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."