To every generation there is a slayer born. The one who has the strength and skill to fight the forces of evil. It’s a thankless job and the majority of slayers die before their twentieth birthdays, but one slayer was the exception to the rule - three years ago that slayer died. Not for very long, only for about a minute, but she died all the same and when a slayer dies another is called because that’s the way it is.

The slayer that died came from a little Californian town called Sunnydale. Sunnydale wasn’t your average one Starbucks town; it had been built over a hell-mouth so it was pretty much the holiday spot of choice for all the things that go bump in the night. Apocalypses are almost a weekly occurrence in Sunnydale. The slayer fought the evil in Sunnydale because that was what she did, she was the Chosen One and she tried really hard not to remember dying, but it was never far from her mind.

She was different to the slayers before her; most slayers had been cut off from the world around them. They were encouraged to focus their all in the fight against evil, no friends, no family, and no ties to this world that could prevent the slayer’s single handed fight against the demons and vampires that prey on mankind. The only help a slayer should have is their watcher. For a millennium the watchers have helped the slayers, teaching them the ways of the demon world, training them to fight, and ultimately leading them to their death. This slayer was different she broke the rules; she had friends that helped, she had family that cared, ties that kept her connected to this world. Maybe that’s why when she died she didn’t stay dead, or maybe it’s because of something else, a higher purpose?

Either way the slayer not dying changed everything.

The slayer didn’t like to think about the other slayer, it always struck her as kind of creepy and morbid. She never asked her watcher who it was or what they were like, in her mind it was always the other slayer. She sometimes dreamt about the other one. With the slayers tendency to have prophetic dreams, it was only a matter of time before their paths would cross.



***



Somewhere in America, nowhere near California...



In a dark alley way, just after three in the morning, two people faced up to each. One a tall man, at least he was shaped like man, was dressed in dark brown robes obscuring his face, a wicked sharp curved blade was clutched in its right hand, gleaming in the moonlight. Its edge coated in a thin sheen of blood that dripped steadily onto the street, the little drips looked like the beginnings of a Jackson Pollock painting.

The second figure was younger; his left hand covered a bleeding wound on his right arm, blood seeping through his fingers. He was breathing hard, holding himself in a fighter’s stance waiting for the robed figured to make the next move. Dressed simply in black jeans and a dark t-shirt, he looked like any other young man in America, except the look in his eyes. His eyes had a hard look to them, like you get in police officer and soldiers not in the average young man, his lips curled into a sneer.

“Honest, I have no bloody idea what you’re talking ‘bout!” the young man said as he pulled his hand away from the wound on his arm to inspect the damage that the knife had done.

“You must have the key!”

“Well I have a key,” the wound on his arm wasn’t something to worry about now, what he needed to do was to distract the man with the knife and get out of there.

“What does it open?” the robed man asked curiously.

“Locks,” the young man’s eyes darted around the alley looking for escape routes. It wasn’t running away it was a reassessment of his situation he told himself.

“If you do not reveal the location of the real key I will kill you!” The robed figure demanded, raising the knife.

“What were you trying to do just now? Teach me to knit?” There was a fire escape over to the left, if he could get to that without being noticed there was a definite possibility of escape.

“Well you are the slayer... The slayer is supposed to have the key” The robed man snarled in rage and lunged towards the young man jabbing the knife.

“Maybe you got the wrong slayer,” the young man slowly inched towards the fire escape, still clutching his arm.

“There is more than one?” The knife slowly dropped down, until it barely griped in the robed man’s hand.

“Yeah,”

Three more feet and he was at the fire escape.

“That is not possible”

“Believe it or not mate; the other slayer probably has your key,”

Two feet.

“Where is this slayer?”The robed figure tilted his covered head with interest.

“You’re trying to kill me and you want me to tell you where the other slayer is, so you can do what? Take them out for dinner and a movie?”

Nearly there, all he had to do was grab the ladder and escape.

“If you do not reveal the location of the other slayer I will kill you!” The knife was raised again, getting ready to be brought down to slit the young man’s throat. The robed man had grown bored of this dialogue, he needed the key and he was prepared to do anything to get it.

“Maybe if you offered me a better incentive than death I’d be more helpful,”

His fingers brushed against the metal of the ladder.




Sunnydale, California




“Is it me or is it really quiet tonight?”

Buffy Summers, the slayer or she who hangs out in cemeteries, sat on freshly put in grave marker bouncing a wooden stake against her knee. The marble still glinted in the light of the moon, making the name of the person who had died still visible. A red-headed young woman sat on a picnic blanket and flicked through a thickly bound leather book.

“Maybe they went on holiday?” the red-head suggested.

“Vamps don’t really do holidays, Willow, generally they just kill people.”

“Maybe they had a revelation and discovered the delights of skiing?” Willow said with a grin.

“Or they’re just coming up with some lame plan to bring forth the apocalypse?” Buffy twirled the neatly carved stake in her hand. “Either way, I’m missing my beauty sleep.”

“I thought you were staying at Riley’s tonight? Not much chance for beauty sleep, Buff”

“Well then, the vamps are ruining my fun.”

“They’re evil; it’s pretty much what they do.” Willow said closing her book.

“I say we call it night, go for a little Bronzing and hang out with the living,” Buffy stuck the stake in her jacket pocket. “I’m sure Tara won’t say no to a night out at the Bronze.”

“It sounds like a plan to me.” Willow grinned.

With that the two girls got up and packed up their belongings. Willow carefully folded the picnic blanket and tucked it in her shoulder bag with the book, following Buffy; she headed towards the exit of Restfield cemetery. Neither of them noticed the robed figure which stood in the shadows of the mausoleum watching the girls laugh and joke with each other.

“You have no idea what is to come, Slayer,” the robed man muttered to no one in particular, his voice practically a growl.




To be continued...

A week later in Sunnydale...



“Okay, that was anti-climatic,” Buffy muttered with a sigh, pulling her best axe out of the gooey purple mess that was once a demon’s head.

With a quick glance she looked around the cemetery, it was completely empty except the dead and possible undead who had yet to rise. Just a quiet night in Sunnydale, the demon that had attack her had talked the talk but his fighting skills had something to be desired. Buffy quickly wiped the axe down on the rags the demon had been using as clothing.

“Demons should really go poof.” She poked the demon’s corpse with her stylish yet affordable boots avoiding the purple goo. “I’m really not in the mood for grave digging plus no shovel.”

She wiped a strand of her honey blonde hair away from her eyes and turned to look at the figure standing next to her.

“Aren’t you gonna help?” she asked him.

“Sorry, Goldilocks this is your dream.” There was a slightly mocking lilt to his voice.

“If it’s my dream, I could dream that you were going dig the grave.” Buffy looked at him. He had bright blue eyes, a jagged scar cut through one of his eyebrows, and drool worthy razor sharp cheekbones. Dressed in the universal male uniform of jeans and a t-shirt, what caught her most about his appearance was his shock of bleached blond hair. It was slightly ruffled as if he’d just been in a fight; curls were beginning to escape from the gel he’d used to slick it back.

“I don’t think it’s one of those dreams,” he told her with a smirk.

“Ah, big bad evil on its way?”

“’Fraid so luv, just be glad you’re getting a warning.” The smirk disappeared and he pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. He lit up the cigarette with a battered looking silver Zippo, he regarded her with an intense scrutiny.

“You’re gonna be asked if you got the key.” He flicked the lid of the Zippo shut, it sounded impossibly loud in the deserted cemetery.

“What key?” Buffy frowned.

“That’s exactly what I said.” A little half smile briefly graced his face, but it never reached his eyes.

“Any less vague hints?”

“You want a bigger hint?” He tilted his head. “Death, destruction and other things beginning with the letter d, all the fun of another apocalypse, darlin’”

“I knew it was too quiet.” She looked round the dream version of Restfield cemetery. “I was just saying to Willow.” Buffy sighed. “Anything else you want to add?”

“Wake up”

“What?”




***




Buffy gasped and sat up, surprised to be no longer in Restfield cemetery. She was sitting in Giles’ living room, books of demon lore and other supernatural information covered the coffee table. Xander was peering at her.

“I think you drooled on your book” Xander told her with a goofy grin spreading across his face.

Buffy stared at him for a minute, the dream still lingering in her mind. Waking up after a slayer dream was always a surreal experience. Some of the dream was so crystal clear she knew she’d never forget it, but other parts seem to just fade away quicker than a regular dream.

“What’s the key?” she asked still half asleep.




***



“There must be somethin' about you that I liked but
Right here in the rain you know it just don't seem right
I always go out I never hide but in Cleveland
I should have stayed inside,”

The sound of the radio jarred Spike from his sleep; he blindly groped for the snooze button to get that precious extra ten minutes of sleep. The familiar pounding of an unwanted hangover from one too many beers from the night before made its presences known as consciousness descend and the dull ache of last night’s bruises. All possibility of enjoying those extra ten minutes disappeared.

Punk was never a good genre of music to wake up to.

Sunlight shone through the half closed blinds casting light into the darkened room. It was a complete mess, clothes and empty beer bottles littered the floor. An old coffee cup on the bedside table was over flowing with cigarette butts and abandoned take-away food wrappers; the smell was starting to get noticeable.

Spike wondered to himself, how the hell did he end up in this mess? It was obvious really, in fact Spike was pretty damn sure he could pin point the exact moment everything went to hell, literally. It was about four years ago, back then he’d been just a normal teenager, bit of geek but apart from that completely normal. He and his family had only just moved to Cleveland, it was suppose to be a fresh start. Instead everything went wrong. It was far too early in the day to start thinking why life wasn’t the way it was suppose to be.




***



“A key?” Giles frowned. “What key?”

“That’s exactly what I said to the guy in my dream.” Buffy said, frustration etched into her features.

“Did he give a name?” Giles stood up and walked towards his desk in the living room, where he kept all his most valuable texts and information.

“No, he was too busy being all cryptic and annoying.” Buffy sighed. “He had an English accent, not like yours though”

“Would you recognise a photo?” He rifled through a stack of paper, pulling out an official looking folder and handed it to Buffy.

“I guess”

Buffy opened the folder and flicked through it, it was about the other Slayer, it seemed almost wrong to be reading this. Buffy ignored the other information focusing only on the photo. She stared at the photo of young man about her age. It was a school photo, like the kind you’d find in any year book, and nothing about it screamed Slayer. He kind of looked like the guy in her dream. The hair was a golden brown and curly, the clothes were different he was wearing some sort of private school uniform. He was smiling, but it was a completely different smile to the one in her dream, it actually reached his eyes. There was no scar, he must have gotten that slaying Buffy thought. Being the Slayer had really changed this guy. Her eyes drifted down to the name below the photo, ‘William Thomas Banks’. It seemed like a normal name for a normal guy.

“This is him.” Buffy stared at the file as she answered Giles. “But he looks really different now”

“Have you ever dreamed about him before?” A worried expression was forming on Giles’ face.

“No”

“I must call his Watcher,”

“Why?” Buffy asked, half knowing the answer herself.

“Because as a rule Slayers only dream of previous Slayers,” Giles sighed heavily a grim expression on his face. “Not living ones”.

Buffy’s eyes were drawn back to the photo of the other Slayer. If she’d never died this guy would be still living his nice normal life. In the background she could hear Giles on the phone, the concern in his tone unmistakable. Buffy found herself wondering how he died, was it some glorious battle or did he make some stupid mistake that cost him his life.

Buffy closed the file not wanting to stare at his picture anyone.




***



A quick shower and a long run was just the thing to clear his head, Spike told himself. He kicked the covers off and put his foot straight into a half eaten carton of Chinese take-out; he could feel the noodles squelching between his toes. From the smell it had been there for awhile.

“Fuck”

It was official; this was the worst morning ever. There wasn’t anything in this world that could make it worse. It was as if the fates had over heard him thinking that, as his bedroom door was opened with bang.

A girl no older than fourteen, long chestnut hair fell past her shoulders to a couple of inches above her waist. She had that petulant look that all teenagers had, like they’d just found out they were a punch-line to a particularly cruel joke.

“Why do you have your foot in Chinese food?” she asked.

“Is that why you barged in my room?” Spike growled back.

“Maybe you should tidy up in here.” Her green eyes scanned the room taking in all the mess that cluttered the room.

Spike extracted his foot from the food carton, the smell making his stomach turn. He grabbed a t-shirt that didn’t look all that clean to wipe off the mouldy noodles and made a note to himself to burn that t-shirt as soon as he could.

“That is disgusting;” She wrinkled her nose “Is it possible for you to be any more of a pig?”

“Oink oink” Spike tossed the t-shirt in the dirty laundry pile.

“What do you want Dawn?”

“We’re out of milk,”

“Have toast instead.” Spike rubbed his eyes; this was not
what he needed.

“No bread”

“Then go to the shops.”

“No money.”

“Did you check the cookie jar?”

Dawn stared at Spike, giving him his best I’m-pissed-off-what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it stare.

“You are the worst brother ever!” And with that Dawn turned on her heels and stomped into the living room, slamming the door behind her.

“And you’re not exactly the sister of the year,” Spike muttered to himself as he got off the bed and followed her through the door.




***




The robed man stood in the shadows; he could just make out the people talking in the house. The blonde girl was talking to an older man, who was most likely the Slayer’s watcher, a younger man was also there, watching those two speak. He couldn’t spot the red headed girl he’d seen with the Slayer in the graveyard.

This Slayer was most unusual. He’d been following her for the last week; the young man and the red headed girl seem to escort the Slayer when she was performing her duties as the Chosen One. Was she not capable of slaying demons without help, if this was so it would make his life much easier? The other Slayer was a talented fighter; he’d barely escaped with his life. Perhaps this Slayer would be a far less formidable foe, finding the key may not be such a hard task.

“I must inform my mistress” he muttered to himself before retreating into the darkness.




***




Buffy walked through Restfield cemetery; it was still far too quiet. The only sounds she could hear were the wind in the trees and her own footsteps. Surely the must be some vampire looking for trouble that she could take out her frustrations on. It had been awhile since her last real slaying.

“Slayer,” a voice boomed out in the darkness.

Buffy turned to see a tall figure in a brown robe that had seen better days.

“Where is the key?”

A curved blade was clutched in his hand.

“What is the deal with this key thing?” Buffy asked, keeping a light casual tone in her voice. “’Cause everyone seems obsessed with it.”

“You have no idea of what is to come”

“Actually I do.” Buffy slipped into a fighter’s stance. “I kinda got an early warning”

“Tell me where the key is or prepare to die,” the robed man raised the knife.




To be continued...