After the Dream

By Jane


Chapter 1: Prologue: Breathing

SUNNYDALE, 2003:


Margaret-Deborah Wolfson stood on the brink of the end of the world.

This wasn’t right. This … this was just … this can’t be real.

But it was.

The softest of breaths escaped her lips, only to choke and die and be reborn as a sob. Once that first one slipped through, the rest found it easy to break free from her. Her body shook, her chest constricted, her throat clogged up, and still the sobs came, as unstoppable as the flood of tears that rebelliously leaked from her eyes. She hadn’t cried in so long; not since she left Sunnydale. It made sense, then, that the first time she would let herself go in almost 12 years would be the day she came home.

To this wasteland.

This can’t be Sunnydale. The Sunnydale she remembered had been a bright, idyllic small town, a representation of all things Southern California. It was the kind of place where people built their homes, raised their children, led their lives. The place where those who went out and challenged the world secretly dreamed of returning home to.

This can’t be Sunnydale. There was nothing here. No houses, no trees, no schools, no pubs … no life. Just a seemingly endless stretch of barren earth. This was unbelievable. What kind of earthquake could possibly be strong enough to swallow an entire town without even leaving anything behind? Like the earthquake had been a hungry child who’d polished his dinner plate clean. This just wasn’t natural.

But it was real.

And that’s what it all boiled down to. This was real. Sunnydale no longer exists. The people who lived here were long gone. To where? She had no idea. The only thing she did know, was once again, she was homeless.

Margaret realized that she was on her knees, hugging herself. The dry wind drank her tears and now there was nothing left but twin trails of salt on her cheeks. Her arms fell to her sides. Her fingertips brushed gritty dirt―the first contact her skin made with her home land―and Margaret came alive.

She stood up and walked back to her car. Tonight, she’ll sleep here, at home. Tomorrow she’d say her farewells.

Tomorrow would be soon enough.

~*~*~*~

The sign said ‘Keep Out: Danger’.

Margaret ignored it. She hadn’t survived this long on her own by following the rules all the time. Even if they were military rules. She hadn’t seen a single G.I. Joe prancing about. Spooked, most likely. Men were such big babies.

She lugged her sleeping bag with her. Her car wasn’t far away. She could sleep there, but she’d never really enjoyed sleeping in cramped places. She’d had to get used to it once, but she’d never enjoyed it.

Besides, she wanted to camp out.

The heart of Sunnydale was ground zero. This was where everything, they said in the news, had disappeared to. Every single evidence of human civilization in the small town had been swallowed by a crack in the earth. That crack was nowhere to be found now, and Margaret was disappointed.

She spread her sleeping gear on the ground, and then went back to her car for the bag of junk food she’d brought with her. It wasn’t dark yet. She won’t need to build a fire for another hour or so. She’d only need it for warmth, anyway, because the military had set up photo lamps all over the place, just in case anything crawled up out of the ground.

The thought gave her pause, but only for a second. She was tired, she’d spent hours exploring the remains of Sunnydale and she was determined that this be her last stop. And she was not a woman who gave in to fear.

She sat on her sleeping bag, chewing on a granola bar. And for the first time in years, she let herself look back.

Margaret-Deborah Wolfson’s was a classic story of the poor, little rich girl. The girl who had everything: brains, beauty, wealth. A bright future beckoned to her. She was the role model for other kids, the daughter/sister/girlfriend/best friend everyone wished they had.

The dark secret was that Margaret had been terribly unhappy. She lived with a tyrannical father who’s word was law, a powerless and indifferent mother, and a world where nothing less than perfection was expected from her. It was an old story, a cliché, even. But it had happened to her, and to her it will never be just a cliché. Her former life had been a prison that had slowly sucked away everything that was genuine and unique in her.

And so, even though it meant leaving behind everything she knew and loved, she did what every troubled teen seemed inclined to do. She ran away. And things got worse for her. Life became a downward spiral towards a pit of bad. She should be thankful she was made of stern stuff. She survived. And by sheer force of will, a helluva strong determination, not to mention a load of guts she hadn’t even known she possessed, Margaret made her life her own.

But now, sitting here alone in the graveyard of the town she had been born in, she felt very much like a lost little girl again.

I’m home, Daddy, she thought, feeling the wound in her heart throb anew.

She fell asleep without anyone saying, Welcome back, sweetheart.

~*~*~*~

9:00 on the dot, and the earth started to tremble.

Always a light sleeper, Margaret sat bolt upright, eyes wide, “What the―” she muttered. Beneath her, the ground was moving. She looked around her frantically, heart pounding. Oh shit, shit, shit. This was bad.

She got on her knees and crawled out of her sleeping bag, before gathering it up in her arms, including the packets of chips and chocolate littering the ground. She didn’t want to leave any evidence of her presence behind.

The crack appeared just as she was reaching for the empty can of Coke. Margaret stood there, unable to move, watching in deadly fascination as the earth opened its mouth in a yawn. The sound of rock sliding against rock grated in her ears. And then the crack started to widen, snaking towards her at an alarming speed. She snapped out of her trance, dropped her stuff, and ran for her life. This was the hungry kid who had polished off his dinner plate clean, only to discover that there was still some mashed potatoes left. He was out to finish the job.

Oh, great. I’m thinking in metaphors. I’m the metaphoric mashed potatoes. That can’t be good, Margaret thought as she zoomed for her car. She had parked it barely 50 feet away. She had never been so far away from anything in her life.

The earth was screaming now, and it was shaking so badly, Margaret fell on her hands and knees twice. She got up after each time and ran even faster. That was just the way she did things.

The battered sedan came into view. Margaret dove for the door handle, yanked it open, and dive bombed inside. “Keys, keys, keys!” she hollered at no one, searching her pockets. She found them in the breast pocket of her oversized denim shirt and shoved it in the ignition, turning it once, twice … the car coughed weakly.

“C’mon, baby, c’mon!” Margaret urged, “Please … not here, not now.” She could barely hear her own voice above the groaning of the land. She made the mistake of looking out her window.

And she abandoned all hope.

The crack came after her, moving like a living thing. It was like someone was cutting up the space formerly known as Sunnydale with a very sharp scissor. In a second, it would have her, car and all.

“Nooo!!!” she screamed, hands so tight on the steering wheel, her knuckles bled white.

One last ear-shattering groan, one last violent death rattle, and everything went still.

Margaret had her forehead pressed against the steering wheel, her shoulders kissing her earlobes. She took one breath in by instinct. The sound was audible and she realized that she had breathed. She took another. And another.

She was breathing.

She was alive.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and lifted her head. She peered out the window, afraid of what she’d see, but more afraid not to look. Her mouth dropped open.

The tear on the earth had stopped a good six feet from her car. Dust rose from the gaping wound like a mushroom cloud.

“Unbelievable.” Margaret muttered. She automatically opened her door and stepped out. Her legs gave way beneath her and she grabbed her open window for support. Her eyes went over the site where she had slept and she laughed. Her sleeping bag was half-way inside the slender chasm.

“And with all the racket, not to mention this poor imitation of the Grand Canyon, you can be sure the soldier types will be crawling all over this place,” she sighed. She made her way back carefully, but hurriedly. She retrieved her sleeping bag and fought her natural curiosity. No looking down.

“That’s it. This is the last time I am ever sleeping outdoors,” she tried to inject some humor into her voice, something to dispel the fear still lodged in her chest. She hated fear, battled with it everyday, “Maybe I should move to some other state, somewhere where they don’t have earthquakes.” She trotted back to her car, suddenly eager to leave and kiss her past goodbye.

She stopped. Turned around.

She didn’t know what made her do what she did next. She certainly hadn’t seen anything, nor heard anything. But she had sensed something. Like something knocked in her brain, or ice touching the back of her neck.

And the next thing she knew, she was walking back to ground zero.

This was crazy and dangerous. But something spurred her on. Margaret was a very practical woman. She had had to be. But this time, she abandoned rational thought and followed her instincts.

When the hand came out of the mouth of Sunnydale, Margaret jumped back, but didn’t run away. The hand was followed by its mate. They scrabbled around, long, lean fingers coated in dirt and blood searching for purchase. One hand dug its fingers into the ground, and the other one lunged, the arm connected to it becoming visible before landing flat on the rocky surface. And then it started to slither back. Whoever was connected to the pair of limbs wasn’t very light.

Margaret moved before she could think. She leapt forward, grabbed the arm and pulled back with all her might. Veins popped out in her neck, her eyes squeezed shut. She leaned her entire weight back. And still, when that other hand came up and grabbed her wrist, the strength in it was more than enough to pull her down.

Oh, God, “I’m trying to help you here!” she yelled through clenched teeth, “Can’t … do that … if I’m down there … with you …”. She reached down, folding her fingers around someone’s upper arm. She felt lean, wiry muscles bunch beneath her palm. Whoever he was, he was doing his damnedest to save himself.

Margaret can so relate. With a burst of fresh strength that surprised even her, she dug in her heels, pulled herself up and in one whiplash motion, threw herself backward.

At the same time, the one who owned the hand and arm, instinctively followed her lead, and pushed himself up in a lunging, all-or-nothing move.

A body fell on top of Margaret, heavy, like dead weight. She let out an embarrassing “Oommph!” as a head landed on her stomach. She had somebody’s torso settled between her legs.

For a second, they stayed still. Margaret stared up at the night sky, her heart kicking at her ribs. There were so many stars tonight, millions of them. Who needed a moon if you can summon up a nation of stars like that?

“Uunghh…”

Margaret lifted her head. Her stomach had grown a lump of the most tangled thatch of brown hair she had ever seen. She smiled, “Hey, there. You awake?”

“Ungghh …”

“Well, if you are, quit faking and get off me already. I don’t know you well enough yet.”

She saw arms that definitely did not belong to her, move on either side of her. The shoulders were bare. So her rescued victim was―Uh-oh―he was pushing himself up―naked.

He was lifting his head. Eyes the startling, mesmerizing color of the Pacific stared up at her, the centerpieces of a rugged, yet strangely elegantly sculpted face―which, at the moment, was covered in not-so-elegant dust and dirt.

He blinked. Margaret smiled even wider, “Hi,”

His lips moved, but all he could come up with was, “Ungghh?” only now it sounded like a question.

Then he lost consciousness.

~*~*~*~

Margaret stared out the window of her motel room. Outside, the sun was just rising. Day was breaking and soon, everyone who had something to do would wake up.

Everyone, except for Sleeping Beauty on the bed.

Margaret gathered her knees to her chest and watched him sleep. He hadn’t woken up, not even when she’d tried to drag him to her car. But he had been too heavy, and she finally had to drag her car to him. When they reached the motel, she had to pay extra to get the manager to help her carry him into the room. The fact that he was naked beneath an enormous Southpark nightshirt seemed to escape the rheumy-eyed man altogether.

She should call someone. The authorities―or whatever passed for authorities around here― like the cops or something. Hell, she should call those grunts that seemed to be in charge of ground zero. Someone had just crawled out from a crack in the earth. And that someone was in her paid-for motel room, in her bed, sleeping the day away.

What if he didn’t wake up? He certainly hadn’t even as she had done her best to clean him up with a wet wash cloth. But he was breathing, his chest rising and falling in the easy rhythm of sleep. And except for his hands, which were scraped from fighting with underground rocks, there were no other signs of serious injury on his body.

She left the chair by the window and moved to his side. She sat down, careful not to disturb him. She’d already had ample time to study ( all ) of him, and she had reached the brilliant conclusion that her sleeping patient was one attractive guy. Not the most gorgeous she’d seen; but it was really kind of unfair if she held all men up to the physical standards of Brad Pitt or George Clooney and the like.

His features were angular, the cheekbones strong, his forehead high. His lips were a stark contrast to the sharpness of his face. They were full and soft-looking. Margaret had a good imagination when it came to facial expressions since she’d seen nearly all of them, and she knew this guy could look very cruel if he wanted to.

He didn’t look cruel right now. Asleep, he looked very young, vulnerable. Almost peaceful. Impossibly long, thick eyelashes formed little half-moon shadows against his perfect skin. His nose was a little crooked, and she frowned at that. Was he some kind of fighter? A boxer, maybe? He was too lean, thin, even. Featherweight, maybe. She made a note to ask him about that once he woke up. If he woke up. She shook her head once, dispelling the thought. That was a bad thing to think about someone who was unconscious.

A soft sound reached her ears and she looked at him more closely. His dark brows furrowed slightly, and then his lids lifted, the heavy lashes rising from the slight hollows beneath his eyes like miniature stage curtains.

His eyes were more gray than blue now. The room was dark. She’d kept it that way just in case he did wake up. His lips parted and another soft sound escaped. It sounded like ‘huh’.

“Hey there,” Margaret greeted, voice hushed, “Good morning.”

“Morning?” he looked at her like the word belonged to a foreign language.

“The time that comes after night. Sun over the earth.”

“Oh.”

“How’re you feeling?”

Again, that look of confusion.

“Do you hurt anywhere? I would have brought you to a hospital, but this was closer and we kinda ran out of gas.”

More of the same.

“Habla Español?”

His eyes narrowed, “Si.”

She frowned, “ Uh … sorry. But for a while there, I thought you understood English.”

“I do.”

She stared at him. His expression of perplexity mirrored her own. “Let’s just stick to the tried and proven, okay? I’m Margaret-Deborah Wolfson. What’s your name?”

“Name?”

“Something other people call you by, a word you respond to.”

“I know what it means,” he sounded irritated, if a little groggy. The idea that he had an attitude made her smile.

His next words killed that smile.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what?”

He looked worried, confused, anxious, and tired. His stomach must really be taking a beating now, “My name.”

“You don’t know your name?”

His gaze locked with hers, and his eyes were suddenly all pupil, “Is that bad?”

~*~*~*~

An hour later, Margaret was looking at a clothed Him, “Not bad,” she said.

He stood next to the bed in a pair of soft gray sweats that an old boyfriend had been stupid enough to give to her, ( he was never getting them back. They looked better on her than they ever did on him, anyway, ) And one of her free size white tees. She slept in shirts like those. They were more comfortable than any negligee, in her opinion.

But even in clothes specifically designed for comfort, he looked anything but.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Translation: No.

“Whatever. I’ve gassed up the Wolfson-mobile while you were prettyin’ yourself up, and you look solid enough to walk to it, so … what you say we drive to the hospital?”

He scratched at his arm, “I’m … knackered.”

“Knackered?” she grinned, “Is that English?”

“Mm-hmm,” he looked slightly defensive, and also a little paler than before.

“You’re English,” Margaret realized, “So that’s what that accent is! I couldn’t place it immediately. Most of the English people I’ve met … well, they didn’t talk like you. You sound a little grittier.”

He sank on the bed. Margaret palmed her keys, “Come on. I can’t tell if you’re injured or not. For all I know, you’re internally bleeding. We need to get you to a doctor.”

He didn’t argue anymore, “Okay.”

They moved after he’d slipped on her flip-flops, “They’re tight,” he complained.

“Be thankful I have big feet,” she said, “One thing at a time, okay?”

He nodded and shuffled along with her walk. She opened the door.

He hissed and jumped back and by the time she’d turned around, he was huddled against the bed, “Close the door!”

“What is wrong with you?”

He held up his hands in front of his face, warding off something only he could see, “The light …”

Something cold and primal skittered down Margaret’s spine. Light. There was no light …except … from the sun. She stared at him; she stared outside. And she wondered what the hell she was doing, still standing there. She had her keys, she could just go.

“Please … the door …”

And the fear just melted away.

Margaret marched back to him. For a minute there, she’d felt like she was in the presence of something powerful and dangerous and it had frightened her. But looking at this tall, thin young man trying to make himself smaller … the thought was ridiculous. He could barely fend for himself, much less cause her any harm. So what if he was afraid of sunlight? Maybe he was photosensitive.

She knelt down in front of him, forcing down the sympathy his frail image evoked, “It’s nothing. It’s just the sun,” she said briskly, “We need to get you to a hospital.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Blue eyes flashed azure with rebellion, “No. I’m fine.”

She sighed, “What’ll it take to change your mind?”

He suddenly grinned. His teeth were white and endearingly uneven at the bottom part, “Make the sun go away.”

Huh. A smart ass. She should have known. She grabbed the blanket off the bed, “I can’t do that. I guess you’ll have to settle for this,” she threw it over his head, grinning as he fought valiantly until his head emerged amidst the fabric, “Well?”

Odd. The term ‘security blanket’ flitted across his mind and he blinked. So that’s what it meant. The coarse, stained cloth was suddenly the most comforting thing he had ever felt. The sun didn’t seem so scary any more.

He stood up and headed for the door, Margaret at his heels. He hesitated at the threshold, tightening the blanket around his head and shoulders, before stepping outside. Sunlight spilled over him and panic seized his chest. An alien feeling of something kicking against his ribs came over him. He stood there waiting for … what?

“Okay, what’s next?” Margaret sounded amused, “You start melting or …”

He let the blanket slip off him as he stared at his arms in wonder. What’s next? He had no idea. But whatever was supposed to happen, didn’t. Relief flooded his being, along with a feeling of lightness and complete, utter freedom. He turned to Margaret, “Let’s go for a drive,” he said.

~*~*~*~

They drove together in silence for several minutes. Margaret was dying to ply him with questions, but he looked so tired, leaning his head against the window, that she held her tongue. Her questions could wait until she was certain answering them wouldn’t end up killing him with exhaustion.

This surge of protectiveness was completely unexpected and almost foreign to her. The past 12 years hadn’t been very conducive to nurturing her soft, compassionate side. It was nice to know that she was still human enough to care.

“Margaret.”

She glanced at him, “What?”

“Margaret.”

“Weird name for a guy.”

“I meant yours. Margaret-Deborah Wolfson?”

“It’s hyphenated. One of my ancestors was called Deborah-Margaret, I think.”

He smiled, “Maggie.”

She nodded, “Works for me.”

“Where … where did you find me?”

She pursed her lips, choosing her words carefully, “What exactly do you remember?”

“You,” the answer came in an instant, “You’re … my first memory,” he laughed softly, “My only memory.”

She smiled, “A romantic. Huh.”

“Am I?”

“I don’t know, buddy.” Margaret kept her eyes on the road, “I found you in Sunnydale. That’s a town―well, it used to be. I’ll try and tell you everything later, when you’re up for it. For now, suffice it to say that Sunnydale no longer has what we need, so I had to take you to the lovely pit stop we just left behind. And I’m thinking that despite my generous nature and genuinely good intentions, I’m not enough for you. What you need is a doctor. There’s another town a little bit ahead. They’ve got a hospital there.”

“And food?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it, but I guess it’s better than Doritos,” she grimaced, “Or not.”

Another silence settled between them. This time, it was companionable. Margaret started humming, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.

“What is that?”

“Hmmm? Oh, it’s an old McDonald’s jingle.”

“Jingle?”

“A little song for commercials. If it’s catchy enough, people pay attention. And when people pay attention to a commercial, it usually means money.”

He smiled and leaned his head back against the head rest, “That’s nice,” his voice had a dreamy quality to it. Pretty soon, he was going to drift off to sleep again.

He better not sleep too heavily. I’m gonna have to―what the … “Hey, buddy, heads up.” Margaret said, “I think there’s a checkpoint up ahead.”

“Checkpoint?”

“Some military or army guys or whatever.” Margaret puffed out her cheeks and blew air noisily, “Great. Just how am I gonna explain you? They’re not gonna like my little oddventure in their ‘cordoned’ off ground zero.” She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, “Well, at least we got help on your medical situation, right, Bud?”

“Turn back,” he hissed.

“What?” she looked over at him, alarmed by his urgent tone. And even more alarmed by the fear on his face, “Hey, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He ran his lower lip between his teeth. He had no idea what just happened, but all of a sudden he felt … uneasy. He suddenly felt like he had to get away. The car crowded in on him. He can see the checkpoint clearly, even though he knew that from this distance, the men in the camouflage uniforms should be nothing more than just vague spots of drab color. His glance went to his legs and he wondered if they’d move on their own just to get him outta here.

“Please … I … have a bad feeling about this,” he pleaded with Margaret, “I can’t. I mean, don’t let them see me!”

She wanted to ask why. She didn’t. Instead, she said, “Look, we can’t just turn back. They’ve probably seen us already; after all we’ve seen them and it’s not like we’re hidden. If we turn back, they’ll only get suspicious,” she saw the panic he was so bravely fighting back and felt an immediate burst of pride that even now, he was keeping his cool, “So here’s the plan …”

~*~*~*~

“Hey, officer,” Margaret greeted brightly.

The gorilla on her side glowered at her, “Where ya been?” he growled.

“Tiny little pit stop called Earl’s?” Margaret fanned the air in a back-there motion, “Outskirts of Sunnydale, I think.”

He didn’t like the word ‘Sunnydale’. His eyes narrowed in suspicion and he leaned down, checking the inside of her junk-heap car, “Is that right? Whatchou think you were doin’ in the place formerly known as Sunnydale?”

Margaret blinked, “We didn’t go to Sunnydale. Well, we were gonna …” she glanced, irritated, at the pale form beside her, “But somebody decided to get sick just when we were so close.”

“ ‘S not my fault,” the figure nearly smothered in blankets mumbled, “It was the water. I think we drank half the water-borne germs in Southern California.”

The second G.I. Joe stared at her ‘guest’s’ face, “Hey, buddy, you all right?”

“If you define all right as the condition of a pitch n’ roll stomach and feeling the fervent urge to regurgitate, then yes, I’m just walking on sunshine.”

Maggie bit her lip to keep from grinning. The attitude she had sensed in him earlier was coming out past his gritted teeth. Then she realized that it was her turn in the spotlight. “Ooh … hey, I don’t suppose you guys can tell us what really happened in Sunnydale?” she asked eagerly, “I mean, I heard there was this gigantic earthquake, like intensity … 11 or something, and that―”

Her sarcastic, blue-eyed patient groaned, “Jill, will you please …”

“Just a minute, Hal,” she shushed him, “They say the whole town had disappeared! I wanted to get pictures, but well …”

“Can we go now? Please?”

“They haven’t told us anything yet. Maybe they even have brochures!”

”Hey, lady, this ain’t no tourist spot,” the soldier by Maggie’s side growled. She wondered if that was just the way he talked all the time, “Now maybe you should just step out―”

“Oh, God!” Blue Eyes practically kicked his door open, causing the soldier standing on the other side of him to step out of the way. Blue Eyes bowled over, gagging sounds issuing from his throat.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Maggie said reassuringly, “Vomit is easy to remove from boots.”

The soldier wasn’t reassured, “Go! Gah! Just go!” he ordered, waving his arms forward.

“But we haven’t …”

“We’ll send the brochures in the mail. Get him outta here!”

“Okay!” Maggie grinned and waved as she drove away, “Have a nice day!”

“Tourists,” the soldiers muttered.

~*~*~*~

Maggie was laughing so hard, her sides ached, “Whoo! Now that was something, wasn’t it? For a minute there, I didn’t think we could pull it off.”

“Me neither. You think they bought it? Did we act touristy enough?”

“I’ve been a tourist too many times to count, buddy. I know how to be touristy,” she grinned at him, eyes dancing with mirth, “The whole barfing thing, though. Definitely closed the deal. Couldn’t have done it better myself.”

“And the Oscar goes to …” he intoned, “Buddy!”

She shook her head, “Never really thought about it, but I don’t think that name fits you.”

He shrugged, “What’s in a name?”

“There’s gotta be something in it. Why else would every one in the world have one?”

“Except for me.”

“Well, then, pick one.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Okay, I’ll do it,” she paused, studying him. They were on a flat stretch of dusty, deserted road anyway, so she didn’t need to be so vigilant, “Hmmm … how ‘bout ‘Sam’?”

He blinked, “Do I look like a Sam?”

She frowned, “No … not exactly. You’re not the boy-next-door type, so no friendly, easy-on-the-tongue names with three-letter abbreviations for ya.” She turned the car into the desert that surrounded the road and killed the engine.

“What’re you doing?”

Maggie was serious, “This is business right here, pal. We’re not leaving until you’re baptized,” she tapped a finger against her lips, thinking, “Jake, Danny, Chris …” she trailed off. Somehow, none of them suited him. They were too … ordinary. And he was anything but.

“Larry, Curly, Moe …” he recited.

“You have no idea how lucky you are. You get to pick your name; you should take this more seriously. Unless you wanna end up with a hyphenated moniker that doesn’t suit you at all.” Maggie lectured, “You need something that is really you. Something … derived from your true essence.”

“You okay, Maggie?”

“You need a good, strong name. Doesn’t have to be very long,” she eyed his slender frame, “Just has to have … substance.”

He looked pleased and embarrassed at the same time, “Oh, I’m full of substance, all right. The soldier we left behind nearly ended up with my true essence all over his boots.”

She ignored his sarcasm. Something told her that whatever his name had been, that most personal of titles that he couldn’t remember, it hadn’t been some wimpy nickname. It had been a real name, meant for the man he would become, “Came from the earth …” she murmured, “Earth, land … tierra. Hey, how ‘bout that, huh? It’s foreign, it’s exotic … women will fall all over you.”

“For a man named tierra?”

“No, no, not tierra. How ‘bout … Tierre? How ‘bout that?”

From Spanish to French. Wasn’t he supposed to be English? But she looked so pleased with herself …, “Tierre,” he said, tasting the name, rolling it off his tongue, “Tierre. I could get used to it.”

“Of course you will,” Maggie gunned the engine and got back on the road, “I am good.”

“Yes, you are,” Tierre said quietly, sincerely, “Thank you for not … telling those army blokes ‘bout me. I really appreciate it.”

Maggie was quiet for a few minutes. Her mind was whirling, logic demanding that she stop neglecting it and start using her brain again. But for some reason, logic had flown out the window since she met Tierre, “I should tell you something, Tierre,” she said, “I don’t do this. I’m not the kind of person who just jumps in and does something just ‘coz she feels like it. That’s too … reckless. I don’t do reckless. I can’t afford it, it’s much too expensive.”

His eyes were intense, like he was reading into her thoughts, “You didn’t have enough time to be young, did you Meg?” he murmured, shortening her nickname into yet another nickname.

No, not even close. I’ve never been allowed to be young.

“So what made you help me? Booze? Drugs? A bipolar condition?”

“Are you really an amnesiac? You seem pretty up to date with the world and its pet syndromes.”

“It’s not the world I forgot.”

“No. You never forget that.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“So what made you help me? Obviously, it’s not your non-reckless logic.”

“Instinct,” the answer was instant, right at the tip of her tongue, “I don’t know why, I just did it. Same with the soldiers,” she shrugged, a helpless, frustrated shrug, “I don’t know you. I have no idea what you are. Do you remember, do you even know that I pulled you out of the ground? Completely naked too, like … like you’ve just been …”

“Born?”

“Jesus, that sounds crazy,” she closed her eyes, opened them again. The road remained the same before them, seemingly endless, “Even crazier is that I’m sitting here with you, laughing and talking, and I don’t feel weird. And that, lemme tell ya, is …”

“Weird?”

“Stop finishing my sentences for me. I’m not sure if we’re at that level yet.”

“Sorry,” Tierre hid a smile. He could tell she was uncomfortable with this whole gut-level thing, but she won’t be for long. Something told him that Wolfson was an ally. More than that, she was a friend.

“I trust you,” he said simply.

“Whaat?” she looked at him like he’d just told her he was the Second Coming.

“Eyes on the road,” Tierre directed calmly, “I said I trust you. That’s instinct, too. I think it’s weird … and nice.”

This time she laughed, and the tension disappeared. He liked the sound of her laugh. It was comforting, “Boy, you are something, aren’t ya?” she said, smiling at him. He liked her smile, too. It made him feel warm, “So, Tierre,” she was still grinning, and he saw the spark of mischief and adventure in her eyes, “Where’s instinct telling you to go now?”

“Why do you wanna know?”

“Because I might just go with you.”

“Don’t you have a life to get back to?”

“Lemme tell ya something, Blue Eyes,” Maggie floored the pedal and they shifted to the speed of sound, “Life is where you live it.”

TBC

Chapter 2: Wake-up and Smell the Danger

Previously: Sunnydale’s ruins aren’t as abandoned as they seem to be. Margaret-Deborah Wolfson, native of Sunnydale, meets the last remaining survivor of The First.

***

LONDON, 2007:


Ally woke up and stretched luxuriously, loving the slippery feeling of her bare skin against the silk sheets. Her full lips parted as she yawned, and looked around the opulence of her room. Nothing but the best for me, she thought.

She turned to her side, and her lips hitched in a wicked smile, Yes, nothing but the best, indeed, she thought, watching her golden-haired lover sleep contentedly beside her. He slept on his back, one arm thrown up beside his head. The sheets had ridden low on his body, exposing his broad shoulders, his sculpted chest and the toned muscles of his abs.

She purred as she snuggled closer, rubbing a leg along the length of his muscled thigh beneath the sheets. She let her fingertips dance over his stomach. She propped her head up on her hand and watched his face closely for the first signs of wakefulness.

The starkly masculine beauty of his face disarmed her, as always. His features were too sharp, too angular, and there had been occasions, few as they were, when he can look very, very cruel. He was undeniably handsome, but she was still confused as to how she had decided that he was so. In a way, he didn’t measure up to the usual, conventional standards of physical beauty.

No, she thought impishly. He didn’t, because he set his own.

She let her hand drift lower. Still no signs of stirring from her sleeping prince. She sighed. She certainly didn’t expect the stab of regret she was feeling now.

She slid off the bed, a move so well-practiced that there was barely any discernable disturbance in the mattress. She padded to her underwear drawer, and there, beneath all the silk she wore closest to her skin, she retrieved a deadly dagger. It was of Oriental origin, lovely and delicate, but with an edge sharper than any blade she had ever used. It had taken more lives than she cared to count. She likened herself to her weapon.

She went back to her sleeping lover. Watching him, she almost hesitated. Almost.

“You sure you wanna do that, love?” his voice was deep, husky with sleep. Just the sound of it made her hot.

“You were faking,” she murmured.

Lashes she would kill for, lifted, revealing blue eyes as beautiful and as cold as sapphires. Then he smiled, a lazy, knowing smile that set her ablaze once more, “Don’t sell yourself short, pet,” he purred, eyes sweeping over her soft curves in the same manner that his hands had, just a few short hours ago, “No acting was required. At least not on my part.”

“Same here,” she admitted.

His smile widened, became more playful. His dimples appeared as if commanded, banishing all hints of cruelty from his entrancing face. She knew, too, that the same smile can make him look not just cruel, but positively evil. He sat up, one fluid movement, both suggestive and simple, and she wondered―rather jealously―if there was no part of his pretty body that he couldn’t control.

“Then what’s the problem?” he was touching her, barely, fingertips just skimming over her soft skin.

Her eyes fluttered closed of their own accord. The man was a sensual assault without even trying.

What a shame. A really, truly, painfully regrettable shame.

“The problem is,” Ally gasped as his thumb exerted just the slightest pressure in the center of her palm, “You’re … bad …”

“Mmhmm …”

“… for business …”

“Bad?”

“Yesss …”

“Let me make it worse.”

Ally’s eyes snapped open. There was nothing playful or sexy in his voice now. His eyes were suddenly the color of the frozen Atlantic. Then she realized her mistake.

Somehow, he’d managed to maneuver them back to the bed and had made her oh-so-comfortable on his lap. Within his reach. In his control.

Survival instincts kicked in and an expert combination of a twist and a leap got Ally her freedom and much important distance.

He sighed and left the bed. Even the sheets ( which belonged to her ) slid slowly down his body as if reluctant to let him go, “Ally, sweetheart,” he shook his head, “And I had such high hopes for us,” he said mockingly.

He was as naked as the day he was born; if he had been born at all. He was human, Ally reminded herself. She’d faced off with much worse. Demons and creatures culled from her most frightening nightmares.

And yet, as he approached, she had never felt more threatened, “Make no mistake, Tierre,” she warned, holding out the knife, “I am not without tricks of my own.”

He rolled his eyes, “Women,” he muttered. He turned away and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Ally grasped the chance. She leapt at him, dagger poised to cleave his heart in two. He raised a forearm for a quick block. It was a move she anticipated.

The dagger was in her right hand. With her left hand, she braced herself against his forearm for a brief second, and one simple hand flip later, she was behind him.

She swung the dagger in a clean line. He dropped out of the way, and swept his leg around, taking her by the ankles. She ended up on her back on the floor, with him standing above her. Well, she couldn’t really complain. She had a great view. She aimed a kick where she knew it would hurt.

He batted her heel away, “Hey, now,” he teased, “Don’t do that. That’s mean.”

Ally flipped onto her stomach and thrust both legs up and out, catching him in the stomach. He grunted and flew backwards, landing on the bed. She was on him, faster than he could blink. “Tierre, darling, don’t hold back,” she said, strong thighs gripping him on either side, “I can take it.” She plunged the dagger towards his chest.

He caught her wrist and gave it just a little … squeeze. Ally cried out in pain and the dagger dropped uselessly beside Tierre’s head, “No, precious,” he hissed, “You really can’t.” he let her wrist go, then pushed her off with one hand.

Ally went flying across the room. Her back hit the wall, the breath knocked out of her. She fell to the floor, shocked, unable to believe Tierre’s strength.

Unable to believe at first, but rapidly getting there.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed, “All those stories about you are true.”

He was putting on his pants, “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

Ally rose, watching him now with more interest than fear, “You know, you even look like him, like they said.”

Tierre stiffened. There was no need to ask who ‘him’ was, “Have you ever met him?” he asked, careful to mask his true emotions.

“No, never even seen him. But his legends …”

Tierre snapped the buckle of his belt on, picked up the dagger and casually threw it.

The tip of the dagger made a clinking sound as it connected with a throwing dagger Ally had taken from her drawer while she’d been talking.

“Aah!” she yelped, waving her stinging fingers, “Damn it!”

And then she realized that her daggers were pinned on the wall behind her. The blade of her throwing dagger had been pierced through the middle by the Oriental one.

It was the most nonchalant and the most accurate aim she had ever seen.

“I really prefer not to kill my ex-lovers,” Tierre said suddenly.

Ally gasped. She hadn’t sensed that he had crept close to her, “Who are you?” she asked fearfully.

He gave a mischievous shrug, “I don’t know … yet.”

He tipped her chin up gently with two long fingers. He smiled at her, but his eyes remained cold.

“Pray that I never see you again,” he purred. Then he kissed her. Against her will, her eyes drifted shut.

When she opened them again, Tierre was gone.

~*~*~*~

Maggie woke up to the smell of coffee and bacon. The combination of those two aromas was the best alarm clock in the world. Her mouth watered and she hurried out of bed, had a quick shower and slipped on her favorite cut-off denim shorts and a vee-necked powder blue baby tee. She twisted her auburn hair into a loose bun and kept it in place with a clamp at the back of her head. As ready as she will ever be to face the world on a Saturday morning, Maggie a.k.a Meg padded into the kitchen, barefoot.

“Ah, so the sleeping monster awakes,” Tierre smirked, placing a plate with a short stack of blueberry pancakes on the table, “I knew your gluttonous stomach would betray you.”

She tapped her nose, “Able to detect bacon a mile away,” she smiled, “Good morning.”

“Morning? It’s noon!”

“It’s 9:00!”

“Exactly.”

“You English have a warped sense of time,” Maggie slid unto a chair in front of the pancakes, “You should follow the example we Americans have so generously set for you.”

“Oi, that’s my breakfast. This is a self-service type of establishment,” Tierre tried to shoo her out of his chair. When she didn’t budge, he tried to move the plate. Meg planted her paws on it and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Get your own plate, Meg, this is my food!” Tierre was indignant, calling her the shortened version of her nickname that he only used when trying to irritate her.

“Yeah, made from my ingredients!” Maggie pointed out.

“Your ingredients, which were in the process of crystallization in the back of your cupboard. You should be thankful I got to them before it was too late.”

“Ew!” Maggie wrinkled her nose, but didn’t let go of the pancakes.

Tierre rolled his eyes, “Here’s a tip, Meg: Clean out your cupboard and your fridge more than once a year.”

“Yes, mom.”

He scowled at her. She smiled back unrepentantly. Grumbling under his breath, Tierre set about getting the bacon and coffee. He had also made her favorite eggs: sunny side up.

Maggie watched him fondly, content to let him putter around. Tierre was so much better at housework than she was, a fact that he constantly rubbed her nose in. But the truth, Maggie knew, was that Tierre sometimes needed to do something as mundane as washing the dishes. The ordinary, routine tasks had a calming effect on him, sort of a break from the work that took up so much of his life. So much of her life with him. Like now. He’d been gone for almost a month.

“Hey, Buddy,” she said softly, “I missed you.”

He looked up at her from the rim of his coffee mug and grinned, his dimples bracketing either side of his lips, “Missed ya too, pet,” he said, “But I wasn’t gone that long, was I ?”

“Three weeks, dumbass,” she pouted, “See what I mean? Warped sense of time!”

He didn’t dignify that with a retort, just went back to eating. Taking a sip of her own coffee, Maggie watched him knock back a plateful of pancakes, thinking of a time, years ago, when Tierre had a need to be fed constantly. His appetite had known no bounds. Now, looking at him, she was filled with an overwhelming sense of continuity, like their time together had never been divided, like Tierre never left. It was always like that. No matter where their individual travels took them, no matter how long they’d be separated, when they came back, it was like the last time they saw each other was just the day before.

And Maggie knew the reason for that was simply this: When they were together, they were home.

“How was London?” she asked.

“Oh, you know, same old, same old …” he said casually, “Business, mostly, a li’l bit of fun after,”

“Fun? Now that’s interesting,” Maggie smiled slyly, “Is there something else I should know?”

“No.”

Maggie’s shoulders slumped in disappointment, “You work too hard, man.”

“It’s a living,”

She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. Tierre glanced up at her, surprised, “Hey, Buddy,” she murmured, “It’s been two years, now. Time to move on.”

Anyone else, and he might have yanked his hand away and delivered a crippling verbal attack. Or changed the subject. Or simply tuned the message out and not respond at all.

But this was Maggie, and she knew him better than anyone. She was the one thing that kept him sane after the hell they’ve been through together these past 4 years. She was the only one he truly trusted.

Actually, she was the only one he had left, period.

“I am moving on,” he said quietly, suddenly fascinated by the bacon in his plate.

“No, you’re moving, that’s it.”

“It’s not as easy as it seems.”

“I know,” her gaze was pure sympathy, total understanding, “Been there, done that, remember?”

He nodded. Although their experiences differed, the end results were the same. Both had lost loved ones, and both had to suffer the almost unbearable pain afterwards, “Hey, gimme a break, will ya, ducks?” he teased, breaking the melancholic quiet with sudden cheer, “When the last two women I’ve been with try to kill me in my sleep for the not-so-mythical millions on my head, I tend to get a little disenchanted.”

“Oh, no, Tierre, not again,” Maggie groaned, “This ‘fun’ … she didn’t, did she?”

“Yes, she did,” Tierre said breezily. There had been a time when bounty hunters coming out of nowhere and trying to eliminate Tierre had been their greatest challenge.

Tierre had taken care of that. He’d set out a trap, a cunning, ingenious trap that succeeded in eliminating nearly all of the idiots who thought they had a chance against him. Those who survived spread the tale and the legend and notoriety of Tierre Wolfson was born.

He was brave to the point of being suicidal. Maggie knew where the morgues were in almost every major city in the world. If he wasn’t so capable of taking care of himself, she would’ve locked him up and threw away the key simply for his own safety.

“Was she a bounty hunter, or someone with a vendetta?” Maggie asked.

Tierre cocked his head to the side, thinking, “Hmmm … a bounty hunter. Didn’t seem mad at me or anything. Just wanted to kill me, is all.”

“Amazing. Some of them would still actually dare.”

“It’s that bounty. Once I find out who set it up and started this whole bleedin’ mess …” there was a gleam in Tierre’s summer sky eyes that told Maggie she really didn’t want to know what he’d do.

She decided to change the subject, “Who was she after: You or Spike?”

He shrugged, “Who cares?”

We do, Maggie thought, but she didn’t say it out loud.

The noise of a cell phone brought a scowl to Tierre’s face. It was his, of course. No one who knew Maggie was brave enough to call her before 10:00 on weekends. She sank back against her chair, dejectedly poking at the remains of her food. She only half-listened to Tierre’s curt, “Yes,”, “ No”, and “I’ll be there,”. He put the cellphone back and smiled apologetically at her, “I―”

“―have to go, I know,” Maggie finished for him. She tried to make it sound light, but her resentment and her ever-present fear for his safety came out in her voice, “When will I see you again?”

“Depends. Could be tonight, could be next month,” he gave her a kiss on the forehead, “Try not to get in trouble while I’m gone.”

She swatted him away, “Hey, be careful.”

“Always.”

“Love you, Buddy,”

“Love you, pet.”

~*~*~*~

It was a picturesque little village, quiet and idyllic, rich in history and legend. It was like the setting for one of those John Saul novels where deeply buried secrets long-forgotten resurface after a century or so to wreak evil in the form of innocent, young children.

Tierre smiled to himself at his analogy. In a way, this place was haunted, only not by the dead. And evil was afoot, but there were hardly any children around. The rich didn’t need a lot of kids.

Summer’s Cove was the most exclusive of hideaways. Only a select few had the right to stay here. That right was received from birth and the ‘summer homes’ were actually ancestral homes long left behind by the descendants of those who had built them, to be visited only when the cities relinquished their hold on the heirs and heiresses of the world. Summer’s Cove was a retreat, a place to get away from it all for the summer, at least.

Franco Scarletta had grown up here. He always arrived on the first day of summer and left only when the leaves started to fall. To him, this wasn’t just a retreat―this was his true home. He loved it here.

As he drove past the iron gates the shielded the private empire from the rest of the world, Tierre remembered that he loved it here, too. Once upon a very short eternity, this place had been almost like home to him, as well.

The large Georgian-style mansion stood in the heart of the vast estate, large and beautiful and cold. Tierre parked his battered DeSoto haphazardly in the circular driveway right in front of the house. He knew the car was an eyesore. Classic, but an eyesore. It’s a classic eyesore, the love of his life had once told him, I love it.

Franco Scarletta didn’t. Tierre loved his car all the more because of it.

A fairly-new butler, one of about 4, looked at his car wearily, “Not again,” Tierre heard him murmur.

“What was that, Lance?” Tierre’s voice didn’t rise; it remained in its usual soft, calm tone. Lance, on the other hand, reacted as though he’d been hit by a whip.

“Nothing, Master Tierre,” he said quickly, “I’ll have someone park it―”

“Leave it where it is.”

“But sir―”

Tierre cocked an eyebrow.

Lance visibly shrank back, “As you wish, sir.”

Tierre was no longer listening. He swept past the foyer and down a hall towards the rear of the house. The mansion was silent, although far from empty. There were people coming in and out of the formal and deceptively beautiful rooms. Tierre knew they tried to avoid him, but when they couldn’t, they simply greeted him with respect born out of fear. He nodded at those who did. Indifferent was as warm as he ever would become towards these people.

Tierre left the house and stepped out into the back lawn. Compared to the rest of the estate, it was pretty small, only a few acres or so of green, well-trimmed grass and beautiful landscaping surrounding an Olympic-sized swimming pool. A fountain stood near a stone structure to the left. The fountain was a statue of a bare-breasted woman pouring water from a jar.

The stone structure was designed to look like a gazebo, only it was bigger and it had no walls to speak of, just slender stone pillars arranged in a circle supporting a dome roof. The stone pillars were connected by a waist-high marble railing.

Beneath the dome, Franco Scarletta sat on a wrought-iron chair facing a table filled with what looked like a late lunch. As Tierre approached, he broke into a genial smile.

Franco Scarletta was 58 years old, looked 48, and was stronger and healthier than most men 23 years his junior. He was an imposing figure, tall, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested. His muscular, athletic figure hadn’t changed much over the years because he exercised and followed a strict, but nutritious diet. He had thick, curly, jet-black hair, with dashes of gray at his temples. They only added to his distinguished looks. His eyes were a deep brown, almost black, and they never missed anything. His nose was slightly crooked, broken at one point in his younger years and he’d never bothered to have it fixed. It was like a medal, plain evidence that he’d been through life’s rough roads and he’d fought his way to the top.

He was a handsome man, and when he smiled, his face looked positively saintly. He was highly intelligent, sympathetic and he projected an aura of the powerful, yet kindly uncle. A protector. A nurturer. It was easy to see why, despite all his wealth, he was still one of the world’s most beloved philanthropists.

“Ah, Tierre,” he greeted warmly, “So glad you came.”

Even though the older man waited expectantly, Tierre never readjusted his strides, just approached in that calm, lazy manner of his that was both arrogant and graceful, “I wasn’t aware that I had a choice,” he drawled.

Franco sighed inwardly. As usual, in his presence, Tierre’s North Londoner accent became more pronounced. Today he wore that pair of old black jeans he’d worn the very first day he came to Summer’s Cove, looking for Franco Scarletta, hell-bent on skinning him alive. There was a tear on the knee of the jeans’ left leg and the cuffs were frayed. He wore a blue shirt and a dark-brown leather jacket was hooked on one finger, thrown over his shoulder. A pair of midnight-blue sunglasses completed the ensemble.

Tierre was usually a smart dresser, but more times than Franco cared to remember, the Englishman’s naturally rebellious nature would goad him into dressing like a street punk, just for “kicks”.

Franco decided to ignore Tierre’s deliberate sartorial tragedy and said, “I’m just having lunch. Come join me.” It was an invitation that the private Franco Scarletta would never extend to anyone else.

Tierre dismissed the delicious meal with a brief glance, “No thanks. Not hungry.”

It was an invitation that only Tierre Wolfson would dare refuse.

Franco leaned back in his chair, “You’ve eaten already?”

“Truck-stop waffles.”

“Very well, then. At least sit down.”

Tierre leaned against the marble railing.

Franco sighed. There were times when he felt like a put-upon father dealing with a too-stubborn son, “So. How was London?”

“The same. British people still live there.”

“Did everything go smoothly?”

Tierre’s face bloomed into a cocky smile, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Franco allowed himself to smile in return. There was a reason why he favored Tierre above all his people; why he chose to overlook the young man’s more unappealing idiosyncracies while he ruled the others with an iron fist. Why he didn’t mind so much when Tierre’s sarcasm and insolence bordered on outright disrespect.

And the reason was simply this: Tierre Wolfson was the best. There was no one in the world who could approach his level. Even those with rightfully earned reputations and formidable skills, treaded lightly around him. He was just that good. Tierre Wolfson had done for Franco Scarletta what all his wealth and connections couldn’t.

He had made him one of the most powerful men in the world.

And the most feared man in hell.

~*~*~*~

SCOTLAND, ON THE BORDERS OF REALITY:

It was over. Finally.

Selig D’Harken, lord and master of the strongest warrior clan of the Northern Vashkan people, walked the blood-soaked fields of his home and wept openly. It was not the pain in his battered body that he shed his tears for, but the pain in his heart, in his soul.

So many of his people had died. Men, women, children. They were a warrior people, proud and fierce. They bowed to no one and protected all that they held dear with everything they had. They had survived many a battle and defeated strong foes.

Vashkans were not to be trifled with.

And yet this particular enemy had come and gone, leaving behind the greatest heartache a ruler can endure. Not defeat, but the loss of his people; the very same people who had trusted him to lead them and to protect them.

He had failed. And they had paid the price.

Selig sank down on his knees in the field of heathers and corpses, beside the lifeless shell of a fearless child-warrior. He stared out into the horizon, wondering if they, by some cosmic accident that even he in his five hundred years of life, was unable to comprehend, had been transported into hell.

Footsteps approached him from behind. Or rather, a foot-step and a dragging sound. Selig turned around and saw Graden Wakrazna limping towards him, dragging his left leg behind him. Blood coated that leg and with each step, even the hardened Graden couldn’t suppress a grimace of pain.

“My lord,” Graden rasped, “My lord … are you all right? Are you gravely hurt?” The worry on his taut face was genuine. Even in his own physical agony, the loyal lieutenant still looked after his general.

Shame flooded Selig’s being. He went to his adjutant, “Here, Graden, lean on me,” he offered.

“No, my lord, I am fine. I’ll―”

“You’re not fine. And please, don’t neglect yourself, Graden. I’ve lost too many soldiers already.”

It was indicative of Graden’s true pain when he didn’t argue any further, just allowed his master to help him to sit down on the ground. The bleeding on Graden’s wound had already stopped and Selig felt a slight sense of relief. Together, the two warriors mourned in silence the loss of their friends and the rape of their home.

In a dull monotone, Selig said, “I have fought in battles and still bear the scars of the wars I’ve survived. I’ve been burdened with my own share of defeat. But never have I seen such … such …” he faltered and his words died on his lips.

Graden nodded, understanding what his master was trying to say, “Cruelty,” he murmured, “Why―why did they come here? What was their reason for attacking us? Was it a grudge, perhaps? Vengeance? Or was it that they wanted something from us … if so, did they get it? Would they return?” the younger Vashkan’s voice rose in fear, frustration, and helpless fury. He seemed to realize that he was nearly shouting and deliberately lowered his voice. Lord Selig did not need to see him tremble. In a voice so soft, it was barely audible, he whispered, “Why?”

Why. The one question on the Northern Vashkans’ minds that had no answer. Selig felt despair sink into his very bones. He felt old and tired and defeated, and how he wished he could have just joined his brothers-in-arms in their eternal rest.

But he couldn’t. It was unfair, but he survived and as long as he lived, he had a duty to his people. He must protect what remained of them.

He rose once more and asked in a stronger voice, “Is Mekyll still alive?”

Graden nodded, a little smile on his lips, “Yes, sir. He is not only a diligent scout and researcher, his skills with a sword are as sharp as mine.”

“How many of our men are still able-bodied?” Selig asked, “When I left the battle field, I saw an estimate of about―”

“About two hundred, sir,” Graden offered, “Less than a quarter of our original numbers.”

“That’s good enough,” Selig looked down at Graden, “I want you to rest and let yourself heal, Graden. This battle isn’t over yet.”

“What is it that you’re planning to do?”

“I’m going to send for help,” Selig’s face was grim but determined.

Graden frowned, “But … surely you do not mean from the other tribes? Would they even care what happened here?”

“Of course they will,” Selig said confidently, “We may be divided, but we are still Vashkans. All of us. Had we only seen this attack coming, we would have sent for help earlier and we could have saved so much more of us.” Selig fell silent. Then he took a deep breath, “Tomorrow at dawn we bury our dead. Then we rest.”

“And then?” Graden’s hopes lifted at the look on his lord and master’s eyes.

“And then …” Selig reached down and helped his comrade up, “And then we hunt down the beasts that did this to us.”

~*~*~*~

It took them three weeks to get things done. The wounded healed fast. They were, after all, built for battle. Their bodies were designed to sustain the strains of injury. They held the most solemn of Vashkan mourning ceremonies, and for a while, simply concentrated on getting through the day.

Two weeks after the battle, Selig rounded up a troop of his most able warriors and placed Mekyl, his scout and researcher, to lead them. They were to find the other Vashkan tribes, inform them of this tragedy, and ask for help. Mekyl had tried to protest; he did not like the idea of seeking help. As a rule, Vashkans are independent and proud. Which is the most probable reason why the different tribes didn’t get along so well.

Pride be damned. The Northern Vashkans needed help and they were going to get it. Selig’s command was absolute.

Mekyl and his team returned a scant three days later. With him were the last two people Selig expected to visit.

Rumus Grifinker and Yesha Kavrois. One was the ruler of the Southern tribe; the other was the Eastern tribe’s wisest council member. Selig’s stomach clenched. They could not be bringing good news.

After the formal introductions―which weren’t really all that necessary, but it were still the polite thing to do―Yesha surprised all who were present by hugging Selig. “We have fallen equally hard, but your wound is bigger,” she murmured in sympathy. She stepped back and straightened, once again calm and composed.

Selig felt as if the world had descended upon his shoulders. Her words only confirmed his fears, “You have been attacked, as well?” he asked wearily.

“Yes, not too long after the Eastern tribe,” Rumus said, “You and your people have suffered more, D’Harken, but those … attackers have nearly paralyzed my people, as well.”

“Neither one of our tribes have been able to send a word of warning to you. Our messengers were the first to die,” Yesha said. Her voice had no trace of anger in it, no fear either. The only emotion she’d shown had been the one of sympathy when she hugged Selig, “When they came, it was as though they had been searching for something. They have destroyed our shrines, ransacked our treasuries …” she shook her head.

“They’ve defiled Everale’s Lake. It is sacred to us, and they cared not,” Rumus added, “And yet they took nothing with them. None of our wealth. They took no hostages, either. Yesha is right. They had been searching for something.”

Selig processed this, his mind aflame with questions and confusion, “And the Western tribe? Was there no word―what is it?”

Yesha and Rumus had exchanged strange looks of apprehension and wariness.

“Now is not the time to keep secrets from each other,” Selig’s voice was commanding, reminding the two that though they held the mightiest of positions in their respective tribes, around here, he was still king.

“The Western tribe is gone,” Yesha finally said. Her eyes were clouded.

Selig’s warrior heart was wrenched all of a sudden. Gone? It couldn’t be. His voice was hoarse with fear as he asked, “Seyhan …?”

“Seyhan D’Harken is a fool,” Rumus spat contemptuously.

“Rumus!” Yesha warned.

“What? You know it to be true. He is rash and selfish and vindictive, sending what remains of his people to scatter and seek shelter on their own.”

Selig remained silent, filled with relief. Is, Rumus had said. Is a fool. Is rash and selfish and vindictive. Is, not was.

Seyhan was alive.

“Not for long.”

Selig started. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken it out loud. He looked at Rumus and saw that the other Vashkan leader was very angry. Selig kept in control. Now was not the time to lose his head.

“Seyhan had his reasons,” Yesha said, addressing Selig, “The Western tribe was the first to be attacked. They had sent a messenger to us, a young boy who needed to memorize no words from his king. He’d seen it all happen. He saw when the libraries were invaded, their ancient records―our ancient records were stolen. The rest were burned. Worse was that the scholars and every other learned man or woman, were tortured. They―wait.” Yesha smoothed back her hair, “The boy is with me, but he has been terribly weakened. I will go to our carriage and see if he is awake.”

The two men waited for Yesha’s return in cold silence. Selig was aware of Rumus’ vast dislike of Seyhan, while Rumus was aware that, despite the fact that Seyhan and Selig didn’t get along, Selig would still not like hearing insults being directed at the young Western king.

Yesha finally returned, a young boy in tow. He looked too weak to stand, but stand he did, erect and dignified. He was in the presence of royalty, and they were the very people Master Seyhan had told him to find. He waited patiently until he was spoken to.

“This is Yuan Gascogne. He tried to tell me what those monsters wanted from some of his teachers, but he needed to rest. He has traveled long and hard and needed to recuperate,” Yesha introduced the boy. So as not to embarrass him in front of the men, Yesha stopped herself from running her fingers through the boy’s hair. He was so brave and he had lost so much, “Go ahead, Yuan. Tell them so we may follow your Master Seyhan.”

Young Yuan took that as his cue, “Those ‘monsters’ … they tortured the scholars and tore apart our libraries for they were looking for something, something they thought we had. Even after Master Seyhan himself swore that he has never heard of it.”

Rumus, never a patient man on his good days, barked, “Out with it, boy, so we may have enough time to save your Master’s irresponsible hide.”

“Master Seyhan went after them, to make them pay! That is not irresponsible!” Yuan shot back. He didn’t care if he was being disrespectful. He turned and looked up at Yesha, eyes shining with unshed tears, “Isn’t it?”

Before she could comfort him, Selig said, “Just tell us what you know.”

But Yuan was now suspicious, “You must give me your word first that you will go after my Master.”

Selig smiled. The child was brave and loyal. Good work, Seyhan, he thought. Looking Yuan in the eye, he said, “Seyhan is my brother, master Gascogne. I will find him, I give you my word.”

Yuan was tough, but he was still a child, and he wanted to believe them; he so desperately needed to be comforted. And besides, his own Master had sent him to seek these people, so surely … “They were looking for something, all right. Something they called The Balancer,” he said in a calmer tone, “What is a Balancer?”

“A myth,” Rumus responded, “Just a myth.”

“A myth that originated from us Vashkans,” Selig added.

Yesha was frowning, “That’s why they stole those records and attacked shrines. They were looking for anything that might provide more information on this Balancer.”

“And Everale’s Lake. That lake has guarded many legends in its depths.” Rumus added.

“Well, now that we’ve established that … can we go look for my master?” Yuan asked.

Instead of berating the boy for his rudeness, Selig regarded him seriously and said, “Tell me where your master went.”

Yuan smiled in relief, “That’s easy sir,” he said, “He followed the murderers’ trail, all the way back to their side of the world.”

“And that is …?”

“The human side, Master Selig.”

~*~*~*~


LONDON:

Sarah Merriman walked from her nice, orderly home and into the silent jungle of the night. She had waved good-bye to her roommate, Abby, playfully teasing her about her boyfriend coming over. Abby had blushed and vehemently insisted that Steve was just a friend.

“And anyway, Sarah, you’re the one on a serious manhunt,” Abby had laughed, “You go out every night now! Ever since you came home from South Hampshire, it’s like you’re a changed woman!”

Sarah hadn’t touched that comment, just kissed her friend good-bye and then left. As soon as the door clicked shut, Sarah took a step back and let the warrior take over.

Abby had no idea how close she’d just come to the truth. Sarah had changed, almost completely. And she was on a hunt, but very rarely for a man. Women like her hunted an entirely different specie of predators.

Vampires. Demons.

Sarah Merriman, the Slayer assigned to guard London’s greater areas, walked faster. Things had been quiet lately; she’d only dusted two vampires over the last week. That wasn’t really all that unusual, with the number of Slayers around the world today, vampires weren’t exactly anxious to show their fangs. But it wasn’t just the bloodsuckers. Plenty of the demon hang-outs had been empty as of late.

That gave Sarah a funny feeling in her gut, the feeling that she had been taught never to ignore. Something was brewing and she intended to find out what. That meant she had to pay ol’ Gump a visit.

Gump was a demon, harmless because he was a coward. But he had his uses. For example, since the other demons treated him like he didn’t exist, he made an excellent snitch. That is, when he wasn’t holding out, like he’d been doing lately, which only added to Sarah’s feeling of badness.

Sarah turned to an alley that led to an abandoned warehouse-turned-dive that demons and Gump frequented. Its popularity among the regulars had taken a nose-dive when she had started coming around. Gump better be in there, she thought, annoyed. She’d had enough of playing hide and seek. She raised a hand to knock the secret sequence that was the password, but before her knuckles touched rusting metal, the door was pulled open.

And Gump stumbled outside.

At first, the Slayer thought he might be drunk, he was swaying so unsteadily and he didn’t even seem to notice her, “Gump!” Sarah snapped, even more annoyed for having been ignored.

He turned to her, and Sarah’s bad feeling became a bad certainty. “Sarah,” the demon rasped, right before he collapsed in her arms. Sarah caught him, and then let him drop. He fell on his face and didn’t move again. He was dead.

And I would be, too, Sarah thought, crouching beside the lifeless body of the demon, If I had a wound like this. Her fingers hovered just above the gaping slash wound that started just below the demon’s head, to just above his arse. Sarah raised her head to look at the door. It had swung shut behind Gump.

Filled with trepidation for what she might find, Sarah rose and went to the door. She changed her mind about pushing it open and instead raised her foot and kicked it so hard, the thin sheet of metal tore from its hinges and collapsed inward.

The Slayer gasped.

Almost all were on every flat surface available, the floor, the tables, and the bar … but some were on top of the others, and one was even right on the short steps that were below Sarah. They were covered in sticky fluid of differing colors.

Demons. Lying in a pool of their mixed blood.

And all were dead.

TBC...

Chapter 3: Enter the Incantos

Previously: A young man emerges from the debris that was once Sunnydale. Four years later, he is known as Tierre, one of the most feared warriors in Hades and is the lieutenant of a vicious organization known as Scarlet. Scarlet attacks the Vashkans, a faery race, searching for a mythical artifact called the Balancer. Now the Vashkans are out for payback…

***

Buffy Summers was curled up on her couch, her legs tucked under her, a glass of cold iced tea in her hands. The phone was nestled between her cheek and the crook of her shoulder. The lights from the television screen played across her face. It may have been one of a million relaxing evenings wherein a young woman spent it chatting with a friend on the phone while watching T.V.

Ever since the activation of thousands of Slayers into power four years ago, Buffy has had several evenings where her biggest worry was whether or not to cook dinner or dine out with her sister Dawn. Dawn had gone away into college two years ago, and though Buffy would never admit it to her, she liked the comfort of living on her own. She knew Dawn liked her own freedom now, too.

Freedom―the one word that Buffy would never have associated with being the Slayer. But it was true, she was free. She wasn’t the only Slayer anymore. The world was no longer just her sole responsibility. Still, there were times when she wondered if even with the presence of Slayers in all of its countries, the world would ever really be safe.

Now was one of those times.

Buffy stared grimly at the news on T.V., her expression shattering the illusion of a relaxed evening, “How long has this been going on?”

Willow’s voice on the other end of the line sounded nervous, “Almost a week,” she said.

“A week?! My God, Wills, why didn’t anyone call to tell me?”

“Well, we didn’t think it would ever make it to America, Buffy. The killings have been centered here in England for the most part, and according to the demon grapevine, we were only dealing with one guy …”

“There you go,” Buffy cut in, “One guy, doing that much damage. Yeah, I mean, I know England is Slayer Central. But something this big warrants Big Guns.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Buffy. We really did try to get a hold of Faith, but she’s deep undercover. She has been for three weeks now.”

“I meant either you or … me, Willow.”

A pause, “You?”

Buffy forced a laugh, “Yeah, me, silly. Who else?”

“Well … but, aren’t you … I don’t know … busy?”

“Will, once a Slayer, always a Slayer,” Buffy winced. She wondered if Willow believed her, “And anyway, looks like I don’t have a choice now that this Jack the Demon Ripper has come to my town.”

“Be careful, Buffy,” Willow’s voice was soft, just the way she remembered, “Call us, and stay in touch. Don’t go into this alone.”

“I know. Thanks.”

“No. Thank you.”

They said their good-byes and hung up. Buffy turned her attention back to the telly, but the news was over and she lost interest in watching anything else. She got up and went to the kitchen where she tossed what remained of her drink down the drain. She washed her glass, her movements automatic, without much thought behind them.

Gang wars. The media had nearly caught the tail end of a demon fight―enough of a threat to alarm even the most stalwart of Slayers ―and they blamed it on gang wars. Big, sigh of relief … four years ago, the idea of letting the public know about Sunnydale, Slayers and vampires had been nobly appealing. As much as Buffy knew, the Scoobies―now known as the new Council of Watchers―still intended to do that, but they were taking it slow. Something as big as the truth is usually best revealed that way.

Buffy’s mind turned to the demon dilemma. Something was bugging them, and not in a nice way. It wasn’t unusual for different demon races and species to fight against each other; they were just like humans that way. But this was different. Buffy had been hearing rumors from her demon contacts of the sporadic street wars. A lot of demons were ending up dead. But the really strange part was the fact that the demons found were of different, warring races. According to Willow, it was either they ended up killing each other, or they had teamed up to fight something else, a different threat entirely. That theory came from the discovery that all the dead demons sported large slash wounds, the kind a really big and sharp sword can make. And that theory was supported by the little factoid that the demons, normally wary of exposure, were now getting more and more daring, actually risking being seen by panicky humans. Witness their brush with the media.

It’s almost as if they’ve grown too desperate to care about exposure, the Slayer thought.

Her glass dried and put away, Buffy went through her house, turning off the lights and checking to make sure all the doors and windows were locked. Then she went upstairs, looking forward to the bubble bath she’d planned.

As she soaked in vanilla-scented goodness, Buffy’s mind ran over the gloriously mundane details of her life. Not that much to think about, really, everything was in perfect order. Even the little problems were predictable. Really, it was like she was living one of those ‘normal’ lives that were always being portrayed on the telly … telly? No, it should be T.V. or television, or, or, whatever. She never called it telly, not her. But someone did. Who was it again? Someone British.

Giles? No, Giles never watched tel… er, T.V.

Slowly, he came into focus in the dark blankness of her subconscious. Just an outline, at first, nothing that seemed tangible. Then a shadow, blurry, bleeding around the edges … walking towards her, coming nearer …

Color, filling him, making him real, the way he used to fill everything around her. The way that everything seemed just a little bit more intense, a little nearer, more touchable, painfully beautiful, whenever he was near.

Only he ever made things that way for her.

He was so close now. She could see him, everything about him, just the way she remembered.

Tall, slender … black hugging his lean frame, the coat that hid most of his beauty from her view. And yet that coat only made him more beautiful, but then again, everything seemed to do that. Not even madness had tarnished that truth.

Beneath that coat, beneath the expanse of cotton and denim the color of the night, she knew every inch of his perfect, alabaster skin; the taut, wiry muscles that were long and graceful, even as he had the strength to crush the life out of her with one vise-like grip.

Or one, infinitely tender embrace.

Upwards, ever upwards, to the elegant column of his neck. She was eager now, as she always was, to see his face. It was a … masterpiece… no, that was too tame a word to describe him, but her vocabulary had always been limited, especially when it came to him. And hadn’t that always hurt them both?

The proud chin, the sculpted jaw, the chiseled cheekbones … the slight hollow of his cheeks where she had felt she could rest her thumb forever the one time she actually gave in to the desire to cup his face, just to touch him. His lips, both sensual and cruel, pillow-soft, pink. Delicate, unlike the rest of him. His taste should’ve been just a memory, the unique, incomparable feel of him against her, except that it wasn’t. And it probably never will be.

His eyes. No one else had eyes like those, an ever-changing shade of blue that made her feel as if she were drowning or flying, or freezing … or burning. All that he was, heart, mind and soul had been in those eyes. What she wanted most of all, was to feel those silken strands of hair the color of the palest gold, sifting through her fingers. She wanted…

No. No more wanting. Just look at him now, while you can, while he’s still here.

He raised his hand, and she raised hers. She knew what she should do, and she would
have given anything right then to feel his long fingers lace with hers. Just like they had in that one, final, farewell.

But they never will. It was that one time, they had that one time, and now they could never touch again.

He was fading, he was going away … Not yet, wait, not yet … not ready … never will be. Come back.

“Spike …” tears. In her voice. In her eyes. In her heart.

And in his. She’d made him cry again.

“Buffy …” his voice, a fading whisper …

Gone.

~*~*~*~

Buffy woke up with a startled sob, heart pounding painfully inside her chest, breath trapped in her throat. Her buttocks slid along the cool, slippery porcelain of her bathtub, and her arms flailed out, hands grabbing hold of the tub’s sides to keep her from going under. Water with the remains of vanilla-scented suds splashed onto the tiles.

It’s okay, you’re fine. At least you didn’t drown.

But she wasn’t fine. Buffy quickly finished her bath and stood up, grabbing her bathrobe and wrapping a fluffy lime green towel around her hair, all the while acutely aware that her body was trembling and her knees were on the verge of quitting their jobs. She had the dream again, The Dream. The one that came like a thief in the night, only to disappear as soon as she opened her eyes. The one that came just when she thought it was gone forever.

She could never remember it, this dream. It stayed in the deepest, darkest, most secret place inside her, untouched by the light of her conscious self. The more she tried to remember it, to reach out and grasp it, the more it slipped past her fingers like wispy smoke.

And always, it left her feeling … bereft. As though she had lost something irreplaceable that she could never get back. An aching sense of loss would permeate her being then, so deep that she would sometimes wake up crying.

But this time was … different.

She had the vaguest memory of pale gold, and a blue so deep that it was like she had dived right into the heart of the Pacific. And the scent … the subtle mixed fragrance of leather, soap and clean male skin. And something else … something elemental.

“Spike …” Buffy murmured.

She gasped. Where did that come from?

She quickly dried off and got dressed even faster. Her movements were so brisk; sparks nearly flew from her fingers. That’s better. Movement was always of the good. Just keep moving … no thinking … no feeling …

She burrowed into the soft sanctuary of her bed, catching a glimpse of the clock radio. 11:15. Fours years ago, 11:15 would’ve been too early for her. She’d still be prowling around cemeteries around that time, looking for something undead to re-dead.

She didn’t do that anymore. Not that she was retired, but she was really more in the advisory capacity now. Besides, she had her own life to lead, a life she chose this time.

But even so, she couldn’t help but be concerned with the state of the world; if there were any apocalypses that needed to be averted, for example. So far, there hadn’t been any. Except for that one time when Willow swore she felt the Hellmouth breath. But that had turned out to be a false alarm, because nothing came out of the Hellmouth anymore. Not the one in Sunnydale, anyway. It was dead.

She tossed around in her big, comfy bed, worrying. Whatever was happening now, she had a feeling it was going to get serious. But surely, Willow and the others can handle it. They’ve done it before.

Buffy rolled onto her back and lay staring up at the ceiling. Oh, admit it, she chastised herself, You miss the action. You miss…your friends. She sighed. Sad as it was, the Scoobies had drifted apart. Or rather, she had. She’d chosen to live a normal life while the others had opted to stay and fight. They’ve supported her decision of course, but now … they just weren’t as close as they used to be.

But that was all about to change. Willow had said she would keep in touch. If they needed help with this new situation, Buffy would be more than willing to pitch in. That’d be a start.

Buffy smiled. She shouldn’t really worry too much. She had a busy day tomorrow. Buffy had followed in her mother’s footsteps and taken a flagging clothing business and turned it into an art gallery with the millions the Council ( namely Giles ) had signed over to her name. She’d nearly depleted her funds getting the gallery on its feet, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t about the money anyway. She loved what she did. Who knew she’d be so good at it?

Well, Mom did, she thought fondly, as her eyes started to close.

Mom and Spike, her mind whispered, just before sleep came and claimed her.

~*~*~*~

She was being followed.

Buffy knew this with a certainty that bordered on paranoia. Of course being a Slayer meant there’s always some nasty lurking in the bushes somewhere, watching her every move, just waiting for that one good day. Even more so now that there were so many of them, evil demons were just working overtime, hoping to thin the herd.

But this was different. It wasn’t as if she was catching moving shadows in her peripheral vision or anything as unsubtle as that. No, what she really had was a hunch.

Unfortunately, hunches weren’t the same as mind-reading and so Buffy didn’t know if whoever or whatever was out there spying on her and writing down the varying times in which she ate breakfast in a little black notebook was evil or just a crazy fan. Which she had―fans, that is. She hadn’t even known Slayers have already made it to the Net until the first Andrew-wannabe had jumped right in front of her in the grocery store, handing her his bio-data, complete with a recommendation from some equally geeky martial-arts instructor, and declared that he was ready to fight the good fight.

So, since she didn’t know if she was on someone’s hit list or not ( but most probably she was ) Buffy just went to work.

“God, don’t you ever get tired?”

Buffy looked up from an opened crate to smile at Hazel Randolf, her partner and one-woman army, “Hey, Hazel. How was the party last night?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m still recovering.”

“Serves you right for looking for The One amidst all that champagne.”

Hazel rolled her eyes, winced, and headed for the back area to resurrect herself with caffeine. Buffy turned her attention back to the crate, retrieving an easel from it. It was a painting of an ancient church, one of a series of paintings that depicted the age-old edifices of a ghost town in Mexico. The series was called When She Lived.

“Nice,” Hazel said, coming to stand beside Buffy, a mug of coffee in hand, “Inego Vasquez might have something going for him after all aside from his Latino good looks.”

“I think he’s very talented,” Buffy said.

“Sure he is. And when he becomes famous, do you think he’ll remember the little art gallery that gave him his first start?” Hazel raised her brows, pretending to consider the question, “Hmmm … let’s see … the art gallery itself? Nah,” she grinned mischievously, “But the owner of the gallery …”

Buffy laughed, “Oh, please. Don’t you stop?”

“Whaat? It’s obvious the guy has a thing for you.”

“His exhibit is two weeks from now. We’re just working together, that’s all.”

Hazel took the painting from Buffy and walked towards the display area, “Honestly, Buffy, you need to go out a little.”

“I go out!” Buffy said defensively. When Hazel gave her a skeptical look, the blonde crossed her arms over her chest, “I do! I went out with Allan, didn’t I?”

“Allan’s my cousin. You did it out of pity.”

“He was nice. Oh, what about Barry Newcombe?”

“You mean your blind date that was so full of himself, you ended up wishing you could drown him?”

“I don’t think I put it quite like that.”

“Face it, Buffy. Your last serious relationship was with Dawn’s substitute professor. What was his name? Gary Lennox? Yeah, that’s the guy. He was hot, he was funny, he was smart … whatever happened to that, anyway?”

Buffy shrugged, “I don’t know. It kinda fizzled out, I guess.”

Hazel nodded sagely, “Yeah. Hate it when that happens. You think you found the right one and then, poof! Something happens to show you that you’re wrong.”

Buffy watched her friend arrange the first paintings they’ve gathered, “I’m gonna go open the other crates. By the way, Beth called, said she’s coming in late today. So for awhile, it’s just the two of us. Get as much caffeine in your system as you can.”

Leaving Hazel to her work, Buffy went back to the other crates and busied herself with discovering the other paintings of the eight-piece series. She tried to think of nothing but work, of how exciting it would be for Inego to finally show the world what he can do. But she inevitably found herself thinking about the young newcomer to the artistic scene more than his upcoming exhibit. He really was cute, and sweet. Plus, he had that whole artistic sensitivity going for him.

Buffy sighed. Great, now she was thinking of romantically exploiting one of those she represented. And the really sad part was that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t drum up the sufficient interest to keep a relationship going. Starting one was no problem, like with Gary. They’d hit it off pretty well and for the three months of dating that followed, Buffy had actually begun entertaining thoughts that he might be It. Even Dawn had gotten excited for her.

But then the relationship hit a plateau, and began to taper off. Buffy didn’t know what had happened. She and Gary had parted as friends, but up until now, she didn’t understand why they parted at all. Not that she carried a torch, or anything, she and Gary had liked each other very much, but they had never been in love with each other. After Gary, Buffy’s few dates were of the “Blah,” or “Eek!” variety.

Buffy sat on the floor, cross-legged, propping her elbow on a knee and supporting her chin with her fist, “Maybe I’m cursed,” she muttered to herself.

“Or maybe, you’re just waiting for the right one to come along,” someone said cheerfully.

Buffy looked up and brightened at Beth Wazowski, who was supposed to be her assistant, but was actually kind of a really nice boss. Beth was in her late twenties and a single-mother to her 6-year old daughter Kyla. She had the sunniest of dispositions and had unflagging optimism. Buffy had never known anyone quite like her.

“I should’ve known when you said you’d be late, you meant you’d come in 10 minutes after we opened,” Buffy teased.

“Uh-huh. Well, what’s this about being cursed?” Beth demanded in her motherly way that was at complete odds with her youthful appearance, “I’m sensing some really lovelorn vibes here.”

Buffy’s mouth dropped open, “Oh, God. Do I sound that bad?”

“’Fraid so,” Hazel said, marching forward and picking up another of the unpacked paintings, “You sound just like me when I was 26. Which is not that long ago, lemme tell ya,”

Beth shook her head fondly at Hazel, and at the same time, gently shut Buffy’s gaping mouth by tipping her chin up with a finger, “Don’t listen to her, honey. You’ll find Him.”

Hazel snorted, “Yeah. Who knows, he might just walk right through the door.”

Just then, the door to the gallery opened and a man walked in.

Hazel’s eyes bugged, “Whoah,” she muttered. Then, grinning, she added, “I wish Hugh Jackman would propose to me right this minute.”

Beth gave the other woman a playful nudge to the ribs with her elbow.

Oblivious to her friends’ antics, Buffy just stared at the newcomer. He was tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. Like a football player, only not so bulky. She reevaluated that. No, more like a basketball player, really, the likes of Michael Jordan or Kobe Bryant in build. Black hair and eyes … she wasn’t close enough to see their color, but they appeared dark.

He was oddly handsome.

And he was oddly not human.

Buffy didn’t know what it was that tipped her off. Maybe it was the way he moved, the easy handling of limbs, his economy of motion. Or maybe it was the way his eyes sought her out directly without even pretending to be interested in the art displays that set her Slayer senses buzzing.

When Buffy didn’t move immediately to greet their guest, Beth took charge, exchanging the predictable pleasantries and asking if they could help him with anything.

“Yes. I would like to speak with Buffy Summers, please,” the flow of his words was smooth, revealing no accent. But his diction was too precise, meaning he was not a native speaker of English. Even the Brits slaughtered the mother tongue every now and then.

Ignoring Hazel’s go-get-‘em looks, Buffy said in a brisk, business-like tone of voice, “I’m Buffy Summers,” she said, “May I help you?”

His eyes were gray, she noted. Like pewter, “Yes,” he replied, and that one word was laden with meaning, “I do believe you may.”

~*~*~*~

He introduced himself to all of them as Sam Harker. Buffy believed that as much as she believed in the pot of gold at the bottom of a rainbow, but Hazel and Beth seemed perfectly willing to accept his alias. In fact, they seemed perfectly willing to do whatever he asked of them. Not that he asked for much. Coffee? Yes, please. Would you like to see some of our sculptures? Very much, thank you. Would Miss Summers please be so kind as to show me around?

They’d taken the hint. They left Buffy alone with him, Beth practically dragging Hazel away.

“Who are you?” Buffy demanded, as soon as the two women were gone, “Or should I say, what are you?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled in what may be amusement, “You greet all of your guests this way, Miss Summers?”

His eyes had a slant to them. Nothing too unusual, but enough to let Buffy know she was on the right track, “Don’t waste my time,” she said finally.

His demeanor changed, all traces of playfulness gone, “I am Seyhan D’Harken,” he said formally, “I am a Vashkan.”

“And that’s a …?”

“Let’s just say I’m the one receiving the … warm demon welcome.”

Buffy stiffened. Her first thought was of Beth and Hazel. Have they left the gallery, or where they just somewhere nearby?

“Don’t worry, Slayer Summers. I didn’t come here to fight you,” Selig said, and for someone whose power she could only guess at―but was certainly enough to spook hardened, war-mongering demons―his voice was oddly reassuring, “I came here to ask for your h … assistance.”

Buffy blinked, “Huh?”

“I can’t talk to you here. I didn’t realize there would be others present. Foolish of me, I suppose. Would you meet with me?”

Buffy was still staring at him like he was speaking in Greek.

Seyhan repeated his invite in a more patient voice, “You may choose the place of our meeting. You may even bring your sister Slayers if you wish.”

~*~*~*~

She had no idea what made her say yes, but Buffy soon found herself waiting for Seyhan D’Harken in a charming little al fresco restaurant facing the beach. She was alone, too. Although there were plenty of Slayers around San Francisco, Buffy hadn’t wanted to bring any of them. The only Slayers she would have considered bringing were those who had fought with her against the First, and they all had states and countries to look out for now. The newer Slayers tended to be too cocky and too brash. Seyhan had said he wanted to talk and she believed him. They wouldn’t be able to do that if a bunch of overeager teenaged girls would be swarming all over him, trying to practice their skills with a stake.

Still, it paid to be cautious, so she didn’t say anything when Seyhan showed up, looking around him, searching out any skulking Slayers.

“You didn’t bring any of your sisters with you,” he commented as he pulled out her chair for her.

“What makes you think I didn’t?” Buffy asked, trying to cover up the fact that his manners surprised her.

Seyhan looked at her closely. What was she saying? Were there others of her kind here? It was possible. She had chosen a very public meeting place. It faced a lovely beach. There were plenty of human females here. Yes, there could be Slayers lurking about.

She was cautious, this one. He respected that. But then again she was Buffy Summers, wasn’t she? The Slayer who had given power to all the other Slayers; the one who had led the war against the First Evil. She was the best.

He needed the best.

“There’s no need to fear me,” he said reassuringly, “You may call them forward if you wish.”

“Let’s not waste time,” she said, “What did you want to talk to me about?”

A waiter came by. Buffy quickly ordered for both of them, ignoring Seyhan’s raised brows.

“I need your assistance,” he said, as soon as the waiter was gone.

“For what? Killing demons? I was already doing that―”

“It was a matter of self-defense,” Seyhan cut in, “Demons and faeries have a long and bloody history together. They tried to kill me. What was I supposed to do? Let them?”

Whether he was telling the truth or not, Buffy knew better than to start out with the assumption that demons were the innocent victims. Sure, they can be victimized, that’s happened before. But innocent? Very rare.

The waiter returned, set their orders on their table, caught Seyhan’s impatient glare, and bowed out very fast.

“That’s quite a way with people you’ve got,” Buffy said, “If demons don’t like you, why are you here? No offense, but faeries have always struck me as kind of … snobbish. You guys don’t mingle with humans or … well, demons.”

“I need you to help me find something. It’s called the Balancer.”

“And that’s a …?”

“A very powerful treasure of the Vashkan people.”

“What’s it doing here?”

“It’s here because the thieves who killed so many of mine just to take it from us are here,”

Buffy leaned back against her chair, her face set skeptically, “Now we’re getting somewhere. I’m getting a lot of angry, I-want-revenge vibes from you, Seyhan. Or is it the I-want-the-object-of-unimaginable-power vibes?”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Let me put it this way: If you want my help, you can start by being honest.”

“But I am!” Seyhan declared in exasperation, and Buffy was surprised at the sincerity of his frustration, “You can be certain that I have no other intentions towards the Balancer other than returning it to where it belongs. I have been its guardian for years. If I wanted to use its powers for my benefit, I would have,” he sighed, “But you’re right on one account. I do want revenge. If you were in my place, you would understand.”

“First, tell me what this Balancer does.”

“It’s a font of power. It has the ability to see the true latent power of any being. In the olden days, it was believed to have the ability to keep the balance between good and evil.”

Buffy snorted, “Balance, huh?”

“That was in the olden days,” Seyhan told her, “Now it’s been stolen. And I’m telling you, Slayer, unless we get it back this could mean a repeat of the First.”

Buffy scowled, “Now for the revenge part. What’s that all about?”

“What happened to my people was … horrible,” Seyhan grated out, as though the words themselves pained him coming out, “We were decimated. But my words aren’t enough. I will have to show you.” Seyhan raised a hand towards her.

“What are you doing?” Buffy demanded, jerking her head away.

“I’m going to show you,” and before she could make any further protest, Seyhan’s fingers grazed her temple.

And a vision unraveled before her mind’s eyes.

It was horrible. A war. Cries from children deafened her, while warriors younger than Buffy herself had been when she had been Called, charged forward with battle roars, furious and frightened, knowing that their parents were out fighting as well and wouldn’t be able to help them.

And Buffy saw Seyhan, dressed in the warrior garb of his people. Bleeding from several wounds, he had kept his people going, never once betraying the fear that lived in his heart.

He had known they were going to lose.

Buffy nearly cried when homes were set on fire with their owners still sleeping inside them. They, the Vashkans, were powerful. A warrior people and so they preferred to fight with hands and weapons rather than the ancient magick that they possessed but didn’t understand.

Buffy wished they didn’t fear their own powers. They really needed it at the time. Because their enemies had their own weapons, too, weapons that Buffy was surprised to see in a war like this one, which was so similar to her wars with the different harbingers of apocalypses.

Guns. Bombs.

The army that marched forward was the one that held these man-made weapons. But Buffy instinctively knew that the ones who held no bullets at all were the ones that were infinitely more dangerous.

She didn’t know how many of them there were, fewer than their small army, though, that’s for sure. Less than a dozen, even. But they were equal to the Vashkans as they fought the old-fashioned way. They wielded the more common weapons of the slaying trade; swords and machetes and the like. But they used them with more skill and ability than ordinary humans ever could.

They were extraordinary, almost supernatural. But Buffy knew what they really were.

She inhaled sharply when Seyhan finally let her go. Buffy’s eyes fluttered open as though just waking from a dream. She stared at the Vashkan in front of her in stunned understanding, “You’re attackers … “ she stammered, “They were … humans.”

Seyhan was pale. He had been forced to relive that tragedy once more, “If you still won’t believe us,” he said shakily, “I won’t blame you.”

Buffy surprised him. Shaking her head angrily, the Slayer said, “Oh, but I do believe you.”

Seyhan gaped at her, “You do?”

“Yes,” Buffy took a deep breath and straightened, “Because I think I recognized some of those murderers.”

~*~*~*~

“I still think we should have told Buffy about this,” Willow said to Xander, taking a sip of tea from her cup. She and Xander were enjoying afternoon tea together, an English custom that they had fallen in love with immediately, in a charming little tea shop. They were around so often, that they had a table now unofficially reserved in the pretty indoor garden.

“I thought you said she already knows,” Xander said, raising his brows.

“Yes, but we didn’t tell her. She had to find out in the late night news.”

“I’m surprised that she does want to know.”

“Xander, what are you saying? Of course she does. She’s the Slayer, isn’t she?”

“Sure, but doesn’t she have the ‘normal’ life she’s always dreamed of now? Why would she want to ruin that by getting involved in the Mission again?”

Willow stared at him, wide-eyed and Xander shut his mouth. He hadn’t realized until he heard himself speak just how resentful his words sounded.

“You begrudge Buffy the choices she’s made?” Willow asked softly. She looked sad and Xander felt like kicking himself.

“No, I don’t,” he said sincerely, “It’s just that it seemed like after all the major rebuilding’s been done she couldn’t wait to get away. And yeah she keeps in contact with us, but it feels like she’s so far away now. Like she’s changed.”

Willow smiled, “The life of the Slayer was given to Buffy against her will. We, on the other hand, chose to fight. When she got the chance to live the life she’s always wanted, she went for it. I respect that because it’s her choice. It’s not any lesser than our choice to continue the Mission. It’s just different,” she said, “And Buffy has just been really busy. You think it’s easy, building a life out of scratch? Not to mention trying to repair her relationship with her father.”

Xander held up both hands, “Okay, I surrender,” he said jokingly, “You’re right. It’s just that I miss her, that’s all.”

“Me too,” Willow tucked her hair behind her ear, “And she hasn’t changed, by the way. She’s still the same old, Give-Evil-Hell Buffy that we know and love. I won’t be surprised if she comes storming to England, demanding that we find these demon killers and put them back where they belong.”

“Yeah,” Xander leaned back in his chair, “Well that’s always something to look forward to,”

He let his gaze sweep about the little garden contentedly. It would be great to have Buffy back, even though it would be because of something that might turn into a potential world threat.

Speaking of threats … whoah, Nelly.

Xander’s eyes went round at the vision in front of him. Willow was saying something, but he wasn’t really paying her any attention.

Man, she was gorgeous. Tall, dark-haired and dark-eyed and slightly broad-shouldered. There was a certain grace to her walk, the kind he saw in athletes and … Slayers. But this one wasn’t a Slayer, Xander would have recognized her otherwise, or she him.

But wait a minute, if she didn’t recognize him, then why on earth was she heading their way?

“Uh … Will,” Xander said tentatively.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know that woman? The one heading over towards us?”

Frowning, Willow turned to look where Xander was looking. Her gaze was intercepted by two men. They were tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed, broad-shouldered, with a kind of predatory grace to their movements.

And they, too, were walking towards her and Xander.

“Xander? I think it’s time we leave,” Willow rose from her seat nervously. Xander followed her, threading his arm through hers in an unconsciously protective gesture, even though Willow was far more powerful than all the humans inside the tea shop combined.

“Just keep walking, act casual …” Xander muttered under his breath.

“Willow Rosenberg?”

Shock made the two stop in their tracks, despite their desire to be far away from the dark trio. They stared at the woman. Xander gaped. She was even more beautiful up close. And she had an air of quiet dignity about her. The two men were the same way. Willow felt the absurd urge to curtsy in front of them.

“Y-yes?” the witch stuttered. She cleared her throat, “I mean, what is it?”

The woman smiled, “My name is Yesha Kavrois. These are my … friends, Selig D’Harken and Rumus Grifinker.”

Xander said, “Nice names. What’re you, Russian?”

“Vashkans,” the one called Rumus said, almost smugly.

“And we need to speak with you,” Selig said authoritatively.

~*~*~*~

Buffy glanced at Seyhan out of the corner of her eye, “This’ll only take a second,” she mouthed, as she whipped out her cell phone.

He nodded back at her stiffly. Despite his perfectly ordinary clothing, Lord Seyhan D’Harken―as he had finally clarified to her―still exuded an aura of otherwordly authority that had the people from the other tables sneaking looks at him. He was aware that he was the object of such rapt fascination, and he detested it.

Buffy fervently hoped someone would pick up on the other end. And then somebody did.

“Giles,” said the familiar, clipped British voice.

“Giles? It’s me, Buffy.”

Silence on the other end. Maybe he was wondering who the hell Buffy was.

And then, “Good Lord, Buffy …” he cleared his throat, “How … how have you been?”

“I’m doing fine …” she automatically replied, caught the look on Seyhan’s face as another waitress yet again asked if he would like a coffee refill, and barged on, “Listen, Giles … there’s something I really need to discuss with you guys. It has something to do with those demon massacres. There’s someone here who claims he did all those things but only as a matter of self-defense. He says he’s a Vashkan. That ring a bell? Or an alarm?”

Another pause. Buffy sighed, “I guess that would be an alarm then.”

“Buffy, I think it’s best if you would come here and bring the Vashkan with you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because there are some people here waiting for him. Don’t worry, they’re here to help. What do you say?”

“Right now?”

When Giles spoke again, it was with a touch of amusement, “Yes. I’ll secure your ticket for Willow-lines.”

~*~*~*~

If it wasn’t for the first class teleportation spell that transferred them from a discreet area in San Francisco and into the 4th floor chamber, also called the Meeting Room, of the former Watcher’s Academy-turned-New-Council-Headquarters, Seyhan would never have gone with Buffy. Now that he had her word that she would help him, he was impatient to get started. But one look at the mini-Intercontinental portal and he knew he was looking at real magickal power. He wanted to meet Buffy’s witch friend now.

The design of the room was almost identical to the original, with plenty of side tables and leather chairs that fit in with the dark-paneled walls. The polished mahogany table on the other side of the large room was round, not rectangular, like the first had been. Everyone had an equal place on the table. This had been Rupert Giles’ idea.

There were computer terminals in the room, too, unlike the first. There were more computers all over the campus. This was Willow Rosenberg’s most obvious contribution.

The three strangers sitting gathered around table were all tall and broad-shouldered, even the woman. They all had dark, wavy hair and intense dark eyes. One of them had more than just a passing resemblance to Seyhan.

His identity was revealed, after Seyhan entered the room through the portal with Buffy. He surged to his feet, eyes wide, “Seyhan!”

Seyhan looked dismayed, “Selig? What are you doing here?”

“We could ask you the same thing, you insolent child!” snapped the other one.

Seyhan flushed in anger, “Don’t call me a child, Rumus!” he shot back.

Buffy smirked, “I take it,” she muttered dryly, “They’re family?”

“Only one. And right now, I sorely wish it was her.”

‘Her’ rose gracefully from her seat and spoke in a clear, commanding tone, “That is enough, both of you! Instead of wasting precious time berating Seyhan, why don’t we just turn our attentions into solving this problem?”

Grudgingly, the men sat down, albeit out of knowing that she was right instead of obedience. Willow grinned at Buffy as the Slayer and Seyhan sat down, too. Buffy grinned back. She caught Xander’s eye and he smiled warmly at her.

It was almost like she never left.

“Buffy,” Giles said, “Did Seyhan already, uh, show you what happened … to them?”

Seyhan stiffened, “Them?” he asked faintly. His eyes roved over his fellow Vashkans, “Oh, no …”

“Yes,” Rumus spat, “We were attacked, too. Not long after you. I can not believe what you did. You left your people floundering without a leader, begging for aid from the other tribes―”

“Oh? And what are you doing here, then? Who’s looking after your people, Rumus?”

“All the Vashkans have united as one large village,” Selig cut in, glaring at Seyhan, “Aksah Rowik, Yesha’s adjutant, has been left in charge of the rebuilding. My general Graden Wakrazna and Rumus’ Suni have been left to organize an army for defense. Just in case the fiends return.”

Guilt gnawed at Seyhan’s stomach. He may not be as good a ruler as his older brother, Selig―what with his penchant for spending his time alone surrounded by his books and manuscripts―but that did not mean he didn’t care about his people, “You should go back,” he said softly, “Protect what is left of us.”

“No,” Selig riposted calmly, “We know why you’re here, Seyhan, and we understand. But you cannot have vengeance against those murderers all on your own. You’ve seen what they can do.”

Seyhan sat in silence, humiliated and angry. Selig would never think of him as anything but a younger brother. He was probably planning on dragging Seyhan back home. Well, it would not be like the first time; this time Seyhan wouldn’t go back so docilely. He lifted his head defiantly and―

“So we’re going to help you,”

―swayed with relief, “You are?”

“Of course,” Rumus sniffed, “You’re not the only one who’s been ravaged.”

Yesha, in her cool, serene way, gave an approving nod.

Seyhan started to feel hope rise in him for the first time since he embarked on this suicide journey. Perhaps, with all of them together …

“Wait a minute,” Xander said suddenly, “Look, I’ve seen what you’ve been through, and heck, I know that if I were in your place, I’d be on the warpath too. But let’s not forget. This vengeance thing can easily get out of control.”

“That’s right,” Willow added, “Remember that there are innocent people in this world, too. We’re not going to help you if we think there’s a chance they could get hurt.”

Rumus shook his head, “I told you they’d worry more about protecting their own,” he said to Selig.

“Only those who are innocent of the crimes committed against you,” Buffy was frowning at Seyhan, “That’s what this is all about? Revenge? What happened to getting the Balancer back?”

Seyhan flinched.

Yesha looked confused, “But the Balancer is just a myth …”

“… isn’t it?” Giles looked so curious, it was almost as if he’d forgotten that there were other issues at hand, “I’ve heard of it, of course, but have never gotten any hard evidence of its existence.”

“Yeah, you said those bastards only attacked you because they thought the Balancer was with you people,” Xander said.

“But it’s not, and it never was,” Rumus emphasized.

Selig was silent, watching his younger brother.

Even in his youth, Seyhan had been blessed―or cursed―with an intense curiousity. He’d read countless books and go on expeditions to explore the natural and supernatural worlds. Once, he’d run off on the day before he was to be crowned. Selig had searched for him and finally found him in New York City, in the company of humans and demons alike, much to the scandal of the Vashkans. Although the Vashkans do not hate humans, they weren’t particularly patient with them, either.

Once he had accepted his destiny to rule, Seyhan incorporated his interests with running his tribe. The Western tribe reflected the character of its reluctant leader. The Western Vashkans were proud of their library, the main home of all their historical records. They treasured their very own mythology, reveled in the discoveries they made on their own slice of science. And they, among all the other tribes, were the guardians of the vast inheritance bestowed upon them by the infinite world of magic. They were the keepers of the Vahskan collection of charmed objects and Talismans, of artifacts rich in history and shrouded in mystery, of ancient weapons once held by their heroes and legends.

Seyhan had made it his life’s work to seek out such objects of power. Not to use them, but, according to him, merely to study them, to chronicle them, perhaps even to understand them. He would keep them safe and guard them, with his life if necessary. That was his true purpose. And for years, for centuries, so many treasures of the faery realm had been kept safe from thieves with evil intentions and ignorant minds―the most deadly combination―by the devotion of the Western tribe.

Who, but Seyhan would know about the Balancer? But even Seyhan couldn’t have what does not exist.

Could he?

“Seyhan?” Selig prodded. Everyone was staring at the younger D’Harken, waiting with breaths held.

“The ‘Ark A’fen Dai Vakar’―The Keeper of the Scales, yes it does exist,” Seyhan said in a monotone, “Forged by the magicks and power of our ancestors to―among other things―protect the then fledgling race of man―”

“You mean before man drove us to a mere strip of land while he went out to conquer the whole world?” Rumus said sarcastically, with all the proper bitterness of one who knew the history without actually experiencing it.

Seyhan ignored him, “Should the scales tip, the balance be upset, the humans can tap into this power to restore everything to its natural order. Our ancestors chose the humans because the humans had a heart. Supposedly. In fact, they entrusted it to a boy,”

“Should’ve given it to the First Slayer,” Buffy joked lamely.

“Good Lord,” Giles murmured with a shake of his head, “You do realize that at the hands of the wrong people―”

“We don’t have to think about that because it doesn’t exist!” Rumus snapped.

“It does!” Selig snapped right back, “Haven’t you listened to a single word Seyhan has said?”

“And to think of all that power,” Willow said softly, “Handled by people who kill … so …” she looked away, “That’s not a good scenario,” she finally murmured.

Xander squeezed her shoulder.

“We have to find it,” Buffy said firmly, “Where’s Faith?”

Everyone stared at her. Buffy sighed, “Some of the people in the vision Seyhan showed me … I recognize them. Faith had been on their tails once, she even faxed me some mugshots of them to warn me that they might be in San Francisco.”

“We know, Buffy,” Xander said, “We’ve seen them, too. She sent us the same photos for research. All we could find was that they’re a part of some nasty underground organization. Nothing that Faith didn’t already know.”

“Great. And the only one who knows where they could be is―”

“Angel,” Giles finished.

“What?” Buffy asked.

“Angel was the one who gave Faith those photos. She told me so. She also said that Angel practically gave her an order to stop following them, to just let it go.”

Buffy snorted, “An order. Yeah, right,” she shook her head once, as if dispelling all doubts, “Right, then. Let’s go to L.A.”


TBC...

Chapter 4: Scarlet

Previously: Buffy Summers leads a normal life, but she feels that something is missing. She is approached by Seyhan D’Harken, a Vashkan lord and he asks for her help in breaking Scarlet. In England, the Scoobies are offered the same proposal by the other Vashkan leaders. Scoobies and Vashkans come together to put together a strategy and discover that Angel may be an indispensable link to their search for Scarlet.

***

“Are you ready?” Giles asked her gently.

She nodded, hoping for calm that didn’t come. Here was another one of her relationships that didn’t turn out the way she had hoped it would. Inside the black building of stone and glass that they now faced was the first man she had ever loved. She and Angel had gone through life’s rough storms together, but they had faced the hurricanes separately. Once upon a time, Buffy didn’t think it was possible to live without him.

Turned out she was wrong.

Not too long after defeating the First, Willow had stumbled upon a spell that lifted the curse on Angel’s soul. It was a gift, she’d said, a gift for Buffy, because she was the one person in the whole world who deserved that kind of happiness.

But up until now, Buffy and Angel had yet to figure out where their love really stood. They’ve given each other the space they’ve both decided they needed in order to make the right choice. That space had stretched out to four years.

“Slayer?” she looked up to see Selig’s handsome face creased with concern, “Are we going in, or not?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re going in.” Buffy replied with forced decisiveness.

Buffy’s first choice as Vashkan representative to see Angel had been Yesha, because Rumus was too aggressive and Selig was too aloof. Yesha, by far, was the calmest of the three.

But she had declined, offering instead the idea of taking Selig. Selig hadn’t refused, even after Buffy told him that Angel was a vampire. He was past the point of caring whether he associated with demons or humans.

Getting up to Angel’s office was too easy. It turned out that Angel and Co. had already seen them. Well, duh, this was Wolfram and Hart. Harmony Kendall led the way to the vampire with a soul’s private domain. The ex-cheerleader’s presence in the firm never failed to amaze Buffy. But less so now than before. Even she had noticed that Harmony was no longer the same ditzy blonde that she used to be. She’d changed―grown, according to Angel. The most incredible thing about her was that she chose to do good, without benefit of a soul.

Buffy knew of only one vampire who had ever been strong enough to do that. And unfortunately, he wasn’t the one she was about to talk to now.

“Buffy!” Angel stood from behind his oak desk and crossed over to them in long strides. He shook Giles’ hand, greeted Selig politely, even though he looked slightly confused at the Vahskan’s presence, and gave Willow a hug.

He held Buffy in his arms just a split second longer than he did Willow, and grazed her lips with his own in a gentle kiss.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, brown eyes warm.

“Sorry, we would have called, but we were kind of in a hurry,” Buffy explained, stepping out of the loose circle of his arms. She went to stand beside Giles, a move that Angel didn’t miss. He was silent for a second; a second that Willow filled nicely.

“Angel, this is Selig D’Harken. Selig, this is Angel,” she said formally, “Selig is―”

“A Vashkan,” Angel said. At everyone’s surprised looks, especially Selig’s, he hastened to explain, “I have contacts … not just in L.A. I’ve heard of your arrival. Kind of hard not to when demons were all panicking over it. You’d think the apocalypse has come for them this time.”

Selig only frowned.

If he was offended, Angel didn’t show it, “Have a seat,” he invited, and waited patiently until everyone has taken a seat on the U-shaped table that faced his desk in the middle of the vast office.

Selig, impatient now that he was this close to getting to his enemies, went right to the point, “Angel, I need to know how you know these humans,” he put emphasis on the last word as he held out his hand to Giles, waiting for the Watcher to give him the photos of the criminals.

Angel looked at Buffy, “What?”

“Um … Selig, let us explain this first, okay?” the blonde Slayer said, “I’m telling you, Angel’s on our side. He’ll help us if he can, right, Angel?”

Angel smiled tentatively, “I wouldn’t mind knowing what it is I’m supposed to be helping you with.”

With Giles’ and Selig’s help, Buffy once again related the whole Vashkan situation, up to the part of the photos of the scumbags’ that Faith claimed came from Angel. Giles handed the photos to Angel when the vampire asked for them.

If it weren’t impossible, Buffy could’ve sworn Angel had grown paler, “Are you sure it was them?” he asked.

“I’m positive,” Buffy said emphatically.

“How did you get these photos of them, Angel?” Willow asked.

Angel practically shoved the black and whites at Giles, “Must have stumbled on them somewhere,” he muttered hastily.

“Stumbled on them?” Selig crossed his arms over his chest, “These are not the kind of people you just ‘stumble’ upon, Angel. They pick you, and then they kill you.”

Angel’s head snapped up, “Even I can’t be expected to know everything.”

“But you know about them,” Buffy said, glancing at the photos briefly, “I know that you study every single piece of information that crosses your hands, Angel. You have to, because, otherwise, they’d be useless to you.”

Angel’s jaw jutted out, “I’m sorry, Buffy. But I only found these photos on the Net. I only gave them to Faith so she’d know what they looked like. I don’t know anything.”

“Is that why you also ordered Faith to drop her search for them?” Giles snapped sarcastically, “Because you don’t know anything?”

Angel glared at him, but didn’t say anything.

“Angel,” Willow pleaded softly, “We need to find the Balancer. We can only guess at how powerful it really is. Even Seyhan, its guardian, doesn’t have an exact idea. And we all know what power can do when in the hands of … evil …” she pressed her lips together briefly, “We should get it back before, you know …”

Angel was stubbornly shaking his head, “No,” he said firmly.

Buffy gritted her teeth, “No what? You―”

Selig’s hand came down on her shoulder. Buffy looked up at him, surprised. Selig’s eyes were hard and cold as he looked at Angel, his regal lips pulled back in contempt, “We can’t force those who are not willing to help us.”

Angel and Selig stared at each other as long and tense seconds ticked by. Finally, Angel looked away, “You have my answer.”

Selig’s composure never cracked, “I hope you are still on our side, Slayer,” he said carefully.

Buffy nodded, “I said I am, didn’t I?” She met Angel’s disapproving stare boldly. She didn’t know what it was he thought he was doing. She knew he knew something. Angel never could lie to her very well.

“I suppose that’s it, then,” Giles said quietly. With a hand on the small of her back, he guided Willow towards the door. Selig followed them, walking beside Buffy.

“Buffy, wait,” Angel suddenly came to life and caught up to her, grabbing her elbow. Selig and Giles turned to him so fast, that even Angel stepped back involuntary. He let her go, “Can we talk? Alone?” He waited anxiously as she pursed her lips, clearly debating the merits of being alone with him. Finally, she sighed.

“Go on ahead, guys,” the Slayer told her companions, “I’ll be right with you.”

Reluctantly, the three left, with Giles shooting Angel a look of pure protectiveness. “Well? What did you want to talk to me about?” Buffy asked wearily.

“Don’t do this,” Angel said softly, “Don’t get involved with the Vashkans and their feud.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not! It’s too dangerous!” when Buffy stiffened, Angel tried another tactic, “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said sincerely.

“I’ve been hurt before. Without you. I coped.” Buffy said shortly.

Not this way. You won’t be able to cope with this, Buffy, Angel thought. But he could see her guilt. She held herself responsible for the Vahskan’s tragedy. He knew better than to think Selig had anything to do with this. D’Harken was far too proud to make himself look like a pitiful victim. No, Buffy must’ve concluded that she had any control at all over what had happened to the faeries all on her own.
He wasn’t going to be able to stop her from doing what she thinks she must do. But … maybe he can stall her.

Just until he can fix things, so the hit won’t be so painful for her.

“Maybe I can help, after all,” he said softly. She looked up at him, green eyes guarded, and he found himself wondering just when it was that she decided she needed to keep her thoughts and feelings from him.
Buffy shook her head, “I don’t need you to do anything for me, Angel,” she said. She turned to the door, not seeing Angel’s dismay as she walked through it.

~*~*~*~

“That’s it?” Tierre stared at the shapeless crystal that sat inside the glass casing, unimpressed, “That’s what you almost waged war on Vashkans for? A little trinket?”

In the corner near the empty fireplace where he stood, Logan, the leader of Scarlet Mercury, the team sent to ‘retrieve’ the crystal from the Vashkans, stiffened. His mission hadn’t been easy, even for him, “It’s not a trinket,” he said curtly.

“The Balancer then,”

“It’s not the Balancer, either.”

Tierre cocked his head to the side curiously, “You’re tellin’ me you took on an entire race because you wanted somethin’ bright, new and shiny?”

Logan tried not to make it obvious that he was gritting his teeth. The punk was belittling his achievement. As much as he might deny it, Tierre’s lack of respect for him stung. He knew Wolfson didn’t take him seriously. He thought he was so much better than the rest of them because he sat on Scarletta’s right hand, a position that Logan had been aspiring to ever since he had first joined the original team headed by Ivo Scarletta himself. Even then, Logan had known that his chances were slim to non-existent, he couldn’t very well compete with Ivo. Franco Scarletta was a family man and Ivo was his son.

But despite his father’s tendencies towards nepotism, Ivo had been surprisingly fair. He never held any of his men back; he priced the mission above his own pride, and didn’t take favorites. Logan had worked hard, knowing that his efforts did not go unnoticed.

Until a skinny, golden-haired hellion had scaled the wired, high walls of the Scarletta estate in Summer’s Cove, took down the scattering of guards and went about causing a fortune’s worth of destruction, all for the sake of one woman.

Logan should’ve known then, the true reason why Ivo had taken it upon himself to stop the wiry bundle of uncontrolled fury on his own. Ivo had seen something there, something he liked. Something he respected.

And that respect grew even more when Tierre Wolfson finally defeated him and had said, with all the nobility of ignorant youth, “I’ll let you live, if you give her back to me. I promise you that.”

No one had ever defeated Ivo Scarletta before. No one. Least of all a bag of skin and bones with the appetite of a sumo-wrestler and a hopelessly idealistic sense of honor that was at complete odds with his appearance. When Tierre Wolfson had joined the fold, everybody’s else’s chances were shot to hell.

Up until now, Logan had never truly been able to accept that.

To be fair, Tierre was far from overrated. He would be an amazing leader if he weren’t so fond of going off on his own all the time. He was frighteningly good at what he did, which was damn near everything. He lived up to his legends, except for one, small, highly important part.

The part that said Tierre Wolfson had no weakness. That one wasn’t true. Logan knew because he had been there when it had all unraveled.

Not that it mattered. That was all in the past, and Tierre was now the boss. And who knew? Maybe now Tierre really didn’t have a single weakness anymore.

Except.

It had happened once. It could happen again, as unlikely as that may be, for just where did a man go after Maria?

Still, there was hope. Logan would just have to be patient, just have to wait and see.

He was good at waiting.

“Your father doesn’t seem to think it’s that trivial, Master Tierre,” he said instead, with ingratiating politeness.

Tierre’s head snapped up, “He’s not my father,” he said shortly.

Logan tried not to smile smugly, “You sure about that? He calls you ‘son’ all the time. And look where you are now. Sitting right behind what used to be Ivo’s table.”

Gold flashed in the blue of Tierre’s eyes and Logan instinctively backed up. He’d pushed too far. He hated that he instantly searched for the quickest escape route, but then, there it was.

“Logan …” Tierre drawled.

Logan stiffened, “Yes?”

“How many times must I say that I’m not taking anyone’s place? I’m not his replacement,” Tierre’s voice softened, although it didn’t make Logan breathe any easier, “There is no replacement for Ivo.”

Logan could only nod.

At that moment, the door to the library opened and Franco Scarletta strode in, “You’re both here. Good,” he said. He glanced at Tierre and smiled, “I thought you already left.”

Tierre shrugged, “Call me curious,” he said.

“We have a slight problem,” Franco began, “It seems that your mission, Logan, has an … unforeseen side effect.”

Logan nodded, “Yes sir. I’ve received reports that a Vashkan has followed us. He lost track of us in London, though,” he said. Not to gloat too much. Not with Tierre around.

Scarletta stared at him levelly, “Not for long. The Vashkan has been seen in California. San Francisco, to be exact.”

Logan shoved his hands in his pockets so his clenched fists wouldn’t be visible. Damn Vahskan. Just what did that idiot faery think he was going to do? “I’ll take care of it, Mr. Scarletta,” he said, already devising plans in his mind for ironing out this wrinkle.

“Why would a Vashkan come after you?” Tierre frowned. He looked at Logan. The man met his stare proudly.

“They didn’t like my methods of taking their crystal.”

“What methods? You said you gave them a show of force and then took the crystal. Those elves don’t really know the true value of that bauble, anyway, and they’ve plenty of other fancy treasures to play with. Why would they come after you?” Tierre’s voice became calmer, the way it always did when he got angry, “What did you do?”

“What I had to.”

What he had to. Tierre knew full well the measures Scarlet Mercury was always eager to take. Fury rose in him and he battled it back. Coolly, he shifted his blue gaze to Scarletta, “Hope this Balancer thing is worth the waste of our resources,” he said, referring to the cut on the numbers of the small contingent that Logan had taken with him to Scotland. Those people had merely been hired hands, not members of Scarlet, “Because to me it looks just like a cheap rhinestone.” It didn’t, of course. The stone looked like a diamond of the first water. It caught the sunlight that streamed in through the nearest window and refracted it in a thousand shimmering colors.

“Oh, but that’s not the Balancer, Tierre.” Franco said enthusiastically, “That crystal is merely the gateway to the dimension where the spirit of the Balancer resides.”

“Then what’re you waitin’ for? Open it up already.”

“It’s not that easy. It still lacks a few … ingredients.”

“Tongue of dog? Eye of newt? Shit of wankers?”

“ ‘Cen ke Basalt Kavar―Blood of the Guardian, Blood of the Child.” Franco intoned.

A chill skittered down Tierre’s spine at the words, “You got this from that scroll o’ yours?” he asked.

“Where else?”

“The translation’s comin’ all right, then?”

“Oh, very!” Franco said, “We’re almost where we’re supposed to be.”

“So it’s not complete yet?”

“Patience, Tierre. I think we’re making great progress,” Franco frowned slightly towards Logan, “Progress that can easily come to an abrupt halt by one little slip.”

Easily understanding his boss, Logan was quick to offer reassurance, “The Vashkan is―”

“―mine.” Tierre finished. Both men looked at him in surprise, “What?”

“You’ve never before shown any interest in this, Tierre, why the sudden change?” Franco asked.

“I’m not interested in your murky plans. It’s the Vashkan I’m interested in. I’m bored, and he sounds gutsy enough to distract me. Too bad he’s lost. Guess I’m off the San Francisco, set his course straight an’ all that.”

“If you’re going to do this, do it fast, Tierre. Finish him off in San Francisco. I don’t want him finding his way here.”

Tierre grinned, “Especially not with the first soiree of the season coming up.”

For a second, Franco looked confused. Then he rolled his eyes, “Oh, right, that. Blasted parties,” he grumbled, “You are coming this time, I hope?”

Tierre was already heading for the door, shaking his head, “Nah. Y’know how I hate things like that.”

~*~*~*~

Driving to New York was almost peaceful. Tierre could feel the knots in his shoulders ease up. It was better in New York. Here, he enjoyed at least a pint of anonymity. He’d changed so much over four years, that most of the denizens of Hades found it hard to recognize him on sight.

He arrived and went up to his apartment. He spent most of his free time here, more time than he spent over at Maggie’s, as depressing as the thought may be. But frequent visits from him weren’t good for her safety.

With these thoughts, he stripped himself of his clothing and stepped under the shower, turning it up hot. He scrubbed at his skin hard. By the time he was done, he was faintly red, but he felt clean again. He got dressed, then padded to his living room and stood before the fireplace that he never allowed to bear fire. Touching a slight imperfection on the brickwork, Tierre watched impassively as the colors of an oil painting depicting an old drunk slumped against a wall―maybe dead, maybe alive―above the fireplace blurred, mixing, blending until it became one blank canvas. Then even the canvas disappeared and the painting revealed its true self to be a state-of-the-art computer.

Tierre shook his head at the scene of a gorgeous beach with lots of scantily-clad women, buffed-up men, squawling brats and middle-aged people walking about, splashing in the water and tempting the fates.

“What do you think?” a tall, lean man with straight, blue-black hair and eyes almost as dark, appeared on screen.

“I think I oughta fire you,” Tierre said dryly. He didn’t comment on the beach.

“Why don’t you? It’d make my life easier.”

“What’re you doing on the beach, Ryan?”

“Working on my tan,” Ryan Alvarez, hunter non-pareil, flashed a rare grin, “Something you oughta do, T-Wolf. You look like Spike.”

“Be thankful there are miles between us.”

“Excuse me while I offer prayers of thanksgiving and gratitude.”

“Did you find anything?”

Ryan scowled, “What kind of question is that?”

Tierre was instantly contrite, “Sorry, mate.”

“Yeah, I found something. The Vashkan apparently, is Seyhan D’Harken, some kind of lord where he comes from.”

Tierre snorted, “Sure. A lord without a sense of direction.”

“You think he’s lost?” Ryan ran a hand through the center part of his hair. The shiny mass fell forward again, “He has a reason for coming here. He wanted reinforcements.”

“I thought Vashkans pretty much stay in their heatherfields.”

“Not Vashkans. Slayers. Or just one.”

Tierre rolled his eyes, “He’s gonna need more’n that if he wants to play with us.”

“Tierre. He came to see Buffy Summers.”

“Huh. As Slayers go … right, he’s got their second general. Is she with him on this?”

“Apparently. I got dizzy following her from England to L.A., and then back again. She went to see Angel, asked him what he knew of Scarlet Mercury. ‘Course, she didn’t know that they’ve got photos of three of Scarlet M’s members.”

“Did Angel tell her anything?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“He looked even more tortured than usual, trying to tell her what to do.”

“Even better.”

“They don’t know anything about Scarlet, yet. But I wouldn’t put anything past them. I saw that old Watcher and the redhead witch with them.” Ryan’s tone grew impatient, “So, is that it? I have a lot of things to do, you know.”

They terminated the conversation. Then Teirre went to his room and hooked up his laptop, a smaller, portable version of the one in his living room. This one was custom-made, specially designed just for him. It was one of the most powerful machines he’d ever known, next to the human mind. He’d lovingly baptized her Pizza, because she looked like a pizza box, although smaller and flatter.

He sent the obligatory e-mail to Scarlet Unseen, their spy unit. They had instructions to find the Vashkan in San Francisco, check what he was up to and report back to him. Everything else after that was up to him. Tierre didn’t care that he already had enough information and he didn’t need Scarlet Unseen at all. The point of the exercise was that anyone who might be looking can see that he was doing what he was supposed to.

His thoughts wandered to Ryan’s report. So, the Vashkan had involved the Council in England. Hmmm … and the Slayer Buffy Summers had joined their team now, too.

Tierre smiled. There were more players than he had expected. This game just got a helluva lot more interesting.

~*~*~*~

ENGLAND:

Faith’s call was unexpected, but was definitely welcome.

“Faith, hey! So glad to hear you still talking!” Willow winced inwardly at her own tactlessness. But she had been worried. Faith has been on a deep undercover mission to bring down a black market smuggling ring that dealt with stolen human and demon organs in Barcelona. She had made no contact with the Council ever since she went under.

Faith’s laugh still sounded genuine even through the messy static, “Yeah, well, managed to keep my tongue while down here, Will,” she said, “Just called to say that a couple more days tops and I got this case cleared.”

“That’s great! But can’t you keep in contact more often during one of these cases?”

“No.”

No, you work alone. Our very own Jane Bond, Willow thought. Giles and Xander probably had the right idea, not worrying about Faith so much. She wasn’t just a Slayer―she’d already achieved a level far higher than that on her own. It wasn’t very loyal to Buffy to think of Faith as the top Slayer. But for the past few years since Buffy left the Council, that was exactly who Faith had been. And still is.

“’Kay, Will, that was it. Ciao.”

“No, Faith, wait!”

“What?”

Willow chewed on her lip, “Do you remember those photos you sent us of those guys who you said were responsible for killing almost an entire clan of werecoyotes in New Mexico?”

“Yeah?”

“Well … um … did you find out anything else about them?”

“What for?”

Willow hesitated. If she told Faith the truth about the Vashkans, it would distract her from her own mission. As long as the case was open, Faith’s full focus on it was necessary. It was crucial to her survival.

“We … we think we got a lead on them. But we’re not sure exactly, we don’t even have a name to call them by.”

“Willow―is something wrong?”

“No! No, nothing at all. Everything’s fine here. We were just cataloguing all the Big Bad factions out there, that’s all.”

“I don’t know much. I gotta go.” Faith said abruptly.

Willow frowned, “Not even a name? You were pretty hot on their tail, Faith. Why did you drop the search, anyway?”

“It led to nothing,” now Faith sounded testy, “I’ll take it up again when I have the time. Satisfied?”

“Whoah, Faith. I’m not trying to pressure you. I’m just asking for a name, if you got one.”

There was a long pause. When Faith spoke again, her voice was weary, “Scarlet,” she said, “Look for a group called Scarlet Mercury.”

“Thanks,” Willow tried not to sound too eager, “Thanks a lot.”

~*~*~*~

Barcelona:

Faith stared out the window of her hotel room, her mind running over her conversation with Willow.

Scarlet Mercury. Scarlet.

An image of a young, wandering warrior with a face that had stunned her to her core and a smile that had melted her heart flashed through her mind.

She pushed away from the window. She had to move faster now, had to clear up this case and fast.

She had to go back home.

Yesterday.

~*~*~*~

The e-mail said: Meet me at Washington Square Park. A.

Tierre gritted his teeth. Stupid wanker, who did he think he was, giving Tierre orders?

Well, technically, it was Fred who had sent the order. Angel didn’t know how to handle computers. Tierre allowed himself a small smile at the thought of Fred. A smile that he carried with him to the park that night. Angel hated his smile. Tierre had always assumed it was because it made him look even more like Spike.

He stood near a fountain. There was no need to specify a time and place for this meeting. Since Angel had been the one to issue the invite, it was only common sense to assume that the vampire had his many minions crawling all over the place, ready to report back to their fearless leader the exact moment that Tierre entered the park.

Tierre waited a while. Then he made as if to leave.

Angel, predictably, bounded in at that moment. He’d lost a bit of his dramatic flair because Tierre didn’t stick around long enough to allow him a grand entrance.

“Fashionably late, as always,” the blond freak of nature drawled.

“Gotta keep up appearances,” Angel replied as coolly as possible. Which was pretty damn hard, considering who it was he was talking to. The tall, slim young man in front of him didn’t say anything else. Just stood there and waited. And glanced at his watch.

“In a hurry?” the vampire asked, unable to disguise the sarcasm in his voice.

“I waited, dint I?”

“For all of five seconds.”

Tierre grinned.

Angel couldn’t help but look away from that grin. It was a cruel shadow of Tierre’s real smile. It had none of his warmth, of the good-natured humor he once possessed. So much of Tierre had died two years ago.
And Angel had been partly responsible for that.

“What’re you up to this time, Tierre?”

“You’ll have to be more specific. I’m up to a lot of stuff. Same old, same old.”

“You know what I’m talking about. The Vashkans.”

Tierre raised a dark brow, “I had nothing to do with that.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” Tierre cocked his head to the side, “Is that it?”

Angel shook his head, “Did Franco order the hit on the Vashkans? Selig mentioned ‘picking you, and then killing you.’”

“Who’s Selig?”

“The Vashkan.”

“You mean Seyhan.”

“It’s Selig. Selig D’Harken.”

Tierre rocked back on his heels. Selig. Seyhan. Angel had talked to the Vashkan, but Ryan never made mistakes. So … there was more than one, “Huh. How ‘bout that,” he murmured.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’ve gotta go.”

When Tierre turned away, Angel reached out and grabbed his shoulder without thinking.

Wrong move.

He’d forgotten just how fast Tierre could move. As a boy, he had been equal to the vampire. Now a grown man with more than enough experience than anyone ever had to go through, Tierre’s blows were damn near invisible. Too bad they were so effective. Angel hit the fountain with enough force to break either the marble, or his spine.

The marble cracked beneath him. Angel sighed in relief.

“Sorry,” Tierre muttered, not sounding sorry at all.

“I’m sure the fault was all mine,” Angel gritted out.

If Maggie wouldn’t be so disappointed in him, Tierre would have laughed out loud. As it was, out of respect for the only woman in the entire bloody universe that he still cared about, he held out a hand.

Angel took it and pulled his heavy, bulky self to a standing position. Tierre watched him try to regain his dignity by wiping off dirt from the seat of his pants.

“You’re looking for Mercury. They’re the ones the Vashkans want.” Tierre said.

Angel looked at him, shocked, “Why are you―”

“My turn,” Tierre cut him off, “Why’re you so bothered with this deal, anyway?”

“They came to me. Asked for my help.”

“Broke your merciful heart, did they?”

Angel glared at him, “D’Harken is very proud. He’s the kind who would never ask for help unless he desperately needs it.”

“You said ‘they’. Who’re the others?”

“Like I’d tell you.”

“Mmm … lemme guess … how ‘bout … Buffy Summers?” Tierre’s eyes glittered with unholy glee at the look on Angel’s face, “God, I’m good.”

“Tierre …” Angel’s voice broke and for one horrible second, Tierre was afraid the wanker might cry, “Tierre, stay out of this mess. This is Franco’s problem. Not yours. You don’t have to―”

“What’re you so afraid of? And stop sniveling, will you?”
Angel knew he had to be honest. If only for Buffy’s sake, “I’m afraid you’d hurt Buffy.”

Tierre snorted, “Why would I do that? I don’t even know her.”

Angel refrained from pointing out the obvious, that he didn’t have to know someone to cause them pain, “You once did,” he said quietly.

Tierre waved a dismissive hand, “That was Spike. Not me.”

“Just … just stay out of this, please. Until all this blows over.”

Please. Did Angel just say that? This just kept getting better and better.

“I can’t make any promises. Tell Wesley howdy for me, yeah?” Tierre shrugged, “You know what, I’ll do it myself.” He turned and located the dark Englishman easily, hidden among the shadows cast by trees. Anyone else would have missed him, even in broad daylight. Wesley was good. Tierre had always given him that. He waved and smiled, nodded at Angel, then left.

He disappeared, swallowed by the darkness that had claimed him for the second time in his existence.

Angel trudged back to Wesley. He didn’t have to say anything. His look spoke volumes.

Wesley sighed, “This is bad,” he said.

~*~*~*~

The spy ran to catch up with the long-legged strides of the blond man who had just left the park. As soon as she was beside him, she said, without once turning her head or breaking stride, “ The Vashkans are hunting for Mercury. There are four of them, royalty from the way they act. They’ve asked the Council for help, but they’ve made it pretty clear that they will summon their own army if necessary.”

Tierre nodded, “Do they know anything about Scarlet?”

“Not yet.”

Another nod.

“Logan’s sent Luis to do some spying of his own. I spotted him. He didn’t spot me. He knows as much as I do.”

Damn Logan. He just couldn’t give it a rest, could he? Whatever. It was nothing unexpected. Maybe he should wait and see what the git would do.

The spy continued to walk beside him, “What should I do next?”

“Go home.”

Without another word, the spy did as she was told.

~*~*~*~

Buffy had to pick up Seyhan from his hotel before they both used Willow-lines to go to England again. The younger D’Harken hadn’t wanted to leave San Francisco.

“Willow said she had some news for us,” Buffy told the Vashkan lord while driving her car. Seyhan sat stiffly in his seat. Buffy almost felt insulted. She knew she wasn’t the world’s best driver.

“Is it good news?”

“We’re not sure yet. We have a friend―a contact really. She knows a lot about the Underworld.”

“Underworld?”

“It’s kind of complicated. It’s sort of this seedy community formed by creatures who are evil and those who want to be evil.”

“That wasn’t so complicated.”

Buffy grinned, “I guess not.”

They made it back to her house. The circle of light that remained of Willow’s teleportation spell was glowing a luminous orange in the middle of Buffy’s living room. “Go on, stand in the circle.” Buffy told Seyhan, “I’ll just lock up here.”

“Back in our mountains, we never had to lock up our houses,” Seyhan said wistfully.

Buffy felt a pang of guilt at his words. These Vashkans were rare; powerful, yes, but they didn’t feel the need to use that power against anyone, unlike most of the other non-human races. They were content to live on their own―a way of life that was self-sufficient and peaceful.

Until humans―beings that the Slayer has defended for ages―came and destroyed that peace. Buffy felt responsible for their suffering. But she wasn’t fooled. The Vashkans would never allow themselves to be just victimized. Sooner or later their hatred will consume them and they will start to hunt and kill indiscriminately. She could never allow that to happen.
“It sounds like a nice place to live in, your mountains,” she murmured.

“It was,” Seyhan replied, “It will be again.”

Buffy smiled, “If you say so, your majesty.”

Outside the Slayer’s house, shadows moved stealthily forward

~*~*~*~

ENGLAND:

“Scarlet, huh? Whoo … but you’re playin’ in the big-leagues now,” Elsa Campbell, hacker extraordinaire, crowed, chomping noisily on the club sandwich she’d made Andrew prepare for her, “That lot is mean. Just mean. And―incidentally―brilliant. You don’t wanna tango with them.”

Buffy smirked, “They asked us to dance,” she said dryly.

Elsa gave her an appraising glance, “Well … considering you’re Buffy Summers …”

“Elsa,” Andrew said impatiently, “Quit stalling. I know you’re into your whole Families of Hades phase and you’ve got the skinny on just about all of them.”

Xander frowned, “Family? Like in the Mafia?”

Elsa nodded, “Kind of.”

“And … Hades?” this from Willow, who was a little put-off that the Council of Scoobies had to turn to another computer person in order to find anything at all on the elusive Scarlet. Willow had just kept slamming into wall after wall on all the routes she’d tried. Elsa had told her―baldly―that it was because she didn’t know what she was doing. Elsa was like Anya, only with less charm.

“Hades. Underworld. Underground. Shadow Community, etc, etc.,” Elsa said, “And there was quiet a number of Families there back then. In the early 40’s to 60’s, most of the Families were of the demon clans. But now the tides have changed, and the humans rule.
One of the strongest families―hell, who am I kidding? It is still the strongest family―is known in Hades as Scarlet. The head of the family had taken up Assassin Breeding as a hobby. They’ve got connections all over the world―and a lot of other dimensions besides. They’re like … like …” Elsa looked up at the ceiling as she searched for the right analogy, “ The junction where all dimensions―those that matter, anyway, meet. They’re the ones demons and humans go to if they need someone killed, they need this world conquered or …”

“This race eradicated …” Rumus supplied helpfully.

“This Balancer stolen …” Seyhan murmured.

“That’s not all,” Elsa continued, warming to her topic, “The Scarlet clan is headed by humans. They can move freely up here. The head is extremely powerful and extremely rich. He has the ears of kings and presidents, his hands elbow deep into the pockets of the richest businessmen. Over the years, this Family has bested every other competition they were up against out there. Not that they’ve eliminated all―just that their enemies are crippled now and no one really wants to fight them anymore.”

“That was before us,” Yesha said coolly. She was beginning to chafe at the enthusiasm in Elsa’s tone when she talked of Scarlet, uncaring that the woman was merely excited about showing off her knowledge.

“Is that what they wanted the Balancer for?” asked Giles, “They wanted to sell it to some other―”

“I don’t think so. The head is also fond of one of a kind artifacts. He collects them.”

From the corner of his eye, Giles saw Selig stiffen. He understood. If what Elsa said was true, then Scarlet had ravaged the Vashkans simply because of their employer’s fancy.

“What about Scarlet Mercury?” Willow asked.

Elsa grinned like, I thought you’d never ask. She hoisted her laptop on the table, and used power point to show off to the assembly the result of six years of hard work.

An elaborately designed website appeared. Lords of Hades came on screen, “You like it? I designed it myself,” the hacker bragged, earning eyerolls from Willow and Andrew, “Okay … scroll up to … Scarlet … oh, here we go. Look, I’m not finished with this yet. This family covers their collective asses pretty good.” A few seconds passed while Elsa tinkered with the mouse, “Okay … Scarlet. Scarlet is the name of the entire group. Each and every single member of the group possesses skills deadly and efficient enough as to almost be supernatural.”

“Almost.” Selig said darkly.

Elsa looked at him, “They’re mostly human. That makes them even more dangerous,” she said softly, “For years, headed by the Family’s son, this team was one whole unit. But two years ago, something changed. The son disappeared without a trace, and the daughter was murdered. The one who took over divided the unit into smaller teams with specific specialties. Scarlet Mercury …” she clicked on an icon and individual pictures of six men and women filled the screen, “ …has been assigned the task of ‘retrieval’.”

“Stealing,” Giles said. Everyone else stared at the screen. Only the Vashkans’ natural reserve prevented them from erupting in anger at the sight of the hated murderers.

“That’s them,” Seyhan hissed, “Vile, murdering thieves!”

Buffy’s lips pulled back in a cruel sneer at the familiar faces of the three most recognizable ones.

“Scarlet Mercury is brutal. After the division of the original unit, they’ve been enjoying more freedom to operate as they please. Most of them had been trained for assassination and for them killing is … their raison d’ etre.” Elsa finished helplessly, “They are also the most arrogant ones, not caring much about exposure whereas the other teams are more subtle, but no less dangerous.”

“What about the family that heads Scarlet?” Selig demanded.

Elsa pulled the disk out, “What about them? I thought you only wanted Mercury. I can show you some of Mercury’s missions …”

“They are the ones truly responsible for what we’ve been through.” Yesha said, “How can you even think that we will settle for an arm when we can cut off the head?”

Elsa suddenly burst out laughing, but there was no humor in her voice, “You can’t cut off the head!” she snapped, her laughter coming to an abrupt halt, “You’d be much better off trying to destroy Mercury, and even with the Council on your side, you will need lots and lots of prayers.”

Suddenly, Yesha was out of her chair and before anyone could stop her, she had lifted Elsa clear off the floor, one hand crushing the front of the woman’s shirt, “You dare to laugh at us? We were caught by surprise the first time, you irreverent child, but that is no longer the case! You will tell us, or I will force you to!”

Everyone stared at her―no, gaped, would be the more appropriate word. Even the other Vashkans were shocked that the cool, calm, Yesha Kavrois had shown her infamous temper, something she hadn’t done since she had been elected as one of her tribes’ Council members.

Elsa was shocked, too, as evidenced by her wide-eyed stare and o-shaped mouth, but she soon recovered, “You’re a leader, aren’t you?” she snapped.

Yesha was confused, “Yes.”

“How did your people choose you to lead them? Or were you born to the responsibility?”

“Yesha and I were elected,” Rumus spoke up, “Only the D’Harkens were born to the throne.”

“Right. Same goes for Scarlet,” Elsa struggled in the Vashkan’s grip, “If you want me to explain, you’d better let me go. I do my talking best when I’m standing on the floor.”

Non-plussed, the Vashkan queen let the hacker go.

Elsa made a show of smoothing out her ruined shirt, “Right, then,” she sniffed, “Damn royalty,” she muttered under her breath.

“Scarlet used to be lead by the head’s children. But even then, those two were the best in their entire unit. Scarlet chooses the best as the leaders, never anything less. You’ll see that if you’re damned enough to meet the other teams. My guess is you’ve never fought this man, have you?” in a quick move that spoke of years of experience, Elsa had slipped the disk back in and in a few moments, she had the small arrow pointing at the first picture in the icon labeled Mercury , under Leaders, “His name is Logan. He’s their leader. Have you seen him? You have? Have you fought against him?”

Seyhan’s jaw locked, “I saw one of my generals go down under his assault,” the memory came back vividly, along with it the shock of seeing one of his finest warriors bested by one whom he thought was merely human.

Elsa had lost her cocky attitude, replaced by a grim seriousness, “You can’t lead any team in Scarlet unless you yourself have proven yourself unbeatable in your own contingent. And the man you’re looking for has been chosen to lead all of them. Do you understand what I’m trying to say here? Or are you still hellbent on committing suicide?”

The room fell silent.

And then Rumus said, “I don’t know about the rest of you. But I’m still hellbent on committing suicide.”

At that, Buffy laughed. Maybe there was something more to Rumus Grifinker after all, “Come on,” she said confidently, “Whoever he is? He can’t be as bad as the First.”

Xander and Willow crossed their arms and grinned, “If they dish it, then they damn well better be prepared to take it,” the brunette said.

Giles said, “You want unbeatable? You’re looking at them.” Pride showed in his voice, and he even accepted Xander’s high five.

Buffy felt the energy rise around her, pulling her back to the time when the Scoobies were an army of four against the harbingers of hell. Excitement hummed in her blood. This was it. This was what she’d been missing, the one thing that normal hadn’t been able to give her.

The Vashkans were quiet, but the way they looked at Elsa let her know that they fully expected her to give them what they wanted. They’ve reached the peak, and there was no turning back.

Elsa sighed, “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said, “I don’t have a picture of him …yet. But I’ve heard lots of things about him. Apparently, most of them are true.”

“Just spill it,” Andrew, quiet for most of this time, but now getting even more impatient, whined. He knew the name of the man who reputedly headed Scarlet, but that was all. He wanted to say it himself.

“Tierre Wolfson,” Elsa finally revealed, “Scarlet is headed by Tierre Wolfson.”

TBC...

Chapter 5: Mercurial

Previously: Buffy, Willow, Giles and Selig went to Angel to get information on Scarlet, but left with nothing but frustration. Angel refuses to tell Buffy about Scarlet because he knows it would lead her to Tierre. In Scarlet base, Tierre finds out what Mercury had done to the Vashkans. Franco hears of a lone Vashkan sniffing around for Scarlet and orders Logan to take care of it, but Tierre grabs the mission instead. Faith calls to check in with Willow and discovers that the Scoobies were up against Scarlet; she decides to go home before secrets are revealed much harsher than they should be. Angel meets with Tierre and begs him not to get involved with the Scarlet/Vashkan war, but Tierre laughs in his face. He does, however, tell Angel that Mercury was responsible for the war. Mercury goes for the new Council, anyway, despite Tierre’s orders. In the Council, the Scoobies and Vashkans find out just what they’re really up against.

***

Meanwhile, Scarlet Mercury was busy with stealthily invading the Council.

“You’d think that for a Slayer, she’d have a better set of locks,” Edwin grumbled. He was still pissed that the lock-picking he’d done back at the Slayer’s house hadn’t been very challenging, “Why didn’t she just leave her door open?”

“She’s a Slayer, idiot,” Dysis, a temperatmental redhead, snapped at him, “She doesn’t need locks.”

“Please be quiet. They’ll hear us if you’re too noisy.” Blonde and perky Solana, Dysis’ fraternal twin, chided them. She glanced up and smiled at the huge black man beside her, “Be more like Lenny here.”

A very short man, barely five feet tall, glared at the quarreling trio, “Why is it that they couldn’t just be normal thieves and keep their yaps shut?” he muttered, “Hey, Luis, we goin’ in or what?”

Luis, the one Logan had sent as a spy, rolled his eyes, “No, Gino, we’re goin’ ta stand here and take pictures of the pretty Council campus.”

“We are?” Solana asked eagerly.

“No, you ditz! We’re goin’ in!” Luis snarled. And promptly regretted it when twin throwing daggers nearly embedded themselves in his eye sockets. He jerked his head away just in time and the daggers slammed against the walls.

Dysis was glaring at him, “Don’t you call Sol a ditz, Luis, or I’ll cut you,” she promised. Then she stormed by him and pulled out the deeply rooted daggers from the wall like she was just plucking roses from a bush.

“Now, Dysis, remember what mother always said? Death threats are not very ladylike.”

“Sorry, Sol.”

Lenny, apparently having gotten fed up with the noise, decided to just go ahead and do something. He tapped Solana on the shoulder and held out a huge palm to her when she turned to him.

She smiled, “You’re such a gentleman, Lenny.” Then she put her dainty self on top of his palm and Lenny lifted her up. She was on top of the wall in a second.

Scarlet Mercury moved.

Gino scaled the walls using only his hands and feet. Dysis and Luis tried to outdo each other by jumping from the ground and landing on top of the walls, 15 feet off the ground.

“And they couldn’t wait till I disabled the locks why?” Edwin sulked, before climbing up the rope he tossed at Dysis. She stood still as he climbed, neither once showing any indication that she was struggling with his weight. Which she wasn’t.

They dropped nimbly to the ground, leaving Lenny behind.

“Okay, so what do we know about this place again?” Dysis asked, walking alongside her companions confidently. They acted as though they belonged there.

“You mean, aside from the fact that it’s Slayer h.q.?” Luis said sarcastically. She gave him a glare worthy of a lightning bolt, “It doesn’t have much in the way of guards. Some trained operatives, probably a few alarms and traps here and there, but since this place is the breeding ground for the Chosen Million, the Council pretty much thinks they’re not all that necessary.”

“And what security system they do have is designed to detect demons, not humans,” Edwin added.

“Um … guys?” Solana stopped in her tracks, head craned towards something, “I think we just got detected.”

Five Slayers were chatting while walking across the quadrangle towards one of the buildings. It would only be a matter of time before they see the strangers.

Gino scuttled out of sight, climbing up a tree, swifter than a monkey. Edwin looked at his three companions, before moving with the speed that was natural to all of them, disappearing into the shadows. Dysis and Luis walked away as well, taking separate paths, leaving only Solana to deal with the Slayers on her own.

The girls were giggling over some movie they had watched earlier that day. The giggling came to an abrupt halt when they saw the tall, slender blonde standing in front of them with a nervous smile.

“Excuse me … do we know you?” said one Slayer, who, from the looks of her, was the oldest of the five.

“How did you get in here?”asked another, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Solana’s smile twisted into a pained grimace and she shifted awkwardly, “Um … I – I’m sorry … you … um …” she stuttered, “I – I c-came to talk to B-B …”

“You guys, chill. Can’t you see she’s scared?” the third Slayer smiled reassuringly at Solana, “It’s okay, we know you’re human. The alarms would have gone off if you weren’t. What is it? Do you need help?”

Solana nodded helplessly, “Actually … yeah.”

~*~*~*~


“Tierre … Wolfson?” Buffy’s brow furrowed, “That sounds familiar … wait a minute!” she looked at her friends, seeing the identical expressions of surprise on their faces, “Isn’t he that freak, troublemaker extraordinaire with a bounty on his head the size of Everest?”

“The Wildfire Legend,” Giles murmured.

“That would be him, yes,” Elsa smiled, obviously loving the topic of conversation, “The one and only.”

“Who is this Tierre Wolfson?” Rumus demanded, “And how do we kill him?”

“You don’t. He’s human.” Xander said automatically.

Rumus snorted, “And we are supposed to weep? We don’t care what he is!”

“You should,” Willow said quietly, “Because he’s not that easy to kill. In fact, he’s practically impossible to kill. He appeared out of nowhere about four years ago. His rise to notoriety and infamy was phenomenal. It’s been said that he’s an extraordinary fighter, very clever and brave to the point of fearlessness.”

“He’s also unpredictable,” Andrew offered, “Back when we first heard of him, we were worried. He could be a threat, so Mr. Giles asked me to try and research him. It was very hard, and in the end, fruitless because he was always on the move, jumping from one place to another, getting into and out of trouble … like that amazing stunt he pulled in Yorkshire―”

“Making enemies. Lots of enemies,” this from Xander, “And most of them wanted him dead in a really bad way, hence the bounty.”

“But we never found out why they wanted him dead, or even who really put that bounty on his head,” Buffy chimed.

“The truth is no one really knows anything about him; about where he came from, why he only showed up now, his powers, weaknesses … he’s a complete mystery. The Council isn’t the only organization who has dug up ancient books and prophecies trying to find an answer to the question that is Tierre Wolfson … so far, no one has found anything.”

Selig’s eyes and voice were cold, “So you have no knowledge of him at all, except that he’s the leader of an army of murderers.”

“Murderer? We didn’t know that at all. He’s supposed to have gone underground a few years ago. Every now and then we’d hear stories of him, so we know he’s still alive. But we never knew that he … became evil.”

“Don’t they all?” Yesha asked dryly.

“Enough of this,” Seyhan cut in, “Let us find the fiend and―”

“But we don’t even know what he looks like,” Andrew protested weakly.

“Faith does,” Buffy said suddenly, “Hey, yeah! She would because she was practically obsessed with him. She even told me before I left the Council that she might just go and join the hunt for Tierre; see what all the hoopla was about.”

“Great! She’ll be home soon. The case she’s been working on is almost solved, she told me so,” Willow said.

Suddenly, Selig stood up, head cocked, eyes narrowed, “Who else is in this building, Slayer?” he asked.

Buffy shrugged, “The other Slayers, some operatives, Watchers―”

The monitors that lined one wall of the room showcased every area in the building except for the private ones. The right side monitors were on duty over the foyer.

And right at that moment, the monitors showed five Slayers enter the foyer with a slender blonde no one among the Council has seen before.

“Who’s that?” asked Andrew.

Buffy narrowed her eyes at the image of the girl, bile burning the back of her throat, “Oh my God,” she murmured, “She’s one of them.”

“Scarlet is here,” Yesha stood; face pale with anger and not a little fear.

Willow rushed towards the intercom speaker embedded on the wall, intent on warning the girls. Behind her, she heard Xander and the others exclaim in shock, “What the …!”

“What did she do?”

“Did you see that?”

“No, it was too fast!”

“The girls,” Xander’s worried voice soared above everybody else’s, “I have to go―”

“No, Xander , stay here!” Buffy ordered, “Willow …”

The redhead turned to her friend, wide-eyed, “Buffy … the speakers have been disconnected.”

They only had a second to appreciate that message before the lights went out.

~*~*~*~

Outside the campus, Lenny stood guard like the stalwart watchdog that he was. With his trunk-like legs standing firm, massive arms crossed over his huge chest, he looked like a statue carved out of ebony. A statue that nothing short of a force of nature can move.

Which, in a manner of speaking, was true. Lenny could run right through the flimsy fence that surrounded the campus outside, the fence that the so-called Council dared to call a wall. Lenny was insulted. Back home, they had real walls.

He was so engrossed in stewing that he didn’t notice the man that stole up to him. Of course, had he been on full alert, he still wouldn’t have known the man was there. Not unless the man himself allowed it.

“Nice night for stargazing, innit, Lenny?”

The huge sentinel actually gasped at the British voice, eyes turning round as saucers as he turned to his right―and looked down. The slight stutter that crept into his voice was purely involuntary, “M-master Tierre …” he squeaked.

“Guess I can’t blame you for leaving home without permission. You just wanted to see what a California night sky looks like. Y’know, while on your way here,” Tierre smiled and his teeth flashed white in the darkness.

“We had permission, sir. Logan …”

“Went over my head,” Tierre was no longer smiling, “This mission is mine.”

It was a mortal sin to disobey Tierre Wolfson. Lenny was marginally glad that Master Tierre at least let you air your side. Of course, whether or not your explanations would make a difference is always left to be seen.

Tierre took a step towards the gates. He can easily sail past the high walls in a move that would make even Luis jealous, but he decided to be polite tonight.

One look at the gates, and he said, “Edwin didn’t disable the locks here,”

“No, sir. They climbed the walls.”

“No wires?”

“Those, Edwin disabled, Master Tierre.”

Tierre shook his head at the incompetence of the Council’s security system. Makes me wonder how they could still stand after 4 years of being open to attack. Then an image of a beautiful brunette flashed in his mind’s eyes, and he grinned to himself. Of course. Who needed alarms and booby traps with her fighting on your side? He was surprised that he was actually looking forward to seeing her again.

“Would you like me to―” Lenny began.

“Never mind, Lenny. The defense mechanism we should be worried about is inside, anyway.” Tierre said. He gazed up at the wall, and then jumped, scaling 15 feet of vertical concrete with the total expended effort of chewing gum.

Lenny sighed. Maybe it was time for him to quit this job.

~*~*~*~

“I miss Spike.”

Andrew blushed furiously as he felt several pairs of eyes swing his way. Good thing the lights were out, “It’s just that … he could see in the dark, and all …”

“Used to,” that was Giles, and his clipped tone carried loads of warning. Andrew nearly bit his tongue off. What was he thinking, Buffy was right there with them!

“And who is this … Spike?” Seyhan asked. Buffy could hear him and the other Vashkans leaving their seats and heading for the door.

“He was a vampire. He worked with us,” she replied shortly, “Stay here. We don’t know where those creeps are. Let’s stick together until Willow fixes―”

Suddenly the lights turned back on, the unexpected brightness piercing.

“―the lights,” Buffy’s eyes were still half-closed, “Well, that was fast.”

“I didn’t do it,” Willow said, “I didn’t even leave the room.”

“Look out!” Willow shrieked when Selig suddenly lunged across the table at her. His shoulder hit her at waist level and they both hit the floor rolling.

The table gleamed under the elegant chandelier.

And then it fell, splitting into two perfect halves.
Then entire group stared at it in hushed shock.

“Missed !”

Buffy was the first to react. She looked up at a woman with long red hair hanging from the ceiling. She was holding on to the handle of something deeply embedded in the ceiling with her left hand. Her right was extended, as though she had thrown something.

The woman smiled at Selig, “You got good reflexes, elf- boy,” she said.

Seyhan stared at the red-haired monster, feeling everything inside him turn to ice. She was one of them―she wielded the blades. And those blades …

Rumus saw Seyhan recoil, saw him tense, practically smelled the bloodlust on the younger D’Harken, “Seyhan, no!!” he cried. But it was too late. Seyhan had already lunged for the murderer.

And all hell broke loose.

~*~*~*~

The Slayers Diana and Jen stood back to back, crab-walking their way towards their living room. They saw five Slayers slumped in the foyer, alive, but unconscious. There were more Slayers in this building of course; the girls knew this because they heard the shouts and cries of alarm and pain that echoed through the hallways. They were fighting that blonde thing that Jen swore could go invisible. Diana didn’t believe the invisible part, but she knew there was something loose in the building. Something powerful.

And it didn’t like them.

“Hi, there!”

A backhand threw Diana all the way across the room, where she crashed against the wall so hard, she almost lost consciousness. But she didn’t. Her vision doubled, but she still caught glimpses of the blonde thing that was attacking Jen. The thing that had Jen on the floor in only seconds.

And all Diana could think before she blacked out was Fast. She’s so fast.

~*~*~*~

The alarm went off all over the campus. The Council was under attack.

Slayers of all shapes, ages, races and sizes clambered out of the bunk building, running across the quadrangle. Each of them tried frantically to remember the drill for emergency counter siege procedures that Buffy had taught them long ago. But this was the first time ever that the Council was attacked. Not the Council. Why, this was Slayer central! No one could be that suicidal!

They didn’t notice the tiny, squishy things they stepped on as they ran. They didn’t notice the fragile mist that never got the chance to rise aboveground.

They didn’t notice the effect, either. And they wouldn’t remember it as their strong bodies collapsed against the invisible onslaught of the poisonous gas.

Swinging down from the tree, grinning like a gleeful monkey, Gino watched his handiwork with pride.

~*~*~*~

“Aah!!”

“Seyhan!” Yesha fell to her knees beside Seyhan. The younger D’harken was gripping his shoulder, where blue-green blood flowed abundantly.

The red-head smiled, “Cool. Royalty. Get it? Blue blood and all?”

The moment Seyhan had moved, she had pushed against the ceiling and dove towards the Vashkan, pulling out the curved blade from the wall behind her. It seemed almost as though the two had just passed by each other―Seyhan on his way up; and the woman on her way down to meet him.

But then there had been a flash of silver, and then Seyhan was on the floor, bleeding and in pain.

The woman landed, surefooted as a cat and smiled like a, well, Cheshire cat, “Didn’t your mom ever tell you not to go for a woman with long, sharp knives?”

Buffy and the Vashkans circled her warily, knowing that she moved her blade around as though it was part of her body. The woman’s gaze flicked from one of them to the other, boldly meeting their gazes. There was no fear in her eyes at all.

Trying to buy his friends some time, Xander spoke up, “Who are you people? What do you want?”

The woman rolled her eyes, “Oh, please. You already know who we are,” her gaze landed on the cowering Elsa, “Just you sit tight, hacker. I’ll be with you in a moment,” Elsa whimpered, but the woman ignored her, “And as for what we want … well, isn’t it obvious? We want what belongs to us.”

Someone hissed low and sibilant. Buffy realized it was Rumus.
The woman was unfazed, “Your lives, faeries,” she laughed, “Oh, and as for your Slayer cavalry? I wouldn’t count on it so much. By now, my pal Gino would’ve―”

Xander was already bolting for the door at the mention of the girls. The woman’s arm flashed in a movement too quick for even Buffy to catch. She cried out, diving for her friend. Moving mostly on instinct, she swept her hand to the side, deflecting a throwing dagger. Her other hand reached up and caught the second dagger before it made contact with her face. The two daggers had been thrown too close one after the other―a clever tactic designed to really impale someone. The first was a decoy, the second was the bomb.

The Vashkans took that as their cue to attack. Even the wounded Seyhan joined his fellowmen and woman.

The woman merely stood there waiting. When she deemed them close enough, she pointed her weapon low and swung it in a complete circle, turning in a graceful, wide pirouette as she did so. As soon as the Vashkans stepped within the circle, the floor shifted.

And then it sank; a circular portion that the woman had carved straight from the floor. With yells of alarm, the Vashkans fell to the floor below, the woman in their midst the only one calm among them all.

~*~*~*~

“Giles, Xander, go outside and check on the girls. Andrew, Elsa, go with them. Willow, come with me,” orders dispensed with, Buffy jumped down into the woman-made crater. Willow, on the other hand, teleported herself.

“Crap,” Buffy muttered.

They were in the Danger Room. It took up nearly the entire third floor, a room designed for the more strenuous Slayer training sessions. All kinds of weapons were there, from the ancient, to the modern.

And the redhead discovered them all.

“Not bad,” she said, going by the wall where their blades were hung, “Not nearly as good as those back home, though, but …”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Buffy snapped. She felt the Vashkans take strategic positions around the redhead. The fall had disoriented them, but they regrouped fast. They made no move, though. Their wariness had increased ten-fold.

Willow came to stand beside Buffy, her quiet presence calming the Slayer somewhat.

“So, we gonna do this?” the redhead asked. She posed, one hip sticking out, arms up in what may have been a helpless posture. But she held two curved blades in each of her hands now. The blades were shaped like crescents facing each other, the pointed tips overlapping.

“Yes. We are,” to Buffy and Willow’s surprise, the Vashkans suddenly held swords up and ready. The swords were shaped like slender capital letter D’s, with hilts the color of ivory. A single rough crystal sat on the hilts.

“Whoah, nice,” the redhead whistled, “How’d you hide those?”

“We didn’t.” Rumus tensed, ready to spring.

Just then, the doors to the Danger room slid open, and in walked a man and a blonde woman who looked like the redhead. With Xander, Giles, Elsa and Andrew.

All unconscious.

The blonde dumped Elsa and Andrew in a corner. The man did the same, Giles and Xander hoisted over each of his shoulders like sacks of rice or something.

Buffy’s heart jumped in her throat at the sight. Willow gasped. Unable to stop herself, she dashed for her unconscious friends, “Xander! Giles!”

“No! Willow!” Buffy cried. But it was too late. The most-powerful witch in the world didn’t even get a chance to use her power. The blonde merely stepped out of her way and brought her left hand down on the back of the witch’s neck. Willow fell without even a grunt.

“You bitch!” Buffy snarled. Fury wiping out whatever plan she may have been forming, the Slayer charged forward armed with her greatest weapon: herself.

The Vashkans abandoned caution and rushed to help out the petite warrior who had chosen their side of the battle.

And the dance began.

The brothers D’Harken ganged up on the redhead. They swung their weapons with deadly expertise, both having been raised with swords in their hands. The Vashkan sword was a holy weapon, one all the noble warriors carried. It concealed itself by shortening into a dagger when its master willed it to. A warrior with a Vashkan sword was exceptional, one who has already proven himself in combat. The brothers D’Harken were such warriors. They were strong, powerful and formidable.

And against the redhead―unsure.

She used both her arms with the same skill, as though she preferred not left nor right, but both. Her weapons’ curved edges allowed her to trap the brothers’ swords long enough so she can deliver a particularly debilitating kick. She was lighter, smaller and faster. At one point, she ducked beneath Seyhan’s swing―avoiding a certain beheading―by bending one knee while the other leg was stretched out beside her. In the same move, she threw three throwing metal disks with razor edges straight towards Selig.

Selig moved out of the way.

And Yesha caught the disks in the back. She fell, almost lightly.

“Yesha!” Rumus cried. His momentary distraction got him kicked full in the face by the tall man. The man used his legs the way most fighters used their fists. He moved so easily, defying the laws of balance. The muscles in his thighs felt like corded steel, his foot like rock, as Rumus soon found out.

Buffy had no other partner but the blonde. The Slayer had no idea what to make of her at first, because she was smiling so sweetly, and sort of … ditzily. Buffy didn’t realize just how grossly she’d underestimated her opponent until the bitch vanished right in front of her eyes. She materialized behind Buffy; delivering the same blow she gave Willow.

But the Slayer had sensed the blow coming and turned to block it. Their arms touched for a millisecond, and then the blonde vanished again. Buffy whirled around, not wanting to leave her back exposed.

And a fist buried itself in her stomach so hard, Buffy nearly blacked out.

The Slayer gasped in air and looked up. A boot materialized right above her head and descended fast. Bright, white lights exploded behind Buffy’s eyes. Fast, she’s so fast, she thought druggedly.

“Well, you’re no fun,” the blonde whined, her disembodied voice floating somewhere above Buffy’s head, “I thought this was the Almighty Council. But you’re all just a bunch of dorks who don’t even have a decent security system. I think I’m going to kill you now.”

Adrenaline surged inside Buffy, forcing her to move, to ignore the bells that rang nonstop in her ears. She put her palms beneath her and pushed her body up.

Something crashed down on her back―a foot, most likely, but it felt like a ship’s anchor. “None of that, now,” the sing-song voice said again, “If you behave, this will be quick.”

Buffy gritted her teeth, sucked in a forced breath, and rolled to side with all of her strength.

That was what she planned to do, anyway. Only she never had to.

Something tore the offending bitch off her back. She heard an outraged gasp, then the all-too-brief sound of flesh striking flesh. She had no doubts as to who it was. The strikes were just too lethal to be anyone else’s.

“Faith …” she groaned.

“Yeah, pet. One should have that every now and then,” came a deep, melodious voice.

Goosebumps erupted all over Buffy’s skin at the sound of the voice, the unusual nickname he called her by. She lifted her head, eyes traveling up long, black-clad legs, up to narrow hips that widened to broad shoulders. Legs shaking, she got up, her eyes wide enough to accommodate a dinghy, staring at the back of his head.

Buffy was only vaguely aware that battle had almost stopped, that Scarlet was now staring at the tall, slender man standing in front of Buffy. The blonde was on the floor, and she gingerly picked herself up, eyes never leaving the newcomer.

“M-master Tierre,” she stuttered. Gone was the cocky cheerfulness she displayed only a minute ago, “I-I’m sorry. I thought it was one of them trying to stop me.”

Buffy didn’t hear her. Her heart was pounding in her face. She tried to step around the man, to get a look at his profile.

The blonde’s head instantly swiveled towards her, and she shifted, taking a position that would allow her to stop any kind of attack from Buffy, unaware that attacking was the farthest thing from the Slayer’s mind at the moment.

“Wolfson!” the livid roar came from Seyhan. With a burst of fresh strength, he broke free from the duel he, his brother, and the redhead were locked in at the moment. Moving so fast, it was as though he’d stepped forward in time, Seyhan attacked Tierre Wolfson.

“Out of the way, Solana,” came Tierre’s quiet command. She obeyed.

What happened next, Buffy couldn’t describe―because she didn’t see it. The blonde―Solana―might be fast, but she had nothing on the man she called master. One second, Seyhan was bullet-speeding towards him, the next; he was in Tierre Wolfson’s deadly hold.

Selig and Rumus were attacking before they even knew what they were doing.

Wolfson turned D’Harken the Younger around so the Vashkan’s back faced him, his hands gripping the elf’s wrists, “Nice steel. Mind if I borrow it?” he asked.

Rumus and Selig descended on them and Tierre moved to defend himself―by making Seyhan do it for him. He moved the Vahkan’s arm, made the body shuffle forward and backward in a classic defense/offense dance according to his direction. Seyhan’s mouth worked in outrage as the murderers’ leader used him like a marionette on strings, or like a child he was teaching to walk. But he had no choice but to allow himself to be Wolfson’s weapon, at least for the moment, because it was the only way he could avoid getting killed by either Rumus or his own brother.

In the meantime, Scarlet Mercury watched, grinning, as their boss fought against the pathetic elves.

Dysis was shaking her head, “Man, this is just child’s play to him.”

They didn’t notice Willow starting to stir.

TBC...

Chapter 6: Faith of the Wolves

Previously: Mercury attacks the Council, against orders. But just as they appear to have gained the upper hand, Tierre arrives and saves Buffy’s life. He then takes on the Vashkans himself. Buffy sees Tierre for the first time and almost has a heart attack upon realizing that Tierre looks exactly like Spike…

***

Faith didn’t stop, her duffel banging against her thigh, as she raced towards the Council. The sight of the huge, black sentinel standing in front of the gates filled the back of her throat with bile. Oh, no. Please don’t let me be too late, she pleaded.

But her pleas went unanswered. She knew that as soon as she sailed past the walls like the Council’s dark visitors did before her that night, and the silent guard just watched her go, making no move to stop her.

It was all she could do to keep her wits about her when she saw the motionless bodies of the Slayers on the quadrangle. In the foyer. The living room. The hallways.

“Willow! Giles!” the dark Slayer screamed, scrambling for the elevator.

It stopped with her inside, somewhere between floors.

The Slayer slipped her fingers between the line of the elevator doors and fought to pull them apart.

A spear darted inside the elevator as soon as the doors slid apart. Faith instinctively dodged it, but it still cut a bleeding line across her belly. Without thinking, she grabbed the spear’s wooden shaft and pulled hard. The holder smacked against the roof of the elevator. It fazed him only a little, enough so he let go of the weapon and Faith had enough time to jump and slither out of the elevator and into the floor that she had half-way reached. She pulled the spear along with her, moving as fast as only a Slayer can. She swung the weapon―which she now recognized as something that decorated one of the rec rooms―and nearly shish-kibobed the idiot who’d tried to skewer her.

But he wasn’t as stupid as she thought he was, because he turned and ran away, deciding to flee instead of fight. Naturally, the Slayer gave chase.

~*~*~*~

The Slayer Faith, Edwin groaned, dodging away as she threw the spear at him. He had been hoping to kill someone. He was getting bored fidgeting with the controls in the three different control rooms. Any Slayer would’ve done.

But not Faith.

He had seen Master Tierre enter the building through one of the control room monitors. He almost crapped in his pants. Shit, they were so screwed.

But maybe he can still appease the Wolf of Hell. By choosing to simply lead Faith to where the fight was happening, instead of just killing her, he might just buy himself another day.

Legend has it that Tierre knew Faith long before he joined Scarlet. Master Tierre was peculiar when it came to the people he knew B.S.: Before Scarlet. He tended to let them live. Like that fool, Angel, for example.

This better work he thought. Man, he knew it was suicide, sneaking around the Wolf’s back!

~*~*~*~

Spike … Oh. My. God …

Buffy’s legs couldn’t hold her up anymore and she crumpled to a sitting position on the floor, glassy eyes fixed on the man of both dream and nightmare in front of her.

The strong chin, the chiseled jaw, the exquisitely sculpted cheekbones, and … oh, oh, she couldn’t breath … his eyes―no. She couldn’t see them, hidden as they were behind a pair of dark blue, wraparound sunglasses. Relief warred with a disappointment so keen inside of her that she whimpered.

He was fighting, his moves so familiar―that mesmerizing blend of combat and dance, grace and death, beautiful kung-fu and lethal ballet, that was so distinctly his.

It was Spike. She knew it deep from within her. There was no one else even remotely like him.

Everything that wasn’t him blurred into one, indistinguishable halo of light. Even Seyhan who was now currently engaged as Spike’s puppet failed to register in her brain. She didn’t even see the short man slip inside the room, unnoticed even by Scarlet. Nor did she see Willow shake her head slowly from side to side.

~*~*~*~

Gino pursed his lips at the sight of Tierre Wolfson. Damn, why did he have to be involved? Of course, this was his mission. But now that he was here, the festivities would surely be cut short. All those pretty Slayers, allowed to live another day … what a waste.

But it was also good that he was here. The Vashkans didn’t stand a chance against him. Gino saw the lovely, petite Slayer at the far side of the room. Not even Buffy Summers herself could hold a candle to Tierre. Gino almost laughed out loud at the look on her face. She must think she was seeing Spike’s ghost, come to rescue her again. What a moron. The only Slayer who actually had a clue as to who the Wolf really was was also incidentally the only Slayer that Tierre respected.

And she wasn’t here. Hah!

“Gangway!” All of Scarlet M. looked up as Edwin sailed past the threshold, followed closely by a very pissed-off brunette. Gino gritted his teeth.

Faith.

~*~*~*~

Faith skidded to a halt. Her heart sank to her toes at what she saw, “Tierre?!” she wanted to yell; instead it came out as a pained wail. Especially when she realized that Buffy was right there.

Tierre looked up at her voice, not at the sound of his name, “Faith!”

Something burned his arm, and he grunted.

Rumus grinned triumphantly, Tierre’s blood on his sword. Taking advantage of the situation, Seyhan broke free from Tierre, turned and slashed at the same time.

Tierre moved balletically out of the way.

Gino saw his opportunity, “Hey!” he barked at Faith, “You distracted Master Tierre!” with a flick of his wrist, he sent three tiny triangles, the size and shape of arrowheads, flying towards the Slayer.

All of the room’s occupants saw what Gino did, but only two reacted fast enough.

Tierre abandoned the Vashkans, and practically teleported himself in front of the stunned Faith. He waved his arm violently, catching all three poisoned metals in one hand.

Willow’s reaction was infinitely more dangerous. Still groggy from the blow she received earlier, she lashed out at Faith’s attacker without thinking of the repercussions. A ball of energy materialized in front of her, and shot forth like a bullet meeting its destined propulsion, straight towards the ugly, short man.

It was too late to stop it, even as the short man moved out of the way.

Even as Tierre jumped right in front of Faith.

Tierre crossed his arms in front of his face, just as the force of the energy ball slammed against them. His knees bent as it shoved him and Faith backwards. Tierre stood his ground against it, refusing to give in, but it was like fighting against a gale. He bared his teeth in a silent snarl, summoned all of his strength, and pushed his arms upwards, against the energy ball. His muscles protested … until they were laced with the supernatural anomaly that made Tierre Wolfson very, very different from other men.

And then the balance shifted.

By now, the other Scoobies were awake, but not up for a battle. They stared in absolute disbelief, while Scarlet stared in absolute smugness, as Tierre overpowered Willow’s magickal bowling ball and batted it away with one arm. It flew straight towards Buffy and Solana. Both women ducked and the ball crashed against the wall, breaking through it and out into the night, where it vanished among the stars.

And then there was a minute of silence.

Tierre rotated his left arm, working out the kinks, “Grateful lot you got here, Slayer. No wonder you don’t stay home more often,” he said. He turned finally to face Faith.

She gawked―she couldn’t help it. He’d changed, and not just physically. He was still lean, long-limbed and graceful, but he no longer looked underfed or reed-thin. He’d filled out perfectly―and was she even supposed notice that?

Gone was the boyishness she’d once found so endearing. He seemed to have grown a couple of inches taller since she last saw him, and he was such … a perfect replica of Spike that for a moment there she thought she was actually looking at the vampire.

Until he took off his sunglasses and smiled at her. Then she knew it was Tierre.

Someone shifted. Faith turned. And something sharp pierced her heart.

Buffy.

The blonde Slayer was walking unsteadily towards them. Solana was too busy getting broken-wall-dust out of her hair to bother trying to kill Buffy while her back was turned, “Spike …?” she whispered shakily.
Oh, no, not like this, Faith thought miserably as Tierre’s lips molded into a classic sneer at the name. He probably didn’t know just how much that sneer made him look like William the Bloody.

Solana may be too busy, but her sister, Dysis, was not. When Buffy lifted her hand towards Tierre’s cheek, the redhead released one of her weapons.

Tierre’s hand snatched it out of the air, only six inches from Buffy’s nose.

“That’s enough, Dysis,” he said. He turned his back on Buffy and said, “We leave now.”

“But …” Solana whined.

Tierre gave her a look.

Solana grinned sheepishly, “Sorry,” she muttered. Then she vanished.

Following his master’s orders, Luis went over to the light switch and turned off the lights. It came back only a scant second later, because Xander was standing right next to it.

But Scarlet was gone. And then some.

“Where’s Yesha?” Rumus demanded.

Giles, who was helping Andrew up, looked around him frantically, “Where’s Buffy?”

~*~*~*~

Faith found her in the middle of the quad, surrounded by Slayers who were just starting to come around. The rest of the Scoobies, operatives, and Watchers―the latter two groups having been left to grope blindly in the dark after Edwin had cut off the power and then sealed them off in their building―went about trying to calm everyone. Especially the Vashkans. They were practically trembling with the need to follow Scarlet.

That was until they saw Scarlet’s final guard. Even the Vashkans hadn’t seen him before, and although his huge size alone wasn’t enough to cow them, the fact that he was one of Scarlet made them stop.

But he didn’t do anything. Just stood there waiting until all of Scarlet had apparently gone. Then he himself went on his own way, moving with speed that would’ve been impressive for a lithe man. Which he most definitely was not.

Faith moved cautiously towards Buffy. The other Slayer had stopped calling for Spike. That was good, because Faith didn’t like hearing her call out. There was something in her voice when she yelled Spike’s name; something Faith didn’t quite understand. But it was still unexpected, especially because Buffy seemed so happy in her life now.

“He knew you,” Buffy murmured.

Faith winced, “Yeah.”

“Did you know him?”

“Yeah.”

“He looked … he was …”

“No!” Faith insisted, coming around to face the other Slayer, “Whoever else you think he is, he’s not Spike.”

Emerald eyes flashed in fury, “I have eyes, Faith. I know who I saw.”

“Buffy …” Faith’s voice cracked, “Spike’s dead! He’s gone. He’s been gone for four years.”

And just like that, all the fight left Buffy. Her shoulders sagged, “Then who was that?” she asked, her voice a painful mixture of hope and the sound of the lost.

“Tierre Wolfson,” Rumus came up behind Buffy, “Didn’t you hear what they said?”

Buffy suddenly whirled around and pushed the Vashkan away with both hands, “You don’t know that!”

Rumus’ eyes widened, then narrowed, “Be careful, Slayer …”

“Or what?”

“Or―”

“That’s enough, both of you!” Selig commanded, “You’ll fight now? After what’s happened? Have you both lost your minds?”

Seyhan, clutching his bandaged shoulder, said, “The cowards took Yesha. We have to get her back,” he glanced at Buffy as he spoke, “You see now the reality of their power, Slayer. And that Tierre Wolfson … he wasn’t like them at all. He was so much more.”

“Attacking now could get you killed. You don’t know anything about them at all. They were just one team in all of Scarlet!”

“We know that,” Seyhan’s voice grew quieter, but firmer, “So we will summon our armies. Combined, and our forces will be formidable enough on their own. But with the Slayers …”

“Slayers?” Xander had bounded out of the building, followed by Giles, and caught the last part, “Did you see what happened here? They put our girls to sleep!”

“Again, because they had the element of surprise. It’s what they do!”

“You saw the way they fought. I hate to say this, but I think that unless we plan our moves, we will be rather outclassed.”

Faith watched Buffy closely, the guilt nearly swallowing her whole, as the blonde Slayer seemed to shrink with exhaustion. Faith remembered her own reaction the first time she saw Tierre. She can only imagine what Buffy was going through now. She and Spike … well, sure there was the whole sexual thing they had goin’, long before Faith came barging back to Sunnydale. But maybe it had been deeper than that.

Oh, fuck. She had messed this one up bad.

Looking up, she realized that the Vashkans and the Scoobies were still at it, “Hey!” she yelled at them. When they all turned to her, she said, “We are not doing anything until we know more, do you understand? We are not going into battle half-cocked, so D’Harkens, Grifinker, you can just put your men on hold for awhile.” She’d only been with them for a few minutes, managing only to find out their names, but Faith knew that they wouldn’t listen to her orders just like that.

“What about Yesha?” Rumus demanded, “The more we delay doing anything, the lesser our chances are of getting her back alive.”

“I know you won’t believe me, but Yesha is safe,” Faith said confidently, “Tierre is with her.”

The Vashkans sneered while Giles and Xander looked at Buffy uncomfortably at the mention of Tierre’s name. Faith crossed her arms and lifted her chin defiantly, “Say what you want, but you all saw what he did tonight. He saved my life,” she gazed at each of the clan in turn, “It’s not the first time he’s done that. He’s also the reason why the Slayers aren’t dead right now. Scarlet Mercury wouldn’t have stopped with just us. He led them away, before they could do anything else,” she sighed, “You’re right, Seyhan. He’s not like them. Tierre Wofson is so much more.”

Seyhan shook his head, “And we’re supposed to just believe you?”

“No. But all I’m asking for is time. With Elsa here, it won’t take long to get the dirt on Scarlet,” the dark Slayer forced some levity into her voice, “And besides, why are you so eager to go out and get killed? What, is that a faery thing?”

They still didn’t look convinced, but Faith had said all that she had to say, and now she turned to Buffy, “Come on, B,” she murmured.

“Where?” Buffy asked dully.

“There’s something I need to tell you. I should’ve told you this a long time ago.”

TBC

Chapter 7: Stopping by the Woods …

Previously: Faith arrives and they all discover that she knew Tierre. Tierre protects Faith from the misdirected wrath of Willow. He orders all of Scarlet M to leave, and they did, taking Yesha with them. Buffy hyperventilates through all this. She changes her mind about helping the Vashkans, because it might involve hurting Tierre. Faith insists that Tierre isn’t Spike, but Buffy doesn’t want to believe. Faith decides to tell Buffy a little story…

***

They went up to Faith’s room, a room that she rarely used. As Buffy sat on the bed, Faith groped blindly around in her head for the right words. Oh, crap, this was hard. She felt like the bad girl again as she slid on her seat; the girl who didn’t belong. It was not a feeling she relished. Over the past four years, Faith had discovered herself little by little. She found that she liked fighting the good fight even more than she just liked fighting, period. She helped to rebuild the Council. She had been the one to gather the young Slayers; those who hadn’t been involved in the fight. Buffy had taken over training them.

During that time, Faith had roamed the world, getting rid of the more dangerous threats that the Slayers they’ve already deployed weren’t ready to deal with yet. Every now and then, she’d go home to South Hampshire, bringing new information, or some new discovery to them. The little Slayers all looked at her as the adventurous one, the one who got to do all the cool things they were so excited to do. As she gained self-respect, she gained theirs, as well. And their trust. She valued that more than anything.

Buffy had left the Council a little over a year after its completion. Faith knew where she lived and sent her postcards every now and then. Once, she had given Tierre Wolfson a little piece of advice: You need roots kid. We all do.

Tierre. Was that really him they had just fought?

“Where do I start?” she asked finally.

Buffy shook her head, then shrugged, “How about the beginning? Tell me who he is,” she hitched a sharp breath, “My God. He looked so much like …”

Faith bit her lip. She didn’t know much about giving comfort. But she knew that Buffy needed to hear the truth. “I don’t know the important details about him. I only met him once,” she said softly, “It was almost four years ago …”

~*~*~*~

YORKSHIRE, 2003:

It was a happy day for Faith. She’d been in bounty hunts before―had even been the quarry at some―and she knew almost immediately that she had dropped right smack in the middle of one. The dark-haired Slayer all but danced in excitement. After months of nothing but the most ho-hum of slays, she thought that she had dropped in rumble heaven.

The little things a Slayer gets excited about.

She even thought that the abnormally high fear-level of the demon hunters was due to her fashionably late arrival. Her ego was so inflated, that if the imagery ever became literal instead of metaphorical, she’d look like a beached whale.

But it soon became apparent that Faith the Vampire Slayer was not the one driving fear into the hunters’ hearts―or any of their other organs that took the place of hearts. In fact, they pretty much ignored her, taking her for another tracker. She realized then that there were humans in the bunch. They were armed and deadly; veterans in this game, masters, even.

And they, like all the rest, looked about them, shifty-eyed, jumpy. Ready to take the heads off of anyone who’s unfamiliar shadow was unlucky enough to be caught in their peripheral visions. No doubt about it, they were scared shitless.

It was a lucky cover for Faith; their assumption that she was one of them, and she wasn’t about to blow it by asking, “So, what’re we after?” She tagged along with one of the more capable looking groups. For some strange reason, these bounty hunters seemed to think sticking together was the better part of valor. Most of them had gathered into groups, but some had still scampered off by themselves.

“Stupid turds,” one of the hunters of the group she’d trailed after muttered, “Don’t they know that they don’t stand a chance if they go off alone? He’ll just pick them off one by one!”

“Like apples in an orchard,” one said, reptilian tongue snaking out in a hiss.

“Hell, easier than that. Like apples in a produce stand,” another one added.

“Never mind them,” the self-appointed leader, a demon who spoke English like he’d graduated from Oxford, snapped, “What matters now is that we stick together. He’ll think twice before striking then.”

“Think twice, sure. But will he stop?”

“Yeah, why don’t we just split up?”

“Good ol’ divide and conquer.”

The leader just sneered at his teammates’ ideas, “Go ahead, try it. Once you divide, he’ll conquer. Is that what you want? Because if it is, then you’re just playing right into his trap.”

That was enough reasoning for everybody, and once again, they set off in the small patch of Yorkshire woods. Eventually, the woods would lead to something bigger, maybe even a forest. Faith made a mental note to split before they got to the forest part. She didn’t want to be lost. But she couldn’t help being intrigued by this ‘him’ the trackers kept exchanging fearful whispers about. He was the one they’d been hunting, only he’d managed to turn the tables along the way ( according to some chattier hunters ) and had turned hunter against hunter at the beginning. As the contest as to who would bag him first became more intense, the hunters had gone off their own ways.

That was when the numbers started dropping off. Individuals and smaller groups of threes to fives were slowly being eliminated from the hunt. Literally. They knew that because they passed by the bodies. They were injured, unconscious or dead. Those who had gotten injured had given them the chilling news.

They were all being hunted, by the very person they thought they were hunting.

Faith thought, rather uncharitably, that it served them right. Whoever this mysterious ‘him’ was, he had been grievously underestimated. A mistake the arrogant trackers were now finding out first hand was lethal.

Curiouser and curiouser. Faith was now more fascinated than just intrigued. Whoever he was, he was clever, cunning and dangerous.

Her kind of guy. She wanted to see him, and now.

So she coyly suggested a little trick of her own to the puffed up leader. Why not set up their own trap?

A few minutes later, and their group burst out into a heated argument between Faith and the leader. It escalated fast, and the two nearly came to blows. Finally, Faith spat out a burning insult, said something about having better luck on her own, and stormed off. Some of the other trackers went with her, effectively splitting the group into two uneven parts. Faith had fewer people, but she declared loudly that she needed no other muscle other than her own to bring down a kid.

Because Tierre Wolfson was nothing more than just a kid, anyway. That’s why he was playing hide and seek.

Inwardly, Faith recoiled at the name she’d just heard herself say. Tierre Wolfson? They were hunting him? She’d heard of him, of course. A brash, reckless warrior who came out of nowhere. Already, his notoriety as an indiscriminate, fearless hellraiser preceded him. His reputation, which had spread faster than juicy gossip, had been earned the hard way. He had made enemies almost from the moment he’d appeared, and he had a price on his head, somewhere in the millions category.

So far, the pot of gold he carried remained untouched.

The Council had been worried about him, as had all the other greater good factions, like the witch’s coven that Willow visited frequently, the Order of the Sages, The Blood Cadre, and many others. They were even more worried when the greater evil factions knew next to nothing on him, either. Just who the hell was he? Where did he come from? What did he look like? So many descriptions, so many tales, none of them proven to be fact.

Faith licked her lips in anticipation. She was about to meet the Wildfire Legend. Ooh…wouldn’t the Council just love her to bits if she brought him in. Give them a one up on all the other factions.

The next thing she knew, he burst into the scene, a golden hurricane, a force of nature with a beating heart. Or maybe it was her heartbeat, she couldn’t be sure. Still, she was proud of herself for sounding very composed when she said, “Tierre Wolfson, I presume?”

He turned around then, and the heartbeat that had been pounding in her face stopped for a second.

Spike, her mind whispered. Can’t be. He’s ashes now. But … he was standing right there!

She must have said the name out loud, she wasn’t sure. She was too shocked to do much of anything but gape, slack-jawed, and all. Still, he puckered up those soft lips in a sneer that was both regal and mischievous―so very Spike―and said, “Oh, this,” he gestured towards his face, “Don’t worry. I just look like William the Bloody. I’m not him. Or at least, I don’t think so.”

Faith still couldn’t wrap her mind around this new screw to reality. Oddly enough though, he didn’t attack her while she was in confused suspended animation. He just talked, circling her warily and … a little playfully?

“I’m not a kid, you know, no matter what they say,” he said, “And I’m not playing hide and seek. You guys sought and I … followed from behind and tried to keep my snickers to a minimum.”

He even talked like Spike. Cockney. The only British accent that she had ever found appealing.

“Who are you?” she finally asked dumbly.

“Tierre Wolfson, at your severe annoyance,” he bowed his dark gold head courteously, but blue eyes flecked with gold never once left her.

She wasn’t fooled by his easy-going style. She’d seen him move―or rather, not seen him. He’d taken down her four companions before she could even react. And she never even sensed that he was near.

That never happened to her. Either he was friggin’ good, or she suddenly sucked.

“No, I mean, what are you?” she hissed. She was angry. This creature before her suddenly seemed obscene, a mockery of the man who had saved the world at the price of everything that he had wanted. Thank God, Buffy wasn’t here, “What kind of demon? Are you a glamour?”

“I’m not a demon!” he snapped, “Spike was a demon. But not me. I’m as human as you are … only with, uh, slight, modifications.”

At the word ‘modifications’, she began to notice something.

He wasn’t Spike.

Well, yeah, he looked like Spike. Eerily so. But there were differences, not counting his hair. She’d only ever seen Spike’s platinum do. For all she knew, his natural hair color had been dark blond, too.

Spike had been well-muscled, lean and fit, perfectly filled out.

Wolfson was lanky and thin. He was long-limbed, though, like Spike had been, and he wasn’t awkward or anything like that.

Spike had preferred the basic black get-up.

Wolfson wore a rumpled green T-shirt with the slogan Fight Crime. Shoot Back. emblazoned at the front, and a pair of slightly baggy, faded blue Levi’s. He wore Chuck Taylor high-tops.

Spike had a scar on his … oh. Tierre had a scar on his left eyebrow, too. Hmmm … what to make of that …

Moving on. Spike had been pale. In a cool way, but pale.

Tierre had sunburn. He was alive, duh. His cheeks were tinged pink, like he’d neglected to put on sun block.

But most of the differences lay on his face, in his eyes. Specifically, in his facial expressions. He smirked, he sneered, but Tierre Wolfson was expressing himself a little too honestly, where as Spike’s face had been trained not to show too much. Despite the undeniable sparkle of mischief in their azure depths, Tierre’s eyes were wide, artless and utterly without guile. Almost innocent. There was none of the hardened knowing there that had been in Spike’s.

Faith started, as the word ‘kid’, finally made sense.

Tierre Wolfson was just a kid. No older than Faith herself. He had just reached his earliest twenties.

Definitely not Spike. So who the hell was he?

“Well?” his voice broke into her thoughts, long-fingered hands splayed on his narrow hips, “Did I pass inspection, or what? There’s a time limit to staring, you know.”

She glanced at the fallen trackers. Some were groaning. Others slept the sleep of the knocked unconscious, “You didn’t take me down.”

He shrugged, “I was getting to that.”

But before he could do whatever it was he planned to do, the incensed bounty hunters burst out from the deep shades of green, whooping gleefully, pouncing on the startled Tierre. He was restrained by the strongest of the demons; the humans didn’t dare come closer.

“So … this is the great Tierre Wolfson,” the demon leader whose group Faith had broken up, sneered, “Why, you’re just a nasty little punk, aren’t you?” he turned to Faith with an approving nod, “Nice work,” he said.

Tierre’s gold-flecked gaze cut her straight to the bone. He didn’t look angry or bitter. He just seemed to accept the fact that everyone here, including her, was an enemy.

And just like that, Faith made up her mind. Everything in her was in fierce rebellion against leaving him to fend for himself amidst all these hunters. Why did she all of a sudden care that he might not make it out alive? Why did she feel that she had betrayed him by setting this trap?

The demon leader was still talking, Tierre’s chin in his steely hand, “Did you really think that just because you look like him, you are him? Are you some kind of an idiot? It takes more than just a British accent and an I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude to be William the Bloody, you little punk.”

“No,” Faith said quietly. The demon turned to her. Faith grinned, “It takes a helluva bloody wicked uppercut.”

Her knuckles exploded beneath the demon’s chin, actually putting him airborne, before he collapsed in a graceless sprawl.

Tierre was already on the move before Faith put her teeth together for the ‘t’ in her ‘uppercut’. He was a blur, too fast for the human eye to follow. Faith, on the other hand, still saw most of his moves. She noticed that he wasn’t above fighting dirty, tossing dirt in the hunters’ eyes, punching, kicking, biting and scratching at whatever appendage was within his reach. His blows were not always accurate; he was moving too fast for that, but they were always fatal. It occurred to her then that he might just be as strong as she was. He was certainly equally fast.

It was funny how fast the mind can work. All these information on Tierre was snap-recorded in Faith’s brain in a matter of seconds, even as she joined the violent fray. Her body moved in the instinctive dance of death that was the Slayer’s first, and truest nature. She didn’t have to put too much thought into what she was doing, which was especially convenient right now because it meant she can watch Tierre out of the corner of her eye. She was impressed and wasn’t too proud to admit it to herself. She couldn’t stop the smile that grew in her face when she realized that the kid version of Spike was having the time of his life, grinning and laughing, and making fun of his enemies.

“Hey! Hey!” Tierre was yelling, driving a bone-crushing back fist across a persistent tracker’s cheek, splitting the skin open above the muscle, “You kick ass too!”

Faith laughed at the genuinely surprised tone of his voice, “That’s what Slayers do, kid,” she said, and obligingly kicked another hunter in the rump. This one was human with too much confidence in his abilities for his own safety.

“A Slayer?’ roundhouse kick, “Cool!” blocked a knife hand aimed for his throat, “I’ve always―”, another block, disarming a demon carrying a wicked dagger, “―wanted―” evaded a set of sharp talons, “to meet―,” a graceful somersault that carried him high above the heads of the trackers. He landed in a crouch next to Faith and was up before the rest of him had settled, “―a Slayer,” he finished, not even winded.

Faith shook her head at him, delivering a powerful back kick to another hunter who’d been thinking of sneaking up on her, “Don’t talk with your hands full.”

His only answer was a cocky grin, before turning so he was right behind her. Faith felt a curious sense of safety, instinctively knowing that as long as Tierre was guarding her back, nothing could get to her from that vulnerable position.

Together, they fought the mixed troop of demons and humans intent on killing them both … and then taking Tierre’s body to whomever devil it was that had sent them after him as proof of their legibility for the bounty.

But they wouldn’t be doing that. Not today, for the dark Slayer and the young freak of nature had transformed themselves into the very harbingers of debilitating pain, a physical shield more effective than any defense with weapons.

It was over in two minutes. 20 hunters down, only Tierre and Faith remained standing.

“Whoo!” Tierre pumped a victorious fist in the air, “Tierre and Slayer, 100! Abhorrent Slaves to Greed and Money, 0!” he held up an open palm and turned to her, “Give it here, Slayer.”

Faith exchanged high fives with him, neglecting to feel dorky about it. His enthusiasm was that contagious, “You know there are more of them where they came from,” she said, indicating the fallen ‘hunters’.

Tierre shrugged, “Bring ‘em on,” he said arrogantly. He cocked his head to the side, studying her from head to foot, unabashed wonder and admiration in his cerulean gaze.

Faith was on the verge of blushing like some Catholic school girl. His eyes lacked the lasciviousness she usually encountered. She saw instead the respect he so freely gave to a fellow warrior. That shook her up more than if he had been staring at her, eyes glazed over with lust. To cover up her discomfiture, she went back to her last topic, “This was a clever trap you set here. Lure them in with irresistible bait, then attack them one by one or five by five,” she said, “You know the woods better than they do. You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”

“Came to get the lay of the land last week before I issued the challenge. I even slept here the past couple of nights.”

Clever. Cunning. She liked him already, “They underestimated you.”

“That’s okay. I like being underestimated.”

“But you didn’t set any booby traps.”

“They would have bolted after coming across the first one. The bait was enough. I was enough.”

He had set himself up as bait, he’d been that desperate to get these hunters together, leading them on like the Pied Piper, and then tossing them over the nearest cliff, “How long has this been going on, Tierre?” Faith asked softly, “How long have you been hunted?”

“Long enough,” he said nonchalantly. But now his casualness seemed forced. Those guileless eyes were giving away too much, “Everywhere we go, someone or somethin’s bound to come after me. Don’t wanna run anymore, is all.”

“Why are you being hunted?”

“How should I know?” he asked in exasperation. He ran a hand through sun-burnished hair, messying up the tangled mop even further, “I don’t even know who sent these guys. Asking them’s no good, they’ll never tell. Short of torture―” he cut himself off. Faith was staring at him again, “Did you know Spike?’ he asked quietly, in a mixture of hope and weariness.

Faith nodded.

“I’m not him,” he said stubbornly, golden head bowed, “Everyone I’ve met so far seems to think so, though.”

“And so far, they’ve all got scores to settle with him.” Faith felt a pang of sympathy for him, but at the same time, his mystery just got deeper. He insisted he wasn’t Spike, and yet he didn’t sound like he believed that. Actually, he sounded like someone who didn’t know what to believe. He was lost, not knowing why so many wanted him dead, his only clue the hatred those people harbored for his face … his uncanny resemblance to Spike.

“It’s not just that,” he continued, “Some of them are just bein’ paid to do it. They never even knew Spike. They’re the dangerous ones. People who’d kill for money can do anything,” he added a weak attempt at humor, “But at least this is good practice, right?”

Faith’s eyes swept the woods, “This isn’t your last stop, is it, Tierre? You’ve got another trick up your sleeve?”

“Sure. These aren’t all the pricks after me. I wanna finish this once and for all.”

“Don’t,” at his shocked expression, she softened her voice, “At least not alone. I’ve got … friends, who can help you.”

His eyes clouded, “You mean, other Slayers?”

She nodded. And some other people besides, she added silently, thinking of Buffy’s reaction. She didn’t know what it would be. This boy wasn’t Spike, or maybe he was, but that was just the kind of thing Willow and Giles were good at. Still, as concerned as she was for the blonde Slayer, Faith knew that right now, Buffy’s feelings were secondary to the issue of Tierre’s safety. He was stronger than he looked, but all alone he was as vulnerable as the next person.

“Do you know Buffy Summers?”

The question had the effect of getting clocked one right on the kisser, “Huh?”

The naked hope in Tierre’s expression, stamped in his entire lanky frame, was so strong, Faith cringed. If that hope ever died … “Yes, I know her,” she replied, “You’ve been looking for her?”

“Uh-huh. I need to find her. I’ve … been told that she’s the only one who ever really knew Spike. She … I mean … you know, for help and everything. I dunno if you’ve noticed, but I kinda have an extreme case of identity crisis here …”

His nervousness was endearing. Faith wondered if maybe, just this once, she could take Buffy’s place. The sharpness of the yearning baffled her. Whoah, girl, slow down. Not yours. Not even Buffy’s, really. Not anymore, “She’ll be there. There’s this place in South Hampshire …” she tugged him closer and spoke the directions in his ear, to protect the fledgling Council from the prying ears of those who might just be pretending to be unconscious, “You won’t miss it. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t. Slayer … this Buffy … she doesn’t kill humans, does she? Did I mention that I am human?”

“Don’t worry, I’m the black sheep of the family, currently undergoing bleaching. And she will help you, so will everyone else there. Promise me you’ll go before dealing with these bounty hunters on your own.”

He nodded too quickly for her to believe him, “Promise me, Tierre,” she insisted.

“Uh-huh.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. He blinked up at her with practiced innocence. But when he saw she wasn’t swayed, he sighed, “Thanks for the concern, although I have no idea where it’s coming from. But I have plans of my own. All I really need from Miss Summers is the truth about Spike. That’s all.”

“That’s all? And then what?”

“I don’t know yet. Depends on whatever it is I’ll find out from her. But Maggie and I’ll most likely go back to the U.S. Of course, she’ll probably wanna tour all of Europe first …”

“Maggie?”

“My friend,” he answered automatically, “Maggie Wolfson. A wanderer like me,” he added dramatically, “The world is our playground.”

Okay, so he sounded drunk on freedom. She can fix that, “So where are you gonna live?”

“Live?”

“You know, settle down.”

His forehead puckered up in confusion. Like, what was she talking about?

“You know, Tierre,” Faith said in her best world-weary, I’m-a-wise-Slayer voice, “I’ve been there. Going where I please, doing what I want, no ties formed, no bonds to be broken. I thought I was absolutely free.”

“But, isn’t that …”

“No, it’s not,” Faith sighed, and it wasn’t all feigned, “Sooner or later, you’ll just tire yourself out. You’ll feel like you’re running out of places to be, things to do. Soon you’ll just feel like you’re running, period. The people you meet will be nothing more than a parade of insignificant faces easily forgotten.”

“Are we getting near your point now?” the sarcasm was back in his voice, but not quite as sharp as it used to be. He was listening to her.

“Yeah. I’m sayin’ true freedom isn’t about having everything you want. I’m sayin’ it’s about having a home to go back to … always.”

Silence. Blue eyes locked on brown, wondering if …

“You’re trying to recruit me, aren’t you?” Tierre said suddenly.

Faith groaned, “Was I that obvious?”

“No. You almost got me there. I almost believed you,” he looked up at the canopy of leaves that looked like green lace, “Or maybe I’m bein’ too optimistic. Again. Is it recruitment you’re dishing out, or are you trying to lure me to the Council?”

“We’re the good guys, Tierre.”

“Yeah, and you know what I think? I think there’s nothing more but a thin, imaginary line separating the bad guys from the good. And when it comes to me, that line doesn’t exist at all,” he was frowning now, resentful and sad and angry, “No one knows what I am, least of all me. That’s not an issue with the bad guys. They’ve all got ideas, and they’re all willing to impose them on me. But for the good guys? Well, I’m guilty till proven innocent.”

He was starting to back away, his eyes taking on that wounded, wild animal look that Faith only knew too well. She must have worn that look quiet a number of times, herself. She reached out and grabbed his arm before he could bolt. Despite his almost fragile appearance, the muscle and bone beneath his skin felt solid, “We have never hunted you,” she said firmly, hoping he’d believe the truth, “Never. Not unless you give us a reason to, and even then we’d be up front about it. You’ll know that we’re against you. And f.y.i? I was trying to recruit you back there. You’re the best fighter I’ve seen in a while.”

Now he looked guilty for his accusation, “But you’re surrounded by Slayers,” he mumbled, to change the subject.

“Yeah. And they’re still in school. You, on the other hand, jumped right into the work force without bothering with a diploma and got yourself promoted to the highest ranks the hard way,” Faith said proudly, “You’re a street fighter, Tierre. We need that.”

He looked pleased by her praise, but Faith knew he wasn’t convinced. He’d already made his plans with Maggie and he wasn’t about to change them for no good reason.

Faith gave it one last shot, this time, she was sincere to the bone, “I meant what I said to you. Freedom means having a home.”

He regarded her skeptically, “And home would be where, exactly? South Hampshire?”

Faith shrugged, “It doesn’t really matter where. Or who. As long as you belong there. You need roots, kid. We all do,” she watched him fiddle with the hem of his old shirt, “At least think about it.”

He chewed on that full lower lip. Sighed. Looked around.

Then he looked at her, and his face softened. He grinned, open and sweet and it was possibly the most beautiful smile Faith had ever seen grace the face of man, “You know, I never did get your name.”

“Faith,” the Slayer replied, a little breathlessly. Jesus, had Spike been like this when he’d been 20? No wonder Drusilla hadn’t been able to resist him, “My name is Faith,”

“Faith,” he said, as if that satisfied him. He held out his hand and she shook it, “Pleased to meet you,” he said. He let her hand go, and nodded, as if he’d made up his mind, “Maybe I will look you up. I don’t know. I guess you’ll know when you see me.”

It was as close to a promise as he was ever going to give her, but it was enough. He’ll go find Buffy, and once he sees her, he’ll want to stay. Of that, she was sure.

So she didn’t say anything else, didn’t try to stop him as he walked away.

She should have.

~*~*~*~

“I really thought he’d come to us,” Faith murmured, “I heard that he got into an even bigger mess in Yorkshire. His legend grew even more after that.”

“He never came,” Buffy said softly.

“And I didn’t know where to look,” Faith sighed, “I couldn’t tell you, Buffy. I didn’t know how. I’ve heard rumors that Tierre is part of Scarlet, but I don’t know much about Scarlet. What I do know convinced me I really didn’t want to think of Tierre joining up with them. Buffy … I’m sorry. I never meant for it to come to this. I didn’t even think that I’d ever see him again. With all of those that wanted him dead … it’s a miracle that he survived. And―”

“Why did you tell Angel, but not me?” Buffy suddenly asked, cutting off Faith.

Faith blinked, “Angel? What are you talking about? I never told Angel anything . I’m the only one who … wait … does Angel know about Tierre?”

Buffy was biting her lip so hard, she tasted blood. How could Angel do this to her? “Yeah,” her voice cracked, and she hastily cleared her throat, “Yeah, he knows about Tierre. But he never said anything.”

It was the only explanation for his adamant refusal to help, for him ordering Faith to leave Scarlet alone. He didn’t want anyone to find out about Tierre’s existence. The funny thing was, she believed him when he said that he didn’t want her to get hurt. He had known who she would find if she pursued Scarlet. He had known―at least a little―what she would feel.

But he had still lied to her, still betrayed her. Hurt didn’t come close, but anger did, “I need to talk to him,” she murmured, her voice soft, but determined, “I need to hear his explanation.”

TBC...

Chapter 8: Surprise Guests …

Previously: Faith tells Buffy how she met Tierre in a bounty hunt, where he was the bounty. She helped him get out of a deadly situation and tells him to go to the Council. But Tierre, somehow, never showed up. Buffy realizes that Angel has known all along, and that he has hidden Tierre from her…

***

“What do you mean the Vashkans are alive?” Logan’s angry stare was enough to peel the expensive chintz wallpaper from the walls.

“We didn’t exactly get the chance to slice ‘em and dice ‘em,” Dysis replied.

“Maybe you were playing around again.”

“We were in Slayer H.Q.! C’mon, don’t tell me you’re surprised!”

“You would have done the same thing, had you been there,” Luis said, leaning against the wall, looking nonchalant when he was anything but.

“All those little Slayers …” Gino shivered in frustration.

“They still need a better security system, though,” Edwin put in.

Solana, comfortably lounging against the plush sofa, giggled, “You guys are all dancing around the point. The truth of the matter is, we still didn’t get us any Vashkans!”

Everyone glared at her, including her own sister, “Shut up, Sol,” Dysis snapped.

Solana pouted, “Meanie,” she muttered sulkily.

“I can’t believe you failed. What you had to do was so simple! Kill the Vashkans. You know who they are and what they look like already. You could’ve done it blindfolded without any Slayer knowing until she tries to talk to the faery sitting next to her and finds that his throat has been cut,” Logan stared at them in disgust, “This is embarrassing. You are all going back there and―”

“You’re doing no such thing.”

The entire group straightened. Logan turned around, “Mr. Scarletta, sir. Good evening.”

“Spare me, Logan,” Franco said dismissively.

“So you’ve already heard. This won’t happen again.”

“We had us a Vashkan, Mr. Scarletta!” Gino suddenly exclaimed, “One among the four. But―”

“But nothing. Tierre had taken one of the Vashkans. Not you.”

Logan’s anger and humiliation doubled. Tierre was there? Why didn’t his team say anything? Of course, because they were all too busy covering their own asses. All except for Solana, and she was a ditz.

“You took a risk in attacking the Council, Logan. There are humans in there. People.” Franco said angrily. In the face of such obvious disapproval, Logan found it hard to hold his head high, “People would turn their heads and look the other way even in the face of the strangest events. But an entire ‘academy’ of dead girls is not one of those.”

“We wouldn’t have killed them, sir.” Gino lied, “That’s why I only used sleeping gas on them.”

“And Master Tierre was the one who fought the Vashkans―rather well, may I add,” Edwin seconded, “But he chose to save the Slayer Faith instead of taking the three elves with us and―”

“Pointing fingers now?”

All heads turned to the sofa, surprised to find Tierre already lounging there. Even Solana’s eyes were saucer-wide, and her legs were draped on Tierre’s lap.

“Where did you come from?” she blurted out, without thinking, then slapped her hands over her mouth in horror.

“From beneath the earth,” Tierre teased, “Or so I’ve been told.”

“M-master Tierre, I wasn’t really pointing fingers―” Edwin stuttered.

“Yes, you were,” Tierre said coolly, stroking the length of Solana’s left leg idly.

“Yes, I was,” Edwin admitted meekly.

“And rightly so,” Franco regarded Tierre sternly, “Why, may I ask, is the female Vashkan currently admitted in one of our own hospitals?”

“Umm …” Tierre pretended to think, “Oh! Because she was injured! And because I wanted to patronize one of Scarletta’s endeavors. Plus, I know we have the best in medical resources,” Kiss my ass, he thought with a grin.

“You were supposed to kill the Vashkan,” Logan pointed out.

Tierre’s smile vanished. Blue eyes pierced Logan to the bone, “Yes. Me.” He said coldly, “So what the bloody hell was your team doing, playing with my toys?”

The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped below 40°. Tierre didn’t look away. To his credit, neither did Logan.

“This was my mess,” the leader of Mercury said quietly, “I wanted to clean it up myself.”

“How noble of you,” Tierre sneered. He pushed Solana’s legs off his lap and her boots thudded loudly even against the thick carpet. He stood up, “You may go,” he said.

Scarlet Mercury didn’t need to be told twice. They left, but they did so with composure. They knew better than to embarrass themselves in front of Franco and Tierre by tripping on their own feet while rushing to get away.

In the doorway, Luis stopped and met Logan’s stare briefly. Then he, too, left.

Logan nodded politely first at Franco, then at Tierre, before starting for the door himself.

“Not yet, Logan,”

He stopped and tried to calm himself. Tierre has never been known to kill one of his men in front of Franco Scarletta before, he told himself.

“Why did you do it?” Tierre asked pleasantly, his face all open and friendly, “Why did you disobey me and snuck around behind my back?”

“I told you the reason already.”

“It was your mess, I know. But it was also my mission. I said so myself, didn’t I?”

Logan straightened to his full height. Tierre may be the strongest in this room right now, capable of ripping Logan’s arm out of its socket without so much as a grunt, but the real power lay in Franco’s hands. So Logan wasn’t about to cower. The last remaining Scarletta needed him, and Franco wasn’t one to waste resources. Franco will stop Tierre from doing anything … unnecessary.

“I was only doing my job, Master Tierre,” Logan said firmly, “To be perfectly honest, I didn’t think you’d take this mission seriously. You have never before shown any interest in the Vashkan situation. I was only executing damage control.”

“Damage control? That’s interesting. Especially now that the Slayers have taken a good, long, satisfactory look at our faces. I’ve no doubt that they’re tracking us down right now,” Tierre smirked, “And you say you had no plans of killing the Slayers.”

“I’ll fix this,” Logan stated with more confidence than he really felt.

“How?” Tierre challenged. The glint in his eyes told Logan he already had an answer to his own challenge, but knew that Logan didn’t. Logan fantasized about shooting the arrogant boy right between the eyes. On a purely basic level, he hated that a child-man eight ( or thereabouts ) years his junior was lording it over him.

But another part of him knew that all the things he’d been through in 35 years of existence didn’t even come up to half of Tierre’s experiences in the past four years alone. And that was still excluding the Wolf’s past―if it was ever proven to be true instead of just theory.

Just then, before Logan could come up with a sufficient reply, Tierre said, “You may go,”

He was surprised. But he’d be a fool if he stuck around. He started to leave―

“Oh, and Logan?”

―Gritted his teeth, “Yes?”

“If you ever go over my head again, I will take yours,” Tierre declared this as simply as though he just said, if you don’t study for your exam, you will fail.

Franco was smiling slightly. No help there.

Logan exited the room, feeling as though he’d just escaped by the skin of his teeth.


~*~*~*~


Tierre squatted down on the carpeted floor, picked up the discarded remote control from the carved mahogany coffee table and clicked to life the large television screen tucked into the wall behind double roll back sliding panels. He leaned back against one of the two long, burgundies, gold and velvet sofas, one arm perched on a drawn-up knee.

Franco had fixed himself a gin and tonic and went over to lean against the grand piano that was older than a certain vampire Tierre knew and regarded the young man quietly for several seconds.

“What is it?” Tierre finally asked, still channel surfing.

“You don’t like Logan.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“Usually, no. But you’re going out of your way to let him know that you dislike him.”

“He’s insubordinate.”

Franco laughed genuinely, “Look who’s talking! I remember you used to give Mar―uh …” he trailed off uncomfortably. On the floor, Tierre had gone very still, “You used to give all of us headaches all the time,” Scarletta finished weakly.

“Yeah, but I turned out okay. And I don’t waste resources,” Tierre said after several seconds, as though he had just decided to join the conversation.

Ah, so there it is, Franco stared down at his drink. Tierre was angry at Logan, whether for allowing so many of their men to die in an unnecessary battle, or for killing so many Vashkans in an … unnecessary battle―he wasn’t sure. But he was sure it was one of those reasons. Maybe even both.

“He’s a good fighter, Logan is,” Franco continued, “He’s proven himself time and again.”

“No doubt about that. Why do you think he’s still alive?” Tierre’s devil-may-care grin offered an almost poignant glimpse to the head-strong, wild and … all too soft-hearted boy he had been. But that was all that it was. A glimpse. Tierre shared as many similarities to that boy now as a cat did to a tiger. Franco knew that better than anyone. He had been there for the pivotal moment of Tierre’s transformation from boy to man. And man … to something else as of yet undefined.

Tierre dropped the remote control and stood up, “I gotta go,” he said.

Franco glanced at his watch, “It’s late. Stay for the night. Cory still keeps your room spotless, you know.”

Tierre was already shrugging into the coat he’d dumped thoughtlessly on one of the chairs, “Maybe some other time,” he said casually.

“I’ll walk you out,” Franco offered, and fell in step beside Tierre before he could protest.

“So … about the Vashkans,”

“Leave them to me.”

Franco cast around for other things to say, other topics of conversation. Now that Tierre had volunteered for the Vashkan problem, there was no need for anymore worries. So the Vashkans were invalid as subjects of simple talk.

“You’re going to be here for the party?” Scarletta asked hopefully.

“I told you no.”

“You never show up for these things.”

“It’s too risky,”

“No one connects you to me, Tierre. Not as Scarlet and Scarletta.”

“I know.”

“So why do you keep running away?”

Tierre stopped walking, “I’m not runnin’ away.”

Franco nodded, “Then you’ll be at the party.” It wasn’t a question. Not even an invitation. It was a command.

Tierre’s face was tight. But then he put on those damnable sunglasses and his face revealed nothing once more, “Fine,” he snapped, “But if I fall asleep while one of your ‘business associates’ is yappin’ at my face? It’s your fault.” And then he was walking away.

Franco sighed. The house’s emptiness echoed back at him. It was awful the way Tierre always seemed so eager to be as far away from the mansion as possible. Deep inside, Franco understood. There were far too many memories here for Tierre.

But Tierre was all that he had now. He may have lost his children, but Franco had never stopped being a father. Ivo’s disappearance, followed so soon by Maria’s murder had nearly destroyed him. Tierre’s subsequent suicide attempt had left a fear in his heart that he could never banish.

Tierre was better now. Colder, crueler, but infinitely better. Franco was glad for that. Soon enough, Tierre would be invincible. But for that to happen, Franco needed to work even harder, “Aah … the sacrifices a father makes for his child,” he said to himself. Oh, well. Back to the lab.

He had a Prophecy to decrypt.


~*~*~*~


The next day found Buffy and Faith striding determinedly towards Wolfram and Hart. When they got inside, however, they realized they didn’t have to go on any further.

A tall, skinny and very pretty brunette was walking towards them. Buffy recognized her immediately, and she briefly wondered if Angel had ever lied to the woman.

“Fred. Where’s Angel?” Buffy went directly to the point.

“He’s not here,” Fred replied. To Faith, she looked tense and nervous. Then again, that was just a Fred thing.

“Wesley?” the dark Slayer inquired.

“They’re not here,” Fred pursed her lips, “I’m not supposed to tell you where they are.”

Faith snorted, “What’re you, eight?”

“Is he hiding from me?” Buffy exclaimed in disbelief. She can sort of believe that Angel had lied to her, but to have him hiding from her like … like … like someone who had something to hide was―

“No! Why would he? He and Wes just have a few … things to take care of,”

“One o’ those things happen to go by the wickedly unique name of ‘Tierre’?” Faith asked wryly.

Fred’s eyes widened and she grew pale, “You … how did you know?”

Faith shrugged, “Wild stab,”

“Fred. Where. Are. They?” Buffy enunciated each word.

As disloyal as it was to Angel, Fred couldn’t help but feel relieved that Buffy already knew. That meant she won’t be breaking any promises to the vampire with a soul. “Come with me,” she said, leading the way out of the building, “We need to talk.”


~* ~* ~*~


It was Fred’s favorite coffee place. A bit on the expensive side, but the privacy it provided was worth it.

“Almost four years ago, Tierre came to stay with us,” the Texan began softly, peering into her steaming cup of latte, “He was … Wesley said he was the spitting image of a vampire named―”

“Spike,” Buffy said, just as softly. Fred nodded.

“No, he wasn’t,” Faith interjected, “Didn’t Angel or Wesley ever make a comment on the fact that Tierre looked younger than the original Spike?”

Fred nodded again, “Yes. Actually, I once overheard Angel and Wesley talking about that. Tierre really was just a kid. Very skinny, ate like a horse,” she smiled fondly at the memories, “Wouldn’t stop eating. It was like he hadn’t eaten for a hundred years.”

Buffy was on full attention now. Hadn’t eaten in a hundred years?

“Loud. Unpredictable. A natural troublemaker,” Fred sighed, “But he could be so sweet, you know? The truth was, behind his tough-talking bravado, he was terrified.”

“Terrified?” this from Buffy, whose mind flashed to the events the night before. Tierre hadn’t been scared. In fact, it was more likely that fear itself would be terrified of him.

Faith, on the other hand, remembered the kid in the Yorkshire woods, scared that if he went to South Hampshire, the Slayer would stake him.

“He was … different,” Fred searched for the right words, “I said he was special. Angel insisted he was an abomination. But whatever else he was, Angel decided that Tierre was his responsibility. He tried to … discipline … Tierre, to curb his natural tendencies for getting into fights. I think―I think he wanted Tierre to be better. Better than Spike. His intentions were noble, really,” Fred locked pleading eyes on Buffy, “But Tierre was always so strong-willed. When he got hurt or scared, he’d instantly get sarcastic and disrespectful―especially towards Angel―mostly because Angel hated and refused to understand any signs of weakness from Tierre. As you can probably guess, the two of them never got along.”

The two Slayers watched as Fred chewed on her lower lip, beverage forgotten. Fred, on the other hand, was contemplating whether or not to tell them everything that had happened the day Tierre and Angel both gave up on each other. That memory still hurt. Fred had genuinely cared for Tierre. Still did, actually. But Angel was her friend. And the events of that day not only wounded her, but frightened her as well.

She looked up at Buffy and Faith. They were the two Slayers that Angel trusted the most. But she found that she couldn’t tell them what had really happened between Angel and Tierre. That should be Angel’s call, “Anyway, they had a fight, a serious one, and Tierre left. How he ended up with Scarlet, I don’t know. I know what you’re thinking: Scarlet is evil. Yes, most of them are. But Tierre is not.”

“No one’s sayin’ that he is, Fred,” Faith told her somberly.

“But you’re thinking it!” Fred looked close to tears and her breath hitched in a sob, “Even Angel and Wesley are thinking it, what with this Vashkan business …”

Buffy stiffened, “They went after Tierre, didn’t they?”

“Yes, they did,” Fred seemed to have regained control and when she spoke, her voice was shaky but resolute, “Angel is not Tierre’s enemy, but Tierre will treat him that way because he refuses to believe otherwise. You have to stop them. Don’t let them hurt each other anymore.”

“Great idea, Fred,” Faith muttered dryly, “It’d be even better if we knew where to find them.”

“New York,” Fred said without hesitation, “Tierre is from New York City. Wolfram and Hart also have a smaller base of operations there. I can put in a call, tell them to expect you.”

Buffy shook her head, “No. I don’t want Angel to know we’re coming.”

Fred’s gaze turned to worry again, and the blonde Slayer sighed, “We are going to help, Fred, but Angel’s habit of keeping things from us is jut going to make things complicated. In case you haven’t noticed, we have another mission aside from resolving the Angel-Tierre feud. We have very impatient Vashkans on our hands.”

“Oh, them.”

“Yeah, them. We’d appreciate getting in touch with your base in New York, but if possible, don’t let Angel and Wesley know that we’re coming.”


~*~ * ~*~


NEW YORK:

“Just how long do you plan to stay asleep?”

His voice had a teasing quality to it. She can sense the playfulness in his nature whenever he talked this way. But with this playfulness came restraint. He was in control not just of her, but perhaps more importantly, of himself. It wasn’t tight, either, this self-control. He didn’t have to force it. Control for him was easy, something he did as naturally as breathing.

It shocked her, this quality of his. Mercury, the group he had sent to their world, had certainly not bothered to control themselves. He was far removed from them. He was patient.

She decided not to test him. A man who can so easily hold himself in check, can just as easily choose not to.

She opened her eyes. The room she was in had not changed since the night they brought her here. That was a full day ago. She felt as if she was in a chamber with no definite borders. Everything was painted a stark, unapologetic white: the walls, the bed, the floor. Even the ceiling.

“Good morning,” he greeted her pleasantly. He was leaning against an open window, and the sunlight illuminated him from behind, making him almost invisible to her.

“It is morning,” she noted. Her tongue felt thick inside her mouth.

“Yes, it is,” he pushed away from the window and moved towards her. She can see him now. Oddly enough, he didn’t look like a monster. The harsh planes of his face prevented him from looking kind, however.

Until he smiled, and suddenly, he was no different from any other young man. “You were playing possum, pretending to be asleep all this time,” he teased.

“I wasn’t pretending. I was trying to sleep. I couldn’t.”

“Were you afraid you’d be killed in your sleep?”

“You are not above it.”

“Oh, but I am … unless provoked,” he settled himself at the foot of the bed she was in, “They tell me your name is Yesha. That’s what your friends called you.”

“By ‘they’, do you mean your bloodthirsty little army?”

“Yes.”

Yesha sniffed haughtily, “Cowards. They took me because I was injured and couldn’t fight back.”

He chuckled, “Actually, I’m the one who brought you here.”

Her smile was cold and brittle, “I rest my case.”

“You must have been in motion when Dysis’ blades hit you. Otherwise, they would have cut you too deeply for you to survive your wounds,” he continued, “You’re very lucky.”

“What kind of a man does not care that he had just been called a coward? In our world, that is considered a grave insult.”

“Here as well. But I’ve been called worse. Besides, I know that I’m not a coward. The opinions of others don’t really matter to me.”

“ I assume that not a lot matters to you.”

Again, he laughed, “Assume makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’.”

Yesha just stared at him. What a strange man.

He cleared his throat, “Well, I can see just how fond you are of this room, but I’m sorry to say that it’s time to leave.”

“For where?”

“Um … you’ll know when we get there.”

Yesha’s hands crushed the sheets beneath her, “I will not go anywhere with you, Tierre Wolfson,” she hissed, “If you wish to kill me, do it here and now. But I’m promising you: You will not succeed.”

“I don’t want to kill you,” Tierre gave an exasperated sigh, “But you’re well now. There’s no need for you to stay here anymore. It’s as simple as that.”

“I am not going with you.”

Tierre frowned down at her, “I didn’t say you had a choice.”


~*~*~*~


SOMEWHERE IN THE AIR:

“Are you feeling all right? Do your wounds hurt?”

Yesha didn’t want to answer him; didn’t want to talk at all. Her injuries had healed considerably, but she was still in no condition to fight Wolfson. She knew, too, that had she been at full strength, going up against Wolfson would still be criminally stupid.

“Yesha?”

“I heard you,” she snapped, “I’m hurt, not deaf.”

He sighed, “Are you still mad at me?”

She gave him that brittle smile again, “I am not the one who is mad. You are.”

Her insult once again failed to raise any hurt or anger in him. But in this moment, that was actually a blessing, since they were flying. Or, rather, Wolfson was flying, and she was his unwilling passenger. This particular aircraft was smaller than that metal monstrosity that humans called an airplane, but she still couldn’t imagine how Wolfson could control it and make it look so effortless. Vashkans were not ignorant of technology, but they were justifiably wary of it. This was only Yesha’s second time on a plane; the first having been during the time they had left Scotland for England. They had managed to do that by the help of other elfin races who have chosen to live in the human world disguised as mortals.

“What if I told you that I had nothing to do with what Mercury did to your people?” Wolfson was saying.

“I won’t believe you.”

“I knew you’d say that.”

“You read minds as well?”

“I had nothing to do with the massacre of you Vashkans,” Tierre said, and for the first time, there was no hint of playfulness in his voice.

Yesha listened, if only to hear what manner of pathetic lies a murderer can weave.

“It’s useless to tell you this now, but what happened to you was unnecessary. And I’m sorry for your loss, as inadequate as my apology may be.”

She gasped, out of shock, anger and general disbelief. But before she could formulate a reply, Wolfson spoke again, “Now, since all you Vashkan leaders are here, who’s mindin’ the store?”

Yesha laughed scornfully, “Yes, I should tell you so you would know what to expect when you go to our mountains again.”

“Fair enough.”

She despised him, the Vashkan queen suddenly realized. She loathed him. She hated that he was so unaffected, that he refused to respond to her anger. She wanted to scream her fury at him, strike at him, hurt him as badly as she and her people had been hurt.

She wanted to kill him.

The coldness that had hatched in her since the night they had been attacked grew some more. It grew at a pace that she found frightening. And yet it was the one thing that calmed her. She should be grateful to it, really, for if not for that coldness, she might have jumped Wolfson by now and wrestled the controls from his able hands, sending them both plummeting to their deaths. And then she would have accomplished nothing.

Patience, Kavrois. Never act on impulse. Watch. Listen. Observe. Find the enemy’s weakness.

And then destroy him.

“Why am I still alive?” she demanded, “Don’t tell me you are bothered by your conscience. I fear I may not be able to accept that.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.”

“I know why,” she said slyly.

Wolfson slid her a questioning glance, “Why?”

“You think you may be able to question me about the Balancer. You’ve stolen it, but you’re still completely ignorant about it, so once again, you turn to us.”

“You’re close,” Wolfson said, with a touch of approval, “But you still didn’t get it right. First of all, if I wanted to know about the Balancer, I would have taken Seyhan D’Harken, not you. Yes, I know about Seyhan. My bloodthirsty little army gave me the rundown on the four of you on our way home. Seyhan is the ruler of the Western tribe, and they’re the ones who looked after baubles like the Balancer and such.”

“So? Do the paid guards in your hospital know everything about Scarlet?”

Wolfson laughed, “Good point. But then, the paid guards in our hospital don’t go chasing after some moron straight into another dimension if I were kidnapped. Scarlet would take care of that. You know, just like Seyhan did when the Balancer was stolen.”

Smug bastard. Only he didn’t sound smug. He spoke in a matter-of-fact manner.

“Second of all, we’re not completely ignorant about your pretty li’l trinket,” he continued, “Not everything has come clear yet, of course, but all in due time. With your help, it might even go faster.”

“Go to hell.”

“Been there.”

She was on the verge of exploding in anger again. Yesha fought it back, “Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“Forgive me if I don’t bow down and kiss your feet in gratitude.”

“Yesha, you’re a dead elf walking,” Wolfson said bluntly, “My father doesn’t like you and he wants you dead. I don’t agree, but I’m only second in command. Believe it or not, I’m your only protection, and all it takes is for me to look away for a second, and you’re a goner.”

“You think too highly of Mercury.”

“Not Mercury you should be worried ‘bout.”

Yesha felt the now-familiar fear thaw a little of the coldness inside her. Of course. Mercury was only one of the teams that composed the whole of Scarlet.

“I don’t want you to die. Work with me if you share the same sentiments.”

“Don’t lie to me, Wolfson. And don’t tease me anymore. Why am I still alive?”

“You’re alive,” Tierre said softly, “Because I’m not done with you yet.”


NEW YORK: THAT NIGHT:

“Hey, Wes,”

Wesley looked up at the sound of the familiar, husky voice, and nearly bit his own tongue, “Faith?!”

The dark-haired Slayer shifted slightly in her position. She was leaning against a black car with tinted windows. She nodded once, the only response she gave to Wesley’s shock.

Faith’s presence in New York could mean plenty of things, Wesley told himself. Unlike other Slayers, Faith’s duties were not limited to one state. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, in a patented Watcher voice.

“Visiting your office,” Faith replied.

Wesley stared at her, then he turned and started for the non-descript building in front of them.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Faith said calmly, “B’s in kind of a take-no-prisoners mood right now.”

Dreading what he would find, Wesley ignored Faith’s warning. He knew this would happen; he’d seen it coming years away. He should’ve done something, tried harder―

Suddenly, he found himself yanked backwards, then turned roughly around. “I said no,” Faith said softly. The quiet fury in her coffee-brown eyes stilled the ex-Watcher. Well, that, and the fingers still wrapped around his arm like an iron band.

All he could say to her was, “Angel had his reasons.”

“And that’s what he’s goin’ to tell her,” Faith’s fingers relaxed, and Wesley had to try not to rub his arm. It seemed to him that Faith got stronger every time he saw her.

She leaned back against the car again. Wesley sat down on the second of the steps that led up to the building.

They waited.


~*~ *~ *~


Angel woke up the moment the sun went to bed. Rising from his bed, he went downstairs to fix himself something to eat. He had a feeling he was going to be up all night tonight.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

Buffy was standing in front of him.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but she beat him to it.

She slapped him.

He felt the sting all the way to his heart. She knew. He looked up, not bothering to mask the guilt and sorrow that he knew was scrawled flagrantly across his face.

Buffy was staring at him wide-eyed. She couldn’t believe what she’d done. She hadn’t meant it, it was just … instinct. She wanted to tell Angel that; to apologize, but the look on his face erased all her regrets.

“Buffy, I―”

“Don’t,” the Slayer held up a hand, cutting off his no doubt heartfelt apology, “Just tell me why. Why didn’t you tell me there was a man with Spike’s face walking around under the sun for four years now? Why did you lie to me?”

“I can’t tell you my reasons.” Angel replied.

“Why not?” Buffy’s voice was low and dangerous.

“Because you would hate me,” was his simple answer. No shame, no pain, just the certainty of her reaction.

Buffy felt all the intense frustration inside her slowly leave. She closed her eyes briefly, then tried to summon up a smile. She failed. “I’m sorry I slapped you,” she said, “I had no right and I didn’t mean to. And Angel … you know that I could never hate you.”

An awkward silence fell between them. The Slayer looked around the building. The inside was clean and well-equipped, but it was hardly Wolfram and Hart material. It was too middle-class. It was what New Yorkers called a brownstone.

“Not what I expected for a Wolfram and Hart base,” she said nonchalantly. Anything to banish the betrayal she still felt. She didn’t come here to start a fight. She needed Angel on her side, after all. She’ll have to hang on to her calm.

“It wasn’t meant to be a base at first,” the vampire with a soul said, playing along, “It was supposed to be a safehouse.”

“For who?”

“Tierre.”

Buffy’s head snapped up, “From whom?”

“Scarlet.”

Fear clouded Buffy’s green eyes, and her heart sped up. That was before she reminded herself of who Tierre was. He ruled Scarlet. She said that aloud, to dispel the sudden, intense rush of fear she felt for Tierre Wolfson.

Angel shook his head. He went into the kitchen, and Buffy followed. He prepared his meal while the Slayer leaned against the counter, “Tierre wasn’t always the head honcho. He had to work his way up from the bottom rung. He got promoted faster than everyone else, though. What can I say? He’s an overachiever.”

An overachiever. Among … Scarlet. Oh, God.

Looking at her pale face, Angel felt even worse, “I can’t prove that he’s been involved in outright assassinations. But Tierre’s hands are stained with blood, Buffy. I can’t lie to you about that. Not now,” he said softly, “After he left Wolfram and Hart, it took me a while to finally track him down. When Tierre wants to disappear, he disappears. In fact, I suspect that the only way I found him was because somebody allowed me to.”

“Fred said that …”

“Fred?”

“Yes, Angel, Fred. Don’t blame her for caving in, I was shooting flames out of my nostrils at the time,” Buffy joked lamely, “She said that Tierre came to Wolfram and Hart. The way she described the time he spent with you made me think that he wasn’t just a case. She seemed … very concerned for Tierre.”

Angel smiled softly, “Of course she is. She and Tierre were friends. She was the only one he listened to, aside from Maggie.”

She never mentioned that, Buffy thought, with a touch of possessiveness, “Why did he leave?”

“Because he couldn’t stand me.”

“Aww … how could that possibly be?”

“And I tried to kill him.”

Buffy’s teasing smile faded, “What?”

Angel looked her right in the eye, “I tried to kill Tierre.”

The scene of Tierre fighting the Vashkans like it was a game to him flashed in Buffy’s brain. Mercury made a guest appearance, too, “What did he do?” she asked Angel. Inside, she really didn’t want to hear about Tierre’s earlier evil. But pretending it never happened wouldn’t make it go away. She steeled herself.

“He brought his wet, sand-covered surf board inside my office again. After several emphatic orders not to.”

Buffy blinked. Angel’s face was so white; it looked like a smooth, marble sculpture. She frowned, looked at him harder, then said, “Come again?”

Angel sighed, “Buffy, I can’t …”

“Don’t give me that! Don’t do this to me again! What’re you saying? You tried to kill him because he tracked sand and droplets of seawater inside your immaculate office? That’s insane!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Angel yelled, finally losing control, “I- I wasn’t myself. That’s not even a good excuse. I told you I can’t tell you my reasons now. I don’t understand them myself. And even if I did, I still wouldn’t tell you now. Because these are things that I have to resolve with Tierre first. Not you.”

Buffy wanted to hit something, or scream in frustration. But deep inside, she knew Angel was right. Besides, their falling out wasn’t that essential in figuring out what to do about the Vashkans.

The Vashkans. They were her primary reason for being here. Buffy felt ashamed that she had to remind herself of that.

“You’re right,” she said quietly, “Of course, I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand.”

Angel relaxed. Tierre was already behind enemy lines. He didn’t think he could handle it if Buffy was, too, “Thank you.”

Buffy smiled tightly, “But don’t think you’re off the hook. I have so many questions to ask you, not the least of which is the question of Wolfson’s true identity,” she sighed, “But those could wait. I have other things to think about.”

“The Vashkans.”

“Yeah.”

They heard the front door open and close again. Wesley and Faith appeared in the kitchen doorway. The brunette Slayer looked from Buffy to Angel, and back again, making no secret of her curiosity, “Hmmm …” she hummed with a slight smile. She glanced up at Wesley smugly.

Wesley looked so relieved, Buffy fought back a laugh. His loyalty was touching, but did he really think she would have done something to Angel?

“So …” Buffy turned back to Angel, “Tell us how we can break Scarlet and get Yesha and the Balancer back,” she flushed, and then looked away, “I mean, you don’t have to help if you don’t want to …”

“I’ll help,” Angel said, “It’s the least I could do.”

“B, you need the others to be here?” Faith asked. Buffy nodded, “C’mon, Wes. I’ll need your help with the elves. They’re temperamental.”

“Come on,” Angel said to Buffy, “There’s something I need to show you.”


~*~ *~ *~


Buffy stared at the files spread in front of her, “Angel, are you sure you’re not a closet Tierre-fan?”

Angel scowled at her, “I was only keeping an eye on him.”

A collection of black and white surveillance photos littered the oval conference table in the Operations room. Tierre was in most of them, looking unaware of being watched. None of the pictures were very recent.

“I had to stop. He was getting too good at spotting my spies,” Angel said, “And a lot less generous in dealing with them.”

Buffy’s eyes widened, “Did he …?”

“No. He’d send them back. They would quit as soon as they’re freed. They don’t ever want to deal with him again.”

“Some of these were taken in different countries.”

“He travels a lot.”

Buffy glanced up at him questioningly, “You’ve watched over him all these years, haven’t you? Why?”

He shrugged, tried to be nonchalant, “I owed him that much, at least,” he said quietly, “I put up this place for Tierre. When I first found out he had joined Scarlet, I thought he wouldn’t last. This was a ready sanctuary just in case he decided to come back.”

“And immediate protection. You knew Scarlet wouldn’t just let Tierre go if he ever decided to leave,” Buffy said, “Why would you think he wouldn’t last in Scarlet?”

“The truth? Tierre absolutely despises being given orders,” Angel toyed with a photograph, “And … he wasn’t exactly Scarlet material … at first.”

“But that didn’t last.”

“No. In time, we had to convert this place into our base of operations, dedicated solely to some Scarlet and Tierre-centric situations.”

“You’ve gone up against him before?” Buffy asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Angel looked embarrassed, “And … we’ve lost to him before. Crafty punk.”

“Who’s this?” Buffy asked, holding up a photo of a younger Tierre and a young Asian man. Unlike most of the other photos, this one was in full color. It was, in fact, not a surveillance photo. It was a personal picture. The young man had an arm around Tierre’s neck in a pretend headlock, the fingers of his free hand up in the peace sign. Tierre grinned broadly at the camera, an elbow dug up against the guy’s ribs. There were other people in the background, and a stage. Most of the guys in the background had no shirts on and had wild hair.

Angel didn’t miss the soft smile on Buffy’s face as she gazed at the picture, “He looks so happy here.”

“That… is Ikari Toya,” Angel said, “Tierre’s best friend and partner. Back in the days when Tierre was still just another Scarlet member. Ikari was actually part of a contingent, not a recruit. Tierre is the only one who was ever recruited directly by Scarlet. Contingents are mercenaries, Scarlet’s back-up army. There aren’t a lot of young people there. Ikari was the only one close to Tierre’s age. Possibly the only one he could goof around with.”

“And God knows we all need people like that,” Buffy smiled, thinking of Xander and Willow in their teen years.

“Wesley took this picture in some rock or punk band’s concert. We had received a report of a Tierre-sighting in that area, but I was in L.A. at the time, so Wesley went on his own. I remember how bitterly he complained about the crowd,” Angel said, amused, “Anyway, he told me he was trying his damnedest to avoid getting sucked into a mosh pit, when someone suddenly jumped him.”

“Tierre?”

“Toya,” Angel replied, “He had spotted Wesley first. Wesley thought it was Tierre, because he said the hammerlock was very effective. He was dragged to a semi-clear area and would have been beaten or worse for his trouble. That was when Tierre came along. He wrestled Toya away from Wesley and told him to back off. They got into a fight. Wesley said Tierre pulled rank and told Toya that from now on, no one from the Fang Gang were to be harmed in any way. Toya had grumbled about having to follow the orders of an asshole, but he left Wesley alone. Then came the picture taking. Tierre gave Wesley the camera, but left it behind when he and Toya had to run away because some of Tierre’s personal bodyguards―or wardens. I mean, why would Tierre need bodyguards?―came after them. Apparently the two had skipped training so they can catch the concert.”

Buffy laughed, feeling warm all over, thinking about that side of Tierre. In the picture, he seemed so young and carefree, “How come there aren’t any other pics of Toya? I’d like to meet him. Or has he changed like Tierre?”

“Toya’s dead,” Angel said gravely. The Slayer stared at him.

“It was a mission gone wrong. I don’t know the specifics because Tierre never said anything.”

“He … came to you?”

“Yes. Here. I just found him in one of the rooms. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at me. I didn’t want to push him and end up driving him away again. But when Fred went to bring him dinner, he was gone. If I’d known, I would’ve locked all the doors,” Angel said, “But locked doors wouldn’t have kept Ivo out, anyway. He was there, waiting for me when I went outside, ready to chase Tierre down.”

“Who’s Ivo?” Buffy’s head was swirling.

“The former head of Scarlet. At that time, Scarlet was one big unit. Not like now. They’ve been divided.”

“We know. Wait … why does that sound so familiar? Scarlet … Ivo … Ivo … Scarlet …” Buffy gasped with realization, “Ivo Scarletta! The would-have-been heir to Franco Scarletta’s multi-billion dollar empire? No … that’s not right!”

“Wait, you didn’t know who …?” Angel was confused. He thought they already knew about Tierre.

“It can’t be. Franco Scarletta is a philanthropist. He’s built public schools and hospitals and those free medical clinics in Africa. And he has charities all over the world! And … he’s not a bad guy!”

But even as she said it, Buffy can see that it made sense. Elsa had said that the owner of Scarlet was human. And rich. And immensely powerful in their world. The son of the Scarlet head was also supposed to have disappeared. So had Ivo, a kidnapping case two years old that was yet to be solved. The daughter who was murdered would be Maria Scarletta. It was another case that even with the Scarlettas’ wealth, remained unsolved. All the pieces fit. And hadn’t she learned by now that appearances were frequently deceiving?

“No, he doesn’t fit the profile, does he?” Angel said wryly, “Very few people know. He built Scarlet, Buffy. Money is the fuel to the Scarlet machine. Ivo used to be the driver. He was completely human, but he was brilliant. I guess intelligence is a prerequisite. If he wanted to, he could’ve killed me. As it was, he just warned me to stay away from Tierre. He was the one who told me that Toya was dead.”

“So … he told you to stay away and you did?”

“No. I didn’t want to give up. But don’t you see? It would’ve taken all of Wolfram and Hart to fight Scarlet. I can’t just rush headlong into war like that,” Angel sighed painfully, “I am fighting them, Buffy. I’m sorry that it’s taking so long.” He tapped the picture that was still in Buffy’s hands, “I want you to understand that the Tierre in that picture is gone. A lot of things conspired to destroy that boy. The man in his place is more dangerous than even Spike had ever been. Remember that.”

Buffy felt herself shaking as she stared down at Tierre’s smiling face. One moment of his happiness, frozen in time forever, “So … he’s not Spike,” she murmured, head bowed.

She didn’t see the emotions flicker across Angel’s face, “No, he’s not.”

If I have to lie to you to give you what you need …

Then I will.


~*~ *~ *~


“So, what’s the plan?” Faith asked. Everyone, Scoobies and Vashkans alike, were gathered in Angel’s brownstone.

“I … have an idea,” Angel looked warily at the Vashkans, “But it’s going to involve somebody else. I’m not sure if you’re going to approve of her.”

Rumus’ face was tight with barely restrained anger, “It doesn’t matter who she is. If she can help, bring her forward.”

Buffy whispered to Angel, “Who are you talking about? You never said anything.”

“She’s coming now.”

“Who?”

The doorbell rang. All eyes were on Wesley, who went to answer it. When he came back, he was with a woman. A tall, dark, and very beautiful woman.

“Oh, my God,” Xander swallowed.

Willow couldn’t believe her eyes, “No way,”

Giles removed his glasses and furiously rubbed at them.

“What the hell is going on?” Buffy exploded, startling everyone with her fury, “What is she doing here?”

The woman looked directly at Angel, “Maybe I should leave.”

“No,” Angel grabbed Buffy’s arm to keep her still, “I told you we need her help. We can’t get inside the Scarletta estate without her.” Then to the woman, he said, “Sorry for the outburst. So … how’ve you been, Drusilla?”


~*~ *~ *~


“We’re going to employ the help of a lunatic to go up against a madman?” Giles blurted out.

“Here, here,” Xander said, raising his hand as if giving a toast.

Selig looked at the humans, then at the vampires, “Lunatic? What do you mean by that?”

“That vampire is insane!” Willow told them emphatically.

“Total whacko!” Faith seconded, “Or … so I’ve heard.”

Buffy just stood with her arms crossed, silently fuming. The Slayer in her was just itching to grab something sharp and wooden and reduce Drusilla to a pile of dust.

Angel looked immensely embarrassed, while Wesley sighed and looked up at the ceiling, as though praying for deliverance. Only Drusilla herself seemed to find the humor in the situation. She gazed at each of them in turn, a mysterious Mona Lisa smile on her face.

And then Rumus suddenly said, “Are you lot blind? That woman is not insane.”

Seyhan stared at Dru, unabashedly studying her, “No. She’s just very amused.”

“You’re new around here,” Xander said with a know-it-all attitude, “Don’t let her beauty fool you. That woman hears voices and communicates with the stars and she plays with a little doll named Miss Edith!” he turned to Dru, determined to prove to everyone that she was looney tunes, “Go ahead, Dru. Why don’t you tell us what the stars are saying, huh?”

Drusilla closed her eyes briefly, and she started swaying to music only she can hear, before gliding forward towards the Vashkans, “Please allow me to introduce myself, I am a woman of wealth and taste. I’ve been around for long, long years, stolen many a man’s soul and faith,” she sang sweetly.

“See! See! I told you!” Xander crowed.

Faith suddenly burst out laughing, Angel grinned and Wesley clapped his hands. The brunette Slayer’s eyes were sparkling, “Guess we were wrong,” she said, still chuckling, “Nice choice, though. Classic intro.”

Drusilla smiled, “Thank you.”

Willow, Buffy and Xander chorused, “What’s going on?”

Giles cleared his throat, “Er … Drusilla just sang Sympathy for the Devil, by Mick Jagger. Only it was her very own version.”

They scowled at her. Dru said, “They certainly haven’t mastered the art of tact over the years, have they?”

“They don’t know what happened to you, Dru.” Angel said.

“What happened to her?” Willow asked.

“She has her soul and her sanity back,” Wesley replied, “Don’t ask how. She’ll never tell.”

Drusilla sighed, “I’ve always had my sanity, luv. But it’s only now that we understand each other,” she tucked her long, silken black hair behind her left ear, “You want to get near Scarlet without having your carotid arteries severed, eh? Then I suppose you should get your party dresses laid out.”

“Can you be more cryptic?” Buffy snapped sarcastically.

“Actually yes, I can be,” Drusilla smiled sweetly, all at once innocent and mischievous, “But first tell me, which is your priority? The Balancer, or the queen?”

“You told her everything?” Seyhan rounded on Angel.

“I told her what I knew. I only just found out that one of you was taken by Scarlet.”

“I had a feeling that’s what happened,” Dru said, “Didn’t they tell you? I’m clairvoyant.”

“A Seer,” Selig suddenly said, “No, The Seer. You’re that Drusilla?” at everyone’s curious looks, especially that of his brother, he explained, “I’ve heard of her, during my frustrating time searching for you when you fled to this world a lifetime ago.”

Seyhan smiled sheepishly, properly chastised.

“Well? Which one is it?” Drusilla repeated.

“We want them both back,” Rumus told her.

“They’re not going to be in one place together,” Faith said matter-of-factly, “They’re going to be held separately. It’s basic.”

Selig nodded, “So our next step would be to determine where Yesha is being held.”

“You’re right. We don’t know much about the Balancer, but with Yesha, we can use a locator spell,” Willow said, “I’ll go do it right now.”

“So … what’s with the party dress advice?” Xander asked.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s all over E! Franco Scarletta is hosting a party tonight,” Drusilla replied, “If you can get close enough to him, then you won’t be attacked. The safest place for you is right beside your enemy.”

“Guess that means we’re pretty safe right now,” Buffy said, looking at the vampiress meaningfully.

“Are you suggesting that we abduct Scarletta?” Wesley asked, “Because then that’s the only way that we can leave.”

Drusilla shrugged eloquently. Buffy threw up her hands in frustration. The vampiress smirked at her, “I told you I can be more cryptic.”

Seeing the murderous glint in Buffy’s eyes, Angel quickly said, “Dru, that’s enough. Why don’t you just tell us what we need to know? We don’t have a lot of time here.”

“What you do with Scarletta is up to you. I’m only here to tell you how you can get close to him,” Dru said, “This party will be held in Scarletta’s own home. The place is called Summer’s Cove. I’m sure Angel knows where it is.”

“Scarletta’s home? Doesn’t that mean that all of Scarlet will be there?” Xander pointed out.

“Yes, but this is a party for the people … for the media, really, “ Wesley said, “And since this is the first time Scarletta will be hosting one of these shindigs in Summer’s Cove, we can be certain no one will want to miss it.”

“And lots of honored guests and media people, meaning less playtime for Scarlet,” Buffy said, grinning, “I like that idea.”

“And what of the invitations?” Giles queried, “Somehow I get the feeling Scarletta has left us out of the guest list.”

“I can go in and out if I wish, as long as I’m only going up against their ordinary guards,” Drusilla said, “I’m not so certain if Scarlet members are susceptible to the thrall.”

Just then, Willow came back from doing her advanced locator spell. It was easy enough, because she looked for one of only four Vashkans in the human realm. And three of them were in New York, “Guys, I found Yesha,” she said eagerly, “You’re not gonna believe this, but she’s not in New York anymore.”

“She’s in Montana.”

TBC

Chapter 9: Get this Party Started

Previously: Tierre and Logan have a mini face-off in front of Franco, shortly after the attack on the Council. Franco reveals that Tierre had apparently checked Yesha in a Scarlet hospital. Tierre then takes Yesha away from said hospital. Meanwhile, Buffy and Faith storm Wolfram and Hart, and end up talking to Fred and getting a glimpse of Angel and Tierre’s past antagonistic relationship. The two Slayers track Angel and Wesley to New York, where Buffy first assaults Angel, and then ends up having a heart to heart talk with him about Tierre. Angel and Buffy gather Scoobies and Vashkans to plan how to attack Scarlet, and Angel brings forward and unlikely ally…Drusilla.

***

“You look very handsome,” Maggie smiled at Tierre, then stuck her tongue out at him through the mirror when he pretended to preen.

“Anyone would look good in a tux,” he said.

“I’ll remember that the next time I’m invited to one of those oh-so-classy banquets.”

Tierre shuddered inwardly at the idea of Maggie rubbing elbows with the sharks he swam with. Never, he vowed. They’ll never even come near her again. So far, his oath to protect her was going smoothly. He owed that to his friends, the people who would lay down their lives for Maggie in a heartbeat. She had no idea who they really were, thought of them only as people who had managed to grow close to the Wolfson family. If she took the time to examine the circumstances in which they’d entered their lives, she’d certainly suspect something, as bright as she is.

But she had learned to love them, and with that came her trust and acceptance.

Maggie watched in silent, almost maternal pride as Tierre ran his fingers through his rebellious locks one final time. For once, they obeyed him, and lay in a docile slick-back that showed off his face for the entire world to see. He wore a simple black ensemble, and a shirt so crisp and white, it nearly blinded her. His black Italian silk tie had been tied to perfection after several arduous attempts.

He was never flamboyant, her Tierre. When he dressed up like this, he always chose subtle elegance over flashiness. The effect was always head-turning. He just screamed ‘old money’ from every angle, right down to the casual, almost predatory grace with which he carried off everything. Not bad for someone who used to run out into the world with clothes that a flat iron would give up on.

Tierre caught her wistful look in the mirror and asked, “What?”

“Nothing,” Maggie wrinkled her nose mischievously, “Just thinking that this isn’t like you, showing up at one of Franco’s social events just because he asked you to. You always say these things bore you to death,” she said, “Or is there some other reason you’ve decided to play the obedient son tonight?”

“You could say that.”

“Ah hah! I knew it!” Maggie stabbed a finger at his chest, “So spill already. What’s her name?”

“Who said it was a lady?” he hated that her playful expression gave way to worry in a matter of seconds. He hated that he always seemed to give her reason to fear for his safety.

But if everything played out right, Maggie won’t ever have to worry about him again.

“Tierre,” she whispered anxiously, “What are you up to this time? It’s dangerous, isn’t it? It always is.”

He cupped her chin gently, “I’ll be careful, ducks. I promise,” Although telling her about everything that he did was out of the question, Tierre made it a point not to totally keep her in the dark. He respected Maggie too much to feed her nothing but bullshit.

Tierre gazed more closely at her, trying to reassure himself that she really was fine. He had been surprised when he and Yesha had arrived at the ranch and found Maggie there. She had been surprised, too ― pleasantly, when she caught sight of Yesha.

He and his hostile hostage had set his favorite redhead straight on the nature of their relationship right away. And then, much as he knew that Maggie hated it when he got too fussy, he asked her if she was feeling all right.

“Of course I am,” she’d snapped at him, “It’s practically summer, Tierre. I came for my well-deserved vacation, nothing else.” And then she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, “You worry too much, man.”

She’s fine, he had told himself over and over. She’d tell me if … if … she felt … ill.

“She’s got something to do with tonight, doesn’t she?” Maggie asked, snapping Tierre back to the present.

“Yes, but she doesn’t know anything,” he told her, just in case the original Wolfson had any ideas about grilling Yesha. Ever the gracious hosts, the two had given the Vashkan one of the best guestrooms to sleep off her jetlag. Tierre had no doubts that when Yesha woke up, the first thing she’d do would be to look for him. She’d find out he’d left her, and then she’d try to escape.

She’d also find out that there was no escape. Yesha was a smart elf-girl. She’d figure it out by the obvious lack of restraints on her. Her door wasn’t even locked.

And as for Maggie, Tierre was confident of her safety.

“I better get going. Franco will freak if I’m even a second late,” he said finally, “Hope’s goin’ to be practicin’ her piano lessons with you tonight, right?”

“Uh-huh. She’s doing really well, too. I think she may be Beethoven’s reincarnation.”

“No way, ducks. “ Tierre teased, “I’ve heard her play. I swear I thought I was transported to another world. Ludwig’s got nothin’ on your girl.”

Maggie grinned proudly.

“Maggie …”

“Hmm?”

“You know where to call me if … if you feel … somethin’ right?”

“You mean if I feel that I’m dying?” she said curtly. Tierre stared at her, hurt and terrified. Maggie tried to smile, but her face felt too stiff, “I’m fine. I feel fine. Why can’t you believe me?”

Tierre sighed, then pulled her into an embrace, “I know you’re fine. I’m sorry I’m so paranoid.”

“ ‘Stop being so paranoid’. That was supposed to be your New Year’s resolution.”

“Yeah. Four years old.”

She laughed, and the tension vanished. Tierre kissed her forehead, then said, “Oh, and if you notice some wonkiness tonight? Just ignore it.”

She raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t push. He’d tell her anyway, in his own time.


~*~ *~ *~


Tierre had one last stop before he went out to what promised to be a night in desperate need of entertainment. Sometimes, Tierre wondered what he would do if he wasn’t so blessed with his infinite gift for creating fun. Probably destroy the world as mankind knows it, as Angel had once predicted.

The short box of concrete that he entered housed an Internet café, one of several million that dotted the entire planet. This one was special, but it didn’t look special, hence making it even more special.

“Hey, Thorn,”

“Go away, Tierre.”

Tierre smiled, “Now is that anyway to greet an old friend?”

Nelson Thorn, the best, most discreet drop in all of New York City, maybe the whole bloody world, raised his head and smirked at him, “No,” he said, hazel eyes amused, “But it sure as hell is good enough for you.”

Tierre shook his head sadly, “And after all we’ve been through together ―”

“― Most of which were entirely your fault.”

Tierre gave up, “He here?”

Thorn gave his head a sharp jerk to the right, where a lone computer sat, facing a man with straight, blue-black hair.

Tierre made his way over to the man, noting with automatic accuracy, the faces of those who were inside Thorn’s Internet Café. He would need to remember them, just in case one of them is hired to take him out. They all looked up at him without moving their heads, and the brief flick of their eyes were so quick, as to be imaginary. Tierre knew better, of course. When you moved in the shadows of Hades, you soon learn that here, there was no line between the imaginary and the real.

“Ragnarok? Chess? Dungeon Master? Or something you created?” Tierre asked, peering over the black-haired man’s shoulder at the computer game he was playing.

“Something I created,” the man replied.

Tierre shuddered. There were some things that even he would think twice before facing. The games Ryan Alvarez created were some of them “Get away, stupid. You’re shadowing me.”

Tierre grabbed a seat and obediently sat down beside the computer, in front of Ryan, where his offensive shadow wouldn’t get in the way of the bloke’s playing, “I’ve got a job for you,” he said.

“I’m busy, T-Wolf.”

“You can do this between levels,” Tierre leaned the chair up against the wall until its front legs were off the floor, “How many levels are in that one?”

“Four.”

“And no one can get past the first. Have I told you lately what a frightening sadist you are?”

A ghost of a smile graced Ryan’s lips, “Flattery will get you anywhere. So talk.”

“I’ve got some guests coming over tonight, but I’ve got other plans so I’ll probably be late in coming home to attend to them.” Tierre began, “Would you mind playing the civilized ―accent on ‘civilized’, thank you very much― host for me? Just until I get back.”

“Do I look like a frigging ―” Ryan looked up, saw Tierre in his tux, and promptly burst out laughing. Tierre scowled and thought about hitting the guy, but that would probably just cost him one of his hands. His expression got even sourer when he saw Thorn attempting to hide a grin. Thorn had once vowed to be polite and charming in order to attract more customers. He failed miserably in this mission. The bastard was supposed to be a genius ― he’d been breaking Top Secret codes, both government and private, in his teens. He’d hacked into servers and mainframes and forced them to submit to his evil will in his early twenties. He did all that just to pass the time, now.

Genius or not, Tierre had bet good money that Nelson Thorn would go to his grave without ever learning the finer points of etiquette.

“This here has the Maggie Seal of Approval. If you don’t shut up, I’m telling,” Tierre taunted.

That shut them up. Tierre smiled, “Now will you listen?”

“If you’re ready to ditch your clever code …” Ryan grumbled.

“I am,” Tierre related his plan to Ryan, switching to a dialect that only Ryan and Thorn could understand. But Thorn was busy trying to look busy, and the message was mainly for Ryan, anyway.

Ryan continued playing, “You doing this for your old man?”

“Say that again and I’ll leak your games on the Net.”

“Well?”

“Sort of,” Tierre slammed the chair back to stable standing, “You in?”

Ryan shrugged, “Whatever,” he muttered.

“If you can’t handle this on your own, feel free to give her a call.”

Ryan smiled sweetly at Tierre, and flipped him off.


~*~ *~ *~


Summer’s Cove was like one of those perfect little dream towns, idyllic and elegant with its large, old houses with well-trimmed lawns, neat and wide streets, the colonial buildings and its quaint little gift shops. They weren’t shy about the trees. There were lots of trees around. Buffy liked trees. She might have even liked Summer’s Cove, with its squeaky-clean Boston small town image, and its pristine beach.

Of course, Sunnydale had been the same way, a bright, homey place. And it had stood on a hellmouth. On the other hand, if Summer’s Cove had any hellmouths, she didn’t feel them. There wasn’t a hellmouth in Boston, Giles had assured her early that evening, before they set their plan in motion.

As for that plan, Buffy still had her doubts. Mostly because of the woman they were forced work with.

Drusilla stood quietly beside her, listening to Angel put the final touches on their planned assault. She wore a gown of exquisite, deep red velvet, the color of blood. Her hair was done up, and delicate strands curled beside her beautiful face. Tiny rubies dotted her delicate earlobes. She wore no other jewelry, and she wore no make-up, but the red made such a perfect contrast with her alabaster skin. She was a vision.

Buffy wanted to claw her eyes out.

As though hearing her thoughts, Drusilla turned her head to look at the Slayer. She did not smile, but her face was far too serene to be that of a human being’s. Buffy forced herself to pay attention to Angel, and the rest of the plan.

Angel, Dru, Buffy, Willow and Seyhan were to infiltrate Scarletta’s party. Seyhan had been torn between helping to rescue Yesha and going with the team assigned to steal the Balancer. Surprisingly, it had been Rumus who had made up his mind for him; telling Seyhan that he must go and find the Ark A’ Fen Dai Vakar, for he was its true guardian. Yesha would soon be back with them; he and Selig would make certain of that.

Dru was confident that she can thrall her way inside; and even if she couldn’t, Scarletta had no reason to be suspicious of her. Dru had never been known to pledge allegiance to anyone but herself.

And to Tierre, of course. She hadn’t bothered to elaborate on that.

As for the rest, they’d be lucky if they weren’t shot on sight. Angel’s name was anathema to the Scarlet Empire, and dossiers of the Scoobies and Vashkans were probably being passed around the group’s circle right now.

Willow fixed that right up. A mild invisibility spell cloaked the four of them. She also taught the others how to voluntarily lift the spell on their own. She warned them that they must always be aware of their invisible status at all times. If their concentration broke, the spell was lifted. None of them could imagine a scenario where they would ‘voluntarily’ do that.

One of the younger Slayers had actually filched invites from some of the party’s real guests. Elsa and Andrew had hacked into a popular gossip columnist’s computer and stolen a guest list from there. The invites would be generally useless, since four of them would be invisible and would be getting inside by sneaking in via windows or backdoors, if necessary. But the young Slayer had been so proud of her little accomplishment that Buffy just didn’t have the heart to say no.

“All right,” Angel was saying, “Let’s go through this one more time. Seyhan, Willow, the two of you will look for the Balancer, but you have to wait until Dru has put Scarletta in thrall. He will be your guide and your shield.”

“What if she can’t?” Seyhan asked, glancing at Dru, “What if Scarletta is immune to your vampire powers?”

Dru smiled her Mona Lisa smile, “No one is,” she said softly, gazing at the Vashkan. Seyhan gazed back, his eyes going glassy, before he caught himself, gave his head a sharp shake, and shot Dru a withering look.

“Don’t do that!” he spat.

“You only managed to do that because Seyhan was looking right into your eyes!” Buffy pointed out.

“Stop it!” Angel ordered, “Look, when it comes to thralls, no vampire has ever surpassed Dru. She knows what she’s doing, all right?”

“So, we wait until Franco’s under thrall, then we politely ask him to give us the Balancer back, right?” Willow said quickly, her gentle sarcasm breaking the tip of the tension iceberg.

“Yeah, and that’s all you do, Will. Don’t try to fight with any of Scarlet, if you spot them,” Buffy said, “We’ll take care of that.”

“Are you certain that Mr. Giles and Alexander can lead 20 Slayers if ever a battle erupts?” Seyhan asked, referring to the Slayer battalion that they’ve taken with them as backup.

Both Willow and Buffy replied simultaneously, “Absolutely.”

“I don’t see them anywhere.”

“That’s because Giles and Xander already have them in position.”

“Okay, you guys ready?” Buffy looked at each of them in turn, “Good. Let’s do this.”

Willow’s spell was activated and the group got in the roomy Volvo Angel had provided. Drusilla surprised them again by driving the car herself. To the naked eye, she was just a beautiful woman, driving to a party alone.

They left the outskirts of town and descended from the low hill that overlooked Summer’s Cove. The town was even more beautiful up close. But there was something missing.

“Oookay … where’s the Scarletta estate?” Buffy asked, looking around her at the simple residential paradise, “This all looks suspiciously like suburbia to me. Where’s the palace? The moat and the Scarlet flag?”

“Hmmm … they would all be inside the kingdom, of course,” Dru said.

Since her smirk was invisible, Buffy made sure her voice was chock full of sweet sarcasm, “And where, pray tell, would that be?”

“Over there,” came the casual reply.

Buffy rolled her eyes, turned her head to the right ― and felt her jaw drop. Willow and Seyhan were equally speechless.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Angel said.

“An island?” Willow blurted out, “He owns an entire island?”

“Islet, would be more appropriate, I think. It’s not that big,” Angel huffed.

But it was big. The island was connected to Summer’s Cove by a stone bridge that looked like it’s been there for a couple of centuries at least, and would stay there for the next thousand. Cars were already crossing that bridge, entering the brightly lit kingdom of Camelot.

“I heard that there used to be other estates there, but that Scarletta had bought every single one,” Drusilla said.

Buffy began to wonder if 20 Slayers would be enough. She wondered just how many members Scarlet really did have in total. She didn’t wonder if they would all be there. She assumed they would. There was more than enough room for all of them.

“I sure hope the guests would be enough protection for us,” she heard Willow say, “You know, if he wasn’t such a bad-guy-in-disguise, I’d envy Mr. Scarletta’s talent for throwing parties. This is supposed to be for a benefit, yet you’d think Brad Pitt or Angelina Jolie would show up.”

“That’s Scarletta for you. He’s just an extraordinarily rich guy who wants to make the world a better place. Who doesn’t want to be in the presence of a god like that?” Angel muttered bitterly.

“I still can’t believe it,” Willow murmured, “He always seemed so … good. I can’t believe it.”

“You will, Willow. Once we get in there.”

Buffy could still hardly believe it, either. But this had happened to all of them once before, with the Mayor. Even Buffy didn’t get the bad guy vibe off him then. She’d been wrong. She could be wrong about Franco Scarletta, too.

The procession towards the gates was slow. The guards were checking each arrival with a thoroughness that was almost ridiculous. “Sure, and I got all dressed up, too, when even the guards aren’t going to see me,” Buffy grumbled.

“This is for our own protection, Slayer,” Seyhan said, “And besides, we might be called upon to become visible once more. It’s better if we can blend in.”

“Be quiet,” Dru suddenly snapped, “And shield your thoughts as well. It’s possible the guards could be minor telepaths.”

“Only minor?” Buffy shot back wryly.

“I would know if they were any psychic threat,” Dru said simply.

They did as their lovely driver instructed. All four passengers were glad that they had received training on clearing their minds in one way or another. Dru, on the other hand, did nothing of the sort.

When it was their turn, the guards glared at her suspiciously, “Drusilla,” said one, who looked like he had walked right out of the ring from the WWF, “What are you doing here?”

“I was invited,” Dru handed over her card gracefully. The guard brusquely snatched it out of her hand and looked at it thoughtfully as though he could discern that it was a fake by spotting a single typo. The other two guards inspected the rest of the car.

Buffy could feel Seyhan tensing for a fight when one of the guards lingered too long where he sat beside the window. Angel was on the passenger seat, and Willow was on Buffy’s other side.

While the guard pored over the invite, Dru started chatting with him in a slow, husky voice. She wasn’t really talking about anything, just about how perfect the weather was for the party, and how she hoped she’d spot someone from Hollywood around. The guard merely grunted in response to her inane chatter. The four waited tensely for the verdict, barely paying attention to what Dru was saying.

And then the guard handed her back her card, “Okay, let ‘em through,” he told his partners.

Dru was smiling smugly, “Works every time,” she murmured proudly.

“Her voice,” Willow whispered eagerly, “It’s not about maintaining eye contact with her at all. The thrall is in her voice.”

Buffy really couldn’t care less, as long as the vamp didn’t start chatting with her.

By that time, they were inside the estate.


~*~ *~ *~


“Don’t you think you should put those things somewhere safe?”

Franco Scarletta whirled around, “Tierre!” he exclaimed, “Don’t sneak up on me like that! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Aw … I can’t be that lucky,” Tierre grinned to show that he was kidding. Franco was relieved to see that for tonight, Tierre didn’t bring his annoying sunglasses.

The young man ambled towards the glass casing that held the Balancer’s gateway. Beside it lay the ancient scroll that had been Franco’s most valued possession. Until now, of course.

Although the scroll was undoubtedly aged, it was still intact. It was written on parchment and nothing more extraordinary than plain ink had been used in the encryption. It should’ve been nothing but dust by now. But for some reason, it remained whole. Some unnamed force was keeping it together.

Inside, a long poem rested. Tierre had read the damn thing over and over again. Deciphering more than half of it had taken years, decades. But the decrypted stanzas had served as the map that had led Franco’s people to the treasures their boss sought. Obviously, they were on the right track.

“They are safe here,” Franco told Tierre, “They’re safer here than anywhere else.” He touched the scroll reverently, “Blood of the Guardian … Blood of the Child,” he murmured.

“Still haven’t figured out what that means, huh?”

“Not yet.”

“Could be that the Vashkans are the ones being referred to. Seyhan D’Harken, maybe,” Tierre suggested, knowing that Franco would disagree.

“I think it’s that boy.”

“What boy?”

“The one in the old Vashkan legends. The human boy the Balancer was supposedly entrusted to.”

Tierre shrugged, “Well, whoever he was, he’s long dead by now. That, or unbelievably old.”

Franco was only half-listening. Tierre didn’t share his vision. He didn’t really believe. But that was all right. Franco would make sure that he will. “When are you going to bring the Vashkan to me? Why are you hiding her?”

“Hiding? You know perfectly well where she is. She just needs time to heal. Be patient,” Tierre said, “Anyway, I came to tell you that your guests have arrived. Go on. Mingle. Bore yourself.”

“And you?”

“I’ll be down soon. Just let me center myself mentally first.”

Franco headed for the door, but before he left, he turned back, “Oh, Tierre … how is Maggie?”

Although his heart rate increased, Tierre showed no outward signs of being perturbed, “She’s doing fine,” he replied.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I’m sure you are.”


~*~ *~ *~


The party took place in one of the gardens. They called it a garden, but it would probably be better described as a park. The entire place was lit by hundreds of lamps strategically hidden among the thick leaves of sturdy trees. An orchestra played inside a gazebo that had probably been built just for that specific purpose and for this specific night. Neatly-garbed waiters flitted between tables covered in snow-white linen, moving efficiently and gracefully, applying art to service. In each table, a single cut-glass bowl sat, boasting freshly-bloomed American Beauties. The long banquet table was laden with food prepared by chefs for the special purpose of feeding the rich. On another table was a sparkling champagne fountain. Hors d’ oeuvres and champagne were served, delicately balanced on silver trays. On yet another table was a huge ice sculpture of dolphins, posed as if they were arching above the sea.

The guests milled about, talking and laughing gaily. A single dress from any one of the women would’ve been worth enough money to feed one of the families who were supposed to benefit from this new fundraiser for an entire week.

Buffy and Angel circled them like invisible hawks, watching out for any of Scarlet disguised as one of the filthy rich and bored. So far, they had spied none.

“Everything okay out there, Buffy?” that was Willow’s voice, echoing gently in Buffy’s head. Since they couldn’t afford to freak out the guests by talking out loud ― they were invisible ― they decided to communicate telepathically.

“Uh-huh. Still no Scarlet sightings. What about you guys?”

“None yet. Where’s Dru?”

Buffy looked around. It was easy to find Dru. She was irritatingly dazzling tonight, “Over there, flirting with that rich old geezer.”

“Just passing time until Scarletta shows up, Buffy.” Angel said, sounding stern.

Buffy rolled her eyes, then quickly sidestepped away from a woman drifting in a cloud of perfume before she could get trampled. She kept an eye on Dru to make sure she didn’t disappear with one of the guests. The vampire had already attracted a small crowd, mostly men. She probably had them in thrall.

Drusilla’s involvement left Buffy confused. She could tell there was more to her sudden appearance than neither she, nor Angel, was willing to tell. Buffy hated that she had to work with the vampire. She didn’t now, and she never would, trust Drusilla.

And there was also the fact that Dru obviously knew Tierre very well. Better than Faith. Maybe even better than Angel.

Buffy didn’t like that at all. She especially didn’t like Dru’s mysterious little answer when Buffy had demanded, “Why are you even trying to help us?”

Dru had said, “I’m not helping you. I’m helping Tierre.” She refused to be swayed by the barrage of questions that came her way after that teasing line. Frustrated, Faith had lovingly caressed her favorite stake. All Drusilla did was smile that infuriating Mona Lisa smile.

“Buffy, heads up.” Willow warned.

Buffy looked up and saw Franco Scarletta, looking and moving like a king in Armani, descend from his palatial home to greet his guests. Once again, Buffy was struck by that kind, happy smile. You can’t help but trust a man like that. He just radiated confidence and genuine empathy. He moved among the movers and shakers with the ease of one who knew he was among peers.

Drusilla didn’t make her move. She didn’t even act like she was aware that her prey ―so to speak― has landed.

“What is she doing?” Willow hissed in annoyance.

“She must be waiting for something. Were we supposed to give her a signal?” Seyhan sounded confused.

“No, you were not, and if you don’t mind, I’d rather that you didn’t think about me as if I weren’t here,” Drusilla’s brain waves mingled with theirs and even Buffy winced guiltily, “You’re all distracting me.”

“Let her work, people.” Angel added.

“Thank you … Dad …,” Dru had opted for sarcasm, but somehow it didn’t end up sounding that sharp.

It was then that the tingle rose up Buffy’s spine, blooming like a flower of snow at the back of her neck. She knew that feeling well; had been intimate with this sudden, trembling awareness once upon a time. She had given up on ever feeling this kind of adrenaline-rush, the unique combination of predator-prey blood calls, ever again. She hadn’t felt this in so long.

Until the night the Council was attacked by Mercury.

She knew the very moment Tierre Wolfson came out to play, and it wasn’t just because her senses suddenly went on hyper-red alert. It was also because every single guest turned as one to look at him. Always a team player, Buffy turned to sneak a peek, too.

It was like seeing an entirely different person. The first time she saw him, Tierre had been just like any other guy. Deadlier, more graceful and a thousand times more attractive than just any other guy, maybe, but still, he certainly hadn’t looked like that.

His tux, the classic black and the snow-white shirt, fit him perfectly, clearly tailor-made just for him. His hair was in a painfully familiar slick-back, and Buffy was absurdly grateful for its natural dark gold hue. Absurdly grateful that it wasn’t platinum.

But it wasn’t just the attire, it was the way he carried himself. Tierre was undoubtedly confident, but tonight that confidence seemed different. Subdued, yet even more blatant, somehow. And then Buffy realized why. The first time she saw him, he had been fighting, and he had with him the rough, brutal confidence of a seasoned warrior. Tonight, he had shrugged off the persona of the fighter. Tonight, he was sophistication and male elegance given breath.

The transformation couldn’t have been more shocking had he suddenly turned into a woman.

And then he moved, and his predatory grace was very much there. This, the guests sensed, though they didn’t understand it. Their glances were covert and wary, and Buffy saw that unlike the charming Ivo and his elegant sister Maria, Tierre Wolfson had never had society’s acceptance. Only their fear.

“Like a very well-dressed panther, isn’t he?”

Buffy started. Drusilla’s husky murmur sounded so real that she swung around to see if the vampiress was standing behind her. She wasn’t, though.

Angel’s mental voice came through as well, but he wasn’t talking to the Slayer, “Seyhan, goddamnit, I said stay put! You so much as move an aggressive muscle and Tierre will know you’re there. Trust me on this!”

“He can’t see me!” Seyhan snapped.

“He doesn’t need to!”

Buffy wanted to see Seyhan, but she couldn’t. They were invisible to each other, too. The Vashkan must have said something that warned Angel that he planned to attack Tierre.

“Seyhan, remember what we’re here for!” Willow urged, “The Balancer and Yesha first, revenge second, when Scarlet doesn’t have a hold on us anymore!”

“Relax, elf,” Drusilla drawled, “I’ll go see if Mr. Scarletta would like to show us a little of his priceless collection.”

At that, Seyhan calmed a little, “Be careful,” he said softly.

“Second nature,” Drusilla said, her lips remaining motionless. She wove her way towards Scarletta, but her charm worked against her. Several guests stopped her for a brief chat.

“Go on ahead, try and get inside the house,” the vamp said, “This may take a while.”

“Get out if you see anyone who might belong to Scarlet,” Angel reminded Seyhan and Willow, “C’mon, Buffy. There’s gotta be someone out there who’s on our hit list.”


~*~ *~ *~


Angel watched both Drusilla and Tierre at the same time. It was almost nostalgic, he thought humorlessly. He almost felt as if he had been thrown back in time, when he had still been Angelus, watching over his childe and her childe, making sure they didn’t leave a mess of their food. The only one missing was Darla. How she had loved functions like these. She’d dress up, then, to make herself even more irresistible to the stupid, infatuated males who all ended up on her menu.

Memories of Darla eventually brought back Connor’s beloved face in Angel’s mind, and the brooding vampire reflexively pushed that memory away. Not here. Not now. Especially not with Tierre around. There was an indirect correlation between Angel’s failure with Connor and his disaster with Tierre that even now, the tall brunette still found too painful to contemplate. And so he didn’t. There would be plenty of time to brood later, he assured himself.

Dru was still trapped among the rich eager to make her acquaintance. She’d get away soon, Angel knew, so he focused on Tierre. He was talking to three older gentlemen. Angel’s vampire hearing allowed him to eavesdrop, but nothing earth-shattering was being discussed. They were talking business, apparently. It didn’t interest Angel, but the vampire enjoyed Tierre’s casual expertise on the subject. Tierre already ran more than half of Scarletta’s numerous enterprises. He wasn’t just clever and street-smart, he was intelligent, too. Intelligent in the way of educated men.

Just like Spike had been. William the Bloody’s young mind had enjoyed a high academic training; not that he had much use of it after he’d been murdered and turned into a vampire, but still he’d had it. It would make sense that Tierre had Spike’s natural intellect, as well.

The topic shifted from business to golf, and Angel almost laughed as he watched Tierre’s eyes glaze over with boredom. Some things never changed.

Just then, Dru had a clear path to Franco Scarletta. Angel quickly checked Tierre. So far, he wasn’t aware of their presence. That wouldn’t last long. “Work fast, Dru,” Angel sent a telepathic missile to his childe, “Buffy, don’t let Tierre out of your sight, but don’t get too close to him either. Be careful.”

“Got it.”


~*~ *~ *~


Drusilla hadn’t been completely honest with Angel, or the Slayer. Her confidence that she can put Franco under thrall wasn’t absolute. Yes, Franco Scarletta was indeed only human, and quiet ordinary when compared to the likes of his own doomed children, Ivo and Maria, or to Tierre Wolfson. Franco wasn’t immune to a vampire’s thrall. But Drusilla had two major hurdles in the way to a successful mind warp.

First: Getting close to him. So far, she had managed to pass herself off as one of the elite, especially since they flocked around her. Not that she can blame them, she was, after all, a raving beauty with a sparkling wit to match. She was Princess Charming, chocolate wouldn’t melt in her mouth. She didn’t even need to use the thrall on these civilians.

But Franco was a different story. He knew her. If he so much as caught a glimpse of her, her job here would be over. She didn’t dare hope that he would keep her alive if he caught her. 12 years ago, maybe he would have, but not now. Not when Scarlet now had individuals whose psychic powers were in league with her own.

And even though she had never made a personal enemy of the billionaire before, Drusilla had once been considered a threat by Maria Scarletta herself. Enough, so that the late heiress had personally tried to end the vampiress’ then newly-souled, newly-sane existence. There was no reason for Dru to assume that Franco would act any different from his daughter.

And Second: Assuming that she did succeed in putting Franco under a thrall, keeping him enthralled is a different matter entirely. The true owner of Scarlet was not only fiercely intelligent; he was also notoriously strong-willed. He can break out of a thrall almost as easily as the Vashkan, Seyhan, had.

There was only one way to take him, and that was to catch him with his guard down.

But before that … she would have to make him put his guard up.

Drusilla then seized a helpless pawn. Turning an irresistible smile on a balding, 40-something man in a very expensive, ill-fitting tuxedo, she asked sweetly, “Oh, I love this song! Would you like to dance?”

The poor man’s enthusiastic diatribe about the new eight-stall stable he just had built for his thoroughbreds came to an abrupt halt and he had to look behind him to make sure he was the one the gorgeous young lady was talking to. Drusilla turned up her smile several watts to blinding, before stepping in the awkward circle of her partner’s arms.

And the dance began.


~*~ *~ *~


“Franco, I’d like you to meet Drusilla,”

Franco Scarletta didn’t even so much as bat a hostile eyelash. Instead, he smiled at his friend and said, “We’ve already met.”

“You have?” Dale, the 40-something balding guy, sounded disappointed. He had been hoping to show-off to Franco tonight.

“Yes, we have,” Drusilla disengaged from her current partner and stepped in close to Franco. To his credit, he didn’t back away, “You naughty boy, it’s been so long. You didn’t even tell me you were having a party.”

“You were the one who disappeared off the face of the planet,” Franco’s good-natured smile never slipped.

Drusilla’s laugh was the sound of a gentle breeze caressing silver wind chimes as she addressed the people he’d been talking to, easily including them in the conversation, nurturing their ego, hence ensuring her social survival, “Well, a woman has to lick her wounds,” she said gaily.

An attractive woman laughed, too, “Oh, my dear. I’m afraid you’re not the only one whose heart was broken by this wicked man.” She slapped Franco’s arm fondly.

Drusilla softened her voice and her eyes locked on Franco’s. He quickly, but artfully, looked away, “But it was worth the break.”

Right on cue, the orchestra started playing ‘If Ever I would Leave You.’

“Dance, Franco? You know … for old time’s sake.”

“I don’t think Dale would appreciate me ―”

“Oh, not at all!” Dale was overly-enthusiastic, “Just bring her back in one piece.” The small circle of acquaintances laughed at this and Dale was suitably mollified.

Drusilla knew she had him. Franco Scarletta may be the founder of the most ruthless underground organization ever formed, but he was still, first and foremost, a gentleman. Courtesy was in his blood, if not his heart. By asking him to dance in front of his peers, Drusilla had taken away all his escape routes. Franco Scarletta was no Tierre Wolfson. His public image mattered to him; turning her down flat simply because he felt like it was impossible.

And then they were on the portable dance floor, whirling gracefully to the music. Drusilla caught more attention now than she had before. Upon closer inspection, the guests realized that she really wasn’t one of them. Drusilla could only hope that Tierre was looking the other way.

“What are you doing here?” Franco demanded, while his face remained as pleasant as ever.

“Enjoying myself. This is a lovely party, by the way.”

“Thank you. Enjoy yourself while you can.”

“Franco! Is that any way to treat a guest?”

“As I recall, a guest is supposed to be ‘invited’.” Franco’s voice had a cold edge to it, “What’s your game, Drusilla?”

“No game. I’m not playing.” Drusilla was equally serious.

Franco smiled. It had no warmth, just the flashing of white teeth. Like a vampire flashing his fangs, Dru thought.

“Take a single step towards Tierre, and I will stake you myself. In front of all these people, if necessary.”

He meant it. But if he was waiting to see Drusilla shake in her shoes, he was in for a disappointment. Drusilla had her own reasons for being here, and it wasn’t because she wanted to help Angel or his friends.

Her reasons were personal, and so much more important than her own safety.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “You know Tierre is safe with me.” With that, the fight was aborted. Franco was still suspicious, and his instincts were screaming at him to leave the female vampire’s embrace.

But then she started humming along to the music. The humming became a soft song. She had a really good voice.

Well, Franco though as a warm feeling of well-being came over him, Maybe just this one dance …

TBC….

Chapter 10: Playing Around

Previously: The Scooby/Angel/Vashkan/Dru group had managed to infiltrate Scarletta’s party without being seen, well, most of them, anyway. Dru had snagged a reluctant Franco, and they danced…

***

Tierre was bored. He had tuned out everyone’s incessant chatter, and had rudely walked out on some of the guests who came up to him for business proposals, or somethingorother. He was tempted to snarl at them that this was supposed to be a benefit, and that they should be pouring out cash, not seeking to fill the glass again.

He glanced at the orchestra. He toyed with the idea of going up to them and requesting Aerosmith’s Livin’ on the Edge. Only they prolly had no idea what Aerosmith was. They prolly considered anyone who didn’t compose his music deaf, or at the age of five, as heretical.

He had to leave, or he would go crazy. To Tierre, there was no such thing as a decent party without beer.

He looked over at Franco, but the man was dancing with a slender woman in a red dress. Something about her seemed familiar. Tall, slim, with pale skin …

… and long, straight, dark brown hair. Lots of it. Glinting like silk …

Something grabbed his chest. Tierre gasped softly. With supreme effort, he forced himself out of the past and back to the present. He looked away from Franco without ever seeing the face of his dance partner, and started walking away.

“Leaving so soon, Master Tierre?”

He didn’t bother to spare the speaker a glance, “Yes.”

“But the party …”

“Is boring.”

Tierre felt the person following him. Annoyed, he turned around, “Don’t follow me,” he bit out.

~*~ *~ *~


Scarlet …

Had to be. Why else would he address Tierre as ‘Master’? This one wasn’t from Mercury, but his face was still vaguely familiar. Still, he had completely given Angel and Buffy the slip. They didn’t even know he was there, even though he was dressed like a guest and they had spent most of their time since getting here checking out the guests. Buffy wondered if Angel’s seen others milling around.

“Buffy, Dru’s got Scarletta. I think he might be a little glassy-eyed now,” Willow said eagerly.

“Are you inside the house?”

“Just beyond the front door.”

“All right, Angel …”

“Scarlet, lots of them. Scattered everywhere,” the vampire with a soul said.

Buffy felt nervous, “You think they’ve noticed something?”

“I don’t think so. They seem to be enjoying themselves.”

“Where’s Wolfson?” Seyhan asked.

Buffy looked around, “Oh, crap. He’s gone. I heard him say he was bored and leaving.”

“He’s what?” Seyhan couldn’t believe it, “Slayer, we have to find him! He might have noticed something after all and has left to organize a counter attack!”

“He said he was bored.”

“Maybe that’s a code!” Willow exclaimed.

Buffy didn’t believe that, but she’d already made up her mind to follow him anyway, “Okay, you guys. Sit tight. Wait for Dru and just follow the plan. I’ll find T―… Wolfson.”

“I don’t think I like that idea, Buffy,” Angel began, “I …”

“I’m going, Angel. You stay here and look out for the others.” She loped off before he could say anything else. She didn’t care if he couldn’t see her leaving; he must feel the distance now when she refused to respond.

But Tierre was already gone. Buffy cursed to herself, and then headed for the parking lot. Tierre can only leave the island by car. Or boat. Or plane.

Aaaarrrgghh!!

As she sped through the party again, Buffy did her best not to hit or step on anybody. She saw the guy who had called Tierre master, talking to a woman, and quickly changed direction before her path inevitably crossed with his.

The Slayer left the party behind, zooming straight for the parking lot. It was her first guess. If he wasn’t there, she’d start looking for an airstrip.

The Scarlet member paused in his conversation with the lady and looked up with a frown, “What is it?” his lady companion asked, wondering why he suddenly got distracted.

“Hmmm? Oh, nothing, I just thought I felt someone looking at me,” he said easily, “You know how it goes.”

She smiled and nodded, accepting his explanation. He raised his champagne to his lips and casually let his gaze sweep the surrounding area. But he saw nothing.

Well … almost nothing.

On an empty space near the dance floor, two small patches of grass were bent at an odd angle. There was only one way for grass to be crushed like that, and that was if there was a heavy weight on top of it. But there was no one there.

Then the grasses slowly sprang back up again and the man smiled into his glass as another patch was bent … and another … and another.

Steps. Someone was walking.

He looked up and scanned the dance floor. Scarletta was there, dancing with someone vaguely familiar. They turned in a graceful circle and the man saw the woman’s face.

Drusilla. Bingo.

He smiled for real. This party just got interesting.


~*~ *~ *~


A DeSoto.

Buffy had to bite her lip to keep from crying out loud at the sight of the old car. It wasn’t parked anywhere near the other cars. It rested beneath an old tree on top of a small rise of grassy land, mostly invisible. But she saw it. Immediately, as if her eyes had been drawn to it. When she spied its make snuggled in the shadows, her heart almost stopped.

She didn’t dare go near it. She was afraid it would disappear if she touched it. Was it some kind of a ghost car, out here haunting all the Volvos and BMWs and Porsches? Or was it here to haunt her? She didn’t know. She didn’t even know if the car was real, or if her fevered and severely taxed subconscious had brought it into being.

The only thing she did know was that Tierre was still here.

Buffy’s feet moved towards the car. Her subconscious strikes again. Her fingertips hovered over the smooth, black metal. Where was the dent in the bumper? And why was it clean?

And the windows weren’t tinted. They should be!

There were no long fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, no strong hand shifting gears. No slender frame filled the driver’s seat. If she managed to open the window and stick her head inside, would the interior smell like whiskey and cigarettes? Or would it smell like new leather?

The DeSoto was still, suffering her touch in silence. And then she noticed something sitting on top of the passenger seat. Moonlight was reflected off it in slivers of silver.

Sunglasses. In the dark, they looked black. But Buffy knew they were dark blue.

Tierre.

Buffy leaned against the car ―Tierre’s car. A DeSoto, how’s that for a joke?

On one side of the DeSoto was the parking lot, and beyond that, the party. On the other side was a clear view of the ocean, and not much else.


~*~ *~ *~


Little waves rolled lazily to shore and then pulled back before they actually touched the fine, cream-colored sand, like a shy boy trying to steal a kiss from the girl he liked.

Tierre stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the painfully beautiful sight of the wide, dark sea. It wasn’t officially summer yet, but already the weather here was perfect for a beach outing. Even at night, the water seemed peaceful and inviting.

But he didn’t feel the same old urge to conquer the sea anymore. He remembered the first time he’d been on a beach, how he’d dived into the depths, cutting the surface with knife-strokes. The sun had warmed his bare skin, its light giving the water its ethereal sparkle. Water everywhere, surrounding him, enfolding him. A warm embrace that he never wanted to leave. The sea tasted salty, and good. He remembered loving the taste of it so much that he had drunk it, only to get sick afterwards. Maggie had lectured him and forbidden him to go back, like he was a disobedient ten year old who couldn’t be counted upon to stay out of trouble.

And the next day, the two of them had raced each other, surf boards held high.

But he hadn’t spent all his time on the beach during the day. Or with Maggie, neither. There had been other times.

“The sea is a woman,” the keeper of his heart had once whispered to him, while the two of them lay on the sand, the water seeping beneath them, tickling their bare skins. Above, the stars shone down on them, jealous that the warmth that remained of their lovemaking wrapped around them and them alone, shutting out the world, even the universe.

“How’s that, love?” he asked.

“It’s infinitely deep, filled with secrets. You never know what lies beneath. Its colors are ever-changing,” she murmured.

He’d joined in, then, loving the sound of her voice, the intimate yet light nature of their conversation, “It’s different from the earth, the sea is. The earth is dark and hard and unyielding. The sea is a gentle lover, her gifts are caresses and kisses.”

“Unless of course, you catch her in a bad temper,” she’d teased, slender fingers tracing seductive patterns on his chest, “Then she can drown you.”

“She can drown you anyway. Whether in a storm, or on a perfectly peaceful day, you could fall into her depths, and never make it back. You drown forever,” he turned to look into the bottomless pools of her violet eyes, “But it doesn’t matter. Whether gray, black or blue, violent or serene, she will always, always, be beautiful.”

Always beautiful. Heartbreakingly so.

But no matter how inviting she can be, Tierre no longer went into the sea. He just didn’t feel the same way anymore. Now, when the sight of her used to fill him with unbearable, child-like excitement, she calmed him instead. A deep, all-encompassing calm which is what he needed in order to survive.

He bent down and picked up a flat pebble, pulled his arm back and let it fly. The pebble skipped the surface four times, before sinking into the bottom.

At the bottom forever. Drowning forever.

He didn’t know how long he would have stayed there before giving in to either one of the two strongest temptations plaguing him now: the urge to walk away, to leave. And the other, the desire to run into the ocean, let the water close over his head, and … drown. He didn’t know which option to take.

Something in the area, the faintest hint of life. Aside from him, that is.

Someone was watching him.

He smiled. It looked like the decision had been made for him after all.


~*~ *~ *~


She had no idea how she knew she’d find him here, but right now, Buffy really didn’t care.

Tierre stood by the water’s edge, the slight breeze ruffling the soft waves of his hair. He was barefoot, his shoes a little ways away from the water. She saw him bend down and pick a pebble, then skip it over the surface. An air of calm clung to him. He seemed more relaxed now that he was here than when he was at the party.

Buffy crept closer. Slayer stealth would keep him from knowing that she was there. She saw that his jacket was unbuttoned and his tie was loosened.

And then another feeling came to her; came to her in such a rush and with such clarity that she almost forgot she was supposed to stay invisible. She was just watching his face, saw him briefly close his eyes. When he opened them again, a chill descended in Buffy’s blood.

Death. The ocean. And Tierre.

No … please … don’t

I’m not going to let you die.

And then Tierre tipped his head back, and the moonlight kissed his beautiful face.

It was over.

But just as Buffy was starting to breathe easier, just when her heart started to go back to normal, Tierre suddenly said, “Find anything interesting?”

He turned around. His sapphire gaze was locked right on her own.


~*~ *~ *~


Willow was in awe.

Drusilla came up to the house, her hand on Franco Scarletta’s arm. Seyhan sounded suitably impressed when he said, “He’s properly enthralled!”

Drusilla said, “So, why don’t you give us a tour of the house, Franco?”

“But you’ve been here before, Drusilla.” Franco replied.

“What?” Willow demanded.

“But you didn’t give me a tour even then,” Dru pouted, “And I was so looking forward to it.”

No one can resist that lip, as both Willow and Seyhan soon found out. For a few minutes, Scarletta led them around a few of the impressive rooms of his home. Then Dru said, “It’s beautiful, luv. Now show us your latest conquest.”

Don’t rush it, Dru, Willow thought. She and Seyhan had opted to remain invisible, just in case Scarletta was faking.

“What conquest?” Scarletta asked innocently.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Dru purred, “You finally have it, don’t you? The one you’ve been working towards all these years?”

In the back of Franco’s mind, a silent alarm rang ceaselessly. Drusilla could only be talking about the Balancer. She wanted to see it; wanted him to bring her, and her invisible friends, to where it was now.

But he couldn’t do that, he thought fuzzily, looking down at Dru’s beatific and cajoling smile. On the other hand, how can he say no? How can anyone say no to Drusilla?

But that alarm just wouldn’t stop.

“I’ve never let anyone near it, except for those who brought it to me, a couple of experts for the decryption and Tierre , of course,” Franco said, “It’s very important to me. I’ve spent my entire life―”

“Is he refusing?” Seyhan sounded surprised.

Dru didn’t blame him. She was surprised, too. How can Franco still have the ability to say no to her?

“Who are you?” Franco suddenly demanded, “Who are these people with us, Dru?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Dru saw a blur of color. D’Harken was getting impatient again. Don’t even dare, she mentally snapped at him, I can take care of this.

Hurry up.

Of course, your High-Ass.

Guys, please! Focus, remember?

Drusilla placed her hand on Franco’s arm and stepped in close, very much invading his personal space. She looked up at him with big, brown, puppy eyes. A cheap little girl trick, in Drusilla’s opinion. She’d rarely used it ever since regaining her sanity. But she was more than willing to do anything now, as long as it worked, “Please? I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Who―”

The vampire stood on tiptoe, her lips almost brushing Franco’s earlobe, “Franco … you’re in my world,” she whispered, “And you’re surrounded by my people.”

“I thought you’ve become sane now.”

Drusilla laughed, “Only in the morning,” her eyes became heavy-lidded, “At night … the stars call my name. Can you hear them?”

And there he goes, back down the rabbit hole, Willow thought giddily, as Franco Scarletta fell headfirst into the thrall once more. Dru was formidable, it didn’t even really matter what she said. As the four of them started up the grand stairs to where Willow hoped the Balancer would be, the thought of how Scarletta had almost broken out of the thrall that first time intruded in her happy thoughts.

But Dru had him in control now, the redhead reassured herself. No need to worry.

It’s here, Seyhan suddenly whispered to her, I can feel it.

Well, good, Willow replied, Because I don’t wanna stay here any longer than we have to.


~*~ *~ *~


Angel was wondering whether he should follow Buffy or Drusilla, when developments began to arise.

Nasty developments.

He had been keeping an eye on all the Scarlet members he’d spotted so far. There had been five of them all in all, but there must be more, just lurking around. He’d turned to look at a pair of new arrivals for just a second.

When he turned back, there were only four Scarlet members.

Alarmed, Angel began scanning the crowd for the missing sheep. What if he’d gone up to the mansion?

And then he noticed there were only three. Still no sign of where they disappeared to.

Willow, Dru, the vampire began to send an urgent telepathic message, Be careful. I’ve lost sight of the Scarlet thugs I’ve been watching. Where are you guys, anyway? Do you have the Balancer?

Buffy? Buffy, where are you? Come back now! I think I’m going to need your help!

Shit. No time to wait for Buffy. Angel had to make sure that Willow, Dru and Seyhan were safe. He skirted the dance floor and took off for the mansion at a full run.

Angel? What did you say? You think Scarlet’s on to us?

Angel was relieved to hear Willow’s mental voice. I don’t know, but they could be. Get out of there, now! Send a message to the Slayers. Tell them to get ready!

Angel, where is the Slayer? Seyhan demanded. This guy seemed to be incapable of formulating a polite question.

I don’t know, Angel replied grimly.


~*~ *~ *~


“The library? You’re very confident in your own abilities, Franco. I would never dare to put treasures like these in such an obvious place,” Dru had lost her little-girl pout and her pretty-please demeanor. In its place was a brisk, business-like attitude, “On the other hand, if you’re known to own real treasure vaults in various parts of the world, who would think that your most valued possessions are in a li’l ol’ library?”

“It’s not so little,” Willow protested, “This place is bigger than the one we had in high school!”

Drusilla reached out to take the scroll lying next to the glass-encased crystal.

Seyhan materialized beside her. He grabbed her wrist before she made contact, “Drusilla, wait,” he ordered. She looked up at him questioningly.

“Back home, we have sealed our most dangerous treasures inside a cave. There is a mine that surrounds the cave. If you get past that, the cave itself is coated in ice. It gets colder the farther ahead you walk. At the end of the freezing journey are three tunnels. If you choose the wrong one, I guarantee you, you will not survive it.”

Drusilla pursed her lips and gingerly took back her hand, “My mistake.”

They turned back to the man in question. Scarletta was looking at Seyhan thoughtfully.

“You must be Seyhan D’Harken,” he said, “Tierre told me you might be coming. I should listen to him more often. But it’s so hard to figure out when he’s kidding, and when he’s not.”

“Franco, please let us have the Balancer back.” Dru said.

“And the scroll,” Willow hastily added. She thought about showing herself like Seyhan did, then decided not to. She felt edgier now, after receiving Angel's warning.

Like an obedient pupil, Franco Scarletta went over to stand in front of the stolen crystal. He said, “Show the lines.”

Laser beams glowing a warning red appeared. They encased the Balancer and the scroll in a cubic form. Had Dru gone on with her attempt to just pick up the scroll, the beams would have shredded her hand to ribbons and she wouldn’t even know what happened. The brunette held her hand close to her chest.

A computerized voice from God-knows-where, requested, “Say the word.”

Scarletta obliged, “William the Bloody.”

As Dru stared at him in surprise, Scarletta reached for the scroll. The beams delicately made way for him. He took off the glass casing and retrieved the crystal.

Seyhan’s expression was one of joyous relief when he finally got the crystal back. Drusilla took the scroll and gave it to Willow. The witch instantly rendered it invisible.

Suddenly, Seyhan tensed, “Somebody’s here,” he said. He blended back into invisibility.

The double-doors to the library opened, then closed. Nobody came in.

No one visible, anyway.

“It’s just Angel,” Willow said aloud, “Angel what happened? Where’s Buffy?”

The sound of Angel’s footsteps let them know that he was heading for the spot where Willow’s voice originated.

“Angel?” Seyhan prodded when the vampire didn’t answer.

Drusilla’s eyes narrowed, and she reached out to hold Franco to her. Something wasn’t right.

And then she got it, “That’s not Angel!” she yelled. Willow screamed, and Seyhan’s running footsteps echoed against the floor. The familiar sounds of physical combat bounced off the walls.

“What’s happening? What’s going on?” Willow’s voice sounded funny and Drusilla caught the tantalizing whiff of blood. The vampire forced herself to ignore it.

“We’re not the only ones who have the means to become invisible,” she said roughly, “Run, witch! Get out of here!” She didn’t wait to see if any of her companions took her advice. “Come, my darling,” she cooed in Scarletta’s ear, “We’re going to the stars,”

With that, Drusilla made a run for the nearest window, carrying Franco like he weighed nothing. She crashed against the expensive glass and out into the darkness.


~*~ *~ *~


Buffy reacted on instinct. She quickly moved out of the way.

Tierre’s gaze remained on the spot she had stood on for a few seconds, before he moved as well, facing her. But his hesitation had been enough. He couldn’t see her. If she hadn’t stared at him like some idiot school girl/stalker, he probably wouldn’t have sensed her, either.

“Hey, now, that’s not fair,” he called out cajolingly, “Come on out where I can see you.”

Buffy’s only advantage was the fact that she was still invisible. She wasn’t about to give it up, no matter how badly it screwed with her sense of fair play.

Speaking of playing …Buffy grinned to herself.

The Slayer rushed her prey, then launched herself towards him in a flying kick.

Tierre sensed the attack instantly and dropped out of the way ―like she knew he would― and Buffy pulled back on her kick and dropped nimbly in a crouch, facing Tierre, her back to the ocean. She realized Tierre had already turned to face the ocean when he ducked, knowing that’s where Buffy would land. Although Tierre was practically blind, Buffy realized that she didn’t have the upper hand. Not by a long shot.

The two combatants were still for almost a minute.

And then, almost as if someone had fired a starting gun, they threw themselves at each other.

The first punch naturally belonged to Buffy. It caught Tierre’s chin, the force of it knocking him backwards. But he didn’t fall. He wildly lashed out, but didn’t get lucky. Buffy’s fist got him in the solar plexus. Tierre bent over forward, losing the air in his body in one violent gasp. Buffy raised her right leg, prepared to give Tierre Wolfson a taste of her shoes.

His hands caught her offending leg before it could even come close to making contact, “Gotcha!” he grinned, pulling at her leg roughly. Buffy landed on her back with an undignified squeak.

“Oh, now I know you’re not Faith. I don’t remember her squeaking,” Tierre laughed.

Buffy turned red. He thought Faith was better than her? What did he know? They only fought together once, right? Just once! Faith said so! Unless she lied and the two of them …

Buffy managed to roll out of the way of Tierre’s fist, closing her eyes against the explosion of sand that came after impact. She put her hands beneath her chest and pushed off so forcefully that her body went up high. She turned in an aerial back flip high above Tierre’s golden head. She landed behind him and threw a straight right, but he had already faced her. He instinctively moved out of harm’s way, grabbed her wrist and tugged it past him.

To Tierre, the move was simply a precedent for a couple of other painful offensive blows. But Buffy immediately noticed a unique result to the whole maneuver.

Tierre had unwittingly pulled her close to him.

Very close. His breath was on her face; the warmth radiating from his skin caused goose bumps to rise in her own …

… and his lips were … right … there…

Tierre was ready to savor slam-dunking the intrusive little imp, when he suddenly savored something else entirely.

Something unbelievably soft and warm pressed against his lips. It was so brief a moment that it was more of a sensation than an actual touch. But he knew it happened. Her taste was all too real.

What the bloody hell … ?!

The small, but terribly strong body he thought he had under control twisted out of his grasp. An unmistakably feminine giggle floated out of her.

“Still so sure I’m not Faith?” came her teasing question.

If she had any hopes of pretending to be the dark Slayer, she just killed them. Faith’s voice didn’t sound like that. Faith’s voice was low and husky, intimate and secretive, with a natural seductive quality that can easily border on hypnotic.

Her voice … was like warm honey. It spoke of sunshine, light-hearted jokes, conversations of the heart. It spoke of strength ― and wasn’t that strange? He knew exactly what she would sound like when she knew she’d be heading into battle; knew the sound of her voice when she was in pain; in anger; in hate …

…In passion …

Tierre’s blood began to boil. He hated that the mere sound of her was so much more familiar ―and welcome― than it had any right to be.

He had known who he had been fighting all this time, of course. He had imagined the spark in her emerald eyes for every blow she dealt him, had seen the taunting curve of her lips, the sheen of perspiration on her silken skin. And her scent that had wrapped around him, that lingered wherever she had touched him…

His blood began to boil in a very different way.

Right, then. She wanted to play, did she?

Tierre Wolfson loved games. And he was more than happy to oblige.


~*~ *~ *~


Being light-headed and irrationally giddy was not a good condition for a Slayer to be in when fighting.

If that was the case, then Buffy Summers was totally screwed.

Her heart was still on overdrive, her skin so sensitive she thought she could actually feel Tierre as he stood several feet away. That was just her imagination, of course.

She ran her tongue over her lips.

That wasn’t imagination.

And it hadn’t been enough.

The irony wasn’t lost on her. She had played this game before with … but no, he wasn’t the same man, was he? Remember that, Summers.

But the thrill was the same, even stronger. He couldn’t see her, but he knew she was there. And between the two of them, it was impossible to tell who was really in control.

And then Tierre moved. He raised his hands and easily shrugged off his jacket. He tugged off his tie, and Buffy’s eyes locked on the lazy play of those long fingers. She fought to keep herself in place, when what she really wanted was to go over there and take off the tie herself. And his shirt, and his pants …

Stop! Heel! Cease and Desist!

The shirt stayed where it was. It wasn’t such a bad idea. The damn thing was an arrogant piece of clothing ( and it should be! ). It probably wouldn’t allow itself to cover anyone else’s body but Tierre’s.

“No need for us to be so formal,” he drawled.

“Nope. Don’t need that,” Buffy said, a little too breathily. Her body fell into a natural fighting stance. Tierre might not act like he was about to attack, but the Slayer wasn’t going to take chances, “What’s the matter, Wolfson? Cold feet?”

Tierre shook his head, “I want to see you,” he said softly.

Buffy tossed her head haughtily, even though Tierre couldn’t appreciate the gesture, “Take me down and maybe you will.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Buffy’s eyes widened. She was totally floored by her own daring. First the kiss, now this?

Tierre’s smile was slow and decidedly predatory, “Promise?”

His voice was like velvet. Buffy stared, transfixed by that unexpected smile. He ran his tongue lightly over his white teeth, and she bit her own lip in response.

No. One chaste kiss would never, ever, be enough, “I promise,” she vowed.

And then, just like that, Tierre was right in front of her. When and how he moved totally escaped the Slayer. She shrieked when his strong hands grabbed hold of her. Her feet left the sand and soon she found herself held high above his head.

“Tierre, no! What are you doing? Put me down, now!”

“You made a promise, love. To me. And I don’t tolerate welshers.”

“I’m not welching!” she tried to struggle, but her position was too precarious, “Don’t you trust me?” she pleaded coyly.

Too late, Buffy suddenly remembered something about Tierre that Angel and Faith told her.

Tierre Wolfson is a very playful creature.

“Only as far as I can throw you!” he cried laughingly.

Buffy sailed through the air, the cool wind whistling past her ears. She didn’t even have time to work up a proper holler of outrage, before her body smacked against the water.

She had been prepared for ice, so she was surprised when the water didn’t freeze her to death. Buffy kicked out, and her toes brushed sand. Less than four seconds after impact, and the Slayer’s head broke the surface. She gasped for breath and pushed the wet strands of hair out of her eyes.

The water only came up to her shoulders.

Buffy stared in cold, murderous fury at the man on the shore. Tierre Wolfson was having the laugh of his short life. He had his long arms wrapped around that disgustingly flat stomach, as if to keep his sides from splitting. Broad shoulders shook uncontrollably and it was obvious he was having trouble breathing. Buffy prayed he would choke. She forced her legs to wade back to shore, her mind already conjuring up lots of vengeful scenarios that all involved Tierre begging for mercy.

“Having fun?” she spat.

“At least now, I can see you,” he sputtered in response. Buffy saw that he was right. She was visible. The freak must’ve known all along how to startle her into breaking the spell.

“You are so going to die, Wolfson!” she swore.

Tierre was feeling very pleased with himself and wasn’t the least bit perturbed by Buffy’s death threat. He looked up, prepared to give her a hand, so when they fought to the death, she wouldn’t think he had no manners.

His breath caught in his throat at the vision in front of him.

A nymph rose up from the moon-kissed water. Long, dark hair that he knew was actually gold, was slicked back from her alluring face and spilled past her shoulders, curling against her wet skin. Fat droplets of moisture ran their merry path along the tanned expanse of her chest and arms. Lucky, lucky droplets.

Buffy’s dress was a pale gold number. Tierre didn’t know much about dresses, except that he liked this one. Especially when wet. It clung to her slender curves so perfectly, it could’ve been second skin. The hem only reached the top of her knees. Each time she moved, it outlined the sweet, rounded lengths of her thighs. He raised his eyes back up slowly. The bodice was pressed against her lean stomach, molded to her breasts. Her breathing was rapid and harsh, evidence of her anger. Her chest rose and fell with each act of respiration. Bloody hell, didn’t the woman know what she was doing?

It was with an extraordinary strength of will that Tierre finally brought his eyes to her face. That should be safe territory.

He was wrong.

Her eyes were blazing with verdant fire, her insanely kissable lips wet and parted. The intensity of her beautiful face, the way she locked her gaze on him, nearly did him in that very moment.

As Buffy stalked closer to him in a dangerously fast pace, Tierre moved away. Not physically, no. Physically, he still stood there, gawking at her.

Mentally, he was far enough away that this unusually strong shot of desire didn’t distract him so much.

Buffy Summers was here, inside the estate. They’d acted faster than he expected. The Slayer would never have come alone. Her loyal friends would have tagged along, too. The witch would be a problem, but the aging Watcher and the one-eyed whelp would not. He assumed the little Slayers might be lurking around. Again, not a problem.

But who else was here with his little blonde-haired beauty? Hmmm … he should find that out.


~*~ *~ *~


Her hair, her yellow, velvet sandals, her lemon chiffon dress … all … ruined.

Buffy’s pain was immeasurable. Death was too good for the Wolfson creature. No, a good, long, mind-breaking torture was in order. Yes, torture … mwa, hah, hah, hah!

Willow, Giles, and Andrew were all convinced that Tierre was very clever. Elsa would testify in court that he was some kind of genius god. Faith had rhapsodized about the cunning game he set for his Yorkshire hunters. Even Angel, in his frustratingly cryptic way, had admitted Tierre had a brain that can be counted on.

Buffy no longer believed them. Just how smart can this man be if he continued to just stand there instead of running for cover in the face of a Slayer’s wrath? At least he was no longer laughing. Good. His survival instincts must’ve kicked in.

“What’re you gawkin’ at?” she snarled.

Tierre just looked at her, and there was something in his eyes that cooled off Buffy’s anger and fired off a very different kind of emotion in her.

“Something I want,” was his smoky reply.

Buffy gaped at him, “W-what?” she sputtered, even though her hearing had never been more acute.

And then his fingers were in her hair and his lips were melting against hers.

All thoughts fled Buffy’s brain. There was literally not even a single morpheme knocking about in her noggin anymore. In that moment, she ceased being a sane, rational person, and became one full mass of feelings and sensations given the form of a woman. She knew only this moment, felt only the man who held her, and wanted ―no, craved― only his taste.

Buffy kissed Tierre back, matching his hunger with hers. Her hands slid from his chest to his back. One hand slipped its fingers into the softness of his hair. Her breasts were crushed against his chest and his thighs were pressed against hers. His warmth seeped right into her very pores, and Buffy’s heartbeat pounded against Tierre’s.

And still, he wasn’t close enough.

Tierre curved one arm around her tiny waist, pulling her closer. He, too, was uncomfortable with the non-existent distance between their bodies. His tongue boldly explored the sweet warmth of her mouth, before joining hers in a heated dance. Not enough, his mind ranted, more, more, more …

God, she tasted good. She felt incredible. Almost enough to make him forget.

Almost …

A whimper escaped Buffy when Tierre’s lips abandoned her own, only to grow into a sigh of ever-increasing pleasure as he kissed the delicate line of her jaw. His tongue teased her earlobe, making Buffy squirm. When his teeth gently nipped at the lobe and playfully tugged at it, the heat that swallowed Buffy now threatened to melt her down. She tightened her fingers in his hair, holding him even closer.

“Buffy …” he sounded as ragged and as helpless as she felt, “Buffy … what are you doing here?”

“Mmm? … came … for you …” Buffy tipped her head back, allowing Tierre access to the long line of her throat, which he suddenly found so delectable.

“The Balancer, you mean.”

“No. You.” Buffy was getting impatient with his shirt. Much as she liked the way it looked on him, she knew he’d look better without it. Her hands slipped to his front again, shaking fingers attacking the first helpless button.

He chuckled, a delicious rumble sounding from his chest. He caught Buffy’s lower lip and began to nibble on it, then lightly sucked it in. Buffy lost control of her hands, followed by everything else, when Tierre covered her left breast with his hand and his thumb brazenly flirted with the hard tip. A full-throated moan escaped her, as little bolts of electricity shot straight down to her core.

“Who else?”

“Hmmm?”

“Who else is with you, Buffy?”

Did he really expect her to think when he was doing all these delicious things to her? “Um … Angel, and … oh, yes, that, please … Seyhan …”

“And?”

Reality pulled a fast one on Buffy. It had a funny way of smacking her in the face and getting a good laugh at her expense. Only this time, no one was laughing. Not even Tierre.

He saw the second she understood what he’d been up to. She twisted out of his arms violently, even as he let her go without a fight. She stared up at him, and there was no mistaking the hurt that she felt.

There was also no mistaking Tierre’s reaction to it. He wanted to apologize; ease her pain. He didn’t understand what he was feeling. He shoved it back where it wouldn’t bother him so much. Why should he care if Buffy Summers got hurt?

And yet he was inwardly cheering for her when she pulled back her tiny fist and slugged him right on the nose. He felt like saying, That’s my girl, even as he grunted with the pain.

He was less cheerful a half second later when she grabbed him much in the same way he grabbed her before, and with a mighty heave, threw him into the sea.

Buffy stood shaking. How could she have been so stupid? She felt no satisfaction at all; only alarm, as Tierre disappeared beneath the disturbed surface. She had to warn the others, tell them to drop everything.

They’ve just been made.

TBC...

Chapter 11: Run, Love.

Previously: Tierre left the party, and Buffy decided to follow him, despite Angel’s objections. Dru has managed to put Franco under thrall, and she made him lead her and her invisible companions, Willow and Seyhan, to the Balancer. Angel suddenly got reason to suspect that Scarlet may be on to them and warned Dru and the others. But despite the warning, Dru and her companions get into trouble anyway. Meanwhile, Buffy has followed Tierre to the beach, where she gets the unshakeable feeling that he is contemplating suicide. However, Tierre apparently changed his mind when he sensed Buffy near. The two fight, but not for long. Tierre makes Buffy break the invisibility spell, and then he tries to seduce her for information. It didn’t work as well as he’d hoped…

***

Seyhan knew his enemy had him at a disadvantage. The Vashkan lord couldn't see his attacker, and could only hope that his invisible foe was also unable to see him. He was holding his own well enough in the fight, keeping young Willow safe from further attacks. The mortal witch had already been injured by the first hit she received when she’d called out, thinking their attacker was the other vampire, Angel. Seyhan would make sure she didn’t receive another. He was thankful that Drusilla had left through the window with Franco. He had one less person to worry about.

Seyhan knew his skill was being wasted battling this invisible fool. Any Vashkan youngling would be able to divine that his attacker’s true motives for fighting weren’t of a subduing nature.

It was merely to keep him in the room. Until another Scarlet poison, could come to assist.

The Vashkan lord wasn't about to stay put and wait for the reinforcements. With a well-placed blow, he hurt the scum badly enough that he gained a full 30 seconds of freedom. Then he purposefully returned his body to its visible state, following the instructions Willow had given all of them earlier. He knew he was making himself even more vulnerable to their attacker, but that was a risk he was willing to take.

A worthwhile risk, because now, Willow knew where he was in the room.

He watched as the lovely redhead made herself visible once more, following his lead. The blood spotting her lips drew his immediate attention. She fell to the floor in a crouch, her small hands splaying on the thick carpet. Her lips moved, but no sound escaped from between them.

Seyhan sensed his opponent charging him again while he was distracted. The devil had recovered very quickly. Seyhan allowed his sword to lengthen as he held it straight out in front of him, in a classic defense posture. That was the best he could do at the moment. Heedlessly attacking an unseen enemy would only be a waste of his energy, something for which his attacker had no doubt hoped.

Suddenly, Seyhan saw Willow's hands glow green. Light spread from her hands in waves, rippling out to fill the room, and then disappearing just as fast as it had come.

Seyhan felt a strong tug on his sword the moment the witch's spell took effect.

Everything started floating! The smaller chairs, the long sofas, and even the priceless antiques that had been sitting on the tables rose up into the air. Only the carpet remained where it was since it was below the spell's point of origin.

Seyhan heard a gasp of alarm. He laughed out loud when his sword began to rise, tugged upwards by something. The Scarlet fool was trying desperately to weigh himself down by gripping the blade, Seyhan thought, keeping his hold on the weapon tight.

Willow walked over to him, smiling smugly. "I feel like Alice in Wonderland," she said.

Seyhan beamed at her, "Thank you for keeping me grounded," he said, reaching out to snatch a fountain pen in midair. He inspected it, and then let it go.

Her eyes widened comically, "Hey! Hey, you made a legitimate human pun!"

"Don't spread that around."

"Your secret's safe with me. Now let's go. I told you, I don't want to stay here longer than we have to."

Seyhan willed the sword to return to its dagger length, feeling almost sinfully pleased when he heard a thud on the ceiling. The idiot that had dared to make Willow Rosenberg's lip bleed was now stuck on it.


~*~*~*~


The riskiest part of Drusilla's plan was the chance that she would have to make an escape to an isolated area of the grounds, which was exactly what had happened. The library window she had crashed out of had been facing the back of the house, where there were no guests.

Which didn't mean that there was no one else.

No guests around meant no protection, and Drusilla, still carrying Franco fireman style ―she knew she looked ridiculous, but what was a girl to do?― made for the garden where the party was being held. Where was the garden again? This monstrosity of a backyard was ridiculously large! If she ever got Tierre alone, she’ll have a word with him about the excess. That is, of course, if Tierre would listen to her. After their last encounter, he would be more likely to drive a stake through her heart himself, on principle alone, before he would let her get a word out.

Lucky for Drusilla, she was unscathed and able to make her way towards the safety of a public crowd. But the billionaire over her shoulders hadn’t been as fortunate. Franco was still out of it, blood dripping from a long gash on his forehead. He was going to be fine, though; just unconscious for the moment.

The vampiress tried to remember once more which way was to the garden the party was being held. She couldn’t go through the house with Franco slung over her back, so she’d have to find another way. Letting her senses take over, she caught the faint strains of music from the orchestra. Ah, yes. She could get to the garden by going through the thick, dark, forbidding-looking forest… which she felt certain was just one enormous trap.

The island was a mosaic of civilization and wilderness. There was the mansion, with its vast and perfectly manicured lawns, and the private beach with its sugar-white sands.

But surrounding Franco Scarletta’s original estate, a legacy from the time when he hadn’t owned the entire island, was The Forest. Drusilla knew that it had been deliberately cultivated afterwards for the purpose of protection. She imagined that during the daytime the dense foliage was less frightening. The various flora and fauna might even be fascinating. And there would always be something new and exciting to be found in such a forest.

The image came easily to Drusilla, even though she had never traversed those forest paths in broad daylight. It didn’t matter. Tierre had given her that image with his poetic words. He had tried to describe his new home to her, tried to entice her so she would come and see it for herself. He had made it sound like a paradise.

And her heart had broken for him. She knew that one day, that paradise would become a prison for him.

But no prison would ever be strong enough for Tierre; Drusilla knew this just as confidently as she’d known Tierre’s new home wasn’t meant for her. Her confidence did not come from the dark prescience that was her gift ―her curse. Rather, this assurance was deeply rooted in Tierre himself. In her long, dismal and painful life, Tierre was the one true thing that Drusilla had ever been sure of.

That’s a song, the vampiress thought, smiling to herself. Every now and then, her mind digressed, went on its own path like a dog with no leash and a horrifying lack of training. Drusilla sometimes had trouble with concentrating.

Not tonight. She entered the forest with every single hair follicle pricked to decipher the subtlest hints of danger in the breeze. Darkness swallowed the forest with its thick and suffocating blackness. Even the slim moon rays that managed to penetrate the canopy seemed to be absorbed by the dim environ. Drusilla morphed, letting her vampire eyes scan the shadows superimposed on more shadows.

She couldn’t join the party again, not with a bleeding and unconscious Franco Scarletta. But she could send a telepathic message to the witch, asking her to turn Franco invisible. Or, if that failed, she could just wait around the edges of the garden in the forest for the Slayer cavalry to arrive. Truthfully, she didn’t have much of a plan, but she would be a sitting duck if she remained out here in the open, alone. At least closer to the party, she could take advantage of the protection from a crowd if things got bad.

Franco was becoming a heavy burden. She ought to just leave him here and make a run for it on her own. Willow and Seyhan already had what they came for from him, anyway.

Just as she was bending down to lay Franco on the ground, a vision came to her. For one brief instant, the entire forest was flooded with light and Drusilla saw the forest as it must look during the day…and then some. She could clearly see the outline of every tree, every rock, and every upraised root; it was as though they had been drawn on thin bond paper by a heavy handed artist using a black permanent marker. Beneath her feet, the ground was dry and parched as the desert.

Something squawked above her, and a flutter of wings followed. Drusilla looked up, but she saw no bird; just a pitch-black shadow that was there one moment, and was gone the next. It left behind a pale endlessness. She couldn’t think of a better way to describe it. No blue. No clouds. No sky.

Drusilla dropped her eyes. The pale endlessness, the thing that was not the sky, hurt the flying creature.

She gasped.

She could see them. They thought themselves well-hidden, but she can see right through the trees and the thick clumps of wild bushes. Animals; each of a predatory nature. She saw a lion hidden behind a tree; a wolf coiled and ready to spring; a crocodile creeping its insidious way towards her. The dried leaves on the once-mossy earth transformed themselves into piranhas and swam on air, heading for her.

This wasn’t happening. Even so, Drusilla could feel her fragile hold on reason, tenuous at the best of times, breaking.

When a strong hand suddenly gripped her shoulder, she spun around, eyes wide.

Spike didn’t smile at her. He’d stopped smiling at her so long ago. Tipping his white-blond head towards a pathway that she could barely see, he said, “Run, love.”

At that, the vision ended, and the world was once again dark; as it should be. The animals were gone from her sight.

But they weren’t gone. She could feel with her gifts, what her other five senses were unable to detect.

Drusilla left Franco there, lying on the ground, and she ran. She ran as swiftly as the creature of the night that she was, moving like a quick-silver shadow herself through the forest. Spike had disappeared, she noted, but then, she told herself, he had never really been there now, had he?

No, he hadn’t. There was no Spike to fight for her now. She was on her own.

The animals easily kept pace with her. She could hear them thundering through the plant life just behind her. She could see them flitting in the dark; brief, sporadic bursts of color. They didn’t bother to conceal themselves. There was no need.

This was the savage part of the Scarletta Empire. Not the forest, nor the elaborate defense system. The most savage part was the people. Those who still had their souls and yet still had a capacity for evil that rivaled any vampire’s.

She was so focused on those running alongside her, that when the true danger appeared right in front of her, she actually felt surprised. There was a cold whoosh of air, and then a huge bird was flapping enormous wings at her face. Talons clawed at her. Something hard and sharp sank into her shoulder. Drusilla screamed in pain. Without thinking, she swiped viciously at the creature. Her hand met solid, feather-covered flesh. The bird flew backwards, allowing the vampire to see it for the first time.

It was huge, much bigger than an eagle. Its blackness made it resemble a raven, but its eyes held too much intelligence for it to be a mere bird. The creature hovered there, flapping its massive wings just once, staring at her with those strange eyes. Its ability to remain suspended in the air without moving was something that most birds ―not ravens, nor eagles― had.

This was no bird.

And it was attacking again.

It had an unfair advantage over her with its flying capabilities. Even so, Drusilla fought back furiously. But soon enough, the creature had her on the ground, and was pecking ruthlessly at her. Her arms and shoulders were bloodied.

Drusilla knew she was going to lose. If only she could fly, too … her mind began to wander again.

Suddenly, she saw Tierre; saw him in that vision that had propelled her to seek out Angel in the first place. No one else knew about the vision. No one else knew what kind of danger Tierre was in. Only her.

And until he was safe, Drusilla could never allow herself to lose.

From her gut, pushing past her throat, and escaping through her mouth, was an ear-splitting, blood-curdling scream. It was an unearthly cry, inhuman; its frequency completely different from that meant for human ears.

The bird jerked off her as though it had been electrocuted. Drusilla quickly pushed herself up and watched as the black creature tried to regain its equilibrium. She screamed again. With oxygen no longer an issue, there was no limit to what her vocals could do.

The bird fell to the ground like it had been shot. Drusilla watched, wide-eyed, as it changed. Its form twitched and moved. It looked like a huge black sheet draped over a bunch of playful puppies.

Until it was no longer a bird, but a man. The man groaned and swayed to his feet.

Drusilla laughed, “How pitiful. Never trust a shapeshifter to do a Slayer’s job.”

“You’re right. He is pitiful.”

The vampiress started. She was surrounded by humans. They lounged against the trees casually, unconcerned about their comrade, whom was even then shaking his head, trying to get the bells to stop ringing.

These were the vicious animals Drusilla had seen, racing just behind and alongside her. She didn’t think they were shapeshifters. The animals were a mere representation of their savagery.

“Drusilla,” one man said, eyeing her scornfully, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“What can I say? Could never resist the forbidden.” Drusilla shot back. Someone moved behind her, and Drusilla turned around quickly. A woman smiled at her on her way to stand beside the man. Her manner was that of a friendly stranger just passing by.

“What should we do with her?” the woman asked.

“What else? We kill her.”

“Your Master Tierre won’t like that,” Drusilla said boldly.

“After what you did tonight? I’m sure he won’t mind your death so much.”

“Maybe not,” a low voice suddenly intruded, “But I will.”

Drusilla had never been so relieved to see Angel before and the pack of earnest Slayers trailing behind him. The two parties needed no introductions; they just started to fight.

“Be careful!” Drusilla cried out in warning, “They’re hidden in the dark!”

Xander managed to find his way to her side amidst the melee. “Drusilla, are you all right?”

Instead of answering, Drusilla turned and ran back to where she had left Franco, dodging and weaving around Slayers trying to earn points by taking down someone from Scarlet. She admired their dedication, but she didn’t have a lot of faith in the abilities of such inexperienced Slayers. They were going to need insurance if the battle turned against
them.

Drusilla found Franco being sneaked away from the fight by another Scarlet dog, this one almost resembling an elf. She rushed him, but he had sensed her approach. With Franco slung over one shoulder, the pseudo-elf easily whipped out a crossbow and aimed it at her heart. Drusilla saw him squeeze the trigger. The wooden bolt flew towards her.

But it never reached her. It slammed against something else and stopped there, several feet from her heart.

Drusilla blinked, confused.

“What are you trying to do? Get yourself killed?” Seyhan snarled at her. “Heroes do not become heroes simply because they die.” He held up his palm. The bolt had impaled the center of his hand. Blue-green blood poured from the wound.

The Vashkan lord then turned his attention back to the murderous Scarlet member, watching as the elf-thug put his boss down. Abandoning further attempts on Drusilla, the Scarlet soldier met his enemy’s attack head-on.

“Dru!” Willow skidded to a halt beside the vampire. “Oh, thank the goddess we found you guys. Seyhan heard sounds of fighting coming from here and―”

Once again, Drusilla abruptly left while a Scooby was trying to talk to her. She headed directly for Franco Scarletta.


~*~ *~ *~


Willow surveyed the ongoing fight. She and Seyhan had brought 20 Slayers with them, as well as Angel, Giles, and Xander. From what she could see, they greatly outnumbered the Scarlet group that guarded the forest.

But the Scarlet knew their environment, knew their enemies’ capabilities, and they wouldn’t hesitate to use that knowledge to take their enemies down as efficiently as possible.

The Scarlet could also blend into the shadows and move as fast as any Slayer. These were basic skills to them. Willow had seen Mercury display such abilities at the Council HQ.

Their little hide and seek game intimidated the young Slayers.

“Don’t chase after them! If they disappear, let them go!” Giles yelled, delivering instructions better than any war general. He had noticed, with a sinking heart, that those Slayers who dared to go after Scarlet thugs who flitted into the shadows never returned. And there were a lot of Slayers doing just that, intent on getting payback for the humiliation they had suffered earlier at HQ.

“They’re not running because they’re afraid of you! They’re luring you away!” Angel added, bellowing over the cacophony of noise from the battle.

“Stick together! Don’t let them divide us!” Xander advised, encouraging the flagging Slayers.

Heedless of the advice of their leaders, three excited Slayers chased a lone Scarlet, figuring they had her cornered when she ran straight for a tree. Instead, the woman ran right up the tree trunk, four steps that should’ve been impossible, to reach the nearest branch. She swung herself up onto the branch and hid behind the leaves. The determined Slayers crowded the tree. They’d successfully treed a Scarlet and they weren’t about to leave until they found a way to drag her back down.

Suddenly, all three stiffened, arms pinned to their sides. The Scarlet woman poked her head out from behind the leaves, grinned, and jumped down from the tree, landing on the other side.

Simultaneously, all three Slayers were yanked up into the tree, screaming.

Seeing what had happened to their comrades, the remaining Slayers edged towards their Watchers, uneasy.

The Scarlet woman then stood up straight. As she moved, a long, and very thin line of what appeared to be thread, glittered in the pale moonlight, before vanishing altogether.

“As much as possible, we try to avoid carnage inside the estate.”

Giles, Angel, and Xander stopped for a moment to stare at the speaker that had so casually made the callous statement; a man they’d been fighting just moments earlier. He obviously considered Angel to be the only threat to him out of the three, and after kicking the vampire away, grabbed the nearest Slayer and held her neck in a choke hold. “We hate filth. Now if you don’t mind, we’d rather go back to the party than stay here, babysitting you.”

“Then go, no one’s stopping you,” the captured Slayer managed to grit out.

“Only if you leave first.”

No one moved.

The man sighed. “Gail, over there,” he said, pointing out the woman with the thread using his chin, “Owns a very special thread. If she wants to, she can cut all these little girls in half with it.”

“And if I want to, I can stop your boss from breathing. Permanently,” Drusilla loudly announced. Once again, Franco Scarletta was in her custody. Unfortunately, he was also starting to come around.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded groggily. He gingerly touched his forehead, and then stared at his own blood coating his fingers, confused.

“Put the girls down! Let them go!” Xander ordered, “Or Scarletta is dead. Make no mistake, fellows. Drusilla is once crazy chick.” He was actually just being his usual loud distracting self, on purpose. Only he could see that Willow was standing by her lonesome, eyes closed, and lips moving.

The rest of Scarlet, even the one Seyhan was still fighting, were too busy mapping out the easiest angles to get to Drusilla to notice. They knew they shouldn’t worry that Drusilla would kill Franco. He was their only insurance, after all. But then again, Drusilla was insane. And she could just as easily injure their boss seriously, if not kill him in a moment of insanity.

And so they hesitated for two seconds.

Enough time for Willow to finish the spell.


~*~ *~ *~


A brief, very bright flash of light caught the party guests’ collective attention. They all looked around the garden, and then started clapping at what they assumed was some sort of entertainment.

“What was that, a new kind of fireworks display?” a man asked.

“Probably. You know Franco. He’s always one for the gimmicks,” a woman answered with a laugh. “Where is Franco, anyway?”


~*~ *~ *~


In the next instant, the good guys and Franco Scarletta were suddenly in Summer’s Cove, just outside the estate.

Xander swayed on unsteady feet. “Gah! I’ll never get used to your teleportation spells, Will,” he moaned.

“I must say, remarkable timing, Willow,” Giles said, apparently unperturbed. He was a little paler, but he maintained his stiff upper lip in front of the young Slayers.

“Sorry. It would’ve taken effect sooner, but it was a complicated spell. I didn’t just teleport us, I teleported Scarlet too. I had to scatter them individually, all over the island, to make it harder for them to regroup. Plus, I had to sense the other Slayers.”

Xander and Giles counted their Slayers, relieved that all 20 were present and … hurt. But alive. That was the important thing.

“Let go of me, Drusilla. I won’t run from you,” Franco said proudly. “I won’t need to.”

“Oh, yes you will,” Seyhan murmured, his voice soft and dangerous. This was him. This was the head of Scarlet. Or at least, one half of the head. Seyhan wouldn’t be satisfied until he has Tierre Wolfson. But with Scarletta in their hands, it wouldn’t be long before Wolfson came crawling to them. “Let us leave now. What are we waiting for?”

Angel glared at the impatient Vashkan lord. “Buffy,” he snapped.


TBC

Chapter Twelve: Exchange

Previously: Drusilla, Angel and the Slayer Army get into a wild rumble at The Forest. Willow managed to teleport everyone – on their side, plus Franco – out of the estate…

***

Buffy was all for running away, but before she could move, the water exploded, like a liquid mushroom cloud. Actually, it wasn’t that big of an explosion, but the suddenness of it gave the Slayer that impression. She knew what caused it.

Tierre Wolfson had jumped straight out of the sea and was now descending towards the beach. He landed perfectly, like a cat landing on its feet. He had the audacity to flick his hair back from his face, as casual as if he had just gotten out of the pool.

Buffy couldn’t remember ever feeling so furious… or betrayed. But as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t act on her homicidal urges just yet. Instead, Buffy just turned and ran, full-Slayer speed ahead, leaving Tierre to eat her dust. She hoped.

Tierre just watched the Slayer run. He went to pick up his jacket, vest and tie, glad that he’d taken them off before his surprise swim. He sat down and tugged on his socks and shoes, grimacing sullenly because he was forced to wear them when his feet were still wet. He stood up. Ugh. What a lovely way to end a lovely evening.

All of a sudden, a black shape materialized right in front of him. It was the shape-shifter who insisted that everyone call him Raven, because of his fondness for the black bird. His other name was also Eagle.

Tierre called him Chick.

“Chick! When did you learn to teleport yourself?” he asked.

The shape-shifter looked like he’d indulged himself too much in the party, although if asked, he’d have denied it vehemently. Chick claimed that birds of prey such as he weren’t very sociable. Yeah, right. The womanizing miscreant.

“I didn’t M-m-master,” he drawled sluggishly, “A witch did. The red-head. What was her name? It’s a tree’s name. Sycamore? Pine? Oak?”

“Willow,” Tierre corrected.

“How inventive of you, Master Tierre! Willow sounds just about right.”

“It is right, you drunken idiot. It’s her bloody name.”

“I’m not drunk, sir. Just woozy.”

“I care. You fought Willow?”

“No. I fought against Drusilla. Everybody else fought against the Council. Oh, and they took your father, by the way.”

Tierre sighed, “Bloody perfect.”

~*~*~*~

Oh my God, is he chasing me? Buffy couldn’t believe it when she realized that Tierre was running right behind her. That bastard! She was too far gone to feel fear or even just alarm. Tierre was fast. He had a big chance of catching her. Buffy almost hoped he would. That way, she’d have the perfect excuse to maim him for life.

They raced through the party. During the few minutes that Tierre had spent chatting with Chick, Buffy had reached out mentally for her friends. She was relieved to hear that they had succeeded in their mission. They had gotten into a very brief fight with Scarlet, but Willow had teleported them all before anyone could get killed. Yay, Will. Now all Buffy had to do was get back to the rendezvous point.

The two racing speed demons were all but a blur to the partygoers. They were so fast that Tierre flipped up the skirt of a woman he passed by. Her indignant screech followed them all the way until they were almost to the bridge.

Buffy stopped running all of a sudden, just when Tierre was practically on top of her. She bounced on the ball of one foot and whirled around in a spinning back kick.

Tierre caught her leg before she crushed his ribs and flipped the Slayer on to her back.

Buffy managed to throw her arms out to break her fall, and a second later and she was on her feet again. Tierre didn’t stay to pummel her to death as she’d expected him to. He kept on running.

Speed wise, Buffy was a horse. But Tierre was a cheetah. No, he was a different breed of animal altogether. It was like he was running on fast motion. He’d let her have the lead before just so he can see where she was headed. Now it had become obvious to him that the group with the amusingly self-baptized name of ‘Scoobies’ had gotten off the island.

Buffy began to feel despair as Tierre ate up the length of the bridge with his longer legs and impossible speed. She was reminded of Glory. Tierre was going to find her friends, she knew it.

Guys!, she cried, Go! Get out of here! He’s coming for you!

~*~*~*~

“Buffy?”

“Slayer?”

The Scoobies and Seyhan shared alarmed looks. They all heard Buffy’s panicked mental call.

“Buffy, where are you?” Giles demanded aloud.

On the bridge! For God’s sakes, get outta here now!

“Buffy, we’re not leaving without you!” Xander said defiantly.

You’re gonna have to, Xander. Get out of here before Tierre gets to where you are!

Angel and Drusilla shared a look. The female vampire was holding her bleeding shoulder where the bird creature had sank its beak. She looked like she’d been through a shredder.

“Are you all right?” Angel asked, feeling the instinctive concern of a Sire for his Childe.

She nodded weakly, “Tierre is coming,” she said softly.

The brooding vampire nodded, “Buffy is right. We should go. Not one of us is up to fighting him.”

“I am,” Seyhan declared.

“You’re wounded, too.”

“I’ll heal.”

“You go if you want to,” Drusilla said quietly, “But I’m not leaving until I see Tierre.”

Angel knew better than to ask any of the Scoobies to leave Buffy behind. He didn’t want to leave her, either, but he knew Buffy was thinking of everyone’s safety. The Slayers had piled into the three big vans they had used in getting to Summer’s Cove. It had been a precaution, just in case the residents of Summer’s Cove have been warned of their arrival and were on the lookout for suspicious teleportation portals. Angel made up his mind. He stalked to a van, wishing one more time that they hadn’t left the Porsche, and yanked the passenger door open.

Franco Scarletta glared at him. Angel had to give him credit. The man had no fear. Angel grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back among the Scoobies. Willow had tied her scarf around Franco’s temple. His shallow wound had stopped bleeding, but the vampire could still smell his blood. He had never been more tempted to break his own rules and drain a human being dry.

“What is it this time? You don’t know how to get out of this mess you created?” Franco asked scathingly.

“Shut up,” Giles spat at him.

They all looked expectantly up at the bridge, even Franco.

When Tierre, followed by Buffy, appeared, Xander whistled, “Jesus. Who needs cars if you can run that fast?”

~*~*~*~

Buffy’s panic hit the atmosphere at the sight of her friends still in town. She couldn’t have run any faster if she’d tried. She began to consider tackling Tierre.

Suddenly, Tierre skidded to a halt. Buffy didn’t stop, just kept running until she was with Giles and everyone else again. She saw Franco standing between Angel and Seyhan and understood Tierre’s sudden hesitation.

Tierre was breathing rapidly and it mollified Buffy, somewhat, to see that. She, on the other hand, felt like she was about to faint.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Tierre’s Cockney accent shifted to smooth and cultured in his barely controlled rage. He looked directly at Angel, sparing only a fleeting glance for Franco, enough to ascertain that he was all right.

“Winning,” Seyhan couldn’t resist gloating, “We have what we came for, Wolfson.”

“The Balancer, yeah? So what do you want with Franco?”

“Nothing,” Angel said, before Seyhan could say something they will all regret, “We’re leaving now, Tierre. Franco is just insurance. You know … to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

“It won’t work,” Franco said calmly, “Our people will―”

“―Do nothing,” Tierre cut in. He ignored Franco’s surprised gaze, “You can leave unmolested. Just leave Franco here.”

Seyhan grinned, “No we will not. You see, we don’t believe you.”

Tierre nodded, “That’s fair. But what are you goin’ ta do wiv’ ‘im? He’s just goin’ to be a burden to you. He’s a very well-known man, easily recognized by the public. Look at him. He looks like you beat him up. Does the word ‘kidnapping’ mean anything to you?”

“Does the word ‘stalling’ mean anything to you?” Buffy said angrily, “He’s just trying to buy his people time.”

Angel started backing away, taking Franco with him. Franco’s eyes nailed Tierre, “Don’t let them leave Boston, Tierre. Don’t worry about me, I―”

“Quiet, sweetheart,” Drusilla cooed, moving away from the pack, in full view of Tierre. She looked at him, and for the first time, Buffy saw uncertainty in her lovely face.

A particularly evil sneer crossed Tierre’s features, “Drusilla, I thought you were dead. You just disappeared all of a sudden.”

“You know better than that, Tierre.”

“This must be really serious, then,” Tierre acted as though Dru hadn’t spoken, “You see, she only shows up when I’m about to die.”

Buffy went completely still at that. Her gaze flew to Tierre, looking for a trace of humor, a sign that he was kidding. But he looked deadly-serious. Her heart wrenched. Drusilla had visions all the time. She can see things happening beforehand. What had she seen? What was Tierre talking about?

“You wouldn’t happen to know the exact time of that, would you?” Seyhan asked sarcastically, “I would love to see it happen.”

For a fleeting moment, Buffy’s fist cried out for Seyhan’s face.

“Uh … guys? We better get moving,” Xander said urgently, “Because Tierre’s stalling tactic? It’s working.”

The Scarlet team in the woods, plus a few others from the dance floor, began to appear on the bridge. They were lead by the bird thing that had attacked Drusilla. The Scoobies hauled ass in earnest.

“Wait!” Tierre yelled, “Leave him here. I’ll go with you.”

“You’ll come with us, or we kill him right here,” Seyhan goaded.

“Do that, and there’s nothing that’ll stop me from tearing you apart,” Tierre’s soft promise was the most frightening thing Buffy had ever heard from him. She shuddered at the look in his eyes. Was that gold she just saw, flashing within the blue? She half-expected him to vamp out.

“You won’t have to, sir,” the bird called out angrily.

“You’ll just get your hands dirty. We’ll do it ourselves,” said another.

They had gotten close enough that they could be heard if they raised their voices.

“Stay where you are,” Tierre ordered. He turned back to the Scoobies, “Well?”

“Don’t listen to him,” Franco said, “He’s not thinking right.”

“Be quiet, old man,” Tierre grumbled.

“You be quiet, you impulsive brat,”

“Do it, Angel,” Drusilla said, “Let’s take Tierre with us.”

Franco saw Angel eyeing Tierre speculatively, and he lost it, “NO! Don’t you even dare! Tierre, stop trying to play hero and―ungh!” Franco collapsed, unconscious.

Seyhan waved his hand delicately, “He was starting to annoy me.”

Tierre frowned intently at the Vashkan, “I’ll make you pay for that,” he said simply.

Seyhan sniffed haughtily.

Tierre walked boldly up to them, “Chick!” he called over his shoulder.

“Sir?”

“Take my father home with you. Make sure he’s all right. When he wakes up, tell him I don’t want a war.”

Chick did as he was ordered. He picked up Franco from his undignified position on the ground and, giving in to temptation, shot an evil look at Seyhan.

Tierre grinned, “Go on now. You know you don’t have laser vision.”

“Master Tierre …”

“We don’t have a choice. They win for now. Take care of our guests, all right?”

The Scarlet group stared in disbelief as Tierre Wolfson willingly handed himself over to the Council team. As for the Scoobies, they couldn’t believe it either. Tierre didn’t once look back as they walked to the van.

“He’s up to something,” Xander whispered to Buffy.

“Shut up,” Drusilla hissed at him. She caught up to Tierre, who was walking beside Angel. Gliding gracefully, she endeavored to walk easily in their presence, unwilling to show any signs of injury or weakness, “How did you and the Slayer end up so wet?” she asked.

Tierre narrowed his eyes at her, “Get away from me,” he said softly.

Drusilla looked like she’d been struck by the last person on earth she had thought would hurt her. Biting her lip, she nodded her head jerkily, “I understand,” she murmured, before falling behind, taking up rear with Xander and Willow. She refused to look at Buffy.

But Buffy saw the pain in her eyes. Pain that the Slayer’s heart echoed.

Seyhan, who was on point, whirled angrily on Tierre, “You’re a cold-hearted bastard.”

“No I’m not,” Tierre smiled at him, "I’m heartless.” Seyhan never saw his fist, and would remember it only through the pounding headache he’d get later, when he woke up.

Angel caught Seyhan and glared at Tierre, who casually walked up to the second van, “What? He hit my dad!” the blond said defensively.

“Since when was Franco your dad?”

Tierre shrugged off the barbed comment and opened the door of the van. The Slayers inside stared at him.

He stared back, “Got room for one more?”

What followed was a stampede. The young girls shot him looks of cold fury as they moved to the other van. Their action making it clear that they’d rather be squished together than share any room with him. They held their noses in the air.

Tierre looked genuinely helpless, “I don’t think they like me very much.”

~*~*~*~

The ride out of Summer’s Cove was tense and rife with hostile pressure.

Xander was driving, and Giles and Willow sat beside him. Behind them, the unconscious Seyhan had his head on Drusilla’s lap. Drusilla was silent, her head against the window.

Angel and Buffy, the strongest two inside the van, sandwiched Tierre in the second-to-last row. The two were wet from head to toe, but at least they weren’t dripping. The wind had cured them of that somewhat during their crazy dash.

Tierre lounged lazily against the seat. He looked disgustingly comfortable in his surroundings and in his sodden clothes.

Buffy was like a statue. She had her arms crossed tightly beneath her breasts and she was pursing her lips so hard, they were bloodless.

Angel sat rigidly on Tierre’s other side, grateful for once that his heart no longer beat. Tierre would’ve easily picked up on the sound and known that he was …? No… not afraid. Angel wasn’t afraid of Tierre. But he was a moron, if he didn’t feel nervous.

What the hell was I thinking? Angel silently wondered. The truth was, with Tierre in the van, Angel felt as though they were the hostages, not the Brat King. He they were sitting right next to a ticking time bomb, a walking death wish, a living, breathing weapon designed solely for destruction …

Okay, now he was waxing poetic about Tierre’s murderous talents. Angelus, is that you?

There was no point in regretting the decision to accept Tierre in place of Franco. Tierre had offered himself in exchange, and Angel had simply grabbed the opportunity. He knew there would never be another like it. Drusilla had even vouched for it, and though partly insane, her survival instincts had always been sharp. At least this time, they had succeeded in getting Tierre away from Franco, from Scarlet, and maybe he will even―

“Angel, are you tryin’ ta think?” Tierre rudely broke into his thoughts, as usual, “D’you feel faint? Need to lie down or somethin’?”

Grrr… I forgot about that mouth, Angel glared at Wolfson, “Actually, I was wondering how you ended up swimming in your clothes, “ he shot back. Oops … too late. He forgot that Buffy was in the same state, too.

Tierre opened his mouth―

“I threw him into the sea,” Buffy announced proudly.

“You what?” Giles sputtered.

“Buffy!” Willow gasped.

“Way to go, Buffster!” Xander crowed.

Drusilla asked, “And how did you get so wet, Slayer?”

“I threw her in first,” Tierre smiled smugly at Buffy, “She has no originality. She just stole my idea.”

Buffy glared at Drusilla. The brunette merely smiled and murmured, “Oh, that explains it.”

“Oh, that explains it!” Buffy mimicked in a high falsetto. She knew it was childish, but at the moment, she really didn’t have any other comeback and she didn’t want Drusilla to have the final say.

“Wit-tay!” Tierre drawled.

“Shut up, Wolfson!”

“I can’t. I like the sound of my voice too much.”

“Obviously. I understand that you’re still enjoying the novelty of human speech, having just recently evolved from being a primate, but the rest of us would like to have some peace and quiet, if you don’t mind.” Buffy batted her lashes at him.

Tierre cocked his head to the side, and Buffy’s heart gave a little squiggle. God, even his mannerisms were familiar.

“Who writes your stuff?” he asked.

Buffy threw up her hands, “You know, you’re not even worth it. This is totally a waste of my time!”

“Oh, like, totally!” Tierre gushed, in a perfect imitation of Buffy’s California accent.

Spike used to do that, Buffy thought suddenly. He used to make fun of her hair, her vocabulary, even her nose. He never seemed to run out of clever retorts to parry her verbal thrusts. Even when he had been in love with her, he had never let her have the final word willingly. It was against his nature.

Tierre slouched, watching her insolently. He even sits like Spike Buffy thought wonderingly. She had always secretly envied Spike’s casual/cocky demeanor; his ability to be completely comfortable wherever he was, in whatever position, in whatever state. It was so …

Goddamn it, it was just so sexy!

And now here was Tierre, sitting like he didn’t have a care in the world, even though he was neck deep in enemy territory. He didn’t seem bothered that his damp hair clung to his temples and the nape of his neck, where they curled in tiny C’s and S’s; that his white shirt and black pants were soaked through, outlining the long, lean lines of his perfect body. He didn’t seem aware, (and had he been aware, would he have cared? ) that Buffy was contemplating rape right about now.

This was bad. Tierre was the very embodiment of all of Buffy’s memories of Spike; little snapshots of her all-too-brief time with him that she didn’t even know she’d kept sealed and protected in her heart. She’d thought she was starting to forget and let go. But she was wrong. If she was, she wouldn’t be sitting here, reliving every whispered word and every yelled insult as though they were still being spoken; wouldn’t know the feeling of the cool smoothness of pure, alabaster skin as though her hands were gliding over it right now―

“W-where …” Seyhan was finally waking up.

Buffy’s focus shifted to him as eagerly as Scotch tape would stick to paper, grateful for the distraction he provided, “Seyhan, hey, easy. How do you feel?”

Seyhan was still staring at Drusilla, trying to process why his head had been on her lap. At Buffy’s question, his brow furrowed, “My head … hurts,” he finally admitted.

“Maybe you should lie back down,” Willow suggested.

“Yes, of course. Rest a little more, Seyhan.” Giles seconded.

Angel reached over the seat and pressed a hand to Seyhan’s shoulder, making it look like he was encouraging the Vashkan to lie back down.

Unfortunately, it was at that moment that D’Harken’s eyes met Wolfson’s.

Tierre winked and said, “Did you dream of me, sweetheart?”

A collective groan escaped the other passengers of the van. They knew what was coming.

Seyhan lunged towards Tierre over the top of his seat. Tierre caught the Vashkan’s wrists and managed to stop Seyhan from throttling him. Seyhan lowered his head and headbutted the blond freak.

“Oh, Christ!” Tierre roared in pain. He shoved Seyhan to the side, and left Angel to struggle with the angry elf. He then buried his face in Buffy’s lap.

The Slayer squealed. She actually squealed.

“Stop it, both of you! Seyhan, no! You’re going to be the death of us!” Giles managed to crawl over to the back seat, furious and torn between wanting to stop the fight, and wanting to kill both of them. Why couldn’t Seyhan have more control? And why couldn’t Tierre behave himself?

“G-Giles?” Willow called uncertainly.

“Stay out of it, Will. That’s man’s work.” Xander said.

Willow rolled her eyes at him, “Please. That’s a job for a kindergarten teacher!”

“Is not!” Angel and Giles said simultaneously.

“Let go of me! I’m not going to kill him, I’m just going to reassemble his face!” Seyhan tried elbowing Angel off, but the vampire held onto his shoulders determinedly. Giles tried to help. Willow, worrying for her mentor, crawled to the back as well.

“Willow, what do you think you’re doing?” Xander twisted in his seat, trying to grab Willow back. At the same instant, Seyhan accidentally pushed Giles back and the Watcher fell against Willow, who fell against Xander’s searching arm.

“Ow!”

“Watch what you’re bloody doing!”

~*~*~*~

The Slayers inside the van ahead stared at the van following them, watching the vehicle’s erratic zigzagging, swerving this way and that.

“Think they’re okay?”

“Maybe we should pull over and check it out.”

They contemplated the option.

And then they said, “Nah… they must be just fine.”


TBC

Chapter Thirteen: Kiss me and make me better …

Previously: Franco was taken hostage by the Slayer Army. Buffy, who’d nearly gotten tricked by Tierre, managed to reach her friends before he did. Scarlet regrouped faster than expected, but still weren’t able to attack because of Franco’s dangerous situation. In order to avoid a glaringly obvious bloodshed, Tierre volunteered to take Franco’s place. But even as a hostage, Tierre managed to push all of Buffy’s ― and Seyhan’s ― buttons…

***

Everyone was calmer by the time they made it to Angel’s New York base, mostly because Seyhan had finally listened to reason and behaved himself. He had returned to his seat beside Drusilla and sat there so stiff and straight, he looked like he was wearing a corset.

The only problem was that, Tierre, for some reason, refused to lift his head from Buffy’s lap. She’d tried pushing him off, verbally harassed him, and threatened to hit him if he didn’t get up.

He didn’t budge. He claimed he was very comfortable for now and since that rarely happened, he didn’t want to ruin the moment.

Buffy didn’t believe him. How could he be comfortable in that position? Tierre had lifted his entire body onto the seat, but he refused to let even the tip of his shoes touch Angel, so he’d curled up into a near fetal position. Even if he had stretched out, he still wouldn’t have been comfortable, any way. The van was big, but it was in no way wide enough to accommodate his full length.

Fuming silently, Buffy finally gave up and just let him lay there. She wasn’t in the mood to gobble up his bait right now. No doubt he was just trying to get a rise out of her like he did Seyhan. Maybe he had even been hoping to cause them to crash against another car or something. If that happened, he could escape easily. He was the only one inside the van with skin thick enough to withstand flames.

And why should he torture himself like this, anyway? He was going to hurt his back. He’d be much more cozy if he just sat up.

Not that she cared.

His reasons became clear once they pulled up in front of the brownstone and everyone in their van started piling out. Buffy opened her door and jumped, unceremoniously dumping Tierre’s head off her lap. He scowled at her. She smirked at him as he crawled out of the van.

He stretched, long, sinewy muscles rippling beneath his soaked shirt, “Umm … that was relaxing,” he breathed. He did look relaxed, Buffy thought. And content. And sultry. And his hair looked nice, all tousled up from resting on her lap like that, and―

Geez, girl, get your hormones under control! You’re 26, not 16! Buffy chastised herself.

Then she noticed that Tierre was looking at the inside of the van with a smug look on his face. And Angel was looking at the same spot with a thundercloud above his head.

Buffy peered inside. She groaned at the sight of a Tierre-shaped water stain on the seat.
Xander came to stand beside Angel, “That can’t be good for your upholstery,” he commented. The vampire glared at him.

Tierre snickered. Angel’s eyes seared him, “You! Get inside the house. Now!” he barked.

“Aw, c’mon, Peaches. Sea-water never hurt anyone. Except for those who are drownin’ in it.”

“Move!”

Tierre sighed theatrically, “Still can’t take a joke. Well, let’s go, pet. I need a shower.” He snagged Buffy’s wrist and started leading her up the steps towards the brownstone.

The Slayer tugged her wrist free, “I don’t think so, asshole,” she sneered, “I’m not getting anywhere near a shower with you!”

Their hostage was all innocence, “I only said that I needed a shower, Slayer, not that you had to give it to me,” his look turned mischievous, “Here, now, love, what’s goin’ on in that pretty head o’ yours?”

Buffy was horrified to feel a severe blush creeping up her cheeks. So much for being 26 and sophisticated.

“Leave her alone, Tierre!” Willow defended her best friend, resolve face firmly in place. Huh. Déjà vu, she thought. She turned to Buffy, “Ignore him, Buffy, he’s just trying to annoy you.”

“I know, Will. Just keep him away from me. I’m not sure what I might do if he starts up again.”

“Oh … well, actually―”

“Come on, Willow. Let’s go!” Giles called.

Buffy frowned, “Go? Go where?”

“Some of the Slayers are injured, Buffy. We need to get them to a hospital. And look at Drusilla, she looks like she’s been through hell… which she had, I suppose.”

Buffy looked over at Dru. The vampiress did look like hell. She was leaning against the van weakly. Seyhan had given her his jacket, so her wounds were covered up, at least. But she must have been in great pain. Buffy knew Dru was not a true warrior. She’d always had Spike to do the fighting for her.

Which only made what she had done even more … brave. Buffy grudgingly conceded that the least they could do for her was to get her injuries looked at.

“The hospital is Wolfram and Hart owned, right?” the Slayer asked her oldest friend.

“Of course. You don’t expect us to take a vampire to St. Vincent’s, do you?” Willow grinned at her and gave her a little wave before she joined Xander, Giles and the rest of the injured brigade.

Buffy’s frown got deeper when she saw Angel herding Seyhan into one of the vans, “You’re going with them?”

“Yeah.”

Buffy was beginning to panic, “Do you have to?” she refused to look at Tierre and see how he was reacting to the news that they were going to be alone together.

“Buffy, it’s a Wolfram and Hart hospital. I have to admit them there personally.” Angel told her in a tone that conveyed that she should have known that already.

“Why can’t Giles do it?”

“Yeah, Peaches, why can’t the old man just hand over two van loads of Council merchandise to the capable hands of Wolfram and Hart?” Tierre butted in.

Buffy’s blood boiled. She knew that already. She didn’t need him of all people to point that out. Now she felt like a spoiled brat who couldn’t look past her own self-interest to the needs of others.

“This won’t take long, Buffy,” Angel tried to reassure her, “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“And you expect me to baby-sit him?” Buffy shook her head, voice dipped in sarcasm, “And what am I supposed to do if he decides to bolt? Offer him tea and crackers?”

Angel gave her a ghost of a smile, “No. I expect you to kick his ass.”

Buffy grinned, “Ohh… may I?”

“I’m standin’ right here,” Tierre sniped.

Just then, Drusilla approached Tierre, “Tierre … can we talk?” she asked softly.

“Drusilla, we have to go. The others are waiting,” Angel said, holding a van door open for the vampiress, “That can wait.”

“No, it can’t,” Drusilla replied, but she kept her eyes on Tierre. It was clear that she didn’t trust him to stay put once they were out of sight.

Tierre’s face was unreadable as he looked at Dru, “You have to go, Dru.”

“But I need to talk to you!”

Buffy bit her lip to keep from arguing for Drusilla. Naturally, she didn’t trust the vamp, but she also couldn’t help but feel just the smallest bit of respect for her determination. Drusilla looked like the mere act of standing required her full concentration, and yet she refused to go anywhere until she spoke with Tierre. Buffy held her breath, waiting for Tierre’s verdict. She didn’t expect him to take it easy on Drusilla, though. He didn’t seem like the kind to show compassion just because the other person looked like they got run over by a car after they got mugged.

Tierre sighed, and the straight line of his shoulders relaxed, “Fine. We’ll talk when you come back from the hospital.”

Drusilla was so relieved; she swayed on her trembling legs. Angel was by her side in a flash, offering his support. She leaned against her Sire, even as she smiled warmly up at the man who had her Childe’s face, “An hour, Tierre. That’s it.”

“Good. And don’t be late. I hate to be kept waiting.” Tierre turned and jogged up the steps to the brownstone. He entered the house and shut the door behind him without waiting for Buffy.

The Slayer watched dejectedly as the two vampires turned away. Angel, feeling guilty for dumping such a load on the petite blonde, took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, “Buffy, watch your back, okay?”

“Will do, as long as you promise that you’ll give me a proper burial when you come back.”

“Buffy …”

“Yeah, yeah, go on. Don’t keep them waiting.”

Buffy lingered on the bottom step, watching her team drive away to the hospital. She stayed until the vans’ tail lights were no longer visible from where she was standing. And then, knowing that she could no longer prolong the inevitable, she trudged up towards the house.

She didn’t want to go inside, knowing the only other person there would be Tierre. But contrary to what she’d been spouting off to Angel earlier, she wasn’t afraid that she might get into a fight with Spike’s eviler twin and get killed in the process. Buffy had sent her lover to hell, fought a god and her own best friend, and had defeated the origin of all evil. She’d died twice already, before she was even old enough to drink. To say that she was confident in her abilities as the Slayer would be an understatement. If it came down to it, she knew she could give Wolfson a fight he’d have nightmares about for years.

And yet her feet still had to be forced to keep on moving.

A soft breeze blew and Buffy shivered, suddenly remembering that Tierre wasn’t the only one who needed a shower. She huddled into Angel’s jacket, but the warmth it offered failed to chase away the cold. The fading smell of the vampire’s cologne did nothing for her, whereas the clean, masculine scent of Tierre’s warm skin, combined with the fragrance of the sea, had intoxicated her. And his lips …

“Oh, crap!” Buffy blurted out, stopping just in front of the door. What was she doing? Why was she so fixated on a meaningless kiss, anyway? And it had been meaningless, especially to the conniving, manipulative Wolfson. He’d probably already forgotten that it had happened. Buffy was angry and humiliated and was still beating herself up for being so stupid.

But … it was never going to happen again. She now had all the proof she needed to convince herself that Tierre wasn’t Spike. She’d made the right decision in facing Tierre, because now she no longer had any doubts.

Tierre Wolfson was not Spike, no matter how similar they were. Those similarities were what made Buffy realize how much she still missed Spike. That was why her reaction to Tierre was so strong.

Yes, Buffy was older now, more mature, wiser, even. But she was still only human, and was subject to the same emotional pitfalls as everyone else. She knew this now, and so she forgave herself her momentary weakness. Anyway, why should she be nervous around Tierre? There was no need to worry, because he wasn’t Spike, and therefore he meant nothing to her.

Nothing at all.


~*~*~*~


Tierre stood in the foyer for what felt like forever, but in reality was probably just a minute or so. Maybe even less. He could still hear Peaches, and the Golden Girl herself, chatting outside, but he didn’t even bother to eavesdrop on their teary good-bye. He wasn’t interested.

The house was dark, but Tierre refrained from turning the lights on. He didn’t need them anyway―he possessed the superior vision of a vampire. Besides, if he turned on the lights, then he would have to admit that he was indeed here, in this lonely brownstone, once again. He didn’t want to do that.

He called himself an idiot for running off like he did. But then, all he wanted to do was to get away from Drusilla and her wounded, but brave, doe eyes. She had looked so vulnerable, so frail. It astounded him that even after all this time, after she had abandoned him, he still felt the need to protect her.

Which was dumb. Drusilla needed no one, cared for no one. She’d proven that to him before. Tierre had scarpered before he could slip and demand that she explain why she kept popping up out of nowhere, and then vanishing on him.

Tierre wasn’t just overly-emotional, he was also destructively impulsive at times. Two qualities that had him flirting with death more times than he cared to remember. Two weaknesses no warrior could afford to have. Most especially, if they were expected to lead. Ivo had spent precious time and effort drumming into Tierre’s skull, over and over, that he must let his brain lead as much as possible. Instincts were essential, of course, but emotions were only a luxury.

Tierre had often thought that he had disappointed Ivo because he was never able to completely change his jump-without-thinking attitude. Like now. In his rush to escape one painful memory, he had run right inside another.

He had only been in this house once before ― on the day Toya died. No one had blamed him for that, but Tierre knew it had been his fault. His stupidity, recklessness and erroneous judgment had gotten his best friend killed.

That day had also seen the monster that resided in Tierre emerge from its human cage. Angel had often called him an abomination, a beast, but never once had Tierre allowed himself to believe the vampire until he was overwhelmed by rage and bloodlust and single-handedly slaughtered a tribe of cannibalistic skinwalkers.

It didn’t make a difference. Toya had still died. And a part of Tierre had died with him.

He had escaped from his team once they returned to New York, and Tierre had found himself breaking into Angel’s brownstone and sneaking into the room he knew had been reserved for him. He remembered curling up on the bed, feeling as though he’d been buried in ice: he was cold, he was numb and no sound, no color permeated the white haze he was wrapped in.

There had been people … Angel had seen him. Numb though he had been, he had expected to be killed, or at the very least, thrown out. But Angel had done neither, just left him in peace.

But there had been no peace for Tierre that night. He lay in that bed, broken and bleeding, bathed in the crimson life of friend, foe and self, seeing nothing but Toya’s mangled body interspersed with the gruesome remains of his killers. Tierre’s heart was shriveling away ― he’d felt its dying gasps, and he’d cried for someone to come and make the pain go away.

He had cried for Maggie, his strength and home. But she hadn’t been there, and had she been there, he would have run away. He didn’t want to taint her, too.

Up until now, Tierre still had no idea as to why he’d gone to Angel. Looking back on it, he thought it might have been because he’d unconsciously waited for punishment. For death, if the vampire were that merciful. Or perhaps, he had been waiting for comfort, the gift of sanctuary. For one night, at least, would someone please keep the monsters away?

But nothing had happened. Ivo eventually came and took him home. He had understood Tierre, forgiven the younger man. But none of it had been what Tierre needed.

And so, upon arriving at the Scarletta estate, Tierre had sealed himself up in the dungeon at the bottom of the manor, where no one could get to him unless he let them. The estate ― once a paradise ― became his prison.

But down in the dungeon, it was dark.

And the dark felt like home.


~*~*~*~


Buffy knew, the moment she stepped inside the house, that she was intruding.

Tierre stood with his back to her, but she saw in his stance, in the slope of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, that he wasn’t inside the house. Not really. He was somewhere else. With Toya.

She remembered what Angel had told her about Tierre’s one and only visit to this place ― the time when he had lost his best friend, that handsome young man with the happy smile, Ikari Toya.

Buffy’s anger at him evaporated. Her earlier resolve that he meant nothing to her shattered. She remembered what it was like to feel as though you were losing your best friend ― she hadn’t forgotten when Willow had tried to kill them all. She was luckier than Tierre, though, because Willow had returned to them in the end. Toya would never be coming back.

And Tierre was hurting right now.

Buffy forgot that she was supposed to hate him for trying to manipulate her, for kidnapping Yesha, for being such a prick in the first place. But that was okay. She’d just have to remember to hate him later.

For now, he needed her. And that was all that mattered.

She stepped forward silently, and gently eased her hand in his. When he didn’t immediately pull away, she grew bolder and tightened her grasp.

Slowly, he turned his head and looked down at their joined hands, staring at them as though he’d never seen anything like them before. She tried to will him to look at her, but he had a mind of his own and refused to comply. She was left gazing at the tips of his gilded lashes. She didn’t need the light to see him. There was enough moonlight streaming through the oak-and-glass door for her to divine the chiaroscuro set of his features.

She saw him suck in his lower lip; saw the tip of his teeth sink into the soft flesh. Blood welled from his self-inflicted cut, gleaming in what little light there was like garnets.

Buffy gasped softly at the sight. She lifted his hand to her lips and brushed a feather-light kiss across his knuckles. She only gazed at his lips, and when he let the wounded one go, she turned his hand and kissed the inside of his wrist, just above his pulse. It was only then that he met her eyes with his own.

They were black in the shadows, but what she saw in them made her want to run away. Or hold him close and take him far, far away where he could be safe. Where the ghosts couldn’t find him.

For one infinity, he was unmasked, naked in front of her. She saw his battered soul, saw the scars that marred his eternal beauty. She felt the wounds in his heart that never stopped bleeding. Behind his cold smile and his sinner’s eyes, he wept.

He was weeping still.

“How did Toya die?” Buffy heard herself ask. She had no right to ask, but she had to know. She had to name the demons that tried to consume him. Once she did that, she would destroy them.

“I made a mistake,” he whispered “But he trusted me, ‘cause he was my friend. He followed my lead. He died.”

A mission gone wrong, Angel had said. Buffy wanted to know what kind of mission it had been and why Tierre believed he had gotten Toya killed, but she knew those short, simple words were all that he could say on the matter for now. Anything more would spill more blood.

She was so bad with words, and even worse at giving comfort. But she had to try, “It wasn’t your fault.”

At that, he drew back, pulled his hand from hers. His eyes narrowed, “And how do you know that?” he asked coolly, “How do you know I don’t kill those I love with my own hands?”

He was slipping away, she was losing him. Buffy fought to hold on. His wounds were throbbing with fresh pain, and he was lashing out at the one that brought it forth. “I just know,” she murmured, tipping her head back to look up at him.

He studied her face, and then his lashes swept down to hide his thoughts, “What is this, Buffy? You like to roll around in the dirt?”

I may be dirt, but you’re the one who likes to roll around in it. Buffy blinked back tears. Spike had hidden his pain behind sheer bravado. He had set up an illusion guaranteed to make her think that there was nothing she could say or do that would hurt him enough for him to leave her.

Oddly enough, in a roundabout way, Tierre was doing the same thing.

“You’re not dirt, Tierre. Don’t ever say that.”

“You change your mind fast, Slayer. One minute, you despise me, the next you’re trying to comfort me. Have you forgotten what I’ve done to your poor, little elfin friends?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I know you had nothing to do with it?”

“What were you doin’ in the estate then? Sight-seeing?”

“Mercury is guilty as sin, Tierre, but you’re not. That’s what I believe.”

Suddenly, he was very close to her, “No, that’s what you want to believe,” Tierre drawled, his voice low and seductive, “What is it, love? You miss your pet vampire? I’m not exactly Spike, you know. But I don’t mind if you want to play pretend.” He looped his arms around her hips and pulled her to him, grinding his hips against her. He ran his tongue over his teeth in a deliberate show of lasciviousness.

Talking wasn’t doing the trick. Buffy didn’t like seeing Tierre retreat into that dark place where he inflicted pain on everyone else to avoid feeling his own. Gently, she cupped his cheek in one hand, smoothing her thumb over his cut lower lip. “You hurt yourself,” she murmured. She felt him stiffen, knew he’d stopped his wicked games.

She stood on tiptoe, her hands on his shoulders. Just before her lips touched his, she heard Tierre ask, “What are you doin’?”

She leaned back and smiled into his eyes, “Kissing you,” she breathed softly, “Kissing you to make you better.”


~*~*~*~


He had forgotten what the Buffy-drug could do to his system. Or actually, he hadn’t forgotten at all, he just really wanted to. It pissed him off that she affected him like nothing else could in the past two years. Affected him? Of course not! He was just a guy, that’s all, and Buffy was so bloody sexy. That was it. Just his libido making its presence known.

Tierre could do denial as well as Buffy circa 2002.

She wasn’t going to make him better. No one could. How dare she think that she could drive away loss, sorrow, guilt, betrayal and loneliness with just one kiss? Was she so bloody arrogant that she thought she could take away the agony in his soul? He didn’t need her pity, or her charity. He wasn’t Spike ― that spineless, gutless weakling who was always so eager for any crumbs she might throw his way.

But he was weak, wasn’t he? How else could he have let his guard down with her? She had no business looking into people’s hearts and knowing their secrets.

It was the soddin’ house’s fault. He hadn’t expected this effect ― to be hit by reminders of Toya’s sudden severance from life so strongly, he felt them like they were physical blows.

He hadn’t expected Buffy’s kindness.

Her kiss was soft, brief and filled with reassurance. She tasted of honey, woman and the ocean. Despite the innocent intentions of her kiss, Tierre felt desire waking up the chilled cells of his body.

She pulled back before he could respond and the beauty of her face as she gazed up at him was incredible, “It’s okay,” she soothed, delicately tracing the scar on his brow, “It’s going to be all right.”

It was a promise, he knew. A promise that he would never be alone, that from now on, she was there for him. It was a promise meant to heal him, given even without the knowledge of just how deep the wounds really went. It was a lover’s promise, simple and powerful and generous and true.

Tierre leaned his forehead against Buffy’s, and for a moment, he just breathed. He didn’t want to think ― his thoughts were now all shot to hell, anyway. He just wanted to be, for a while. To forget. To feel. To let Buffy’s fire melt the ice that had begun to claim him since the time of Toya’s death, until it now sealed him in one unbreakable block.

She held him close and didn’t let go, and for just a moment, she was all he needed. For just a moment, he was free. For a moment, there was peace.

For one, perfect moment, Tierre knew exactly why Spike had loved Buffy so much.

He dipped his head, eyes already half-closed, searching for her life-giving lips. She kissed him once again, and this time, it was anything but chaste. The second they touched, the gentleness gave way to intensity and hunger. They deepened the kiss, and Tierre groaned at the tinge of pain when Buffy mimicked his earlier actions and sucked in his lower lip. He slid his hands in her hair, twining his fingers in the soft strands until they were hopelessly entangled, and gave Buffy a deep, drugging, intoxicating kiss that literally made her toes curl.

But Buffy had to pull away. Tierre made a sound of protest and tried to pull her back, until he saw that she just needed to breathe. He can hold his breath for a total of eight minutes and seventeen seconds ― an ability tested by underwater fighting ― but this was hardly fighting. And Buffy was no freak like him. So he waited as patiently as he could.

A smile curled his lips when he saw the dazed look in her eyes. She held on to him so tightly, he knew she’d leave a mark. He was very pleased by the idea.

She touched her swollen lips and raised her eyes to his. There was surprise in her expression, and … recognition?

“Buffy?” he couldn’t take it anymore. What was she seeing?

She started at the sound of his voice. She looked at him at as though seeing him for the first time. And then she smiled a bittersweet smile, “Tierre,” she whispered, both loving and lonely. She traced the scar on his brow again.

And just like that, the spell was broken.

His name sounded odd coming from her. Maybe it was because it was clear she had another name ― another man ― in mind.

Like Spike, for instance. The ultimate of all wankers.

His anger returned. Now he remembered what it was about her actions that inspired such an emotion. It was her arrogance, her assumption that he would just fall into her arms. With one kiss, his past would be magically forgotten.

But it didn’t work that way. Tierre didn’t forget his past. In fact, now he remembered Spike’s, too. And Buffy’s role in the vampire’s life. It made him want to laugh at the irony. Buffy was offering him kindness, and he didn’t want it, had no need for it.

Spike had groveled and begged for just a crumb from her like a starving mongrel and got nothing but her disgust. He had offered his tattered black heart and she had tossed it to the ground, jumped up and down on top of it just so he got the message, and then threw it back in his face. Hard.

And this was before she started using him for sex.

Tierre knew he was evil, and therefore, was in no position to judge the actions of others. But he also knew cruelty when he saw it, and the way Buffy had treated Spike was just … pure cruelty. He would never admit it to anyone, but Tierre actually felt for Spike. He was sorry for what the vampire had to go through. Surely Spike had known that the only reason Buffy had ‘forgiven’ him and had let him join her again was because she had needed someone strong enough to fight with her. He had certainly known that when Buffy told him she loved him, she had lied. She’d said it out of pity. The poor vampire was dying, why not give him a pat on the head before he goes? Don’t worry, Spike. I won’t forget you. I’ll even miss you a little.

Tierre even felt angry and indignant on behalf of the vampire he always proclaimed to hate. Over the years, he had begun to feel a kinship with Spike, and this was disturbing because he didn’t want to be Spike. But even so, he couldn’t help but think that the only one who would ever understand him was a vampire long dead.

Tierre never allowed himself to dwell too long on those feelings, though. They were just distant emotions; the way you might feel sorry for a stranger who got robbed. Spike and Buffy had nothing to do with him. He had his own battles to fight, and this thing with Buffy was just a short detour on the long road.

It might be a very pleasing detour, though.

“What’re you thinking, pet?” he murmured, taking her hand in his. He lowered her fingertips to his lips, “Tell me.”

She parted her lips, and Tierre pressed a kiss right in the center of her palm, letting the tip of his tongue exert a slight pressure. She sucked in her breath, her mouth forming a little o. Just one touch, one, tiny touch, and it was enough to rock her from where she stood.

A part of Buffy knew what Tierre was doing. Just as he had tried to seduce her for information at the beach, he was trying the same tactics again. Only not for information this time, but for distance. He was pushing her away.

Her heart protested, but her body did not. In fact, it was cheering Tierre on. His fingers gripped her wrist, and she was enchanted by the way the long digits encircled her wrist completely. His hand made her delicate bones seem fragile. He made her feel vulnerable in a way she hadn’t been in so long. His gentle, yet unbreakable hold was symbolic of just how much power he already had over her. Does he know this? Does he care? Does he know that far from making her feel small and powerless, he made her feel strong?

Tierre pulled her to him slowly, giving her plenty of time to refuse if she changed her mind. His heart was hammering inside him at a frenetic pace. Silently, he begged her not to change her mind. If she said no, he would have to let her go, and then he would implode.

This had begun as a pleasing little past time, but now his body hummed with his need for Buffy. Again, this was unexpected, but he might as well start stopping his predictions as long as she was around. Her very presence undermined his strategies. So much for cool control. His training just flew out the window.

But did he care? Hell, no!

She was so close now, that even in the dark, he can make out those few, adorable little freckles on the bridge of her nose. He wanted to kiss each and every one of them, “Make up your mind right now,” he urged, “Right this instant, Buffy, while I can still stop …” Be quiet, you buggerin’ idiot! What makes you think you can stop? he raged at the little voice of Honor that always squeaked at the most inopportune times. Another small voice began to make itself heard, this one the voice of Bloody Awful Poetry. Oh, how he hated that pansy voice. Shut up! No poetry. No need to subject Buffy to that!

“Decide, goddamnit!” he growled, “Or I swear I’ll―”

Buffy’s answer was to smash her lips to his, her tongue forcing its own entry, giving him a French kiss so erotic, it had no rating.

Bloody, wonderful, hell.

Bye, Honor. I’ll see you later. If you’ll still have me, that is …


~*~*~*~


They couldn’t even make it to the second floor. They just ended up on the upper landing, Buffy on the floor with Tierre practically on top of her, his jacket discarded beside them. For all Buffy cared, they could have been rolling about on hot coals. And even those wouldn’t have competed with the fever that was consuming her.

With a possessive growl, Tierre ripped Angel’s jacket off her, throwing it away with unnecessary force. Buffy giggled and he glared at her, “Don’t tell me you like wearing Angel’s clothes.”

Angel? Who’s Angel? No, really, for a moment, Buffy completely forgot. “No,” she whispered, her hand stealing to the front of his trousers to cup his steely length, “I like your clothes. Especially when you’re not wearing them.”

Saucy little kitten. She made him burn. He liked the feeling. Bending his head, he tongued the pointed tip of one perfectly shaped breast right through the fabric of her dress. Buffy gasped and squirmed beneath him.

“How the hell do you take this bloody thing off?” he demanded, scowling at her dress like it had committed a crime against him.

“At … the back,” Buffy was tugging at his shirt, “Take it off. Now, now!”

“Do you mind?”

At the vigorous shake of her head, Tierre took hold of the top of her dress and tore it away from her. At the sound of ripping fabric, some of Buffy’s senses returned, “My dress …!”

“Forget it. You won’t be needing it.” Tierre’s eyes feasted greedily on her half-naked form. Cor, why did she have to be so lovely?

Buffy grabbed fistfuls of his white shirt, and shredded it into two pieces. Buttons popped and went flying. Tierre stared at her, open-mouthed. She winked at him, “Sweet revenge,” she purred, delighting in the wicked, sensual curve of his lips, and disappointed that a white undershirt dared to mask his lean physique from her starved gaze.

Tierre pounced on her without warning, “My turn,” he rasped. Buffy’s squealing giggles melted into moans and whimpers as Tierre’s tongue laved attention on her nipples. Her fingers wreaked havoc in the wheaten silk of his hair. Starburst exploded behind her eyes. She tugged him up and kissed him fiercely, desperately trying to quench the fire by sharing it with him. His hands grasped her hips, then glided lower, hiking the annoying remains of her dress up around her waist.

And then he was touching the smooth, bare skin of her thighs, tracing her length in light, feathery circles, closer and closer to where she ached for him, burned for him. She barely registered him taking care of the barrier of her thong, her mind was floating somewhere near the ceiling by then.

His fingers brushed her sopping mound, and Buffy broke the kiss with a cry. She opened her eyes and found Tierre looking right at her, his eyes bottomless pools of such desire and passion that she got drunk just looking at him. Without breaking eye contact, Tierre delved his fingers inside her. Buffy’s back arched off the floor, a silent cry echoing from her. She had to close her eyes, the feeling was too much, but it only flooded her more, as he stroked her, brought her to a dizzying high. Her hips began to move to the rhythm they both set. She reached out for him blindly, wanting to hold him close, but where was he? Suddenly, his talented fingers were gone, too. She mewled in protest.

When his tongue parted her folds, Buffy’s searching hands flew to her mouth to muffle her screams. The sensations became so intense, that she tried to move away, before she lost control completely. But Tierre would have none of that, and he held her hips, not letting her go. Buffy thrashed helplessly beneath him, “Please … oh, God,… please ….Tierre…Spike … want you …” she didn’t even know she was babbling, she only knew she had to let him know this was torture, and she wanted her release but please, please, don’t you dare stop.

When Buffy came, her release was so instantaneous and violent, she felt as if an earthquake shook her from the inside out. Her body rocked as she sobbed out her long, sweet relief.

Tierre crawled back up her trembling form and gathered her in his arms, holding her close. Buffy buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, fists clenching and unclenching around the cotton of his undershirt, riding out the last waves of her climax. It seemed to take forever, but finally she was able to summon the strength to open her eyes. She pulled back her head to look up at him.

“Hey,” she murmured lazily. She ran a finger along his smooth lower lip. The cut had disappeared, “See. Told ya I could make you better.”


~*~*~*~


Tierre chuckled. In one fluid movement, he sat up and pulled her with him, situating her firmly on his lap, “Is that what you think?” he drawled huskily, nuzzling her neck.

Buffy gasped at the feel of his erection pressing up against the back of her thighs, “Oh, my, Mr. Wolfson, sir, what’s wrong?” she asked, eyes wide and innocent, “Is something bothering you? Are you in pain?”

She felt his blunt teeth take a little love bite against her neck. A rush of heat flooded Buffy.

“God, yes. But ‘bothered’ is an extreme understatement.” Tierre whispered, licking the spot he had playfully nicked, “This is all your fault, you know. Now what are you going to do about it?”

Buffy suddenly rose, shifted her legs, and sat back down. Astride. On his lap. Her hand reached down, brushing against his throbbing shaft, “I think I know what’s wrong, Mr. Wolfson. You’re all swollen and thick and hard,” she said, still sounding as innocent as butter and honey.

Tierre choked on laughter and desire, “You little minx.” He groaned when her delightful hand eased his zipper down, and stole past his boxers, boldly teasing him this time.

“Do you want me to massage it all better?”

Tierre’s answer was to kiss her hard. Buffy’s passion equaled his, but she was unaware that a part of the bruising kiss was a punishment for making him want her to the point that his emotions were see-sawing, clouding his clear thinking.

The other, bigger part of the kiss was … simply because Tierre wanted to kiss her.

He thrust up against her instinctively, little, throaty rumbles issuing from him as Buffy began to pump him with her hand slowly. They broke apart, kissed again. There were no other noises save for their harsh breathing and the unmistakable sounds of mutual pleasure.

Just when he thought he won’t be able to stand it anymore, just when he thought of grabbing Buffy and plunging deep into her sweet, hot core, taking her until she screamed as loud as he knew he would, something intruded in Tierre’s fogged consciousness.

“Tierre?” Buffy, noting the sudden tension in his shoulders, scanned his face in concern, “What’s wrong?”

Tierre didn’t answer. He wrapped an arm around Buffy’s waist, and without even being aware that he was being gentle about it, eased her off him. He reached for his jacket and gave it to Buffy, forgetting his own state of near-nudity, “Put that on and go upstairs.”

“Why?”

“Someone’s coming.”

He could tell she didn’t understand, because nothing had disturbed her Slayer-radar ― yet. But Tierre’s senses were sharper than a Slayer’s, or a vampire’s. In the beginning, they hadn’t been. But over the years, through training and experience, they’ve grown better and better.

Or worse. He could say that this time, it was worse. He gritted his teeth at the disturbance, wishing that he could just say ‘bugger it’ and take Buffy upstairs.

But he couldn’t ignore it, not if turned out to be a threat. So he listened, like an old spider that would know by just a sway to its web, if the intruder was foe or prey. And then … he relaxed.

Not foe. Just intruders. Very noisy intruders.

Buffy, who hadn’t moved an inch away from Tierre, opened her mouth to ask him again what was happening, but at that moment, she heard the voices. She groaned in frustration.

Tierre grinned at her, “Friends o’ yours?”

“Unfortunately,” she muttered, watching with obvious disappointment as Tierre rose and tucked himself in. She snickered when he had trouble zipping up his pants, “Need help with that?” she asked sweetly.

“It was your ‘help’ that did this to me in the first place.”

“Hey, you started it.”

The voices grew louder. Buffy rolled her eyes: Elsa and Andrew were at it again, arguing over gigabytes or whatever. She wondered what they were doing here. She made a mental note to ask them that before killing them.

“Come on,” Tierre said, “We better get decent. Those two must’ve called Angel on his cell already to tell him that they’re here. They’d be searching the house for us soon enough.”

All Buffy could think of as she followed Tierre to the second floor was Grr…Aarghh…


TBC

Chapter Fourteen: If I Could Make Things Right

Previously: Miraculously, the group made it to Angel’s brownstone in New York in one piece. Buffy pretended that Tierre wasn’t affecting her as much as he really was, and she did a right fine job of it…until she found out that the rest of the group were driving off to a Wolfram and Hart hospital, leaving her and Tierre alone in the house. She managed to convince herself that Tierre wasn’t Spike and doesn’t mean anything to her. Meanwhile, Tierre got emotionally punched by the brownstone and his memories. Buffy’s earlier resolve not to get involve with him anymore vanished completely, and Tierre unexpectedly lets his guard down with her. Something happens between them…

***

Drusilla walked down the middle of the street. On her right was an entire lane crammed with people. She saw yuppies, mothers carrying grocery bags, and even kids with backpacks on their way home from school.

On her left, it was the same, except these people walked the same way she was headed. Everyone looked straight ahead, synchronously marching in perfect time, forming perfectly straight columns up and down the street.

Drusilla walked all alone, between the columns of oblivious strangers. She had the entire middle of the street all to herself. Not once did the people turn to look at her, or even acknowledge her in any way. To them, she didn’t exist. Her path was one unknown to these people.

She was all alone, drifting along, a faceless, nameless phantom. No one knew her, nor remembered her. Not even those whom she had committed vicious sins against. She was alone, and she would remain that way for all of eternity.

This was her hell. This was where she’d been damned. She would walk the shadows forever, going nowhere. There was no end to this march. No, she had cheated death once before, and now death was cheating her. There were few things more terrifying, or more painfully lonely, than gray immortality.

But this time something was different. She felt … purposeful. As if she had somewhere to be. As though she had someone to see.

And all of a sudden, he was there.

He stood in the middle, just like she did. Unnoticed. He looked at the people, pushing his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose every time they slid down. His blue eyes were huge behind them, holding a sadness only she understood.

She was filled with an instant fury towards these mindless people, they who refused to see him. How could they not see him? In the neat little rows and lines they walked in, with uniform movements and uniform mindsets, he stood apart.

He was radiant. A warm, golden glow seemed to emanate from him. The closer she got to him, the warmer she felt. She felt … alive, somehow. Alive in this grey hell. Had he done that? Had he given her back her lost soul?

“William!” she cried. But he couldn’t hear her, turning his back and walking away from her.

She started running after him. She couldn’t let him leave. No one should ever walk alone, least of all, one such as him!

And then everything changed. She was no longer running down a street, but through a graveyard, right in the middle of a bustling city. Vampires sat on sidewalks, leaned against headstones, stood on top of cars parked right next to freshly turned graves. Unlike the people, they all looked at her, eyes burning holes through her. But they didn’t move. They merely snarled and hissed.

She slowed to a walk. She knew that she was dead like them, but she felt as though they saw her as a meal. Wrapping her arms around herself, she looked around her desperately for William. This place wasn’t safe for him, with all these vampires.

“Love.”

It was nothing more than a whisper. Drusilla raised her head, feeling her hopes die and resurrect at the same time.

Spike. Her Spike. Black leather, pale hair, and the intense blue eyes that were so much like William’s. No matter what else changed in him, those eyes remained the same. They still blazed with his fire and passion. If one looked hard enough, one could see his heart in them.

He was just standing there, smoking. As she approached, he blew a stream of smoke into the air, then gave her that smirk brimming with confidence that William had never possessed.

And where William had glowed gold, Spike was aflame in crimson. Just as hot, just as brilliant. But it was crimson, not gold. It was the gold that had drawn her to William, but it was the crimson that kept her by Spike’s side.

She raised a hand tentatively, wanting to touch him, but half-afraid that he wouldn’t let her. Spike didn’t do anything. He just looked at her, emotion and understanding that she couldn’t grasp in his eyes.

“It’s you,” she whispered shakily “It’s been so long …”

“It felt like forever,” he replied.

She began to cry, tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried like this, couldn’t even remember the last time she cried.

Oh, wait … she did remember. It was that day she’d found out Spike was gone.

She cried, without restraint, like a little girl, hiccupping between sobs. If only her voice would work, she’d tell him how much she missed him… how he had broke her heart when he’d sacrificed himself in order to save the world, and, more importantly, saved his beloved Slayer.

She had wanted so much for the two of them to be together again. She loved him still. Always would, in fact. She had a soul now, her sanity was … nearly intact. She was almost the same woman that she had been before Darla and Angelus had willfully destroyed her life. And the one person she wanted to see her, to know her…

’Can you see me now, my Spike? It’s me. It’s really me. Can you ever forgive me? Can you ever love me again? Am I worthy?’

She wanted to say all these to him, but she couldn’t voice a single coherent word.

Suddenly, she found herself enfolded in strong, leather-clad arms. She was pressed against the familiar and comforting feel of his hard chest. His fingers sifted through her hair, strong and capable as always. “Hush, Love. It’s going to be all right,” he crooned.

It felt like coming home.

He pulled back and looked down at her, arms still around her, and smiled. Lips brushing feather-light over her left ear, he whispered, “Do you really have to ask?”

Oh. The answer to her unspoken questions. Her smile was wobbly, but genuine. She shook her head “No. But I’m going to find out, anyway.”

“No better time than the present.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. Before she could say anything else, she felt him give her back a push …

… and she found herself standing inside a cave, staring out of its mouth. Outside, she could see a lovely beach, waves rolling lazily to the shore. There was no one else about. The whole place looked serene and familiar and she found herself longing to go out and enjoy the private haven. But she couldn’t.

“Why not?”

She wasn’t surprised at all when she looked to her left and saw him standing there, “I can’t. It’s the sun, you see. It’ll kill me.”

He grinned. “Not this sun. This sun exists for you.” He loped outside the cave, then stood still for a moment, waiting for her. He wore nothing more than dark blue surfer shorts. He was shirtless. Even his feet were bare. The wind ruffled his hair, and the blue of his eyes put the ocean behind him to shame.

He was beautiful. Where William had been confined to the gray, and Spike banished into the black night, he stood under the bright, hot sun, strong and defiant. He moved as though he were in his natural element, as though he had conquered the day itself. And perhaps he had. Or if he hadn’t yet, then he would.

“Come on, Drusilla,” he invited, holding out his hand to her, “Don’t be afraid.”

Afraid? She was terrified! Despite all her sins, all the lives that she’d taken without mercy, Drusilla shamefully knew she was afraid to die. And to go out into the sun was the most painful way to go.

But for him, she would do anything.

She slipped her hand into his, watching in fear and fascination as he pulled her out of the shadows … and into the bright light of day.

And a miracle happened. She didn’t burn! Her skin didn’t sizzle, there wasn’t even a single blister on her. Drusilla cried out jubilantly. It had been an eternity of darkness, but now she couldn’t recall ever feeling so warm, the darkness fading from memory.

She looked up at him and grinned madly, losing all her hard-earned composure and not giving a whit. He laughed and tugged playfully at her hair, and it was at that moment that she truly saw all of him.

No, he didn’t glow like William, and neither did he blaze like Spike. But there was a light inside him. It wasn’t something that could be seen, but it was something that was felt. And known. Something that must be acknowledged.

It was living, this light. Warm with golden gentleness, fierce with crimson passion. A perfect blending of the two to form an aura impossible to escape, which enfolded everything and everyone he touched and left them with his burning imprint forever.

She couldn’t see that light, but she was one of those who bore the remembrance of his touch, and so she knew its brightness was inside him.

But he didn’t see it. It saddened her, because it was tragic that he should not know. All the doors in his castle were locked, and there was only one key.

“I’ll race you!” he suddenly said, interrupting her thoughts, “I’ll race you, and if I win, you have to give it to me.”

“Give you what?”

But instead of answering, he took off for the beach, taunting her over his shoulder and calling her a turtle. She chased him, laughing, forgetting for a moment that they were on borrowed time.

Suddenly, she saw a hideous monster glide darkly under the sunlit waves…and her heart ballooned with fear.

“Nooo!!” she screamed “No! Tierre, get out of the water!”

But it was too late, and she watched helplessly as her beloved took a dive, cutting the water cleanly with sure, confident strokes.

Unaware of the monster that lurked beneath the crystal surface.


~*~*~*~


Drusilla’s eyes snapped wide open, and she sat up straight, letting out a pained gasp. Fear grabbed her by the throat when it slinked in her brain that she had no idea where she was. Trembling, she scanned her surroundings with wild eyes, seeing everything and registering nothing. Where was she? Was this place…real? Where was Tierre?

Tierre. In danger.

“Ocean … no … there’s a m-monster! He doesn’t know! He’ll be eaten alive!”

She was put in manacles, iron bars banding her arms to her sides to prevent her from fighting, from jumping into the water after Tierre. But they wouldn’t stop her this time. The animals had sent her away before…the lions, and the crocodiles and the piranhas in the air and that beautiful, beautiful wild horse with the diamonds on her back. Tierre loved that horse, but Tierre was swimming in the ocean …

“Drusilla!” whap!

A kick to her face. To keep her away. You’ll drag him down, you will. It’s what you do. You couldn’t be in the light with him because the sun is a brutal lover and it will burn you to ashes, so you grab his ankle and bite his perfect neck and he tastes like wine and you couldn’t get enough and so you take him with you into your cold kingdom where everything is in shades of blood and purple but you’re not the one you’re not the one and you killed him, you stole him, drinking in his soul you naughty, wicked girl …

Do you plan to do it again?

You’re not the one, he needs the sun …

I won’t let you

He’ll break free, it ‘s what he does. You’ll hold him in your arms and he’ll break your arms, bone, muscle and sinew…

…Spike…William…Spike…William…

Spi…am?

No names then, I can handle that. You need no name as you stand there you glorious creature you and the air bleeds around you and the sky weeps and the earth trembles…oh, how it trembles! At your command … the earth … command it…

Earth …tierra…land…tierra

Tier…earth

Tierre.

“Drusilla!”

A face. An angel. And I love this one, too, but not like you love there’s no one like you for you are my devil, but then wasn’t the devil an angel, too?

Oh, yes … an angel with a dirty face.

“Drusilla! It’s me, Angel! Can you hear me? Talk to me!”

Talk to the angel, yes, you can do that, can’t you? Even if you don’t want to talk, they still whisper about you behind your back for you struck down a creature finer than you and you’ll pay for it they’ll make you pay for angels can be vindictive too…

“ … no good at this. Spike knew what to do…”

Spike.

“Get up, pet. Don’t you lose your mind on me.”

“I won’t.”

“Take his hand, luv.”

“I will.”


~*~*~*~


“Angel?”

Angel’s eyes widened, his hand stopping in mid-flight, a slap aborted. He looked down at Drusilla’s face, confused at the sudden return of focus in her eyes, “Drusilla?” he ventured cautiously, preparing himself just in case she started her gibberish about horses and angels again.

“Yes…” she blinked up at him. Her eyes were huge and confused. But they didn’t look wild anymore. They didn’t look … crazy, anymore.

“Are you sane again?”

Angel glared at Xander, who was peering with morbid curiosity at Drusilla over the vamp’s shoulder. Xander had already hopped out of the van, but he had just as quickly turned back when he heard Drusilla’s high-pitched wailing. Willow and Giles stood side by side, looking serious and worried. The Slayers stood close to each other, near the hospital doors, eyes glazed over with unveiled suspicion and hostility. They weren’t scared of Dru, but they didn’t want to be near her, either.

Angel knew he should be more considerate towards them, but right now, they only infuriated him. The last thing Dru needed was an audience. Xander’s immense tactlessness had hit her hard. She pulled her hair away from her face, and kept her head low, pushing her dress down to cover the long expanse of her exposed legs. As she tried to sit up, she realized that there was someone behind her, still holding her shoulders.

Seyhan ― always abrupt, bordering-on-condescending Seyhan ― was unusually gentle all of a sudden, “Are you all right?” he asked her with genuine concern.

Angel winced. He hadn’t thought to ask Dru that.

Drusilla’s answer was a weak nod.

“Here, let me try,” Xander pushed Angel aside, squeezing past the vampire to get close to Dru, which wasn’t easy, considering his bulk, “Hi, there, remember me? Do you still recognize me?” he said, pronouncing the words loudly and slowly, as if he were talking to a retarded child.

“Yes, of course I do,” Dru said, straight-faced “You’re the fat monkey-boy with the runaway mouth.”

Seyhan looked shocked, Angel couldn’t believe his ears, and Xander, for once, didn’t have a ready comeback. He gaped at Dru, mouth opening and closing like a gold fish that had been ejected from its bowl. Angel almost felt sorry for him. He had never before witnessed this side of Dru. His Childe had been an insane, bloodthirsty psychopath, but she had never been a bitch. That had been Darla’s forte.

Xander’s face turned red, “I think you need to give her a second slap, Angel,” he said tightly, “That first one obviously knocked too much sense into her.” He squirmed his way back out, and practically dragged Willow and Giles away.

Angel turned back to Dru. “How are you…”

“I’m fine,” she said, cutting him off, “Let’s get this over with. I have to get back to Tierre.”

Angel met Seyhan’s eyes over the top of Dru’s head. Dru paid no attention. When Angel didn’t move fast enough for her, she began pushing against his chest, trying to push him out the van’s open door, as though she was trapped in a giant bottle and he was the cork she had to dislodge in order to get free.

“Okay, okay! Slow down, will you?” Grumbling in annoyance, Angel got out of the van. Drusilla nearly plowed him over in her hurry. Seyhan exited last, at a bit more decorous pace, and he raised his eyebrows at Angel.

“What was that? What happened to Drusilla?”

Angel shrugged. “I don’t know. It was like she was having a nightmare, and then she woke up …but not really.”

“Her eyes were open, but the nightmare remained.”

“It looked like it.”

“Will this keep on happening?”

“I can hear you both, you know,” Drusilla snapped, standing by the sliding doors, arms crossed. Her lips were set in a thin line of impatience, “And no, your majesty, I have no idea if it will keep on happening. I’ve been out of my bleeding mind for 140 years. I’ve only been sane somewhat for the past five, so forgive me if every now and then, I suffer a relapse.”

Angel blinked rapidly. Whoah.

Seyhan looked like he just got a tongue lashing from one of his teachers. Face flushed, he dutifully followed Drusilla through the sliding doors. Dru sailed through them proudly, Seyhan’s jacket billowing behind her. She wore it on her shoulders like it was a duchess’ mink coat, instead of a man’s garment that had been soiled and torn on one side in an earlier fight.

Angel got them all admitted as quickly as possible. He made sure that Dru was treated in a different room, separate from the Scoobies and the Slayers. Thinking that Seyhan would expect the same deferential treatment, he began to make the arrangements and then informed the Vashkan lord/scholar/keeper of dangerous things such as the Balancer, that he would have two doctors look over his wounds in a room with…

Seyhan took one look at the two doctors, and their poorly masked eagerness to look him over. He rejected them with an eye flick. Turning, he slipped inside Drusilla’s room, closing the door behind him with a decisive and final sound.

Angel looked at the doctors.

The doctors stared back at him.

The vampire sighed in resignation. “Royalty.”



~*~*~*~


Angel made his rotations like a tired, slightly disoriented physician in a rumpled tuxedo. The whole scene was surreal to him: A Wolfram and Hart hospital, filled with Slayers, Scoobies, two vampires and one testy Vashkan. He checked on each and every one, making sure that the doctors gave them the treatment they needed and nothing else. There were advantages to being the boss, every now and then. Although Angel’s four year reign couldn’t compete with Wolfram and Hart’s still largely unknown history of evil, no one under his employ openly defied him now. Not since Tierre.

His mind wandered back to Tierre and Buffy. Leaving the Slayer with the blond freak had been a tremendous risk. The Scoobies had been very vocal against it, muttering dire predictions even as they were driving away from the house. But they hadn’t had a choice. They needed to go to the hospital, and leaving Tierre behind on his own was not an option ( as a certain Vashkan lord had growled at everyone ). They couldn’t bring him to the hospital with them, either. It would be harder to watch over him there, and there were other normal patients to think about, in case Tierre decided to make a dramatic escape. Somebody had to watch him, and Buffy was the only one strong enough to take him on, if necessary.

Suddenly, a blur of black and red went by Angel. With a start, he realized it was Dru, with Seyhan and a doctor on her heels.

“But we’re not done yet!” the doctor was saying.

“No! You’re not done. I am.” Drusilla retorted. She looked around her, turning in little circles, trying to figure out which way to go. She saw Angel and rapidly closed in on him, “Which way to the nearest exit?” she demanded.

Angel gaped at her. For someone who was practically a vegetable less than an hour ago, she sure was perky now, “Uh … there are no near exits. Not counting the fire escapes.”

She peered over his shoulders, “Very well then. Show me the nearest fire escape.”

“You can’t go yet. We have to look at that wound on your shoulder. A couple of bags of human blood are not enough for a cure…” the doctor insisted, his argument blending in with Seyhan’s.

“Drusilla, don’t be stubborn. Come back and at least let us dress those wounds …”

“I don’t have time! “ Dru snapped.

“Well, make time. It’s either you come with us of your own free will, or I shall tie you to the bed myself!”

Dru drew herself up to her full height. She was still shorter than Seyhan, but she had no problem looking down her perfect nose at him, “Was that an order, your majesty?”

The hapless doctor paled at the thought of the oncoming fight. Angel suddenly remembered that in her distant past, Dru had been a lady, unlike Darla. He felt like hitting his head on a wall. There had been far too many creatures of nobility running around his life as of late.

“No, that was a promise. It’s your choice.”

Drusilla bristled, and Angel stepped in once again, “Dru, you can get the time to get treated. Tierre’s not going anywhere.”

“But I told him I’d only be gone for an hour!”

“He’s not a child. He can live with slight disappointments,” Seyhan muttered, “Unfortunately.”

“He said he’d talk to you when you come back from the hospital. And he will,” Angel started steering her towards the direction of the room she had been in, “Now come on. Let’s get you fixed.”


~*~*~*~


Once she agreed to be treated, Drusilla became the perfect patient. She was attended to and bandaged in less time than she thought.

“There, now. That didn’t take so long now, did it?” the doctor asked with a smile.

Drusilla’s face didn’t change in expression, “Do I at least get a cookie?”

The door to the room opened, and Angel strode in, pocketing his cell phone, “Elsa and Andrew are here. They’re going to the house. At least we won’t have to worry about Tierre and Buffy being alone.”

Seyhan, leaning against a wall, and watching Dru very closely, raised his eyebrows, “We won’t?”

“Has there been any news on the other Slayer’s mission?” Dru asked.

“You mean Faith? No, nothing yet.”

“Perhaps it’s time we followed them. They may need our help.”

“Don’t worry about it, Seyhan. This is just Faith’s style. When she’s on a mission, she never calls just to check in, or even give updates. She’ll call when the mission’s almost over, or if she needs help, which is almost never.”

“But what if she’s not calling because she couldn’t?”

That was a possibility Angel didn’t like to dwell on. Faith had always been independent, relying mostly on her own wits and skills than on the assistance of well-meaning friends. But on the few times that they had worked together, the former rogue Slayer had proven to be amazingly good at taking care of herself. Angel trusted that she could pull this off. He told Seyhan that, and reminded the Vashkan that Faith had his brother, Wesley, Rumus and other Slayers with her too.

Seyhan didn’t look convinced, “I still think we should consider the possibility.”

“Then talk to Giles.”

“Fine.” Seyhan left with only a backward glance for Dru. The doctor followed him quickly.

Dru picked at Seyhan’s jacket, which was draped across her lap, “I’m done here. May I leave now?”

“Not yet.” Angel replied.

Dru sighed sharply, “You said that …”

“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what you know.”

“Do you have any idea how impatient Tierre can get?”

“Oh, yes, I have more than just an idea. But I have a few questions for you, too, and until I’m satisfied, Tierre will just have to wait.”

Dru fumed. Angel ignored her annoyance and continued, “So … how did you and Tierre meet? How did you even know he existed in the first place?”

Dru smiled softly, that maddeningly secretive Mona Lisa smile, “Oh … but Angel, we both know Tierre has been around for more than a hundred years. Of course I knew he existed. I’ve always known.”

Angel locked his jaw. Okay, he’d been asking for it. He didn’t expect Dru to hold back on brutal honesty…this had been his primary purpose for this little chat, after all.

And no matter how honest she was, Dru wouldn’t be telling Angel anything he didn’t already know, or suspected.

He was frightened. Although he’d always suspected something was different about Spike, to have someone else, no, not just someone, but Drusilla, whose knowledge of both Tierre and Spike was so much more intimate than Angel’s, confirm this suspicion, turning theory into fact, and fact into inescapable reality … it made him realise that he wasn’t prepared for this. Not in the least.

He licked his suddenly dry lips. “He’s human, Dru. Not an immortal. He couldn’t have been around for a hundred years.”

Dru rolled her eyes, “We could dance around this topic all night, Daddy. But I don’t have the time, or the inclination to indulge you. So why don’t you just hit me with your best shot, as the cliché goes?” she folded Seyhan’s jacket neatly while she talked, “I have a schedule to keep.”

“You’ve become bossy. I don’t know if I like it.”

“I know I don’t care.”

Angel closed his eyes. He didn’t want to discuss Spike with Dru. Best just to ask her what mattered the most now. “Does he…does he…recall anything?” He cleared his throat. “Recognize any of us?” he added softly.

“That’s a long story. We have to get back.”

“We have time.”

“No, we don’t.” her gaze was steady and clear, “You left Tierre and the Slayer alone. That combination is …incendiary, to say the least.”

Angel pursed his lips. “Tell me something new,” he said dismissively, “You think I missed the way they’re looking at each other? Tierre is still just a guy, after all.”

“And Buffy?”

“She can handle herself.”

“I hope so.”

“What does that mean?”

Drusilla sighed. Loudly. “Tierre is very playful, Angel. Very curious. Sometimes, he toys with people, just to see what they’ll do.” Fingering Seyhan’s shirt, she added, “He can be cruel when playing, especially with people he dislikes.”

“I know that, Dru. But he won’t do that to Buffy.”

“Oh, no?”

“You and I both know who he really is. Deep inside, he recognizes Buffy.”

Drusilla weighed her next words, “And is that really a good thing?” she murmured, “Angel, Tierre knows about Buffy. He knows who she was to Spike … about their relationship… everything.”

“What?! You mean he remembers? Then what is all this about? Some kind of game to him? If he has his memories, if he remembers…”

“No, he saw,” Dru traced patterns on the cot, “It took me awhile to find him again. He disappeared after his debacle with you,” she said, looking up, “I almost killed myself when I found out he was part of Scarlet. I blamed you, Angel, for betraying him. For driving him into their arms.”

“Look, Dru, I know I messed up. I already got the memo. But that fight between Tierre and me…it had been unnatural. It wasn’t really me…”

“Excuses, Angel?”

“It’s not an… forget it. Just continue. So, apparently, you’ve been stalking him all this time…”

Dru raised an eyebrow at his word choice, but nodded anyway, “Right. But I had to keep my distance. Spike and I had crossed paths with Scarlet once before, when they had kidnapped me for my powers. I only escaped because Spike somehow broke in the estate, took a then teenaged Maria Scarletta as a hostage, and got me out.”

Angel stared at her in shock, “I guess they don’t like you very much.”

Dru shrugged daintily, “That was several years ago and Maria wasn’t hurt. Spike was too busy trying to get me out to do her any harm. Nearly all our vampire minions were dusted then,” Dru waved a dismissive hand, “But that’s irrelevant. By the time Tierre came in, there were other psychics in their group. Still, they would have recognized me so I had to bide my time and just observe him.”

Dru paused for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was so quiet Angel had to lean forward to catch it, “ When you tried to kill him, Angel, you made him doubt himself. Maybe he really was evil, because the ‘Champion’ hated him so much. His dilemma wasn’t noticeable to Scarlet. All they cared about were his skills, and he performed well enough for them.”

Angel didn’t flinch at the accusation, but neither did he speak up to deny it. He just stood there, still as death, waiting for Dru to explain what had happened to Tierre once he’d left. Once he’d been driven out.

Dru smiled her secret smile and continued. “But I knew Tierre better. I spied on him … stalked him whenever I could. It even took him a while to figure out he was being shadowed. Outside of Scarlet, there were still those who wanted Tierre dead. Add to that Scarlet’s original enemies who all wanted to take down Tierre because he was their newest weapon, and I knew this distraction, this self-doubt you created, could lead to Tierre’s death.”

Angel tightened his hands almost imperceptibly. What was one more sin to the multitude of others he’d committed? He waited for Dru to get to the point, not wanting to dwell on the thought of a vulnerable Tierre, consumed by shame.

Dru seemed to sense that Angel was coming to the end of his patience, and speeded up her explanation. “One night, Tierre was ambushed. He was away from the shield of Scarlet at the time and he was outnumbered. I stepped in and helped him out.”

“So the first time he saw you, you were in the process of saving his life.” Angel noted, “How convenient.”

“Your sarcasm is noted, but baseless,” Dru said dryly, “At the time, I had no other choice.”

“So let me guess: after that you got close, maybe proved your loyalty a few more times, Tierre fell for it. Fang, thrall and the proverbial sinker.”

“Tierre’s not stupid. He already knew who I was. Do you have any idea how many times he set me up just to test me?” Dru snapped. “But, in the end, I gained his trust. We kept our friendship from Scarlet; they wouldn’t have allowed it. He confided in me his doubts about himself, his fears that he didn’t know who he really was, and that he may never know.”

Dru crossed her arms, glaring at Angel as he stood there, without even a flicker of response to her words. He’d never understood Tierre’s softness. Compared to Spike, Angel probably mistook it for weakness. Fool, she thought, but realized there was nothing she could do about it. All that mattered now was that she made him understand what had happened to Tierre’s memories.

“I tried to help him. Together, we performed a spell…to unlock his hidden memories. Needless to say, he was terrified of what he would find out … that maybe he really is Spike. I promised him no matter what happened, I would never leave him. He may have been scared, but he did it anyway. He’s brave like that.”

Angel almost smiled at Drusilla’s tone, as if she was daring him to deny it. Not that he would. Spike had been impulsive, irritating and loud, but no one could have ever accused him of being a coward. Tierre, likewise, refused to let fear dictate his actions.

Satisfied no sarcastic remark was forthcoming from Angel, Dru continued. “But neither Tierre nor I have any expertise over such strong magicks. We botched the spell to bring back his memories. I didn’t even know just how badly we’d blundered until Tierre told me that he still didn’t remember anything. But then he told me he knows. Instead of returning his lost memories, the spell let him see Spike’s life. He saw everything: victories, failures, heartaches …everything that made Spike who he was. Including the people he killed, hated, loved…”

Dru paused for a moment, knowing exactly what question Angel wanted to ask … but that he never would. Feeling something strangely akin to pity at that moment, she answered his unasked question. “He saw Buffy, too. Just what kind of person she had been in the beginning, the warrior, sister, friend, lover … he saw how much Spike loved her … and how that love had led to the dark, twisted relationship that nearly destroyed them both in the end.”

“But that’s the same thing,” Angel insisted, chilled with the possibilities springing from Drusilla’s revelations, “Seeing is still the same thing as remembering. Tierre did get Spike’s memories.”

“No, it’s not. Yes, he has Spike’s memories, but he doesn’t consider them his own. They were passed to him second-hand. It’s like…like reading a history book, and knowing every major event, but never having experienced it for yourself. Or, perhaps this is closer, watching a home video of your fourth birthday party when you’re already 25. You see this person whom everybody says is you, blowing candles and playing with other kids, so you know you did those things during your birthday. But deep inside, you’re detached from the person on the screen, because it’s not you anymore. And you don’t remember that party, anyway. He’s gained the memories, but not the feelings that go along with them.”

Angel felt numb. “Nice analogy.”

“It was Tierre’s, actually,” Drusilla picked up Seyhan’s jacket. “I think he still believes that Spike was a different person. Shall we go?”

Angel’s hand snaked out and grabbed her arm in an iron grip. Drusilla gasped at the anger in her Sire’s eyes. So much for being unemotional. Unaffected. He’d been hiding it all inside while she’d talked.

“Why?” Angel demanded through clenched teeth, “You did that on purpose, put him through that spell. Why? So he’d see every abusive thing that ever took place between him and Buffy, and he’ll hate her? Is that it?”

“Oh, so you know about that?” Dru taunted.

Angel tightened his grip even more. Dru winced and had to stand on tiptoe. “Buffy told me… a little of what happened.”

“How noble of her,” Dru spat scornfully. She desperately tried to free herself, but couldn’t fight against Angel’s greater strength. Raising her chin, she looked him right in the eye and in a voice that could freeze water in an instant, she said, “Let go of me. You’ve delayed me long enough.” Her commanding tone would’ve done Selig proud.

But it didn’t cow Angel. “You still haven’t told me why.”

“Do you want to tear my arm off? Are you going to make up for when you tried to break Tierre’s arm and failed?”

Angel’s eyes fell on the bandage covering Dru’s shoulder. He felt sick when he saw red blooming through the sterile white of the gauze. He’d caused her wound to bleed again. He dropped her arm as if stung. “Shit. I’m … shit!”

Dru backed away, watching as Angel plowed his fingers through his hair. Her shoulder throbbed angrily, in tune with her wounded pride. “The spell was botched, but it wasn’t my fault! I didn’t do it on purpose! I wanted Tierre to know himself just as much as he did. He needed it! His self-doubt was killing him. He hesitated when he shouldn’t have, second-guessed too much … I didn’t want to lose him because of it.”

“So it was for Tierre’s own good, huh? It had nothing to do with getting your lover back?”

Dru’s spine stiffened, “Is that too much to ask?”

Angel gave a short bark of laughter, “Tell me you’re not that stupid,” he said derisively, “What did you think would happen if he remembered? He’d go look for Buffy that’s what! Oh, but wait … you already have a soul! And no way could Spike ever abandon you, not when you need him so much. And especially not since, compared to me, who tried to kill him, you saved his life on your first meeting. And you went through all that trouble to help him gain his memories. Surely, after everything you’ve done, Spike will fall in love with you all over again. Wow, Dru, congratulations. You’re still every bit as selfish and manipulative as ever. Too bad you can never do anything right when you have to do things alone.”

Angel saw the slap coming, but he made no move to get out of the way. He didn’t know why. Guilt, maybe? The glaring hypocrisy of his words? Or maybe because he knew … knew that he was wrong about Dru.

Unlike Buffy, Dru didn’t apologize for slapping him. “Look who’s talking,” she said icily. “For someone who claims his love for the Slayer is true, you sure keep a lot of secrets from her.”

“I’m just protecting her. I wasn’t sure about him then.”

“I don’t care.” Dru said stubbornly, “You have no right to condemn me for what I feel! You have no idea what it’s been like for me these past five years!”

“Because you wouldn’t tell me anything!”

“Why, would you have understood? Spike would have! He would have understood without me having to tell him anything. He would have cared without judgment, would have done anything to make it right! That’s just one of the ways he shows his love. He knew me like no one else has or ever will. And I just wanted him back.

And I don’t give a bloody damn if you think it was selfish of me, because I did it for Spike, not you! He went through living hell, for her. All I wanted … was to make things right for him. So he would know that he’s worth it. That’s all.

But of course you’re right. As usual, I buggered things up. It’s what I do. I’m useless when I’m alone.”

Angel stood there, stunned, not sure of what to say. He’d unlocked a flood of emotions from Dru, a flood that he didn’t know how to deal with. He’d underestimated her, misjudged her so badly. She wasn’t selfish, at all. She was just…sad. Lonely. She just missed her love and wanted to make things right again. And Angel didn’t doubt her at all. One look at her was enough. No one was that good an actress. Not even Dru.

Dru was trembling. She held Seyhan’s jacket to her like a child holding on to a teddy bear to ward off the monster hiding in the closet, “I have to go,” she said softly.

“Wait, Dru…”

“I need to do this. Alone or not. Something dark is building, and …Tierre’s in danger. I have to talk to him.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. I hope I will. But this is similar to the feeling I got that time when Tierre tried to kill himself.”

“Twice. Shortly after Maria’s death,” Angel recalled grimly.

“Didn’t you save him the first time?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I just got him to the hospital in time. To a Scarlet hospital, no less.”

“You’ve got balls, Dad.” Dru managed a weak smile.

“No. I was just desperate,” Angel smiled back at her, “You, though, you were better at it. After you saved him that second time, he never tried to kill himself again. Suicide missions don’t count.”

“I told him that if he died, Maria’s death would be meaningless. That he’d be letting her killers win. I told him to live for vengeance if it was the only thing he had left,” Dru studiously avoided looking at Angel, “And he told me to bugger off.”

“Kids today don’t listen anymore,” Angel said, trying to joke.

Drusilla moved to open the door. Angel put a hand on hers, “One more thing, Dru…”

“Now what?”

“I just…if you don’t mind…I wanna know what happened to you. Everything. Maybe…if I understood, I could help the both of you better. Get it?”

“You want to help me?”

Angel didn’t bother to repeat himself. He just raised an eyebrow.

“But…why? Shouldn’t you be more worried about apocalyptic Balancers?”

Angel shrugged sheepishly, “I want to make things right, too.”

Drusilla studied him for a few nerve-wracking seconds. And then she said, “Can we talk in the car?”

“Sure.”

As they made their way out of the hospital, Angel thought to himself, with a sense of trepidation, I wonder what Tierre really thinks about all of us. Especially about Buffy.


TBC

Chapter Fifteen - I know all I need to know by the way that I got kissed…

Previously: Dru had a vision all about William, Spike and Tierre and of Tierre in danger. Since she acted crazy for a few minutes afterwards, Seyhan assumed she was going nuts. She wasn’t. In the hospital, Dru and Seyhan got into an argument because the vampiress wouldn’t stay put. Angel managed to talk her into getting treated, and then, later on, to tell him what she knew of Tierre’s true identity…

***

The water was cold enough to cause hypothermia. Tierre placed his palms flat against the tiles in front of him and dunked his head beneath the icy needles of water. He felt them sluice over him, mercifully cooling his overheated body. Ahh… thank God. He’d been worried that the cold shower therapy wouldn’t work this time.

He’d been in the shower for almost an hour now. Normally it didn’t take him this long to bathe; but then, he wasn’t just scrubbing clean this time. Like the randy idiot that he was, he had spent the first few minutes visualizing Buffy lathering up her wet, naked self in a shower not too far from this one. Definitely not the thing to do if he wanted to get his baser instincts under control.

And he had been that close to losing control, hadn’t he?

What happened back there? Tierre wondered. His emotions had been see-sawing from the moment he saw Buffy Summers. And he hated it. First, he enjoyed teasing her, while at the same time countering her sneaky little attack; the next, he felt bad for teasing her in the first place. And then, back at the foyer of the house, when the memories of Toya had first assaulted him … what had made him give in to her like that? His best friend’s death had been brutal and tragic, but it hadn’t been the first ―nor the last― of the iron nails Hell continuously made him swallow. He had lost so much more, less than a year later, when he still hadn’t even healed from Toya’s death.

He had been broken … but he hadn’t gone running to anyone. Not even Maggie.

So what the hell made Buffy Summers so bloody special? What had possessed him to take even just a little of the comfort she so willingly and ignorantly offered?

Maybe there’s more of Spike in you than you first thought.

Tierre’s eyes widened at the idea. He had long ago accepted that he and Spike were more than just similar ―there was a very big possibility that he was, indeed, William the Bloody, sans memories. But he had never been able to confirm that, and he wasn’t particularly eager to do so now. Tierre’s greatest dream was to be just Tierre again ―the Maggie Wolfson version, that is. Not Tierre, possible Spike-incarnate, or Tierre Wolfson of Scarlet fame. Just Tierre ―the freak of nature with the strange life; the one who was oddly worldly yet naïve at the same time and who stupidly believed that you could trust others, that freedom was free, that love was the end-all-be-all of his existence and that friendship did indeed last forever … the little buffoon.

There was no way he could go back to that, of course. Innocence lost was lost forever. But it didn’t matter. Tierre could still fight his way out of his current existence and earn his freedom. He could go home to Maggie, the sister-friend who had convinced him that ultimately, it didn’t matter what his past might be, that what mattered were the choices of today. It was his life. He should live it the way he wanted, no matter what others said or did.

You’re a good person, Tierre. Never let anyone tell you different.

Maggie had told him that. And, ironically, Tierre had found it written in one of Spike’s books (one of dozens that Drusilla apparently hoarded). The book had been among the pile of ‘personal possessions’ he and Drusilla had collected as part of their memory-release spell, and in it, an inscription with the same message: Trust yourself, William. You have a good heart, and a kind soul. I love you and I’m proud of you.

It had been signed Mum. Spike’s mother.

Both women had been wrong. William had become Spike, a bloodthirsty monster, and Tierre had become … what was he, exactly? Certainly not a good man. More of a killing machine than anything else.

William and Tierre. Both men with an unnatural predilection for evil. Both men with dark sides unleashed by the presence of love, and the absence of it. Both men had started out good and innocent, but were inevitably transformed into warriors fighting for a side they should’ve been against. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Heh. Whoever had said that must have had William and Tierre in mind.

So what else do our poor, misguided anti-heroes have in common? Tierre thought, banging his head lightly against the wall in front of him.

Oh, yeah, that’s right. Both were irresistibly drawn to Buffy Summers. Like ants to picnics, a thirsty man to water, Ryan Alvarez to life-threatening situations, moths to flame, *insert your own analogy here*.

Once William became Spike, there was no avoiding an un-life with Buffy in it. Poor Spike. He just never saw that bloody cupid’s arrow coming for him.

At least Tierre had left a margin for lust for Buffy Summers. He’d seen her long before he’d met her in person, of course. Thanks, mostly to Dru’s spell, wherein he saw Buffy’s image, looking so real and alive. She wasn’t exactly his type, since Tierre preferred tall, elegant-looking brunettes, to short, blonde, California girls. But still, there was no denying that she was very beautiful (Tierre had also noticed that he found Spike’s exes supremely attractive. He’d even had a little crush on Harmony Kendall once, but she’d shot him down, told him that she could never trust him because leopards never change their stripes, and then had proceeded to treat him as though he was a poetry-writing, chess-playing, bumbling geek/virgin who was put on earth just to torment her. Which, he had been… except for the tormenting her part.)

And now that he’d met Buffy, Tierre knew one thing: he wanted her. Buffy was even more beautiful in person, and there was a fire in her, a unique brand of spunkiness that he responded to, because it wasn’t unlike his own.

Tierre found the truth easier to accept than he first expected. He was attracted to Buffy, maybe even liked her a bit. He could accept that, just like he could accept the things about him that were undeniably Spike-like.

So, once again, ladies and gents, Tierre was involuntarily pulling another Spike.

The only difference was, where as Spike had loved Buffy with all of his heart and soul, Tierre’s feelings for the blonde Slayer didn’t go that deep. He wasn’t in love with her. And he knew he never would be.

It didn’t explain why he’d let his guard down with her, but he ignored that. He was entitled to a little breakdown, wasn’t he? He was only human, after all.

Buffy should know what he felt. If he was lucky, maybe she’d even want the same thing. He just hoped that she didn’t expect him to fall head over heels for her like Spike had. If she did, Tierre would just have to back off. No bloody way was that happening.

The part of Tierre’s heart that could fall in love was long dead. He had the scar to prove it. He’d seen it buried.

Along with Maria Scarletta.


~*~*~*~


Oh, God, please don’t do this to me … please, somebody explain what’s happening … how is this even possible? What the hell does this mean?

Buffy Summers, the girl pleading to the heavens, sat huddled in the cold ceramic bath tub. The water from the shower rained in an icy torrent over her, heedless of the young woman’s confusion and sorrow.

The initial haze of electrifying desire had been washed away by the shower, and slowly, Buffy’s sanity had returned. Right now, she was sorry that it had. She wished that she could turn back time to less than an hour before, to when Tierre was just an annoying, evil, potential-arch nemesis who looked astonishingly like Spike.

She wished she could turn back time to before she had seen him hurting from nightmares that never went away …

Before she’d given in to the primal gut-instinct to comfort him, to drive away his pain even for just a while …

Before he’d kissed her, this time just as Tierre, with no hidden agendas or pretenses; before she’d let her desire, her need for him, overwhelm her and she just had to taste him, feel those talented hands and divine mouth on her burning flesh …

Before she knew, without even a shadow of a doubt …

Buffy whimpered. She drew her legs up to her chest and rested her forehead on her knees. She wanted to stay inside this bathroom forever. In here, at least, she was safe.

This was cowardly of her. Buffy didn’t care. If she stepped out of this bathroom, she would have to face him … the one thing in the world she never even dared to let herself hope for; the one man in the world she’d been dreaming of in all these lonely years, no matter how hard she tried to banish his memory. She would have to face him, and the infinite possibilities stirred by his… miraculous return. But was it a miracle? What if it was a punishment instead?

Whatever this was, she couldn’t handle it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

So, she would just stay in this bathroom and hide.

“Buffy?”

Buffy’s heart leaped inside her chest before her brain processed that the voice calling her name didn’t belong to Tierre, but to Andrew. Her heart stopped its energetic dance so fast, she actually thought she’d been sedated.

“Buffy, it’s me, Andrew! Are you in there?”

Buffy kept quiet.

“Buffy, if you’re in there, please say something.”

She gritted her teeth. Why couldn’t Andrew just go away? Couldn’t he hear that the shower was on? Of course she was in here! And, duh, she needed her privacy!

Andrew paid no attention to her telepathic messages. When he called for her again, his voice had taken on a panicked edge. “Buffy, are you okay in there? Hang on, I’m coming in, okay? I ― Oh. My. God.”

Buffy sat up straight. Her heart was doing that mad, bouncing thing again. Outside her door, she could hear Andrew’s not-too-subtle “Eep!”, and Elsa’s irritating, “If you want me to, I could pick that lock for you …”

“’Ta, pet. I got it.” The slightly raspy baritone sent chills running through her. Buffy jumped out of the shower, and was hurriedly wrapping the big fluffy towel around her by the time the door opened and Tierre walked in.

He was wearing a towel identical to her own wrapped around his lean waist, a few stray droplets of water … and. Nothing. Else.

Deeeellliicioouusss…

Without even glancing behind him, Tierre shut the door on Elsa and Andrew’s eager faces. Andrew instantly began pounding on the door, demanding noisily that Tierre come out of the bathroom.

Tierre leaned against the door and ran his eyes over her body in obvious appreciation. He curled his tongue beneath his teeth and slowly asked, “Why were you hiding away in here, Buffy?”

Pleasure curled like gentle warmth around Buffy’s heart at the way he said her name. God, she had it bad. She locked her jelly-knees together and forced herself to be articulate. “You took a long time to get showered yourself.”

A one-shoulder shrug; practically a patented mannerism. “I got … sidetracked.”

She almost missed his innuendo. “Oh,” she murmured. And then her eyes widened. “Oh!”

She was blushing. Bloody hell, but the woman was a vision. The lovely pink color crept up from her exposed shoulders to her delicate neck, coloring her pretty cheeks like apples. Could she do that on purpose, some sort of ‘Blush on Command’ program? Tierre decided that he didn’t care, as long as she didn’t blush around any other man.

The temperature was rising inside the room. Buffy knew it wouldn’t be long now before she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from jumping his Evil Gorgeousness, overpowering him, and having her wanton way with him. Whether he liked it or not. Although, with the way he was looking at her, lack of cooperation probably wouldn’t be a problem.

Buffy allowed herself to appreciate the perfect male specimen in front of her. He was beautiful. His thick hair was all messed up from the shower, looking more brown than blond now. He would make one mouth-watering brunette, she found herself thinking disconnectedly. Those full, ruby lips were every bit as soft as they looked. She’d felt like she was tasting a cloud that was sweeter than candy when kissing him. His skin … oh, how she ached to lick away those diamond-dots of moisture covering him. Never had the element of water been so sensuous. She gazed, almost mesmerized, at the sheer beauty of his sculpted muscles, from his long neck to his broad shoulders ―that chest― was he even allowed to have a chest like that? Wasn’t there some kind of quota as to how scrumptious a guy could look? Never mind the defined six-pack of his abs, or the toned muscles of his long legs. Hell, even his feet were works of art. And they were moving towards her. Oooh … nice feet, closer, closer …

He tipped her chin upwards, and Buffy was drowning in blue. Just like in my dream. That was you …

“I’m up here, luv.”

Yes, you are, Buffy thought, her heart expanding inside her, You’re really here. Those eyes, those ever-changing blue eyes … she’d know them anywhere, the color shifting along with his emotions. Sometimes they were the exact shade of a clear summer sky, other times, the violent gray of a storm-tossed Pacific.

Right now, they were dark, almost blue-violet, and the golden flecks in them seemed to glow. Once upon a time, those same eyes held all the secrets of his heart and soul in them. Once upon a time, Buffy had been too afraid to look into them.

She was still afraid now, but she didn’t have the chance to be the first to turn away. His heavy lashes descended, and she almost cried out a complaint, not willing to let go of his gaze.

But then he was kissing her. Soft and gentle, his lips just touched hers, really, and it just felt so right… just like it had years ago, when he had been hers.

You’re the one. Buffy’s thoughts were disjointed, and yet they had never made more sense. You’re the only one I should be kissing. The only one…

Her hands fell to his waist, and then traveled upwards again. She slipped her arms around him, pulling him closer as they deepened the kiss. Tierre’s hands pulled at the towel wrapped around her, using it to lift her up and against him. The motion caused them to part, and Buffy found herself looking down at his face, her hands on his shoulders and legs around his waist.

She traced one sharp cheekbone tenderly. Tierre closed his eyes, savoring her touch. Buffy leaned down and kissed first the tip of his nose, and then his forehead, her lips grazing across to his temple before finding their way back to his lips again.

And then finally, she just stopped, resting her forehead against his.

She hitched a sharp breath.

Tierre stilled.

And her tears fell on his face.

“Buffy?” Tierre tried to pull back, tried to see her eyes, but Buffy shook her head and tightened her hold on him even more, arms banding around his neck and legs locking him in place. An ordinary man would’ve been broken. Tierre didn’t even flinch. “Buffy, baby, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong …” she sobbed, voice muffled against his neck. “Just … please, don’t let go … if you do, I’m afraid you’ll disappear.”

If he had given it any thought at all, Tierre would’ve dropped her on her dainty little feet at that moment. But, the plea in her voice, the way she held onto him… there was no room for thinking. Her comfort came first, and his reaction was as natural to him as breathing. Holding her to him, he carried her all the way to the marble sink. Their reflections in the big, oval mirror over the sink showed Buffy clinging to him like a frightened child.

“I’m not goin’ ta disappear,” he told her, voice gruff. “I’m right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere, luv.” He placed her on the sink, but her limbs were still wrapped tenaciously around him. He ran his palms in big, soothing circles on her back. “Shh… kitten. Right here, pet, not goin’ anywhere …”

He felt her grip loosen, and he lowered his head, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. She pulled back slightly and raised her tear-streaked face to his. Tierre smoothed her wet hair from her face. Buffy leaned forward again and rested her cheek against his shoulder. She smiled when she felt Tierre brush a kiss on her hair, before laying his own cheek on the crown of her head.

For the next few minutes, they didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything. They just held each other. Tierre still made circles with his hands on Buffy’s back, his touch soothing. He felt her begin to calm and it was only then that the pressure inside him eased off.

This wasn’t even anywhere near the hot and steamy scenario he’d had in mind for the both of them, but right now, Tierre wouldn’t have it any other way. Something had frightened Buffy; hurt her. Her distress brought to life Tierre’s protective instincts, usually reserved only for the people he deeply cared about. He knew if he thought about it, the situation would spook him senseless, so he didn’t think. He just did what he always did.

He followed his blood.


~*~*~*~


Buffy let her fingers run up and down Tierre’s back. Tierre, she thought. The name suited him. But then again, so did William, and her favorite of his monikers … Spike.

She snuggled deeper into his embrace. She was a bit embarrassed by her actions earlier, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. The reality of him being in her arms again, alive and healthy, had overwhelmed her, bringing with it the fear that maybe this was all just a dream. That he wasn’t real.

But he was real. Arms she knew better than her own held her safe; his touch, his words… he was real. He was here. And he was hers.

He just didn’t know it yet.

A little bit of her peace was disturbed. He doesn’t know, Buffy reminded herself. He doesn’t know who he really is… yet. Intuition told her that they would have to take it slow. He wasn’t ready. Hell, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to deal with this. Barely an hour ago she had still been convinced that Tierre was not Spike.

She knew better now.

Funny how one true kiss could change everything you thought you knew; turn your world upside down and make you see things in a whole different light.

Buffy felt as though she’d just walked into one of those rooms where the tables and chairs were on the ceiling, and the floor was supposed to be the ceiling, and vice-versa. But she didn’t care. She didn’t care that she was standing on the ceiling, and that the floor, along with all the furniture, was hanging above her head.

Spike was back.

And she felt right at home.


~*~*~*~


Things had gotten out of control.

If it weren’t for the fact that his head felt like it was about to split open, and his entire body ached, Franco might have smashed every gilt-edged mirror he’d passed while stomping through his mansion. He was livid. His anger had even grown to the point where he couldn’t face his guests anymore. He’d had to send two of his personal assistants down with some story about how he’d suddenly come down with something and wouldn’t be able to join them for the rest of the evening. It was a weak lie, and the party would undoubtedly make it to tomorrow’s social pages as a disaster, but Franco couldn’t care less. None of the simpletons he fraternized with could possibly understand what he was going through right now.

Tierre was gone. No, kidnapped ― taken from him by force ― by that undead bastard, Angel. Well technically, Tierre had given himself up voluntarily… damn it! Franco clenched his fists. He cursed, muscles rigid, forcing his breathing to stay deep and controlled. It took all of his remaining strength not to give in to the temptation to scream in frustration.

The estate had been well guarded. Not all of Scarlet were around; most of them still had missions to attend to ―but still, more than enough had been left to adequately guard the estate. This was their home. Tierre should’ve been safe here. Instead, he’d been taken, literally, from under Franco’s nose.

His boy. They took his boy. His future, his life. The only one he had left.

The last time Franco Scarletta had felt this helpless, he had been holding Maria’s dead body, after having been told that there was not a single trace of Ivo found. At the same time ―unbeknownst to him― a stone-faced Tierre had been slowly defeated by grief, until he had tried to take his own life.

He had failed Ivo. He had lost Maria. Would he defile her memory by losing Tierre, too?

“No …” Franco whispered.

“Mr. Scarletta?”

Franco whirled around and backhanded the intrusive imbecile so hard, he felt the blow reverberate all through his hurt body. He turned and stared contemptuously at Eagle, or, as Tierre called him, Chick. The shape-shifter had taken the blow stoically, and even with his bleeding lip, still managed to speak respectfully. “They’re here, sir. We’re all here.”

Without another word, Franco strode towards the library. It was the one place Scarlet knew he would expect them to be if he called for them. They were gathered there now when he arrived. They were completely silent, their failure and the unbearable price they had to pay weighing heavily on them.

Looking them over with an icy glare, Franco suddenly realized that it had been a mistake to send Mercury away. Logan and his team had been ‘grounded’, for their indiscretion in attacking the Council. Had Mercury been here, this wouldn’t have happened. If only one, just one, of the higher-ranking teams of Scarlet had been present, Tierre would still be here, safe and sound. But with the exception of Mercury, all the other higher teams had missions to attend to that prevented them from joining the party.

So they’d been stuck with the lower-ranked members. They were usually excellent fighters, but tonight … tonight, Franco found it so much easier to forget that they had ever served him well before.

“What are you still doing here? Waiting for my orders?” Franco barked, his voice hoarse with anger. “Can’t you do anything by yourselves? They have everything I’ve worked for, for decades, and they took Tierre! And you’re all just sitting here, doing nothing!”

“Mr. Scarletta … Master Tierre himself told us that he doesn’t want a war,” Chick said.

“A war? What a wonderful idea!” Franco’s eyes were now glittering. “Mercury should have wiped out the entire Vashkan race. This should never have happened. Arm yourselves. We’re going to New York.”

Roe, the invisible contender who had fought against Seyhan and Willow, spoke up. “I don’t think that would be wise, sir.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion. If I want advice, I’ll ask for some from someone who didn’t need to be extracted from the ceiling!”

“Mr. Scarletta, with all due respect, I agree with Roe,” said Arthur, the one who had tried to rescue Franco from the battle in the Forest. “New York is still largely Angel’s territory. Master Tierre may have a home there, but he never stays long enough to gain a foothold in the city’s Underworld. In the four years that he has been keeping a base of operations there, Angel could have cultivated a formidable network of allies that we know nothing about.”

“Attacking now would be like running through a minefield,” Gail said.

“They know our faces, what we look like,” Garret, Angel’s filth-hating opponent, spoke up. “If I were Rupert Giles, I’d be setting up Slayer snipers at every conceivable spot, licensed to shoot at anyone that looks like … well, us.”

Franco shook his head, “Is that all?”

“There’s also another possibility,” said the one who had first detected the infiltration. “Angel could easily sanction a Hunt.”

“You mean a true bounty hunt? There hasn’t been one ever since Tierre eluded some of the best hunters, killed most of them, and recruited Ryan Alvarez himself into joining his team.”

“Yes, sir. But Master Tierre is in Angel’s hands now. If I were a hunter, I’d listen to someone who has successfully gone up against Scarlet and taken Tierre Wolfson with him.”

“I hate what you just told me.”

“I’m sorry, sir. But that’s the most realistic scenario we’ve got.”

“That’s why I hate it.” Franco sighed. As frustrated as he was, he realized he had no option but to take it slow. If he was rash, he could get Tierre killed. “What are your suggestions?”

“I could go in, just me, sir. Have a look-see for any loopholes we can exploit,” Roe suggested.

Franco shook his head. “No. You may be able to turn invisible, Roe, but you’re not undetectable. Same goes for you, Chick. Drusilla can sniff you out in a nanosecond.”

“The Council in South―” Gail began, but Garret was already shaking his head.

“They would never have left the place unguarded. We’ll just be wasting our time.”

While they squabbled and worked out strategies, Franco watched, both detached and anxious at the same time. Given enough time ―an hour, at the most― he knew they could come up with a feasible plan.

But they didn’t have time. Franco was beginning to panic, his normally clear mind clouding over with all manner of horrors befalling Tierre. It was no secret that Angel hated Tierre. He might try to finish what he had started years ago and murder the young man.

It was a proven fact that Tierre was stronger, a better fighter, and so much more powerful than any vampire. But Franco was thinking like a father, and all he knew was that Tierre was all alone, surrounded by enemies, vulnerable… and way too far from home.

Angel and the Council had unwittingly found Franco Scarletta’s weakness; the only event that he truly feared. The billionaire suddenly found himself thinking: What would Tierre do?

The answer came to him in an instant. Tierre would use whatever resources were at hand. If he didn’t have any, he’d ‘liberate’ some. “Yesha Kavrois,” Franco said.

“The elvin queen, Mr. Scarletta?” Garret clarified. “Master Tierre took her to Montana, didn’t he?”

“We need her. Go get her.”

The present Scarlet crew looked at each other, not sure if they heard their employer right. “You want us to go to … Montana, sir?” Gail asked, confused.

“Yes.”

“But, sir …”

“Maggie will have to understand. She needs to cooperate with us, even if just this once,” Franco said, leveling a glare at his people. “They want their Vashkan, don’t they? Well, good. I want my son. It’s a fair trade.”

“If we so much as darken the Wolfson Ranch with our shadows, Maggie will sic her hell-guardians on us!” Roe blurted out.

“What’re you complaining about? You get to not have a shadow!” Chick shot back at him.

“What’re we going to do if Ryan Alvarez is there?” Gail wondered out loud.

“We pray,” Arthur muttered beneath his breath.

Franco walked over to his desk. The library was in shambles, but at least that damned witch’s spell had been reversed. Even so, it took several seconds to locate the phone. He looked up at the waiting Scarlet and demanded, “Why are you still here?”

“Perhaps Roe and Gail should stay here with you, sir. In case the bastards come back,” Arthur said quietly.

Franco shook his head. “No, never mind that. I’ll … I’ll have company soon enough.” He looked away, and then glanced down at the phone. “I hope they’re at home.”

“Who, sir?”

“Scarlet Ghost.”

“What? I thought they were retired!”

Franco smiled darkly. “Nobody retires from Scarlet. We’re family. You don’t walk out on family.”

TBC

Chapter Sixteen: Montana

Previously: Both Tierre and Buffy subjected themselves to cold showers. Tierre contemplated the similarities between him and Spike, and how, among all of these, the most notable one was their common desire for Buffy Summers. Buffy, on the other hand, has discovered the earth-shattering truth about Tierre in his kiss. Though it scared her to hell, it didn’t stop her from accepting some comfort, Tierre-style. Meanwhile, in the Scarletta Estate, Franco is busy with being furious, scared and trying to find a way to get Tierre back…

***

“I don’t believe it.” Logan declared.

“Believe it. This is one piece of information that’s legit all the way.” Luis said smugly, “I was there. I saw it myself.”

“He’s up to something.”

“Logan, this is good news. We’ve got a window of opportunity here. We should be grabbing it.”

“I refuse to believe that Tierre Wolfson simply gave himself over to the Council.”

Luis sighed. It was hard to understand Logan. He hated the Wolf, sure, and with good reason. But there were times when Logan acted almost as if he was…in awe of Wolfson, strange as the notion was. How many plans have they begun to put together, only to have Logan abort them because he had been convinced that Tierre would see right through them? In Luis’ opinion, Logan had an unhealthy case of overestimating his enemy.

“He did, you know. He gave himself up so they’d let Mr. Scarletta go.”

“No, that’s not all there is to it. He’s not that selfless.”

“Fine, then. What do you think he’s up to?” Luis muttered with a hint of impatience.

Logan was oblivious. “Hell if I know.”

“So let’s just stick with what we do know.” Luis got up from Logan’s plush, leather couch and walked over to where the other man was drumming his fingertips impatiently against a bookshelf. “The Balancer and the Scroll aren’t in the estate anymore. The Council has taken them, along with Tierre. There’ll be a lot of fighting between those two groups to recover what’s been lost…right?”

Logan smirked. “The Council runs here, Scarlet runs there, and we cross the intersection.”

“So what’re we waiting for?”

“Nothing, I suppose. Go call the others. I’m getting restless.”

Luis left, eager to gather the rest of Mercury and go wreak havoc upon, well, everyone else, really. Logan went to his room and turned on his laptop. The translation program he’d had specifically designed just for him was working remarkably well, but not nearly well enough. So far, he had come up with seven different translations from the original Prophecy, and he doubted if any one of them was even close.

Franco never knew, and neither did Tierre, that Logan had made copies of their precious Scroll. Trusting a thief was a stupid thing to do, and yet for all his intelligence, Franco had done just that. Did the old man really believe in all the ‘We’re like a real, big family’ speeches he kept churning out?

Granted, Logan had almost been taken in by them. The promise of a family was tempting. But that was before all his hard work had been pushed aside in favor of that bony ragamuffin, Wolfson.

Franco had a vision; Logan had ambition.

And Tierre was in the center of it all.

Logan sat down in front of his laptop and began reading one of the translations― the one that lonely Dr. Egbert, one of the linguists in Franco’s employ, had told him was most likely the closest to the original.

The Blood of the Guardian
The Blood of the Child
Shall flood the Garden of the Dead; the Cradle of the Birth
And She the Mother shall bring the Child to Her
And the Worlds shall weep for they are no more

It was supposed to be poetry. Maybe it was, in the original language, but in plain English, it didn’t sound so lyrical. The frustrating part was so many words had been lost in translation― they had absolutely no equivalent in English.

For now, anyway.


~*~*~*~

“You sure we’re in the right town?”

Wesley bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from snapping at Faith in irritation. “Yes, we are. Don’t you think we’d know where the Wolfson’s ranch is located?”

“Yo, chill, Watcher-man. Just sayin’, y’know…this place ain’t exactly where I thought Tierre Wolfson might roost in between jobs.”

“He doesn’t live here. He and Maggie use the ranch as a summer home. Or, so I’ve heard.”

“Still think it isn’t typical.”

“It works though,” Rona spoke up, “In a town like this, people like us can be easily spotted.”

“People like us?” Rumus asked.

Faith hid a smile. Her team included Wesley, Rumus, Selig, Kennedy, Rona and Vi. Faith never liked dragging a bunch of inexperienced Slayers along operations like this, so she called up the GAF ( Girls Against the First ), but only Kennedy, Rona and Vi were free.

All of them were dressed head to toe in black. Most of them had on long black coats ( all the better to hide weapons with ) and they had arrived in Faith’s big, black Hummer after leaving behind the sleek jet Wesley had piloted in an air strip that Faith assumed belonged to Wolfram and Hart.

The moment they entered the town, Rona had said, “For God’s sake, we’re like S.W.A.T invading Stars Hollow.” Off the others’ blank looks, she added, “Star’s Hollow…Gilmore Girls?”

“You watched that show?” Kennedy asked.

Rona scowled, “Got a problem with that?”

S.W.A.T invading Star’s Hollow. ‘Nuff said. Too bad Rumus didn’t get the pop-culture reference.

“Okay, so we’re here. Now what? We just waltz up in there and demand that they unhand that elf?” Vi asked. Unlike the shy redhead she had been, Vi was now a full-fledged Slayer, complete with the snarky attitude.

“How about we knock first, introduce ourselves, then systematically kick their asses?” Kennedy the Brat had become Kennedy the Cynic, a smooth transition from Kennedy the Scorned Slayer. Faith didn’t know if Kennedy had ever gotten over her break up with Willow years before, and since it was none of her business, didn’t ask.

“How about we just stand here and exchange silly, sarcastic mortal banter all night long?” Selig cut in, “No, please, continue. I have at least a century remaining of my youth. Help me waste it!”

That shut the Slayers up. Faith rolled her eyes, “Talk about tightly wound,” she muttered to Wesley.

Rumus shot her a sharp look.

Faith sighed. These Vashkans were starting to annoy her. They kept trying to call all the shots, not to mention no one else could ever just let loose around them because Selig, the icy monument to All Things Royal and Dignified, and Rumus, the rabid pit bull of an elf, considered it disrespectful to Yesha’s current state. Didn’t they understand that they were the victims in distress here and were therefore supposed to be meek and helpless, allowing the heroic Slayers and their noble cohorts to rescue the elf queen and save the day? And weren’t faeries supposed to be blond? When she died, she was going to kick Tolkien’s epic ass for making her believe that faeries were as pretty as Legolas. Okay, they were pretty, but they didn’t look like Legolas.

“Slayer…Slayer…no, not you, I meant her.”

Faith snapped out of it and realized that Rumus was trying to get her attention. He was pointing towards the house up ahead. At Faith’s signal, the Slayers fanned out, surrounding the house. Flanked by Wesley, Faith strode towards the front door. The two Vashkans went around to the back.

Every step she took made Faith tenser. The house looked normal, nothing out of the ordinary. And maybe Scarlet was inside, having beers while watching a game.

Not likely. But it could happen.

“Faith, wait a minute…” Wesley began.

But Faith, visions of killers lurking just behind the cheery gingham curtains dancing in her mind, didn’t hear him. She ran for the house, sailed gracefully over the porch, and violently knocked the door open. Better to strike first, to blindside them…

“Where is she?!” she demanded―

― of the old couple sitting cozy together on the couch. They blinked up at her innocently.

Faith stared.

“Hello.” The li’l old lady greeted.

“I didn’t know we’d be having guests tonight. Is it poker night now? It’s not Friday already, is it?” the old coot asked.

“Faith!” Wesley came bounding in, “We’re at the wrong house!”

“Thanks for the early warning,” Faith hissed, “Now go and warn our two favorite tooth faeries that ―”

A crash that was none other than the back door being busted open sounded loudly. Faith shut her eyes and whispered a few choice words. Selig and Rumus were yelling for Yesha at the top of their lungs. The old―surprisingly agile―couple got up to inspect the noise. Faith and Wesley reluctantly followed.

“Hey! You broke our door! You’re going to pay for that, you…you…who are you folks, anyway?” the old geezer shook his fist at the Vashkans.

Team Rescue Yesha gaped at each other helplessly.

“Uh…Faith?” Rona had gotten inside the house without being noticed, “You better come out here.”

What now? Faith groaned inwardly. She started to go outside, but something tugged at her. She looked back and saw the old woman stroking her leather coat.

“Is this real leather?” she asked.

Faith decided to try and spare her feelings, considering her evening had just been ruined, “No, ma’am. This is fake. I don’t support the practice of wearing leather.”

Wesley snorted.

“Me neither. It’s too bad, though, ‘coz leather is sexy. I was even thinking of buying one of those leather and lace corsets that’s so hot nowadays.”

Now the team stared in mute shock at the li’l old lady.

“Stop that, you naughty bat! You tryin’ to turn me on in front of these youngsters?” her husband teased her coyly.

“Let’s leave. Now.” Rumus hustled out of the kitchen quickly.

“We apologize for all this trouble. We assure you that we will never come anywhere near the two of you. Ever. Again.” Selig followed Rumus.

The couple trailed behind the scandalized ‘youngsters’ outside their house. There, the Slayers stood, facing off two men.

One of the men was older, but younger than Wesley. Somewhere in his early thirties. He was tall, dark, handsome, and very confused at the sight of the S.W.A.T wannabes. He looked at each of them the way a person might examine a strange new specie of insect.

The other one was younger, about mid to late twenties. He was tall, but not as tall as his companion. Thick hair so black, it had natural blue highlights was parted at the center. He was leanly built. He wasn’t Caucasian; his chiseled features didn’t give away his heritage. He could’ve been Asian, or Native American. And then again, he could be Spanish. He kept his hands in his pockets and looked bored, but his intense gaze had instantly locked in on Faith. The dark Slayer felt that she was being measured; and not in the raunchy way.

He, Faith thought, is the more dangerous of the two.

“They could be Scarlet.” Wesley whispered to her, “What are you thinking?”

“Come to mama, you gorgeous creature, you.” Rona drawled softly under her breath, eyes on the younger of the strange men.

Faith smiled and cocked her head towards Rona, “What she said,” she replied. The two women never took their eyes off the man with his hands in his pockets.

“Who the hell are you?” Kennedy demanded.

The handsome one frowned, “Who are you?” he shot back, “You know these people, Mrs. Bowman?”

“No!” Mrs. Bowman replied, “But I think these poor, sexy things are lost.”

“I think they’re burglars!” Mr. Bowman cried indignantly, “They broke the back door!”

Gorgeous Creature raised black eyebrows, “Now, why’d you go and do a thing like that?” he asked. His tone was friendly, half-amused, half-curious. But Faith couldn’t shake off the feeling that his question was for real, and if he didn’t like their answer, he’d do something about it.

“This was a mistake.” Selig said, “We were looking for a friend of ours and we were told,” he shot a wry look at Wesley, “that we would find her here.”

“A simple mistake. I couldn’t be completely sure as I had never been here before.” Wesley muttered defensively.

“You had to break the Bowman’s back door just to find your friend?” the handsome one was starting to sound suspicious.

“He said it was an accident, all right?” Kennedy snapped.

“Yeah. We’ll fix it.” Vi put in.

“Good idea! That old door was getting rickety, anyway.” Mrs. Bowman said eagerly, “Oh, and why don’t you just tell us what this friend of yours looks like, and maybe we can help you.”

“We don’t think so.” Rumus said abruptly. He eyeballed the two men in front of them. He didn’t trust them, “Who are you two, anyway?”

“What? Don’t you already know? I’m Grace Bowman and this is my husband Vic―”

“Not you two! I meant them!” Rumus pointed a finger at the two men. Mrs. Bowman gasped at his sharp tone and put a hand over her heart.

Gorgeous Creature slowly uncoiled, bringing both hands out of his pockets, “Hoy, amigo,” he said smoothly, “It would be wise if you would learn to show respect to your elders.”

Rumus, the perennial hothead, easily took offense, “They are not my elders!”

A strong hand gripped his shoulder. The Southern Vashkan looked up, irritated.

“Yes, but we’ve ruined their night as it is,” Wesley said genially, “This is all our fault, gentlemen. Sorry, but our friends are foreigners, you see, so don’t be offended if they don’t seem overtly friendly.”

He acted apologetic, but Wesley’s fingers tightened on Rumus’ clavicle. A warning. Something about the two men made him cautious. He didn’t know why he thought so, but these two…they were a threat.

“No problem,” the handsome one said dismissively, “I’m Nelson; this is Ryan. We were just closing up the Internet Cafe― see that fine structure over there? That’s the one. I own it. Anyway, we heard some yelling goin’ on over here and decided to come and investigate.”

“Just concerned neighbors then.” Wesley said.

“Uh-huh.” Said Ryan, formerly known as Gorgeous Creature.

“Well, aren’t you boys sweet.” Mrs. Bowman gushed, “By the way, Nelson, dear, would you mind taking a look at that computer thing our daughter sent us?”

Nelson beamed, “You finally found a use for it?”

“Oh, yeah.” Mr. Bowman grinned lecherously, “The missus and I were thinking of having cyber sex, actually.”

“What better way to spice up your week nights.” Ryan drawled.

“I’ll be over tomorrow, Mrs. B.” Nelson said, obviously used to the couple’s raging libidos already. The Rescue Squad were all in various stages of choking. Even the Vashkans, and they didn’t understand the word ‘cyber’.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but,” Rona interrupted, “Are we just gonna stand around here all night, chatting?”

Selig’s only answer was to start walking, back erect, shoulders squared.

“Guess that means ‘no’ and ‘let’s go’.” Vi muttered.

Wesley took a few more seconds to apologize and to promise to pay for the broken door. They gave the two men a wide berth, especially Kennedy. But Rona and Vi weren’t lesbians and were thankful that they were over 18.

“Bye, Ryan.” Vi smiled coyly.

“Move it.” Faith pushed the two to hurry them along. I feel like a damn old maid, she grumbled to herself.

“Oh, wait a minute, I just remembered something.” Mr. Bowman called out suddenly.

“Yes? What is it?” Rumus snapped. Ryan, and even Selig, glared at him. He pursed his lips, “I mean, of course, old mortal man, will you please share with us some of your vague memories.” He amended politely.

“Some of your relevant, and not at all lecherous memories.” Selig quickly added.

Nelson ginned. Ryan shook his head, saw Nelson grinning and smacked him on the shoulder. “Don’t laugh at foreigners.” He mouthed.

“Hmm…I don’t think I’ll tell you. You might just break down their doors, too.”

Sensing a breakthrough, Wesley pounced, “No, we won’t. We’ve learned our lesson.”

Old man Bowman stared hard at them. “I’m going to tell you, but only on one condition: no one gets hurt. If you try something nasty against one of our own, we’ll know and we’ll be on you like mascara on a drag queen―”

“― and fishnet stockings on an L.A. streetwalker.” His wife dutifully put in.

“Yes, that. The entire town will be on you, and believe me, we can be one mean lot.”

“Yes, yes, we agree to your condition. Now that you’ve successfully intimidated us into compliance, will you tell us what you remembered?” Wesley insisted.

“Hmp, fine. If you weren’t such sexy, lost burglars, we wouldn’t bother.” Mr. Bowman huffed, “But Maggie came home a few days ago. Tierre dropped by, too, earlier today. There was a young woman with him. Very beautiful, as I heard. Could be your friend.”

“It’s about time, if you ask me.” Mrs. Bowman said wisely, “An irresistible stud like Tierre shouldn’t be alone. Why, if I were only younger, I’d give him a go!”

“Don’t delude yourself. You shave two decades off your age, and any relationship you want to have with Tierre would still be illegal.” Her husband grumbled.

“There are upsides to having a young lover. I’d have so much to teach him!” Mrs. Bowman gushed.

Faith and Wesley chorused, “Now that’s just wrong!”

“Where will we find these Wolfsons?” Rumus brought them back to the track they’ve left behind several innuendoes ago.

“Oh, the boys will show you, won’t you boys?”

“Yes, Mrs. Bowman.” Ryan and Nelson said like obedient school children.

“Now, remember: no one gets hurt. Especially not Maggie. We love that girl!”

Ryan shot a mischievous glance at Nelson as they started to leave the Bowman’s, “Oh, yes we do.” He sing-songed.

Nelson shoved him and Ryan laughed.

The Rescue Team walked close together, letting the two guides walk ahead of them.

“That was a little too easy.” Wesley muttered to Faith, “And I must tell you, something about those two strike me as…odd. Almost familiar.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I just have this feeling that they’re not just innocent strangers.”

“I don’t trust them.” Rumus was glaring holes at their guides’ backs.

“Rumus, you wouldn’t trust your own mother.” Faith said wearily.

“Do you trust them?” the Vashkan pressed.

“That’s not the main issue.”

“Of course it is.” Selig said quietly. “Those two…are strong. Especially that Ryan person. There’s something about him that reminds me of Wolfson. And perhaps…a little bit of you, Slayer.”

“I feel it too, Faith.” Kennedy concurred.

Faith nodded a little reluctantly. “Same here,” she said, “Be on your guards.”


~*~*~*~


“I think they’re talking about us behind our backs.” Thorn said to Ryan.

Ryan smiled. “I can’t blame them. The subjects are so fascinating.”

“Touche.”


~*~*~*~


“Are you sure you don’t want any dinner?” Maggie asked again. For the third time now.

Yesha stood by the large, sliding window of her room, staring blankly outside. “I am not hungry.” She said firmly.

“Still, you should eat something. You need to keep your strength up.”

“Is that so? What do you care, woman? You conspire to keep me a prisoner here!”

“You’re not a prisoner. You can leave anytime you want.”

Yesha still refused to look at her. “I have nowhere to go. And even if I did, what would the other Wolfson say about that? He brought me here. If you let me go, he will not be pleased.”

“He’ll survive.” Maggie said wryly, “Tierre doesn’t tell me what to do, and I don’t always approve of what he does. Frankly, I don’t know what he was thinking, bringing you here when you obviously don’t want to be here.”

“He claims he’s doing it to protect me.”

“You don’t believe him.”

“No. I believe I am the only one who can protect myself. I haven’t done a very good job of that as of late.”

“Staying hungry isn’t going to improve your self-esteem.”

Yesha opened her mouth to argue once more, but when she looked at Maggie, she changed her mind. The hours she’d spent here had confirmed her suspicions: the female Wolfson was even more high-handed than the male. Maggie had already managed to get Yesha out of bed, bathe herself, and change into clothes she’d insisted on lending the Vashkan.

Now she was trying to get Yesha to eat again. She’d already fed Yesha once this day; with a meal she called a ‘snack’. It had been delicious and mildly filling.

Yesha finally relented, “Would there be…cookies?”

Maggie smiled, “Only after dinner.”


~*~*~*~


“You ate a lot for someone who wasn’t hungry just a while ago.” Maggie said with a smile.

“Yes…well, the meal was very delicious.” Yesha finally admitted.

“Thanks. It’s chicken casserole. I like it made with lemons and rice, especially when Tierre makes it.”

“He eats!” Yesha cried in mock-surprise. She felt guilty, but only for Maggie’s sake, since she genuinely liked the woman. She was warm and kind, in addition to being practical and intelligent. In the elf’s opinion, Maggie’s only serious flaw was that she loved Tierre Wolfson.

“Yes.” Maggie responded dryly, “And if you cut him, he also bleeds.”

The Vashkan pursed her lips. She did not understand what the woman meant, but she easily caught the heavy sarcasm and the undercurrent of protective anger in Maggie’s words.

“Did he ever tell you what happened to me and mine?” Yesha asked quietly.

Maggie shook her head.

“No, I suppose he wouldn’t. Tell me, Maggie, what do you see when you look at me?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You think I’m human, don’t you? I look just like you, just like your beloved Tierre. But I’m not. Don’t look so surprised. I’m sure that being with him must have exposed you to the truth: that humans are only the latest in the beings born to this world.”

“I’m aware.” Maggie said simply, “So what are you?”

“I’m a Vashkan. An elf, if I may use your pitifully simplistic words, and I am one of those whose lives Tierre destroyed.”

“What exactly do you think he did to you?”

Yesha narrowed her eyes, “I’ll tell you. But this will not be a happy story.”

“Don’t worry about me, Miss Kavrois.” Maggie looked at her guest right in the eyes, “Very little shocks me nowadays.”

For the first time since she met Tierre face to face, Yesha felt doubt about her own convictions. She can sense that the woman sitting across from her was just an ordinary human being, neither witch nor Slayer. Apparently, all the supernatural gifts had been given to the male Wolfson.

And yet, the Vashkan queen could sense the woman’s inner strength. There was a core of steel running beneath her fragile human heart. She radiated a determination that rivaled Yesha’s own. Instinctively, the Vashkan queen recognized Maggie as a woman who would fight to the death in order to protect those she loved.

And so the question was this: how could the evil Tierre have earned the love and trust of someone so good and brave?

Am I wrong? Has my judgment been flawed all this time?

I had nothing to do with the massacre of you Vashkans. Tierre had told her that. But surely, he had been lying. With this thought firmly in mind, Yesha once again related the horrid events of Scarlet’s attack.

Maggie listened without saying anything. By the end of the story, she had gone pale.

“That’s…horrible. I―I’m so sorry,” she said awkwardly, “God, what am I saying?”

“Yes, it was horrible. But we’ve mourned enough.”

“And now it’s payback time.” Maggie recovered herself swiftly, “In your shoes, I would do the same thing.”

Yesha smiled coldly, “But you’re not in my shoes. And the truth is you are against me because I am a threat to Tierre.”

Maggie didn’t touch the other woman’s cold judgment, “Tell me, was Tierre there? During the attack, I mean?”

“No, he wasn’t. But he didn’t have to be.”

“So when you talked to him about it, what did he tell you? Did he offer you any reasons?”

“What makes you think I spoke to him about it at all?”

“You had no trouble talking to me. And you mentioned that Tierre says he wants to protect you. That’s not like him.” Maggie pressed, “Did he admit to being involved in the attack?”

“Of course not! Why would he admit to his own crime?”

“What did he say, exactly?”

“Nothing that I believed.”

“Oh, I see. So he told you that he had never been involved.”

Yesha sighed, “Yes. He said he had nothing to do with the massacre, and even had the gall to apologize. But as I said, I did not believe him.”

Maggie smiled, and her relief was clear as day, “Whew. For a minute there, I thought Tierre may have done something.”

“See? Even you doubt him!”

“No. I don’t. It’s just that I’m not blind and I know what Tierre is capable of. I know he’s not good― not in the traditional sense of the word, anyway ―but he is far from evil. I know him better than anyone. He just does what he can to ensure our survival.”

“And that includes the sacrifice of other people?”

“No. Tierre would never take an innocent life. That’s the part of him that he never compromised no matter what happened to him. And believe me, Tierre would never deny that his hands are stained with blood and he’s not afraid of retribution. He’s not a coward.”

“I should have known you would try to protect him first. You deliberately turn a blind eye to all this. You are no better than he is!” Yesha spat.

Maggie’s lips tightened in anger, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she stood up and started clearing the table. Wordlessly, Yesha began to help. She and Maggie reached for a glass at the same time.

“You don’t need to help me.” Maggie said.

“And you didn’t need to feed me.” Yesha replied.

With a shrug, Maggie let the elf have the glass. She remained silent. Yesha wasn’t ready to listen to her yet― and she probably never will be. But after what happened to her, could Maggie really blame her?

Defending Tierre was hard work. Maggie had often wished she had powers, too, so she could fight by his side the way Ryan did― even if Ryan would never admit to fighting on anybody’s side but his own.

But Maggie didn’t have their strength, nor their skills. She had always secretly thought of herself as a burden to Tierre.

So she fought for him the only way she knew how…by never leaving his side. For some reason, people trusted her. Even those who always assumed the worst of Tierre ( and there were many ) seemed to at least like her. Even Yesha was careful to spare her feelings at first. Nelson had once informed her, in his slow, lazy way, that she was the one irrefutable evidence that Tierre was indeed a human being with a beating heart.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a bright flash of pain sliced across Maggie. She gasped as it traveled from her spine to spread in the general area of her torso. Her knees buckled, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. No! she roared inside with all the defiance in her heart, Go away! Go away now!

She tried to grab the edge of the table to steady herself, but she missed and instead caught the table cloth. She fell to the floor, the dinnerware shattering.

Yesha jumped and turned to see what was wrong. “Maggie!” she exclaimed, “What happened?”

Maggie wrapped her arms around her torso. God, it hurt to breathe. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, unaware that she had grown deathly pale. But when she heard Yesha, she forced her eyes open and smiled. Or at least she tried to smile. She looked more like she was grimacing. “It’s…it’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

Yesha cleared the broken plates away from Maggie. She was lucky that the worst she got was a shallow cut on her leg. “Tell me what I have to do.” Even worried, Yesha sounded like she was giving an order. Which she was. She wanted Maggie to focus on her, and not her pain.

“It…it’ll go away…” Maggie was breathing harshly through her mouth.

Not knowing what else to do, Yesha put her palms together and placed her lips very close to the tips of her fingers. Her eyes closed and she started murmuring an oracion. She then placed her palms on Maggie’s shoulders. A gentle orange glow emanated from the Vashkan’s palms.

“Your hands…what’s happening? Why are they hot?” Maggie noted weakly. She felt the heat seep past her clothes, pouring gently on her skin, and delving beneath that layer to envelop her muscles, blood, bone. The heat suffused her from the inside, and the pain actually receded. It began to fade until it was simply gone.

The redhead slumped bonelessly into Yesha’s arms, “Whatever it was you did, thank you.”

“It was an oracion to Olsea.”

“Who’s that? A new rock star?”

Yesha chuckled and helped Maggie up. “I do not know what kind of star that is. But Olsea is one of the elfin deities. We call upon her for healing. I’m not certain if we can cure human illness. But are you feeling better?”

“You chased away the pain.” Maggie replied gratefully. “I seriously doubt that you healed me, though. A million thanks, just the same.”

“Elfin deities rarely bless humans. I suppose Olsea likes you.”

“Really? You wouldn’t happen to have her e-mail ad, wouldja?”

“Maggie, what happened?”

“Nothing. I’m fine now.”

“Will it happen again? You must tell me. I can only take away the pain. A full healing would take one at the top of her strength. And I am not at my best at the moment. I just healed from my own wounds.”

The sound of the front door opening and closing drew the women’s attentions. A little girl with her blond hair in pigtails bounded into the kitchen, “Maggie, I’m here!” she froze at the sight of Yesha, big, blue eyes instantly suspicious, “Who’re you?”

Maggie frowned, “Hope, you know better than to be rude to a guest.”

“Guest? You didn’t say anything about a guest.”

“She’s a surprise guest. This is Yesha Kavrois. Yesha, this is Hope.”

“The one who takes piano lessons.” Yesha smiled. What a beautiful child. But her eyes remained narrowed as she regarded Yesha with bold suspicion.

“You have a weird name.” she said. She came to stand by Maggie. There was something about the way she stood. Something undeniably protective.

Another of Wolfson’s minions! But she is just a child! “Are you…Scarlet?” Yesha didn’t want to hear the answer.

Hope wrinkled her button nose, “Me? No way!” she stuck her tongue out. Just then, she spied the broken plates in the corner, “Maggie, what happened?”

“Nothing, honey.”

The little girl slid a glance towards Yesha, the message unmistakable. With an understanding smile, Yesha left the dining room.

“Are you all right?” Hope asked, as soon as the queen was gone.

“Yeah. Don’t worry.”

“Did you take your medicine?”

“No, mom, but I will.” Maggie chucked her in the chin, “You’re starting to sound more and more like Tierre everyday.”

“I’m not that bad. Do you want to cancel our lesson tonight?”

“Don’t be silly. Go on, set things up. And you better be nice to Yesha, okay?”


~*~*~*~


“So, how come you guys are so gung-ho about getting your friend back? What, did Tierre kidnap her or something?” Nelson asked jokingly, glancing at Wesley and giving his outfit the once-over. Rona had accidentally mentioned that it was a lucky break that they had people to point them to the Wolfsons’ place, as it saved them the time of a search.

“Yes, he did.” Rumus said bluntly.

Nelson chuckled, “Good for him.”

Selig bristled, “Since when was taking someone against their will considered as ‘good’?”

“Relax, I was joking. I just wanna say that Tierre’s not the type to kidnap people. I mean, what for? He’s already abominably rich.”

“How well do you know Tierre?” Wesley asked, hoping he wouldn’t get caught fishing.

“Well enough.” Nelson shrugged. “I used to live in New York. That’s where I met him. I moved here so I can get away from the corporate rat race, you know?”

“Too bad.” Ryan deadpanned, “You were the biggest rat of them all.”

“Pay no attention to Ryan. He’s a retard.”

“You don’t look like a retard.” Faith said, on a burst of semi-loyalty. Or something.

“The worst ones never do.” Nelson said gravely.

The Vashkans walked closely together, murmuring to each other. Nelson and Ryan paid no attention. Wesley and the Slayers waited tensely for the other shoe to drop.

“So…is Tierre Wolfson at home?” Selig finally prodded.

“No. Went back to New York. Why?” Ryan turned his head to look at the Vashkan.

Rumus stealthily went up to walk beside Ryan, pushing Nelson aside. Now Selig was on Ryan’s left and Rumus was on his right, “And this…Maggie person. Who is she to Tierre?”

“Why do you ask?”

“We were just wondering. She carries his name.”

“No, he carries her name.” Nelson corrected, “Maggie is the original Wolfson, not T-Wolf.”

Faith kept her mouth shut. Maggie Wolfson was Tierre’s friend. The same Maggie whose invisible presence accompanied Tierre in the Yorkshire woods. But the dark Slayer couldn’t say anything without arousing their guides’ suspicions.

But she was getting a bad feeling in her gut. Just what were these elves up to?

“…so, Maggie Wolfson is Tierre’s only family?” Selig wanted to know.

“Yeah.”

“You could say that.”

Rumus smiled smugly. “She must be infinitely precious to him.”

Nelson gave the two ‘foreigners’ a look, “You guys are weird, you know that?” he commented, “Anyway, we’re here.”


~*~*~*~


It was simply called the Wolfson Ranch; a wide spread of fertile land that gave off the tempting atmosphere of home. At the heart of the spread was a stately two-story ranch house with a wide porch. The porch had a wooden two-seater swing on the right and a long, rattan sofa on the left. The house was painted a fresh white, and the windows had dark-green shutters.

Faith spotted the outlines of the outbuildings, scattered about behind the main house. She didn’t pay them much mind. She was mesmerized by the house in front of her. It closely resembled the dream house she used to fantasize about when she was a kid and such dreams were still okay to have.

“This is a working ranch?” she heard Wesley ask.

“Yeah. What else would it be?” that was Ryan. His deep voice instantly drew her ear, if not her complete attention, so she was already half-listening in.

“Who runs it?”

“Maggie.”

“So, she lives here all the time, then?”

“Only in the summer, spring and Christmas.”

“What about the rest of the year? Who takes care of the place?”

“I do.” Ryan said, rather proudly, “I’m the foreman.”

Faith looked up at him, surprised, “You work for Tierre?”

“Hell no! I work for Maggie!” Ryan sniffed, offended, “Tierre is a pain in the ass. Who would work for him?”

Nelson snickered, “Yeah, he is. Anyways, you guys had better stay here while we go talk to her. She comes here to relax and she doesn’t like it when unexpected visitors drop by out of nowhere.”

The team watched as the two went up to the house. When they were gone, Rumus and Selig began to creep their way towards the house, flanking either side.

“Hey, what’re you two doing?” Faith hissed. She tried to make a grab for Rumus, but he simply evaded her grasp. Within a second, they have blended into the shadows.

“Bloody hell! What were they thinking?”

So Maggie Wolfson is Tierre’s only family?

She must be infinitely precious to him.

Faith clenched her jaw in anger, “God. They’re going after Maggie.” She was already moving, the younger Slayers instinctively following her lead. The Vashkans were already by the house, ducking out of light range.

And then Faith saw Rumus peek into a window. He stayed there, visible, for a few seconds, before drifting away again.

The Slayer rushed forward on silent feet. Like a cat stalking its prey, she made absolutely no sound as she coiled and pounced on the first Vashkan she came across.

The Vashkans were also equally quiet― no cries of alarm, no grunts of pain, no swearing out of anger ―punctuated their actions. Rumus fell on his back and brought his knees to his chest. As soon as Faith descended towards him, he kicked her away from him. Faith sailed through the air, hit the ground, tucked, rolled and was up in a crouch in only a heartbeat, eyes glittering dangerously.

The three Slayers went after Selig. The Northern Vashkan knew that he was outnumbered. He knew that if he fought, he could cause them sufficient damage, but he wasn’t going to win. And he would only end up wasting time.

So he went to his last resort. Magick.

Rona and Vi were coming for Selig on either side of him, while the bold and bitter Kennedy was up front. Selig had his palms out on both sides. A silent blast of electric-white light hit both Rona and Vi. The two Slayers were violently thrown aside.

Kennedy’s eyes widened in shock. She was used to magick, of course, but not once tonight had the two Vashkans ever given a hint that they knew some tricks as well. She’d let her guard down around them.

The price for her leniency was defeat. Selig’s fist connected with her forehead. Kennedy saw stars, constellations of them.

Faith couldn’t go to their aid, since Rumus was really making her work it.

Good thing, then, that Wesley was there, armed and ready to roll. The tip of Wesley’s .45 dug into Selig’s forehead the moment the Vashkan looked up from Kennedy’s fallen form.

“I believe you recognize this kind of weapon, your majesty.” The ex-Watcher said softly, “Don’t make me use it on you.”

TBC

Chapter 17: Montana: The Continuation

Previously: There will be no previously, as this is considered the same chapter.

***

Yesha ran her fingers over the keys of the baby grand piano in the living room, her thoughts on Maggie and the strange illness that beset her. Maggie had seemed healthy enough― she had certainly been fine only minutes before the onslaught of the pain. But just what did Yesha know? She was a faery, after all. She knew next to nothing of the diseases that plagued humans.

Still, Yesha worried for her hostess and wanted to offer what help she could. Under different circumstances, she knew she and Maggie might have become good friends. Different circumstances meaning sans the existence of one Tierre Wolfson.

“Hi, there.”

The lady Vashkan turned around. Hope had entered the living room without her noticing. Her wounds had really slowed her down if a little girl can sneak up on her.

The little girl sat in front of the piano and looked expectantly up at her, “Maggie says I’m supposed to be nice to you.”

Yesha raised her eyebrows, “Will you be?”

“That depends. Are you nice to Maggie?”

Hmm…how to answer that without lying? “Well, I can promise you that I certainly want to be. And I am trying. I like Maggie.”

Hope looked her up and down. “Okay. I guess I can give you a chance.”

“Why thank you, Miss Hope.”

“You’re welcome.”

Yesha sat on a single sofa and regarded Hope with both amusement and curiosity. She was so small, and yet she had an almost adult bearing. Perhaps that was another result of being acquainted with Tierre. Children grew up too fast.

The little girl faced her piano, small fingers dancing over the keys. The joyful strains of a sweet melody filled the room. The music made the Vashkan think of her childhood. She smiled, “What is that?”

“Mary had a Little Lamb.” Hope giggled childishly, “It’s the first one I learned. It’s my warm-up music.”

“You and Maggie must be very close.”

“Uh-huh. But Maggie didn’t teach me this. Tierre did.”

Yesha froze, “Tierre…plays the piano?”

“Uh-huh. And the violin, flute and the guitar. But he sucks at the guitar. He knows all sorts of useless stuff like how to write prettily and all about dead poets and boring old languages. It’s almost like he went to school long ago when stuff like that was, like, required learning or something.”

Her babbling was charming, but Yesha didn’t pay too much attention. All she could think of was one impossibility, “No. He couldn’t possibly make music.”

“Why not?”

“Because evil cannot create a thing of beauty.”

“And good doesn’t always know enough to judge wisely.”

Yesha found herself ensnared by the child’s sapphire gaze. So young…what could those innocent eyes have possibly seen?

“I’m sorry.” Yesha whispered. But for what?

“Don’t be. I understand hatred, really. If you don’t like Tierre, that’s okay. A lot of people don’t. But…he’s not who you think he is, you know.”

“Why do you care so much about him? Your love for Maggie is clear and that I can understand…but Tierre?”

“T-Wolf is family.” Hope said this with all the certainty of a child discovering one of her first truths.

Dissuading her would be nigh impossible, and certainly not in Yesha’s place. Instead, the queen decided to try helping Maggie using what Hope had revealed, “If they are your family…perhaps you can tell me what’s wrong with Maggie?”

“Why?”

“So I can help her.”

“How?”

“I’m a faery, Hope.” Yesha tried to infuse her voice with mystery, “I’m powerful.”

“Oh,” Hope’s face fell, “I’m sorry, Miss Yesha, but if power is all it takes, me and mine would have cured her by now. But no one can. Not me, not Ryan, not even Tierre. I hate them.”

“Hate who?”

“Scarlet,” Hope was almost whispering now, “I know they did that to her. Made her sick so Tierre would never leave them. I just know it!”

Footsteps warned them of Maggie’s arrival. Hope looked panicked and guilty, then scrambled around to take a music sheet from a drawer in a bureau in the corner of the living room. She arranged the sheet just as Maggie came in.

“We now return to our regular lives,” Maggie intoned jokingly as she entered the room.

Hope smiled.

“So what did you two talk about while I wasn’t here?”

“Nothing!” Hope said quickly. Too quickly. She realized this and looked away.

Maggie frowned, “Hope…”

“She was just telling me about her…music.” Yesha rose to the occasion, “She played Mary had a Little Lamb for me.”

“Yes, I heard.” Maggie’s eyes never left Hope’s bowed head.

Yesha thought, I would hate to have to lie to this woman, “She’s very talented.”

Maggie smiled, finally taking her eyes off Hope, “You ain’t heard nothin’ yet.”

Staying in Tierre’s home wasn’t even anywhere near as hellish as she expected it would be. Yesha decided that for the duration of her time here at least, she will refrain from voicing out her dislike of the male Wolfson in order not to hurt the women in his life.

Suddenly, awareness of the familiar awakened in Yesha. She frowned and looked over at an open window. Her eyes narrowed as her senses reached out…and recoiled.

Selig. Rumus. There was no mistaking those two. Back in their mountains, Yesha would have been hard pressed to pick another Vashkan from a crowd using only her mental senses. But here, surrounded by humans and all things unfamiliar, she recognized her own as easily as picking out a rose from chrysanthemums by the scent alone.

She should’ve been relieved that they’ve come for her. Instead, the elfin queen wondered how she would stop them. She wanted to escape, of course, but she also had to think of Maggie’s safety. Neither Rumus nor Selig knew her, and they would never believe that Maggie had never been, and never will be a part of Tierre’s destructive games.

“Hey, we have company!” Hope suddenly said cheerfully. Before the women could say anything, the little girl had already bounced out of her chair, and streaked for the front door.

“Maggie, you have to hide.” Yesha said quickly, “You’re in danger.”

“What? No, Yesha, it’s probably just my friends. They drop by all the time.”

“No! You don’t understand. There are Vashkans out there. I’m sorry, but I can’t guarantee your safety with them around.”

They heard the front door open, and the sound of footsteps. Yesha’s mind had already zoomed to the fight ahead, so she didn’t notice the difference in the two men’s auras until they were inside the living room. She generated an energy ball just like the ones Selig used on the Slayers.

“Hey, Maggie ―!” Nelson Thorn’s warm greeting ended on a startled yell when instead of the most beautiful woman in the world, a blue-white ball of freaky came to greet him.

“Nelson!” Maggie yelled.

“Thorn!” Ryan leapt towards his friend and pushed him out of the way. The ball slammed against him instead, knocking Alvarez to the floor.

“What’re you doing?!” Maggie screeched, rushing past a stunned Yesha to kneel by Ryan’s side, “I told you these are my friends!”

Hope, who came in after Ryan, crouched by his head, “Don’t worry, Maggie. Look, he’s coming around!”

“I…I didn’t know. Is he all right?” Yesha went over to them, biting her lip in guilt.

“Heeellll…” Ryan groaned, “What hit me? A freight train or T-Wolf?”

“Don’t move Ryan, you might have a concussion.”

“Ask him something!”

“How many chess pieces are there in total?” Thorn asked.

“How much is 543 multiplied by 674 divided by the square root of 80?” Hope chimed in.

“What was the name of your first girlfriend, where and when did you two meet and why won’t you ever talk about her?” Maggie was not to be outdone.

“I don’t have a concussion.” Ryan mumbled.

“That doesn’t answer our questions.”

Ryan rolled his eyes and pushed himself up to a sitting position. He saw Yesha peering at him, “Who’s that?” he demanded.

“That’s the very important kidnap victim. I think.” Thorn replied. He scooted away from Yesha as he addressed her, “We’re here to rescue you.”

“Forgive me. I thought you were Rumus and Selig.”

“We’re not them.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

“You would have hit one of your own?” Ryan asked.

“It wouldn’t have hurt them, just stunned them somewhat.” The elf looked closely at Ryan, “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Just stunned me somewhat.”

“But you’re only human!”

“So?”

“Remarkable!”

“I’ll say,” Hope gloated in Ryan’s face, “You just knocked out Ryan Alvarez! That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“Quiet, Brat. What was that?”

Three people made the observation: Hope, Yesha and Ryan. Thorn and Maggie frowned. They hadn’t heard anything. Ryan got up from the floor with easy grace, not a single trace of the hit he suffered remaining. He moved to the front door. Yesha noticed that he made no sound at all. There was something about the young man that gave her pause; a subtle aura of…power? It certainly felt like it. But he wasn’t like Scarlet. Scarlet made noise, just to let you know that they were coming for you. Arrogant creatures.

Ryan did no such thing.

“It must be those other people who came looking for you. We told them to wait outside.” Thorn told Yesha.

“Oh, they’re not waiting anymore. They’re trying to kill each other.” Hope said casually, peering through a window.

“Hey, yeah, you’re right.” Ryan mused aloud, “Should we stop them or just let them shoot each other?”

“No blood on my front yard.” Maggie announced, whirling around and disappearing to some other part of the house. When she returned, the other occupants of the house gaped at what she was holding, “Open that door, Ryan.”

“Maggie…”

“Don’t argue with me!”

“Okay.” Ryan obediently opened the front door. Maggie stepped out onto the front porch just in time to see the fight roll into the front yard proper.

A man― who looked vaguely familiar― was holding a gun to another man’s head, but that didn’t seem to cow the one at gunpoint. He held up a palm towards the gunman’s chest, and it was glowing blue-white.

The gunman tensed, his finger tightening on the trigger…

Yesha yelled, “Selig!”

And Maggie fired a single shot, not into the air, but at the ground.

The participants of the fight stilled into a shocked tableau. They looked over into the porch to see a tall, slender woman standing there, shotgun in her hands, muzzle still smoking.

“Listen up!” Maggie ordered loudly, “Any shooting that’ll happen around here will be done by me. Anyone is inclined to disagree, just raise your head so I can shoot clear through it.”

Everyone on the yard ducked their heads. Even the younger Slayers who were all busy shooting death glares at the Vashkans.

Now Yesha was really impressed.

“Separate from each other. Slowly. Hands up in the air…good.” Maggie gave rapid fire orders like a commanding officer, “Okay, I want Vashkans on my right and the non-Vashkans to my left. Move!”

They followed her orders as quickly as possible. Maggie cocked her head to the side, studying the two Vashkans. She grinned, “Hey, Yesha. These guys are cute!”

Nelson rolled his eyes.

Yesha stepped forward, “What were you two thinking? Why would you fight against our comrades?”

“Because we tried to stop them from taking Maggie.” Faith shot Rumus an angry glance. Her jaw still hurt like hell.

“We wouldn’t have hurt her!” Rumus said belligerently, “We are not like Tierre. But we would have shown him what it feels like when someone you love is in danger, and things are beyond your control!”

Yesha shook her head. Maybe it wasn’t in their intention to hurt Maggie, but she knew it would have eventually led to that. Even Selig had bent his own principles and stabbed his allies in the back. Their thirst for vengeance was that great.

“You are losing control over yourselves. Maggie is innocent, and she would have gotten hurt because of your narrow-mindedness. You are acting no better than Scarlet.” She said quietly, heavily disappointed. She spoke in the Vashkan language for what she said was meant for Rumus and Selig only.

Rumus bristled at this and a string of angry elfin words escaped his lips. Selig was calmer, but the tone of his voice as he spoke told the others that whatever it was Yesha had said, it didn’t please him either.

“Yo, people! English, please. We don’t speak Middle Earth, you know!” Rona harped, but the elves didn’t pay her any attention.

Yesha had gone rigid, and her voice started to rise. Rumus wasn’t listening to her at all and just kept on his own tirade. Selig had stopped talking. The lord of the Northern Vashkans had obviously decided to wait until the two were done yelling at each other. But his eyes had gone cold and hard.

True to form, the nosy humans unabashedly hung on to every alien word spoken in the live soap-opera with an all elfin cast.

Except for one.

Ryan moved to stand by Maggie, who was gaping at her normally composed guest. “Keep that gun up, Maggie.” He murmured softly. She glanced at him in surprise, then lifted her gun.

Satisfied that Maggie was prepared, Ryan leaned against the post of the railing, half in front of Maggie, standing beside Yesha. Nelson went to stand on the left side, near the rattan sofa. Hope hopped up on the railing on the right wing of the porch.

Ryan surveyed the scene. He missed nothing from this vantage point. He looked over at Faith, standing off to one side with the other Slayers. Just a second ago, she had been focused on the drama.

Now she was focused on him.

Ryan smiled slightly. Smart woman. She hadn’t missed the subtle shift in position of the occupants on the porch. The other Slayers hadn’t noticed at all. They had a long way to go before they could claim the right to stand beside her. Ryan wondered if she was as good as T-Wolf had once bragged she was. Ryan hoped so.

He waited to be impressed.


~*~*~*~


Faith’s ears were still ringing from the gunshot that had nearly taken off Wesley’s foot. She stared at Maggie― the Maggie ―and barely stopped herself from laughing at the incredulous look on Rumus’ face. It somehow seemed so fitting that the woman Tierre had chosen over Buffy knew just how to get the cooperation of kings.

There were a few lamp posts set up to light the ranch, but Faith still couldn’t see Maggie very clearly. She and her posse blocked the light from the house. But the Slayer can make out her deceptively delicate silhouette, weight balanced in a warrior stance, the smoking gun held comfortably in her capable hands. She looked like a woman who could and would kick the asses of those who dared to piss her off.

As the Vashkans continued to yell at each other, Faith saw the people on the porch move to stand in other spots. They looked like they were just trying to see the drama better, but she seriously doubted that. Not when Ryan came to lean oh-so-casually against the railing post, which also happened to let him stand just in front of Maggie. In between her, and possible danger.

Instead of being confused and ticked off, they quickly turned to strategy. Faith was beginning to like Tierre’s people more and more. She looked at Ryan. He gave her the ghost of a smile. He knew she knew what his team was up to. And he didn’t care. They were prepared.

Faith and her team’s arrival had been…expected.

“Shit!” the dark Slayer cursed, turning to her one-time Watcher, “Wesley―”

“I know.” Wesley’s eyes were locked on Ryan, “Now I know why they seem familiar. That’s Ryan Alvarez and Nelson Thorn!” Wesley had no idea what the most notorious bounty hunter in both human and demon worlds and the one hacker who had designed legendary battle scenarios which had proven the downfall of many demonic troops ―all without leaving the comfort of his own home ― were doing in the Wolfson’s ranch. He called himself eight different kinds of idiot for not recognizing them earlier. Of the two, he was most worried about Alvarez. Thorn was dangerous in his own right, but Wesley didn’t think there was much he could do against Slayers and Vashkans, unless there was some sort of electronic device within his reach.

Alvarez was a different story. There were some things whispered about him that were…unpleasant, at best.

Just then, Thorn stuck two fingers in his lips and let out an ear-splitting whistle. The Vashkans and the Slayers turned to him as one.

“I hate to break up this touching scene, but if you guys are just gonna fight, do you mind keepin’ it down to a roar? We have neighbors to think of, you know.”

Rumus’ only answer was to bare his teeth and suddenly ―vanish.

Well, that’s what everyone thought, anyway.

But Ryan ( and the Vashkans ) saw the slight stirring of dust on the spot where Rumus had been standing just a second ago.

Yesha opened her mouth to warn Maggie…

And Ryan stepped up to the plate. With a flick of his wrists, two identical wooden weapons appeared in his hands. They were at least two feet long each, slender and cylindrical in shape. They’d been polished to a shine, and black, runic symbols decorated their length.

In front of shocked Vashkans, disbelieving Slayers and one suddenly giddy ex-Watcher, Ryan seemed to vanish as well.

A heartbeat later and Rumus was on his back on the ground, looking up at the figure of Alvarez looming over him, the wooden swords held in a defense position in front of him.

The whole thing had taken place in two seconds. Maybe less.

Ryan was furious, “You watch who you try to attack around here.”

Rumus was defiant even then. He glared at Maggie. Ryan swung one of his weapons around and hit the Southern lord across the cheek so hard, that even Rumus couldn’t keep from crying out in pain.

“The next time you look at her like that, I’ll slice you open.” Ryan promised lethally. He raised his weapon and the rounded, wooden edge changed, suddenly flattening, sharpening, becoming the metallic razor edge of a sword. The metal caught the light from the nearest lamp and threw off glittering sparks, leaving no room for doubt that this was now a weapon designed to cleave flesh in two instead of just bruising it.

Despite her earlier anger, Yesha tried to help Rumus up. He let her; his pride was hurt, but at the same time, he realized that he had underestimated the human boy.

Selig stared at Rumus, not quiet understanding that his comrade had been defeated in the blink of an eye. One of his clenched fists started to glow a blue-white.

Rumus grabbed his wrist, “Don’t, Selig.” He warned.

“Hah! Doesn’t feel too good, does it, elfie?” Kennedy just couldn’t help herself. A big part of her wanted the honor for putting one of those bastards on the ground for herself, but she consoled herself by thinking she could still have that honor by taking down that Ryan guy. Kennedy’s arrogance rivaled Rumus’.

“Be quiet, Kennedy.” Wesley snapped at the girl. He immediately sensed the male Vashkans’ humiliation and he understood. They weren’t getting anywhere, and they’ve traveled so far only to be…

“Oh, you shut up! We’ve been playing to their tune long enough. I say we take what we came here for and go. I have more important things to do than just stand around here.” Kennedy gave an overly-dramatic sigh and stared at Selig contemptuously, “You guys are full of it. If this is all you got, no wonder Scarlet took you down in one fell ―”

With a cry of pained outrage, Selig finally lost control. He threw the energy ball at a stunned Kennedy, who couldn’t move fast enough to get out of the way.

Two people reacted on instinct.

Faith pushed the tactless girl out of the way. And Ryan threw himself at Faith, rolling on the ground, away from the fruit of a king’s wrath and a cruel girl’s insensitivity.

They came to a halt, Ryan ending up on top. He looked down at the woman beneath him. Faith blinked owlishly up at him.

“Hey,” he said easily, “You should watch out for those glowy power things they’ve got. Those hurt. A lot.”

“Duly noted.” Faith quipped. She cleared her throat and tilted her head sideways, soft, brown hair spilling around her like a dark halo, “Um…you’re kind of…heavy.”

From the porch, Thorn yelled, “Yo, Studmuffin! Let the lady breathe, why doncha?”

Ryan grinned, when what he really wanted to do was strangle Thorn, “I hope you don’t think the orangutan on the porch is a friend of mine.”

“Never even crossed my mind.”

They sorted out their tangled limbs and got to their feet. Wesley gave Faith a hand up. Rona and Vi came to brush dust off her hair and clothes like a pair of hand maidens.

Kennedy stood to one side, scowling.

The Vashkans were standing together now, apart from everyone else. They had regrouped, but were slowly starting to pull away from the humans.

“Are you all right, Faith?” Wesley asked.

“Five by five.” Faith smiled at him, then narrowed her eyes at Kennedy.

“What? Just said what needed to be said.” Willow’s ex muttered rebelliously.

Maggie handed the shotgun to Nelson, then walked out into the front yard. She marched right up to Kennedy, and without even pausing, gave the insolent girl a resounding slap across her right cheek.

Kennedy’s eyes widened, “Hey, you bitch, what do you think…”

Another slap flattened her left cheek. Maggie’s eyes were so cold, they could’ve turned blood into ice, “Yeah, I’m a bitch. But you? You’re just a small, ignorant, stupid girl.” She said simply.

Kennedy was breathing harshly, eyes suspiciously wet, “You…I could pound you into this dirt right here!”

Maggie grinned, “Wow. The immortal words of a bully.” Her grin vanished and she stepped right in front of Kennedy, toe to toe. She was taller so she bent her head until her nose nearly touched the bully’s, “What do you think? Are you strong enough to take me on?”

Kennedy looked the red-haired woman in the eye for as long as she could. But for some reason, she couldn’t hold Maggie’s gaze. Angry, mortified, and beyond confused, she finally dropped her eyes.

Maggie straightened. She cocked her head in a manner eerily similar to one blond Wolfson and then said, “Let’s go inside and talk this over. It’s colder than a pimp’s smile out here.” She whirled around and began walking back towards her house.

As she passed by Nelson, he caught her eye, “You sure about this?”

“Yes.”

Thorn nodded. “You heard the lady.”

Nobody moved at first.

Surprisingly, it was Rumus who took the first step. With a forced, nonchalant shrug, Kennedy muttered, “Well, what the hell.” The rest followed, not quite certain what this Wolfson had in store for them.


~*~*~*~


Beyond the perimeters of the ranch, two women emerged.

“She is sooo cool. Don’t you think she’s cool?” Solana giggled like a little girl, “I think Master Tierre takes after her. Maggie is, like, a goddess.”

Dysis rolled her eyes, “Whatever. I can take her.”

“You can try.”

“Whose side are you on?”

On the other side, a little bit closer to the house, Chick stumbled away from some persistent bushes, grimacing as he dusted off his clothes, “Ugh. A garden. Just what I need.”

“Be quiet. We don’t want them to hear us.” Roe hissed, “At the risk of sounding clichéd: is the coast clear?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“You sure?”

“Well who else would be out here but us, right?”


TBC