Sydney, Australia
With a burst of speed the girl broke into the open marketplace and instantly took in her surroundings, looking for anyone, anything that might shelter her from her pursuers. But the streets were vacant. Without wasting a moment she took off to the left, darting behind the now empty carts and kiosks of the vendors, closed for the evening but waiting patiently to display their wares come morning light.
Light she wasn’t going to see if she didn’t lose the people behind her. The thought that they might not be people had occurred to her, was in fact now consuming her with a fear she hadn’t known herself capable of.
Shrugging the sweatshirt over her head she tossed it down a darkened alleyway as she sped by, hoping that if they were following her by scent it would throw them off for a split-second, giving her more lead time to escape. She cursed herself for running, screamed at herself for not turning and trying to fight them. But she’d only been training for a matter of weeks. And while she was good…she wasn’t prepared, physically or mentally, to take on four attackers.
The sound of running feet behind her, heavy and quick, told her that her ploy had failed and she was still in danger. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears, drowning out almost all other noise, save the pounding of feet maybe half a block behind her.
Rounding another corner she poured on the speed and vaulted herself over a short gate, heading down the dirt path that lead to the stables. Maybe there, among the horses, cows and other animals that tomorrow would be taken to market…maybe there she would be safe.
She doubted it.
One of the massive communal barns was ahead of her, just to the right. She ran to the back and quickly dismantled the lock with strength she hadn’t known she had. The iron bolt fell to the grass with a soft thud and she quickly opened the wooden door, wincing at the squeak of rusty hinges. The barn was old and very long with one narrow hallway straight down the center, flanked on either side by shallow pens, one after the other down the line. Carefully she made her way into the barn, deeper and deeper, past the curious eyes of cows, horses, pigs and goats. At the end was a ladder that led to an old-fashioned hayloft and she climbed it silently, though she was sure her pursuers could hear her labored breathing, her pounding heart, her mind reeling with fear. The loft extended the length of the building and she moved back the way she’d come, positioning herself above the door should she need to escape quickly.
And she waited.
The minutes seemed to tick by in the silent barn. It was completely dark save for the light of the moon that occasionally reflected in the eyes of a sleepy barn animal and in her mind she shrieked each time it did, convinced it was the glint of blade or knife wielded by the men who sought her out. Reaching behind her she retrieved from her waistband the knife her father had given her only a few weeks before, pride and fear evident in his smile and in his eyes as he’d handed it to her. Clutching it in her right hand, in the position she’d been taught, it brought her only a small morsel of relief.
It was all she could do not to cry out when the door to the barn was kicked open, just a mere six feet below where she now lay in wait.
The men in robes moved in, one after the other, and began searching the pens for her. Her heart slammed in her chest and she had to fight to control her heavy panting. One…two…three…the men entered the barn. Just one more…just one more and I can jump down and run…wait ‘til they get to the back of the barn, by the ladder…and then I’ll run.
But the fourth did not enter, and the three who had were nearing the ladder…beginning to climb it…heading toward her. She cursed under her breath and tried not to move, though the hay in the loft would indeed slow them in their pursuit. They were maybe fifty feet away now…forty…thirty.
With a scream she revealed herself and stood. The men stopped short before hurrying toward her and she jumped down, landing squarely on her feet with a gasp as the air left her lungs.
One was outside. She could handle one.
Throwing the door open she burst outside and gulped in air just in time to feel the strong arm of the fourth wrap itself around her forehead. This time the reflection in the moonlight was a knife, and her eyes widened with panic.
Kicking back knocked out the knee of her attacker and he fell to the ground, slicing her skin with the knife as she went. The cut was shallow, to her shoulder, and she brushed aside the pain, spinning and kicked out again, taking him squarely in the face and his head whipped back. One more kick and he was on the ground. But his three friends were out of the barn and now heading toward her.
She ran maybe another ten feet before they were on her. On either side of her one of the robed aggressors grabbed her arms, holding them wide. She struggled and loosened the grip of the enemy on her right, striking out with that fist and freeing herself once again. She ran, pouring on the speed while the enemy regrouped. She’d head to the…to the…
Her gait slowed. There was nothing around to shield her, save the ocean, some sand, and an empty marketplace.
Steeling herself she turned and prepared to face the four together.
*~*~*
In her hospital bed Faith screamed and struggled against the restraints around her wrists, ankles and waist. Launching herself off the bed her body bowed as she howled, lost in the midsts of the dream.
The door to her room flew open, flooding it with the yellow light from the hallway and the angry face of Dr. Phillips, along with the concerned and agitated faces of two female nurses, appeared in the doorway.
“Control her!” the doctor ordered and rounded the bed attempting to hold down the hysterical girl.
“Wake up! Wake up!” one of the nurses cried. “It’s a dream!”
“No! No!” Faith shrieked, eyes open now but unseeing as she watched the scene playing out in her head. “They’re killing her! They’re killing her!”
The nurse and the doctor struggled against her, holding down her arms. The nurse placed her own body across the small frame of the girl on the bed, lying bent at the waist, one foot dangling off the floor as she used her weight to hold Faith down, and the doctor held her right arm as best he could. “Get in here!” he screamed to the second nurse, who hung at the door with a syringe at the ready.
She hesitated a moment longer before coming to his side. “Get control of her…or—I don’t want this to break off in her skin,” she stammered nervously, completely freaked out at the site of the panicked inmate.
“No…stop them! Help her! Somebody help her!” Faith howled, spittle flying as she shrieked. Her eyes were open wide in terror as she thrashed and it chilled the doctor to the bone.
“Almost…there, got her!” the nurse cried out as she successfully administered the strong sedative. Stepping back she let the others hold the girl until it began to take effect, a mere minute later.
“No…please,” Faith whimpered as the warm glove of sleep began to slide over her body. “You have…have to help…tell…Buffy…tell her.”
The nurses exchanged a glance. “Buffy?”
Suddenly Faith’s hand reached out and gripped the arm of the nurse closest to her. Brown eyes, swimming on the brink of unconsciousness, focused on her own for a brief moment. “It’s too late. She’s dead,” Faith said simply, and then fell back onto the bed, asleep.
“Dead?” the nurse echoed. “Doctor…what’s going on?”
“It’s nothing,” he said briskly. “She’s hysterical. Bad dream.”
The nurses looked dubiously between Faith and the doctor. “Dr. Phillips…she was…”
“She’s fine,” he snapped. “Leave. I’ll take care of this in the morning. She’ll sleep until then.
“But--”
“I said GO!” he shouted and the nurses jumped, turning quickly and exiting the room.
When they were gone Dr. Phillips moved to Faith’s side and stared down at her. She twitched in her sleep, no doubt some part of her was still trying to fight the drug.
“Well…that won’t happen,” he assured her gruffly, his voice barely a whisper to keep it from being picked up by the microphone on the surveillance camera. “You won’t be here long enough for that to happen. I’ve already alerted them…and they’re on their way, aren’t they? You know. You know they’re coming for you.”
He backed up a few steps toward the door.
“Coming for you.”
*~*~*
Spike took a sip of the bottled beer Lilah’d supplied him with and contemplated what the cagey bitch had told him. Prophecies and vampires and apocalypse…oh my! Not that it didn’t just make him grin at stealing something from Angel, even if it was something he knew Peaches wouldn’t want any part of…but still. For once, it was Spike. Spike was the one who was important, needed…hell, vital.
So the world was going to end…big deal. Like he hadn’t been through that a time or two…dozen. And so the demons were going to fight the mortals. Yawn. What intrigued him, what really made him itch, was the fact that there was an entire prophecy (written without specifics, as prophecies tended to be) that could be about him.
Wasn’t that just neat?
“You could rule the world, Spike…with our help, of course. The firm wants to see that you do so,” Lilah’d told him. “It’s our ultimate goal, to share some family secrets, and the Senior Partners…well…let’s just say they’re going to be stumbling over their own feet, those of them who have feet, anyway, to meet you.”
He’d stared at her, thoughts racing in his mind though his outward appearance was one of complete indifference. “So I’m second best, is that it? Use me instead of him?”
She’d nodded, an evil smile on her face. “Just like that. But I wouldn’t say you’re second best. I consider you a miracle…the second chance we’ve been looking for. Why should Angel get all the fun?”
He considered, tipping the bottle back. “Why, indeed.”
So all he had to do was renounce mortals, save for eating them, and play the game of the law firm until his time came. Which, according to Lilah, was fast approaching.
“The End of Days has begun,” she informed him regally.
“Sounds fun,” he yawned, unimpressed.
“Your sire has--”
“Grand-sire,” he corrected with a flash of blue eyes.
Lilah noted the hostility with glee. “Grand-sire… has known about the End of Days for some time now. He knows it’s on its way…and he knows that the upsurge in demonic activity these past few years has only been the beginning.”
“Where does all this take place?”
She shrugged. “Here…there…the Sunnydale Hellmouth for some of it, though your focus will be in Los Angeles. But trust me…it’ll be felt world-round.”
“Directing evil from the comfort of my own living room, eh?”
“Something like that,” she grinned.
He walked into the living room, grabbing two bottles of beer from the fridge before plopping back down onto the overstuffed chair he’d been seated in before. “And if I say no?”
“I don’t think you’ll want to.”
He looked up at her over the lip of the bottle. “Yeah? What makes you so sure? I’ve got a soul, now, too, you know. Could be this kinda thing’s too rich for my do-gooder blood anymore.”
She smiled and put a hand on his knee. “And what good has that soul done you, Spike? Got it back to win over the Slayer, right?” His eyes flashed and she knew she’d hit the hot point. “How’s that going, anyway?”
He controlled the rage building up inside him, but she could practically smell it. The beer bottle in his hand was shaking as his fingers clenched around it. She sat back in case the bottle should explode, then thought better of it, and the murderous look in his eye, and stood, strolling around the room.
“The soul wasn’t the key to her, Spike,” Lilah continued.
//To kill this girl, you’ve gotta love her.//
Spike shook off the voice in his head and glared hard at the lawyer pacing in front of him. “The girl and I have a thing, the two of us.”
Lilah smirked. “Yeah. It’s called ‘a phase.’ Face it, honey…you weren’t what she needed. It happens to the best of us. So all that hatred and anger you’re feeling right now? I want to use that. I want to make that into power. It’s possible. We can show you how.” She leaned in and winked at him. “You’re not quite the white hat you want people to think, are you? It’s like an itch…right? Crawling up your spine…that desire, that absolute need to go out and destroy. You might have a soul, but you still have a demon. And the demon wants to play. So now we just have to figure out who’s more powerful…William…or Spike.”
She leaned back and sat on the couch feeling completely victorious as the vampire watched her, stunned.
Spike’s urge to rip her head from her shoulders was only sedated by the thought of finally being given his due. William…his poor, pathetic other self was nothing, never had been. Returning to that persona was something he’d vowed long ago never to do. It was part of the reason he hated Angel so much…looking at him reminded Spike of what William could never be. William could never be good, stalwart, brave or strong. Spike was, well… Spike was some of those things. Surely not good, probably not stalwart. But certainly brave, strong. But what William could never have hoped to be, what William couldn’t have been on his best day, was powerful. Being a vampire was the only thing this body, this mind, had ever been good for.
Frosted blue eyes trained on hers. “And what’s my part in all this? I’m not keen on playing the figurehead.”
Lilah was giddy inside. “Oh no…your role is much more important, I assure you. But before I get into all the pesky details…we’ll have to get a few things straight.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Such as?”
Taking a seat on the ottoman before him, she crossed her legs. “The chip, for one…can’t have you ruling the demon world and be unable to enjoy it, can we?”
“No…we can’t have that,” he grinned, a sexy, evil smile. This was positively delicious.
“I take it you’re interested in our proposition, then?”
He took a beat to answer. “My interest has been peaked, let’s say that much.”
She nodded. He’d come around. “Good.” Rising off her seat she picked up her coat and headed to the front door. “I’ll be back later. Katrina will see to anything you need…but Spike…play nice with her. Replacing a good assistant is a bitch in this city.”
He smirked and crossed his legs and she moved to the door. “Tell me, pet…one more thing.”
“Yeah?” she asked, turning to face him.
“What happens to the Slayer when all this goes down?”
Her brow furrowed for a moment. “She dies, of course.”
There was a moment between them where eyes locked but expressions gave nothing away. Finally he nodded and she exited the apartment.
Spike popped the top of another bottle and sipped it slowly, thinking.
*~*~*
The research bonanza was in full swing later that morning as the sun rose in the smoggy Los Angeles sky. Sequestered in the office, surrounded by dusty texts and flimsy scrolls sat Xander, Fred, Gunn, Buffy, Angel and Wesley. Willow and Lorne had taken seats in the lobby to work on a spell for the lost memories.
“When are Cordy and Dawn coming back with food?” Gunn grumbled as he slammed shut another text and shoved it to the middle of the table.
Xander, from the computer, looked up with a nod. “I’m starving. Those granola bars we snagged at that gas station aren’t cutting it anymore. I need sustenance, preferably of the double-cheese and pickle variety.”
Buffy’s own stomach grumbled in reply. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon. It’s been a good half hour.”
“You don’t remember Cordelia, do you?” Angel deadpanned softly and Buffy gave him a small grin. Their eyes met and after a moment, he returned it.
With a sigh Buffy closed her own book and looked around. “Anyone getting anywhere?”
“I suspect we won’t,” Wesley told her without looking up. “I’ve been over these texts myself a hundred times.”
“So basically we’re going on, ‘vampire with a soul will fight in the apocalypse,’” Xander said.
“And now we just need to know which side he’ll be fighting on,” Fred added.
Wesley nodded and met Angel’s eyes. “And which vampire.”
“This Spike’s that bad, huh?” Gunn asked, only half-interested. “Never heard of him.”
“Well, judging from his bio here, he wasn’t too pleasant,” Fred observed, shuddering as she scanned some papers. “I don’t even want to know how he killed someone with a shrimp fork.”
“He’s creepy,” Cordelia told him, stepping into the office, loaded down with bags of food. Dawn followed her with trays of super-sized soft drinks. “Sorta like Billy Idol meets Ted Bundy, but without all the charm and kittenish qualities.”
“He’s not that…” Dawn began to object, then reconsidered with a glance at Buffy. “Spike’s different.” Xander snorted.
“Maybe since he got a soul,” Cordelia shrugged. “Last time I remember seeing him he was ramming Angel here through with hot pokers.”
Dawn looked up at Angel with horror and he shrugged. “He was different before he got his soul,” she protested. “Wasn’t he? He helped us.”
“Dawn,” Buffy warned softly.
The youngest Summers continued. “I mean…yeah, okay…sure. He still tried to hatch those demon eggs…and he, you know…”
“Dawn,” Buffy repeated more sternly, and after a silent moment passed between the two sisters, she turned to Gunn. “Spike is…unpredictable. Occasionally he’s proven to be helpful to us. But there’s no telling what he’ll do if presented with a good enough benefits package by these lawyer friends of yours. You said the scrolls never mentioned Angel by name, right?” she asked Wesley.
He nodded. “No, they didn’t.”
“Then the vampire with a soul could still be Spike,” Buffy concluded.
“It could,” Wesley concurred. “Angel came upon the scrolls while on a separate mission in the Wolfram and Hart building. He told me he was…drawn to them and took them for that reason. We concluded later that the reason they scrolls seemed to call to him were because they pertained information about him.”
“And then that Vocal guy came in, killed the Oracles, and tried to kill me with the vision-o-rama,” Cordelia concluded.
“Vocah,” Angel corrected. “That’s one of the last thing’s I remember.”
“Me too,” Gunn agreed. “Angel hired me and some friends to hang out at the hospital, guarding over Cordelia’s room…last thing I remember that involves any of these guys,” he told them, waving a hand at Angel, Wesley and Cordelia.
Buffy chewed on her bottom lip. “Odd,” she mused.
“What?” Angel asked.
“Your memories got erased to the time when you first learned of the prophecies…and now we’re here, reading up on them because suddenly there’s a new vamp in town.”
“Coincidence?” Cordelia asked.
“No such thing,” Buffy told her, then frowned. “But I can’t get the connection.”
“Perhaps there isn’t one,” Wesley murmured. “But more than likely you’re right, Buffy. It’s entirely too convenient.”
“Maybe the Powers That Be worked the mojo,” Cordelia offered, taking a bite of her chicken sandwich. “Worked it so we’d all come together to figure this out.”
Buffy shrugged then stood, stretching. “Food, then the prison, okay?” she directed her question to Angel, who nodded. Moving from behind the table she headed to the lobby with two sandwiches and some drinks, handing them to a grateful Lorne and Willow.
“Any luck?”
Willow nodded. “I think I figured out a counter spell to bring them back. It’ll just take a little time and some ingredients, but Lorne says he can get them for me from a friend.”
“She owns this fabulous little shop in Little Italy,” he told the Slayer. “Next to the cannolli her wolf’s bane is the best.”
“Faboo. We’re going to head over to find out what’s the skinny on Faith. Visiting hours start at 1:00.”
“I hope she’s okay,” Willow told her sincerely as the phone rang in the background.
Buffy nodded seriously. “Me too. I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Will. Something’s not right…”
“Want me to take a gander at it?” Lorne offered and Buffy looked at him strangely. “I read karma’s…see the paths people are on…it’s sorta a thing with me.”
“What do I have to do?” she asked warily.
“Sing me a few notes and it’s all an open book.”
“Sing?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
He nodded. “Oh, come on. Red here was telling me all about the night the stage lights when on in Sunnydale…singing, dancing…a little flambé of the chorus line…sounds fun. In a charbroiled kinda way.” His eyes gleamed as he looked up at the little blonde. “Come on…gimme one line of ‘Row Row Row Your Boat’ and we’ll call it a day.”
Buffy eyes the demon suspiciously, glanced at Willow, and sighed. “Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream…merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.”
Lorne’s eyes narrowed as she sang. “Well…chock full of goodies, aren’t you?”
“What?”
He opened his mouth to answer her when Angel called from the desk. “Buffy…it’s Giles,” he told her, holding up the phone.
Buffy moved quickly and picked up the receiver. “Giles? Yeah…I…slow down. What?” she asked, eyes flying wide. “But she’s still okay, right? Faith?” She pressed a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes, exhausted. “Okay…no, I’m fine. We’re all here. Me, Xander, Dawn and Willow. No…she stayed in Sunnydale. Why?” There was a long pause and Xander began to look pensive. Buffy listened a moment longer, then looked up. The two friends held each other’s gaze, concern in the Slayer’s, panic forming in Xander’s. “Okay, no. We’ll call her right now. If I have to go back there and drag her to the car, she’s coming with us.”
Xander needed to hear nothing more and Dawn handed him her cell phone. Dialing frantically he began to track down Anya.
“Giles, what does this mean?” Buffy continued. She listened intently for several more moment. “And they think…your friend thinks…when? Do you know where? Okay…okay.” They talked a moment longer before hanging up. All eyes were on the Slayer as she replaced the receiver.
“What did he say?” Willow asked, eyes wide and nervous.
“That he and his assistant think they found a pattern in the deaths of the girls…the ones in my dreams,” she told them.
“Pattern?” Dawn asked.
Buffy nodded. “Every day they get some report on the Slayers in training, telling the Council how they’re doing, what progress they’ve made. For the past few weeks, there haven’t been any problems. No reports that anything’s wrong. Until they looked more closely. On the days I had the dreams…the next day the girl who died showed up on the top of the list of reports. Every time.”
“What does that mean?” Cordelia wanted to know.
“It means that someone inside the Council knows what’s going on. The reports read like normal, like the girl’s okay.”
“Which means her Watcher is either in on it, or dead,” Angel concluded and Buffy nodded.
“It’s like a code to whoever in the Council is organizing this…they’re taking out the Slayers, then putting the girl’s name on the top of the report to indicate that the deed’s been done.” Buffy’s face had paled considerably. “I’m not about to let Faith’s name make it to that list.”
“Or yours,” Willow added vehemently.
“We’re skipping lunch,” Buffy told Angel, and he nodded, grabbing his coat. They headed to the basement door together. “We’ll be at the prison, checking things out. Giles is going to look into this some more, but he’s worried that the information might be guarded.”
“He might be jeopardizing his safety, if it’s discovered he’s cracked the code,” Wesley put in.
Buffy nodded. “He’s thought of that. I’ll just have to let him worry about it for now…I can’t do him any good from here and we need that information.” She turned to Dawn. “Tell Xander to do whatever he can to convince Anya to get up here. She’s not safe there. If the Watcher’s figure out that we’re on to them, they might go after her to get to me.”
Dawn nodded and ran back to Xander to fill him in as he paced in the office, cell phone to his ear.
“Do you want someone to come with you?” Fred asked as Angel opened the door to the weapons closet and selected a concealable axe.
“No. You stay here, keep looking for possible locations that Wolfram & Hart might be keeping Spike,” he told her. “We’ll handle this.”
She nodded and with a swoosh of Angel’s duster, he and Buffy were gone.
