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*Giles’ flat, one week later*

She was avoiding Spike again, and she couldn’t help feeling slightly guilty about it. Sure, the fact that he hadn’t come out to call her on it was proof that he didn’t really want to see her yet, either. I guess we’re both processing. Buffy knew this to be true because she was sure that if he had been actively looking for her, no amount of precaution, patrolling at odd hours, or using unpredictable patterns would have fooled him. He’d have found her, not just kept sending his little presents and notes—most of which were poems. So why hasn’t he?

She brushed her insecurity away, when another thought came unbidden. Maybe Dru told him something in private, like she told me. Or maybe Angel did, before my Dad followed. They’re vampires, it could work.

It had happened after everyone else had left, Giles included. Just the Summers family and the vampires had been left when Dru took her to the side. ‘I have something to tell you, but don’t be afraid. You are not the Slayer anymore.’

Buffy had recoiled in shock. ‘You’re lying!’

‘No, I’m not. When the power went to the new Slayer, it left you. By rights, you should be a normal girl, but the Powers still needed you. They’ll need you more in the future.’ She’d tilted her head, in a way reminiscent of Spike when he did it, in a way reminding her of a child looking at a butterfly caught and pinned in a collection from a museum. ‘Didn’t you realize you were different than before?’

“And had you?” Giles was sitting in an armchair, listening to her spilling her secrets to him from his couch.

She blushed and did her best to look contrite. “Maybe I kinda had?”

“Buffy!” The single exclamation held so much accusation and betrayal, that it hurt deep in her heart.

“I was going to tell you, it’s just that I wasn’t really all that sure. And then there was all the almost dying, and the truce, and I just kinda forgot?” Okay, so she should have told him earlier, but the way he was rubbing at his glasses was borderline abuse towards inanimate objects.

Giles took a few deep breaths in a visible attempt to calm himself. “So, if you would be so kind as to inform me what those changes are, maybe we could start looking into what has happened.”

She wasn’t really sure she wanted to know, but she was also afraid this wasn’t one of those cases of ‘what I can’t see won’t hurt me.’ Just like everything else in my life. “Well, it all started when I found myself being brought back to life by a soulless vampire. I felt the power run through my veins in a way I never had before, like…” She thought of how she could explain it. “Like when you press down on a vein and then let it go, you kinda feel how the blood is rushing through, opening it back up?” At Giles’ tentative nod, she continued. “It was kinda like that, only different.” This isn’t going very well.

Still, Giles was nodding as if he’d understood.

“But then I got distracted by other thing and—”

“So you didn’t take stock of your own powers?” He seemed incredulous.

“Well, sorry, but there was an unknown soulless vampire kneeling above me, Angel was basically admitting to wanting to turn or drain me, then I had a little matter of killing the Master so he couldn’t open the Hellmouth to keep me entertained. I’m sorry I didn’t tell the Apocalypse to stop so I could check an eye chart.” She flopped back and crossed her arms across her chest. She was aware it made her look childish and bratty, but she was too pissed off to care. She was also trying to keep him from asking too many questions about Angel and Spike, because the exact details were still a bit too wigsome for her to share.

First I find myself lost in Spike’s eyes and sort-of kiss, then Angel pretty much fesses up to being a big pedophilic necrophile. Yup, not gonna be sharing that with my Watcher anytime soon.

Giles, of course, was taking it all in stride. He had his glasses sitting a bit weirdly on top of his nose and was busy scribbling away in his journal. “Why did you mention an eye chart? Has your vision improved?” He was looking at her with genuine interest, and she found herself pulled back in the discussion.

Grudgingly.

“Yeah, it has. I can read a fine print like a mile away, and Slayer night-vision was something, but it has nothing on how clear things are when I patrol now.”

“I see. Anything else?”

“You told me yourself my Slay-dar is way strong, and I haven’t even been practicing it all that much. It just kinda developed over the summer.” She flashed back to everything that had happened since she’d first laid eyes on Spike. “Everything has.”

He looked up at her, over the rim of his still-crooked glasses. “And your strength?”

“Since the truce with Spike, enemies that really tested me have been few and far in between, but that could be because Spike killed most of the more powerful ones.”

“So no worthy adversary could be had?” He’d stopped writing, the pen halfway to the page.

“Kakistos gave me a run for my money like nobody else, but he was old as dirt, so what does that prove?” She was picking at non-existent strands on the hem of her shirt, hoping against hope the next question wouldn’t be what she thought it would be.

“And what of Spike?”

Crap! “Well, I never fought him before I died, so what do I know? The only time we actually fought against one another was when he—” She gulped down the bitter taste the thought brought up. “When he almost killed me. He kinda caught me by surprise then, though, so I don’t know if I could have taken him.”

The revelation gave Giles pause and she dreaded he would push with more questions. He had tried in the first week or so after that night to get her to give him a blow by blow description, but she’d refused claiming it was too traumatic, or not important. So what he had just heard was the closest thing to the truth he had heard about that battle and she was hoping against hope he wouldn’t ask for more.

He didn’t.

“So you have no way of gauging your strength? Maybe weights, or—”

“I did punch one of those machines that tells you how strong you are.” She shrugged in false modesty. “I almost obliterated it, so my guess is that I’m at least a bit stronger.”

“Yes, quite.”

“So what does it all mean? Was Dru right, and if she was, what am I and why did the Powers make me this way?” Her head was starting to throb again and that wasn’t of the good. It was one of the reasons she’d finally fessed up to Giles, to stop the stress-induced migraines that were threatening to drive her round the bend.

Giles’ glasses were now off and he was cleaning them thoughtfully. “There is a great deal of things that Dru has claimed.” He looked at her and she couldn’t read his expression. “What little I could corroborate has been confirmed, though.” He placed his glasses back on his face and leaned in, supporting his elbows on his thighs, the pen and journal loosely held in his left hand. “A new Slayer has been indeed called in Jamaica, and there are some unconfirmed rumors of a wish-granting demon somewhere in the African savanna.” He looked pained. “I couldn’t find out much more, I’m afraid.”

She took a moment to let it all sink in. “So it could all be true. Every single word.” She sighed deeply, leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “The fun that is the life of me just keeps going.”

“I’m truly sorry, Buffy. I promise I will research everything I can and we will get to the bottom of this.”

She raised her head warily. “So what do you think I should tell my parents?”

Giles looked slightly uncomfortable. “They have only just learned of your status as a Slayer, explaining to them now that you might not, in fact, be a Slayer anymore might prove confusing. That is why I would suggest allowing me to do some more research before we include them in our endeavors.”

Buffy smiled slightly. “How come every time you talk about lying to my parents you get extra tweedy? Is it a guilt mechanism?”

Giles refused to look away, but he seemed annoyed. “If that is all.”

“Okay, I get it, calling the Watcher-man on his stuffiness is a no-no. Bye Giles.” Then less cheery, she added, right before she stepped out of his apartment. “Let me know if you find anything. Anything.”

As she walked out she heard his terse reply. “Quite.”

~~~***~~~

*Sunnydale underground, undisclosed location*

The final breakthrough had been made and Spike was the first one through the hole. He scanned the room with his amber eyes, taking in all the details that he could. There were various jewels and old coins strewn about everywhere, and he began what would probably become the long and tedious process of sorting through the horde in order to claim his prize. I’ll have to give Dalton a double share from the loot for finding that mention about the treasure. The nerdy bugger just earned his weight in gold. Looking around again he smirked. Maybe even literally.

The riches amassed there would ensure he wouldn’t have to steal a damn thing for as long as Buffy lived—which if everything went as planned was going to be another ninety years or so. His Slayer was going to be the oldest Slayer in history, maybe even the oldest person. Her Slayer healing could probably take care of silly things like gout and arthritis, or whatever the hell it was that old people were suffering from these days. He pushed back the thoughts of the future to take stock of the riches in front of him.

Not that he needed the money. Since becoming Master of the town and eliminating that creepy Mayor, business had been booming. People were coming in left and right to ask his protection, either for themselves, for their loved ones, or for their businesses. It was going so well that he’d had to hire more and more extra muscle, going beyond vampires, and adding all sorts of demons, more or less dangerous, but all under strict dietary restrictions.

The Truce had to be respected, or else the Master would get you—that was the general consensus.

Of course, since he wasn’t trashing shops, or draining patrons and owners alike on a daily basis—as previous Masters had been inclined to—trade had flourished. There were contacts from across the globe, and even a couple from different dimensions that had been doing business entirely through his network. And international, cross-dimensional supernatural artifact smuggling was nothing to sneeze at in terms of profit.

His pockets were bulging and his associates were happy, the stability and lack of double-crossings that he was becoming renowned for was unheard of from the Master of a Hellmouth, which meant more business was sure to follow.

This all meant that money had not been his motive for digging yet more tunnels under the already-honeycombed Sunnydale underground. He was searching for something a lot more precious and elusive: a myth.

“Now, if I were the Gem of Amara, what would I be?” He picked up the first item that came to mind—a necklace. Now to see if that cross will still burn—bloody fucking Christ! He dropped both the necklace and the ornate cross, eyeing the rest of the hundreds of knick-knacks that could all possibly be the Gem with suspicion. Bollocks! This is going to hurt like hell.

~~~***~~~

*Main Street*

“And there is a toilet in the back. Basic amenities, you understand, but better than what you might find elsewhere. Total square footage—”

Ethan Rayne let the realtor drone on and on, his mind working a mile a minute about possible avenues to pursue. Maybe I’ll throw in some Fyarl suits, just for fun. Make them really cheap so that at least one cash-strapped family will be glad for the find. Delicious chaos, here I come!

“—purpose for your acquiring the shop, of course.”

“Excuse me?” Ethan realized he must have missed something important during the spiel.

“The Master will have to be informed of the purpose for your acquiring the shop, I said.”

That was a surprise. He had heard rumors of an unconventional player amassing power on the Hellmouth, but to have a simple business space rental openly involve supernatural elements was unheard of, even for Ethan. Still, he decided to play dumb in the hopes of finding more information.

“Would this be the master of trade? I’m afraid I’m a foreigner and not entirely accustomed to American legislation in the matter.”

The realtor raised her eyes from the clipboard she’d been using as a selling script. She was a fine looking, mature woman with dark red hair, green eyes, and a body that belied her generous curves even from under a conservative business suit. Ethan had been looking forward to maybe celebrating their new business relationship in other, more personal ways.

“You should know that we have special regulations in our town. I was pretty sure you were aware of our status.”

She was beginning to look suspicious, so Ethan just widened his blue eyes at her in an attempt to appear completely innocent. “Do tell.” He made sure to put an extra bit of gruff in his voice.

She seemed unfazed. “Apart from all the rules and regulations of any other Californian township, Sunnydale has a particular situation. All new businesses must pass a routine background check form the Master in order to ensure no ill will from potential store-owners.”

That gave Ethan pause. Since when did people actually perform background checks? Sure, he’d forged his fair share of documents before coming over, but nothing that could withstand a thorough approach, and by the way he was being measured from top to bottom, the research that would be done would be nothing if not thorough. What in the bleeding hells is going on here?

He suddenly started having double thoughts about his plans for revenge. If a supernatural being had the audacity to blatantly take over how businesses were being run, in a town with an active Slayer nonetheless, then his casting his chaos magic could land him in a heap of trouble.

“Of course, I’m sure you’ll find everything in the best order.” As he said it, his mind was busy with escape routes and flight schedules.

The woman squinted her eyes and gave him another appraisal.

I’ll never get to find out how you taste, luv. Pity.

“You shall be contacted shortly.”

He didn’t miss the lack of pronouns to indicate who it would be that would contact him, nor the falseness of her smile as she said it. He’d played enough people in his life to understand when he was the one being played.

I hope I make it out of this alive. And with all my limbs intact. He looked at her stiff pose again. At least alive, then.





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