When the food hatch opened to deliver their dinner, Willow was relieved to see that it was the vampire she called Mr. Nice.

"Excuse me, um, would it be possible to maybe get something other than junk food? Please?" she asked, rushing through the words before he slammed it shut again. "It's not that we're not grateful that you're feeding us and all but it's so fatty. It's really not very healthy to be eating it this often."

He seemed to consider this for a while and then grunted once in acknowledgment. "I'll talk to the boss."

"Thank you."

The hatch slid back with a dull clunk.

"Wanna bet that Boss-man says no can do?" Buffy said.

"Dunno," she shrugged. "Was worth a try, though. They're feeding us so they want us alive. The worst he could do is say no."

"I guess."

They split the burgers and fries between them and ate in silence. They'd run out of topics to talk about.

Willow let her mind wander. She had nothing else to do. The armored van they were in had two small windows near the ceiling which had been covered in something like grease, so their view was blurry at best, but it let light in. She'd been keeping careful track of the changes from light to dark. It had been four days.

Four days since Buffy had gone to face the Master, prophecy be damned. Four days since Willow went after her, only to find her dead in a pool of water and having to breathe life back into her. Four days since they'd been kidnapped by vampires.

It had been one of those days.

______________


They'd made their way back out of the Hellmouth on shaky legs. Buffy had been talking about going after the Master and finishing the job, as she had the element of surprise on her side what with not being dead and all. Willow had mostly thought about whether CPR counted as kissing or not. She'd never been kissed before and she had imagined her first to be... well, it hadn't involved a girl for starters. Nor that it would happen in a life or death situation.

Technically, Buffy had been a corpse at the time. Did that make her a necrophiliac if she'd liked it? Had she liked it?

She'd been so lost in thought that she didn't realize anything was wrong until Buffy gave a startled yelp, reached up to touch her shoulder and then promptly fell into a heap on the ground. Something like a dart slipped from her hand and rolled away. Before she'd been able to get past her shock, strong hands had grabbed her from behind - too strong. They'd felt like metal when she fought against them and didn't budge an inch.

"Kill the spare?" a guttural voice had asked.

A bulky man in jeans and a checkered shirt had detached himself from the shadows and walked over to them, stepping over Buffy to come face to face with Willow. He'd eyed her up and down, leering.

"Well now, little lady," he'd said in a thick Southern accent and licked his lips, "ain't you a surprise! Purdy thing like you might come in right handy."

The vampire holding her had protested a little but had been ignored.

"This a friend o' yours?" he'd asked, and jabbed Buffy in the ribs with his foot.

Upon her nod, he had grinned wide. His teeth were dirty and yellow.

"That right? Then I think we've got ourselves some bona fide blackmail material here. If the Slayer be tryin' to get smart, something nice and sharp-," he shifted into gameface, "-near your vulnerable lil' neck sounds like just the ticket to change her mind, no?"

"And then kill her when we get there?" the first one had asked, hopeful.

"Naw," he'd drawled and reached out to stroke his fingers down Willow's cheek. His fingernails were caked with dirt and the way he'd looked at her had made her feel sick to her stomach. "I reckon' he ain't got no redhead in his collection as young an' innocent lookin' as this one. Bet she's unsullied, too."

The vampire holding her had laughed at that.

"She'll make a nice gift," he'd continued. "Showin' my 'preciation, like. Make sure he knows callin' on me has its benefits, beyond gettin' the job done."

And so she'd been dragged along and thrown into the back of an armored truck together with the unconscious Buffy. A third vamp had appeared, climbed in with them and manacled Buffy's hands and feet. Then they were left alone. The door had shut and the truck had started moving. Taking them away to who knew where.

Buffy had come to several hours later. She'd tested the restraints repeatedly but eventually gave up. They were too thick. The chains between the manacles were also much too short, she could only walk with baby steps and her arms couldn't utilize their full strength to try and break them open.

Since that night, they'd been trapped inside the armored van.

The first day they had tried alerting someone to their plight. Buffy had kicked the walls of the truck and Willow had shouted for help. Within minutes the hatch had been flung open, revealing that they were parked in the shade of a building. The Southern vampire that they'd nicknamed Boss-man had come into view and threatened to hurt 'lil' miss Copper Top' if they didn't stop the racket. So they had.

Buffy had apologized to her afterward for getting her into this mess. Willow had pointed out that there was no way either of them could have predicted this happening. Then they had talked about anything and everything to pass the time.

Three times a night the small hatch in the door slid open and a grease-stained paper bag was handed over. The only thing that changed was the logo on the side. They were never fed during the day, which made sense since their kidnappers were all vampires. They drove only at night as well.

There had been a sleeping bag, brand new and with the tag still attached, sitting on the floor that first night. They'd spread it out and shared it. The next night, a second sleeping bag had been shoved through the hatch along with their first meal.

Their other needs were seen to by the tiniest bathroom ever. Placed in one corner, it was so cramped that when you sat on the toilet, the sink was pretty much on your lap. The water pressure left much to be desired, too. Still, she was grateful for it. She could imagine far worse alternatives, involving being accompanied by vampires into the bushes by the side of the road and having them watch while she took care of business.

By day three they'd started running out of topics to talk about. They mostly just sat in silence.

______________


At every meal Buffy had complained about the food, saying she'd be overweight by the time they arrived wherever they were going. Willow wasn't very happy with it either, which had prompted her to plead for something else.

She'd waited until it was Mr. Nice standing outside instead of Boss-man or Short, Dark and Ugly (the one that had wanted to kill her), as he seemed the most sympathetic of the three. He was the one that had given them the second sleeping bag and he'd also tossed in two toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste the next time he delivered food to them.

Those things had been provided without them asking first, though. She wasn't sure what kind of response her direct request would get.

She tried not to get her hopes up, but when the food hatch opened next they were presented with two plastic bags from a grocery store chain rather than the usual brown paper bag.

"Oooh," Willow crowed, thanking Mr. Nice profusely and taking the bags. "Let's see what we've got."

It was a considerable improvement. There was a small loaf of bread, a couple packs of sliced deli meats and cheese, a head of lettuce, a bag of apples, two cups of yogurt with granola included and a squeeze bottle of mayo.

Buffy claimed both yogurts, which was fine with Willow; she was busy being excited over the apples. They made sandwiches until they ran out of bread and wondered aloud if perhaps they were meant to save some for later.

"Doubt it," Buffy finally decided. "They've given us three meals a night so far, doesn't seem right to change the routine suddenly even if it's a different kind of food."

Willow nodded in agreement. They fell into silence again.

The next two meals were provided by Short, Dark and Ugly and, unsurprisingly, were back to junk food.

______________


When the car slowed to a halt on the fifth day, there was no indication that anything was different than the previous stops. The night had begun like all the others; as soon as darkness fell, the engine had started and the truck moved back on the road. They were typically fed after an hour or two of driving, and it seemed like it had been about that long. (She had theorized to Buffy that wherever it was they parked during the day wasn't near any restaurants or shops, and thus the vamps had to locate one before the girls in the back could be taken care of.)

Neither of them expected anything to change. The constant boredom had dulled their alertness to near nothing. By the time she realized that there was no bag being handed in through the opening but a long, thin, black cylinder instead, it was already too late.

The dart hit Buffy in the thigh and she barely had time to jump up and curse before she stumbled back against the wall and slid inelegantly to the floor. Willow shrieked in shock, but hastily cut herself off at the sound of the back of the truck being unlocked and opened. Better to not piss them off by being a girl, she decided.

They were inside a garage from the looks of it, but she couldn't see much before Short, Dark and Ugly grabbed her arm and hauled her with him towards a door. She could hear the sounds of the others' footsteps behind them.

There was a long, barren corridor, another door and then she found herself in a decent sized room with nice wallpaper, brown carpet, tasteful furniture and several vampires in gameface. She couldn't make out much else as the room was kept in semi-darkness, lit exclusively by one lamp sitting on a side table. The light barely crept to knee-height around the edges of the room; if there was anything hanging on the walls for example, she couldn't see it.

Mr. Nice carried Buffy in and held her out as if for inspection. She must have been approved, because after a moment he left the room with his burden and Willow was alone with them all. She had the distinct feeling that everyone turned to look at her. She cringed and fiddled with the hem of her shirt, desperate for a way to make herself spontaneously become invisible.

"Who's this, then?" a voice asked.

"Just a lil' gift, from me to you," Boss-man replied. "Friend o' the Slayer, brought 'er along to make sure the little bitch didn't try to get any smart idears."

"I see." Whoever it was spoke in a calm manner and with an accent that reminded her of Giles. He stood in the very corner of the room, positioned so that it was too dark to see any details at all save his black combat boots.

"Thought you might like to keep 'er, seeing as how she's right purdy an' all."

"I will, thank you. Very thoughtful of you."

A thick, white envelope was handed to Boss-man by one of the new vamps, this one wearing glasses. She'd never seen glasses on a vampire before and was briefly intrigued by how he got them to fit around the bumps of his gameface. She dubbed him Four Eyes and tried hard not to think of what any of this gift-talk implied.

"We all settled, then, right?"

"Yeah. I'd say it was pleasure doing business with you but... anyway, you delivered. I'll keep you in mind should I require any further help in your neck of the woods."

The man in the corner had not moved at all, still protected by the shadows. This was in sharp contrast to Boss-man who was fidgeting in the middle of the room, exposed to all and looking rather distressed about it.

"Dalton, see him out, will you?"

"Yes, Master."

Four Eyes, whom she gathered must be Dalton, lead Boss-man back out the way they'd come in. To her surprise, Short, Dark and Ugly did not follow.

They waited. She felt deeply uncomfortable; the silence made it all too obvious that she was the only one in the room breathing. After a few long minutes, Dalton returned.

"He's left, Master."

"Good." A small pause and a movement in the shadows. "Get Aaron and go to my study. Wait for me there."

There was no 'yes, Master' in reply, Short, Dark and Ugly simply left. While she was glad to have him gone, she was only somewhat relieved. Whoever the shadowed man was, he was clearly everyone else's Master - Boss-man included - and that meant he was likely responsible for the entire thing. The thought terrified her. She desperately wished she knew what he wanted them for. Or, rather, what he wanted Buffy for, as she was merely a bonus 'gift'.

"Let's have a look at you then, Red," he said once the door had closed behind the ugly vamp. "Come closer."

She took two hesitant steps forwards, placing herself in the center of the room where Boss-man had been so uncomfortable a short while ago. She was beating him by miles.

It didn't appear to be close enough, however. He made an impatient sound and barked another 'Closer!'. She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself squeaking and jumped forwards another step.

"Turn around."

She did.

"And around again."

In all her life, she'd never felt more exposed.

"Got a name, pet?" he asked eventually, when he'd had enough of staring at her.

"Uh, it's Willow," she croaked.

"Like the tree. Bit of a hippie-name, that. Think I prefer Red, if it's all the same to you."

Disagreeing was definitely not on the menu but he didn't bother waiting for her approval.

"Bring her to Anyanka," he said, presumably to Dalton who was hovering to her left. "Ask her to take care of my little gift here for me, and make sure to apologize for the lack of forewarning."

"Yes, Master."

"Uh, sir?" she spoke up quickly, as Dalton was gesturing for her to follow. "Sorry, but, uh, could I ask what's happening to Buffy?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," he drawled.

She gulped.

"Please, Miss Willow, come with me."

Willow was lead through corridors again, several of them, then up a staircase and through yet more corridors and hallways. It was obvious that the house they were in was huge. She thought about large buildings: schools, hospitals, hotels, airports. This one was none of those; it appeared for all intents and purposes to be a privately owned (only unusually large) house. She did not see a single window anywhere, but hey, vampires.

At last they arrived at a door guarded by two minions in gameface, both of whom stepped back a little when she approached.

"This is Miss Willow," Dalton said to them. Apparently that was enough of an explanation as he didn't elaborate further and the minions did not ask, they merely bowed slightly in her direction.

Dalton walked past them and held the door open for her. She entered a large, rectangular, open room painted entirely in white, which made it look even bigger. It had a barrel vaulted ceiling that reminded her a little of a bus terminal she'd been in once, the added height gave the room a light and airy feel. Scattered around were small tables, comfy-looking chairs and ottomans. A fireplace with a brick mantle was burning merrily at the opposite end from the door she'd come in through. Various framed paintings adorned the walls and she could tell from just looking at the frames themselves that they were the pricey kind and not cheap reproductions. There were open doorways on either side of the room near the fireplace that appeared to lead to, surprise, more corridors.

There were a handful of women in the room. Two were sitting at one of the small tables playing cards, another two sat at a different table with a board game between them, and one woman had paused on her way through the room towards the corridor leading left. The second time she swept her eyes around the room she noticed a sixth one, sitting a bit away from the others with a book. They all stared at Willow with astonishment. She had a feeling she’d interrupted the tranquility of the room

Dalton said nothing and lead her onward once he'd closed the door behind them. She threw skittish glances at the women as she passed by. One of them wrinkled her nose when Willow came near and she flushed with embarrassment. The little sink inside the truck had allowed only very limited hygiene and she was all too aware of her smell.

The left corridor was evidently the favored one as Dalton headed for it, too. Unlike the previous ones which generally had few doors and none of them labeled, this one had many and from what she could see, they all had something spelled out in little gold letters on the front. The first one on the right read "Anyanka". The opposite one "Drusilla". Dalton knocked on the correct one and waited.

The woman that opened the door with a grumpy 'yes?' wasn't what she'd expected. Anyanka didn't sound like a normal name, really, and neither did Drusilla, so she'd thought they must be old vampires with old names that weren't much in use anymore. The woman didn't look like a vampire, though. She was taller than Willow and thin, had short, curly blonde hair and her skin was tan. Maybe she used a really good bronzer.

"I do apologize for the late intrusion, Miss Anyanka, but the Master asks a favor of you."

She perked at that, the grumpy frown she'd worn erased like magic. "Did he change his mind?"

"I'm afraid not, he is still busy this evening."

Anyanka deflated, but then noticed Willow standing off to the side, wringing her hands and probably (she'd bet good money on it) looking utterly lost. She felt utterly lost, anyway.

"New girl?" she questioned, eyes widening.

"A gift. Unannounced."

"Oh," she said, looking confused, then after a beat: "Oh, I see."

"He requested that you take care of her for him. He did not specify for how long."

"Right. Um, this is a bit sudden."

"He specifically asked me to pass on his apologies," Dalton said and bowed. "He did not know to expect her and nothing has been made ready."

Anyanka eyed her up and down slowly. "She reeks."

Dalton had nothing to say to that, instead he asked whether he could get her anything and Anyanka waved him off. Willow was left alone with the woman.

"Well, you better come in then. What's your name?"

"Willow," she said as she stepped inside.

A four-poster double bed dominated the room, flanked by a nightstand with lamp on either side. Above the headboard was another of the expensive-looking framed paintings – this one depicting a silk-covered table or counter with several sharp weapons on it. There were two chairs by a window, a desk, a TV framed by bookshelves, two closed doors on either side of the bookshelves and little else. She noted that the bookshelf seemed to hold an equal amount of video cassettes as it did books.

At least the presence of the window was reassuring. Anyanka was definitely not a vampire.

"The Master guy called me Red, though," she added when the woman continued to stare at her without saying anything. "At least... I think it was the Master."

"Yea high," Anyanka held her hand slightly lower than her own head, "looks like sex on legs?"

"I wouldn't know," she replied weakly, the description doing nothing to help her nerves. "I didn't actually see him. Only heard his voice."

"Well, what did he sound like?"

"English."

"Then it was the Master," she replied. "Red, huh. Because of the hair, right?" the woman sniffed and, just like the Master earlier, did not wait for her to respond. "Enough talk. I'm Anya. Let's get you cleaned up."

"Uh, okay."

In quick succession, Anya showed her the laundry bag where she could put her dirty clothes ('please tie it closed afterward to prevent the smell from spreading'), the white bathrobe with "Anyanka" elegantly embroidered on the back that Willow was informed she could use ('just this once'), the assortment of bottles on a shelf inside the shower ('use whatever, I don't care') and finally the stack of towels on shelves under the sink ('for your hair').

"Thanks," she said and offered a tentative smile. Regardless of what was going to happen to her later, she was thoroughly delighted at getting to shower and wrap herself in a fluffy bathrobe.

"Oh, and before I forget."

Anya hunkered down and pulled out a wicker basket resting next to the towels under the sink. After searching for a bit, she straightened again with a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush still encased in it's plastic wrapping in hand.

"Thanks," she said again.

"Take your time," Anya insisted. "You'll need it, looking like you do."

There was no point in objecting, she had caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and knew it was true.

And then she was alone. Completely alone, for the first time since they'd been kidnapped. She missed Buffy.

______________


Upon exiting the bathroom again, she was met by Anya and another girl, a brunette. Both openly stared at her.

"Huh, you're quite pretty underneath all that grime," Anya remarked.

"Looks like a terrified mouse, though," the brunette smirked.

"This is Faith," Anya introduced with a nod in the direction of the girl.

Anya looked to be in her late twenties. Faith was younger, but not quite as young as Willow herself was. She had a distinct tough-girl look to her, with heavy makeup, dark lips and entirely too much skintight leather.

"She's the closest to your size, by eyeball measurements. Her boobs are bigger than yours, but it'll be better to have some clothes that are loose around the chest than to have them fall off your ass," Anya explained.

"I dunno," Faith mused. "I don't think he'd mind getting an eyeful of either."

She squeaked like the mouse she'd been compared to.

"Oh, honey, don't let Faith scare you. Poor thing." Anya turned sharply to the other girl. "If you can't behave, I'll ask Fred for help."

"Fred's too short," Faith countered, not letting herself be ruffled. "C'mon Squirt, let's go shopping at Faith's Fantastic Finds and see if we can get you something to wear."

"I already have socks and a t-shirt for her to sleep in!" Anya called after them as they headed back out into the corridor.

"Good," Faith said over her shoulder and grinned. "'Cause I sleep nekkid."

Willow blushed at Faith's candor but thankfully no one saw.

Faith's room was exactly the same as Anya's in layout, but the bed wasn't four-poster and the shelves had hardly any books in them at all - instead there were an abundance of video game cartridges, CDs and various knickknacks arranged haphazardly. The painting above her bed showed a battle scene with men on horseback, led by what appeared to be a female. Joan of Arc, she guessed. Strewn around were random items; a bra hung over the back of a chair, it was neon pink with white polka dots; a bag of chips sat on the floor by the TV, it was half-eaten and surrounded by crumbs; a magazine lay open near the bed and a dirty sock stuck out from under an overturned jewelry box. Anya's room was spotless by comparison.

Faith made her way through the mess easily and Willow tried to follow as best she could. The door that didn't lead to the bathroom was to a walk-in closet. It seemed almost exclusively filled with leather-y items, both tops and bottoms. Her shoulders slumped.

Scanning the disarrayed clothing rack, Faith picked out a top (dark leather with red ruffles) and some pants (dark leather, no ruffles).

"Are you sure-"

"Positive! It'll look hot, Squirt, trust me."

"Um, okay. Do you have any, I mean, uh..." She took a deep breath. "I need some underwear, too."

"Shit, forgot. You'll have to go braless for now, unless Fred's will fit you, but I've got some panties somewhere..."

Faith disappeared into a drawer, rooted around a bit and came back out triumphantly with a half-empty pack of rolled-up, plain white, cotton panties. It did not look even remotely like something that should exist in this girl's wardrobe.

"I only use them when I'm on my period," Faith helpfully explained upon seeing Willow's questioning eyebrow.

"Right."

She waited.

Faith waited.

Realization dawned.

"Oh, you're the prudish kind that doesn't wanna undress in front of others. I get it."

She was treated to an eye roll but Faith did leave her alone so she could change and that was what mattered. When she'd finished, she looked like a prostitute. Faith disagreed, dragged her over to a mirror and made her parade back and forth a couple of times before allowing her to flee back into the safety of Anya's room.

"Alright," Anya said after giving her a once-over and approving with a nod. "I've got you cleaned and dressed, let's see, what else... are you hungry?"

She nodded meekly.

"We've already had dinner, but that's not a problem, the kitchen can whip you up something. What would you like?"

"Um. There's a choice?"

"Of course, don't be silly! Do you like hamburgers?"

She blanched at the thought of eating another after all the junk food she'd consumed recently.

"That's a no. What about an omelet or something?"

"That'd be great, thanks."

"Wait here."

She sat obediently in one of the chairs. Moments later Anya returned and patted her reassuringly on the arm as she claimed the chair opposite.

"It's on the way. While we wait, why don't you tell me how you ended up here?"

And so she began to tell her miserable story, her voice growing with confidence as Anya's face steadily paled. At some point, a minion in gameface arrived with a small tray for her. On it was a plate with an omelet (garnished with a single twig of something green), and a small salad in a bowl. She ate every last piece of it while she talked. It was delicious. Once she'd finished her tale with a lame 'and then I was handed over to you', Anya gave a little sigh.

"So, the Slayer is here, then."

"Yes, but I don't know where they took her. She was still unconscious when they carried her away."

"Not in here, that's for sure. Well, well. I knew he had a fixation on them, but I hadn't thought..." Anya trailed off.

"A fixation?"

"Oh, the Master has a thing for Slayers. He's never brought one home before, though." She sucked on her lower lip. It released with a wet sound. "I don't like it."

"How come?"

"As a demon, I generally try to stay as far away from them as possible," Anya said with a shrug. "Self-preservation instinct. You don't get to be over a thousand years old without it."

"Oh." Well, that explained the name. She wondered if Faith was a demon as well, the window in her room had nixed the vampire option just like it had with Anya. She tried not to inspect the woman too obviously.

"Vengeance demon," Anya supplied, having noticed right away. "I'm retired, though."

"Demons can retire? I had no idea."

"It's not common among immortals, but after this particular job turned nasty..." She paused and sucked on her lip again. "Long story short, I was accidentally locked in human form without my powers and none of my so-called friends would lift a finger to help me. After suffering for a few years-" She interrupted herself and made a face. "I had to go to high school, it's worse torture than Hell ever invented!"

She wasn't about to disagree with Anya on that one.

"Anyway, I was getting more and more desperate and heard that the Master, who was an old lover that I hadn't seen in nearly a century, had settled down out here. I wrote him a letter begging on my hands and knees and he rescued me straight away." She smiled at the memory. "Took me into his home, arranged for a witch to return my proper form, which is easier said than done, mind you," she pointed out, "then he offered to let me stay here as long as I needed to recover. I've been here since."

"Um, how long ago was that?"

"Coming up on a decade, I think," Anya said after considering it. "Only Dru has been here longer than me."

She didn't know what to say to that. A retired demon, living for almost ten years in the home of a master vampire, among a bunch of other women and seemingly being waited on by minions. You couldn't make this stuff up, she thought.

"You'll have to share my bed for the night. I expect Dalton will show up tomorrow to let us know that the guest room has been prepared for you, so it should only be for one night." Anya stretched and yawned. "We are on a slightly vampiric day-rhythm here, we sleep late and breakfast isn't served until noon-ish. Lunch is around four and dinner at nine. If you wake up before me, feel free to borrow a book or turn on the TV as long as the volume is low, I'm a heavy sleeper."

"Thanks," she said and shifted nervously.

"I hope you don't snore," Anya remarked suddenly, frowning.

"I've never been told I do, at least?"

"Good enough."

Not having slept in a proper bed for so long, Willow didn't wake up until Anya's alarm went off. They took turns in the bathroom and she was forced to wear the leather outfit from the night before again, as there was nothing else for her. She much preferred the baggy t-shirt she'd slept in.

Anya wasn't much for small talk, stating that she needed coffee before she was capable of socializing, which was fine with Willow. When it was time to eat, she was taken across the large open room from the day before and into the corridor leading to the right. They passed a door labeled "Library" and entered the one labeled "Dining Room".

Two long tables stood in the center, one laden with food and the other surrounded by chairs. Faith was already seated with a bowl of cereal, as was another woman who glanced up at her curiously before returning to her corn flakes.

"This is why I get up early," Anya confided. "Most of the others, especially the vampires, usually don't show up for another hour or so. That means I can wake up in relative peace and don't end up snapping somebody's head off." Her tone indicated that it was a joke, but Willow still flinched a little.

Anya directed her to the food and handed her a plate. "Help yourself to whatever," she instructed. "Oh, you don't have any allergies, do you?"

"Uh, no."

"You'll be fine then. Vi can't have any nuts you see, so if you see a red plate it means it contains nuts." Anya pointed to one of the three bowls of granola which was, as advertised, red. Every single other plate and bowl on the table were white.

She helped herself to some fruit and filled a bowl with cereal and milk.

Anya picked out seats opposite Faith, whom began chatting with her right away.

"Mornin' Squirt, did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"I saw some of the minions come by earlier with bedlinens and shit, guess they're setting up the guestroom for you."

Anya, cup of steaming black coffee in hand, nodded. "Thought so."

"You know something about what's happening, Ahn?"

"Just good at predicting," she murmured and took another sip.

"What do you foretell then, oh wise one," Faith teased, but Anya took her seriously.

"Dalton will appear around lunch to let her know that the guest room is ready for her, then he'll ask me on behalf of the Master to help her settle in," she repeated from the night before. "At dinner she will be called."

"You think he'll wait that long?"

"It's Tuesday," she said, as if that explained everything. Faith seemed to understand it however, nodding.

Willow said nothing, opting instead to cast surreptitious glances at the other women as more and more entered the room in varying states of wakefulness. They were all pretty, she noted, but no two were alike. Some were fairly old, one woman looked to be in her forties and another she'd peg at thirty-something. Others were younger, but no one as young as she was. Most appeared to be somewhere in that indeterminable age range between twenty and twenty-five-ish.

Then again, looks could be deceiving. Anya had admitted to being over a thousand years old yet her face had not a single wrinkle. The dark-haired woman at the other end of the table that slipped into gameface over her glass of blood had looked not a day over twenty beforehand.

After observing them some more, she spotted scars at nearly everyone's necks. Some were very faint and barely noticeable unless you checked for them, but others had a red tint of irritation around them and seemed to be recent. All were the unmistakable two dots of a vampire bite.

She looked across the table at Faith. No visible marks, but the girl had worn a choker the day before and wore one now as well. Her own neck felt suddenly very vulnerable, exposed as it was in the leather top she was forced to wear. She wished futilely for a turtleneck.

Once they'd finished eating, Anya brought her back to the open room with the fireplace. She settled Willow into a chair and chose an ottoman for herself.

"I expect you have many questions, so I say we get that out of the way now. Then I can take you on a tour after lunch."

"Alright," she said, hesitating. "Um, this is a very large house."

"It's called the mansion," Anya explained readily, "and it is indeed massive. I'd get lost so fast it's not even funny if I were to wander around on my own."

Her brows furrowed at that. "But you just said you were going to give me a tour?"

"Oh, yes, but we don't leave the women's quarters, of course."

"We don't?"

"Not without permission and an escort, no. Don't worry," she said with a reassuring smile, "there's plenty to see and you'll find everything you need here."

"If you don't mind me asking, what kind of... uh, place, is this?" She was scared to ask, but even if this woman was a demon, she had shown her kindness.

Anya shot her a knowing look. "Ah, so you noticed. You're very young, but you're not a stupid girl. That's good."

"Is it really... uh," she faltered. The food she'd eaten had formed a hard lump in her belly.

"A harem? Yes."

So her suspicion had been correct, then. Guards at the door, only women within and several of them at that, not allowed to leave without escorts, bedrooms, bite marks... and Anya had referred to the Master as an old lover of hers, too.

"But don't use that word in front of the Master, he doesn't like it," Anya added hastily. "Or at least, don't tell him I was the one who said it."

"Sure," she agreed, voice low. It wasn't a topic she felt like bringing up at all, if she was quite honest.

"Oh honey," Anya said after watching her cringe more and more until she had almost curled up into a ball in the chair. "I understand that you've gone through a really rough time what with being kidnapped and all, but you're safe now. No harm will come to you here."

"Does rape count under harm?" she asked in a whisper.

This did not go down well. Anya's eyes hardened and her voice revealed her anger. "Don't even say that. He would never."

Eyes wide at the sudden change in the until-now pleasant demon in front of her, she temporarily lost her ability to talk.

"Look, you're scared," Anya said and sighed. "That's fine. Totally understandable, considering the circumstances. But you can take my word for it, none of the women here have ever been forced to do something they did not want. Perhaps I shouldn't have told you," she frowned a little. "Since you belong to him now though, I didn't see a point in keeping secrets."

"I belong...?"

"You were given to him as a gift, weren't you? You said that's what the kidnappers talked about and Dalton said you were, too." She took Willows hand and squeezed it for comfort. "Most of his associates stick with the traditional expensive object, but you're not the first living gift he's received. See the girl over there in the sofa, with the book?"

She peeked over at the sofa, spotting the woman that had seemed separated from the others somehow when she'd first arrived. She nodded mutely.

"That's Tara. She was given to the master two years ago, and she's never slept with him."

Her brain attempted to process this information. It didn't seem logical at all, to have a woman in your harem and not sleep with her. Wasn't that the entire idea? But she remembered checking the girls neck during breakfast and she had not seen any bite marks on her. She hadn't seen any on Anya either, however. She couldn't help her eyes darting up to the demons neck.

Anya smiled and reached up to pull the hem of her cardigan and blouse aside. Two classic puncture wounds were exposed, quite far down her neck near the shoulder.

"But... uh, that's nowhere near the jugular vein-"

"He doesn't feed from us! How crude! No, no, Willow, these marks are placed during sex, to heighten the pleasure," she explained. "It makes for great orgasms."

She was stunned into silence. A year with the Slayer as her best friend had taught her a lot about vampires, but never anything like this.

"I prefer to be able to hide my marks, that's why they're to the side. It doesn't pay for a demon to advertise that she's letting a vampire suck on her, they're considered to be lesser creatures since they're half-human. I never agreed with that."

Nor had she ever encountered the attitude that being human or partly so was something to be looked down on.

"Not that I'm planning on leaving the mansion and rejoining my former social circle, mind you, it's just that old habits die hard."

Willow swallowed with some difficulty and tried to think of a topic change.

"Uh, are all the other women here demons, too?"

"No, not at all. It's just me. Well, Tara's part demon. I suppose that counts, a little."

She threw another glance at the perfectly normal-looking woman reading on the sofa.

"Dru and Harmony are vampires and the rest are human," Anya carried on. "And now there's the Slayer, too."

"Buffy's joining the har-, um, us?" While the very idea of being in a harem was terrifying and she knew she wasn't supposed to wish that for her best friend, she couldn't help but brighten a little at the thought that she might not be by herself for much longer. Buffy would have confidence enough for the both of them.

Anya shrugged. "Why else would he bring her here? I'm not sure how he'd control her, though. Maybe he'll keep her somewhere else, for everyone's safety. I hope so."

Their conversation was interrupted as a tiny woman with wavy brown hair sat down with them. She extended a hand to Willow in greeting. "Hey, I'm Winifred, but please just call me Fred. Faith mentioned something about needing a little help?"

They shook hands.

"Do me a favor first, please," Anya interjected. "Willow here is scared the Master is going to tie her up to a bed and have his wicked way with her against her will."

Fred noticeably paled in horror. "What?" She looked between them hurriedly. "Why would-"

"She was given to him as a gift, she's completely out of the loop," Anya explained. "It's Tara all over again."

"Ohhh," Fred said slowly, nodding in understanding and, still shaking hands with her, added another hand to give Willow's a reassuring squeeze. "It's not like that at all, here. You're perfectly safe."

Willow smiled nervously and plucked at the hem of her top. "It's all a little strange," she offered. "I don't know what to think."

Fred stood. "Come, let's see if one of my bras will fit you, and I'll tell you how I came to be here."

"Thank you," Anya said behind them as they walked away.

Moments later she found herself in yet another bedroom, following the same standard layout as the previous two. Fred's had no window though. Instead there was a large pin board and her desk was much bigger than Anya's and Faith's had been. It was covered in papers, notebooks, pieces of fabric and several folders.

After bringing out a bundle of bras from her closet, the tiny woman gestured to the bed and they both sat down.

"Once upon a time," Fred began with a small smile. "I was a student at UCLA. There was a guy. I didn't like him, but he really liked me. He decided that if he couldn't have me then nobody would. He sent me to another dimension."

Willow's eyebrows rose in astonishment. "Whoa, how did he manage that?"

"No idea. I suspect he wasn't entirely human, but I wasn't about to look him up and ask, you know?" she laughed. "I was there for five years." She let that sink in for a moment, then continued. "I was a slave."

"Really? That's awful."

"Yup," Fred did not seem to be very bothered by this. "I was rescued by some demon hunters that ended up being sent to the same dimension by accident, and they brought me back with them. I had trouble fitting into normal society again," she sighed. "Major trust issues. I didn't want to go anywhere near the university again, so I abandoned my studies and moved to Vegas. Got a miserable job waitressing at a club run by a friend of one of the demon hunters. Then one day, Spike walked in."

"Spike?"

"Nickname. Everyone calls him that or Master. You should stick with Master until he introduces himself to you." Fred chuckled. "Knowing him, he's probably fully aware that we gossip like hens in here, but we prefer to pretend that we're a little more mature around him."

"Right," Willow mumbled in acknowledgment, temporarily lost in terror at being 'introduced' to the Master. She shook it off.

"Anyway, he chatted me up, told my boss to leave me be even though I was on shift, got me seriously drunk and then I ended up telling him everything. I cried on his shoulder like a complete loser. I was a mess." Fred laughed again at the memory.

"He took me back to his hotel. Didn't touch me at all," she was careful to specify with a pointed look, "just let me sleep it off. The next morning, over lots of coffee, he explained that he'd heard of me from the demon hunters and had sought me out on purpose. Said he knew what it was like to feel like a stranger in the world. Thought it'd help if I got it all out. And it did."

Fred flopped back on the bed with a grin. There was a glow in her eyes when she talked about him.

"I met up with him regularly after that, to talk. After a couple months he asked if I'd like to join his household. The rest, as they say, is history."

"You came here willingly?"

"Of course!" Fred sounded surprised that she'd think any different. "He said I could stay for as long as I wanted, that I wouldn't have to work or do anything I didn't want to. No having to deal with people. Just the other women he loved, all of whom knew about demons and other worlds. I wouldn't have to hide or explain anything. It sounded like paradise, why would I say no?"

Willow shifted uncomfortably. "So he didn't expect you to have sex with him?"

"Well," Fred drawled and grinned again. "I wasn't entirely against the idea, if you get my drift. I knew full well that he was trying to charm me with the looks and the smiles, but I didn't mind. I liked him. He's very attractive and sweet, with those eyes and God, those cheekbones! Not to mention it had been a long time since I'd met a man I felt I could trust. Or, well, not a man exactly. Anyway, no, he made it clear from the start that it was an offer, not a trade. I didn't owe him anything."

"Um, but you...?"

"Yeah," she confirmed. "After he'd courted me for a few weeks. Of my own free will."

Willow was lost in thought again.

"What's the matter?" Fred asked, a little concerned, and sat up.

"It's nothing, I just-" she faltered and looked down.

"C'mon, talk to me," Fred urged, elbowing her side. "I'm not easily offended, promise."

Clearing her throat, she tried again. "I was just wondering, you know, why a human would..."

"Oh, that," Fred understood at once. "It wasn't a big deal to me, after spending five years in a world where humans were the minority. And hey, a vampire's body is fully human. It's not like he's got any extra parts or scales or horns or a tail or whatever."

"He's got fangs," she pointed out uneasily, and couldn't prevent her eyes from trailing up to Fred's neck and the two red marks there.

"I don't see the big deal." Fred shrugged and reached up to caress the marks. "When I was a teenager I dated a guy who wanted to suck on my toes while getting himself off. I knew another guy who wore diapers at home and wanted his wife to pretend that he was a giant baby. A friend of mine's boyfriend got off on being humiliated and stepped on. Being bitten just doesn't rank very high on the creep-o-meter after all of that," she finished with a laugh.

"But he could kill you," she prodded.

Fred stopped laughing. Like Anya earlier, her expression went stony and she seemed angry. "Nu-uh. Never," she insisted. "He'd never let me come to any harm. He loves me."

That was twice now that Fred had referred to the Master loving her and the others. She knew through Buffy and Giles that demons weren't supposed to be able to love, but these women didn't seem to have read the same books. She elected to say nothing, at least not while Fred was clearly upset at the suggestion that the Master could hurt her. She wasn't likely to get less upset at the suggestion that he couldn't love her either.

They distracted themselves with the bras for a bit to escape the awkward silence that fell. Fred selected the two that she deduced would fit Willow best and assured her that she could keep them for as long as she needed.

"He'll probably see to it that you are fitted with all the clothes you want soon enough, but just in case."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." She bit her lip and looked down at the garments in her hands. "I'm sorry I made you mad. I didn't mean-"

"No, don't," Fred cut her off. "It's okay. I forgot for a moment that you don't know him at all, and you didn't choose to be here like I did. Don't worry, you'll understand what I mean in time."

They went back to Anya's room and both women waited outside the bathroom while she tried on the bras. They would do the job, thankfully, though she felt weird wearing someone else's underwear. Afterward, Anya suggested that they watch some TV and she didn't feel like she could say no, even if all she wanted was to curl up in bed and hide.

Lunchtime came.

They went to the dining room again and just like at breakfast, one table was covered in an assortment of foods. It was considerably more crowded now, however. After filling their plates, Anya led them to the only two vacant seats that were next to each other.

As soon as Willow sat down, the girl to her right greeted her.

"Hi!" She put down the glass of blood she'd been drinking from and held out her hand. "You're new! I'm Harmony."

"Uh, hi. I'm Willow," she said. After a small hesitation that she hoped nobody noticed, she shook the vampire's hand. She'd expected it to be cold, but it wasn't. It was pleasantly warm.

"Oh, that's a lovely name! Where are you from?" Harmony sounded genuinely interested.

"California."

"Really? Wow, that's awesome, I've always wanted to go there! I'm so jealous."

As they made the typical small-talk of newly acquainted people, she discovered that Harmony was a walking, talking contradiction. She was the very essence of the ideal cheerleader, all blonde, busty, perky and happy. She wore makeup, her nails were painted pink and she accessorized with the best of them going by her outfit. She was even friendly, unlike the cheerleaders at Sunnydale High. Yet, there was no doubt she was a vampire. Her skin was paper white rather than the expected tan and she was sipping blood, not a Starbucks frappuccino.

Somehow, she couldn't picture this girl running around at night, killing people.

After a while, once she'd built up the courage, she asked about her temperature.

Harmony laughed. "Nah, it's a trick. Check for yourself," she offered, and held out her left hand. It was cool to the touch. Not freezing cold, but cool. Significantly cooler than a normal human hand. Then the girl swapped hands and held out her right. It was warm. Not as warm as it had been the first time they touched, however.

"How...?"

"It's the blood," Harmony grinned and held up her glass. "We prefer to drink it warm, so it's just like if I were holding a cup of hot coffee or tea. It heats up my skin."

Huh. She wondered if vampires preferred to be cold or if they missed being warm, like they had been as humans. That was one question she didn't have the guts to ask yet, however.

Exactly as Anya had foreseen, Dalton came to knock on her door soon after lunch. First he apologized profusely to the demon once again for Willow having been dumped into her lap the night before, then he turned towards Willow and said that the guest room was ready for her.

Together they followed him down the corridor. As they walked, she read the names on the doors to herself: Anyanka, Drusilla, Violet, Harmony, Faith, Winifred, Rona and Tara. Then there were a few unmarked doors. The very last door on the right was labeled "Guest Room". Home sweet home.

It was plain, but well-kept. A single bed rather than a double, only one bookshelf (and it was of course empty), and a small, double-door closet instead of a walk-in one. There was a window though, and two chairs with a table in a corner. A bit like a hotel room; no personality, but everything you needed for comfort.

On the bed sat two zipped bags, one small and one medium sized, a bathrobe like the one she'd worn the day before and a pair of slippers.

Dalton held out a key for her. She was surprised but accepted it readily.

"It is not strictly necessary; no one will enter your room without your permission", Anya clarified and gave her an encouraging smile, "but if it'll make you feel safer then why not."

"I must warn you," Dalton added, "that should you lock yourself in your room and refuse to come out, the Master does have a skeleton key."

"I think she's clever enough to know she'd only starve to death if she did that," Anya snorted.

"You will find towels and laundry bags in the bathroom. Drop the bag outside your door when you need something cleaned. They are picked up and returned once a day."

"In the morning," Anya supplied.

"Should you require anything, write it down and pass it to a minion." He pointed to a notepad and pen resting on the nightstand.

Willow nodded and thanked him. He left.

"It's not much," Anya offered with a look around the small room, "but it's better than sharing. Would you like me to show you around now?"

"Okay."

They went to the library first, to her glee. It was full of comfortable chairs and of course books upon books upon books. The walls were full of them, and there were ladders on rollers allowing you to reach every single one. She couldn't help herself and ended up standing in the middle, simply breathing in the atmosphere of library. The only thing that could make it better, she decided, was if it was bigger.

"Do you know how to use computers?" Anya had walked over to a small desk while she was having her rapturous moment. There was a shiny black laptop sitting there, waiting to be used.

"Sure." She didn't expand on it and it made her feel a little guilty, but if that thing was hooked up to the internet she could use it to escape. Or rather, she corrected herself, she could use it to be rescued.

"There's a database with all the books," Anya said and moved the mouse, making the screen hum to life. "You can look up the book you want and it'll say where it is."

Anya reached over and typed in 'Hamlet' to test it. There was an immediate response. Much to Willow's surprise, they were informed that there were three copies of Shakespeare's Hamlet in the mansion. One in the Women's Library, which must be the one they were in, one in the Main Library and finally one in what was called Personal Collection.

"If it's not here, then you can request it," Anya instructed. "Just write down the name and author and hand it to Dalton or a minion. They'll fetch it for you."

"What's the Personal Collection?"

"Oh, that's the Master's private library, in his room."

Life was full of surprises today, clearly. Who would have thought that a vampire would feel the need to keep a personal library in his room, let alone one with Shakespeare in it? Then again, she thought, he wrote mostly tragedies, didn't he? Maybe vampires liked reading that sort of thing.

"Can I?" she asked, and Anya stepped aside right away.

She pretended to look up various books and authors (and she had to admit, she was curious to see what else was on the Master's private shelves) while she waited for an opportune moment. It didn't take long, Anya soon wandered away to look at some nearby books. Quickly, she minimized the database program and delved into the directory of the computer. No internet. Dammit. But there was an intranet. That meant that there were computers elsewhere in the mansion, and that some of them were hooked up to this one. She could access them from here and snoop around to her heart's content if she was left alone.

The prospect of doing so was too good to waste now, when Anya was hovering nearby. She brought the database back up and smiled, she didn't have to fake it as she was genuinely happy for the first time in a long while.

"This is great," she said. "I'll have to come back here later and borrow some books."

Anya put away the book she'd been looking at and smiled back. "You won't get in trouble if you don't return them on time, either," she joked.

Willow laughed. She felt a little bad about lying, but she had no choice.

"You've already seen the dining room," her demonic tour guide went on as they left the library and leisurely walked along the corridor. "The food stays out for two hours at breakfast and lunch, so you don't have to be there on the dot for those, but everyone always has to be in the great hall before dinner starts at nine."

"Why?"

"Dalton comes with word from the Master then," Anya explained. "Anything we need to know, such as upcoming trips, other events and whatever. And, most importantly, his choice for the night."

She wanted to know more about that, but Anya continued before she had a chance to say something. "A couple of weeks ago, for example, we were informed that he was considering bringing a new girl here, and wanted us to be prepared. Yesterday, when I first saw you, I thought you were it. Now I understand that it was the Slayer he meant."

A couple of weeks. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised that the kidnapping had been planned in advance. The gnawing worry about Buffy and where she might be right now made her forget all about what she'd wanted to ask.

"If you're not feeling well or want some time to yourself, you can grab a tray and take your food to your room. You can also request food be made and brought up to you, if you crave something that isn't available or if you're hungry outside of meals," Anya informed her. "Like with the omelet last night. Same as with the books: write down what you want and give it to a minion. They're always outside the door in the great hall."

Guarding us, Willow thought. Keeping us here.

They'd reached the next door ("Music Room", it proclaimed) and were standing outside it. Piano music could be heard, faintly. As Anya opened the door, it grew considerably in strength. She figured the walls must be pretty thick.

To her astonishment, it was the dark-haired vampire that was sitting at the instrument. She was staring up at the ceiling as her delicate hands danced over the keys. She played flawlessly, despite not looking at what she was doing.

Well! Weren't vampires just full of surprises today.

"Hello Dru," Anya greeted.

"Anyanka," Drusilla replied, still entranced by the ceiling but stilling her fingers, making the music stop abruptly. "The moon whispers that you will lie between the fool and the fire soon."

"That's nice," Anya replied absently, looking at Willow instead.

"The little tree will too, although for her it will be butter, not fire." Drusilla giggled, sharp and girlish. "The butter will melt around the roots and the fool to become an ocean! Swallow it all up. Oh, it'll be so pretty!"

Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. What?

Anya came to her rescue. "Dru is insane, and she's also a Seer. She gets visions all the time. It's awful hard to figure out what on earth it is she sees, as it gets filtered through her madness. I've stopped trying to understand them, it only gave me headaches."

"Wow," she said.

Despite Anya's experience, she couldn't help but commit what had been said to memory. The little tree was her, she guessed. She wondered if the butter ocean had anything to do with the copious amounts of grease and fat she'd consumed recently.

Drusilla began to play again, picking up the melody exactly where she'd stopped, as if nothing had happened. She'd dropped her eyes to actually look at the sheet music now, too.

"She has good days and bad days, you're unfortunately seeing a bad one," Anya said. "You'll like her. She's very entertaining when she tells stories from the old days."

"How old is she?"

"I don't know exactly, but she's older than the Master. Well over a hundred."

She glanced around the room. In addition to the piano, there were several other instruments, including a harp, and shelves holding books and folders full of sheet music. Some books even looked to be guides for teaching yourself how to play.

"Does the Master like music and art?" she asked.

"Yes, very much so," Anya confirmed. "He occasionally invites artists here and holds a big dinner in one of the ballrooms. We all get to go, then. Once, there was this violinist, a little girl, couldn't have been more than nine, and she played for us for hours. She was magnificent."

She thought about the paintings in the hall and in the women's bedrooms. Hamlet in his personal library. Now there was this entire room dedicated to music and the revelation that he invited artists to his home. Maybe he'd been a painter or a musician before he'd been turned, she mused.

They left Drusilla in peace.

There was one final door left. It wasn't marked and as soon as it was opened she understood why. It lead to a spiral staircase. Anya headed up.

Once they reached the top, there was a small landing and a doorway. Through it, of all things, a rooftop conservatory. The evening sun was shining down and bathed the entire half-circle room in bright, warm light. After the many rooms and corridors without windows, it was a bit of a shock.

"This is beautiful," she marveled. "But why would a vampire have a sun room?"

"Why not?" Anya countered. "There's no rule saying you can only come here during the day."

True. It would look pretty nice at night, too, she figured, with the moon above, the starry sky all around and the air nice and chilly instead of sweltering like it was now. She could imagine herself up here, snuggled up with a blanket and a book.

She stepped over to the glass wall and looked around. The mansion was shaped like a rectangular fortress. In the courtyard within, there was a garden. She'd seen it briefly through the windows in hers and Anya's room, but this was the first time she'd stopped to scrutinize it. It was large and lush; there were even a few proper trees in it. Near the center, there was a pond with a little fountain. She could see what looked like statues half-hidden among the bushes and flowers, too. She wondered if the women had access to it; she'd love to go check it out.

"One more place to show you," Anya said.

She'd hoped for the garden when they descended the stairs below the floor of the bedrooms and library, but they went down yet another level to the basement. Just like at the top, there was a small landing and an open doorway. What was on the other side was completely different, however: a cave-like passageway that felt slightly damp. Her thoughts drifted to mines and dungeons, wondering if this was perhaps the place Buffy was being kept. Then the passageway widened and she gasped.

"Oh, wow."

"I know," Anya agreed. "Takes your breath away first time you see it, doesn't it?"

It was a pool area. Not just any pool, though - it was the most luxurious place she had ever seen, like she'd stepped right into a fashionable spa for the rich. It really was a cave; the walls cut from solid rock that had been painted white, with little nooks at regular intervals that held lamps to keep the room in a soft glow. There were lights underwater, too. She'd never imagined a pool underground without any natural light, but it worked. Boy, did it work.

The pool itself wasn't simply a rectangular box in the ground, it snaked around the cavern like a river, occasionally widening and then narrowing again. It formed a full, if uneven circle. She could see a jacuzzi in a corner on an elevated platform and a fake waterfall along one wall.

Anya lead her across a small bridge and onto the 'island' in the center of the room so she could look around some more.

"Why don't you spend all day down here?" Willow wanted to know.

"Prune-y fingers, but I do come here a lot. There's a sauna through there," Anya pointed at a doorway further in. "As well as showers and such. There's something you need to be aware of, though."

"What's that?"

Anya lead her back to where they'd entered and picked up a red plastic circle from a shelf carved into the stone wall next to the doorway. She hadn't noticed it on the way in. It looked like a flattened frisbee.

"If the door is closed and this is hanging on it," Anya demonstrated by hanging the plastic circle on a nail in the door. "Then you can't enter."

"Why not?"

Anya gave her a look. "It'll be in use."

There was a moment as the dots connected in her mind. "Oh."

"Uh-huh."

She tried to control her furious blush on the way back. She'd somewhat succeeded by the time they reached the bedrooms. Anya informed her that she'd come back later to take her down to dinner, letting her have some time to herself to relax and get comfortable, and then disappeared into her room.

When she approached the guestroom she discovered that there was something waiting for her outside. On the floor right in front of the door was a note with a bottle on top. She picked it up and carried it inside to check it out in – she reveled a little – privacy.

It was a small plastic bottle of cinnamon body spray. The note said simply "Housewarming present! - Faith". She smiled. Although she hadn't been comfortable the day before while under Faith's ministrations, the girl had willingly shared her own clothes (and panties) with her. She hadn't even properly thanked her for it. And now this.

She went into the bathroom and placed the bottle on the counter by the sink. It was the only thing with any personality in the small, bright room; the bags she'd received had contained only generic, unscented toiletries. She looked at herself in the mirror. They were being so nice. Well, the women were, anyway. She had a bad feeling that this couldn't possibly last.

Just before nine o'clock, Anya came to fetch Willow as promised. The other women were all going to the great hall as well. Fear rose in her belly as she watched them line up, facing the door like good little subservient harem girls. Anya guided her to join them.

At the stroke of nine, Dalton entered. There was total silence in the room. He stood before them, eyes downcast.

"The master wishes to talk to Willow. When she returns, he requests Faith's company."

Faith quietly fist-pumped the air, mouthed a heartfelt 'alright!' and ran off back to the bedrooms. The other women, disappointment on several of their faces, dispersed. Willow stood frozen in place.

Anya nudged her in the ribs, making her squeal.

"I did warn you," she said calmly.

"But what does it mean?" she whispered. "What do I do?"

"What, you need a step-by-step guide?"

Anya was joking, she knew that, but she still looked up at her with pleading eyes.

"Oh for Heaven's sake," Anya sighed. "You go freshen up. Then you come back here, go out that door and tell the minions that you're ready to see him. One of them will escort you to wherever the Master is waiting. Then you will talk. About what, I don't know. I doubt he will be discussing the finer merits of tap dancing with you, but that's just an educated guess. When he dismisses you, a minion will bring you back here. When you're done, Faith will go to him."

She swallowed and tried to keep her hands still. "But not to talk."

"No, she will be going to him for orgasms," Anya grinned.

She swallowed again.

"Don't just stand there like a dumbstruck goose, you're making it so much worse than it has to be," Anya chided. "Just go. Get it over with already."

Barely nodding in acknowledgment, she ran for her room. She didn't need to, but it allowed her a few precious minutes to herself that she could spend trying to calm down her racing heart.

She sat on the lid of the toilet and breathed slowly, in and out. In and out. Everyone had assured her repeatedly that the Master would not hurt her, would not force her. Would they lie? They didn't seem like the kind of people who would deceive someone into thinking they were safe when they weren't. And both Anya and Fred had been rather intense in their defense of him.

Since she was a kid, she'd found comfort in reciting stuff she'd learned by heart. At first it had been simple multiplication tables, then she'd taken on more complicated stuff like memorizing the decimal numbers in pi and other interesting numbers. She also had a penchant for the periodic table.

“Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium,” she whispered, forcing herself to calm down. “Boron, carbon, nitrogen.”

By the time she finished, she concluded that Anya was right. Her mind was going around in the same circles it had been since yesterday and she wasn't going to get anywhere unless she went out that door and found out for herself. Heartbeat once again under control, she stood up, felt a rush of guilt that she'd come in here under false pretenses and quickly sprayed herself with her present. There. She'd freshened up. No one could fault her.

The corridor was blissfully empty when she walked back out. There were only two women in the great hall; the ever-present Tara with her book and Anya, who gave her a thumbs up.

Opening the door at the end of the hall, she forced herself to not show any signs of fear. Two minions in gameface - not the ones that had been introduced to her yesterday - stared at her.

"I'm ready," she said, trying to sound calm and collected. "To, uh, to see the Master, I mean."

One minion stepped away smartly, the other bowed his head.

"Yes, Miss."

He started to walk away. She hesitated, unsure. He turned and gestured for her to come along. Alright then. She bit the inside of her cheek and followed, feeling very much like a sacrificial lamb going to slaughter.

They walked through several long corridors, a few random rooms and two large halls. No stairs this time. Her internal compass told her that they had gone in a large U-turn, which she figured meant that they were on the opposite side of the mansion from the garden. There were hardly any windows, so she couldn't know for sure.

All too soon, they came to a stop in front of a door. It was not labeled. The minion indicated with another hand gesture that she was meant to enter by herself. Holding her breath, she did.

It was a study. There was a large desk, the kind that she thought of as classic-looking, made out of dark brown wood with a green felt top. Tables, chairs and bookcases were lined along the walls. In a corner stood a chess table. Behind the desk, where there would traditionally be a window, there was instead a very large painting of two women sitting on an antique sofa, holding hands. She did not recognize it as something famous, but she thought one of them looked a bit like Drusilla.

The Master was standing to the side, by a small table that held several bottles of what she guessed was liquor. He was pouring himself a drink as she entered and did not look up at her until he'd finished, downed it, and put the empty glass back down.

In the dark of that first room, he'd been intimidating. In the full light of this one, he was positively terrifying. He wore a long, black leather duster over a black t-shirt, a black belt, black jeans and black combat boots. Even his fingernails were painted black. The only things on him that weren't were his skin and his hair, which were both white. The contrast was as sharp as his cheekbones.

He looked a lot younger than she'd thought he would.

He came over to her, saying nothing, and began circling her slowly. His thumbs were casually tucked under the belt of his jeans, but his every movement belied any sense of being relaxed and at ease. He moved like a predator.

If ever there was a man that screamed vampire! when you looked at him, it was this one. Her mouth was suddenly very dry and she wondered whether she was about to be eaten, or, well, eaten.

"You're dressed like Faith," he drawled, "smell like Faith." He came to a stop in front of her and stared, his expression blank. "But you're not Faith."

She shook her head and swallowed thickly, trying to return moisture to her mouth so she could talk. The cinnamon spray must have been Faith's favorite scent; she deeply regretted using it.

"Is this some kind of game? How come you're dressed up as her?"

"My c-clothes were dirty," she managed to say, her voice so low she wasn't sure he could hear her. "I didn't have anything else to put on."

She looked down at her shoes, not wanting to see it if he was annoyed with her. Not knowing was preferred at present.

There was a small pause. She knew he was watching her. She wrapped her arms self-consciously around herself, wishing the leather covered more and wasn't so tight.

"Of course. My mistake," he spoke finally. "I've been... preoccupied. It didn't occur to me that Anya wouldn't have anything for you to wear."

Silence again. She hugged herself tighter, still keeping her eyes firmly on the floor.

"You're not very comfortable in these clothes, are you Red?" he asked, voice softer now.

"No," she admitted.

"Can I give you some advice?"

"Uh, sure." She braved lifting her eyes, but couldn't make herself look directly at him. She settled on looking at his duster. It appeared to be of good quality, but well-worn.

"When you hold your arms like that," he said, indicating her chest with his hand, "you're putting yourself even more on display."

She stared down her front in horror. He was right, her breasts were squashed upwards by the tight leather top and even moreso by her crossed arms. The ruffles did little to hide them. She'd pretty much been flaunting as much cleavage as she possibly could with her small size, right in front of him. Her cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment and she dropped her arms like they were made of lead.

"I could tell you weren't doing it on purpose," he offered in consolation. It did nothing for her furious blush or the shame she felt. "What did Anya do with your clothes?"

"She had me put them in her laundry."

He walked over to a side table and rang a small metal bell that sat there. Instantly, Dalton entered.

"Locate Anyanka's laundry bag. Take out the clothes that are not hers and have them cleaned right away. I want them brought up to the guest room in the women's quarters when they're done."

"Yes, Master."

Dalton disappeared as quickly as he'd shown up.

The Master turned to her again. "I apologize. You will be able to pick out some clothes of your own tomorrow."

She'd never expected to have a vampire apologize to her. There was something so patently ridiculous about it that she should be bursting out laughing. Her embarrassment and the hard lump of terror in her stomach prevented her from even considering it.

He went over to his desk and sat down, reaching for paper and pen to scribble something. She saw he was left handed.

"I hope you're settling in well," he said while he wrote, "Has Anya been taking good care of you?"

"Uh, yeah."

He looked up and raised an eyebrow at her hesitation. "Is there a problem?"

When she did not respond right away, he tilted his head and prodded again. "I am the Lord and Master here, I need to know if there is anything wrong in my household."

"No, nothing like that," she hastily assured him, not wanting to get anyone in trouble. "Everyone's been great, really, especially Anya. It's... um."

"Yes?"

She hung her head and plucked at the red fabric attached to the arms of the leather top.

"Mind if I take a shot?" he asked, but didn't expect her to answer as he carried on right away. "You're scared out of your mind, have no idea where you are, you're worried sick about your friend, you think I'm going to kill you or worse, you're wondering why I've placed you among my women, you want to know what it means to be gifted to a vampire," he threw his arms to the side, pen still in hand. "Stop me when I get close."

She bit her lip, hard. "Can I go with all of the above?"

"Can't blame you for that, pet," he chuckled. It was such an unexpected sound. "Your friend is alive and well. She was supposed to arrive alone, as I'm sure you've figured out, so she's actually being cared for better than you are right now."

Relief flooded through her, it didn't occur to her to doubt him.

He finished writing and folded the piece of paper twice. "As for yourself, I do not like to use people but I'm afraid I'm going to be using you."

And the relief was gone in an instant. Her gut clenched.

"The Slayer-," he eyed her sharply as he stood, "you do know she's the Slayer, yeah?"

She nodded. "The Chosen One. One girl in all the world."

"Good." He returned to the table with the bottles and filled his glass again, sipping it this time. "She's a handful. I had no illusions that she wouldn't be, but you present an opportunity that I'd be a fool not to take advantage of."

"You're going to threaten to hurt me unless she does what you want," she stated, deflating as she spoke.

He looked confused for a moment. "What?"

She remained silent.

"Pet, that would wholly ruin everything I hope to achieve." He did not explain what that was, however. "I informed her this morning, after she made it clear that she didn't want to cooperate and set about turning everything within range into rubble, that she'd be allowed to see you if she does. I much prefer having the foundation walls intact."

So she was to be the carrot at the end of the stick rather than a punching bag. That changed things significantly and she straightened a little.

"You will be fetched tomorrow after breakfast and I'll take you to see her, provided that she hasn't changed her mind about cooperating."

"How long?"

"An hour or so at first. Longer as we go along, depending."

"Depending on if she's a good girl," she supplied.

He smirked. "I'm not proud of it, Red, but you'd do the same if you were me."

She couldn't really reproach him for it, especially if it was true that Buffy had tried to destroy the very walls of wherever she was being held. And hey, they would get to see each other! Willow would forgive him a lot for that alone.

"Here," he said and handed her the note he'd written. "Give this to Harmony. She'll sort you out."

This was about the clothes, she figured, taking the note from his hand. For a second her fingers brushed against his and she got goosebumps from the cool of his skin.

"I'll explain more tomorrow," he promised, and smirked at her again. "You can flee now."

She considered feeling indignant, but decided against it and dashed out of the room instead. She could hear his laughter through the door.

The minion waiting outside had nothing to say to her and merely lead the way back to the women's quarters. She clutched the folded note to her chest so it covered her cleavage. She'd never wear these clothes again if she could help it.

As soon as she entered the great hall, Faith, who had been sitting on an ottoman waiting, shot up and ran for the door. Willow saw that her hair was done up and she'd changed her clothes as well. Primping for the Master.

She tried not to think about how those clothes would soon be on the floor and his fangs would be in Faith's neck. She tried even harder to not wonder whether Faith maybe liked it that way.

Faith wasn't the only one who'd waited. Well, Tara was still sitting with her book which was probably just a coincidence, since Willow hadn't been gone that long, but Anya had clearly hung around just for her. Knowing it'd be rude to ignore her, she walked over and sat down.

"So," Anya said, "was it as bad as you expected?"

"No, it wasn't," she confessed. "But he didn't like my clothes. He gave me this to give to Harmony." She held up the folded paper.

This worried Anya. "Was he upset? Did he say anything about me?"

"Uh, no, he asked if you'd been taking good care of me and I said yes. He said the clothes were his fault. That he hadn't realized I'd have none and apologized."

Anya calmed down again. "Oh, good. Thank you."

"Would he have, um, you know... punished you? If I'd said you hadn't?"

Anya shook her head. "He would have called me in to talk to me about it, then he'd have checked with Fred and Faith." 'And found out you'd lied to him' wasn't said, but it was there between the lines nonetheless. "It's not often he gives any of us a task like this," Anya went on, "I want him to be pleased, that's all."

That reminded her of her own two missions. "I better deliver this before it gets too late." Never mind that Harmony is a vampire and likely will be up very late, she thought. "Do you know if she's in her room?"

"Think so, she likes to watch TV in the evenings."

"Thanks. See you tomorrow for breakfast?"

"Sure," Anya smiled. "And don't hesitate to knock if you're bored."

"I will," she smiled back and hoped she didn't look like she had something to hide.

Harmony was indeed in her room and didn't seem at all surprised when she handed over the piece of paper. She thanked her profusely for delivering it though, and asked if Willow would like to come in and watch La Femme Nikita with her. She politely declined, claiming she needed to go eat, which wasn't exactly untrue.

The dining room was empty save for Drusilla with her cup of blood, and she thankfully appeared to not notice Willow at all. She filled a plate and ate quickly, nervous.

Having finished, she fretted for a bit and then headed to the library. To her disappointment Tara was in there, so she darted back out again before she was spotted. Back to her room it was. She'd try again later.

Unfortunately there was nothing in her room for her to waste time with, so she was left sitting by the window with the little notepad. She tore off a sheet of paper and folded it into a hat, the only thing she knew how to make. Then she doodled.

Time went by slowly. She paced, looked out at the garden and twiddled her fingers. She wondered what Faith was doing that very moment, then regretted it immediately at the mental images in her head. Happily, no one was there to see her blush.

Once she decided enough time had passed to try again, she ventured back to the library. This time she was in luck; it was empty.

She hurried over to the laptop and set to work on mapping out the mansion's intranet and locating its main server. From there, she should be able to get into whatever email system they were using, and hopefully also into individual workstations.

It was late by the time she headed back to her room. Her clothes were waiting for her outside the door, clean and neatly folded.

Relieved that she wouldn't have to wear the prostitute garb another day, she grabbed the pile and brought it inside. Remembering the key Dalton had given her, she locked the door behind her as well. It might be a deception of safety, but it made her feel better regardless.

She fell into a restless sleep.

Faith did not return until halfway through breakfast the next morning.

She sailed in and grabbed a cup of coffee, her hair a tangled mess and her lipstick gone. She didn't seem to care one bit. Satisfied, Willow thought to herself, that's how she looks. As though she'd had her fill and was damn pleased about it. No, stop it. Eat your breakfast and get out of here before she decides to tell you all about it.

She made it out just in time; Anya shared none of her mortification and had eagerly started fishing for details.

Soon after, Dalton came to fetch her.

This time she was brought to a different room, one floor down. The Master was waiting for her, leaning against a wall with a lit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He'd recently showered, his hair was still mussy and wet and he wasn't wearing the duster. The rest of his clothes were the same all black ensemble as the night before. The tight black shirt looked identical, she wondered if he had several or if perhaps he hadn't bothered changing.

"Ready, pet?"

"Yes."

Nothing more was said. He didn't seem to be up for conversation and she didn't care. She was focused entirely on getting to see Buffy.

Another flight of stairs and they were in the basement. The walls here weren't carved out of rock like in the pool area, but made of traditional brick and stone. The floor was stone as well. It looked vaguely dungeon-y she supposed, but it lacked the moss, lichen and chains hanging from the walls for the full effect.

He came to a stop outside a reinforced, steel door. It was locked, but he slid his fingers into his jeans pocket and fished out a key to let them in.

"Willow!"

The Master stood to the side to let her pass and she ran over to Buffy.

"You have one hour, as promised," he said. "I'll come back for her then."

She barely heard him and didn't see him leave, she was busy wrapping Buffy in a tight hug. There were shackles on her wrists again, but not on the ankles.

"Oh, thank God you're okay," Buffy said, clinging to her.

"I'm fine," she reassured, and really, she was. Shook up and still a little frightened, sure, but basically fine. "What about you?"

"Been better, been worse."

She stepped back to take a good look at Buffy and the room. The chains attached to Buffy's shackles were anchored in the wall, but they were long enough to give her good mobility. There was a pile of what looked like broken plastic chairs and a table in one corner and several spots in the brick wall where Buffy had apparently punched it with all her might, leaving indentations and cracks. He hadn't been lying.

Buffy was dressed in jeans and a plain t-shirt, not the dress she'd been wearing on the night of the kidnapping. He had insinuated that he'd been prepared for Buffy's arrival though, so Willow wasn't very surprised.

"Where is he keeping you? Has he done anything to you?"

"No, no, he hasn't touched me. I've barely seen him, to be honest. I'm in a guest room two floors up, in the women's quarters." She decided not to elaborate on exactly what that meant. There was no need to worry Buffy unnecessarily, especially as nothing had happened to her.

"Good, I told him I'd kill him if he so much as harms a hair on your head."

"I'm alright, honest," she insisted. "I've mostly been worried about you."

This made Buffy smile. "And me about you. I've been here the whole time, chained to the wall. The food here is a lot better though, and the amenities have been upgraded." She pointed at a door in the corner that had a small half-circle cut into it.

It took a moment before she realized that it was for the chains, so that Buffy could close the door behind her.

"Toilet?" she asked.

"And shower. I swear I've never been so happy to wash my hair."

"Yeah, me too. I had to borrow his girlfriend's bathroom at first."

"He has a girlfriend?" Buffy asked, taken back at the news.

"Yeah, she's sorta been babysitting me since we came here," she tried to explain without saying too much. "She said she's a demon, a vengeance demon, but she looks human to me."

"Huh, never heard of vengeance demons before."

"Me either, but she said she's retired so I guess she doesn't do vengeance anymore, if that's what they do."

"Demons can retire?" Buffy echoed Willow's own confusion from two days ago.

"Apparently it's not common," she said, nodding sagely. It wasn't often she knew more than her friend about this type of stuff so she had to take the opportunity when it came. "I didn't ask more about it. You know, didn't want to upset her or anything. She seems nice, though."

"If she's a demon, she's dangerous. Promise me you'll be careful around her, Will"

"Of course. I'm more worried about this vampire woman anyhow. She's insane. Like, actually insane."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. There's a whole bunch of vampires around," she said, glossing over the truth, "but she was really strange. Anya, that's his demon girlfriend, said she has visions."

"Visions, really?"

She nodded. "I didn't understand any of what she said, but it was real freaky."

"I bet," Buffy said, and brightened some. "How much of this place have you seen? I woke up here and haven't left this miserable room."

"Oh, it's huge Buffy! They call it the mansion and it really is. There's three floors above this one, which is the basement, but you probably guessed that already. I've never seen so many hallways in one place, it's like a giant hotel."

Buffy seemed disappointed at that. She must have hoped that it'd be easy to get out of here.

"There are minions everywhere," she added, biting her lip.

"Damnit."

"Yeah. Sorry. I have no idea where it is, either. The only part of outside that I've seen is the courtyard and the tops of some mountains."

"There's a courtyard?"

She nodded again. "A big one. It's an amazingly big place. It has two libraries, for example."

"Trust you to pay attention to that," Buffy snorted.

She grinned. "Hey, no teasing! There was a computer in the one I went to," when Buffy instantly looked hopeful she carried on quickly, "but no internet, unfortunately."

"Double damn."

As best as she could without revealing everything, she relayed her adventures since Buffy had blacked out in the truck. Just as she finished, the door opened behind them and the Master walked in. He stayed on the opposite side of the room, out of range from Buffy, and from the quick, anxious glance Willow threw his way, he seemed weary.

"Time's up."

She had the feeling that Buffy was about to reply with something that would have definitely not made him very happy, so she darted between them and turned her head to give her a pleading look. Please don't make him mad, please don't make him mad, she chanted in her head. Buffy seemed to take the hint.

"Will you let me see her again tomorrow?" Buffy asked instead, her tone a little testy but not blatantly disrespectful.

"I meant what I said, Buffy," he replied. "If you keep your promises, I'll keep mine."

She wondered what Buffy'd had to promise him. To not destroy things, yes, but he'd said promises. Plural. What else? She'd have to wait for tomorrow to ask.

He was still in a non-talky mood on their return trip. She kept her eyes on the floor.

______________


To keep herself entertained, she made another trip to the library; this time to actually pick up some books. The rest of the afternoon was spent curled up in her room (she wasn't brave enough to sit out in the great hall yet) reading.

Harmony sat next to her again at lunch and informed her that they'd be spending the evening together picking out Willow's new wardrobe. She seemed elated about it. Once both had finished eating, she was dragged to Harmony's room where she was sized up and measured. She even had her measurements taken in places that she'd never thought needed to be measured, like armpit to knee and the circumference of her upper arms.

Like Anya, Harmony appeared to take her task very seriously and wanted the Master to be pleased with her. She placed a pile of catalogs in her lap that was so heavy that it made her grunt. All of them were from clothing chains and stores that allowed you to order by mail. She wasn't used to shopping in this way, but Harmony assured her that with all the measurements she'd taken, everything should fit once it arrived. If not, they'd return it for a different size or have it tailored. She was also told to not worry about the cost, the Master would take care of it.

Willow picked out four outfits and a bathing suit for the pool, but Harmony gave her a look and insisted that she'd need much more. Harmony then offered to help, and selected several pieces that would work well with the other things she'd chosen and that could be dressed up or down to give some variety. She also insisted on making her pick out a dress, stating that she'd need one for any formal events.

When Willow admitted to not knowing much about fashion at all, Harmony giggled and revealed, not unexpectedly, that she lived for it. She'd wanted to be a fashion designer when she grew up, but had ended up a vampire instead.

They chatted about the different styles she liked and the styles she definitely did not like and before Willow knew it, dinnertime had arrived.

Just like yesterday, the women gathered in the great hall and lined up. Just like yesterday, Dalton entered at the stroke of nine. And just like yesterday, she was chosen to go see the Master. The only difference was that this time no one else was supposed to replace her once they had talked. Willow froze in panic. Oh God, she was meant to spend the whole night with him.

Anya and Faith both came up to her as the other women left, patting her back. She couldn't move, torn between fearing what he expected of her and wanting to believe the constant reassurance that she wouldn't be made to do something she didn't want.

"Don't fret, Squirt," Faith soothed. "You're new, it's only natural that he wants to spend time with you."

Anya agreed with a nod. "You'll have dinner with him, so don't worry about that either."

"Great," she muttered. "I have a date with a vampire."

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it," Faith grinned.

She'd really rather not try it, but didn't want to be rude and say so out loud. They were trying to be supportive and the least she could do was to be polite in return.

Not having much of a choice, she went to her bathroom to have a few minutes alone. After repeating the breathing exercises, she looked in the mirror, splashed some water in her face and deemed herself to be ready. She had no makeup or anything else to wear and wasn't going to do anything special with her hair for him, lest he get any ideas (that he didn't already have).

Once more into the fray, she thought.

She announced to the minions at the door that she was ready and was escorted to the study from yesterday. The Master sat behind the desk when she entered, leaning dangerously far back and with his booted feet up on the edge. He was reading through some papers; a stack of them piled in front of him. He was wearing the duster again and appeared much more at ease than earlier in the day.

"Hello Red," he greeted without looking up.

"Uh, hi."

She remained standing near the door, unsure what to do.

He put the papers down and eyed her up and down. "You look only marginally more comfortable," he commented, amused. "Are you really that scared of me?"

She tried to say 'yes' but it came out as a squeak. Her hands were shaking.

At least he didn't laugh at her this time. Instead, he smiled and got up, motioning to a small table between two plush chairs. "Have a seat."

As soon as she sat down, he joined her.

She was deeply grateful that her pink sweater had no cleavage to speak of, but worried about her skirt, which was much too short for a situation like this. She had white tights underneath, sure, but she was still happy to be protected from his view by the table. She already regretted letting Harmony talk her into getting several more above-the-knee skirts.

"I need to go over the rules of the mansion with you," he said and leaned back in the chair.

Ah, so that was why he had asked for her. Or at least, she hoped that was the only reason. Could they possibly talk about the rules all night? He'd stuffed his hands into the pockets of his duster and spread his legs wide, the picture of relaxed and cool. She was his polar opposite, sitting straight as a pin with her fingers plucking at her sweater.

"Okay," she said, putting on the attentive and interested face she used in class.

"First and foremost," he began, "no other male may touch you. Only me."

Willow tried not to let him see her shudder. Sure, she thought, it explained why none of the vampires at the mansion (nearly all of whom were male) had laid hands on her. And okay, she had no issues with that. But there was still touching implied, and she was pretty sure she had plenty of issues there.

"The minions know that the penalty of touching you is death. There's exceptions for emergencies obviously; should you stumble and fall down the stairs for example, then they are permitted to help you."

"Of course."

"I want you to report any touching at all to me, immediately."

He stared at her so intently she didn't dare look away in case he thought she was hiding something. She desperately wanted to. His eyes were blue, a startling cobalt blue that seemed to see straight through her.

She nodded her silent agreement. When he finally looked away she discovered that she'd held her breath.

"Secondly, you may not leave the women's area without my approval. I know that's a bit restrictive," he said with a quick apologetic look, "but it's for your own protection. It's not that I don't trust you, it's them that's the problem."

"You don't trust your minions?" She was a little surprised to hear that.

"You know that saying, 'good minions are hard to find'? It's true. Now don't get me wrong, in the many years that I have kept my women here there have never been any serious incidents. It's just that the mansion is very large and if you were to wander off it could be hours before someone missed you. If a minion ran into you in a remote part of the house and knew that nobody would come looking for you..." he trailed off and shook his head a little, as if to clear away an unpleasant mental image. "I'd rather not allow the temptation."

She could see where he was coming from. At the same time, it made her more anxious about the vampires that escorted her back and forth. He picked up on it right away.

"There's no need to worry. The way it works, I always know if one of you is outside the women's area and where you are going. I'd know right away if something was wrong."

Remembering something Faith had said, she crinkled her brow. "Weren't some of them in our quarters yesterday, though? And Dalton comes in all the time."

"In the old days they employed eunuchs to ensure the absolute safety of women. I've opted for a more modern route," he said and grinned, "the minions that are permitted to enter your area are either female or gay. That includes Dalton, who's in a happy relationship with one of the cooks."

"Ah," she said, taken aback by this rather personal information. She hadn't really looked at Dalton much since the first time she saw him. "Uh, good for him."

"He's been with me for decades now, he's solid as a rock." He stood to pace the floor back and forth and continued the list. "Third, I expect you to get along. If you have issues with one of the other women, sort it out. I can't stand drama."

"Okay."

That one worried her some. She had no troubles getting along with Anya, Faith and Fred, hell, not even with Harmony, but did he want her to make friends with the mad Drusilla too? She wasn't sure she could and hoped that being polite would be enough.

"Fourth and most important," he said, and stopped suddenly to look at her with that piercing stare again. "No going behind my back, or behind the backs of any of the other women. That goes for everything."

A cold shiver ran down her spine. The snooping around she'd done on the library laptop would count as going behind his back, she was sure of it.

Struggling to keep her composure, she tried hard not to do something that would reveal her distress, such as biting her lip or wringing her hands. Had she met his gaze he'd have seen straight through her for sure, but she'd glanced down at her lap to check that her skirt wasn't riding up just before she realized the implication of his words.

"Any breaking of these rules is punished as I see fit," he finished.

She gulped. He must have assumed it was due to the mention of punishment because he said nothing, just continued to watch her. She'd never been a good liar and had no delusions about it. She knew the likelihood that he'd find out was high; all he had to do was ask her and she wouldn't be able to lie convincingly enough for someone as perceptive as him. She couldn't even fool Xander half the time, and he certainly wasn't the most insightful of people. What would happen if she were caught lying to the Master? What kind of disciplinary action would he use? Torture?

Whatever his methods were, she was sure to find out before long.

Willow braved looking up at the Master to find he was still watching her. Never in her life had she seen such intense eyes, it was as though he saw straight through her, to her very core.

For a moment she'd been on the verge of blurting out a confession just to get him to stop, certain that he already knew. To her immense relief, Dalton entered the room, and their nearly spoken words remained unsaid.

She was utterly bewildered when Dalton walked up and handed her a small card, then stepped back, seemingly waiting for something.

"Your choice of dinner," the Master clarified.

"Oh, right." She scanned the list of meals and, flustered, picked one at random. You couldn't go wrong with chicken.

"We'll eat in here," he instructed Dalton, who gave a small bow before leaving.

"Do you not normally have dinner in this room?" she asked, curious.

"No, but you'll be more relaxed here."

This puzzled her. Why did he care? Was he trying to put her at ease in order to seduce her or something? And where did he usually eat that would make her uneasy? Never mind. In his room, obviously. She suddenly appreciated his courtesy very much.

"I want to get to know you," he said. "First though, is there anything you'd like to know about me?"

"You want..." She couldn't quite believe what he'd said. "You want t-to get to know me?"

"Of course. If I don't know you, I won't be able to properly take care of you."

Still a little stunned, she plucked at the embroidered hem of her sweater. She wasn't entirely sure what he meant by 'taking care of her'. Maybe she could get some answers about what exactly was going on and what he wanted with her.

"Oh. Um. What's your name?" she asked, despite already knowing. A nice and polite opening always worked best.

"William, but please call me Spike. Everyone does."

Fred had made it clear that Spike was just a moniker, but even so she was amazed. One name was the picture of conventionality, the other anything but.

"Do I wanna know how you got that nickname?"

"No," he said and laughed. "It's not a nice story, but it happened a very long time ago."

"What's very long to a vampire?"

"A century or so."

She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be immortal and think of time in decades and centuries rather than months and years. When she asked how old he was, he actually had to close his eyes and think. As he mentally added up the years, his lips moved silently. He finally came up with a hundred and forty-three.

"Wow," she said, fascinated despite herself. Buffy had told her that Angel was more than two hundred, but she was impressed regardless. "I bet you've seen so much of the world."

"Been to all five continents, at least."

"How did you end up here, wherever here is?" she fished, seeing a chance and hoping she was being inconspicuous enough.

He leaned further back in his chair and brought his hands up to fold them in his lap. "That's not very subtle, you know."

"I-I didn't mean to-"

"Yeah, you did. It's alright, I was expecting it."

She turned red and ducked her head. So much for trying to be shrewd.

"The tale of how I ended up here is long and boring. We don't have time for it tonight I'm afraid, but I'll tell you another day if you want. As for where we are," he smiled, "you don't need to know. You're safe here and everything you need will be provided, that's what matters."

Still ashamed and feeling quite miserable she decided to switch tactics to blunt honesty. "You're not going to let me go, a-are you?"

"No," he replied without hesitation.

Her shoulders slumped. Although the confirmation didn't exactly come as a shock, a small sob escaped at the thought of never seeing Sunnydale again. Spike stood up, walked around the table and hunkered down on the floor beside her.

"Listen, Red, you belong to me now," he said. "I get that it's most likely not what you expected from life, but here you are. It is what it is. Make the best of it."

That was the final straw. She stood up so abruptly and with enough force that it knocked him off balance and he fell back on his ass.

"Belong to you? No I-I don't! I don't belong to anybody! I mean, I get that you're this, you know, really old vampire and everything, but what century do you think this is?"

"I-"

"You can't own people anymore! I wasn't anyone's to give away! And, and m-make the best of it? What's that supposed to mean? You sound like those guys who say that if a girl is attacked she should just lay back and enjoy it!"

"Red-"

"No," she said, unable to hold back her tears. "My name is Willow, not Red, and I don't belong to you, and I just want to go home!"

As she loudly sobbed out her misery, he fell quiet. To her surprise, he didn't seem upset at all that she'd knocked him over. He simply got back on his feet, shrugged out of the duster and draped it gently around her shoulders – making sure to remain at arm's length. Then he fetched the box of tissues on his desk, offering it silently.

The added layer of black leather oddly enough made her feel more safe. Protected, somehow. She took a few deep breaths, pulled the duster tightly around her and sat back down, cradling the cardboard box in her lap.

"Do you expect me to..." She faltered and searched for words she felt comfortable using. "Uh, yield to you?"

She didn't want to look at him but he'd hunkered down beside her again so she couldn't simply duck her head and escape. Instead, she made a fuss out of blowing her nose and drying her eyes, using the tissues as a barrier.

He raised a questioning eyebrow at her. "Yield? That's very old-fashioned of you."

"You know what I mean."

"No need to be scared, Willow. I have no plans to bed you."

Hearing him confirm it was a tremendous relief, yet at the same time a completely new feeling of dissatisfaction rose in her.

"Um," she hesitated, "why not?"

The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. "Do you want me to?"

"N-no, just... wondering."

"Spoken like a true teenager. How old are you, pet?"

"Sixteen. I'll be seventeen in August."

"I find you very attractive, love, but you're a bit young," he said, and she felt her face go hot again. "And I'm not in the habit of forcing women."

In an effort to avoid him and hide her embarrassment she turned her head to the side. How she'd even dared to asked she would never know. She supposed she'd wanted validation of some kind. She wasn't even sure what she meant anymore, simply being around him made it impossible to think clearly. Not to mention, the crying fit had given her a headache.

He reached up and touched her chin - the first time he'd touched her intentionally - and gently nudged her head around until she faced him again.

"I'm not going to lie and pretend that I don't want you; I do. You're a beautiful girl. What fascinates me the most about you though, is your childlike innocence. I wouldn't want to take that from you."

"You mean my virginity?"

He smiled and shook his head. "Not quite, love. Some people keep their innocence for a while after they become sexually active, others lose it long before they start. It's not about the physical at all. Innocence is a state of mind. The way you still look at the world in wonder."

He'd released her chin, but she was too confused by his words to look away.

"If I were to bed you now you'd become jaded. You'd lose that sparkle in your eyes."

"So you're just going to keep me around and, what, wait for me to get older?"

"Close. I'll wait for you to want it. If you never do, that's fine. If you do," as he spoke, his eyes darkened and seemed to burn with something unsaid. It made her turn aside again. "Well, that's fine too."

Okay, so basically what he was saying was that she was in the driver's seat. She could deal with that. In fact, this was more than she could have hoped for. Hadn't Anya said that Tara had been here for two years and had never slept with the Master? He was probably waiting for her as well.

As far as she was concerned, he could wait forever.

"For now, I only wish for you to be as happy as you can be in my care. If there is anything you need or want - other than going home obviously - let me know."

She let herself relax fully. It still made no sense to her to have women in your harem that you weren't sleeping with but there was no way she was going to point that out to him.

Their dinner arrived and he returned to his seat. For a while they sat in silence as two minions set the table for them. A plate of chicken in a creamy sauce with a side of green beans and french fries for her, a tall glass of blood for him.

As soon as they were alone again, she pointed at his glass with her fork.

"Do you drink it warm, too?"

"Yeah, it tastes awful when it's cold. Bit like coffee, in a way."

She made a face at the thought of sipping cold coffee.

They'd given him cutlery as well and she wondered why until he used the fork to steal one of her french fries.

"I didn't think vampires ate food," she said, and wrinkled her nose as she watched him dip it into the blood and eat it.

"Most don't, but I like the texture and the flavors. Besides, drinking your entire diet gets boring after a while."

"I bet. Like those diets where you're not supposed to eat anything, just drink these special shakes at every meal."

"Yeah, kinda like that."

She asked him a few more questions about vampire eating habits, including whether they had to watch their weight. He told her that he worked out regularly to stay in shape and had an exercise room somewhere that she was free to use as long as she asked first. When her questions tapered off, he took over.

"Do you miss your parents?"

"Maybe this makes me sound weird, but no, not really. They aren't around much."

He didn't question it. "What do you miss, then?"

"My friends. School."

"Tell me about your friends."

She told him about growing up with Xander, meeting Jesse later on and how Buffy had swept into their lives a year before. When she explained the events leading up to Jesse's turning and subsequent death, he apologized. She was a bit bewildered at that and said so, but he merely shrugged and maintained that while he didn't know the boy, he was nevertheless sorry it had happened to someone she cared about.

She went on to talk about how being friends with Buffy had opened her eyes to the darker side of Sunnydale and described some of the adventures they'd had together. The story of Amy's mother swapping bodies with her daughter in order to be a cheerleader again had him alternately chuckling and shaking his head. She had to admit that in hindsight, it was pretty funny that a grown woman was so desperate to relive her glory days.

After they finished their meals, they both remained at the table. The food along with his earlier reassurance made her feel at ease and she was comfortable telling him about her life.

When he asked about Xander, it took her by surprise. She'd expected him to want to know about Buffy, but he hadn't brought her up at all. After listening to her talk about Xander for a while, he interjected with a small smile. "Do you love him?"

"Yes, I do," she confirmed, seeing no reason to deny it. "But he doesn't love me."

"Unrequited love is rough," he said and made a sympathetic noise.

"It is." She paused for a moment. "How do you know?"

"I fall in love easily. It hasn't always been returned."

He looked wistful for a moment and she wondered what he was thinking about. Before she could mount the courage to ask, however, he changed the topic to school. She was grateful. Thinking about Xander hurt; if he had experienced the same then it probably hurt for him too, and he likely wouldn't want to talk about it.

"Which subjects are your favorite?"

"Math, English and Advanced Computers."

"Advanced, huh?"

Feeling shy, but all too used to people pointing out her intellect, she nodded. "Teacher's pet and nerd extraordinaire, that's me!"

She'd learned that making fun of herself was a good way to deflect attention from her cleverness. He did laugh, but not in the way she'd expected.

"Just means you're smart, which is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Says you," she said and rolled her eyes in an overly dramatic fashion so he'd know she didn't intend to insult him. "In school, being smart is not a good thing."

"No?"

"Nope." It occurred to her that he likely did not know the politics of teenagers, as he hadn't been one for a very long time. She spelled it out for him. "It means you get bullied."

"Is that so," he mused and reached up to stroke his chin with his long, tapered fingers. "Were you?"

She shrugged, pretending to be unaffected. "Since first grade, pretty much. Everyone wants my help, but no one wants to be associated with me, except for Buffy and Xander. I'm always picked last in gym class, too. When we're playing ball games and stuff."

"How come?"

"I have terrible hand-eye coordination."

Seemingly sensing her growing unhappiness at the memories, he steered her back to more pleasant topics. "What do you like to do in your spare time? Do you have any hobbies?"

Before she knew it, she was gushing about surfing the internet, coding programs and her hacking skills. Despite the danger of the topic she couldn't help herself, it had been a long time since someone was genuinely interested in her.

As she feared, the connection did not escape him.

"I don't know much about computers but I understand that they are the future and see their use. It seems there's hardly anything they can't do these days.” There was a small pause. “I'm also aware that the damage caused by a hacker can be extensive."

She nodded mutely and chewed on her lip.

"You've had access to the computer in the library for a couple of days now."

More nodding.

"Is there something you need to tell me?"

Here was her chance to come clean and perhaps avoid repercussion. It wasn't like it was a big loss if he cut her off from the network anyway; she could do little more than wreak havoc to the mundane running of the Mansion. It seemed that he didn't yet rely on modern technology for anything too important. None of the computers ran security systems or anything else that could benefit her and Buffy.

"Yes," she said.

He regarded her with an unreadable expression.

"I haven't done anything," she continued quickly. "I just poked around to see if I could."

"And could you?"

"Your network isn't secure at all," she admonished. This was a personal pet peeve of hers. Not only was it risky of the owner, it also didn't give her any challenge at all and she enjoyed being challenged. "There's nothing stopping me from tampering with the email system you use, or to access any of the remote computers."

"It never occurred to me that anyone here might try to mess with it."

"You're the one that said you didn't trust your own minions," she replied, maybe a little tartly.

It worked. He dropped the stoneface and broke into a small, crooked smile. "Touché."

The breather was temporary however, as he quickly fell serious again.

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Tamper with anything."

"I didn't touch anything, but I looked around. Checked out what programs you use on the different computers, the files, that kinda stuff."

He smirked. "Did you find my porn?"

She dropped her eyes to the tabletop while her cheeks burned.

"See anything you liked?"

She flushed harder. "I had no idea that's what was in the folder! It was just called 'pictures'! I only opened one, realized what it was and left it alone."

He didn't seem to care that she'd invaded his privacy and merely chuckled.

"Thank you for being honest with me, Red. As a vampire I don't get that a lot. We're not big on telling each other the truth, thus I have come to value honesty."

She looked up at him, biting her lip. "Are you going to punish me?"

"No. You didn't know about the rules when you did it and I'd like to think that if you'd known, you wouldn't have." His eyes bore into hers and she tried to appear trustworthy even though she wasn't sure herself what she would have done.

"I know I keep harping on about this, but if I had known that you were coming things would have been different. There would have been a room ready for you, clothes for you to wear, and I'd have sat down with you on the first day and explained everything, including the rules. Things have been kinda slapdash and for that I truly am sorry."

I confess to breaking the rules and he ends up apologizing to me, she thought. What a strange vampire.

"It's okay," she said, and meant it.

"So the security is shoddy, huh?"

"Very."

"I'll move anything sensitive to a separate computer that isn't connected, should've done that from the start, but..." he trailed off and appeared to be thinking about something.

She took the opportunity while he was distracted to study his face. Most of the time she looked his way she would only steal quick glances or focus somewhere to the side instead of directly at him. She knew she was shy to the point of being ridiculous, especially around boys, but being around Spike was a hundred times worse. He wasn't just not a boy, he was technically not even a man. The knowledge at the back of her mind that he could sink his fangs into her neck and drain her at any time didn't help whatsoever.

Another fact entirely that also contributed to her lack of self-confidence was that he wasn't exactly bad looking. The unusual cheekbones combined with his so-very-blue eyes gave his face a deceivingly angelic appearance. His mouth was full and soft, too. She could definitely understand his appeal to the other women.

"Red," he said and she hurriedly shifted her gaze to the wall behind his head. "Do you also know how to safeguard computers? Not just break in?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty good at both."

"Is that something you'd like to do?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Change it for me. Make it impossible to hack into."