Dawn looked at the book in interest. 

She had no idea what it was, but then didn’t care. She also didn’t know where it came from, but she didn’t care about that, either. No, all she cared about was the book; it called to her, whispered to her. In fact, it whispered louder than anything else she could hear. Walking into the library, a giant room filled with more books than she’d ever seen and anyone could possibly read in several lifetimes, Dawn unerringly went to it. 

She could find it anywhere and wondered why she hadn’t before. Was it because she didn’t know then? Or was it some other reason. She couldn’t say, didn’t know, and again, didn’t care. She wanted this book. 

It whispered to her again, coaxing, pulling, playing with her. It was heavy; she could tell that just by looking at it. Thick with rough-edged pages that spoke of its age, the spine was covered with…nothing. Not a mark, not a symbol, not even a scratch. All in all, it looked remarkably uninteresting. Except that it called to her. 

Come here, it said, a timeless voice that was neither old nor young, rough nor smooth. Come to me, open me, please, my sweet; only you can. 

Reaching out with trembling hands, blue eyes wide and intrigued and just a bit mad, she did just that. Her fingers grazed the spine, barely touched the smooth leather cover and yet she felt it. Power. Answers. And then she screamed. 

No one heard her, however, because she couldn’t open her mouth, couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t, and yet she did. Or was. Yes, that was it. She was. She was and the book was and… 

“Dawn!” 

She turned to look behind her, the outside interference breaking the spell between her and the book and Dawn snatched her fingers away from it as if burned. Or afraid that they’d see what she was doing. 

“Michael?” She asked, confused. She knew this boy; he lived here, his mother…ah. His mother was Buffy’s seamstress, Gigi, and they all lived here. And played here. Buffy. Buffy was the blonde, she used to be…she was the one who…but then her head hurt and Dawn didn’t want to think about it any longer. 

“I was looking for you,” the young teen said with a smile. He thought Dawn was okay, a little on the crazy side, but a lot of people were these days. She was fun, knew the best games, and taught him and his brother the neatest spells. 

“Colin and I are going to go into the gardens, want to come?” He walked further into the library. Everything before, he felt intimidated here, overwhelmed. The sheer size of this room was enough to do just that, added to that was the fact that Angelus and Buffy hated any touching of their books, and Michael was just as happy to never set foot in here. But for the reading part. He loved to read, to discover new worlds. 

Dawn knew more languages than he did – but he was learning Ancient Druid he reminded himself with no small amount of pride – and so could read more of the stories buried in the books. Demons, mages, sorceresses burned at the stake, it was all so fascinating. The three of them, he, his brother Colin, and Dawn would site in the gardens for hours and read, or listen to the stories. 

Sometimes, just as the sun set, Drusilla would join them, telling of things only she knew. Wild stories of the past or sweet tales that described things in the books they read. She was equally as crazy, if you asked Michael, but then he liked her, too. She was fun and funny, as fun to be around as Dawn…and she never scared him, not like some of the others in the house. 

“Michael!” Truman called from just outside the library doors. Truman was the butler’s nephew, sent to live with George after the elder secured this position with the Family. “You coming?” 

“Yeah,” he called back, eyes still on Dawn as she hovered near a bookshelf on the far end of the room. “Dawn?” He asked, holding his hand out to her. “Come on, Dawn.” 

Without hesitation, she did as he bade, used to obeying orders; it was a comfortable way to live, a comfort that she often lacked in her life. Once upon a time, Dawn had the vague feeling that she never obeyed anyone…but that was a long time ago and she didn’t like to think on that time. She didn’t have Drusilla then, Faith wasn’t there, and the quiet serenity that now surrounded her was…missing. 

Grabbing the book as she left the library, Dawn didn’t even notice the screams now. She didn’t notice that the book laughed and cried and hugged her. Yes, hugged her, its tendrils reaching out to touch the Girl, the Key…that’s right! The Key, it had almost forgotten. But not now, not anymore. The Key, oh, how it had missed…but what was this, the Key in human form? What? Why? How? 

No matter, for it could feel the energy pulsing just beneath the surface, power and destruction, creation and energy. Chaos and order. It was everything, no, together they were everything. 

It laughed again, loud and clear, and Dawn smiled as she hurried beside Michael out into the protected back gardens. They weren’t allowed here after dark unless they were with Drusilla or Spike. Something went through Dawn: Spike; there was something…but then she and Michael were joined by Colin and Truman and what did it matter? 

“What’s that, Dawn?” Michael asked as he and Colin spread the blanket over the ground, Truman dropping the pillows he had haphazardly gathered in his arms. The four of them sat on the ground, lying on the pillows as they waited for Dawn to say something. 

All of them learned early on that Dawn wasn’t like anyone else. Anyone. Not the Family, not the servants, no one. She was human, but she wasn’t adult-like as she was supposed to be, nor was she entirely childlike, either. Someplace in between, maybe. She had the strangest eyes any of the boys had ever seen – not monsterish, not even human. They glowed with an eerie light that beckoned and repelled and made them want to know. But they didn’t ask. 

They never did. 

“It’s a book,” Dawn said in that childish voice of hers. “I like it.” 

“What does it say?” Truman asked, shifting restlessly on the blanket. 

“Nothing,” Dawn said seriously. “But it’s about it all.” 

Perplexed, the three boys looked at her; nothing and everything? That wasn’t possible. It was either one or the other, it couldn’t be both. Tentatively, Truman reached out to take the book from her, wanting to see what she was talking about. But he couldn’t reach it, not because Dawn was holding it away from him; because no matter how he tried, he just couldn’t touch it. 

“Weird,” Colin said, his hair blowing in the slight breeze. “Dawn,” he continued slowly. “Where’d you get this?” 

The girl-woman shrugged. “It’s mine.” 

Yes, the book said with a smug smile, the first emotion it displayed in a long, ling while. Yes, yours. We belong together, book and key, you’re the key to open my locks, the key to open it all. 

But then Dawn already knew that.
~~~~~~~~~~
Rupert and Saffir stared at the boxes of boxes that piled high in their house.  

Everything the Council couldn’t destroy was there, everything that the Family had acquired – through fair means or foul – was piled here. Books about history and predictions of the future. Manuscripts ancient monks carefully wrote over more secular writings, scripture and verses. From around the world, every corner, every culture and religion was somehow represented in this house. 

“I want a new wing,” Saffir said with deadly seriousness. “Rupert, this is getting out of hand and I’m not helping you catalog the rest of these until you move them out of our room.” 

Giles laughed, caught her in his arms, and crushed her against the door. His lips found hers, fangs elongating to scrap over her full lower lip. She moaned, opened her mouth to his and wound her long, long legs around his waist. Giles smirked against her mouth and then yipped in surprise when she bit him. 

“Hey!” He said, pulling back. “What was that for?” 

“I’m serious, Rupert,” Saffir warned. 

“Darling, you know why all this is here. We’ve found the means to finally do it, now all we have to do is find the way to make it happen without turning all of us into big piles of goo.” 

“And that’s a good thing,” she agreed. “I’m all for that. I just want my bedroom back!”

Rupert nodded, conceding her point. Since Willow had found the thread that connected their world with everything else – Dawn – everyone was on full research alert. This wasn’t something to leave to anyone else; minions, no matter how trusted or smart, weren’t included in this. No, it was strictly a Family operation. 

And he happened to be in charge of it. 

“Saffir-” she cut him off with another of her glares. Well, she did have several hundred years to prefect that glare; good to know that she put that time to good use. “Where do you suggest we put them?” 

There were a lot of books, too. It was decided they’d go through anything and everything that could be of use. Willow was scheduled to arrive within the week to help and Rupert was grateful for that. Saffir was excellent with researching, but they tended to become distracted when they were together. 

Oh, Rupert didn’t delude himself into thinking that what they shared would last long, but then wasn’t that the point? To enjoy the moment? To have fun while it lasted and if it lasted long enough to turn into something more, then fine, but if not, that was fine, too? She was Family, and they’d always be together, it was the way the Family was, but that’d stop neither of them from straying now and then. 

No one was like Angelus and Buffy. But then they had a co-dependent relationship that went beyond the obsessive and into just plain scary. To need someone that much, to want and desire them for eternity. Rupert knew that was how they always were but it didn’t stop him from shuddering at it; he never wanted to be that dependant on any one person like that. Even if upon very rare occasion, he felt a twinge of…jealously. 

“When Willow arrives,” he promised, tearing his eyes away from both his thoughts and the books lying all over the place. “Well sort them then. Now, what say we go eat; I’m starved.”

Saffir looked at him for a moment longer before chuckling. Winding her arm through his, she allowed Rupert to lead them out of their bedroom. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to know the secrets of Dawn and her Key heritage; it was just that she’d like to sleep in her own bed sometime soon. She had a feeling that once Willow arrived, rather than the room clearing out, it’d only grow more cluttered. 

Walking into the crisp night, the sun still a faint pink on the horizon, she looked back once. Saffir couldn’t say what it was, but she had a feeling that whatever they were looking for – and no one seemed to know what that was – wasn’t in this house. If they could find anything, that was.
~~~~~~~~~~
Connor looked around the green plains of Ireland. 

Well, it was…wet. And green. And there were…hills. Yes, a lot of hills. Sure, it was nice to look at, quiet, ah, it was quiet. He liked the quiet, there was no mistaking that, but this was just plain eerie. He didn’t like this much quiet, it reminded him that he was alone here. Somehow, when agreeing to this, when Buffy asked him to do this – he hadn’t volunteered had he? Oh, that would be bad. But still. 

He missed them. Missed Angelus and Buffy, missed Dawn and Faith, Dru, Spike, Willow and Paul. Well, not so much Willow. She was just weird. And not in that Drusilla weird way, either. Willow was what he heard Giles and Buffy say was a loose canon. She was unstable, unbalanced, too much power – stolen from what he gathered – in too small a body. 

Connor wasn’t sure that a giant’s body would be big enough for all Willow’s power. 

But she discovered the thread, the key. She discovered, or rediscovered, Dawn. The next and final stage in their plans. Oh, there was still Africa and the rebels there, but they were incidental, already dead. Or worse. There were plans for the rest of Angel’s gang, and for all the rest of those who joined with the remnants of Angel Investigations. Connor smiled at that as he surveyed the workers; all they’d done by fleeing to Africa was to buy themselves a little more time. Their cause was hopeless and as dead as they were. 

The sun set only a few minutes ago, the last of the fading rays even now brightened the westerns sky with reds, pinks, and purples. The next shift was changing, or would be shortly; humans worked during the daylight hours interspersed with those demons the sunlight didn’t affect. When the sun went down, the vampire shift began and any other demons that had to – or wanted to – work at night. 

Turning back to the structure, Connor eyed it critically. He’d started from the ground, leveling that as much as possible before beginning the building stages. He was surprised at how many architects and engineers were still alive and willing to help the Family. But then they were either threatened and it was in their best interest, or they agreed for the fee Buffy was willing to pay to get this done – work was only now beginning to boom once more, so this was a boon for many. 

Not all labor was slave labor. Just…most. Connor was willing to pay and pay well for expertise and for inspectors to double check the work done. He didn’t want to take the chance that someone sabotaged the castle. 

The economy started to turn mere months ago, focusing again on labor and working, rather than looting and mooching. Industries weren’t nearly to the point they had been and Connor knew neither Angelus nor Giles wanted them to be again. Something about the level of pollutants in the air being bad for hunting. 

“Spike,” Connor called now, stalking across the land to where the elder vampire emerged from the faint shadows. “What brings you here?” 

“Wanted to check on the progress,” he admitted as he lighted a cigarette. “Buffy wants to make sure you have everything you need.” Her words, too. This wasn’t a behind-your-back visit; it was Buffy making sure that Connor had everything he needed for this massive undertaking. She worried for the kid. 

“As you can see,” Connor said wryly, grandly gesturing to the structure. 

Spike snorted. Yeah, he could see. He could see a big pile of rocks. A really big pile of rocks. Well, he hoped that the castle Connor designed looked better than this, but then Buffy wouldn’t have agreed if she thought Connor couldn’t do it. Where or when he learned the intricacies of building something so big and complicated, Spike couldn’t say, but from what the vampire could see, Connor was doing a damn fine job so far. 

“Are we still on schedule?” He asked instead, inhaling a puff of smoke. “You’ve been here three months; you really think another nine will be enough?” 

“Yes.” Connor said with conviction. There was, after all, plenty of labor to go around. Masons, plumbers, electricians, and woodworkers of all talents were flocking to Ireland and this project for the chance to work. Times were worse, he was told, than the Great Depression. Whatever that was. 

“I have four shifts working all day every day,” he told Spike as they walked further away from the site. “I have trusted inspectors checking everything, and then someone checking them.” 

Paranoia, it was good for the soul. Or demon in this case. Still, better this than to have something happen later. Buffy wouldn’t be at all pleased and no one wanted that.

”Any problems?” 

“Not so far, but then we’ve only been here three months.” Connor paused, judged the distance between him and Spike and the workers. He didn’t want anyone eavesdropping and he knew there were spies among his workers. He didn’t care, they needed something to keep them busy when they weren’t working and he already had them eyed as examples, later. 

“Have we made any progress so far?” He asked, switching subjects. 

“On the Dawn thing?” Spike shook his head. “No, but Dawn has been acting weird.” He paused, “Weirder than normal. Even Dru’s worried and they’re two freakin’ peas in a pod.” 

Connor frowned at that expression, but let it slide. He’d been in this world a long time but sometimes there were things he still didn’t understand. “Does it have something to do with the thread Willow found?” 

“No idea,” Spike admitted. “No one seems to know but, she’s spending a lot more time with those kids she hands out with.” 

“Do they know?”

“No.” That Spike knew. “They’re helping her work something out, no one knows what.” 

“Willow, Giles, and Saffir don’t know where to begin?” Spike shook his head and Connor scowled. “Then why did we start on this path if we can’t continue?”

“We can,” Spike corrected. “Oh, yeah, we can. But the fact is there’s this thing where we don’t want Dawn dead. She’s the key to all this, literally and figuratively and we don’t want to damage her if we don’t have to. The original spell was good for a while, but would’ve drained Dawn too quickly.” 

“And how,” Connor asked as he watched the workers in the floodlights that just turned on, “Do we know there’s another one?” 

“There is,” Spike nodded, firm on that. “Saffir knows there is, and she’s been around longer than Giles and Willow; she and Paul weren’t always together and from what Angelus said, it seemed she headed East for a bit. Made some friends, found some interesting books. And even more interesting spells.” 

“And we can’t find it now because…?” 

“Because,” Spike said and crushed his cigarette into the soft ground, “She doesn’t remember.” At Connor’s snort, Spike grinned. “Not like that. Well, maybe. But she knows the basics of the spell, the chap who happened to own the book, however, didn’t want her knowing it. Seems he wanted the secret for himself. Did some kind of mojo on her which, predictably, went somewhat awry, and all she can remember is what the spell was for.” 

“So she knows there’s a spell in some book, someplace in this world?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do the words needle and haystack mean anything to you?” Connor demanded. Even if he needed more time to complete this castle, chances were they’d have it. This search seemed more than a little fruitless. 

Spike shrugged. “Time we’ve got. None of us is getting older, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, mate, but Dawn isn’t either.” 

He hadn’t, but now that he thought about it, Connor nodded in agreement. No, she hadn’t aged. At first he thought it was the life she now led, nothing to fight, nothing to stress her out, nothing for her to worry over. No mortgage, no screaming kids, no cheating husband. But now… “Is it because she’s part of Buffy?” 

“No idea, we don’t know, but Giles and Angelus think it’s because of that, because those crazy monks made her from fast-healing slayer blood and because of her Key-ness.” 

“If the Key is supposed to open portals between dimensions, then how can it be…immortal?” 

“Not immortal, timeless. The energy of the key never wavers,” Spike explained, trying to remember all he’d blocked out from the lecture Willow and Giles had done. Connor was there, too, wasn’t he? Wait…Connor had fallen asleep. Damn. Why hadn’t he done that? 

“The energy is constant so the life span is constant. Nothing given, nothing taken.” 

“Right,” Connor nodded, semi-remembering now. Buffy had thrashed him so hard after that little lecture because he’d fallen asleep that Connor couldn’t move for a week. That was the last time he stayed out all night and got only a couple of hours sleep before big Family meetings. 

“Does she know?” Spike looked at him in question. “Dawn, does she know what this does, what she does?” 

“No. And it’s going to stay that way. If she doesn’t know, then she can’t fight it. And if she doesn’t know, then she’ll do exactly as Drusilla tells her to do.” 

Connor nodded and they walked back to the construction site. The shift change was complete, the vampires and other various demons working to complete the next layer of the massive building. His plans included several hundred rooms, a grand ballroom capable of holding 500 guests, a formal dining room able to feed half that, and a Great Hall for ‘formal’ gatherings: Like the announcement of new Family laws or some such Angelus liked to make every now and then. 

It also called for several smaller rooms only for Family, including another dining hall where they could – if they were together – enjoy quiet meals without shouting across a few hundred square yards of cavernous space. Buffy insisted she and Angelus have their own wing, which Connor took to mean a really large bedroom – really large – that could hold all her clothes, plus all his clothes – they had more than even they could wear – all their…toys, and still have enough flat surfaces for them to roll around on. 

He delivered and rather nicely, if he did say so himself. The whole east side was theirs. But man, did he not want to be the one to move all their stuff. It made this project look like building with those blocks the seamstress’ kids liked so much. 

“Where are Buffy and Angelus now?” Connor asked, changing the subject yet again. He hadn’t heard from anyone in a while, too busy with this to keep in touch with them. He had, however, received several postcards from Buffy of the various places they’d visited. 

“Greece,” Spike said, eyeing the stone pile to his left. Every conceivable shape and size stone – whatever kind it was – was there, piled at least a mile back from the castle and probably seven hundred feet high. 

“They’re spending a month on some nice Greek island soaking up the heat and terrorizing the locals. Besides, Buffy wanted to learn about the Olympics and Angelus was all about the history side of it.” 

“Nice,” Connor said longingly. “They’re in some warm tropical place where it doesn’t rain every other day and I’m here. With a bunch of rocks.” 

“Yeah, but you’re also still alive,” Spike pointed out. “But then warmth is always better than the rain.” 

“I hate the rain,” Connor muttered before he started down the hill and to his nighttime foreman. “Are you sticking around, Spike?”

“For a bit, have to head to England next to meet with Giles and Saffir.” 

“I hear it rains there, too.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“Hmmm,” Buffy murmured as Angelus’ cool hands moved across her back. 

“Why did I insist your castle be built in Ireland? It’s much nicer here,” she said, rolling over to look at her lover. 

“I don’t know, then again, I don’t know why you’re building the damn thing anyway.” Angelus grumbled as her stretched out beside her on their oversized bed. His head automatically dipped to kiss her lips but then he leaned back up, looking down into her dark green eyes. 

They’d traveled Asia so far, but Buffy found little interest in anything other than the Forbidden City and the Great Wall. She did, however, get into several fights with vampiric geishas over Angelus when they were in Tokyo. And won, of course. That was when she insisted they leave for someplace…warmer. And less populated. She wasn’t the sharing type. 

“I’m doing it,” she said and stretched her arms above her head. “Because I want you to have a place in your home country that isn’t…I don’t know what the word is. I just know that in all the time we’ve been together, you’ve never once offered to take me there, I had to beat that part of your life out of you, and every time the subject is even remotely brought up, you change the subject.” Or kill the person talking, but she didn’t add that. 

“I’m not overly fond of the country,” Angelus admitted with a brush of his fingertips across her ribs. “I was born there, grew up there, died there, and lived again.” He’d then killed his family and left the forsaken island and never wanted to return. Until Buffy had this crazy idea of building him a castle there. A castle of all things. 

“It’s part of you,” she reminded him again. “And I want all of you.” 

“You have me,” Angelus insisted as her hands, small and cool, wandered up his bare chest. 

She kissed him then, soft, sweet, loving, slowly moving her body until she touched his, hard, cool, and all hers. She knew what Angelus’ problem was, and while it upset her to know that in all the years they’d been together he hadn’t yet got past it, she understood. If anyone understood father figure issues, it was she. 

“For me,” she whispered, “You’re doing it for me.” And for himself, but if he didn't know that, then he couldn’t argue that. And he’d do anything for her. Just as she would for him. 

“Where do you want to go next?” Buffy asked instead. 

“Don’t care,” he admitted. Here was fine. Anywhere she was, was fine. “You still want to see the pyramids?” 

“Yes, and those buried tombs.” 

“The pyramids were the tombs,” Angelus told her, dipping in to taste her lips again. 

“Then why do you always hear about King Tut’s grave being buried under all that sand? If it was in a pyramid, they wouldn’t they have found it sooner?” 

Angelus was silent for a minute. He didn’t know why ‘they’ said that about Tut’s tomb, but had a feeling that Buffy was right. Still, when in Egypt, only the pyramids were worth seeing. “So, Luxor and the Valley of the Kings, right.” 

“I want to see Connor, too, I’m worried about him. Maybe we’ll move north then?” Buffy asked, head now resting on his silent chest as she loved to do. They were never closer to each other than when they made love, but when they simply lay in each other’s arms, hold Angelus holding her close, it seemed more intimate somehow. Like they fit together. 

“Okay,” though privately, Angelus had no desire to travel to Ireland, he’d deny Buffy nothing. “We can head across Europe. Is there anything else in Africa you want to see?” 

“No, we’ll see it all soon enough when we visit your…friends.” 

Angelus laughed then, rolling atop her as his lips crushed hers. “My friends,” he sneered, “Won’t be very happy to see me.”

“All the more reason to drop by then, hmmm? Not keeping in touch like that,” Buffy laughed, wrapping her legs around his waist. “It’s just rude.” 

“I agree, beloved, but then there are many more pleasurable things in life.” And she was it.

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