastards, shovel party for all! Here’s your… INVITE!” Spike drove the sharp edge so deep into a zombie’s skull that it split in two; the thing gurgled a little and tried to pull it out, its hand trembling as what was left of its nervous system had several inches of rusted metal embedded in it.

Suddenly, Spike grinned wolfishly, twisted the shovel’s handle hard, and the head exploded.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Spike howled with glee and began the slaughter, singing the whole time.

“ ‘Regrets, I’ve had a few’- ”

Zombie heads were separated from shoulders on the shovel’s now-gory edge as Spine swung it.

“ -‘But then again, too few to mention’- ”

Ribs shattered, and one zombie actually had the shovel pushed through his body and out the other end. Spike used him to club the others.

“ -‘I did, what I had to DO,’- ”

Spike added a little emphasis on the last word as he twisted the shovel again, destroying the monster impaled on it.

“ -‘But dig- ’... heh, get it? Dig?” he asked a zombie whose arm he’d just cut off with the weapon. The creature just gurgled, causing Spike to sigh, exasperated, and then continue to sing.

“ -‘Dig, what I had to do, I saw it through, with no devotion’- ”

Spike thrust the butt end of this weapon through a shambling corpse’s head, and then proceeded to drive a fist through its body and hurl it away from him like a missile into a group of other creatures.

“ -‘Of that, take care and just, be careful, along the highway’- ”

Spike dug out his flask and lighter as he sang. Taking a long swig of booze, somehow still managing to sing with a full mouth, he spat it all over the ridiculously bloodied blade of the shovel with a grin.

“ -‘And more, much more than this, I did MY WAY!’- ”

And with another swig of a scotch that was so high in proof that it would kill a mortal, he took his lighter and spat a gout of flame onto the zombies, catching the edge of his shovel. Now armed with a flaming shovel, he stabbed zombie after zombie, each one exploding as their methane guts ignited, adding more flames and fuel to the fires, causing more zombies to explode, and so and so forth, until Spike’s portion of the graveyard resembled a scorched war zone. The rain was the only thing that kept him from incinerating the entire place, something that he looked very disappointed about.

Finally, there were no more zombies to kill. Spike tossed the flaming weapon aside with a sigh and then grinned as he looked around at the carnage he had brought about.

“Thank you, thank you very much,” he called out to his audience of zombies, all mostly decapitated, dismembered, on fire, or all of the above. “You’ve been a wonderful crowd. Now for my next number…” He reached down and, with a grunt, tore a huge headstone out of the earth and, after hefting it, started swinging it around, testing it like a baseball bat. “…‘Anarchy in the UK’,” he concluded in an ominous tone, another homicidal grin forming before charging to help the others.

Dracula, meanwhile, was not doing as well as Spike. He’d been clawed by several of the creatures and was nursing an ugly wound just above his eye. Still, he fought on with his bare hands in the storm.

“Enough! You sicken me, monsters, if the rain will not wash away the stain of your existence; perhaps steel will.” With that he took a clawed finger and carved a symbol into his own chest, crying out words in Romanian.

Buffy frowned as she heard them. “ ‘Purification of blood and iron’ ?” she said to herself uncomprehendingly as she ducked another blow from a zombie.

Dracula suddenly plunged his hand into his own torso with a snarl of pain. Buffy flinched as the vampire rooted around in his own chest for a moment. With a roar of fury and triumph, Dracula pulled a large sword out of his body and swung it around to slaughter two monsters at once.

“You foolish creatures with your ancient taint, you cannot protect yourselves against my power,” Dracula told the zombies. “I condemn you now to Hell.” With that, Dracula began to carve a path through the monsters.

One of the lurching creatures managed to penetrate the Count’s defenses; it snarled, inches from the vampire’s face, its mouth open wide and vines writhed out from its parted lips.

Dracula smiled a smug smile and pointed a finger at the creature’s eyes.

“You do not see me,” Dracula intoned, channeling the power of his magic.

It was not enough. The creature’s mouth opened wider and the vines within shot out, wrapped around the Count’s finger and tore it clean off his hand to pull it back into the zombie’s mouth; like a frog catching a fly.

Dracula roared in pain and quickly fell back away from the pressing onslaught of the zombies.

“My charms do not affect these monstrosities!” Dracula cried out.

“Why don’t you sing some more, they might find that ‘charm’-ing,” Spike quipped bitterly as the group continued to be forced back against the press of zombies.

“No brain to trick! They’re walking vegetables!” Buffy called out from amidst a furious melee with a horde of zombies.

Suddenly she went down with a cry.

“Spike!” she called out, just before vanishing from sight.

“Love!” Spike yelled, sounding panicked, and, giving a bestial roar, began swinging the gravestone he carried, like a man possessed. His vampire features manifested as he roared and killed, again and again, lost in a blind fury. In the back of his mind, the blond vampire was distantly aware of Dracula screaming from somewhere behind him, but the frenzy, fueled by equal parts fury and fear, had him in its grips strongly, and he did not think of Dracula, or anything else save his lover, and the… objects impeding his progress to her.

Smashing aside another creature with the large granite slab, he saw a flash of blond among all the dead-black and rot-green colors of the zombies and he dove for it. Buffy was laying prone on the ground, a combination of vines and hands were working to suck her down into the earth.

As Spike tore his eyes from the creature, he realized that he couldn’t see the Slayer’s left arm. With a growl, he bludgeoned away another monster and saw why - there was a zombie chewing on her arm, her wrist, tearing away strips of flesh and muscle, like a man stripping the meat from a roast, with gory bits of skin dangling out of its mouth, like bloody little ribbons of sinew.

“BASTARD!!!!” Spike bellowed and brought the gravestone around, hitting the creature in the side of the head so hard that the skull flattened for a moment, before it burst like a melon and then shot off its neck like a baseball as the raging man followed through with a devastating strike.

“You. Don’t. Get. HER!” Spike roared, smashing at the hands and vines grasping at Buffy; using the gravestone, his fists, his feet, and even his teeth to shred, mutilate, and gnaw his way through dead skin and rotting vine alike.

“Spike?” Buffy called out weakly.

Tearing free the last of the grasping vines, Spike jerked his head up to look at her.

“Hello, baby. How you feeling, then?” he asked, attempting to sound casual, but he saw the wound on her wrists, spurting blood in time with Buffy’s heartbeat – arterial spray, he knew at once – and his own heart grew cold at the sight, far colder than death had ever made it.

Buffy smiled, drowsily. “You look grumpy,” she stated in a sleepy whisper, reaching out to trace the outline of his prominent facial ridges, brought about by the change.

At her touch, Spike’s face immediately reverted to a smooth human face. It was the face of a young man who was deeply in love, and who was also about to die with her, but refused to let her be scared, or let himself to go down easily.

“Just got a bit worked up, baby,” Spike said in a halting voice. He reached up to cradle his lover’s head in his hands, squeezing her body tightly, and looked around. More zombies were advancing: rotting vines and hungry, yellow teeth, and they had managed to surround them completely. Dracula was nowhere to be seen.

“Wanker,” Spike muttered under his breath at the other vampire’s cowardice, and for leaving Buffy and he to die. It was her death, though, that truly troubled Spike. He’d been dead a long time and, even so, this is how he wanted to die – bloody and screaming and surrounded by the broken bodies of his enemies. However, he never thought he’d have all that, but be forced to watch the one person in life he truly loved die.

“Mmm, I’m sleepy Spike,” Buffy mumbled into his chest, a drowsy voice that only comes from a great deal of lost blood. “Is it time for bed, baby?”

Spike felt a powerful, painful shudder, the MOST painful thing he had ever experienced, rip through his body as the reality of the situation came crashing down upon them.

They were both going to die. Now.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispered hoarsely, “yeah, it’s time to sleep, love,” he said, choking on the last word. Spike could feel Buffy’s body going cold, could feel her heartbeat slowing down; the wound in her wrist had ceased spurting and was now a slow, seeping thing, a fountain from which the last of his lover’s life would leak from.

“Mmmkay, good,” Buffy whispered quietly, nuzzling deeper into her lover’s chest. “I’m cold.”

Spike’s self-control slipped a little then, and he gave a small, painful sob. The zombies were very, very close now. Spike could smell their stench of mildew and putrefied tissue.

“I don’t bloody think so!” Spike snarled, game face back in place, and getting up to fight, to at least go down fighting before these monsters took them down and stripped the meat from their bones.

“No…” Buffy protested as she felt Spike pull away. “Stay with me, stay with me until I go to sleep….” she pleaded in a tone Spike could imagine her using as a little girl to get anything she wanted from mommy or daddy.

Spike broke. He sank back down as his visage regained its humanity, and he sobbed - painful, hurting sobs that offered no relief, only regret - right there in the cold dirt of a fresh grave, surrounded by the dead, walking and buried, beside his dying paramour.

“Awww, what’s a matter… honey?” Buffy’s voice was trailing off.

Spike grabbed her hand tightly and squeezed so tight it would have hurt had her hands not been numb from blood loss. She was so cold.

“Nothing, baby, nothing at all,” he rasped out, taking one last look around. The zombies had apparently waited a moment to gather their fellows, so that they would all share in the bountiful feast that they were about to enjoy. They weren’t, however, stupid enough to break the circle they’d created, and Spike knew Buffy was too far gone for escape at this point.

“Nothing’s wrong at all, baby,” Spike repeated as he continued to cradle Buffy’s body, pressing her blond head into his chest. That was one thing he’d always loved about her - her hair. It reminded him of the sun, something he found himself missing. Spike looked up at the sky for a moment. It was black with no moon, no stars, and no care for what was about to happen, a silent and apathetic witness, and Spike found himself hating the night and how casually it was going to watch them all die.

The zombies began to advance again, hissing and snarling.

“Yeah, yeah, piss off,” Spike muttered. A thought came to him and the hand that was cradling Buffy’s head became tense, muscles began to prepare to do something he would never, ever have done in a million years, but that was preferable to what was to come, preferable to seeing his ‘sun’ change from golden to blood red.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered into Buffy’s ear, kissing it.

Buffy smiled. “Mmm, is it time to sleep? I’m sleepy.”

“I know, baby,” he assured her, his hand hard against the back of her head and ready.

“Close your eyes, Buffy.”

“Hey… you called me ‘Buffy’,” the slayer whispered, her voice trailing off as the wound in her wrist stopped leaking. Spike kissed her head, fiercely and hard as a kiss goodbye needed to be, as he whispered, “Close your eyes.”

Spike closed his eyes and tensed.

“Close your eyes, baby.”

The zombies fell upon them....

Spike closed his eyes and tensed.

“Close your eyes, baby.”

The zombies fell upon them…



…and then they were obliterated in a shower of gore and vegetation.

Spike gaped as a glowing specter tore through the zombies that had been about to kill them. Arms flew off, heads flew free, and when the ghost would fly through them, they simply disintegrated into mush.

The zombies began to fall back, but, by then, it was far too late.

More ghosts came then: two, five, ten, twenty – it was an entire tribe of spectral warriors. The rain had begun to trickle off with Dracula’s sudden absence, but Spike could clearly hear the falling water boil away as it fell through the ghost’s incorporeal bodies.

If these guys are warriors, I’m the fagging Queen, Spike thought in confusion as he got a really good look at theose incorporeal bodies.

Ghostly men, women, and children of all ages were moving amongst the zombies. They were dressed in strange, rural clothing: kerchiefs and shawls, flowing dresses and silk scarves, and he watched the phantoms slaughter the zombies with an odd sense of detachment; much like shock.

Suddenly, his brain kicked back into reality with a gruesome jolt - shock could no longer protect him from the events of the last few seconds.

“BUFFY!” Spike called out again. Looking down, he saw that he still had the Slayer’s head in a death grip, ready to snap her neck rather than let the zombies have her. Hurriedly, almost guiltily, he shifted his grip from “ready to kill” to cradling her head, desperately trying to save her life. His other hand clamped down on the oozing wound. He couldn’t believe her little heart was still pumping, Slayer’s strength, no doubt. But even a Slayer’s heart would stop when drained of enough blood. He knew that first hand.

Oh…bloody, sodding, pissing Hell, why didn’t I think to do this before: compress the damn wound, make a tourniquet, SOMETHING?! /I> Spike thought to himself furiously as he worked to keep what little blood was left in his lover’s body in it.

Another thought answered him inside his head, Because you were too hungry for the kill, mate, you always were a stupid git when your blood ran hot.

“What would it take to get you to SHUT THE HELL UP!?” the vampire roared to himself.

From above his head, something roared back.

“What the hell?!” Spike cried as he jerked his head up to see just what exactly had made that sound. When he finally saw it, he quickly wished he hadn’t.

A monstrous, winged… CREATURE… had swooped down from the sky and was in the process of decimating the masses of zombies the ghosts hadn’t quite gotten around to destroying, yet, and, it appeared to be having a good time.

It was enormous: eight feet tall, not counting the wings, thickly muscled, teeth the size of knives, and talons the size of scythe blades. It swooped and strafed the remaining zombies, slicing them in two, biting their heads off completely, or picking them up with its large talons and dashing them against gravestones, trees, or each other, hard enough to shatter their bodies completely.

“Ohhhh… bugger,” was all Spike could say at the sight.

A few minutes later it was all over.

The zombies were gone - wiped out or escaped into the night, Spike didn’t know or really care at this point - the phantoms had now all gathered around Spike, trapping him up against the large gravestone he and Buffy had taken refuge against. They stared blankly at him, no readable expression or comprehension in those dead eyes. They looked haunted, as if Spike were the ghost and not vice versa.

The winged beast roared again, loud as a lion and ten times as mean. It came to perch on the gravestone, its talons digging in like it was soft as clay. Spike got a nice close up of the monster as it craned its head and peered down at him, growling softly.

It had huge, wolf-like ears and smoldering, yellow eyes that glowed faintly. A mane of coarse black hair, just like a lion’s, framed a face that was dominated by a pronounced, bat-like nose and large protruding jaws, which sloped down into a chin that, had it not been so overwhelmingly terrifying, would have given it a surprisingly snooty profile in his mind.

The wings loomed large and dark over Buffy and Spike, curling inwards and penning them all in, like a cocoon. The ghosts formed ranks, blocking all chance of escape.

“If you’re going to kill us,” Spike said to the monster, resigned but unafraid, “get it the sodding hell over with, you great poofter.”

The creature’s bloody lips pulled back into a grin, exposing, huge, gory teeth, and then it growled loud enough to shake Spike down to his bones.

“Showy. Gypsy. Tricks?”

Those huge jaws were made for biting the heads off zombies, not speech. Still, Spike understood the garbled words clearly enough.

“You son of a-!” Spike didn’t get a chance to finish his curse as the thing threw back its head and howled, long and loud. The howl became the sound of deep, rich laughter, the huge wings swooped up and folded, bending impossibly backwards upon themselves with a loud crack. More noises followed. Wet breaking sounds came in a rush that set the blond vampire’s teeth on edge.

As the mangled wings simply, dissolved into mist, a man was revealed grinning fiercely.

“Permit me to introduce myself,” Dracula said with a toothy grin, the large batmonster teeth rapidly shrinking to normal. “I am Dracula.” Then he got a look at Buffy and hissed in rage.

“You FOOL! What have you done?” snarled the Count as he gnashed his fangs and leapt down from the gravestone. The ghosts cowered away from him, but Dracula passed through them without heed and backhanded Spike across the face so fast and hard that his brain hadn’t fully understood he’d been hit until he was sailing through the air.

Spike tumbled to the dirt but quickly sprang up, growling like a dog at Dracula, his face shifting back into its demonic state as the other vampire scooped up Buffy.

“You wanker, don’t you touch her! You’re completely out of your head, she’s not Elis-“

“You will not speak that name!”

Dracula’s voice boomed with power and Spike felt his blood freeze under the command. He couldn’t even blink, couldn’t speak or scream as the Romanian vampire leaned over Buffy’s still form. Spike didn’t even know if she was alive, though he thought she was, which is why, even now, he struggled against the other vampire’s magical control over his blood.

Dracula brought corpse-cool lips close to Buffy’s face. He caressed her face, which was cold as death crept into her body, and gently cupped her chin to turn her head from him. He lay down upon her, resting his face against hers, cheek to cheek, with his mouth inches from her soft lips, and only a few more inches from the softer curve of her pale throat.

Spike grit his teeth in impotent fury, the noise of them grinding nearly causing him to miss what happened next. As if sharing an intimate secret with a long-time lover, Dracula began to whisper to the Slayer.

“You think you know. What you are. What is to come?” Dracula’s focus intensified on the woman, a hair’s breadth between them. “You haven’t even begun.” He then placed a tender kiss upon the Slayer’s ear.

If Spike were human, he would have been having a seizure at this point in his loathing of what was happening before him.

“My blood flows through your veins, Buffy, and it will heed my command,” Dracula quietly assured her as he placed a pale hand lightly on her chest.

Buffy began to moan softly. Spike couldn’t tell if it was in pleasure or pain, and it made him grind his teeth even harder. There was a gentle thumping sound and if Spike had not been paralyzed, he would have gaped openly at the sight of Buffy’s heart beating, visibly, up through her body. He watched in awe as slow, steady movement bulged the shirt up and out, making it gently rise and fall. The heartbeat became stronger and he felt a surge of joy at the sight.

Buffy moaned slightly and then opened her eyes: her expression glazed and far away, much like the gaze of the ghosts that were still watching them.

“Vlad?” she asked and startled both vampires – she now had a subtle, eastern European accent and her voice had taken a strange lilting quality Spike had never heard before.

The other vampire, however, had heard it before, and he went stark rigid at it. Spike had never, in all his un-life, seen the ancient vampire so utterly shaken down to his very core. Dracula gripped the gravestone to steady himself. It began to crack and crumble underneath his grip, raining down dust and pieces of stone upon them both. He didn’t even seem to notice as he whispered in a shaky tone, “It cannot be.”

Buffy’s only response was to begin humming dreamily. The humming reminded Spike of Dru, which made his skin crawl. He pushed past the memories and thought the tune sounded familiar and then he placed it – Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy”. The humming stopped abruptly as Buffy began to cough violently; blood flew from her lips to splatter against the Count’s bare chest.

Dracula went berserk.

“No! You shall live!” he screamed. His face contorted into an expression that wasn’t even close to human or sane. He tore her shirt open, exposing her. For a minute, he stopped and frowned at something, then, with a scream, he reached down and tore something from around Buffy’s throat with one hand and drove the other into her chest.

Buffy screamed suddenly as the pounding of her heart increased ten times in speed and power. Her ribs cracked from the strain of it, and she whimpered in pain as Dracula’s magic forced the combined power of their mixed blood to sear through her veins, blasting through the valves in her heart.

Her heart swelled up hard through her chest and Spike could hear the sound of her ribs now breaking from the power of it all. Buffy began to sweat profusely, soaking her shirt in perspiration, blood, and tears as she thrashed and cried.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she whispered, thrashing like a little girl in a bad dream.

“YOU WILL LIVE, I COMMAND IT!” Dracula continued to shout, pinning her down underneath his weight. Blood began to well up from the five holes his fingers were now making as they dug into her flesh. His other hand grabbed her wrist and bent it all the way back, pinning her down. The wrist snapped, Buffy screamed, and still the vampire would not relent.

The ghosts began to wail in phantom agony as their master became more and more agitated, that same agitation allowed Spike to rally against the power that held him silent and paralyzed. He could feel it begin to weaken now that the other vampire lost apparently all semblance of self-control. He began to work his tongue around his mouth and, worked the muscles in his neck and jaw, trying to pry his mouth open enough to speak.

“C’mon, Spike, do not bollocks this up!” he growled through gritted teeth, and was taken aback when he realized he’d been able to speak, albeit only through a closed mouth like a ventriloquist, but still able to speak.

Dracula had dug his fingers so deep into her flesh that it looked like he was going to dig his way to her heart and physically massage it into life. Buffy was howling and screaming in pure torment; her back was contorted so severely that it looked ready to break and it was forcing her to press herself harder against the Count, lewdly like a tortured love. Her eyes had rolled back into her skull, and she was coughing up blood at a prodigious rate.

“Going to kill another one, are you Drac? Four dead girls weren’t enough?” Spike yelled with all his might through his paralyzed mouth.

The effect was instantaneous and just as dramatic as the previous shift in Dracula had been: he fell backwards, away from the girl, tumbling unceremoniously on his backside and staring wide-eyed in horror at Buffy’s still, bloody body.

“What have I done?” Dracula whispered in shock.

“She’s not her, you stupid horse’s arse!” Spike shouted. His lips could now move, but the rest of him was still stuck in a position between a crouch and standing.

Dracula shook himself from his own paralysis and stalked over to Spike, smashing a fist into the Englishman’s face with a snarl. The blow sent the blond vampire flying through the air to land on his back on a gravestone, making him cry out in pain - the impact had nearly shattered his spine, and his newly-restored jaw now felt like broken glass.

“You do not say her name! You never say her name!” Dracula roared at Spike, grabbing him by the throat, swinging him around, and slamming his skull hard enough into a gravestone to topple it with a thud.

Spike lay there, paralyzed and helpless. Dracula loomed over him like a furious storm cloud. The Romanian Prince shifted his glance then from glaring at the other male to focus on something on the ground – the headstone he’d knocked over. He laughed and reached down to effortlessly hoist it up for Spike to see.

“I cannot comprehend why you bore this all the way from London: a completely fallacy to serve as a headstone for an empty grave,” Dracula sneered as he held up Emily’s grave marker. “But, as I remember, you always did prefer a pleasant fiction to a harsh reality.”

“I wasn’t the only one, you ponce. Remember Jules?” was all that Spike said.

With a crash, Dracula brought the stone down on Spike who gasped in pain.

“That is on your head, William! I gave her unto you as a ward and you failed to save her from Heinrich’s pet Slayer. Your failure, not mine! Her blood is on your hands!

“That’s not the hands I remember her blood being on, ya bastard.”

“My blood is pure, you walking piece of filth! You are the ‘bastard’, not I.”

“Yeah, right, sure, like I said – I’m not the only one who appreciates a good lie.”

The elder vampire screamed in rage at the taunt. He brought the stone down on Spike over and over again to accentuate each word.

“You. Will. Never. Be. Pure!”

The stone cracked apart then into two jagged pieces. Spike was broken, a bloody ruin of a man at this point; not even his vampiric fortitude or healing could withstand the might of Dracula’s fury.

With a growl, Dracula tore a ring from his finger and shoved it down Spike’s throat. It would have choked him had he needed to breathe.

“Take that back to the Slayer’s allies. Tell them of your failure to protect her,” Dracula then grinned savagely.

“Perhaps I will tear her soul from Heaven to tell her the truth of you myself, and along the way explain exactly what happened to Emily and all the others ‘Spike,’ ” he taunted. “Heinrich’s foolish necromancy was but a pale imitation of my power.”

“Don’t… you… bloody do that to her,” was all Spike could manage.

Dracula raised the broken gravestone over Spike’s neck, the end jagged and sharp. “I will give that poor girl’s soul your fondest farewells, before I destroy every dear notion she held of you,” Dracula assured Spike. “From filth you came, back to filth you go.” Dracula raised the weapon up over his head, and Spike refused to close his eyes, meeting the Romanian’s gaze steadily now, at the end.

The gravestone was suddenly jerked from Dracula’s hand. As the vampire whirled around, it was smashed hard against his face.

“I like my soul where it is,” Buffy quipped, swinging it around and then up to catch Dracula under the jaw and sending him flying through the air, for once.

The Prince tumbled to the ground, his jaw broken. Twisting his body, the tumble became an acrobatic somersault and he rose smoothly to his feet with his back to the Slayer.

Buffy wasted no time in charging the vampire, bringing the gravestone up for a blow that would drive the vampire into the ground like a tent post.

“Heads up!” Buffy called out and swung. Then she toppled over as the headstone swung through, not Dracula’s body, but the mist it had instantly become. Buffy fell hard, the gravestone was sent flying as the vampire reformed in the blink of an eye, now facing the Slayer, peering down at her, calm and composed.

“Your heart is strong, Buffy Summers, for that I am glad,” Dracula informed her. “You are full of surprises, I will admit. I had no idea you spoke the language of my homeland with such skill…” Buffy looked up at him as he she got on her hands and knees, lifting herself from the ground. She appeared as if she didn’t have a clue in hell as to what he was talking about as the tall vampire continued, “...but, I digress, I have lingered here too long and I would hunt now.” He turned to go.

“Hey, I want some answers!”

“Find your own answers, my lady Summers,” he said dismissively, walking away from her.

“Why do you care if I live or die?” she asked him

Dracula stopped then. There was a long pause and then he spoke, not turning to face her.

“You remind me of someone,” Dracula turned to look over his shoulder at the Slayer. “Do you see these wraiths?”

Buffy shrugged, after everything she’s been through, ghosts weren’t going to scare her at this point.

“Yeah? What about them?”

“Why don’t you ask Liam if they remind him of some people he knew, when you tell him about all this,” Dracula grabbed a hold of a ghost that was within arms reach, and spun her around to face Buffy. The ghost was dressed differently than all the others: a pretty dress, and boots that would have looked appropriate on the feet of anyone at school-

“Oh, my god,” Buffy gasped.

Dracula just smiled and, very deliberately, rotated the unresisting woman’s head a full hundred and eighty degrees exorcist-style to look at Buffy. The face was covered in a veil but the eyes were unmistakable.

“That’s Je-“

“As I said, Buffy, find your own answers. Those around you can provide a great deal of them, should they be probably motivated.” Dracula released the ghost and it continued to stare, unrecognizing, at Buffy as it walked away, its head still backwards, and it faded into the gloom along with the rest.

With that, Dracula leapt into the air, transforming into the winged monster he’d been earlier. The sound of flapping wings faded away as the creature vanished into the night.

The last wraith drifted past Buffy, and she gasped at the sight of them: she was very young, very pretty, and very, very pissed off, staring clearly AT Buffy.

“I can smell him on you,” was all she said in a raspy not-real voice that faded in and out like bad stereo equipment. The ghost girl flipped her hair away from her throat…

…displaying two puncture marks.

With another accusing glance, the ghostly young girl faded into the night to join the others.

Buffy stared slack jawed at it all as Spike limped over to her then, gently setting his jaw in place.

“Ow!” Spike said with a wince as he turned to Buffy. “Are you all right, baby?” he asked her thickly, spitting out a few teeth.

“When did he get so powerful? He wasn’t like this before,” was all she said.

“He was holding back last time, I’ll wager. He’s a bloody wizard on top of being a very old, very strong vampire.”

“We don’t tell the others about this, Spike, ANY of this. Most of them would freak and Alec would tear apart Sunnydale piece by piece until he got his hands on him.”

“Yeah, that’s why I like him, ‘kindred spirits’ and all,” Spike commented with a smile.

Buffy whirled on him. “I mean it, Spike! Not a word to him, or to Giles!” Buffy frowned. “There’s something going on with him, Giles, I mean. I don’t know what, but it scares me.”

“Probably the scent of mothballs and tweed.”

Buffy’s eyebrows shot up at this and Spike held up his hands.

“Okay! Okay! Not a word!”

“Catch a ride with Angel and head back to the shop. I’m heading there next.”

“All right, baby, whatever you say.” Clearly unhappy with being around Angel, that was all Spike said.

“Umm, when did my shirt become all bloody and torn apart?” she asked

“You had a bit of a rough night, love. Drac used some magic to patch you up. Used a bit of ‘Vampire CPR’ it seems.”

“I don’t remember… Oh no!” Buffy cried out, beginning to desperately feel around her shirt and neck.

“What is it, baby?”

“My ring! Angel’s ring! It’s gone!” she cried out heedlessly.

“You wear his bloody ring around your sodding neck?!” Spike yelled.

“Spike! Not the time!”

“Yeah, right, never time for me, but time enough for you to have your bloody EX-boyfriend’s ring around your neck!” Spike jerked a cigarette out of his jacket, lit up, and started to leave. “Bugger this! I’ll see you later.”

“Wait, Spike please!”

“Here, why don’t you wear Dracula’s ring while you’re at it?! You seem to have a soft spot for ‘tall, pale and angsty’!”

There was a metallic sound as Spike hurled the ring over his shoulder at Buffy and stalked off.

Buffy stood there for a moment, stunned. What was wrong with him? What was wrong with everyone? What had happened tonight?

She bent over and picked up the ring, uncaring, and then froze. The clouds the vampire prince had summoned for his storm were gone now and it was a bright moonlit night, bright enough for Buffy to see the ring clearly. Bright enough for her to recognize it with horror…

A moon and three stars - The Order of Aurelius. The order the Master had belonged to.

The man, no, the monster, that had ended her life.



“It’s getting late," Alec commented with a frown at his watch and the darkening landscape. Buffy had just made it in a few minutes ago: wet, cold, and looking thoroughly miserable. She had gruffly explained that patrol was a bust and, while Alec was certain she was lying, her clothes were a mess, including small bloodstains, and she was cradling her wrist. He had decided not to press his sister on the matter. Even now she was sitting quietly in a corner, not really talking to anyone and looking very far away. With a sigh, knowing that he wasn't being listened to, Alec continued.

"It's getting late, which means–"

–Suddenly, there was a loud screech of tires from outside, followed by a crash and the sound of rushing water. Alec leapt to his feet as everyone hurried to the door. He reached it first and, after jerking it open, took two steps out and stopped dead in his tracks.

There was Angel’s car, half up on the curb with a dented fender, and a fire hydrant that had been knocked almost clean off its mountings, spraying water like a geyser high into the air in a torrential downpour upon the two furious vampires in the car. Spike was behind the wheel and was engaged in a heated argument with the elder vampire seated beside him.

“My fault?! Listen, you great poof, if YOU hadn’t have jerked the wheel out of my hand to avoid hitting that dog, we wouldn’t BE in this bloody mess!” Spike roared at him.

Angel snarled. “Well, if you hadn’t been going seventy-five in a twenty-five mile an hour zone, you would have SEEN the dog BEFORE you were right on top of it,” Angel shot back angrily.

Spike’s eyebrows rose to form a ‘v’ at his brow in shock before launching into another tirade.

“Do you know what this is?” he gestured to the tape deck. " 'The Pogues: A Rainy Night in Soho’ live at CBGB ’77.’ it is NOT a soddin’ twenty-five mile an hour tune, you flaming nancy boy!” he retorted angrily.

Angel just shook his head in frustration.

“That’s the last time I let you drive,” he growled as he opened the car door, sloshed out of his car, and slammed the door shut behind him. Spike, just as sodden and wet, likewise clamored over the car door. Glaring daggers at each other, the soaking wet vampires sloshed up to the stunned assemblage at the front door of the shop.

Alec did his best, but he felt a serious attack of hysterical laughter threatening to wash over him. Taking a deep breath, he regarded the dripping pair.

“Well it’s certainly a ’Rainy Night’ somewhere. So, how was your day?” he asked politely. They snarled and shoved past him to enter the store. Spike stopped short to send Buffy a significant look, Buffy returned one even sterner and for a second, Alec was curious. And then he remembered just how much Spike loved hanging out with Angel in a "non killing Angel" capacity and he grinned as he regarded the geyser erupting out onto the street. Turning back to his father, he cocked an eyebrow.

“I’ll take care of this, Dad, if you could…” he gestured to Willow, who was still staring at the whole scene with wide eyes and probably hadn’t heard a word he’d said. Giles instantly understood his sons desire for privacy in the use of his powers, and, taking Willow by the shoulders, guided her back into the store. Alec waited until she was gone before turning to the two Slayers. Faith looked ready to burst with laughter and even Buffy's mood had lightened slightly at the vampire's antics.

“Girls? Give a guy a hand?” he asked them.

They nodded, laughing quietly and doing their best to avoid getting soaked, carefully picked up the damaged fire hydrant and placed it back on its moorings. The geyser abruptly ceased as the Slayers held the fixture firmly in place against the water pressure coming from below. Alec knelt by the fire hydrant and, extending a finger, conjured a long trail of shadow to slither from the digit and wrap itself firmly around the base of the fire hydrant. There was a slight groan of stressed metal as the tendril tightened around it.

Alec stepped back.

“Okay, on three, let it go and jump back, just in case the bond doesn’t hold,” he warned them. “Ready?” They nodded. “Three!” he yelled.

They jumped back in unison, letting go of the fire hydrant. The bond held and Alec released a sigh of relief before turning a sardonic grin to the two women.

“Well, if this hero business doesn’t pan out, I can always go into the civil services,” he wisecracked self-deprecatingly.

The women chuckled and Faith shook her head.

“D, forget honest work. With your tricks, go into something more lucrative, like, robbing Fort Knox or something.”

Buffy sent her a disapproving look. “Faith! Straight and narrow, remember?” she reprimanded the woman sternly.

Faith colored and looked down. “Sorry, B, didn’t mean anything by it,” she mumbled, downcast, keeping her eyes to the ground.

Buffy continued to glare at her, before something in her face changed. The hardness drained from her eyes and she slowly reached out a hand and placed it reassuringly on the younger Slayer’s shoulder.

“I know you didn’t, Faith,” she sighed. “Go inside and tell Giles we’re good to go here.”

Faith looked up at her, and, smiling gratefully, placed her hand over Buffy’s.

“I’m on it,” the younger Slayer reassured her. Squeezing the other one’s hand she headed back into the store. Buffy smiled slightly and turned back to Alec, who was regarding her with deep admiration.

“What?” she asked a little embarrassed.

Alec came closer to her. “I’m very proud of you, Buffy. That was done as well as anyone could ask.”

Buffy felt a lump in her throat at the intensity of those words. She nodded.

“Yeah, well, she STILL isn’t right about Skipper and Gilligan,” she quipped, doing her best not to show just how much his words had touched her.

Alec smiled knowingly and clasped her hand in his. “Yeah, well, I always pictured Gilligan with Mary-Anne,” he replied smirking.

Buffy’s eyes widened in shock. “Mary-ANNE? The professor's squeeze?” she exclaimed shocked. “You’re deranged,” she pronounced gravely.

Alec laughed and wrapped an arm around the Slayer’s slim shoulders, kissing her head affectionately.

“Probably,” he conceded. “It does seem to run in this family,” he teased.

She gasped, outraged, and socked him in the stomach. Alec exhaled hard and rubbed the sore place as she divested herself of his arm and walked haughtily back into the store, nose up in the air.

“Spike has got his hands full, that’s for sure,” he commented, laughing. He rubbed his stomach once more, and followed his sister, entering the store to see Angel and Spike toweling their hair dry, both dressed in tweed suits and looking miserable. Alec's hand flew to his mouth as he tried unsuccessfully to keep from laughing.

“Trying to make a fashion statement, guys?” he quipped.

Buffy, who had a huge grin on her face, answered. “Their clothes were soaked, and this was all Giles had lying around,” she offered as an explanation.

Giles turned. “What’s wrong with these suits? This is authentic tweed, it’s the very epitome of understated grace.” He smiled suddenly, looking a little forlorn, and whispered, “As I remember, it’s also handy for stopping crossbow bolts,” before wiping something from his eye, mumbling about the dry air causing his allergies to act up.

“Yeah, it makes a statement all right, the statement being ‘I couldn’t get a date to save my life,” Spike bit out with a snort, fingering the lapel of the tweed jacket with obvious disdain.

Buffy chuckled and draped herself across his lap. “Oh, come on, honey, it doesn’t look that bad.”
The vampire’s blue eyes widened in disbelief.

“Well, okay, it does,” she conceded, “but that’s okay, you’re not after dates.” She snuggled against him. “You’ve got me, remember?” she asked adorably.

Despite his best efforts, Spike wasn’t quite able to keep a grin off his face.

“How could I forget?” he bemoaned quietly.

Buffy smiled. “Oh, shut up,” she admonished lightly, kissing him. Spike didn’t bother arguing as he held her in his arms.

Angel turned away from the display, an expression of deeply buried pain flashing across his face. Alec noticed it and sent the vampire a sympathetic look before he turned and looked up at Willow.
“Lover? We’re going to need your biology know-how at the campus lab.” He looked back at the jar on the table, the parasites floating within it, still comatose. “I have no idea how to dissect the little buggers and I wouldn’t know what to look for if I did.”

Willow got to her feet, a teasing smile on her lips. “Ah, men, give them something to pummel and they’re all speed ahead, but give them something requiring a little knowledge and they’re lost in the woods.” She grinned and picked up her bag.

Alec favored her with a condescending grin. “Whatever you say, princess. Now that you’ve trashed my sex, will you come help?”

Willow pretended to consider it before answering. “I suppose, but you’re wrong though.”

Alec frowned, puzzled. “Regarding?” he asked her.

She grinned naughtily. “Me trashing your sex. I was trashing your gender.” She continued to grin at him flirtatiously. “I’ve got no complaints about your sex,” she finished wickedly.

“See. That’s what I’m talking about!” Buffy suddenly cried out. “What IS it about the end of the world that gets everyone all hot and bothered?” she demanded.

“It’s a tension releaser, love. Everyone knows that,” Spike replied smugly.

She turned to him, still lounging on his lap.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that.” Chuckling, she turned back to Alec. “You need anything in the way of muscle?” she asked.

Alec shook his head. “Probably, but it’s all right, you and Spike stay here. Relax for a spell. I’ll bring Faith with me.” He looked at the woman in question, who nodded in agreement. He then turned to Anya, who was busy playing solitaire on Willow’s now-vacated computer, and apparently not doing very well.

“Anya?”

There was no response.

He called again, “Anya?”

Anya began muttering aloud, “Red and black, why does it have to be only red and black. I’ve got a six here and a five there, why-”

“ANYA!” the whole room yelled in unison.

Her head shot up. “WHAT?!” she demanded.

Alec sighed. “Are you prepared to contact D’Hoffryn tonight?” he asked her.

She frowned. “Oh, is that all?” She shrugged. “Sure, as soon as I get the necessary spell components.”

Giles pointed at a shelf. “Everything you need should be there, Anya, do you have the glyph?” he asked her.

Anya snorted derisively and reached into her pocket, holding it up for all to see in a "I'm clearly so much smarter than all of you, why do you insist on not acknowledging that?" kind of way.

Giles nodded. “Well, then, I suppose that’s all we need.” Reaching out he collected the specimen jar as Alec shrugged his duster on. They turned to go, when the door to the backroom opened and a groggy, but much healthier looking Xander emerged. He rubbed his eyes, and noticing that Anya had her attention firmly fixed on the computer in front of her, sighed in palpable relief.

Alec grinned at him. “Xander, feel like a little Bio 101?” he asked wryly.

Xander stopped to consider, he could either do that… or wait for Anya to get bored with the game and turn her attentions back to him.

“Come on, let’s go. Time’s a-wasting,” he declared, bounding up the stairs and out of the store, halfway to Giles’ car already. Alec chuckled and joined the rest of the group as they turned to go.

“Faith!” Buffy called out. Faith turned to her. Buffy got off Spike’s lap and reached over to a wall, taking down a small axe. She tossed it to the other slayer, who caught it deftly. Faith frowned at her.

“What’s this for, B?” she asked.

“In case you run into something with a worse attitude than yours,” Buffy replied.

Faith grinned. “Worse attitude than mine? Not possible,” she responded cockily as she touched the axe to her forehead in a mock salute. “Thanks, B.”

Buffy waved it off.

“Forget it, just return it in one piece,” Buffy replied before settling back against Spike. Faith nodded an affirmative and left, followed by Willow and Giles. Alec, sending another look of pride at the Slayer, closed the door behind them.

Giles, Marlena, and Buffy rushed from the dark room, down the mirrored corridor, and into the great hall...

...To find that the battle was well underway.

The attackers, clad head to toe in black clothes and masks, were wreaking havoc on the Estate defenders. Some on bikes, others on dune buggies, and, unless Buffy was hallucinating, some were flying; all of them were attacking the Estate’s defenders. Some wielded machine guns and swords, but others seemed to be throwing fire, lightening, ice and other impossible magic.

Buffy turned to Marlena.

“Who are they?” she yelled.

“The Spaarti Tribe,” Marlena sighed, shaking her head is dismay. She looked up to see Buffy and Giles giving her an inquisitive look. “Warlocks, witches, mages, a nomadic tribe of magic-users,” she explained. “They try to raid the Estate every now and then for the power. Their leader, DeGanon, has orchestrated several raids of chantries all around the world. They seek out the most powerful sources of magic and pillage them. Grigori Estate is one of the few he hasn’t sacked. Yet,” she turned away from the window, frowning, “it’s odd, though. He just tried to raid this place three months ago; it’s too soon for him.”

“Our friends are outside the gate, we’ve got to get them into the compound!” Buffy cried.

Marlena shook her head.

“I’m sorry, NO awakened mystical beings are allowed onto the Estate grounds.” She leveled a stern gaze at Buffy. “You were allowed because you are the Slayer,” she shifted her glance to Giles, “and you were, because your arête has dwindled to the point that any impact it may have on the convergence would be insignificant.”

She turned back to Buffy.

“But the witch, the former demon, the vampires...?” She shook her head “Their personal resonance is far too disruptive to be allowed within the manor grounds.” She shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry, your friends are on their own.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed to slits as she approached the older woman, her stance lethal.

“So, you won’t lift a finger to help my friends who are trying to save the world, which, incidentally, includes your precious little mystical hotspot?” she hissed angrily.

Marlena shook her head.

“The rules are clear. I cannot deviate from them,” she replied.

"Sod your rules, that's my son out there!" Giles hissed while angrily gripping her arm tightly.

Marlena jerked her arm out of his grasp. "I will not put the innocent souls that claim sanctuary in this place at risk for anyone; not for you, Rupert, and especially not for your son. The Scion of Annihilation must not be allowed access to the power of this hall!"

Giles frowned. < i>The Scion of Annihilation?

Buffy stepped right into Marlena’s face.

“Well, then, as far as I’m concerned,” she whispered, her voice hard as steel, eyes flashing with rage, “your claims to being a Slayer died when you did.”

Before Marlena could utter a world, Buffy spun around and gathered Giles along with a look.

“Come on, Giles, we’ve got some mystical ass that needs kicking.” Storming out of the main hall, she nearly plowed over Onyx. “Out of my way, gravel heap!” she snarled as she exited the building.



“Well, this…” Alec started, lashing out with his fists to knock another warlock off the roof of the RV, “…is fun,” he finished.

He, Faith, Xander, Spike, and Angel were busy fighting off the mages that had just… appeared all of a sudden, draped in black, complete with domino masks, hurling fire and lightening. Willow had gotten a protective spell up sealing the bus off with herself, Dawn, and Anya inside. Spike, unable to engage in physical conflict with humans due to the chip in his head, resorted to hurling Molotov cocktails made from his ample whiskey stash. He and Alec were standing on top of the RV, Spike hurling his bombs and Alec covering him with cracking darkness whips.

But they were badly outnumbered. Both Faith and Xander, fighting at the base of the RV, were nursing some bad burns from a pyromaniacally inclined mage, and Spike’s arm was still numb from a blast of mystical ice that would have killed him had he been alive.

“These odds suck,” Alec commented dryly as he lashed out, catching another of the masked mages across the face, knocking him from his bike.

Spike snorted. “Ya great, Poof,” he taunted his friend, before heaving another whiskey bomb off the roof of the bus. It crashed, and exploded against the ground, sending a blaze of fire roaring up and causing a dirtbike riding mage to veer sharply away and topple off it, crashing to the ground hard.

Suddenly, Alec’s eyes widened in inspiration, and, leaning down over the roof, he tapped the glowing force field, causing it to hum and crackle. Willow looked up as Alec pointed to the burning patch of earth caused by Spike’s bomb. She looked at it, then back at Alec, confused. He traced a circle in the air with two fingers. Willow nodded hurriedly in understanding and dug into her bag, manifesting a lighter. She held it up for him to see; he smiled and gave her a thumbs up before righting himself back onto the roof of the bus.

He turned to Spike.

“Watch this,” he muttered as he dodged a lightening bolt thrown by a flying mage. “Angel! Faith! Xander! Close ranks!” Alec yelled. They looked up at him, and moved closer to the bus.

Spike shot him a quizzical look.

“What the hell are you do-”

With a whoosh, the fire burning on the ground blazed up suddenly, catching the lightening-bolt tossing warlock across the head. There was a scream as the mage plummeted to the earth. Alec grinned as he pointed to the flame.

“Look!” he whooped.

Spike followed his glance and his eyes widened by what he saw. The fire had elongated and had begun to completely encircle the bus in a roaring wall of fire. The blond vampire whistled.

“You do have her cycle memorized, right, mate?” he quipped lightly.

Alec grinned, but then his face morphed into one of alarm and he pointed.

“Spike! On your left!”

Spike whipped around just in time to see a flying mage, completely immersed in flames and out of control slam hard into him. Spike yelled in pain and plunged off the bus, straight towards the burning wall of flame.

“Spike!” Alec cried out and dove, catching the vampire by the foot just as the hair on his head came into brief contact with the flaming wall.

“Bloody hell!!” Spike cried, slapping the fire out.

Alec hauled Spike back up onto the roof of the RV, dumping him unceremoniously on his backside. Spike landed with a grunt, then looked up at his friend and offered him a jaunty salute. Alec sighed in relief and turned… just in time to see a warlock that hadn’t been there before smash a fist into his face. There was a flash of light as Alec toppled from the camper roof, hitting the ground hard. He coughed and spit out sand before looking up at the warlock.

The mage put his hands together and slowly pulled them apart, revealing a wicked looking blade made up of pure light, and, with a war cry, leapt from the bus, the blade aimed straight at Alec’s heart. The half demon tried in vain to roll away or shadowport, but he had no room to manoeuver. The blade descended… and with a bestial roar, Spike clotheslined the warlock hard, sending him sprawling away. The vampire grabbed his head and groaned in pain, but waved Alec off when he tried to help.

“I owed you, mate,” he replied through gritted teeth.

Alec nodded and turned back to the mage, who had gotten to his feet and had once again put his hands together.

“I’ve seen this trick already,” Alec commented and, with a growl, leapt out with a flying kick, black boots slamming hard into his opponent’s face. The mage spun around, dazed, as Alec landed and proceeded to pummel him with a rapid-fire barrage of punches and kicks.

Spike saw this and grinned.

“Kick his ass!” he cried.

Turning, he saw Xander struggling with another mage. Snatching up a handful of dirt, the vampire yelled out, “Hey Merlin!” When the mage stopped to turn to him, Spike threw the grit into his eyes. The mage released Xander to wipe at his eyes, giving Xander a chance to slam a fist across his head and send him spinning away.

“Thanks!” Xander yelled out. Spike nodded and turned to the next fight.

Meanwhile, Alec had finished a particularly brutal combination on the energy mage, ending with a wrench to the mage’s arm, dislocating it with a snap. The person cried out in pain, and Alec frowned.

It was a woman’s cry.

Jerking the mage up, he ripped the mask from the mage’s face, revealing a girl of no more than fifteen. She had short blond hair and a nose ring. A pair of teardrops were tattooed crudely on her face. Alec frowned in puzzlement.

“What the-” he began.

The woman took advantage of Alec’s momentary surprise and slammed an elbow into him. Alec grunted in pain and released her as the woman put her hands together. Her teardrop tattoos started to glow as she conjured another energy blade. With a roar, she charged the dazed shadowmancer.

“Now that wasn’t very nice,” a voice came from Alec's right.

He turned just in time to see Angel come barreling in, tackling the young woman hard. She fell to the ground with the dark-haired vampire on top of her. He quickly turned her over and reared a fist back, then froze.

The woman’s mouth sagged open like a fish, blood trickling out of it, her face freezing into a death grimace. Angel looked down and, with a start, realized that she had fallen on her own energy blade. A hideous burn blazed right over her heart, the organ having been seared in half. He looked up at her in sudden comprehension.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. The young girl didn’t respond, merely pointed with a trembling hand at Angel’s face.

“Angelus,” she croaked in horrified recognition, then added something in a language that turned Angel’s blood cold. The hand fell away and the girl shuddered once, then lay still. Angel got off of her, his expression completely stricken.

“It was an accident, I didn’t mean to,” he whispered to himself mantra-like.

Alec and Spike jumped down from the roof of the RV and Alec suddenly grabbed his arm.

“Angel! She’s dead!”

Alec’s words brought Angel back to reality like a bucket of cold water. The vampire turned to him, his brown eyes wide.

“It was an accident, she was just a child,” he whispered hoarsely, "She's dead."

“So are we, if we don't get our bloody arses in gear, now move! Now!”

He shoved Angel towards the burning wall of flame still surrounding the camper. “Go get Buffy and Dad!”

Angel nodded, and, wrapping his long coat around him, took a running start and leapt through the fiery wall. He landed on the other side and rolled, stripping from the burning jacket and throwing it away. A heavy hand fell onto his shoulder. He spun around, fists at the ready.

“Angel!” Buffy cried.

Angel lowered his hands in recognition.

“Buffy,” he sighed. “Where’s Giles?”

Buffy jerked her head towards the complex.

“He went back inside, said he was going to try to wrangle up some help. Nobody in there is willing to come out and lend us a hand, though,” she spat out the last bit.

Angel nodded.

“Yeah, I noticed that. Duck!” he yelled.

Buffy did a split and Angel slammed a hard fist into another mage that had come up behind her, before grabbing his shoulder and propelling him through the fire. He heard the mage collide hard with the metal RV and smiled grimly.

“Who are these guys?” he asked, looking around at the chaos surrounding them.

“Group of renegade wizards. They’re after the Estate, something about them going for the most powerful source of mag–”

Buffy stopped, her eyes widening. “Dawn,” she whispered. She spun to Angel.

“They’re after Dawn!” she yelled.

Wasting no time, Angel gathered her up in his arms, and, covering her with his body, leapt back through the flame, they rolled on the ground and came to their feet before Spike, Faith, Alec, and Xander.

“They’re after Dawn!” Buffy repeated.

Alec’s face tightened into a mask of cold rage.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he growled, his voice about as lethal as Buffy had ever heard it. With a growl, Alec leapt to the top of the RV, his eyes dissolving into pools of roaring darkness.

“Alec!” Buffy yelled after him.

Alec raised his arms high into the sky and his coat exploded into a huge rolling darkness, flaring out behind him like huge rippling wings. The jacket became even larger and wrapped around the RV, shielding it from the attackers and blocking anyone inside from seeing out.

"They don't need to see what happens next," Alec gurgled in an inhuman voice, then fell to his knees and howled in pain as darkness erupted out of his body, seeping out of the pores of his flesh like an oil slick and writhing up his skin.

Within seconds he was encased in a writhing second skin of oily darkness. Speckles of white and gray marred the surface as his face became a bone white mask accentuated by streaks of darkness.

"Time to die," roared the thing that had once been Alec.

He leapt down from the RV, landing on the opposite side of the others as he didn't want them to see this either, and began to attack. He had grown huge, midnight-black claws and he used them to slash and tear at their attackers, who died screaming and clutching weeping, bloody wounds.

Some came with magic – fire, and ice, and lightening, but as they struck Alec's oily armor, it was only absorbed in the darkness, like a light being flung down a bottomless well from which there was no escape from the crushing blackness.

Alec seized one by the head and twisted savagely; vertebrae snapped like kindling and the body went rag-doll limp. He tossed it away and moved on to the next, a youth no older than seventeen wielding a crowbar. Alec snatched the weapon from the youth and lashed out with his claws. A splash of blood, a scream, and the boy fell dead.

A flicker of movement caught the half-demon’s attention and he turned. Anya was staring wide-eyed and face stark white in horror.

"Take cover!" Alec screeched, a high pitched howling sound like the wail of some ancient wounded reptile.

"Demon!" A voice cried out from behind him.

He turned and a bolt of pure light slammed hard into his chest, rocketing him backwards into the RV with enough force to send the huge vehicle rocking on its wheels.

Alec coughed in pain, the darkness draining away from him for a moment, exposing just his face as he looked up to see a flying woman with silver hair descend from the skies to land on the ground and advance on him.

"Now you will pay for your…" Her voice trailed off as she stared at Alec in wide-eyed shock. "Blessed Hecate!"

Alec looked down at himself: his torso had been blown apart by the blast, charred bits of viscera and cauterized organs fell wetly out of his body, fused into a solid, disgusting mass. The blast should have blown clean through him, but instead of a hole, there was a vast swirling darkness, a great vortex that crackled with purple energy and took up his entire chest cavity.

Alec looked up to meet the woman's eyes, his expression sliding from shock right into something that could only be described as gloating as his torso began to knit itself back together.

"Nice trick. My turn."

Frantically, the woman threw another bolt of magic. Alec called forth a shield of swirling darkness from his hand that absorbed the bolt.

"Word of advice - never wound what you cannot kill," Alec hissed through oily black teeth.

The woman took to the sky again, frantically, but the younger Giles had no interest in letting his prey escape. He snatched up the crowbar the dead boy had been using and squeezed the tip - darkness oozed from his grasp and dissolved a portion of the end, leaving it pointed and sharp.

Alec conjured a darkness tendril, wrapped it around the other end of the makeshift harpoon, took aim, and hurled it.

"Come to me," he whispered as the weapon hurtled through the sky and, with a cry, the woman was impaled through the shoulder by the sharpened missile.

She fell to the ground hard and with a sob of pain as Alec retracted the line, dragging her towards him like a fish on a hook.

Something roared off to Alec's left and he turned just in time to see a blurred shape, oddly resembling a panther made of stone, slam into him like a freight train. Alec lost his grip on the harpoon and the silver-haired woman was left limp on the ground. She tried to pull at the harpoon and gasped in sheer agony as she realized that the weapon, coated in liquid darkness, began to consume her shoulder, cell by cell.

Alec thrashed with the creature that roared and snarled at him like a wild cat: it was a wild cat, but it was made of stone, not flesh, and it was enraged beyond all measure. Alec fought desperately to keep the creature’s jaws from his neck as it snapped at him. Suddenly, the young man spat at the creature’s eyes, and it was struck by a solid glob of oily darkness, making it wail in pain and leap back as the material began to eat away at its forehead. It roared and charged at Alec again and the young man caught it by both upper and lower jaws. For a moment the pair stood like that, beast on its hind legs trying to clamp down with its jaw, demon on its feet prying it apart.

Alec jerked, there was a loud crack, and the cat yowled in pain and fell to the ground, mewling in pain.

"Onyx!" the silver-haired witch cried and she staggered to her feet and charged.

Alec readied himself for another attack, but instead she fell to her knees in the dirt, disheveled, bloody, and ragged looking where once she had been regal, and cradled the wounded beast in her arms. The cat creature looked up at her and mewled softly in pain and tried to nuzzle her hand even as the blob of oily darkness Alec had spat upon it was eating its way through its head.

The silver-haired woman looked up at Alec and her expression was one of immense sorrow.

"Whatever evil you intend, Spaarti, spare the innocent of this hall, I beg of you!"

The darkness drained from Alec's body, revealing a young man, pale, frightened, and horrified by what he had done. Whatever this woman was, regardless of whether or not she had attacked him first, this was not a creature of evil.

"You're not after Dawn?"

"No, I'm the protector of this place, my name is Marlena. You're not of the Spaarti?"

Alec shook his head vigorously and dropped down beside her, gently touching the dying beast.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"You didn't think! You're just like he was - a violent vicious animal! Do you care for anything, DUSK, or is your hunger for death all that matters to you?" Marlena cried, tears of sorrow and rage scalding a wet trail down her face.

Gently, Alec placed his hands over the cat's head.

"I care," was all he said as he closed his eyes for a moment.

There was a slight sound, like water through a straw, and the stain of inky darkness spreading across Onyx's face like a cancer receded like the tide and vanished under Alec's touch.

Marlena gasped in amazement, gently stroking the cat's head. It was still badly damaged, but the cat was no longer dying.

Alec gestured at the harpoon still lodged in her shoulder.

"May I please help you with that?"

She hesitated, then nodded. Alec carefully took the weapon in both his hands, closed his eyes and slowly the weapon began to dissolve. Within moments it was nothing more than wisps of shadow stuff that vanished like smoke into the night air. She gasped in relief and fell boneless upon Onyx's flank as the pain ceased.

"I'm sorry," the young man whispered.

Marlena looked up at him then.

"One day, Alec;, that will not be enough." Marlena took a handful of dirt and, packing it into Onyx's wounds, chanted softly. Within seconds the cat was healed and it purred happily, though it glared warily at Alec.

"Hey!" a voice called out.

Alec turned to see Buffy and the others running towards them.

He turned to Marlena. "What are you going to tell them?"

"The truth; that one of the Spaarti got in a lucky shot and you saved my life; a half truth, if not an outright lie," Marlena replied with a slight smile.

Alec returned it cautiously. "Thank you."

Gingerly he reached out and scratched the stone cat behind its ears. Onyx looked dubious for a moment but then, amazingly, began to purr and lean into his touch. Alec looked up in shock.

"How is this possible?"

Marlena smiled again. "Onyx forgives quickly, it's a lesson you should consider learning."

By now the others had reached them. Giles looked down at his son.

“I see you’ve taken my request to show more cautionary behavior in combat to heart,” he chided his son gently.

Alec raised an eyebrow. “Don’t start with me, Dad,” he growled.

Giles laughed and shook his head as the others helped Marlena and Alec to their feet to sit upon the back of a giant red tortoise that had lumbered up to them.

Marlena took Alec's hand in hers and squeezed tightly, reassuringly. Alec looked at her and smiled, softly and with intense gratitude. He felt something inside relax a little, unclench and let the light in, and it felt good. He turned his glance to his father.

“Dad?”

“Yes, son?”

“Can I ask you a very important question?”

“Yes, son?”

“Was I hit on the head or am I sitting on a big red turtle?”



“So, what were they after?” Anya asked as she helped bandage Xander’s burn.

Buffy and Giles had just explained their encounter in the asylum and everyone was seated in a circle outside the bus. The former vengeance demon would occasionally sneak worried peeks at Alec, who appeared to be oblivious to it all, sagged in an exhausted heap against Willow, who looked like she was ready for a nap herself. Faith had offered to stay behind on the bus with Dawn since Buffy wasn’t sure she wanted Dawn to hear everything they’d be discussing.

Marlena shrugged.

“The Spaarti tribe,” Marlena explained, “are renegade mages. They come up from the city every six months or so and attempt a raid on the Estate.”

“They’re children,” Angel put in quietly. Everyone turned to look at him. “I got a good look at one before…” His voice trailed away and he looked down.

Buffy put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Alec had filled them all in on what had happened.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered fiercely, her voice full of compassion.

Spike did his best to ignore them… and ignore the growing discomfort right where his unbeating heart lie cold in his chest.

Angel sighed and shook himself.

“They’re also Romany.” He looked up at Buffy. “One of them recognized me as Angelus, the cursed. She spoke in the gypsy tongue.”

Giles frowned.

“Gypsies? From Jenny’s tribe?” he asked.

Angel shook his head.

“I don’t know, but if they were then they might have been after me, for vengeance against… things,” he finished quietly.

“The gypsies are big into the whole ‘eternal vengeance’ thing,” Willow put in softly, resting against Alec. They both looked like they needed a serious nap.

Marlena sighed.

“It could be any number of things - Angel, Dawn, the Estate. The point is that they’ll be back and probably in larger numbers. We’ve never had a problem fighting them back before. But they’ve gotten a lot stronger lately.” Marlena shook her head. “I don’t think you should stay here anymore.” She turned to the horizon which was beginning to lighten.

Spike and Angel were already on their feet, the younger only stopping to place a kiss on Buffy’s cheek, who smiled and patted his hand, before he followed Angel onto the bus.

Marlena smiled wryly.

“I see the trend of Slayers falling in love with vampires hasn’t changed,” she commented wryly.

Buffy regarded her, surprised.

“I was always under the impression that it was just slightly unusual for the Slayer to be dating her immortal enemies,” she quipped sardonically.

Marlena smiled and shook her head.

“Unusual, yes, but not unknown. In my youth I was quite taken with a young vampire named Marcus.” She smiled slightly at the memory. “He was six-feet tall, dark, and brooding.” The silver-haired woman smiled wryly and gestured to the bus. “I’m sure you can relate, Buffy,” she added knowingly.

The Slayer in question smiled and bit her lip.

“Yeah, I can picture it,” she replied non-committaly.

Willow and Xander snorted slightly in disbelief, but didn’t say anything.

Marlena continued.

“He was a vampire, make no mistake, he could be pretty brutal. But he was also a poet, and a romantic, and a gentleman.” She smiled, casting Buffy a sisterly look. “You should have seen our bed, covered with roses every night,” she informed the younger Slayer.

Buffy smiled.

“That sounds romantic,” she commented. “So what happened?”

Marlena sighed and shook her head.

“He died along with everyone else in the Hellmouth, that day,” she wiped at her eyes a little, as Giles frowned.

“There was a vampire amidst the Order?” he asked disbelievingly.

Marlena composed herself and responded.

“Yes. He served as our guide into the Hellmouth, he led us to its resting place,” she smiled softly, “you should have heard the fuss the Crusaders put up when they heard a vampire was going to be leading them to the mouth of Hell.” She shook her head. “Several centuries of dogma is not an easy thing to shrug off,” she commented before falling silent, lost in her own memories.

“Anyhow,” she finally spoke after a long silence, “ after he died, I was a lost soul. His death, combined with the death of my order and the horrors of the Hellmouth...” Marlena frowned as if trying to remember a detail she’d forgotten, then shook her head. “Anyhow, after I died at the asylum, I spent several quiet centuries alone. I had my work, my magic, and my patients, but I still missed Marcus terribly,” she smiled slightly.

“And then he came,” she shook her head wryly and turned to Buffy. “You would think I had learned my lesson after becoming involved with one vampire,” she chuckled self-deprecatingly, “but those eyes and that accent...”

Marlena closed her eyes and shuddered deliciously, suddenly looking very much like a young teenager in love instead of a thousand-year-old ex-Slayer turned witch risen from the grave. She sighed and opened her eyes. Buffy regarded her in shock.

“You don’t mean… DRACULA?” she asked aghast.

Marlena smiled.

“The one and only, though Vlad always did insist on being referred to as ‘Count Dracula”. She grinned as her voice became a pretty good impression of the regal vampire’s accent.

Buffy shook her head in awe.

“You got wild with Dracula?” she repeated.

Marlena grinned naughtily.

"Apparently, the Count made it a point of honor to seduce the Slayer of each generation.” She blew a lock of silvery hair from her face. “Men with their conquests. Living or dead, it’s all about what they can brag to their friends,” she commented sardonically.

“On behalf of my gender – hey!” Xander put in.

Alec snorted wryly as Giles cleared his throat.

“The Count told us he was unaware of the location of the Estate,” he ventured.

Marlena scoffed and shook her head in a gesture of one part affection, one part gentle exasperation.

“Well, that sounds like Vlad, all right,” she turned to Buffy. “He loves to play mind games. Riddles, puzzles - he’s not happy unless he’s got a woman’s mind in knots and her heart in the same shape. He’s like a child in that way.” She grinned. “I love and adore him, but I wouldn’t trust that evil creature within fifty feet of the Key,” she advised.

Alec frowned.

“Odd that you say that,” he commented. “He was the one that sent us on this merry romp to begin with.” He regarded the ex-Slayer with dark eyes. “He seems pretty intent on seeing the Hellmouth eradicated. Claimed it posed a threat to his homeland.”

Marlena snorted gently.

“Vlad always was a patriot at heart. Some things never change,” she sighed softly.

Buffy spoke up.

“So, hold up, Dracula tries to get freaky with every Slayer he encounters?” she asked disbelievingly, perhaps a little irked that she had not been alone in the charming vampire’s affections as far as Slayers went. Alec was apparently having the same thought because he flashed his sister a weary grin as Marlena resumed speaking.

“Yes. During his breathing days he fell deeply in love with a Slayer,” she began, “and when Vlad fell for someone- WHOO!” she exhaled hard. “Elisabeta was his whole world. When she was killed, ...” she shook her head sadly. “Well, Vlad didn’t have much left and the transition between living and undead was not a drastic one as he tells it,” she sighed.

“Anyhow, he's spent centuries seeking out Slayers, hoping that one of them might be the reincarnated spirit of his lost love. Vlad was obsessed,” she added mournfully, “and every time, it would just be another disappointment. He’d leave, usually leaving them heartbroken, or he’d kill them in a fit of rage and turn them into vampires in remorse, but that didn't happen until much later.”

Buffy gasped. “He KILLED them?!?” she asked, aghast.

Marlena nodded. “Those three vampire brides he travels with? Each one of them was, at one point, a Slayer,” Marlena explained.

Giles blanched, remembering his own encounter with the amorous vampire women.

“Those were Slayers?” he asked aghast.

Marlena nodded.

“He keeps them around because they most resemble his lost love. I think he keeps them around just to torture himself,” she sighed and turned to Buffy. “Usually, the romantic vampires are also the professional martyrs,” she commented.

Buffy nodded, still a little stunned.

“Yeah, I can relate,” she replied softly.

Willow piped in.

“So, did Sasha tell you where the Everstone was?” she asked.

Buffy snapped out of her reverie and shook her head.

“Only in the most cryptic of ways,” she bit out.

Giles rooted around in his pocket for the firestone and handed it to the witch. The instant her fingers came in contact with it, the stone flared to life as the odd design appeared over her hand; unlike with Buffy, it flowed smoothly, its image unwavering and crystal clear. Willow peered at it as it morphed and shifted hypnotically.

“I’ve seen something like this before,” she said thoughtfully, frowning at the flowing geometric design.

Buffy frowned at it.

“It would barely work for me, and it wouldn’t work at all for Giles,” she commented.

Marlena spoke up.

“It reacts to magical power,” she told them, “the stronger the magic users arête, the clearer the image is.”

Willow tore her gaze from the swirling image and frowned questioningly at Marlena.

“Arête?” she asked puzzled.

Marlena nodded.

“Arête is the measure of a magic users power. It’s their connection to the weave; the place where all magic resides. The more arête a person possess, the more powerful magic they can perform.” she gestured to the swirling design hovering above Willow’s hand. “The fact that it’s flowing and shining as brightly and smoothly as it is, suggests you must be tremendously gifted, especially given how young you are,” she commented appreciatively.

Willow beamed and turned to Alec.

“Did you hear that, Alec? I’m tremendously gifted,” she reiterated, her tiny form swelling with pride.

Alec chuckled and stroked the girl’s hair.

“No questions about that,” he smiled indulgently.

Buffy frowned.

“Hang on, this thing worked for me, too,” she tilted her head. “It worked about as well as Giles’ old Citroen, but it did work.” Giles glared at her as Marlena smiled. “I’ve never cast any magic before.”

“No, but I’m willing to bet that you’ve had powerful magic cast upon you once or twice. That can leave just enough of an afterglow to get a spark,” Marlena replied.

Buffy nodded, remembering Willow’s enjoining spell that summoned the Prime Slayer, and more recently the spell of time distortion in the bar that had not only helped her defeat Beth Gul-Abz, but also had saved her brother’s life.

Marlena shook her head. “Besides, what makes you think it was reacting to you?” the older woman asked.

Buffy frowned. “The fact that I was holding it in my hand sort of suggested it,” she responded dryly.

Marlena frowned and turned to Giles.

“She really doesn’t know?” she asked in disbelief.

Giles frowned, not understanding. Marlena threw her hands up in the air.

“What are you people teaching the Slayer? The etiquette of scones and tea?” she demanded.

Giles just took off his glasses and pinched the skin above his nose, sighing.

“Excuse me?” Buffy put in. “What is it that I’m supposed to be clued into here?” she demanded.

Marlena sighed and turned to Buffy.

“The Slayer is not just one woman, Buffy, rather she is like a living collection of all the Slayers that came before her,” she explained quietly.

Buffy’s eyes bulged out of her head in shock.

“Come again?” she demanded breathlessly.

Marlena nodded. “To every generation, a Slayer is born. When that Slayer dies, the next one is called, whether that next one is four, fourteen, or forty,” she explained. “The strongest traits of the Slayers that came before her become a part of her, infusing her with their strength and stamina, as do their memories and sometimes their magic,” she gestured at the stone that Willow held, “hence the stone’s reaction to you. Hasn’t the Watcher's Council told you that the Slayer gets stronger with every generation?” she demanded incredulously.

Buffy, looking shaken right down to the core of her soul at this notion of containing the spirits of other Slayers within her, just shook her head numbly.

“It’s never been brought to my attention that this is so,” Giles ventured carefully. “Although, I have to admit, my relationship with the Council has been strained as of late.”

Marlena sighed disgustedly.

“Those IDIOTS!” she declared loudly, earning stares from everyone. Marlena reached over and placed a warm hand on Buffy’s shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, dear, you were supposed to know. I can’t even begin to fathom what the Watcher’s Council was thinking by not telling you any of this,” she sighed and elaborated.

“The Awakened Slayer has all the memories, and the powers, of all the Slayers that came before, along with one or two of their personality traits.” She turned to address the group.

“This is what Vlad is seeking so desperately, a Slayer who possesses enough of his lost love’s memories and feelings to qualify as his Elisabeta reincarnated, but they’re all buried deep in the Slayer’s soul, like in a safety deposit box.” She gave Buffy a sympathetic look. “Dealing with just one lifetime of memories can be brutal, dealing with several upon several can be downright excruciating, so the powers remain dormant in the Slayer's subconscious, until at or about her eighteenth birthday. Then the Council administers the Cruciamentum.”

“That was done,” Giles chimed in.

Marlena snorted.

“It’s an outdated exercise in cruelty, it should have never survived past the dark ages,” she bit out.

Giles nodded, remembering telling Quentin the very same thing. Marlena resumed.

“In any case, the Slayer is stripped of her powers and forced to fight a powerful vampire in adverse circumstances. Then, upon succeeding, the Council performs the ritual of Awakening and then the Slayer is suffused with the power and memories of all the Slayers that came before her.” She shook her head in bewilderment. “I don’t understand what went wrong.”

“This ritual was never performed,” Giles replied. “Buffy killed the vampire on her eighteenth birthday, without her powers, and all she received was ‘Good show, well done, girl’ from the Council.” He smirked slightly. “I also got fired.”

Marlena shot him an inquiring look.

“On what grounds?” she demanded.

“I revealed what had been happening to her in regards to her loss of power and then assisted her against the vampire, who had killed two other Watchers, turning one of them,” he explained.

Marlene’s eyes narrowed to slits.

“They fired you… for that?” she demanded quietly.

“Yes,” Giles added cautiously, unclear as to the ex-Slayers redoubled fury.

“Are they INSANE?” she yelled. “You should have been PROMOTED, not fired!” she cried.

Buffy looked up in shock.

“What?” she asked.