“Hello? Is anyone out there?” Richard Stiles yelled out into the sky.

He chuckled quietly to himself; the whole night sky was spread out in front of him with all its infinite possibilities, there was bound to be life out there somewhere. He grabbed another beer from the six-pack abandoned next to him on the dew soak grass. It had been a hell of a day and he deserved this little moment to himself, even if his dad would kill him if he staggered home drunk. His mind wondered back to earlier in the evening. Melinda Cross could drop dead for all he cared, even if she had the cutest smile in the whole of Sunnydale High after the complete and utter humiliation she had inflected on him at the Bronze. Richard was dreading Monday morning at school, everyone will be talking about him and that was definitely gonna cause a crash in his popularity rating.

Richard downed the next beer in one before idly tossing the can in the vague direction of a trashcan. It hadn’t even been his idea to go to the Bronze this evening, Richard would have been happy enough just staying home and watching football with his dad. A nice, normal, humiliation free evening; was that too much to ask for? But when Mark Webster called and suggested they go see some wannabe Dandy Warhol’s band at the Bronze, Richard figured what could go wrong.

Richard shook his head in a vague attempt to think clearer, the air around him seemed to be heavy with humidity but he remembered the weatherman say it was gonna be a clear Californian day. Good weather for a game his dad had said. There was a weird smell; Richard hadn’t noticed that before, kinda like jasmine. Richard pushed himself up into a sitting position and scanned his surroundings, Weatherly Park was completely silent. The only thing Richard could hear was the frantic pounding of his own heart and panicked gasps of his own breathing. Surely he should be able to hear something; the constant hum of traffic, the chirp of crickets or just the sound of people passing by. The sound of his heart beat seemed triple in speed, his chest felt tight and the smell of jasmine was so over powering it felt as if it was choking him.

“Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,”

A female voice, like raw silk, whispered somewhere behind Richard, feather-light footsteps tiptoed through the grass.

“And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon,”

Desperately Richard tried to twist his neck to see the owner of voice, but it was if he was paralyzed all he could see was the swish of black lace bejewelled with dew drops. The smell of jasmine was making him feel sick, and he didn’t hate Melinda Cross so much anymore. It seemed pretty certain to Richard he was going to die; it hurt to breathe like something was crushing his chest. He felt doziness descend on him, he struggled to stay awake, somewhere in his mind he realized that if he fell asleep death was certain. Richard wondered if Melinda Cross would miss him, as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two
And sleeps again.”

Richard felt the sharp bite of steel along his throat, he hadn’t even realized she had moved behind him. Her raven black hair fallen across his face, tickling his nose, Richard stupidly worried that he was going to sneeze.

“This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night,
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes:
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage:
This is she…“

Her voice raised in an almost manic pitch, as the blade cut deep into Richard Stiles’ throat. Hot blood spilled across her delicate fingers; absentmindedly she raised her fingers to her mouth and licked the blood off her fingers. She pulled a face, dropping the blade in the dew soaked grass, as dawn peaked in the sky line.



***



The sun shone high the sky; the weatherman was talking about record temperatures. It was going to be a long hot summer. Weatherly Park was swarming with police, the body of Richard Stiles had been found by a jogger about two hours ago. Detective Xander Harris suspected that this wasn’t exactly the best start of the day for the jogger or himself. Something about this murder had troubled him, when the first police officers had arrived at the scene they had commented on how quiet the park had seemed, even the jogger had mentioned it in his statement. There was also the look the boy had in his eyes, Richard Stiles had a violent death but there wasn’t a hint of fear in his eyes, no sign of a struggle and the CSI guy’s had yet to find anything useful. That’s why he had put in the call to Buffy Summers, the paranormal divisions on call detective.

The paranormal division had been formed just over three years ago, after the government had been forced to admit that demons, vampires, magic and most paranormal things we real. Amongst most cops being stuck in the paranormal division meant they’d messed up somewhere along the line but Buffy Summers had transferred there. She was the star detective and Xander knew that once a case caught her attention, you would get results whether you like what they were or not.

“Well he’s certainly been murdered.” Xander said, pulling his shades down and peered at the body of Richard Stiles. The bloody knife still clutched in his cold fingers, three empty beer cans were scattered around the body.

“I can see that.” Buffy Summers sighed; it had been a long night and even longer day before that. She was tired and need a shower; Buffy wanted nothing more to curl up in her bed. “Why have you called me in?”

“Well, you are in paranormal division.” Xander grinned and pushed his shades back up.

“I’m well aware of that, Xander, but yet we come back to the fact it is just a dead body. Nothing homicide can’t deal with.” Buffy, tilted her head to the side. “Is it me or do they seem to get younger?”

“Nah, we’re just getting older.”

Xander pulled on a pair of gloves; he leaned over the body and moved Richard’s head revealing the other side of his cheek. Someone had carved a symbol into his cheek, it looked vaguely Celtic.

“They reckon this was done post-mortem.” He stood up straight and looked Buffy in the eye. “What do you reckon? Us homicide detectives might need your help?”

Buffy looked at the body of the young man sprawled on the grass, his eyes glassy and blank, staring off into the distance. He couldn’t be much old than her sister, he probably had gone to school with Dawn. She looked away, Xander knew she wasn’t going to refuse this case or pass it on to another detective.

“I’ll buy you a doughnut.” Xander tilted his head to get a proper look at Buffy’s face, a smile playing across his face. He had her hooked and he knew it.

“A Krispy Kreme, not the cheap stuff you eat at the station.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Summers.”

The paranormal division at Sunnydale Police department was situated on the basement floor right next to the store room, with one single window, three desks and an ancient coffee machine crammed in the tiny space. The office was painted a shade of beige that was only briefly fashionable sometime in the seventies, which after years of poor maintenance it had faded to a grimy grey. It had a familiar dusty smell, which always reminded Buffy of her high school library, a lot of people would have called the room dank and claustrophobic; hence its affectionate nickname of ‘The Crypt’. But to the members of the paranormal division it was a home from home because evil never sleeps, well not at night anyway.

Buffy was sat her desk, all fantasies of going home and sleeping had disappeared the moment she’d see Richard Stiles’ body. Buffy was examining the bloody dagger, CSI had found a partial print, but so far the computers hadn’t thrown out any matches. It had a black handle and symbols carved along the blade, but none of these symbols matched the one cut into Richard Stiles’ face. Apparently the dagger was solid silver and an antique, but nothing like it had been reported stolen, she had already arranged for an appointment with an expert at Sunnydale Natural History Museum first thing tomorrow morning. The symbol on the boy’s face was a different matter; Buffy was convinced it was something magical about, not Disney magical, more wicked witch of the west magical. Buffy had emailed a picture of it to a friend of hers, Willow Rosenberg, who acted as a magical consultant for the paranormal division, she should be able to recognise it.

Willow Rosenberg had been a consultant for the police for just under a year, as a practicing Wicca she also sometimes helped out with cases involving hexes and spells gone wrong. Buffy hoped she’d recognised it because so far it was the only clue that hadn’t led to a dead end. Impatiently Buffy drummed her fingers on the desk, willing a reply from Willow. She wasn’t expecting an answer; just word from Willow that she was researching it then at least the something was being done to solve Richard Stiles’ murder. Maybe Buffy could call some contacts try and find out if there were any new bad guys in Sunnydale. Buffy sighed; it was going to be one of those cases, like counting grains of sand, no matter how many you counted there always seemed to be more.

Flicking through the information Xander and the rest of the guys at homicide had put together; interviews with Richards Stiles’ parents revealed that he was just a normal teenager, nothing remotely paranormal about his life. None of friends were interested in magic, one had a slight obsession with vampires but apparently he and Richard weren’t close anymore. Richard had been in Weatherly Park after a fight with his girlfriend at the Bronze, drowning his sorrows and as far as anyone knew had his throat slit by a complete stranger. The way Buffy saw it this was a motiveless crime, which usually indicates possible paranormal connections, what with the ornate knife and the symbol carved in the kid’s cheek. Buffy hoped this murder would be a one off, just some lone nutcase.

It was gonna be a long night.


***


Later on, after dusk somewhere on the other side of Sunnydale, a bar known locally as the Alibi Room was open for business. The owner, Willy, watched as his customers drowned their sorrows. The Alibi room was a demon bar; its patrons were the local vampires and demons, the odd drunken sorcerer and the occasional human tourist here for a taste of the supernatural. Willy, himself was 100% human but he knew better than most tourists passing through here, never piss off a drunk in the Alibi Room otherwise you’ll spend the next month eating your dinner through a straw. Anyway human patrons were discouraged Willy could lose his license if someone got beaten up or worse, eaten… again. Absentmindedly he polished a glass, as music pounded in the background, they use to have a jukebox but some demon had his face rearranged for putting on Meatloaf’s Bat out of Hell. Apparently Meatloaf wasn’t very popular amongst the demon community. That’s why Lou Reed was playing; no one could have any possible compliant about the melodic sounds of Lou Reed, it fitted the mood, not too upbeat or too depressing. Maybe he’d put on some Velvet Underground on later Willy thought to himself.

“Hey Willy” Faith, one of his bartenders called “The barrel needs changing.”

“Why can’t you do it, I must pay you for some reason 'cause it isn't your sunny personality” Willy sneered, he hated to going down to the cellar at night. It meant stepping out into the ally behind the bar. Willy had this recurring nightmare that one day he’d get his throat ripped out in that ally. He could picture it perfectly, his body lying there in a pool of his own blood, knowing his luck a cat would eat his face and the police would have to use his dental records to confirm that he was the victim.

“You don’t pay me enough.” Faith snapped, returning to serving a young guy with bleached blonde hair, who looked as if there wasn’t a bottle deep enough to drown himself in. Faith gave him her signature flirtatious grin and brief flash of her cleavage in an attempt to guarantee her tip. He didn’t notice just downed drink and motioned for another.

Willy felt the familiar shivers of fear as he put the glass and cloth down, he really hated this element of his job, he slowly made his way to the back door. He passed the illegal kitten poker game in the back room and out into the ally that seemed to haunt his nightmares. Trash cans over flowing with rubbish cast ominous shadows on the walls, like a demonic shadow puppet show, round the corner Willy could hear the screeching of two cats fighting. A cold sweat broke across his brow as he leaned down to yank open the cellar doors, as per usual they were stuck some Fyarl demon had probably sneezed on it again, another hard jerk of the doors threw them wide open. Willy took a deep breath and peered down into the darkness. Suddenly the back door slammed open behind him.

“Aaarrrggghhh!” Willy screamed spinning round quickly to face a dark figure stood behind him.

“Fuck!” The figure growled. “What hell did you do that for?”

“Sorry.” Willy muttered realising it was the guy Faith had been serving. “I thought you were a vamp or something.” Willy explained lamely.

“I am.” The figure snapped in a south London accent. “You got a problem with that?”

“Are you going to eat me?” Willy asked nervously, maybe it wasn’t a nightmare maybe it had been a prediction of what was to come.

“No.” The guy said shortly, looking at Willy as if he was crazy.

“Oh.” Willy returned to his job of changing the barrel, trying hard to ignore the vampire behind him. Willy leaned in and groped in the darkness for the light switch.

“What’s down there?” The vamp asked making Willy jump nearly a foot in the air.

“What?” Willy asked, turning around to stare at the guy. He wasn’t particularly tall, with a lean muscular figure, a shock of white spiky hair, baby blue eyes and a prominent scar through his left eyebrow which disrupted the delicate structure of his face.

“It smells like blood.” The guy explained. “So unless you’re a mass murdering psycho and that’s where you hide the bodies of your victims, I’m guessing there shouldn’t be any blood down there.”

Willy found the light switch, light flooded the small cellar. Like in his nightmares there was a body lying in a pool of blood, but his throat hadn’t been ripped out, it had been slit from ear to ear. Willy was vaguely aware of the guy behind he was saying something but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the horrific picture in front of him. At least the body’s face hadn’t been eaten by cats he thought with relief, but there was something on his face, a symbol carved into the flesh. Bile rose in Willy’s throat, he was going to throw up, slowly he stepped away from the cellar and closed the doors. Willy turned to face the vampire, who had a look of mild interest on his face.

“We need to call the police.” Willy said quietly, his mouth felt like was stuffed with sawdust and it hurt to swallow. He turned to walk back inside, hoping he won’t faint, for a guy who owned a demon bar Willy was surprisingly squeamish about the sight of blood.

“You’re a regular Sherlock.” The guy said mockingly, briefly stopping to lighting up a cigarette before he followed Willy back into the bar, giving the closed cellar doors a worried look.

By the time the police had arrived at the Alibi Room a good ninety percent of its patrons had mysteriously disappeared into the night, as well the several small tabbies and a white Persian cat from the poker game, leaving lonesome skinny black kitten which Willy was at a loss of how he was going to explain the cat. Willy was stood behind the bar anxiously wringing his hands, murder was always bad for business; it had taken Willy years to create a feeling of sanctuary from the human world in his bar. No doubt his profits would drop and knowing Willy’s luck this would become a hotspot for human tourists and that would mean the kitten poker trade would move elsewhere. For some reason humans tended to freak out of the idea of kittens being used for monetary value, it didn’t bother Willy, he was allergic to cats anyway, all that matter to him was the big fat pay off he got for hosting the games.

The English guy, Spike he said was his name, was on his tenth cigarette and currently being watched by a cop the size of a small mountain. Cops never trusted vamps, even though most were quite happy to abide by human laws and rules, but like in every section of society there are a few bad apples. Only last year two cops were mauled by a feral vampire, for two weeks while they hunted the vamp down, the media screamed for vampires to be outlawed and a mob practically lynched an innocent vampire and nearly burnt it alive, the police hadn’t even tried to arrest any of the mob. Since then most smart vampires had kept a low profile, keeping to known demon areas. The divide between the normal and the paranormal seem more obvious than ever before.

The CSI guys weren’t working nearly as fast as the ones on TV, finger print dust hung thick in the air as everywhere was searched, dusted and bagged. Willy reckoned they would be here another hour if the didn’t find the secret door on the bar's floor, the witch he hired to do the cloaking spell over it said only a pro would spot it. A commotion was going on at the entrance and that could only mean the detectives had arrived. Willy peered from behind his position behind, whoever had arrived had caught Spike’s eye as well Willy noted to himself.


***


Buffy had called Willow to meet her at the crime scene as soon as Xander had informed her of the second victim, Alistair Campbell, had been found. The body had been discovered in a beer cellar at a demon bar on one of the rough sides of town, call Willy’s Place. Not the most original name for a bar Buffy had thought to herself, according to the first officers there they had a suspect in custody. The bar was pretty run down from the outside and Buffy suspected it wasn't going to be much better on the inside, by the looks of it humans weren’t welcome, even had a little sign on the door saying that the management was not responsible for any damages to property or person while you were on the premises. Why couldn't demons hang out in nice airy, well light, trendy wine bars? Buffy thought to herself then at least she won’t have to worry what she stood in.

A cop stood at the door waiting for her, Buffy didn’t recognise him he was probably new, and he was looking kinda green. Which explained why he got stuck on door duty, Xander had probably wanted to prevent him from throwing up and contaminating the crime scene. She flashed her badge and his eyes widen, this was his first meeting with the paranormal division, his eyes flipped upwards towards Buffy’s face and looked surprised as if she didn’t fit his mental picture of a paranormal detective. He pushed the door open and Buffy step in with a brief nod of thanks before heading into the crime scene.

There were on four people in the main area of the bar, a nervous guy who looked uncannily like rat was stood behind the stained bar, a lean pale guy with bleached blonde hair and a long black leather duster was sat at the counter smoking a cigarette with a weary look on his face. Xander was stood near a broken jukebox having a quiet but very angry conversation with a cop the size of a small mountain. Buffy caught they eyes of the man with the long black coat, they were peculiarly bright shade of light blue, cerulean blue Buffy thought. The rat guy said something to the bleached blonde and he raised a scarred eyebrow before returning to his half smoked cigarette.

Xander cleared his throat from behind her, he looked tired and worn. Buffy gave him a bright friendly smile.

“So, you got another one.” Buffy asked tilting her head to the side. She caught a glimpse at the other cop that Xander had chewed out he was sending death glares at the bleached blonde guy.

“Yup, this one is little older.” Xander ran his fingers through his hair.

“And you have a suspect?” Buffy enquired, Xander signed heavily. “You didn’t lose him?” She asked lightly.

“No, to both of those questions and what makes you think I would lose a suspect.” Xander snapped testily.

“I was joking Xander, you okay?”

“Not really” He said with a shaky laugh. “The suspect, was actually only a witness apparently vampires are still automatic suspects with this bunch of keystone cops, not only that one of them hurled on my crime scene.” Xander shock his head. “It’s because they still think all vampires are feral. And now the vampire isn’t being cooperative and claiming he didn’t see anything”

“You want me to talk to him?”

“I would buy you an entire box of Krispy Kremes if you did that. He’s the one with bleached blonde hair” Buffy laughed and walked over to the bar.


***

Spike leaned against the bar, taking a long hard drag of the cigarette, feeling the burn of tobacco in the back of his throat, before idly blowing of smoke rings. He had only gone out for a quick quiet drink and now he was in the middle of a murder investigation. According to Willy the blonde woman who had just walked in was a paranormal detective, humans certainly weren’t as stupid as they use to be. There had been a time when vampire attacks were put down as attacks by gangs on PCP. He’d managed to catch most of her conversation with the other detective; vampire hearing was a blessing and a curse.

Bodies always worried Spike, especially this one, there was something he couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was some wrong with it. Well aside from being dead and having its throat slit, it was as if the air around the body tasted wrong kinda like tainted blood. But that wasn’t the most worrying thing about the body, which was the fact this seemed so familiar, he had seen the symbol of the body’s cheek before but like smell he couldn’t place it.

He went for another drag of his cigarette only to find to Spike’s great irritation that it had burnt down to the filter, he stubbed it out in the ashtray burning his finger tips in the process. Dejectedly Spike pulled out his crumpled packet of cigarettes out of the inside pocket of his duster; he tugged out the last cigarette in there. He rolled it idly between his fingers before tapping the unlit end on the bar surface to loosen the tobacco before lighting it up with his old Zippo. He watched the exhaled smoke, blue in the light of the bar; disappear into the atmosphere as the blonde detective walked over to him, no doubt for questioning.