That in the ocean seeks another drop,
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth (Unseen, inquisitive), confounds himself.
So I, to find a mother and a brother,
In quest of them (unhappy), lose myself.’
Dawn stood in the crowded airport, surrounded by thousands of travellers and the myriad family and friends that had come to greet or farewell their loved ones. She found it hard to believe she’d ever feel this way, but after the last two months, she’d grown heartily sick of airports. She’d spent far too much time passing through far too many airports, at far too many different points around the globe. Terminal 2 at Beijing International had the distinction of being one of the busiest passenger terminals in the world, and it certainly seemed it, crammed to capacity with a colorful, noisy throng of humanity.
She was there to meet Andrew. The little twerp, in a pathetic attempt to avoid portal travel, had opted to book himself a flight from Istanbul to Beijing before Dawn had a chance to, as he put it, ‘beam herself into his room and drag him kicking and screaming into her freaky portal’. She couldn’t believe that a demon-summoning, ex super-villain would act like such a big baby. Although, considering it was Andrew, she was totally unsurprised.
She was annoyed though. The problem with planes was they took so much time, whereas portalling took you half way across the world in the blink of an eye. Dawn had managed to squeeze an awful lot into her day so far. She’d spent the morning at Imberhorne School, her fourth day there. She was slowly getting used to the structure and routines of the Comprehensive School, finding both similarities and differences between Imberhorne and Sunnydale. Luckily Imberhorne didn’t seem to be built over a Hellmouth. Always an advantage Dawn thought.
Joking aside, she was taking her time to settle in. She was enjoying her classes so far, both the core subjects and her options, French, Italian and Religious Studies, a fascinating look at ethics, philosophy of religion, good and evil and the existence of mysticism. She was going to have to rein herself in in that class. The students seemed nice, and very friendly, so there were definitely possibilities there in terms of friendships, but Dawn wasn’t sure yet how wise those sorts of connections would be. She thought she’d just wait and see.
The Senior Students had had a half day, plus Friday off, as the rest of the school had some big learning seminar on. That suited Dawn just fine, she had her whole other life to live, and limited time to do it in. She was beginning to get a glimpse of how things must have been for Buffy all the way through High School. And most of the time she’d had to keep her ‘other life’ a secret from her Mum and little sis. Buffy may not have always done things the way Dawn would have, but she was reminded once again of why she was so very proud of her big sister.
Anyway, she’d dashed home from school, changed out of her uniform (My God a uniform!), grabbed her suitcase and had lunch and a quick coffee before opening up the portal. And she’d still arrived at the Beijing Headquarters of Amazon International in time to head to the airport with Lien and Chao-Ahn to meet Andrew’s 8 pm flight. The only time lost had been that created by the time zone difference. And what’s more she had no jetlag, no fatigue, no sore butt and no swollen feet. Fresh as a daisy her.
Andrew on the other hand would be decidedly stale. His plane had left Istanbul over ten hours ago! What a waste of precious time. Well, she hoped he’d used his time on the plane well by sleeping most of the way, because Dawn, whose body clock was still registering it as 1 pm, was determined to work through a good portion of the night. Which meant Andrew would be working through a good portion of the night as well!
Following her slayer tracking experiences in the Americas, Dawn had decided that time was of an essence, and she couldn’t afford to muck around training different slayers to run the IT package at each place she arrived. Last week’s experiences had confirmed her misgivings. She’d met the girls in Shanghai, a double team of them since Rona and Dominique, plus the Australian Slayer Kelly and Chinese Watcher Heng, had flown out to beef up the numbers. China’s largest city was centrally placed in terms of the heavily populated East China provinces.
In total there were over 370 million people living in this area of China alone. That equated to 120 plus Slayers. It was utterly mind-boggling. It had taken her the entire week just to scan and ID all of those girls. She’d made do with the IT side of things, getting Meredith to run the programme. But despite her willingness and determination, the young Watcher was painfully slow. Dawn knew she needed to bring in the best.
Her solution was to commandeer Andrew. His techy skills were the best, after all, he’d designed the programme, and her need for support was greater than Shannon and Nisha’s. They already had that rather cute Russian Watcher Vadim with them after all, and the Turkish guy, Ekrem. Andrew had probably spent most of his time annoying them anyway. She was no doubt doing Recruitment Team 1 a huge favor!
Still, she really did need his help, and she was kind of looking forward to seeing him again, even if he was a great pain in her butt. She just hoped he’d be in decent shape so that they could start scanning Beijing tonight. China was so huge and so populous, that it was going to take an awfully long time to cover the entire country, and if possible, she’d like to identify at least half of North China’s 50 estimated slayers before the morning. If she and Andrew could ID the ones in Beijing, at least tomorrow Chao-Ahn’s team could start the job of recruiting the girls in the capital city.
Dawn glanced up at the arrivals board. Andrew’s flight had landed 20 minutes ago and the passengers had already disembarked. She had to focus hard to fight of the ripples of impatience that threatened to overwhelm her. Sighing, she plonked herself down on a padded bench, squeezed in between a diminutive, old Chinese woman and middle-aged, business-suited Caucasian man, and allowed her mind to drift off as waves of travellers ebbed and flowed around her. Finally, a little mind space to reflect on the events of the previous weekend.
It turned out that Willow and Giles’ meticulously researched protection ritual had had some unforeseen but ultimately not necessarily unwelcome outcomes. Once Buffy and Spike had returned to the land of consciousness, they’d described their experiences, the encounter they’d had with the two deities, the hints they’d been given about the looming war, and the blessing they’d received. Over a restaurant prepared pizza dinner back at the lodge, Giles had frantically scribbled down the pair’s detailed but disjointed narrative. Then he’d sat there deep in thought, reading over his notes and pondering whether ‘ancient evil’ and ‘encroaching darkness’ might be literal or metaphorical, as the others, exhausted by the day’s activity, had abandoned him for their beds.
Dawn was just now wondering that herself. Mostly she was pleased and relieved that Spike and Buffy had successfully strapped on what amounted to permanent mystical bulletproof vests. But, she also recalled Atar’s advice about the need for ‘many hands’ and Sineya’s admission about ‘strength in numbers’. Which all came back to why she was sitting here, half a world away from her loved ones, waiting on the appearance of Annoying Andy. It was their job to ID the ‘many hands’ and she was amping to get to it.
Glancing towards the arrivals gate she perked up as she spotted the blonde would-be Watcher finally making his way through the doors. Her enthusiasm was probably a little premature, and she sighed once more as she took in the disheveled, weary looking boy that stumbled towards them. Oh yeah, Andrew was really going to love the work schedule she had planned for them. Wincing, she stood up and went to meet him.
Cat squirmed, the pressure on her currently temperamental bladder signaling an urgent need for the bathroom facilities. As she looked at the length of the queue in front of her, she knew that she’d be waiting a while longer. She, Rupert and Althanea were in India to begin the mammoth task of scanning the second most populous country in the world. It had been a long plane flight, ten hours from Gatwick to Indira Gandhi International, most of it fairly tedious and uncomfortable. The long periods sitting seemed to trigger some sort of crazy over stimulation of her water works, necessitating endless trips to the cramped airline bathroom. Mind you, it hadn’t been tedium the entire way. She and Rupert had made the most of the darkened cabin and close quarters, discreetly making out like a pair of horny teenagers, while Althanea tactfully slumbered in the window seat next to them.
Cat blushed as she contemplated the highlight of their intercontinental journey. After a low-key session of inconspicuous fondling and barely restrained necking, she’d had to excuse herself as the call of nature signaled her once again. As she’d pushed open the door to exit the bathroom, she’d been startled by the sight of her husband standing to the left of the narrow opening. Grinning mischievously, he’d gently nudged her back into the cubicle, before following her in and relocking the door behind him.
He’d given her no time at all to question his intentions before he’d attacked, pulling her unresisting frame into his arms as his lips devoured hers. His insistent tongue stroked hers, his right hand squeezed between them, palming her breast and flicking his thumb over her rapidly hardening nipple. Her brain caught up with the play pretty quickly, a portion of it mildly shocked and unnerved by Rupert’s obvious intent, but most of it in willing accord with the desperate demands of her various overwrought erogenous zones.
They’d pulled apart, both panting wildly, dilated pupils testament to their elevated levels of arousal. Without a word, the couple had simultaneously leapt into action, Cat drawing up her skirt and wriggling out of her knickers while Rupert had unzipped and shoved his trousers and boxers down to mid thigh. Conscious of the limited space, he’d spun them around, seated himself on the toilet lid and drawn Cat astride his lap. She’d reached down and grasped his turgid shaft, aligning the head with her sopping opening and dropped straight down. Her silken walls were hot and achingly wet from the hours of foreplay, and his swollen girth glided into her, bottoming out on the first thrust.
Rupert had grasped her hips and Cat had used one hand to hold the front of her skirt up while the other clutched onto his shoulder. It hadn’t taken long, he’d had sufficient leeway to be able to lift his hips and repeatedly slam his cock up into her, and she’d added her own vertical momentum to the mix. They’d hadn’t dared to speak and had bitten back the moans and whimpers that threatened to erupt from their trembling lips. As she sensed her orgasm approaching, Cat had leaned forward and captured his mouth with her own, at the same time pressing her clit more firmly against Rupert’s plunging pole.
That had tipped her over. Rupert had muffled her yell of ecstasy with his probing kiss. Three more thrusts through the squeeze of her spasming pussy and he’d groaned, spilling himself within her heat. Replete, they’d sat basking for a few minutes, enjoying the aftershocks and the adrenaline buzz. Their soft, loving embrace and gentle kisses had been rudely interrupted by Cat’s sudden fit of giggles. Her whispered explanation, “Bloody hell, we’ve just joined the mile high club,” had prompted a corresponding glimmer of amusement, and what looked suspiciously like pride, in her man’s eyes.
It hadn’t taken long to get themselves cleaned up and redressed. Rupert had slipped out first, his pre-prepared cover story about a nauseous wife unneeded as he’d made his way quietly back through the rows of slumbering passengers. Cat had followed soon after, and raging hormones temporarily abated, they’d both settled down, sleeping soundly until 40 minutes before landing.
With a faint blush on her cheeks, a lingering ripple of endorphins through her blood stream and a rather uncomfortable damp patch in her knickers, Cat glanced along the long, slow queue of travellers waiting to get their passports and visas checked. She stood behind Althanea, with Rupert behind her, firmly in possession of their baggage trolley, piled high with their bags and the carefully crated, labeled, Slayer Scythe.
Despite a folder full of official documentation, they were anticipating possible delays at the Customs desk. And her damn bladder was playing up again; no doubt due to the vigorous jolting it had received during their mile-high workout. Whatever the reason, she didn’t think she’d be able to hold on for however long it would take to make it to the immigration counter, complete all of the entry procedures and find a bathroom in the Arrivals Lounge.
Cat sighed and pressed an explanation and quick kiss to Rupert’s cheek before she left the line to find the closest facilities. With any luck, they’d have only shuffled a few feet forward by the time she made it back. Then hopefully a miracle would happen and they’d whip through the rest of the process. Because, the sooner they could get out of the airport and settled into their rooms in New Delhi the better.
Nandish indicated and quickly eased the van into the fast lane of the airport bound NH 8. The traffic was light at this time of night, and what there was of it was travelling at a quick pace. He’d be at Terminal 3 in plenty of time to pick up the new Head Watcher. He’d met him before of course, having just returned from five weeks at Ashdown. The guy seemed pretty decent and looked like he actually knew what he was doing. He had some pretty revolutionary ideas about the evolving shape of the Watcher Organization or Slayer/Watcher organization as it was now structured. Nandish wasn’t sure about how things would work out, but he was pretty impressed with the direction and pace Rupert Giles was leading them in so far. He’d surrounded himself with real talent too, which certainly didn’t hurt. And together they were dragging the new organization, Amazon International, phoenix-like from the ashes.
Someone needed to stitch things back together, to mend the destruction dealt out by the First. If Giles thought he could do it, well more power to him. But for some, the devastation was too deep, too absolute, to ever recover from. Almost a year down the track, Nandish felt sure that the events would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life. They certainly still plagued his every waking moment, as well as half of his sleeping ones.
That day was indelibly burned into his memory. It was an Autumn evening, earlyish still, and he’d been out following up on a lead about several unusual sightings around the India Gate Park. The three young girls in his care, all identified potentials, had been left back at home, where they were supposed to be finishing up their study for the day, and starting on supper. He’d cut his reconnaissance short, dogged by a feeling of unease, a hunch that something was wrong. It had sent him scurrying home.
Home was a second story Council-owned apartment, on one of Connaught Place’s radial roads. The building was, like most of those in Connaught Place, of typical Georgian design, resplendent with decorative columns, embellished cornices and arched, multi-paned windows, a little slice of England, designed and constructed back in the 1930s as the commercial centre of the newly inaugurated Imperial Capital. Next door to the Odeon Cinema, and upstairs from a Jeweller’s Store, the building was a piece of prime real estate that would be prohibitively expensive to purchase on the current market, but which the Council had probably bought for a song when it was first built.
He’d pulled the van into the carpark and leapt out of the vehicle just ahead of the encroaching sirens. He’d taken the stairs three at a time, his heart pounding in his chest at the unnatural stillness that stifled the usually bustling building. His first sight of the carnage had stopped his heart. The apartment door was ajar. Kumari lay prone on the floor, her lower legs sprawled out into the hallway. He couldn’t see her face at first but he’d recognised the bright pink trainers she loved so much. As he’d got closer, Nandish spotted the splashes and smears of blood that adorned the floor around her body, a sticky pool seeping out sluggishly from beneath her torso.
Kumari had been the oldest of the three potentials in his charge. She was 18, tall, strong, ruthless when she’d needed to be, a skilled, determined fighter. As her body came into view, Nandish could see the deep cuts on her arms, defensive wounds. She had obviously fought the attackers fiercely, determined no doubt to protect the other two younger girls. A large knife wound, just to the right of her spine, was visible through the rend in her t-shirt. Nandish knew that if he turned her over, there would be a corresponding laceration in her gut. The sort of wound that was always fatal.
He’d swallowed the tears and harsh sobs that threatened to overwhelm him, desperate to find the other girls. Stepping over Kumi’s body, he stumbled his way into the lounge. He didn’t have far to go to find Devak. Her body lay behind the overturned coffee table, the single chest wound and the look of shock affixed to her features testament to the speed of her execution. He staggered and crumpled to the floor, the shock and grief poleaxing his body and short circuiting his brain. He’d lain where he’d been felled, oblivious to either the ghastly, lifeless tableaux and unnatural silence surrounding him, or the sirens, screeching tires and approaching footsteps, signs of life and urgency impinging on his withdrawal.
He was shamed by that temporary retreat into catatonia, no matter the justification. All the more so by the gentle hands and voice of the young policeman who had brought him round. A flurry of voices and activity had signalled the find he’d managed to overlook in his grief and shock, Pritika, wounded, terrified, but still alive. He’d pulled himself together quickly as police and paramedics swarmed round, the former asking questions as the latter checked her over and lifted her onto a stretcher.
It had taken the remainder of the day to piece together the sequence of events. Eyewitness accounts from neighbours, retailers and Pritika herself had established that a silent but deadly raid had taken place, carried out by a group of three robed ‘men’, each carrying curved blades, that sounded much like Persian Jambiyas. Most disturbingly, the assailants’ eyes appeared to have been plucked out and the mutilated scar tissue covered with some sort of symbols or runes.
They had simply approached the front door of the apartment and knocked. When Kumari had opened the front door, two of the creatures had attacked her while the third pushed into the room in search of the other two girls. Mr Singh from across the hall had been disturbed by Kumi’s screams and had come to check out what was happening. His horrified gasp had alerted one of the attackers to his presence and the old man had had to shut and lock his door quickly for fear of his own life as the murderous beast had turned his blinded face towards him.
Mr Singh had pushed a chair up against the door and immediately rung emergency services. The sounds of Kumi’s screams had faded by this stage, but a sort, sharp scream, less audible as it rang out from within the girl’s apartment, but still recognisable as Devak’s, had sent a shiver of terror and sorrow down his spine.
Pritika had of course heard the scuffles and screams from much closer range and had easily recognised the sounds for what they were, desperate, futile battles for life. Trapped in the bathroom, she didn’t know who, or what, was attacking her friends, and she hesitated, agonising over which of her body’s instincts she should listen to, fight or flight. With no weapons at hand, fight didn’t seem like a viable option, but she couldn’t leave the girls to fend for themselves without at least assessing the situation.
She’d just released the lock and pushed the door open a fraction when a wicked, curved blade had thrust through the gap and into her gut. Luckily, most of her body was behind the door, and the knife, while it sunk deep, had struck the flesh and muscle just above her left hip, missing any major organs or arteries. In shock, and reeling from the deep, biting pain, Pritika had still been in control enough to slam the door closed repeatedly on the arm and knife that were trapped there. Finally her attacker had dropped the knife and withdrawn, but not before she’d managed to cause a fair bit of damage to his wrist, forearm and fingers.
Nandish had travelled to the hospital in the ambulance with Pritika, and had sat in the waiting room as she’d undergone surgery. He’d used the hospital pay phone to try and contact Quentin Travers in London, but the only response was an ominously flat dial tone. The little black and white TV in the waiting room had provided some answers while begging even more. The news had carried a report of a massive explosion in the head office of what they referred to as ‘a large international security firm’ but which Nandish had recognised as Council headquarters. He’d stared in shock and disbelief, beginning to suspect a connection between the explosion and the attacks on the girls.
As soon as she was stable, Nandish had snuck Pritika out of hospital, worried that the demons who had attacked her and the others would come back to finish the job. They’d spent the next six months on the run, staying at run down motels or with various friends and families around Northern India. He’d gone on line and researched whenever he could, finally establishing that the creatures that had slain his girls were called Harbingers or Bringers, and that they were the henchmen or foot soldiers of a non-corporeal entity called The First Evil. He figured they were right to have gone to ground. They were undoubtedly being hunted.
As they travelled around the countryside, they overheard reports of attacks that seemed likely to have involved the same blind assassins, and on two occasions were able to intervene and rescue the intended victims, both young girls, and according to Nandish’s reckoning, undoubtedly unidentified Potential Slayers. The girls and their families had easily accepted the Watcher’s recommendation that he keep them with him for protection and evasion. And so their little family had grown to four again. Finding and rescuing Vinesha and Rajani had in some ways assuaged the guilt and despair he’d felt at the loss of Kumari and Devak, helping to balance out the scales a little.
Suddenly, during the last week of May, an astonishing event had occurred. Not one, not two, but all three of his girls had simultaneously come into their full powers. Nandish didn’t know what to think or imagine what could have happened to instigate such a momentous change. At the same time, the pall of danger and threat had suddenly lifted, and the pervading sense of evil that had scented the air had evaporated. That double sea change had been followed by a strange report out of California, USA, where the entire town of Sunnydale had seemingly collapsed into a sinkhole. Nandish recognised the name of course, site of an active Hellmouth and home of the current Slayer, and he knew it was no small coincidence.
Over the next two months he’d managed to re-establish contact with the remnants of the Council, now based in Bromley, and prepare himself and the girls for the trip to England. The girls had adapted remarkably well, even little Pritika, fully recovered from her injuries and coping admirably with the trauma and loss of the Bringers’ attack. But Nandish, still struggling to come to terms with the loss, had become more serious, more closed off, less trusting. It was a heavy weight for a young man of 28 to carry on his shoulders.
Keeping busy seemed to help, and he’d undoubtedly be very busy over the next three months as Rupert Giles, his wife and the Wiccan Priestess began the process of identifying the more than 300 new Slayers dotted across the subcontinent, and he and the girls split into two teams and headed off to find and recruit them.
Satisfied with his current form of grief therapy, Nandish flicked on his indicator and pulled into a parking spot. He leapt out and locked the van doors before heading towards to the entrance to Terminal 3, ready to pick up his guests and get them back and settled into the Connaught Place apartment. The sooner they were settled and refreshed, the sooner they could begin their task, and the sooner he and his girls could begin their quest, the quest for new Slayers, the quest for redemption, the quest for peace of mind. For the first time in almost a year Nandish felt a sense of hope. It was time to move on.