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chapter one - april in paris, 2005

The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. Albert Einstein (1879-1955)

“That's really cute.” Buffy Summers' gaze followed the pointing finger of the tall young woman to the handbag on Buffy's arm. “I swear to god, it's really, really cute. It looks fantastic, and you've simply got to own it.”

“Okay, Lillie, okay,” said Buffy, ready to scream. It was just a handbag. A purse. A thing to put things in. It wouldn't change her life. She would still be Buffy. Okay, Buffy with a really great purse. She preened in front of the mirror for a moment before her bad moodiness inched its way back to the surface. She hadn't forgotten why she was out shopping in the first place. It had been Willow's idea – not Buffy's.

"Go with Lillie," Willow had said. "It's April, and it's Paris. Get out of the apartment, and get some fresh air. You'll feel better," Willow had promised. Reluctantly, Buffy had agreed. So she wasn't exactly thrilled when she learned this oh-so-great idea didn't apply to Willow – who had stayed home.

Buffy had to admit that Lillie could be fun. It was just that, well, a shopping spree wasn't what Buffy had in mind. Lately, her typical day began with several hours of sulking, interrupted by fifteen-minute blocks of self-loathing, followed by a brief burst of mandatory tears. She knew she was being a little too tough on herself, okay, maybe more than a little. It had been two years, after all, since Sunnydale.

Buffy adjusted her posture, straightening her spine. She'd been slouching as she stared at herself in the shop's full-length mirror. Since Sunnydale, she had gained some weight. That was a good thing. Had been way too skinny. She was still a dyed blonde. Not a bad thing exactly, she supposed. Her skin was not as tan, but she looked healthy, especially with the right amount of makeup. She sighed, a tired sound, as she looked at Lillie's reflection standing beside hers in the mirror. Buffy knew it was good for her to have found a new friend. In particular, one that hadn't been in her hometown at the end. There were no memories of Lillie standing next to Spike or Anya in the kitchen on Revello Drive. Lillie hadn't chased big bads through Sunnydale cemeteries at the side of the Scoobies and the then-only Chosen One. Lillie hadn't been there the day the sunlight ripped through Spike's heart and soul.

“How can you get over being the official last of the original Chosen Ones if every three minutes you go wonky and disappear into your own private Idaho?” Lillie stood up stretching her six-foot frame as she strolled over to the next counter stuffed with purses. Buffy watched Lillie as she grabbed another designer bag and threw it casually over her shoulder, turning and lifting her chin as she watched herself in the mirror.

Giles had introduced Willow and Buffy to Lillie. She had a large apartment in Paris and since Willow and Buffy needed a place to live – because Buffy didn't want to stay in London – Lillie was most definitely the gal they needed to know. Giles had given them what information he had about her: she was a young woman who was a distant relative to one of the deceased members of the Watcher's Council. After one two-hour telephone call, the three girls were discussing décor, and the merits of the bedroom next to the kitchen at the end of the hall.

Buffy had to give it up to Lillie because besides the great apartment, there was just something about her. She was damned wealthy - always a good thing - and wicked smart. Willow and Lillie could spend hours discussing the role of physics as it related to the magics or something like that. Of course, Buffy would disappear when these brain-fests got out of control. Lillie also knew about slayers. When Giles first shared this little nugget of a detail, Buffy was bothered. She had cornered Giles a few days before they were leaving for Paris, and drilled him with questions. Buffy demanded that Giles pledge on his personal volumes of the Watcher's Council's sacred Encyclopedia on Vampires in the 19th Century that Lillie was not some kind of protection demon, or worse, a Watcher in training. Buffy didn't need a spy - just a roommate.

“You must learn the value of overpriced handbags. See. Take. Have,” said Lillie giggling as she swung the purse idly.

“Yeah. See. Take. Have. I've heard those words before,” said Buffy, recalling how Spike seemed to live by a former rogue slayer's motto. Well, no, maybe not live. He had existed quite nicely for nearly 120 years, considering the whole vampire lifestyle thing. In fact, he'd done quite well, until he fell in love with her.

"Damn right,” Lillie's voice startled Buffy from her musings. “Those words don't describe you at all. You don't allow yourself that kind of flexibility. You're a slave to routine, Buffy. In my op, the first step to a cure for you is shopping, and shopping in Paris cures all.”

"Yes, Lillie, you may be right, shopping is of the good, but I am of the broke," said Buffy. “We have different priorities. I need to stop shopping and avoid spending. You need to keep shopping and – to keep shopping.”

Buffy forced a small smile as she placed the purse back on the shelf and walked out of the shop. Over her shoulder, she called to Lillie. “No more shopping for me, it's time to go.”

Lillie turned and dropped the bag on the table and followed Buffy out of the shop. They walked quickly, covering several blocks before Lillie stopped and turned to Buffy. ” What did you say?” She asked.

“Huh? I didn't say anything. What ya doin', hearing voices?” queried Buffy, somewhat amused by Lillie's perpetual habit of asking questions about topics never mentioned, or answering questions never asked. She was wicked smart, okay. That's why Buffy excused the talking to herself compulsion as part of what brainy people did – just because they could, with their big busy brains and all.

“Hearing voices – yeah, that's it, or something like that,” responded Lillie as she continued walking.


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Lillie Elisabeth Parker was worried. Usually, she didn't make such glaring mistakes. The voices were always with her, of course, but she knew how to play them off. When she needed to respond aloud to her inner voices, or offer her own opinion, rarely, but offer nonetheless, she'd tag on a clever witticism. This ensured that Buffy and Willow would ignore her other odd mutterings. Lillie had learned within days of meeting her new roommates that they loved to hear themselves talk. Other folks, like her, really didn't keep their attention. They really didn't care about Lillie's odd habit of talking to herself, or at least not that much, she figured. If they did, Lillie was certain her roommates considered it a small quirk, a tiny price to pay for a great apartment in Paris.

Today, the voice said that big changes were coming for Buffy Summers, Willow Rosenberg and Lillie, a young woman who heard voices and made friends with witches and slayers. Thinking about its words, Lillie looked forward to changes in her tomorrows as she tried to recall what she couldn't remember about her past. She had no idea who she was or where she'd been until the day she spoke to the slayer and the witch on the telephone. But today, the voice said that she and her roommates would soon meet their destiny.

About time, thought Lillie, as she continued her brisk walk with the Slayer at her side.


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Buffy sat up in the bed, clutching the heavy quilted blanket to her chest. Something was in the room. She looked around, searching for anyone or anything that might be hiding in the darkness. Gulping dry air rapidly into her lungs, working to soothe the cramped muscles in her chest, she pulled the covers up around her neck.

Deep breaths, Buffy thought, if she just kept pulling the oxygen through her mouth into her lungs, she might calm down and be able to think. Unfortunately, the other side of her brain was telling her to get up, get out, and run away, as far and as fast as any vampire slayer had ever run. It might be better, Buffy supposed, if she could be someplace else. Except she knew there was no other place for her to be.

Oh God.

There it was that oh-so-right-in-her-face screaming panic, creeping its way back over her body. “I've got to breathe.” She forced herself to take an even more careful look around the room. Moonlight was streaming through the window, illuminating the corners of the room. Something here was familiar. There were scents in the air she recognized, too. Yes, she knew where she was. Even in the dark, (and it was very dark), she knew the room, the house, the bed and the life she was meant to live. It was her “destiny”. Relaxing a little, she let the blanket go and reached through the darkness to touch the cool body that lay next to her. Snatching her hand back quickly, she pulled the quilt back tightly to her chest, almost in an embrace.

Oh my God, Spike is here.

If she could just stop trembling, everything would be okay. Calm down, she pleaded with herself. Maybe thinking about oceans and waves and the blueness of water as it lapped effortlessly onto the shore. That was relaxing, she thought. She loved the water. Watching wave after wave, cresting over and over again, perfect white foam peaks in sterling blue water. It was like watching Spike, all grace and beauty, and each wave was unique, she thought and shivered.

Then it was there again, the cursed panic. Buffy shuddered as her throat began to hurt and her eyes burned. I've got to stop this, she breathed. She swallowed twice, and one more time just to make certain, as she sought control. She couldn't look at Spike. He was too close. She could feel him without touching him. His cool, pale skin seemed to glow with life and...

Love, come lay down next to me.

Spike was speaking to her. Then she remembered. No! It couldn't be him. It wasn't his voice. It was a line from a song Buffy had heard on the radio. Spike, where are you? Oh yes, he lay next to her. His body was strong, beautiful and so close. Cherishing its chill, Buffy reached out to touch the coolness and beauty that was Spike.

Oh god, oh god, oh god. He's not here. This is not my bed, my room, not my windowsill.

Buffy tried to stifle her fear as the truth raced into her mind. Sunnydale fell into a crater. Spike was gone. Dead. He died saving the world. His soul blazed before he crumbled to dust.

He's a champion, a dead glorious champion.

Buffy stopped screaming when she felt a gentle hand caress her forehead. “Buffy, wake up, baby, it's just another dream.”

She opened her eyes and saw the look of concern and pain in her best friend's eyes. "Angel promised to bring Spike back," Buffy whispered in between sobs.

Willow held her close, stroking her hair. “Buffy, Spike's been gone two years, and we haven't heard from Angel in a very long time. I'm sorry, Buffy. I'm so sorry.”

Buffy settled down under her covers, allowing Willow to comfort her as she always did, each and every night when she awoke from the same dream.

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