Prologue: About the Disposition of a Book

The Librarian walks through the corridors of his home, trying to make sense of the weird impressions he receives from his books. Something is off, that much he knows, yet he can't quite put his finger on what it is that disturbs him so.

The Library itself is infinitely large. It has to be in order to hold all the books. Every book you have ever seen or didn't see is here. Every book ever written, as well as all the books that never existed outside the minds of their authors. There are those that were written by human hand. And those that were not.

If asked, the Librarian will be able to point out a book which explains the complex multidimensional mathematics that create the endlessly curving space his home exists in, but no one ever asks. Those that visit the Library know all they need to know about such things. They have to in order to come here in the first place.

The Librarian does not remember when he first came here or what his life was like before that, nor does he care. He exists to take care of the books and it is a good existence. He walks among the endless shelves, fingers absently brushing over leather-bound books as he does, the tomes whispering their stories to him as he passes. There is no dust here, as the Librarian does not shed skin cells. The Library is filled with dim twilight and the Librarian casts no shadow.

A book is missing. Yes, that is what has bothered him. For an outsider it would have been impossible to tell, but the Librarian knows. One of his books is not in its place. Someone or something must have taken it, there is no other explanation. Things do not get lost in the Library.

Quickly crossing a distance immeasurable to a mere human he arrives at a shelf that rises high into the gloom above him, his eyes travelling across the numerous book backs in front of him. There. An empty space where a book should be. The empty space disturbs him, as it should not be there. It is not right.

There is no such thing as a police he can call here, or anyone else whose services he might employ to find his missing treasure. He does not have any suspects, for visitors to this place are scarce and he does not think that any of them would ever dream of stealing something from him.

Wherever the book has gone, he has no way to find or retrieve it.

The Librarian shrugs. There is nothing he can do about this theft and, though it fills him with a feeling a human being would have called dissatisfaction, he simply returns to his work. Eventually, he knows, the book will find its way back to the Library, as books have a habit of doing. He has all the patience in the world.

Once again looking over the shelf, he makes a mental note which of his books has gone missing. A dangerous one, he knows, one that has been here for a long, long time. One that holds knowledge better kept hidden.

He shrugs once more and goes about his work.

#

With the book tucked safely beneath his cloak, the thief approaches his compatriots, a superior smile on his face. Their quiet competition continues, as they all observe the gleaming orb that is their playing field. Tiny lights flicker inside, looking like stars in a dark night sky, yet the thief knows them to be much more.

His fellow players look at him, as it is his turn to make a move. The expressions on their faces, or at least on the faces of those that have such a thing, range from interested to a kind of arrogant amusement. He knows that most of them do not expect much from his latest move.

He will prove them wrong.

The gleaming orb looms before him and he removes the book from its hiding place, allowing everyone present to take a good look at it before he proceeds. Only a few of his fellow players know what this book is, know what kind of power it holds. Those few who know anxiously await his move.

Slowly, carefully, the thief lowers the book into the gleaming orb. Tiny lights twinkle in the sky, closer observation revealing them to be entire galaxies instead of lone stars. The material world spreads out inside the orb, infinitely large yet so small from this vantage point, and the book vanishes in the darkness.

At first nothing happens and he is aware of a few sounds made by his fellows, those who don't know, as they begin to mock him for his ineffective move.

A ripple begins at the spot where he just put the book. A ripple that begins to spread outward, quickly covering the entire surface of the gleaming orb, warping the shiny surface like a storm passing over still water.

No one is mocking him now. Instead everyone leans closer, watching the effects of his latest move with growing excitement.

#

In a stretch of desert, far away from any sign of human civilization, the Necronomicon Nocturnum appears. It is the year 537 BC and its journey through history has just begun.
 

1 - A Curious Case of Misplacement

#

HELL: Term generally used to describe the place of eternal punishment of sinners in the Christian mythology. The magical sciences actually know a number of demonic dimensions that are sometimes referred to as Hell, both by their inhabitants and by outsiders. Whether any of these dimensions actually has any relation to the Christian Hell is open to speculation.

For related topics see: Demonic Dimensions, Christian Mythology, Underworlds of Myth

Rosenberg Index of the Preternatural, vol. XXVI, September 2057

#

Los Angeles, 2057 AD.

"Office of Wolfram & Hart, how may I help you?" The secretary asked. The image of a dark-haired woman flickered into existence above her desk.

"This is the office of Samuel Morning, good day to you." A pleasant voice was heard from the holographic projection. "Mr. Morning would like to meet Mr. Manners and Mr. Hart today, if at all possible. It concerns a matter of grave importance."

The secretary quickly checked the schedule of two of Wolfram & Hart's senior partners. It was filled to the breaking point, as always these days. There was an ugly legal battle going on with Magitech Inc. over copyright issues, which took up most of their time

The secretary knew, though, that Mr. Morning was one of the selected few clients that would get an immediate appointment if they asked for it, no matter the circumstances. She also knew that unfortunate things could happen to mere secretaries who kept such clients waiting.

"I will inform Mr. Manners and Mr. Hart immediately. Is 10 o'clock to your satisfaction?"

The dark-haired woman smiled, which sent a shiver down the secretary's spine.

"Thank you very much. Mr. Morning will be there at 10."

The image flickered and died as the secretary hurried to inform her bosses of the impending visitor.

#

Holland Manners was a man well over a century old, but due to various magical means he looked no older than fifty. He had started out as a simple lawyer in Wolfram & Hart's special projects division and, through much dedication and hard work, as well as the complete absence of a conscience, had become a senior partner but a few years ago.

Julius Hart, though younger in appearance, was his senior by decades, maybe centuries. No one knew exactly how old he was, only that he was one of the original founders of the firm. Some whispered that he was no longer, or might never have been human, though such whispers tended to fall silent rather suddenly. Employees of the firm learned quickly that it was not the wisest course of action to chitchat about the boss. Those that didn't learn, well ...

Both men sat at a round conference table, dressed in suits that cost more than the average American citizen made in half a year, and had various papers spread out in front of them. The ongoing legal battle with Magitech Inc. was too important to be trusted to anyone else, so they utilized every free second to work on it, even the few minutes of waiting for their client to arrive.

The antique clock ticked to 10:00 when a figure materialized in front of the conference table.

"Welcome, Mr. Morning." Manners rose to greet his client, professional smile spreading on his face without conscious effort. Hart rose as well, though made no move to offer his hand, instead just giving the newcomer a nod. There was nothing to be read on his face.

Samuel Morning was a tall man, long blonde hair tied back in a loose braid, wearing a black suit with red shirt and black tie. His clear blue eyes rested on each of the two lawyers for a moment before he shook the offered hand, nodding back at Hart.

"Excuse me for taking time away from your busy schedule," he said, taking the empty seat at the conference table, "but I have a problem that can not wait, I'm afraid."

"We are here to help, Mr. Morning." Manners said, leaning forward encouragingly. "Please elaborate."

Morning removed several sheets of paper from his black suitcase, laying them on the table for inspection.

"We took notice of this problem only a short time ago." He said as Manners and Hart studied the numbers presented to them. "At first it was just a few minor disappearances, but the numbers seem to be increasing steadily."

Hart nodded, seeing the numbers they were talking about.

"This seems to be something bigger than the usual drift. Any indication as to a cause?"

Morning shook his head. "My best people are working on it, but haven't come up with anything so far. The problem is that we might not have much time. I do not have to tell you, Julius, how delicate the balance is between our competition and us. We can not afford a disruption like this. The consequences could be catastrophic."

Both lawyers knew that Samuel Morning was not a man to exaggerate. His normal working day would give life-long nightmares to most people. Things he regarded as mildly disturbing would easily suffice to send a hundred sane men running like rabbits. Things he termed catastrophic ...

"We will put our finest people to work on this from our side." Manners assured him.

"Do you want us to also approach your competitors about this matter?" Hart added.

Morning leaned back in his chair, looking decidedly unhappy.

"I do not want them to sniff any kind of weakness in us. If you are able to make some discreet inquires, though, ..." His voice trailed off.

"Consider it done." Hart assured them. "If they are experiencing similar problems, we will learn of it. Or if they are the ones to blame for this."

"See that you do." Morning said, rising from his chair. "As I said, time might soon become a problem. We can't allow ourselves to fall behind. If no solution is found soon we will be forced to take drastic measures. You know what that means."

Manners nodded solemnly. Hart seemed lost in his own thoughts for a moment, his neutral expression wavering, then nodded as well, his poker face back in place.

"I expect to hear from you soon." With those final words Samuel Morning vanished into thin air, leaving but the faintest trace of sulfur behind.

Holland Manners sat down again, the curious silence of the other man almost more disturbing to him than the things Morning had just told them.

"What do you think, Julius?" He asked.

The senior partner shook his head. "I think that our problems with Magitech are about to become very small in comparison."

Hart sighed, remembering some of deals he had made in his younger days. Pacts he had struck to ensure himself a long and successful life. He thought of his long and mostly beneficial relationship with the entity called Samuel Morning and how quickly that relationship might change if the situation escalated. As it well could if things were half as bad as Morning had indicated.

"Someone or something is causing souls to disappear from Hell." Hart mused. "I think this could get very ugly."

"Very ugly, indeed." Manners agreed.

#

"They have noticed?" The man asked, as they stood close to the threshold. The normally tranquil and solid surface of the barrier was rippling and churning, gaping holes appearing every now and then. It had caused deep lines of worry to appear on the man's face.

"Morning went to Earth to contact their cronies, Wolfram & Hart." The girl answered. "I felt him cross over."

"I was afraid of this. I guess the others won't be far behind then." He sighed. "Any indication that they have figured out why it is happening?"

The girl shook her head, dark strands of hair falling into her face. "Clueless, the lot of them. They can not see past their own pettiness."

"Their pettiness could easily mean the destruction of everything, my dear. With the kind of power they have at their disposal it does not take much insight to cause a lot of damage. We must act now, while we still have time." Once again he looked at the threshold. "Conditions are anything but perfect, but I have to try and cross over."

"We have to try." The girl corrected him.

"It is very dangerous, as you well know." The man reminded her. "You don't have to come with me."

"Neither of us has to do anything. Yet we choose to, so now we will go and do it."

The man smiled, the girl reminding him so very much of someone he once knew. Someone he was about to meet again, if they succeeded. He had hoped to put this off a little longer, but time was running out quickly.

"Very well then. Let us do it!"

And so the Watcher and the Slayer crossed the threshold.
 

2 - The Living, the Undead, and the Really, Really Dead

#

MAGITECH: Also referred to as Magical Science, Technomagic. General term for hybrid applications of magic and technology, first developed around 2014 AD by Willow and Tara Rosenberg. Early Magitech applications utilized spells hardwired into printed circuits to boost the capabilities of conventional electronics. Modern day applications are very diverse, ranging from electronic spell books to magical containment fields for fusion reactors.

For related topics see: Magitech Inc., Humboldt University Institute of Magical Technology

Encyclopedia Britannica, Edition of 2057

#

"Mr. and Mrs. O'Conner?" The secretary looked up at the two waiting people. "Mrs. Rosenberg will see you now."

"Thanks, Sally." Buffy said, smiling at the not quite human being behind the desk. "Willow still treating you good?"

Sally's whiskers twitched as she smiled back. "She is still a bit cranky sometimes. But I always say there is nothing a few good purrs can not fix."

As if to demonstrate the familiar started to purr so intensely that Buffy could feel it all the way across the desk. She stumbled a bit as every muscle in her body immediately relaxed, causing her to grab her husband's shoulder for support.

"Don't do that when I'm standing up, Sally!" Buffy complained. "You're gonna cause me physical injuries one of these days."

The woman-sized cat just smirked, her slit pupils twinkling, but obediently stopped her purring. "Go on in, she is waiting."

"Thank you." Angel said, clasping his wife's hand. Once again he marveled at how very much the world had changed these last few decades. A creature believed to be nothing but myth just fifty years ago was roaming the offices of corporate America, a corporation that was dealing in magical technology, and no one thought twice about it. Knowing that he himself was partly responsible for many of these changes sometimes kept him awake at night. If, he looked at his beautiful wife, other things didn't.

Buffy and Angel walked through the large double doors leading to the office of Magitech's CEO.

"Buffy! Angel!" Willow happily greeted them as they came in. The top-floor office was flooded with daylight, but the large picture windows were already starting to polarize. After a few seconds Angel could safely follow his wife, who was already caught in a big hug with her best friend.

Willow Rosenberg had celebrated her 76th birthday this year. She looked good for her age, Angel thought, though a small pang of sadness made itself felt when he was once again confronted with his friends' mortal life spans. It wasn't always easy. With Buffy by his side, though, a whole lot easier than it used to be.

Buffy let go of Willow after a long moment, both women smiling at each other. An onlooker would have thought the two to be mother and daughter, or even grand-mother and grand-daughter. Buffy didn't look a day over thirty, the blood bond between her and Angel, while not exactly freezing her aging process, preserved her life at its physical peak.

"Angel!" Willow turned toward him with a fond smile and the two also shared a long embrace.

"You look good, Willow!" Angel complimented her when he let go.

"Liar." Willow brushed her hair back. It had grayed years ago, yet she always colored it back to its original dark red. Her only vanity as far as Angel knew.

"I'm glad you managed to stop by," Willow said, returning to her desk, "I was afraid you'd be God knows where again."

Buffy and Angel had spent a lot of the past few decades travelling around the world, enjoying the perks of being eternally young in a world that offered so much to see. Both still worked part-time for what had once been the Preternatural Investigation Division, a formerly domestic American police force that dealt with preternatural crime.

As the preternatural had become more and more a part of everyday life across the entire globe, the PID had flowered into a worldwide organization supported by the United Nations and it kept even its part-time agents on their toes most of the time.

"We spent the summer in Tranquility after snatching up a few smugglers dealing in demon body parts," Buffy said, "but even seeing the Earth rise every morning gets old sooner or later."

Angel smiled. It always amazed him how quickly Buffy adapted this world's changing faster and faster. To a boy who had grown up in an 18th century village their trip to the lunar colony had been nothing less than unbelievable. And seeing the Earth rise over the curved horizon of the moon, being able to watch it with his own eyes and no fear of the sun, had caused tears to run down his face.

"I'm sure it does." Willow said, smiling as she guessed Angel's thoughts. "We have to catch up on that soon, Buffy, but I'm afraid there is some bad stuff we have to take care of first."

"We heard of your problems with Wolfram & Hart." Angel sat down in one of the plush chairs. He had had his own problems with that particular bunch of lawyers over the years and knew only too well that, behind their squeaky clean public facade, they were rotten to the core.

"Their client stole the stepping disk technology from you." Buffy added.

"That's what we're still trying to prove." Willow sighed. "They are claiming that it's a case of parallel engineering, that their client has been working on the same thing for a few years and just happened to perfect it a few weeks after we copyrighted the stuff. And since 'his' tech differs from ours, meaning that it's cheaper and less reliable, they say we have no legal basis to sue."

In these moments Willow felt her age. The legal battle had gone on for almost half a year now with no end in sight. Stepping disk technology was a quantum leap forward in Magitech, the first teleportation spell suitable for mass transportation. It was worth billions of dollars, which was why this case would probably take a long, long time yet.

"Their client, Magicorp, has made a career out of producing cheap copies of our work, but I won't allow them to get away with stealing this. The stepping disks were the last thing Tara perfected before she ..." Willow's voice broke. It had been over a year now, but the loss was still so fresh and raw. A stupid accident, something that happened even in a world filled with technological and magical wonders. One stupid accident and suddenly Tara was gone.

Buffy quickly went over and took her friend into her arms. "You'll show those bastards, Will." She said, stroking the redhead's hair. "I know you will."

After a minute or so Willow regained her composure, smiling at Buffy. "Thanks. But that isn't the reason I wanted to see you two."

Wiping a stray tear from her face she called up a holographic screen over her desk. "As you know we do a lot of research into psychic areas as well. We have more mediums, clairvoyants, and visionaries gathered under our roof than any other company in the world."

Willow displayed several graphs and tableaus on the screen.

"It started slowly. Some of our psychic people had nightmares. Other experienced visions and prophetic flashes without warning in broad daylight. Still others lost their abilities completely. Only a few here and there at first, but the numbers seem to be increasing. We have full recordings of several people who had prophetic flashes and immediately went stark raving mad. Some clairvoyants have told me that they looked into the future and saw only darkness. Most of the psychics are now antsy and nervous all the time."

She leaned back in her chair.

"It's as if something is brewing. Something very big."

Angel folded his hands, thinking. "Have you discussed this with the people over at Deadman Inc.?"

Hearing Angel refer to the vast holding company that had grown out of the Vampirium by its popular nickname was almost enough to make Buffy grin, but the very serious look on Willow's face dissuaded her quickly. The Vampirium had decided to go corporate in 2018, almost a direct result of the tremendous success of Magitech Inc..

Deadman Inc., as it was jokingly called by the public, was mostly a financial holding, administrating the enormous amounts of wealth the various Vampirium Elders had amassed over the centuries, yet it also dealt in some very specialized fields.

Among other things the Vampirium possessed the largest collection of obscure books and prophecies in the known world.

"I had a long phone call with Darla a few days ago." Willow answered Angel's question. "Some of the more psychic members of the Vampirium have also felt something, yet they found nothing about any upcoming apocalypse or cosmic convergence in their books."

"Any chance of narrowing it down?" Buffy asked Willow. "I mean, 'something is brewing' isn't exactly a lot to go on. Is it another demon ascendance maybe? I remember when Golgotha manifested in New York, there were a lot of people who had nightmares and went crazy before that, too."

Angel also remembered that night. Weeks and months prior to the ascension they had received warnings and hints to an upcoming catastrophe. When the demon finally manifested right in the middle of the city, it had led to vicious battle. A lot of people had ended up dead before they had managed to send the arch demon back where it came from. The aftershocks had given many people nightmares and headaches for months.

"Nothing like that." Willow said. "A few of the psychics have some suspicions, but they are pretty far out there."

"Like what?" Angel asked.

"Well, some of them have had visions of departed relatives and such, so they think ... it sounds rather ridiculous, but ... they think the souls of the dead are returning to Earth."
 
 

3 - Ghosts of Watchers Past

#

SLAYER, THE: According to legend a preternatural warrior chosen by a higher power to protect the world from Vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness. Throughout recorded history there has always been one Slayer, always a girl. A new Slayer is only chosen when the present one dies.

Magical science has established that the Slayer is a human being enhanced by an as yet unexplained form of magically-induced genetic mutation, causing the girl in question to develop superior strength, speed, endurance, and healing powers.

For a detailed description of the Slayer and its role in history see literary reference: "The Chosen Ones", published in 2006, written by Wesley Windham-Pryce.

Rosenberg Index of the Preternatural, vol. XXVI, September 2057

#

"This is stupid!" Faith said for what had to be the hundredth time.

"You said so before, pet!" Spike reminded her, not exactly in a happy mood himself. "Knowing you, though, I'm sure you will do so again. Many times."

"Bet on it!"

Spike sighed, rummaging through the pockets of his coat for the keys. He was sure he had brought them along. While his fingers kept on searching his eyes were once again drawn to his companion. Not for the first time he wondered why he had kept her around these past decades, then remembered a lot of good reasons why he had done so.

Her looks were just one of the reasons.

Faith didn't look like a woman of 75, that was for sure. She had bloomed from a beautiful girl into an amazing woman and barely changed since then. From her looks alone no one would have judged her older than an early 40, and a well-preserved one at that.

About fifteen years ago, with her curios lack of wrinkles becoming more and more apparent, Faith had finally relented and allowed herself to be checked over by Magitech's medicine division. After much prodding, testing, theorizing, and driving Faith nearly insane in the process, they had discovered why it was that she aged so slowly.

That the Slayer was imbued with tremendous healing powers was nothing new. Spike had seen Faith metabolize what would have been instantly fatal wounds for every other human being in a matter of days. What no one had thought of, though, was the fact that her healing powers also worked on her aging process.

Aging essentially meant the breakdown of cells, causing them to stop replicating themselves properly, imperfections creeping into the cell structure and accelerating the decline of the system. With Faith, though, her healing powers, which only seemed to grow stronger with age, were fighting a vicious and ongoing battle against that process. The doctors were unable to say how old Faith could grow, but told her to start planning her centennial at the very least.

Faith, for her part, didn't much care one way or another. Knowing that she could very well grow over a hundred years old or more hadn't changed her outlook on life or her style of living it. And while outwardly no one would think her as young as that other, truly immortal Slayer Spike knew, Faith made that up by sheer attitude.

Spike shook his head, smiling. He knew her for coming up to sixty years now and, though she had changed, she was still the old brat at the core. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Are you going to get that door open any time soon?" She asked him.

Okay, so maybe sometimes. The relationship between them had gone on and off over these past six decades, had varied from being strictly sexual to being just friends and back to mad love. It wasn't the same kind of deep, almost obsessive relationship that Spike had shared with Drusilla for nearly a century, but he was content with that. Dru would always hold a special place in his dead heart and no one could ever replace her.

Finally he found the right key and unlocked the door.

"Quick enough for you, pet?" He asked, making a sweeping gesture at the open door.

"Not nearly!" Faith huffed and walked past him.

The Hyperion Hotel had been abandoned long ago. With Buffy and Angel travelling all over the world, Spike and Faith never staying in one place for long, and Darla taking over leadership of the Vampirium, the place had been empty most of the time anyway. It still belonged to Angel and he made sure that it was more or less preserved, but no one had actually lived here in decades.

Dust had gathered in the place, covering everything like a thick blanket. Both Spike and Faith stopped once they were past the door, overcome with memories for a moment. So much had happened in this place. The attack of the Watchers, fighting Grigori's enforcers, partying after the Vampire Legalization Act had gone through Congress, Buffy and Angel performing the blood bond, a hundred other memorable events, both of the happy and the not so happy kind.

"Place gives me goosebumps." Faith said after a moment, looking around.

"We lived here for nearly twenty years." Spike reminded her.

"Yeah, but Angel always had the cleaning crew go through once a week then."

Spike chuckled, going over to the former Hotel's reception area. Brushing some dust away he found the old computer terminal he had been looking for. The one with the single red light flashing on and off.

"Someone really did trip the old security system we installed here." Spike said, blowing the dust off the terminal. "I was sure it was some kind of bug."

"Why would someone break into this place?" Faith looked around. "Not like we left anything valuable behind when we moved out. Even that old library full of dusty books was removed, right?"

"Angel put it all in storage over at Deadman Inc., yeah." Spike nodded. "Only thing to steal here is dust, dust, and yet more dust."

The security system was ancient, though it had been state of the art when first installed in the early days of the century. Spike shook his head. Here they were, the head of Magitech one of their closest friends, but their old home was protected by an outdated IBM system. Some things just didn't make sense.

"System was tripped somewhere in the cellar." Spike read on the old-fashioned flat screen. "It was six hours ago, though, so I guess the buggers are already gone."

It had been pure coincidence that Faith and Spike had been close to Los Angeles when the Hyperion's security system had gone off. They had originally planned to meet with Buffy, Angel, and Willow over at Magitech for a little reunion, only to change directions when the signal reached them.

"I don't know why we even came here." Faith complained. "Probably just some teenagers getting their rocks off breaking into the spooky old building, nothing else."

"I remember a certain teenaged brat who did a lot of stunts like that."

Faith shot him a glare. "I'll show you all the brattiness you can handle if you don't shut up!"

"Let's check out the cellar to be certain and then get out of here. I bet Buffy, Angel, and Willow are already wondering what's taking us."

"As if. When was the last time you saw Buffy and Angel pay attention to time as long as they're together?"

Spike smiled as they walked down the steps. Certainly his old Sire was one lucky bird. Spike didn't need much convincing that such a thing as eternal love existed. Once again he had to think of Drusilla and how she had been taken from him over eighty years ago now. He still missed her deeply.

Looking at the Slayer walking ahead of him - looking at her rear, to be precise - it wasn't the same. He liked Faith a lot, they had much fun together, but they didn't connect on the same level that he'd had with his black goddess.

Maybe there was but one true soulmate for everyone, Spike thought.

The lower levels of the Hyperion looked, if anything, even worse than the lobby. Thick dust had gathered everywhere, cobwebs hung like curtains, and the air smelled of age and decay. It was funny for Spike to think of this place as old, seeing as he was its senior by over half a century.

The Hotel hadn't aged half as well, he judged.

They passed the holding cell and, once again, Spike was assaulted by memories. Memories of their friend Fred, a Vampire who had made the mistake of becoming addicted to drugs. They had locked him in there to get him through withdrawal. Forty years later this had served as the prison of one Buffy Summers, who had to be taught the truth about Vampires and her own destiny as the Slayer. Now it stood as empty as the rest of the place.

"There is nothing down here." Faith said, some memories of her own rising up when they walked past the workout room. Memories of sparring with Spike, of having sex with him right there on those aged, stained mats. Memories of that shameful day when she, driven by jealousy and flush with her own newly found Slayer power, had attacked and injured Buffy, all in a misguided attempt to win Angel's affection. She shook her head. She wasn't that small and jealous person anymore, never would be again.

"I guess so." Spike said. He looked at the door of the room where, a long time ago, an electronic guardian had watched over the hiding place of the Necronomicon Nocturnum. He remembered the day when Grigori had stolen the book from its bunker in Ireland, nearly causing a disaster. He shook his head. Grigori was long dead, truly dead, and the damn book was long gone as well, destroyed in a nuclear blast. And good riddance.

"Let's get out of here then, so we can ..." Faith's voice suddenly trailed off as something strange registered with her. She had been the Slayer for coming up to sixty years now, so she had little trouble identifying the strange tingling inside her head as that uncanny sixth sense she had. The sense that told her that something supernatural was closing in on her.

Not Spike, that was for sure. Though not exactly normal himself, she had gotten so used to him that he barely registered with her sixth sense anymore. No, it was something else. Something that was closing in on them, fast.

"Is it me or did it just get very cold in here?" Faith asked as she started to shiver. A moment later she looked on in amazement, seeing her breath come out as white fog. The temperature in the room had dropped at least twenty degrees in a matter of seconds.

Spike turned around, sharp eyes looking for any hint of danger. All the while his brain was trying to puzzle out what was happening here. Some kind of supernatural manifestation that resulted in a drastic temperature change. Dusty cellar, sudden wave of cold, a chill running down his back despite his own lack of body temperature, it all added up to one thing.

"Ghosts." A voice behind him said calmly. "Sorry about the dramatic entrance."

Spike nearly jumped all the way to the roof, quickly turning around.

"Bloody hell!" He muttered, only to repeat the words in a much softer tone when he saw what was behind him.

"What he said!" Faith whispered beside him, her eyes widening.

Right in front of them, barely visible in the darkness, a foggy image slowly took shape, growing more solid as they watched. The figure of a man, clad in a tweed suit, adjusting a set of glasses that were just as unreal as the rest of him.

A man whom they had both seen die of cancer nearly thirty years earlier.

"It's good to see you both again." Rupert Giles said. "I would like to say this is a social call, but I'm afraid it is not."

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