Bloodletting

Bleed Like Me

The red Trans Am lumbered through a dingy, trash-laden back alley in the industrial district of Sunnydale. No lights shone from the old car. Even so, it caught the eye. Its bright candy paint glistened in shadowy hues of orange and red. The contrast spoke of a thing that had been loved for many years in a place where nothing had been loved in as many years or more.

Buffy applied constant, gentle pressure to the gas pedal. The engine returned an uneven grumble, sounding as if it might die. If it was possible for a machine to sound impatient, this one did.

I’d almost forgotten what ‘truly spine-chilling’ felt like. Go figure, my creep-o-meter tweaks over an absence of horror.

Whatever. It sucks.

Looks like bag lunch again tonight. This is tired already. Something has to give.

A dilapidated streetlight flickered overhead. The windshield shimmered, frosting with a halo of dirty yellow light. She squinted to see the end of the alley where it let out into a small broken asphalt lot with several overflowing dumpsters.

Shying from the annoying light, Buffy gave her passenger a concerned glance. It worried her that Willow had barely spoken since they left the hospital. The witch sat perfectly rigid, her expression vacant. She appeared to be somewhere else entirely. Speaking of creepy…

But I suppose it’s to be expected. Even if she does look kinda like a statue, her color’s a little better.

I mean, she has some. Probably just the—

As they entered the cul-de-sac, a distant, familiar sound cut through the air. Buffy’s heart leapt. Or rather, she had that giddy sense that made her feel as if it had. The sound marked the end of the stalemate. Like the town had just yielded to some deep-seated need to be bad.

Certain noises just shouldn’t seem melodic. They shouldn’t be pleasing. Like take the shrill sound of panicked screams. I shouldn’t enjoy that at all.

Buffy smiled. I’m a sick, sick girl.

But then, we got that memo years ago.

Another glimpse revealed that had Willow brightened too. “Now that’s the Sunnydale I know and love,” she remarked. Buffy was amused that Willow sounded almost cheerful. Glad it’s not just me.

Hammering the throttle, she whipped the steering wheel and slung the car around without hitting a single dumpster. It was an impressive piece of stunt driving for someone who had wrecked the first car she'd driven. I got over it. She snickered.

Once they were headed straight down the alley, she chanced a peek in the rearview. The feeble light of the decrepit streetlamp was almost choked off by a billowing black cloud. All it took was dealing with a few minions for me to get how much I appreciate stuff like this. Machines just do what you tell them. If you’re stupid enough to tell them to do the wrong thing, it’s on you. The Gorch Brothers are too stupid to understand what you tell them. Strange but true I prefer the car.

Actually…

“I love this car. Thanks, Will,” she said in a breathy voice. A broad smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth as they careened down the narrow alley. “That was behind us, right?”

“Yeah. A couple of cross alleys back, maybe. Kinda hard to pinpoint. It’s pretty echoy, what with all the buildings,” Willow chattered, sounding way too excited for her own good.

And I love it when she does that. It’s too funny. Buffy giggled, sneaking a sidelong glance. She got a dirty look and a scolding for her trouble.

“Slow down. You don’t wanna scare them.”

Buffy let off the throttle. “You spoil all my fun,” she whined playfully. Yeah, she has a point. I always wondered about those cop shows where the two detectives roar up in their clichéd muscle car. Why didn’t the bad guys take a clue and scram? It’s not like they couldn’t hear it coming.

Peripherally, Buffy saw people moving. She stomped the clutch and brake. The tires screeched. She smashed the parking brake, simultaneously tapping the shift lever into neutral. Reaching up, she took hold of the roof and pulled herself out the window. She was on her feet, running before the car fully stopped. Breaking into a hard sprint down the cross alley, she sized up her targets as she closed in. Two men, some girl…all human. Huh, an actual damsel. I’d know that smell anywhere. Even from here, even over the trash, there’s no mistaking…

Guess it’s time to play hero.

She grabbed the first man. As she peeled him from his victim, he cried out. She sent him spinning. He struck the wall so hard that Buffy heard a crack.

The second man was restraining the girl. Points off for breaking the damsel. I need to be a bit gentler with this one. She grabbed him by the back of the shirt. His feet left the ground. He reflexively released the girl. She pitched him sideways. Her head tilted when he smacked the wall.

Buffy faced the approaching witch. Returning the amused smile, she said, “Have fun and save one for me.” She winked, scooped the girl up and headed straight for the car.

Willow called out behind her, “Alright, I’ll keep them busy while you—” She didn’t even bother to finish her thought.

The passenger door was open. Buffy slid the limp girl into the seat and straightened her clothes enough for decency’s sake before clipping the seat belt across her waist.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this. Cliché more?” she grumbled, shaking her head. Seriously, I need to get back before Will breaks them both. Rounding the car, she hopped in. It was still idling. She put it in gear and sped off. They were both sorta cute. I have to wonder why? But it’s not like Will’s gonna interview them. So, it’ll stay a mystery unless my damsel snaps out of it.

Giles parked his aged Citroën in front of the hospital entrance as instructed, to await the nurse who was bringing Faith to the car. The others had stayed behind to assist. Although the prospect of retrieving his car alone hadn’t thrilled him, the walk across the desolate parking lot had been uneventful. Now biding his time, he listened to a classic rock station.

There’s nothing any of us could do in the event of another attack. Even Faith, with her talents, is no match for this new threat. Better I go it alone. What we witnessed this evening bears testimony to exactly how safe any of us are outside the protection of a home after nightfall.

Several minutes ticked idly by. Giles amused himself by humming a Bay City Rollers tune. The distant roar of an engine caught his attention. It was moving closer at an alarming rate. When the source of the disturbance drew close enough to see, he turned, following a red car with his eyes as it hurled past. It was so loud that it drowned out his radio and the body of his old Citroën rattled.

He gave a disapproving hiss, “Bloody Americans.” In spite of his scorn, he watched the car intently as it raced the length of the building. The emergency room entrance was set at roughly a forty-five degree angle in from the building’s face. An overhang projected out from the roofline at the entrance to provide shelter to arriving vehicles. The car stopped under it. Though the front third of the car was blocked from view by the building, he could still see enough to have an idea what was going on.

A petite blonde woman, clad in black leather, threw the driver’s door open. She disappeared around the front of the vehicle. Giles suspected that she had gone inside. He was surprised when she reappeared to yank the passenger door open and lift another, slightly-larger woman into her arms.

Buffy?

Without realizing what he was doing, he found himself standing with one foot outside his car, still clinging to the steering wheel with one hand and the open door with the other. Giles stood, shut his car door and marched off down the sidewalk. I must know what the devil she’s up to. Curiosity drove him to break-neck speeds. Buffy was placing the strange woman on a gurney when he charged through the sliding glass doors.

As he took note of the blood that flowed from a laceration on the woman’s scalp, Giles found the presence of mind to close his gaping mouth. Raising his hand to point a finger at Buffy, he rallied his nerve to speak. His mouth opened, but the only sound he could make was an odd clucking. Closing his mouth again, he decided to preserve the remainder of his dignity.

Bloody hell!

“Hey, Giles,” Buffy chimed in a tone dripping with saccharine. Punctuating, she flashed him a particularly cheeky smile and a wink.

Pull yourself together, old man! This really isn’t terribly alarming. One of the most cunning, dangerous vampires to ever walk the face of the earth has simply taken to performing acts of charity.

No bother at all. One might witness such a thing any day.

Any day that Venus is in transit accompanying a complete solar eclipse.

A doctor stood across the gurney. He looked up from his inspection of the injured woman and asked, “You said she was violated?”

When Buffy faced the doctor, she was her usual self, snide and condescending. “That’s right, I said rape victim. Now, I haven’t got all night.” Only half paying attention to the befuddled physician, she fidgeted with her car keys.

She’s still a snot-nosed brat. At least that much of her demeanor remains intact. The earth may yet be rotating eastwardly while the furthest reaches of the heavens still revolve in counter.

“How exactly can you be sure, Miss?” the doctor queried pensively.

Not mincing words, Buffy replied, “I pulled the fucker off her myself.” She gave the doctor a reproachful glare. “Look, just do your job. You can do that, right?” The question was purely rhetorical and she didn’t wait an answer. Turning on heel, she marched past Giles and out the door, winking again en route.

Attempting to call after her, the doctor sputtered, “But, Miss—?”

Yet again, Giles closed his mouth. Bugger! Setting his jaw, he swung around. His teeth ground together, causing a chill to trickle down his spine. He was quite certain that the doctor was about to ask him something. He was equally certain that he could care less.

Oblivious to the attention she was receiving, Buffy paused to light a cigarette before making her way to the car.

Giles located his missing voice and muttered under his breath, “This town…it grows progressively odder by the day.” Shaking his head, he followed Buffy outside just in time to witness her swift, flamboyant departure.

Willow reached down and yanked the man to his feet. He wasn’t standing so well on his own anymore. Hope I didn’t break him. Buffy won’t be happy.

The rumble of an approaching car caught her ear and she said, “I saved you for her, y’know?”

The man trembled. His legs were all wobbly. Willow reached out and batted him like a playful cat. He staggered sideways, caught himself on the wall and slumped down its length.

Striding over to him, she peered into his bleary eyes. “You see, my friend has this teensy little personal problem with rapists,” she said, using her sexy voice. I worked long and hard on that, finding just the right tone. It could easily be a parody. I could sound like some floozy from a phone sex line.

I don’t.

It’s perfect.

I used it to tease my lovers and victims. Funny, how often they’ve been one and the same.

A swell of personal pride caused her to smile. Not tonight.

She lifted the man to his feet and dusted him off. “Who knows what she’ll do to you.” She giggled for effect. “But look on the bright side. It should be fun to watch.”

The man made a fair show of running. Smacking him to his knees again, Willow said through a laugh, “Well, not for you.”

Buffy called down the alley, “Quit playing with my food!”

Willow gasped, “Oh!” Somehow, time had gotten away from her. She looked up, surprised to see Buffy’s face, though Willow knew full well that Buffy was on her way. She heard the car. She still heard the car. It sat idling at the intersection. Feeling stupid, she stammered, “Uh, yeah, well, I guess…I-I-I was bored and I, umm…he looked so lonely.”

Willow offered her partner a dejected little moue before bending down to seize the man. She jerked him to his feet again, giving him a quick once over. He was all rumpled and dirty. And worse still, he reeked of urine. She shrugged and mumbled, “Sorry,” as she shoved him Buffy’s way.

Buffy just shook her head. Her victim staggered and fell on his knees in front of her. He made a few mumbling, babbley noises, obviously pleading. She reached down, ripped him to standing and snarled, “Run.” Sighing loudly, she shook her head as he staggered away.

When Buffy glared at her, Willow suddenly found her feet fascinating. “Oops.” But I didn’t mean to.

Buffy took the man from behind in a blur of movement. It was over so quickly he never had a chance to scream. He crumpled to his knees. Buffy held him so tightly that Willow heard bones crack.

Willow didn’t know how to react. What to feel. She felt lots. It was one of the most savage things she’d ever witnessed. And considering the night I’ve had, that’s saying something.

As Buffy drug the corpse away by the back of his collar, Willow understood why there’d been no scream. Buffy had removed the man’s throat with her hand. It’d just been so blindingly fast Willow never saw it. The burbling noise he had made was still fresh in her mind. It made her queasy. When I said that, I really didn’t think…

Buffy lifted the body and tossed it into the dumpster on top of the other. Licking the blood from her fingers, she announced, “Well, that was dull.”

Not from this angle. There are big cats that don’t hunt as proficiently.

Or I mean, there aren’t any—umm…big cats that do that so well. And that’s sorta what they do. They were created to do that. They look like they’re born to do that. Buffy looks like one of those girls who always got caught smoking in the bathroom between classes.

I wonder if they give detention for acts of pure predatory efficiency.

Uh, yeah…it’s called prison.

Buffy started for the car, remarking as she went, “I wanna drop past Hellmouth High and see if any more of my little playmates are out. Then I think it’s time we go home.”

Willow had been so consumed by another study of the ground at her feet that she’d completely lost track again. Rushing to catch up, she mumbled, “’Kay. Whatever. Are you sure about…well, home? You sure? You’re talking about the mansion home, not the hotel home? Home is…it’s sort of confusing now.”

Buffy moved around the car, but she didn’t climb inside. Instead, she paused and seemed to study Willow. This wasn’t remotely helpful.

As Willow strode to the juncture of the dark, smelly alleys, she met Buffy’s gaze and held it despite the nerves. She reached the car, hooking her fingers under the door handle.

Before she could open it, Buffy purred, “Oh yeah, I’ve got a little surprise for my boys.” Opening the door, Buffy slid into her seat as she added, “They’re gonna love it.”

Willow joined her partner. Once situated, she cast a glance at the driver’s side of the car to assess Buffy’s mood. It was hard to tell. Buffy was hot and cold. And she was absently wiping blood from around her mouth. Hot now.

Really hot…

As Buffy suggestively suckled her fingers, Willow changed tack, trying to ignore the show by fastening her seatbelt. ’Kay, so…from ‘really intimidating, scary Buffy’ to ‘oh, my God, sexy Buffy’ in umm…less time than it took for me to walk to the car.

So! Limerick?

Woozy? Umm…yeah, definitely woozy. ’Kay, ‘woozy’ it is…

There once was a girl who was woozy. She had troubles. And were they ever a doozy.

Not bad.

Next stanza. Uh…

I could talk about her. Cute, blonde and petite…

What rhymes with petite?

Pretty much everything rhymes with petite.

Willow snickered softly to herself. Not really. Not ‘everything,’ but there are lots of possibilities.

Elite, sweet, beat, defeat, meet, conceit…? Sweet’s not bad. But ‘Buffy’ and ‘sweet’ in the same sentence? There may be laws.

Well, there’s ‘small.’ That’s a different option. Trouble is, if there’s one thing Buffy isn’t, it’s small. She’s smallish in size, hence the ‘petite,’ but...

She’s so dynamic. Larger than life. That’s such a tired thing to say, but it’s true. If that phrase fits anyone, it’s her.

Thing is, none of this really has anything to do with my problem. Love is blind. It’s also deaf, dumb and maybe a little mentally ill in this case.

Willow grinned. Just a smidge…

This has to end with ‘choosy.’ How do I even get there through a puddle of sap? But there’s no other option. Well, there’s Jacuzzi. Anything that ends with a Jacuzzi can’t be all bad. But this…?

This is…

This is Hell.

That’s it!

Caught in a spell…she went straight to Hell. But even Hell can be Heaven if you aren’t choosy.

Too bad lucky doesn’t rhyme. Let’s see, lucky, plucky, ducky, uh…Kentucky. Yeah, umm…no…

Heaps of ‘no.’

And this isn’t really helpful. She’s just so…

But she isn’t the one who’s acting like a complete weirdo. I am.

What would be normal?

Willow realized she was doing it again. This time her hands were interesting. She looked up. Buffy was smirking. Engaging her in normal conversation instead of talking to yourself like a freak might be a good start. Well, not so much ‘talking to,’ as lost. Totally lost.

Uh…

“What sorta surprise?” Willow asked. I care, but don’t. Is that bad?

It’s probably bad. Very bad. How many vamps does she have working for her?

Too many.

Uh, yeah…very bad.

“You’ll see,” Buffy replied in a silky voice, facing Willow. Comprehension dawned on her face. She asked, “Will, why’s your hair still black? Didn’t—I mean, it did work, right?”

Willow took a lock of her hair to look. She was clueless too. I feel like complete crap, but my hair? It’s black?

Oh! ‘Work,’ I get it now.

Willow filled in as best she could. “I guess it would’ve, but I wouldn’t. I mean, I just couldn’t. It’s not right. I’ll get rid of this on my own.” She realized she was only half making sense. The expression on Buffy’s face made that perfectly clear. Sighing, she stared at her hands and mumbled, “I’m with you. I-l just…I can’t.” Her hands were trembling. She clutched them together, struggling to make it stop.

Several moments crept by. Willow remained focused on her hands. The wait worried her. She expected to be moving by now. I hope I didn’t say something wrong.

Another limerick, maybe?

Anything…

There once was a girl who was smitten. By this gorgeous, intense, captivating vampire she’d been—

Way too many adjectives. Settling on one might be good. But she’s just so—

Buffy placed a hand over hers. It startled Willow to see that it was shaking too. That hand just ripped a man’s throat out. Now it’s shaking? Over what?

Me?

She looked up, turning to face Buffy and froze.

Uh…

Beautiful blue eyes met Willow’s. There’s just a hint of green. And that smile, it’s so sweet. Willow wanted to weep. Her eyes watered, but she wasn’t given time.

Buffy whispered, “I’m not sure how this stuff’s supposed to work.” Her smile brightened, filling with amusement. “Not much of a second date. It might be the worst ever. But maybe…”

Maybe?

It’s a total misconception that vampires don’t breathe. We really don’t need to except to speak. People don’t get that. They never see enough to know. We don’t give them a chance.

I know. Her breath just caressed my skin. It was warm. Surprisingly so.

And her lips, not cold and dead, but gentle, tender and warm. Salty, coppery…

Bloody kisses. It sounds horrible, but it’s one of the most beautiful, sensuous, erotic…

Grateful, Willow surrendered to the flood of emotion. Her body was all fuzzy, disconnected and distant. She put every ounce of anything she had left into this one all important, wholly consuming act. The kiss was the only thing in her world that mattered. Soft lips caressed hers. She echoed each movement. Tongues entwined, stroking. Like dew, only not. Metallic and sweet with just a hint of smokiness. The rich flavors gradually married with hers, creating something new and wonderful.

It was perfect, but not.

The desire to be closer took over. Barely conscious of her actions, she lifted Buffy and slid her across the console. What snapped Willow out of it was the loss, brief and terrible. The kiss was broken. Hungry lips moved to her neck. She groaned. Her hands were…

Uh…

Where they shouldn’t be.

Oops!

Willow trailed her naughty hands down Buffy’s sides, placing them firmly around her waist. I’m amazed she hasn’t bitten me. I probably deserve it.

And I’m shocked she missed the shifter. I’m usually not that graceful. Putting the car in gear would’ve—

Oh, my…

Umm…

She smells so…and that feels—

Buffy paused.

No!

More please! I’ll be good!

The eyes that met Willow’s were green now. Hungry. Yellow and blue…

That’s probably it. I’m an after dinner snack for the predator.

Buffy smiled. All of the sweetness was gone. Only the soft blonde hair that framed her face remained unchanged. No, that’s not it at all. She loves me. There’s no way she could—

Not after…

She just wants me. I’m dessert.

Or maybe an after dinner mint. The kind that’s all confectioner’s sugar and peppermint oil. Gone in thirty seconds. Only the taste lingers.

Buffy’s expression changed. Some of the desire faded, giving way to concern. She leaned in. Her lips touched Willow’s cheek. My skin’s damp?

But when did I—?

So much for not having time. I’m crying. I guess…time’s really not—

Sweet, loving kisses covered Willow’s cheeks. She wanted to wipe her eyes, but disturbing Buffy was unthinkable.

Time’s meaningless.

Their lips met again. Buffy’s kiss was timid now, like that first time, gentle and chaste. Last night. It’s so hard to believe that was just last night. Only instead of me, now it’s her asking for permission she already has.

Willow didn’t stand for it. It was wrong. She deepened the kiss, coaxing the desire she’d just witnessed out again. It wasn’t hard to find. She wanted to be consumed by it. What she found didn’t disappoint.

Buffy’s grip tightened. It was painful. The kiss became rough, almost agonizing. It was like she was feeding.

Willow melted into it, conforming to Buffy’s will. It was so sexual, completely visceral. Willow felt that she’d been swept away by a force of nature. One of Buffy’s teeth cut her tongue. Willow didn’t care. The blood deepened the frenzy.

Buffy’s attention drifted. She moved to Willow’s neck. A slight pinch brought it all to an abrupt end.

Shocked, Buffy jerked away. “Oh, God,” she gasped, reeling to catch up. “I’m so sorry.”

Willow would’ve killed to make it continue. Deep feelings of loss had already set in. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop the big, silly grin that was stretching the corners of her mouth. Buffy wigging was just too funny. “I’m not,” she said through a giggle. Wow! Uh, yeah…

I can wait. I’ll be fine!

Umm…

Her eyes fluttered open. The way Buffy looked surprised her. She expected the demon, but what she got was a confused girl with baby doll features and golden eyes to match her hair.

The windows were fogged. It was like being in a bubble. The only lights came from the dash. The engine rumbled. Willow had forgotten it was on. The sound had become a comforting purr in the background. It was warm and comfy inside the car.

Willow brought her hand to her neck. Despite the warmth, she realized that every bone in her body ached. She removed the rumpled scarf so it wouldn’t get stained. Then she felt the wound. It wasn’t bad, just a couple of scratches. The rest of her, on the other hand, felt like she’d gone ten rounds with a fyarl demon. Traction may be a thing. But it’s okay. I heal fast now.

After slipping the scarf in her pocket, she moved her legs and groaned. I kinda forgot about those. I may need them. Maybe…

Before she got what was happening, Buffy was back on her side of the car.

Willow turned her head. It hurt, but she was surprisingly lucid. Her mind was clear. All of the jumbled thoughts were gone.

Buffy glanced and looked away, ashamed. A second later, she did a double take. A warm smile brightened her face, but it faded, giving way to something else.

Willow was still grinning like an idiot. I feel like an idiot. Stupid people are always happy. Or mostly. Maybe they’re just too stupid to understand that they should be upset?

I’m totally in touch with that.

The look Buffy was giving her was funny. One eyebrow was arched. She looked as though she might be studying something particularly strange.

Willow lost it. She busted up laughing. When she calmed enough to see straight, Buffy was all business.

“I dunno if we’re gonna have time to go home tonight.” Buffy scanned the dash, obviously looking for something. She asked, “What time is it? I need to—”

Sobering, Willow poked her ribs and pointed to the LED clock on the aftermarket stereo. Wow! It’s been two…almost two and a half hours since she dropped me off. I get the half hour, but what happened to the rest?

Still lost and appearing annoyed, Buffy twitched. It took her a moment to understand what Willow was pointing at. Finally, Buffy followed the gesture. Her attention fixed on the digital display.

I’ll cut her some slack. That clock’s way too small. The designer should be horsewhipped.

No less annoyed, Buffy said, “Okay…duh.” She shook her head. “Thanks.” Sighing, she stalled, apparently collecting her thoughts. “So, it’s three a.m. We’ve got almost three hours. It might be enough. If not, we’ll hit it first thing tomorrow. I’d like to do it late. They’ll be more off balance, so we really need to motor.” She flipped the levers for the heater control until the defroster came on.

The ache was passing and the quiet was soothing. Willow listened to the ambient sounds of the car, just enjoying the peace. Eventually, she whispered, “It’s okay, y’know? You didn’t hurt me.” She smiled. “Or you didn’t hurt me in a bad way.”

Buffy mumbled, “I know,” sounding distracted.

Willow didn’t open her eyes. She reached out and found Buffy’s hand on the console. Gently taking it, Willow asked, “What do you feel?”

Buffy replied, “When.” Seeking clarification, she said, “You mean right now?”

The tone of her voice told Willow two things. The question had come as a shock and she had Buffy’s attention. Both were good. ‘When’ really isn’t important. That should be obvious. What she should ask is, why I’m curious. I wonder how long it’s been since someone cared enough to ask.

Willow gave as vague an answer as she dared. “Right now. A few minutes ago. Whenever. I’m just curious about you.”

“I don’t know. I guess I feel lots of things. That’s pretty amazing for me.” Buffy snickered. It was an uneasy sound. Her hand shook just a little and Willow gave it a gentle squeeze.

Rolling the back of her head against the bucket seat, Willow turned. The gentle pressure felt good, but being relaxed felt even better. She opened her eyes.

Buffy appeared deeply thoughtful. Her attention was fixed on the phoenix in the center of the steering wheel. She whispered, “Desired, but not in a bad way.” Scrunching her eyes, she blinked them open. Turning to face Willow, she said, “Loved.”

The sound of the word was beautiful. It made Willow smile. She dwelled on it for several moments. “Why the snicker?” she finally asked.

Buffy put the car in gear. Reaching down, she popped the emergency brake. As they crept forward, Buffy replied, “Because for me, loved was the last thing I ever expected to feel. Hated and feared, those things are lots closer.”

Willow whispered, “Do you know what I feel?” She was careful to keep her tone soft.

“Tell me,” Buffy said.

Sad, the moment’s passed. She’s way more interested in driving and plotting than in me. I need to get her attention again.

Willow smiled and loosened her seatbelt. Turning at an angle in her seat, she leaned against the door, facing her partner. “The same thing you do,” she said in the same silky voice. Meeting the glance she knew was coming, she locked eyes with Buffy for only an instant.

It’s enough.

Eve labored her body into a sitting position on the cold tar roof. Pain burned through her limbs. It was horrible. Something was terribly wrong. Her mind reeled. Fragments of memory surfaced. They were jumbled and confusing. She struggled to make sense of them, desperate to know exactly what had happened and where she was.

An image repeated, lingered and hung. It burned into her mind. Rage bowed up inside her at the memory of the face. “Buthy,” she snarled.

The lisp scared her. She put her hand to her cheek. The left side of her face hung limp. No matter what she tried, the muscles wouldn’t work. Right where that poisonous bitch touched me!

Her left arm wouldn’t straighten and her right hand wouldn’t close. She looked down at her naked body, grappling with what she saw. Her skin was covered in putrid, half-dried blood. There were so many things wrong that she couldn’t make sense of all of them at once. Caught between panic and rage, she fought for control and arrived at a truth. I can’t live like this.

The rage boiled over. But I won’t die alone. I’m gonna take that slut with me if it’s the last thing I do.

Fit to be tied, she struggled to stand. It didn’t work. She landed flat on her back on the cool, slippery tar.

Buzzing filled the air. Blood and gore bathed the rooftop around her. It was a banquet for all the filthy creatures in the world. The smell was awful. She panicked. Sickness crawled in her gut.

Desperate to flee, she flipped over. It wasn’t what she meant to do at all. She wanted to leap to her feet and run, but her right arm wouldn’t work. It folded under her weight. She lay sprawled on her belly, staring at a chunk of meat and understood. Oh my God! That’s part of me. What’s missin’.

Her stomach overflowed. She retched, purging bile and rotten blood.

Unable to move, she lay in the filth for what felt like a lifetime. The desire to die was so strong. There’s no wood. Nuthin’.

Refusing to open her eyes, she listened to the insects. They swarmed around her. She felt them crawl on her skin.

Her whole world was out of kilter, but Buffy’s face was all Eve saw. A deep, powerful hatred grew in her like a cancer. It kept her alive. She found meaning through it.

Favoring her left arm, she managed somehow to stand. She pulled her right hand up with her left. Another repulsive wave of understanding took hold. Her bicep had failed to reattach before the skin grew back. It was the final straw. She lost control and screamed. It was all she could do not to collapse.

She finally calmed enough to move and took an uneven step. Her left leg was lame. The knee refused to bend and the leg itself was shorter now than her right. Still, she could move.

Her loping gait carried her to the edge of the roof where she threw herself off. She landed among a patch of perfectly manicured hedges and crouched down. Having to hold her left leg out brought her reality sharply into focus again. I can’t go on like this.

As she waited for prey to pass, another truth sunk it, making her ill. I need to wake up and smell the coffee. That dog won’t hunt. I’m in no shape to face Buffy. She’d rip me apart. I need help. And there just ain’t none.

Frozen to the bone, Eve shivered. I’ll be lucky to make it through the night. They’re gonna kill me for failin’. And there won’t be a damned thing I can do about it.

But honest, I’ll be lucky if they do.

There was one good thing in her world. A young woman walked past. I can’t see how, but she doesn’t even know I’m here.

Emerging from the bushes, Eve seized the stranger, covering her mouth before she could scream. The fresh blood was wonderful. Eve drank deeply. When she could milk nothing more from the body, she let it fall.

Eve bent down, peeled the scrubs off of her victim and dressed. Each step a little more difficult than the last. When she finished the nearly impossible job, she set off into the night.

I need a great big, majorly lengthy time out. Someone cue the dramatic score before my head explodes.

Rolling her eyes, Buffy turned a corner and peered into a long, dank tunnel with rough block walls and an arched ceiling. It wasn’t much different from the one they’d just come down. Beautiful, scenic Sunnydale. The subterranean tour.

No music, but she allowed herself that dramatic pause.It only lasted a few seconds and she was off again, marching purposefully into the darkness. Who has time?

I sure don’t.

A drop of water fell from the ceiling. It splashed her leather jacket, misting her face and pissing her off.

This is just insane!

The witch caught up, matching Buffy’s pace. They walked together side-by-side in silence. Buffy’s mind was anything but silent.

I don’t do the swoony school girl act. In the past, if there was a guy, all I had to do was think of Xander. Instant cure all. After the nausea passed, I’d have a snack and things would go back to normal.

But…

Buffy let out an exasperated sigh. It echoed through the catacombs. Willow turned her head, giving Buffy a funny look. A fake smile did a fair job of hiding Buffy’s dismay.

See, that’s the thing. The operative word here is ‘guy.’

Turning into a connecting cave, Buffy doubled her pace. Willow was forced to all but run to keep up.

Keeping her busy has always been fun. But sometimes it’s simple. I like simple.

Simple?

The rough, earthen tunnel snaked its way under the city. Buffy followed its path with near mechanical precision. The ease she felt really didn’t match her dark, musty surroundings. There was a familiarity in this place that can only come from years of exploration. In a weird way, this was home. She could follow this tunnel blind. And as dark as it was, that was nearly the case.

Since when am I gay?

Buffy snickered and shook her head. I’m such a moron.

Since tonight. Maybe last night. Somewhere in there. Who knows?

Spontaneous gayness? Is that like spontaneous human combustion, only with the…?

Well, I wasn’t gay before, but I really can’t argue with biology. It happened. I still feel it. Uncomfortable as hell. My body just hates me. I need a shower.

The passage swung left and almost closed. Buffy turned sideways and slipped through the crevasse.

There has to be a reason.

A large cavern opened up in front of her. It was a junction. Including the one they’d just emerged from, six passageways, on two different levels, met in this chamber. On the upper ledge, Buffy skirted the darkened grotto, sticking close to the wall.

I wonder if there’s a warranty on souls. Can they be tampered with? Can I get a refund if mine’s defective due to mishandling wherever they keep them?

Where do they keep them? There has to be a place. I’d love to be there for inventory. Might be funny.

How can I even be sure I got the right one? Are they cataloged? Did Tara screw up and give me the soul of some dyke? She’d find that amusing. Who knows, it might not even be a screw up.

Stranger shit’s happened.

Buffy turned down the third of four upper tunnels that led from the cavern. Jesus H. Fucking Christ, God on two popsicle sticks! None of this matters! I’m wigging over nothing!

Again!

The tunnel was pretty much straight. And I’m pretty sure I’m not. Allowing Willow a chance to catch up, Buffy held for a moment. She felt bad for having left Willow behind. Buffy reached out and took her witch’s hand, then started down the final leg of their journey.

Willow gave her hand a light squeeze and smiled. It surprised Buffy that she’d been so quiet. I guess she’s got her own shit to deal with. God knows there’s plenty to go around.

Here’s the sitch with mine. It happened. Get over it.

Is it really all that bad? Don’t I have bigger things to worry about?

Oh, yeah. This is a tiny speck on the radar. A crumb on the mountain of crap I have to deal with.

I need to take a clue. I feel something. Big deal!

I dunno if she’s right. I’m not really the warm and fuzzy type. But then, I’m also not the type to react this way. I don’t get all gushy over guys.

Or girls.

This is different. But then, that’s nothing new. I got it when I couldn’t watch her die.

I suppose, if I ignore the obvious and follow the logic, all I have to do is think of Darla.

But that’s the thing. Do I feel the way I do because of that? Am I wigged because of Darla?

Definitely.

Is that what I want? Do I want to ignore this?

The cave ended at a broken block wall. Buffy slipped through the crack, leading Willow into a small storage room piled full of dusty crap.

No.

Buffy led the way around stacks of boxes and opened the door, stepping into an ordinary looking utility room.

Definitely not.

Moving around the furnace, Buffy passed through another doorway. It was easy going now. The rooms and halls below the school were fluid, but she followed her nose. Evil called out to evil, but in her heart there was something entirely different going on.

I’m with her for a reason. It scares the holy living shit out of me. But that’s never stopped me before. Actually, it always turned me on. Maybe that’s part of the appeal.

Whatever.

I need to just admit it and move on, follow this wherever it leads me. That’s what I said I’d do. And that’s what I’m gonna do.

Besides, adding lesbian to the list of things I am—not that big a deal. It’s the nicest thing they could call me.

They emerged together into the room. Buffy didn’t need to see the unbroken concrete slab to know that the gateway remained buried and inactive. She was so connected to this thing that she’d felt it long before they’d stepped foot in the school.

Buffy whispered, “The Hellmouth.” She didn’t need to say the words either. They just slipped out. The reverence felt right. She scanned the room, looking for signs of activity. There were muddy footprints on the rough, dingy floor. “Someone’s been here.” At least four people, all women, judging from the size and the style of shoes.

That’s so not good.

But they couldn’t possibly know. And even if by some freak of synchronicity they do, it’s okay. Just work the problem. One step at a time. They won’t live long enough to act.

Willow confirmed, “At least four. Maybe five.” Buffy watched as the witch studied the floor, picking out the individual patterns. She’s good. “Nice thought on the concrete. It adds a complication,” Willow muttered pensively.

Not nearly enough of one, but it’s the best idea I had. I sure as hell wasn’t gonna leave this thing just sitting out. A single vamp could open it with one victim like that.

A single vamp could still open it now, but it’d take a blood bath. Concrete’s porous and any sealers I use can be chipped away. This just makes it a little harder.

But if anyone was gonna open this giant piñata of unholy fun, it was me. I did everything I could to keep it that way.

When Willow looked up, Buffy met her gaze and said, “I had the minions and—well, there’s not much sense in leaving that seal…” Pausing, she mocked thoughtfulness for a moment. “What is it?” I hate to do this, but now’s not the time.

Buffy stared at the ground to hide the fact that she was struggling to keep a straight face and offered, “The Seal of Damn-Bizarre, sitting under a few scoops of dirt.” Her attention came to rest on a crack in the floor. Give it another month and I’ll be back down here with more concrete and rebar. It’s a never ending cycle. This thing just doesn’t like being hidden.

Without missing a beat, Willow replied helpfully, “The Seal of Danthazar,” turning to smile at Buffy. The smile faded and Willow looked down. She seemed to be trying to find what held Buffy’s interest. Buffy gave her witch a glance. Good girl. You see it too. I wonder if she gets that this is part of a set.

Willow started, “Thing is…”

Buffy was only half paying attention. It relieved her when Willow fell short. I bet the Watcher knows. He’s probably the only one in Sunnydale besides me and my inner circle who has a clue. It’s not exactly easy information to come by. You have to really look for it. And know exactly what you’re looking for. It took me years—

“I dunno,” Willow mumbled. She was catching up. Her thoughts were gelling. Buffy listened attentively, curious what part of the puzzle Willow was onto. “It just seems—the details are all wrong. They’re awfully interested in killing Faith, and—well, it makes no sense.”

Oh, she’s still wondering what my rugrats are up to.

Clueless.

But why we’re here, looking at this. That makes perfect sense. And all you’ve gotta do is ask the right question. You’ll get there on your own eventually. I have faith.

On the surface, Buffy was all confusion. She offered her hand to the witch and said, “I dunno either, but yeah, nothing here. They’ll need tools if this is what they’re after. So, let’s bail. We can check back tomorrow.”

Retracing her steps, Buffy led her witch out the door. From here, it’s all about damage control.

First things first, we need a base of operations. And I can’t think of a better place. All the comforts of home…

Besides, I need to cut off my right arm before he firms up. Luke’s not a very bright boy, but let’s face it, you don’t get to be over three-hundred years old by being a complete idiot.

Then we destroy an army. My army. Somewhere in there, we need to keep the slayer and her lackeys alive.

No big. Just another day on the Hellmouth.

Jonathan rested his elbow against the breakfast bar and propped his head in his hand. Sitting quietly on the stool, he’d already faded into the background. It didn’t bother him that the others forgot he was there. Okay, so…maybe a little, but it gives me a chance to think. And if I have something to say, they usually listen.

Well, sometimes I have to say it twice.

He half stared at Amy and half at the wall. He’d learned that trick in school. If he didn’t look right at the person, they usually didn’t notice.

It worried him that she wasn’t taking better care of herself. Her eyelids were a sickly shade of bluish-black and really thick. She could only open them a crack. There was more bruising around her cheeks. She looks like hell. There’s a pop culture reference here somewhere, but I can’t find it. The only thing that comes to mind is Rocky Balboa. And boy, is that lame. Shows how well I’m doing.

I wonder what her deal is. It’s like she’s on some sort of crazy vigil. She won’t leave Faith’s side at all. And she hasn’t eaten. Not that I can blame her. She did get kicked in the face. That’s gotta be bad for the appetite.

Thing is, I’ve known Amy for years and I’ve never seen her act this way. If anything, she’s a ‘me’ person. She’s normally all about her own stuff. It’s not like her to get all wound up in someone else.

I wonder if she plans to sleep sitting on the arm of the couch. Should be fun to watch if she does.

Jonathan glanced at Faith who occupied the rest of the couch. He could barely see her for Amy. It made the image that she might be protecting Faith all that much stronger.

But the real show in the room was Giles. Jonathan looked at him and cracked a grin.

Giles paced back and forth in the space between the coffee table and his old chair, gesturing animatedly and making a show of being all too British. “That’s correct, I said ‘Buffy’,” he affirmed.

Jonathan cast another glance at Faith, pausing to take in her skeptical expression.

“You can’t be serious?” Faith grumbled.

Stopping dead in his tracks, Giles turned toward the girls, earnestness written all over his face. “I’m quite serious,” he replied.

He’s serious alright. Seriously losing it. That vein in his temple’s totally funny. I could take his pulse from here. It’s like a countdown clock, ticking down the seconds. One last throb and his head explodes. Boom!

“But that would mean she’s really hitting for our side now,” Faith countered.

And I can see why.

We’ve been trying to tell her that for hours. I get why she wouldn’t buy it, but this is bordering on dense.

Maybe if I had the nerve to say that out loud…

Amy shrugged, completely blocking Jonathan’s view of Faith for an instant. When the slayer reappeared, she looked a little more relaxed. It didn’t last. Amy drew their attention by interjecting, “I dunno…I’d take this with a grain of salt. Buffy’s been ensouled. That much is true. But I’m still not convinced that the rest isn’t a game.” She combed her fingers through her hair, pulling it back. “We shouldn’t see this as some guarantee that she’s magically become all mythical and defendery.” She moved her hand and her hair fell. “There are plenty of people out there now—people-people…the human type—that are totally evil, with their souls sitting right where they should be. Look at her witch if you need an example.”

While Amy sounded really bad, Jonathan had to admit she had a valid point.

Giles took a seat in his recliner and said, “Yes, but she brought an injured, bleeding victim into the hospital, Amy.” His flair for the dramatic was really showing now. With each adjective, his tone deepened and he clapped his balled right hand into his left palm.

Jonathan nearly chuckled.

Leaning forward, Giles rested his forearms on the arms of the chair and continued without losing steam. “She was having enough difficulty that I’m certain the doctor believed her to be a junkie. From the gauntness of her face and the way she was trembling, I suspect she was starving. I wonder what she’s been feeding on.”

Nice rant, Giles. He should consider going into public speaking. That was about as riveting as the last State of the Union Address. I’m really glad it was shorter.

Whatever.

It was just as pointless.

“What difference does it make?” Jonathan said, smirking when the entire room jumped.

Giles turned to him and glared. “It makes all the difference.”

Jonathan rallied his nerve, refusing to back down. I’m not letting this go. They need to see this for what it is. He replied, “Not really. Not from where I sit.” The coolness in his tone made him proud. “Not with us in here and them out there.” He had their full attention now and he drove his point home. “Who really cares what Buffy’s been feeding on? It’s not like we’re doing anything about it.”

Giles nodded and to Jonathan’s surprise, capitulated. “Touché.”

That was fine, but Faith left Jonathan feeling like he’d just eaten his shoe. “I’d love to run right out and take care of that for ya, but so far, it’s been suicide.” Her tone was past dry. She gave him a dirty look and turned away.

It was too much. Jonathan looked down, feeling ashamed.

Amy immediately tried to play peacemaker. Rising to her feet, she went to one of the many shelves of musty old books. She scanned the volumes as she remarked, “I’m thinking research. We can help by figuring out what they want.” She pulled a book down and turned before asking the standard question. “What do we know?”

What I know is that if Buffy really is trying to help—and I need to believe she is—it might be a good thing to actually talk to her. It’s the only hope we’ve really got.

Faith replied, “We know, I feel…”

Jonathan was only half curious what she had to say. He was kind of grateful when she broke off. Enough’s been said already. This has turned into another battle of the sexes. Slayer and Witch versus Tweed Man and the Boy Blunder. It’s a fight our side rarely wins because I can never seem to say the right thing and Giles gets so worked up it’s hard to take him seriously.

Faith went on. “Sorry, we feel like we’ve been hammered.” She yawned. The act made her wince. “I’m thinking sleep. We’re all way too burnt out to deal. This is nothing that won’t keep till morning.”

She has a point. Point or not, Jonathan went on listing what was known. Not that anyone cared or could hear him. We know she hasn’t attacked any of us. And she’s had plenty of opportunity. I get that the other slayer-vamps are a huge issue, but the two things aren’t related.

Well, they are. Buffy kinda made the mess with that spell. But they aren’t, because she wants to fix it. She said so. I get that her word isn’t exactly solid, but I think she meant it. There’s just too much that points to a change that night at the vineyard.

The girls were moving. He sort of half watched them peripherally as he stared at his hands. Faith turned onto her side and gestured for Amy.

What was it she said? I don’t remember it exactly, but she made a big show of how the slayer-vamps moved, including Buffy. ‘Like nothing I’ve ever seen.’ That’s close.

If that’s the case, why’s she still here? I mean, I’m glad she’s here. But we’ve been assuming that they want to kill her. Why haven’t they? She got stabbed. I don’t know how to say this without pissing her off, but why in the stomach if killing was the goal? I get that it had to suck.

And the vamp at the hospital. Why’d she bother to bite Faith? Why not just break her neck?

What if they want Faith injured, not dead? What would they want her for?

When Jonathan looked up, things were winding down.

The girls had managed to arrange themselves on the couch together. Amy’s head and Faith’s feet were on the end nearest him. Amy lay with her head on Faith’s thigh. Faith’s other leg was straight, hanging over the arm of the couch. Her head lay on a pillow. Amy’s legs were bent, so her feet weren’t in Faith’s face.

They looked cozy. He was tempted to get them a blanket, but held off.

Faith appeared to be watching Giles. He hadn’t moved from his chair. Big surprise, he had another old book in his hand. Faith didn’t even notice the attention she was receiving.

Jonathan took a chance. Careful to keep his tone neutral, he asked, “What if they weren’t trying to kill you?”

Without so much as a glance, Faith remarked, “It sure looked that way from my seat.”

“I get that,” Jonathan whispered. He cleared his throat. Everyone except Amy was watching him now. It made him nervous, but he pressed on, careful to make himself clear. “I’m not trying to upset you. I know you’ve been through a lot. But just think about it for a minute. What else could they want?”

Silence hung thick for a few moments before Giles stood up. He moved to the bookshelf and looked over it briefly, drawing down one of the Watcher’s diaries. “The lad may have a point,” he offered fairly.

Jonathan was curious where Giles was going with this. It was just an idea. Hopefully, he’ll run with it.

Opening the book, Giles began to scan the pages. As he read, he spoke in a stream of consciousness, “What we are failing to account for is the slayer element, in all these cases. It is possible that part of Buffy’s reaction may be based on the introduction of that very thing. What the other slayers might want with Faith is still a mystery. Perhaps they sought to turn her?”

Okay, so…not so much run, but—

Oh God! ‘Turn her.’ That’s it! She wasn’t turned!

Jonathan’s interest moved to the corner of the room. He stared at the scythe. “Possible, but I’m thinking bigger.”

Faith picked up on his though and spat, “Oh! You’ve gotta be shittin’ me!” as she followed his gaze.

Dim yellow light reflected off the polished red blade of the bardiche. Jonathan couldn’t take his eyes off the thing. A creepy chill ran down his spine. He shuddered. Pay dirt. This is it. It has to be.

Part of him was excited, but it didn’t come through when he murmured, “Think about it.” He wanted to jump up, grab the scythe and raise his voice, but it was too late for that. Besides, Giles did enough of that for the two of us. I’m way too tired. We all are.

Very plainly and softly he stated what they all knew. “Buffy was supposed to be this great force for good, the final guardian of the Hellmouth. There’s even a prophecy about her. ‘An innocent born in a land of broken dreams…’ ” A lump formed in his throat. He swallowed it back. “Instead she became the greatest evil this place has ever known. Her goals are their goals. All they need is you and that.” As he said the words, he nodded first to Faith and then to the artifact in the corner.

They know I’m right. She’s Omega. She wasn’t turned.

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