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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.





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