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Chapter 2: Buffy

Buffy lifted the couch and turned it over onto its back. Nope it's not here either, she thought. Where was it? She had to find it. If she didn't . . .

Dawn! she thought. Dawn's always taking my things. She got up and moved into her younger sister's room. She looked through Dawn's jewelry box first; it was the most logical place that it would be. But it wasn't there. Then she looked through the drawers of Dawn's desk, and even under her bed. It wasn't anywhere.

She opened the closet door and parted the clothes hanging there. She pushed them aside and walked through the closet up the stone steps. The sun blazed above her as she emerged into the center of the coliseum.

The stands of the colosseum were filled. Thousands of girls all young, but seeming to share nothing else in common were sitting there watching her. They were of all colors, all nationalities, and all times.

"I don't think it's here," she said to herself. "Xander?" she asked as her friend approached. "I've lost something."

"You should stop looking, Buff. An eye for an eye," he told her holding out one hand on which his missing eye sat.

"I don't think that's right," she told him. She knew she had to find it. If she didn't . . .

"It's the only way," Amanda told her.

Buffy was sitting next to the young Sunnydale girl who'd died on the Hellmouth, looking down from the stands as her other self talked to Xander.

"No, there's always another way," Buffy insisted.

"We're being punished," Amanda explained. "But don't worry; leave him alone she'll take care of everything."

Realizing that Amanda was only trying to stall her, Buffy turned back to Xander.

"Please, Xander. Will you help me look?"


"Sorry," he apologized as he buckled on his tool belt. "We're way behind schedule on this job. A carpenter's work is never done."

He began to hammer the stone walls of the arena. Buffy looked up and noticed all the scaffolding on the Coliseum.

There was nothing for her here. As she looked at all the other slayers in the stands, she realized that all this was nothing but a distraction. They were trying to keep her from finding it.

She turned to go back the way she came, she walked back into the dark opening she'd come through, slowly feeling her way down the ladder.

She seemed to climb for a very long time. Finally, her foot found the floor. She neatly folded the attic ladder back up, watching as it slid into place leaving only a string hanging down to mark the entrance to the attic.

For a moment she hesitated. Maybe it was in the attic? But then she heard a growl come from down the hallway. She ran in that direction past a grandfather clock that read 1:50.

She ran into a little girl's room just in time to see the First Slayer lift a stake to plunge it into Spike's chest. Buffy ran forward and grabbed the First Slayer, pulling her away from Spike and throwing her across the room.

Panicked she yanked out the stake that was protruding from Spike's chest. She'd been looking for him everywhere, now that she'd found him she wasn't going to let anything happen to him.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Buffy?" he asked.

She thought he was going to say something else, but then his eyes went wide at something behind her. Without thoughts she spun around catching the First Slayer's wrist before she could plunge a bone knife into Buffy's back.

She twisted the First Slayer's arm, forcing her to drop the knife and then kicked her. The First Slayer crashed through a window. Buffy looked for Spike but he was gone.

Yelling in frustration she leapt through the window after the First Slayer. "Where is he? What have you done with him?"

Her feet hit the desert sands and she faced off against the First Slayer.

"Give him back," Buffy demanded.

The First Slayer was silent as she attacked. Buffy traded blows with her, wondering how she could make the other slayer tell her what had happened to Spike. Because if Buffy didn't find him . . .

The First Slayer landed a solid blow to Buffy's jaw and she staggered back.

"The demon does not belong," the First Slayer said.

Buffy woke up.

It took her a moment to get her bearings. Slayer dreams were like that. They were so real that returning to reality was like getting hit in the water with a bucket full of ice water.

They were never pleasant, but this one felt like someone had ripped open a hole in her chest. A Spike shaped hole. She had dreamt of him before, regular dreams in which he was a phantom, fully dream like. But in this dream he had seemed so real, the look in his eyes, the tremble in his voice. It was as if he'd been alive for just a moment, and then killed all over again in front of her.

She rolled over her bed, burying her face in her pillow to keep from crying. It didn't work. She'd tried so hard to be happy, tried so hard to live the life she knew he want for her, and the only way she could do that was to shut all her memories of him away.

Now they all came back, and she felt so alone. She would have given anything to feel his arms around her just one more time. Just to be near him.

Giving up she sat up and hugged her knees. The tears were going to come no matter what, and there was something more important to consider, what did the dream mean?

She went over it in her head. Slayer dreams were always so vivid that she could easily recall every detail. The clearest detail of the dream was the need to find him. Even when she didn't know what she was looking for, she knew she had to find him. Something bad would happen if she didn't.

But Spike was dead. Burned to a cinder and buried under the California desert. Maybe she was supposed to find the amulet that killed him? But how? She could hardly dig up the Sunnydale crater herself. Or maybe the dream meant something completely different.

And why had the First Slayer been in the dream? A cameo by the First Slayer was not to be taken lightly.

Buffy couldn't answer any of those questions, but she knew where to start looking for the answers, in L.A. with Angel. After all he was the one who had brought the amulet to Sunnydale.

She looked at her clock and tried to figure out what time it was in L.A. If it was evening in Rome didn't it have to be daytime in the United States? She wasn't sure; she still hadn't gotten a hang of time zones.

But calling Angel didn't seem to be enough. The dream clearly dictated more direct action. She had ignored slayer dreams and her instincts about them before, and always regretted it. Her instincts were telling her to go to L.A. She would be able to better question Angel in person than over the phone, not to mention if she did have to go to Sunnydale she'd be only a short drive away.

Her mind made up she got out of bed and got on the computer to book tickets for the first flight to L.A.





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