PLEASE NOTE: This story will eventually feature some things that, after the events of September 11, 2001, might not be everyone’s cup of tea. This is in no way intended to offend those who suffered in the attacks, nor is it an attempt to somehow cash in on that catastrophe. I set down the original concept for this story before September 11 and, though I thought about changing the location, decided to stay with New York City as the setting. I hope no one will take this the wrong way.

1  -  Deep Down Where the Dead Things Are
 

#
 

From the records of the Council of Watchers
The year of our Lord 896

Many lives have been lost, but the evil has finally been vanquished, the great darkness has been averted. Though the majority of the world will never know how close we came to the abyss today, those who have fallen here in our cause will be remembered, their heroism will not be forgotten.

To our eternal sorrow it has proven beyond our power to destroy the tools of the evil ones. We know what they are for, we know what carnage they would unleash should they fall into the wrong hands. So it has been decided that, as destruction is not an option, the tools will be hidden and buried. Brought to a land where neither man nor demon will ever look for it, bound and concealed by magic at the hands of our most accomplished craftsmen.

We can but hope and pray that it will suffice and that the name of Golgotha will never cause the children of Earth to tremble with fear again.

#

New York City
December 14, 2035 AD

“It’s the damnest thing I’ve ever seen, let me tell you!”

Daniel Stone was an architect. It was his job and his passion, raising mighty buildings, defying the laws of gravity, touching the skies. Over the last 15 years he had built office towers, apartment buildings, shopping malls, everything. His current project, though, would be his crowning achievement. Soon to be the tallest building in what was still the most famous skyline in all the world.

It went without saying that there would be unforeseen problems. What he wanted to know, though, was why they had to spring up this late at night. A Friday night, no less, one for which Daniel had made plans involving a beautiful female acquaintance of his, along with an expensive restaurant, lots of flowers, romantic music...

Instead he was here. About 200 feet below ground, at what would become the foundation of his new building, surrounded by those parts of the building process he really saw no need to come any closer to than was absolutely necessary. Dust, dirt, almost complete darkness. All because of a phone call made by the chief worker of the night shift, telling him that something was wrong with his building’s foundations. Something that he thought required his attention and could not wait until morning.

No, Daniel Stone had better things to do than be here. Unfortunately for him, though, he would never make it to his date. In fact he would stay down here in the darkness, surrounded by these things he so detested, for the rest of his life. All thirty minutes of it.

He didn’t know that yet, of course.

Also present were two other people, one of whom Daniel really could have done without. Peter Fountaine from the New York City Department of Construction was the kind of public official that could be found in every city around the world. Dressed in gray, almost identical to his skin tone, his religion consisted of forms that needed to be filled out, permissions that needed signing, and papers that needed filing. Daniel was sure that, as far as Fountaine was concerned, nothing existed outside the New York City limits and nothing existed inside it without his permission (or that of his superiors at least).

The other person that had been roused from sleep (or better things) was John Thomas, the building project’s head of engineering. Daniel considered him a friend and was glad that he was here as well. Shared pain was half the pain, or something like that

All three of them were staring at something very, very strange. According to every geological survey and echo probing made in advance there should have been nothing below them except miles and miles of solid rock.

Instead they were looking at a big hole in the ground that led down into complete darkness.

“Some of my boys dropped some pennies down there.” The chief told them. “Didn’t hear’em hit the floor.”

Daniel knelt down beside the hole, shining his flashlight down into the dark. He didn’t see a floor either. The only thing he did see was a vertical wall, about five or six meters to the right of the hole, that led straight down. Very straight. The wall was completely smooth.

“This is not a natural formation.” He told the others. “Someone did some extensive digging here.”

“No digging was ever done here.” Fountaine said. “Not in this depth.”

“No one that you have a record of, no.” Daniel added. “From the looks of things it was probably long before the city was built.”

Fountaine gave him a very dirty look. Apparently he didn’t like being reminded that there was a time period before public records.

“There was no clue of any kind of past excavation above.” John said. “In fact, if I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I’d have sworn every oath that something like this couldn’t possibly be down here.”

Daniel nodded. He had been present during the preliminary echo probing of this site. He would certainly have remembered had they shown anything of this size.

“What do you think, John?” He asked his colleague. “Magic maybe?”

In present times magic was not the stuff of fairy tales and silly stories anymore, like it had been but a few decades ago. It was a part of the world, a big part, and also a very important factor in the business. Any business. Workers skilled in magic, vampires with their superior strength and senses, other supernatural creatures with special abilities, all those were sought after in this as in any other part of the economy.

And every once in a while someone would run into some magic-related problems as well. Daniel just didn’t understand why it had to be him.

“Possible.” John said. “It would explain why this didn’t show up during any of the probes. Still, if we speculate that someone used magic to create this big an underground hollow space, there should have been some signs. The city did have a Seeker check out this site, didn’t it?”

“Of course!” Fountaine sounded offended. It was standard procedure to have a Seeker, someone attuned to the emanations all magical artifacts produced, check out potential building sites. There had been a very spectacular case of an office tower that had been built over an old burial site about a decade ago. The tower had been haunted by dead Indian spirits for several weeks and over a hundred rich and important people had been struck by terminal syphilis and some other nasty bugs. It had done a lot to change procedures quickly.

Daniel looked down into the hole again. The smartest thing would be to leave things as they are. Have some experts check it out in the morning. A Seeker, maybe a witch or two. Or some vampires. They would be able to see in the dark without much aid. Have them check this thing out thoroughly to make sure that everything was in order here.

That would take weeks, of course. Probably months. It might even get his project canceled altogether. He would have to explain to the investors how something like this could have happened, how they could have missed something this big. There was a lot of money at stake here and every day that this project didn’t go forward would cost him.

All these thoughts went through his head. Daniel wasn’t stupid, though. No matter the money, he really did not want to spend even one second longer down here in this darkness. Certainly not any further down than he already was. But still, the longer he looked into that hole, the more certain Daniel was that there was something down there. Something he should find first, before anyone else could. Maybe something much more important than the money he would get (or lose) for building this tower.

For a moment he imagined something down in the darkness was whispering to him.

“Let’s take a look down below.” He told the others. A part of his mind was screaming at him that he should start running right now, run away from this place as far as his legs would take him. That part was ignored by the rest, though.

“Are you nuts?” John asked him. “We’re not equipped for...”

“I just want to take a look, okay?” Daniel interrupted him. “If this hollow space is as big as it looks we can’t possibly put a building on top of it. We’ll just check out how deep this thing goes.”

John was obviously not happy with the idea, but he nodded.

“I need to inform the city department of this.” Fontaine said, giving them both dark looks.

“Inform them of what?” Daniel asked. “We don’t know what this is yet.”

He knelt down again, checking out the wall he had seen earlier. There was no trace of the bottom or any of the other walls that had to be there. There was something else, though. Something he was rather certain had not been there the last time he had looked.

“Stairs!” Daniel proclaimed triumphantly, though he was unable to tell what made him so happy.

#

Fountaine refused to go down with them, as did all the workers except the chief. So after they made another hole into the floor in a spot where they could then reach the mysterious stairs it was three of them that went down into the darkness.

The steps looked ancient, yet unused. They were smooth and even, no foot seemed to have touched them since the moment they had been cut from the stone, and they were of a size that suggested that the beings they had been made for were at least three feet or so taller than your average human being. Daniel wanted to count the steps, hoping to get some measure of how deep they went, but he kept getting distracted. Something was whispering down below, he was sure of that. Something that was talking to him in a sweet and soothing voice.

“We must be more than 400 feet down by now,” John said after a while, “no way can we put our building on top of this. It would cave in under the weight.”

Daniel found himself remarkably unconcerned by John pronouncing the doom of their project.

“I think we have almost reached the floor.” He said instead, leading them further down. Their flashlights still couldn’t penetrate the darkness, the only things they saw where the stairs and the smooth wall they went along, deeper and deeper. It was progressively growing colder.

“Daniel, I think we’ve gone far enough.” John stopped walking, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We need to have some experts look at this. We’re really not the right people to...”

“We’re almost down.” Daniel interrupted him, shrugging off his arm to go on. “I can feel it.”

“Daniel!” John yelled after him as he started sprinting down the stairs. “What’s gotten into you?”

He did not listen. His feet found the stairs beneath him with a grace and surety that Daniel, a man of quite a few pounds, had never possessed in his entire life. Something was calling him down, something that pushed all other thoughts aside. One that had sent the rational part of his mind into a corner, where it hid and whimpered in terror. He knew that he needed to do something. Something important.

Without warning the stairs ended and Daniel kept on running without missing a step. There was something ahead of him, something large. Some kind of structure the likes of which he had never seen before. His flashlight was unable to provide a good look at it, but what little of it he did see produced a feeling of nausea inside him, his mind refusing to give him a clear picture for fear of his sanity. He didn’t pay any attention to it. There was something else here. Something poised on some kind of stone altar right in front of the strange structure.

He needed to have it. Now!

“Daniel! What are you doing?” John’s voice sounded out from somewhere behind him.

Blindly groping in the darkness, Daniel’s fingers found something lying on the stone altar in front of him. Something that seemed to jump into his hand the moment he made contact. It was cold metal, but where he touched it there was warmth. Daniel had about half a second to realize that he was holding some kind of fancy sword. A sword that was starting to glow in his hand.

Then the thirty minutes were up and Daniel Stone died.

#

After disposing of the irksome creatures he found himself surrounded by as he woke the Harbinger climbed the stone steps of his prison and reached the surface once more. There were some more creatures in his way. Humans, they called themselves, he remembered. He had faced them before. On the day he had failed in his sacred duty.

Looking around he saw the lights of a great city, heard the soft whispers of a few million fragile little minds. There hadn’t been cities like this on this world before, had they? Nor so many of these creatures. His memory was returning but slowly, but he was quite certain that a lot of time must have passed since they had sealed him in below the earth.

It didn’t matter, of course. Whether a year had passed or a millennium, his duty was the same. He had a mission to fulfill and fulfill it he would. Grasping the fading thoughts of one Daniel Stone, the creature who had awakened him, he broke into a smile. Here was just the way to do it. Things couldn’t have been better had he arranged them himself.

“We will build a tower.” He said to no one in particular, his voice tinged with a passion he had stolen from a dying man’s mind. “A great and beautiful tower for all to see.”

Still smiling he tore himself away from the city he had found himself in. There was much work to be done. And now was the time to start.

Soon Golgotha would walk the Earth.
 
 

2  -  I Still Got the Christmas Blues For You
 

#
 

Magitech Central
December 17, 2038 AD
 

Buffy looked around the large ballroom, watched the many people in their pretty dresses, nursing their drinks, mingling with the rich and famous. The Buffy of another lifetime would have felt right at home here. Would have been the center of attention if she had anything to say about it, wearing only the most expensive and fashionable clothing. That Buffy had died, though. Many, many years ago.

The current Buffy, though very comfortable with most parts of her life, felt out of place here.

Magitech Central, the corporate headquarters of the world’s number one enterprise, was almost a city all by itself. Built at the juncture of several ley lines, constructed from materials you didn’t find in the table of elements, it had in its few short years of existence become the pulsing center of America’s magical economy. Magitech Inc. had been founded only twenty-four years ago, on this day actually, and these days it held more power than many a nation.

All of that would have worried Buffy, if Magitech’s owners and directors hadn’t been two of her best friends.

“Buffy!” She turned to look at the smiling face of one of said friends. “I’m so glad you could come.”

Willow Rosenberg was showing her age, Buffy thought sadly. She was 57 years old, years that showed in the lines of her face and the silver streaks in her long red hair. Most of the lines were from smiles, though, and Willow sure didn’t seem any less spunky and brilliant than she had at twenty. Dressed in a form-fitting green dress she looked quite ravishing.

Buffy, though she was also 57 years old, looked no older than a late twenty. There were no lines in her face, her golden hair glittered in the light of the chandeliers, and the black silk dress that covered her body from neck to ankles showed her youthful curves. Only in her eyes could one see her true age.

“You knew I would.” Buffy told her best friend, gathering her in a hug. “It’s not every day I get invited to a ball where most of America’s Who’s Who finds itself turned down.”

“Actually it’s every year on this day,” Willow reminded her, “as I need at least a few real smiles among the audience. I love my work, but some of the people I have to deal with...”

She made a face that seemed to transform her back into the young witch Buffy had first met so many years ago. God, the years had gone by so fast. Hard to believe this was already the 24th anniversary of the corporation that Willow and Tara had founded, quite literally, in their garage back in LA.

“I hear you. Speaking of honest smiles, though, where is that beautiful wife of yours?”

“Oh, Tara is mingling. She would never admit it, but she is much better at this friendly small-talk stuff than I am.”

A dreamy smile spread on Willow’s face as she looked across the room to where her blonde lover was laughing with a few tux-clad elder gentlemen. Buffy knew that smile only too well. She got it herself every time she looked at her own lover.

“Speaking of beautiful, where is Angel?” Willow asked.

“He should be here momentarily. Darla called him about some Vampirium business. I tell you, sometimes I don’t know whether she runs Dead Man Incorporated or he does.”

Dead Man Inc. was the common nickname for the vast holding company that had grown out of the Vampirium, which had gone corporate only a few years ago, thanks in part to the huge success of Magitech. Darla, the current leader of the Vampirium, had been named CEO. Unfortunately (from Buffy’s point of view) she liked to frequently consult Angel about a lot of things that concerned the running of the company.

“I don’t think she has much chance to tear him away from your side for any length of time.” Willow said. “I bet he started drooling the moment he saw you in that dress.”

“Maybe he did. I was too busy getting my breath back after seeing him in his tux.”

The two friends laughed together, interrupted only when a pair of strong arms wrapped around Buffy’s waist from behind.

“Are you laughing about me, Mrs. O’Conner?” Angel asked, planting a soft kiss on her neck.

“I would never dare do that, Mr. O’Conner.” She turned around in his embrace to greet him properly.

“Since when?” He teased, earning himself a mock glare from his wife.

“I’ll have you know, Mr. O’Conner, that you are an ungrateful bastard on whom a loving wife such as I is completely wasted.”

“Is that so?” His hand trailed along the line of her body, softly brushing her flesh through the thin layer of silk. Buffy had to bite down on her lip to suppress a moan. God, that man really knew how to touch her. It was so unfair that he could make her feel this way with but the barest brush of his fingers.

“Stop that or I’ll embarrass both of us.” She said, her voice husky.

“Don’t stop on my account.” Tara joined them, a big smile on her face. Becoming the co-owner of one of the world’s largest businesses had done a lot to bolster the formerly shy blonde’s self-confidence. A decade or two ago a comment like that would never have made it past her lips and hearing it from someone else would have caused her to flush a crimson red.

Angel stopped his ministrations, something Buffy really wasn’t all that happy about, and exchanged a welcoming hug with Tara.

“A great party, Tara. Willow.” He greeted the redhead as well. “Darla tells me she will invest yet more money in Magitech stocks as soon as the market opens on Monday.”

“Tell her she will get her money’s worth. Guaranteed.”

The four friends managed to shut out the surrounding party and chat with each other for a while, catching up on old times. A lot had changed, Buffy thought, since they had all lived in the same city, the Hyperion Hotel their regular meeting place.

God, she was really turning into an old woman. Not on the outside, of course, but she kept thinking about the past. About the happy times, as well as the bad. About the friends that should be here today, but weren’t. Kate. Giles. Doyle.

“Get that scowl of your face, Buffy Summers-O’Conner!” A sharp voice interrupted her musings. “Just because you don’t age doesn’t mean your face won’t get stuck that way some day.”

Buffy looked up to see a regal woman in a silver dress approaching, a cascade of graying hair trailing down her back. A face of 59 years gave her a scolding look, softened by lips curved into a smile.

“Cordy!” Willow cheered happily. “You made it.”

“Just be glad I did or Buffy here would have drowned in the Christmas blues all night long.”

Senator Cordelia Chase had her hand tucked into the crook of her husband’s arm. Peter Chase-Robertson was a man of 66 who had aged like fine wine, still looking quite handsome in Buffy's opinion. He was not a man of many words, which was okay since Cordy tended to talk quite enough for both of them. Many people had been surprised that such a quiet and unassuming man had captured the heart of one of America's leading politicians, but not Buffy. She knew Cordy good enough to recognize that Peter was just the kind of man she needed.

They were accompanied by their two children. Liam William Chase, aged 34, and Elizabeth Katrina Chase, aged 28. Liam, in turn, had come with his wife Gabrielle Chase. Buffy was a bit sad to see that none of their three children were along. Okay, so maybe a formal event like this was not the right place for three bags of energy between the ages of three and eight, but she would really have liked to see them again.

"It's nice to see you, too, Cordy." Buffy smiled, greeting the many members of the Chase family.

"I would say you haven't aged a day," Cordy said, giving Buffy a kiss on the cheek, "but then again we all know that, don't we?"

Some people might have taken the comment the wrong way, thinking that Cordelia was jealous of Buffy's eternal youth. Buffy knew better, though. Cordelia had everything she had ever wanted. Immortality was not among these things.

Inevitably Buffy started thinking about all the things she had ever wanted.

"Buffy?" Angel asked, picking up her feelings across the link they shared. The blood bond that enabled Buffy to share in his immortality and gave them both the ability to look through the other's eyes also had a psychic component. They could not actually communicate without words, but they were fully able to pick up the other's feelings.

Cordelia was right, Angel realized. Buffy was feeling blue.

"I was thinking about Cordy's grandchildren." Buffy admitted, whispering so none of the others would hear her.

Angel nodded, having expected something like that. They had been together for nearly four decades now and the matter of children had come up, of course. Angel couldn't have any, that they had both known from the start. Vampires could not have children, some ridiculous stories they had heard over the years to the contrary. That alone, though, needn't have stopped Buffy from having children, of course. There were numerous other ways, including a very recent development in genetics that would even have enabled a genetic engineer to synthesize sperm from Angel's own DNA, no matter how dead his body was.

None of that mattered, though, as they had discovered many years ago that Buffy couldn't have children, either. Neither could Faith. Looking into the Watchers Council database had shown that all Slayers were infertile from birth.

Which had put an end to any children plans Buffy had ever fostered.

Angel sighed, wrapping his arms around her. Buffy was happy, he knew that. But every now and then she would long for the things they would never, ever have.

"We'll see them at Christmas." Angel told Buffy, kissing her neck. "All our family will be there."

Cordelia considered them all family, he knew. Angel was her big brother, just like Spike. Buffy was the sister she'd never had. Willow and Tara were related somehow as well, though Angel wasn't sure exactly how. They always celebrated Christmas together and ever since Liam and Gabrielle's children had joined the family Buffy spoiled them rotten every single time. By now he was sure that, in the three kids' minds, 'Aunty Buffy' equaled big heaps of presents.

"I should get another present for Francis." Buffy mumbled, leaning back against her husband. Francis was the youngest of the three, only three years old. He always called her 'Puffy', which caused his parents embarrassment without end. She just found it cute.

"You already got him four, remember?"

She nodded, sighing. It was the upcoming Christmas, she resolved. It always got her down this way.

"Yeah, I remember."

Their musings were interrupted by the buzzing of Angel's com.

"If it's Darla again, tell her I'll take the next flight to Los Angeles and stake her!" Buffy announced.

Angel took the com from his pocket, looking at the display.

"It's not Darla. It's Bogomiel."

Which was almost worse, Buffy thought. Ernest Bogomiel was the PID's regional director for the United States. The Preternatural Investigation Division, originally a branch of the United States' Federal Marshall Corps, had grown into a global organization sponsored by the United Nations to deal with preternatural crime worldwide.

Bogomiel was also the closest thing Buffy and Angel had to a boss. They both worked for the PID on a case-by-case basis these days, meaning that he couldn't exactly order them around like he did his other marshals. He wouldn't call them out of the blue like this if it wasn't really important, though.

Buffy took out her own com and patched into Angel's as he took the call.

"Angel, Buffy," Bogomiel greeted them as his hologram appeared before them, "sorry to intrude like this."

Buffy smiled at him. She liked the elderly gentleman that ran all PID activities in America almost despite herself. He was a real slave driver, but was charming enough that no one really minded. Some days she was convinced that he was using some kind of magical whammy to make all his people like him so much.

"What is it, Ernest?" Angel asked. They had all known each other for decades now and needed no titles between them.

"Something really bad, Angel. When can the two of you be in New York?"

Buffy frowned.

"We're at Magitech, Ernie. Other side of the continent."

"Take the next flight out! We've got a rotten situation in the big apple and I need my best people there."

"Always with the flattery." Buffy sighed.

"I'm downloading the details into your coms as we speak. Let me know the moment you get there, okay?"

He signed off, leaving Buffy and Angel a bit confused. Bogomiel had never been among the most talkative of men, preferring to make his people read the case files he sent them. Still, this was brief even for him.

"He's worried." Angel spoke what they both thought. "Very much so."

Buffy called up the files and browsed through the summary. Her face darkened with every word she read.

"I think he has reason to." She mumbled.

Less than an hour later Buffy and Angel climbed aboard an airliner headed for New York, having made their excuses to Willow and Tara. Neither of them noticed the take-off, as they were deeply immersed in the case files.
 
 

3  -  Dreams, Murders, and NYPD Coffee
 

#
 

Bogomiel's files were as dry and boring as usual and Buffy quickly fell asleep as the plane flew through the night across the continent to New York. Angel just smiled as he saw her nod off. Watching her sleep was one of his favorite pastimes, truth to tell. He gently removed the notebook that was precariously perched on her lap, the latest file still on the screen, and spread a blanket over her.

While Angel immersed himself into the case files once more, Buffy started dreaming.

#

"Hello?" Buffy called out, her voice echoing along the empty road she stood in. There were skyscrapers on either side of her, huge black concrete towers that reached up into the heavens and blotted out the sky. None of the buildings was lit, everything was dark. Buffy stood all alone and her breath came out in clouds of white, cold closing around her like an icy hand.

"Why should you care what happens to me?" Someone said. A female voice, young, coming from somewhere close by.

"Who is this?" Buffy asked, trying to home in on the voice. What was this place? Why was it so dark here? So dark and cold?

"He is coming!" A dark voice whispered to her, seemingly just behind her back. Buffy jumped, but there was no one there. Just shadows. Moving shadows. "Soon he will walk the Earth!"

"As if you care!" That was the female voice again. This time it was much closer.

There was movement, a dark shape running across the street. No, not running. Dancing. Someone was dancing in the street. A female someone, no older than 15 years or so, long brown hair trailing out behind her.

"Wait!" Running after her, Buffy couldn't seem to get any closer. "It's not safe for you out here!"

Something moved in the shadows, something huge and frightening. The darkness parted around it like a curtain and a nightmare rode toward them on a huge black horse with glowing red eyes. The rider was clad in dark armor, a huge sword in hand.

"She will die!" He thundered, swinging the sword that glowed in the pale moonlight. "For she is the last!"

"I won't let you!" Buffy yelled, finding a sword in her own hands. "I won't let you kill her!"

The girl stopped dancing, looking at her. Buffy could see her face now, a face she had never seen before but which seemed familiar nevertheless. Where had she seen that face before? Or had she? Maybe she had yet to see it but remembered nevertheless.

"This is just stupid!" The girl sighed. Buffy saw some kind of birthmark on the side of her neck. Despite the darkness surrounding them on all sides she could see it clear as day. It looked almost like a small snake that had wound itself around a small star. A five-pointed star.

Buffy started as the huge black horse came to a stop directly before her, rearing back as the rider brought it to a halt. Dismounting, the black knight marched toward her, the sword still in hand.

"He is coming!" He whispered, his face hidden by the black armor. "You can not stop it!"

He brought his sword down and it sheared through Buffy's own like glass. Buffy screamed.

#

"Buffy!"

She came awake with a start, panting heavily as she tried to remember where she was. A plane? What was she doing ... oh, right. She became aware that Angel was staring at her, as were most of the nearby passengers.

"Are you okay?" Angel asked, his hand softly brushing her shoulder.

She nodded, swallowing. Her brow was covered with cold sweat and she shivered, still feeling the cold from her nightmare. God, it had been so real.

"Just a dream." She mumbled, trying to assure her husband. "Just a bad dream."

Angel didn't look convinced. No wonder, she thought, he could probably pick up how disturbed she was across their bond. Trying to clear her head, Buffy looked out the window. The plane was rolling slowly across a moonlit landing field.

"We're already there?" She asked. She hadn't felt the plain touch down.

"You slept right through the landing." Angel said. "What did you dream about?"

He had probably gotten some images, too, Buffy realized. They sometimes shared dreams across the bond, sometimes just caught bits of pieces of each other's nightly fantasies.

"I'm not sure." She told him. "Probably nothing important."

They arrived at their terminal and the people started getting up to collect their luggage. Angel gave her one last worried glance, then rose as well.

Buffy shook her head again. She couldn't get the image of that young girl out of her head, no matter how hard she tried. She was certain she knew her. Or would soon know her, at least.

#

A police car collected them from the airport and brought them into Manhattan. It was approaching midnight and much of the city was covered with freshly fallen snow. Holiday spirits seemed abroad. Everything was already decked out and made pretty for the upcoming Christmas and what people were still about this time of night seemed in good cheer.

Buffy frowned. She really wasn't in the mood for cheery people right now.

Neither the cops that had come to get them nor any of the others they met at the police department seemed very cheery, though. Most of them sported grim and disturbed looks. The entire department stank of worry, disgust, and anger.

"Marshall O'Conner?" A man in his late fifties came toward them, carrying two coffee mugs. He wore a badge clipped to the waistband of his trousers.

"Yes." Buffy and Angel said at the same time, smiling at each other.

"Glad you could come. I'm Captain Trenor of the NYPD."

They shook hands after Angel and Buffy each took an offered coffee mug from his hand. Buffy tried not to grimace as she took a sip. Police coffee probably had some kind of reputation of badness to uphold. Being a Marshall, first a federal, now an international one, had given Buffy the opportunity to sample police coffee all over the world. None of it had been particularly good.

"Director Bogomiel gave us some files on what you have here." Angel said as the two of them fell into step with Trenor. "The descriptions were a bit vague, though."

So far they only knew that New York, or more precisely Manhattan, had been the site of no less than eight ritual murders within the last 72 hours. All performed exactly the same way with the same runes and carvings. The latter performed on the bodies of the victims.

"Gathering information has been a bit difficult so far." Trenor sighed. "As you know the government hasn't gotten around to approving the necessary funding for full-scale magical crime equipment yet. At least not for anything smaller than the federal boys. No offense meant."

"None taken." Angel said. They both knew how seriously ill-equipped most police forces were to deal with crimes of the preternatural sort. "But are we sure yet these are actual ritual killings and not just some deranged people on a devil-worshipping trip?"

The emergence of magic and magical creatures into the light of the public had created a long-lasting wave of trends and manias among the population. Buffy had lost count of the number of amateur demon-worshippers and Faustian dealers they had had to deal with over the last few decades. Most of them hadn't been able to so much as float a pencil, much less summon a demon or work dark magic.

"Quite certain." Trenor said. "We're still waiting for the FBI to send us their Seeker to check things over, but we improvised by using some of the local talent."

"Local talent?" Buffy asked.

"We have a few witches on retainer, as well as the occasional lent Seeker from the city department. None of them are really made for this kind of work, but they've given us quite a few useful pointers in the past. All of them agree that this is definitely something magical. Black magic."

They entered a staff room that seemed to have been turned into an improvised command center. There was a large city map on the wall, surrounded by dozens upon dozens of photographs. Buffy could make out eight red dots on the map, spread throughout the city.

"These are the locations." Trenor said, pointing at the map. "All found within the last 72 hours. We're still trying to determine the exact times of death for the various victims, though."

"How so?" Buffy asked. "Your coroner should have had enough time by now to..."

"That's one of the problems we've had." Trenor interrupted her. "You see ... our coroner hasn't exactly been able to perform proper autopsies on the bodies yet."

"Can we take a look at them?" Angel asked, able to think of a number of reasons why the coroner could have had problems. If the victims had been killed in the course of a magical ritual there was no telling what kind of magical residue might still linger around them. Maybe the kind that made it very dangerous for anyone to even think about touching them.

"We'll have to drive to one of the crime scenes for that." Trenor said.

"What?"

"We have discovered the first body about three days ago," he explained, "and we're still trying to take it away from the spot we found it in. So far we've had no success."

Trenor shrugged, his attempt at casualness thoroughly ruined by the haunted look on his face.

"They won't come off."
 
 

4  - Blood in the Snow
 

#
 

Trenor took them to one of the murder sites, located in a small side alley on Broadway, just a block away from Times Square. The place was cordoned off and several police officers stood guard to keep the occasional curious New Yorker from messing up the crime scene.

"This was the first victim we found." Trenor explained as they walked toward the alley. "A woman called Greta Heinrich. German citizen. We identified her by DNA scanning. We assume she was over here on vacation, though we have yet to find a record of her coming into the country. Haven't found out where she was staying here, either."

"Have you contacted her family?" Angel asked, ducking under the police tape.

"She has none, it seems." Trenor read from the small notebook he had along. "Parents died over a decade ago. No siblings, not married, no children."

Buffy listened to the captain, but only with one ear. Something about this place was sending her Slayer senses into overdrive, her skin tingling as if bugs were crawling all over it. From the sensations she received from Angel it seemed he was feeling it as well.

Magic had been at work here. Darkest magic.

When they reached the body Trenor stopped talking, averting his eyes from the scenes before him. He had seen it before, of course, and apparently had no intention of refreshing his memory. Looking at what remained of one Greta Heinrich Buffy could certainly sympathize. She had seen worse in her four decades as the Slayer. Not much worse, though.

The woman couldn't be older than a late twenty, Buffy decided, concentrating on the hard facts to keep away the revulsion she felt rising inside her. She was nude except for a kind of loincloth wrapped around her hips, just enough to make her halfway decent down there. Her chest was bare, giving everyone a good view of what had been done to her.

Greta Heinrich had been crucified. Nailed to the alley wall with steel spikes through her palms and feet, leaving her in almost Christ-like pose. Almost every inch of her was covered with some kind of symbols or runes that had been cut into her skin, except for the belly area, where she had been eviscerated, gutted like a fish. The wall around her was filled with more symbols, written in blood. Buffy wasn't able to fool herself into thinking of it as red paint. She could smell the blood, as well as other things that had no business leaving the insides of a human body.

Which was strange, she thought after a moment, pushing aside the gag building in the back of her throat.

"You said this was the first victim you found?" Buffy asked Trenor, surprised at how neutral and professional she sounded. On days like this she worried that her job was burning her out, robbing her of the ability to feel. How could she look at something like this and be so professional?

"Yes." Trenor nodded. "I fear our coroner was unable to ascertain how long she might have been dead at that time. You can see why, I guess."

Buffy could indeed see why the coroner might have some problems with determining the time of death. 72 hours of hanging nude in a cold alley, snowfall all around, subzero temperatures. One sure couldn't tell from her looks.

"She is still warm." Angel spoke first, his hand hovering just above the woman's skin. "No signs of frostbite or even a drop of body temperature. It's like she's only just been brought here."

Standing close, Buffy could see steam rising from the torn body, snowflakes melting where they fell on the skin. Somehow that freaked her out more than everything else.

"The blood should have dried up." Buffy inspected the symbols on the wall. That she didn't have to look at the carved-up body while doing that was a welcome bonus. "No way it could still be wet after all this time."

Buffy and Angel looked at each other, communicating without words. Something very bad had happened here. Was still happening, in fact. Both of them were familiar enough with rituals of this kind to know that.

"Whatever magic was raised here is still active." Angel summed it up. "Keeps the flesh warm, the blood fresh. For all intents and purposes the body has been frozen at the moment of death, that's why you can't remove it from here, either."

"That's what our resident witches said." Trenor agreed. "Something about a magical stasis. Whatever it is, it works pretty good, I'd say. We tried pretty much everything short of blowing it to bits to get the body down from there. No luck. We even tried to hammer out the entire portion of the wall where they fixed her up, but all our equipment died on us the moment it got close to this place."

Angel looked at the symbols on the walls, a sense of puzzlement reaching Buffy across their bond.

"What is it, Angel?" She asked, stepping closer.

"Some of these runes are familiar, but I can't remember from where. I am certain I've seen them before somewhere."

Neither Buffy nor Angel had consciously realized that they had been looking at the crime scene in nearly complete darkness until Trenor got out his flashlight and shone it on the symbols. Angel flinched back from the bright light, his nearly perfect night vision needing time to adjust.

"Sorry," the captain said, "thought they might look more familiar in the light."

"We don't need a lot of light." Buffy told him. "Most of our work is done by night."

Trenor smiled apologetically and was about to put his flashlight away again when its light shone on the crucified woman. Something caught Buffy's eye.

"Hold the light there!" She told the cop. "A little higher!"

With the spot of light directly on the woman's neck Buffy went closer. There, exactly where she had thought. A small birthmark, looking like ... looking exactly like the one she had seen on the neck of the girl in her nightmare.

A shiver went down her spine and not from the cold.

"Angel, take a look at this!" She said without looking away. Angel, clearly picking up her distress, came closer.

"A birthmark." He said, not seeing the significance. "It looks like a snake curled around a star."

"I've seen that before." Buffy told him. For a moment she was afraid to look up, to look at the face of the dead woman and see the girl from her dream. Shaking her head she pushed that thought away. This woman was a lot older than the girl. Different hair color, too. Greta Heinrich held no resemblance to her at all.

"Where?"

"Remember that nightmare I had on the flight over?"

Angel understood. It had happened only a few times before, but sometimes Buffy's dreams were more than simply dreams. Sometimes she would dream of things to come. Terrible things. Both Giles and Wesley had told them that prophetic dreams had been recorded from previous Slayers as well. Visions that would warn them of coming dangers.

"What did you see in your dream?"

"A girl, no older than fifteen, with this birthmark on her neck. At the exact same spot, too. She was ... well, she was dancing in the streets and then a black knight on a huge horse came riding toward her, saying he would kill her. I wanted to stop him, but ..."

Her voice trailed off. Angel put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a soft squeeze. He knew that Buffy feared the effects both this job and her eternal life might have on her feelings, her compassion. He, though, could not imagine that she would ever be able not to feel, not to care. It just wasn't in her character. As was evident right now.

"Captain Trenor?" Buffy looked up at the policeman. "Did you notice this birthmark?"

He leaned closer.

"Can't say I did. We took complete 3D pictures of the body, though. It's probably filed under the physical details or something."

"We should get back to the station." Angel said. "I assume you have complete imagery of the other victims as well."

"Certainly."

Buffy nodded. It was just a hunch, but maybe the other victims had this birthmark as well. The black knight in her dream had said something about the girl being the last. The last what? The last victim maybe? She shook her head. Too little information to make any educated guesses.

Angel, meanwhile, was raking his brain trying to remember where he had seen these runes before. A long time ago, that much was for sure. Before the Restoration, before the Gypsy curse. The days of Angelus, the Scourge of Europe.

He shook his head, the memories just refused to come. He would have to ask Darla about this. They had been pretty much inseparable during that time, doing everything together. Maybe she would remember.

As they marched back toward the police car, blood-stained now clinging to his boots, Angel couldn't shake the feeling that it was very important.
 
 

5  -  Carving Up the Big Apple
 

#
 

New York City
December 18, 2038 AD
 

"Now I remember!"

Angel's voice pulled Buffy out of the near-sleep she had fallen into, slumped over on the desk Trenor had gotten them. Damn, she had to be getting old. A mere forty hours without sleep (not counting jetlag) and she was worn out. Rubbing her temples she looked up, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

"What?"

"The symbols." Angel said, looking at the printouts in front of them. "I remember them. At least I do some of them. They are part of a very basic demonic summoning ritual. Darla and I did something like that once in the bad old days."

Needing a moment to process the information inside her tired brain, Buffy walked over to his side of the desk and looked at the symbols.

"So someone wanted to summon a demon?"

"I don't think so." Angel shook his head. "I didn't recognize them at first because these symbols are always linked to a summoning circle. A pentagram or something similar. Only there is nothing of the sort at any of the murder sites."

He leaned back, fighting against his own tiredness. The sun had risen a few hours ago and the daylight, even though the shuttered window kept it safely outside the room they had taken as their office, was wearing him out.

"Plus, the symbols differ. I'm not sure, but from what I've seen there are at least two different arrangements, one containing a lot more symbols than the other. Most of which I don't have a clue about, I might add."

She could hear the frustration in his voice. Part of it was due to the fact that they weren't dealing with 'just' eight murders anymore. During the last twelve hours the NYPD had found three more sites, each of them containing a crucified, eviscerated body, surrounded by runes and symbols drawn in blood.

"What did you want so summon a demon for?" She asked to distract herself from her gloomy thoughts. "I thought vampires didn't really get along with other kinds of demons back in the soulless times."

"They didn't." Angel answered, Buffy hearing the familiar undertone of guilt in his voice. No matter how much time had passed, Angel still couldn't help but feel responsible for the things his demon had done, no matter how often he professed that he was over it. "We did it mostly out of boredom. Darla thought it would be fun. It wasn't, though. The demon just piled up a lot of bodies. Nothing we weren't perfectly capable of doing ourselves back then."

Lots of bodies, Buffy shook her head, her thoughts wrenched back to the present. Eleven murders so far. God alone knew how many more might be on the way or had already happened without anyone discovering them. And they didn't have a clue. Not one.

Buffy's theory about the birthmark hadn't led anywhere, either. Two other victims had the mark as well, on the exact same spot as the first one, too, but the others didn't. Neither on their necks nor anywhere else. It was strange that three people who seemed to have absolutely nothing in common except having been murdered all sported the same birthmark, but Buffy couldn't see how it might form any kind of connection with the other victims.

Running her hands through her hair Buffy paced the length of the room.

"This is leading us nowhere! We have eleven victims, three of whom sport an identical birthmark, eight of whom don't. They were all frozen in the moment of death, crucified, eviscerated, surrounded by at least two different sets of symbols and ..."

Angel suddenly looked up sharply, causing Buffy to stop.

"What?"

"Two types of victims." He whispered to himself. "Two types of symbol patterns."

Picking up on his thought Buffy leaned over his shoulder again, beginning to rearrange the printouts from the eleven victims in front of him.

"You think ..." she began.

"Exactly." Angel nodded.

They both looked across the images again, thoughts and impressions running almost in parallel through their bonded minds, four hands rearranging the pictures in perfect synchronicity.

Both stopped at the same time.

"Here's your link." Angel whispered, his eyes widening. "The three victims with the birthmarks are all surrounded by identical symbol patterns. The remaining eight, those without the mark, have a different set of symbols."

"So the symbols wary according to the presence of the birthmark." Buffy continued the thought. "Mark means more symbols. More powerful sacrifice maybe?"

Angel took another look at the information they had gathered on the three victims.

"Birthmarks of this kind can signify that the one wearing it is part of a magically powerful bloodline. Or carries a curse of some kind. But there is no connection between the three. They are not related in any way, nor does any of them have a record of magical abilities or past experiences in that field."

"Just because it isn't in the records doesn't mean it's not there." Buffy reminded him.

"Right!"

Angel sighed again. They had a clue, but he wasn't really sure what it meant. A lot of people were working on this by now, he knew. Darla had assigned a lot of manpower to going through the Vampirium database looking for references to the symbols and the ritual. Trenor wasn't all that happy about including civilians in this, but both the NYPD database, as well as that of the PID, had come up empty already. Unfortunately the Vampirium's database was only partly digitized. The rest was rooms upon rooms filled with ancient books, most of them not containing something as useful as an index, and that meant searching for anything in particular would take a long while.

Here in the city a lot of cops were out on the streets, hoping to catch sight of the killers by sheer luck, but Angel feared this was a doomed attempt. Made even worse by the fact that there were currently plenty of other things to keep New York's finest busy. The city was experiencing a severe increase in street crime, a trend that had been climbing for the last three years and had risen sharply these last few months.

Angel had also seen some reports that local asylums and psychiatric hospitals were currently overflowing. An as yet unexplained wave of mental traumata, nightmares, and psychosis had washed over the city, leaving experts and amateurs alike without a clue.

Almost as if caused by magic, Angel thought.

"We need to find out what this ritual is supposed to accomplish." He told Buffy. "Or might already have accomplished."

"You're thinking about the general craziness going on in this city?"

They had made a detour through the holding cells earlier. They had been overcrowded, too say the least, and many of the people inside them screamed and cursed without break, their eyes filled with madness and insanity. An almost tangible air of malevolence seemed to hang over the city, enough to make the hairs on Buffy's neck stand up straight.

"You talked to those witches Trenor has on retainer earlier, didn't you?" Angel asked. "Did they say anything useful about this birthmark?"

"Same as you." Buffy shrugged. "Could be this. Could be that. I got the feeling they were every bit as clueless as we are. To tell you the truth, none of them struck me as particularly experienced."

Angel looked up at her, guessing what she was going to suggest next.

"Think about calling in the pros?"

"There has to be an upside to being best friends with the two most powerful witches on the continent. Apart from enjoying the perks of corporate life now and then, I mean."

"Trenor will be thrilled about dragging more civilians into this."

They heard shouting from outside. Opening the door, Buffy saw a policeman running through the staff room and into Trenor's office. Sharpened senses allowed her to her every word. He was reporting that a patrol car had found yet another victim. Buffy closed her eyes, closing the door again.

"Somehow I don't think he will object." She said sadly.

"I guess."

Angel walked over to pull her into a brief hug, both of them feeling an almost physical chill in their bones. Twelve lives extinguished and they still didn't know what for. Only that it was going to be bad. Or maybe it already was.

"I'll call Willow and Tara." Angel said, letting go of her again. "After that I think we should try and make a picture of that girl you saw in your dreams. The one with the birthmark."

"You think she's real?" Buffy asked.

"If she is, and if she has that mark, we have to find her. She is probably in deadly danger."

Buffy remembered the image of the black knight she had seen in her dreams, riding toward that helpless young girl with murder in his eyes.

'She will die!' She could hear the cruel voice in her head. 'For she is the last!'

"I'll ask Trenor to hook me up with their phantom sketcher." Buffy said, hugging herself. "They should have the whole holographic imaging equipment around here somewhere."

'I'll protect you!' She vowed. 'He won't get you!'
 

6  -  Some Days It Doesn't Pay to Always Be Right
 

#
 

A mere four hours after Angel placed a phone call to Magitech Central in California a private jet landed at JFK airport, having crossed the continent in record time. Anyone not knowing the people in question might have scoffed at the idea that the leaders of a multinational enterprise would just drop everything and take off to help some friends at a moment's notice.

Those who knew Tara and Willow would never have doubted it.

Even before the plane touched down Tara knew that something was wrong. She had always been good at reading auras, receiving psychic impressions. A lot of times she could tell whether someone had negative intentions without even trying, seeing them radiating outwards every bit as easily as other people saw colors.

New York city was shrouded in dark red. The entire city seemed suffused with an air of fear and malevolence, hanging above the skyscrapers like a storm. The wind reeked of dead things, old death. Tara felt the need to shower, to scrape this feeling off her skin lest it taint her, too.

Willow was nowhere near as good a psychic, but she was very attuned to the feelings of her wife.

"What is it, baby?" She asked softly as they prepared to disembark.

"I'm afraid Buffy and Angel didn't call us out of a fancy, Will." She said. "Something bad is going on here. I can feel it."

"Bad in what way?"

They picked up their tools and bags. Their lives included a lot of business meetings these days, but it hadn't been that long ago that the two of them had stood in the middle of battle along with their friends, fighting for their lives. Both were accomplished fighters and, despite their age, had stayed in shape, not just physically.

The twin swords Firefang, magical blades forged by the Dragons, went under their long coats, the pockets of which were filled with everything one might possible need for offensive and defensive spells. They each slung a bag with clothing and more supplies over their shoulder, walking down the gangway.

"It reminds me a bit of the impressions I received from Angel's hotel once. You remember how he told us about the paranoia demon he exorcised from there back in the 1950s? Even decades later it had left a ... a stench of its presence."

She looked at the skyline of the city in the distance. The sun was slowly sinking below the horizon, dipping the landscape in glorious colors. Tara wasn't fooled by the lovely picture.

"It's like that, only a thousand times stronger. Not so much like something that was here once. More like something that ..."

"Will soon be here?" Willow finished the sentence, sensing some of what Tara was picking up.

The blonde just nodded.

#

A limo was waiting to take them into the city, stopping in front of the police department Angel and Buffy had told them about. The streets were filled with people in the pre-Christmas spirit, carrying shopping bags aplenty, and about half a dozen Santa Clauses just in this small area. The deceptively serene picture wasn't enough to distract Tara from the headache she was getting from the stench hanging over the city.

"It smells of blood." She told Willow as they walked inside. "So much blood."

"Angel said they had a dozen victims so far."

Tara shook her head. "I think they're wrong. Way wrong."

Willow gave her a worried glance, but Tara refused to say anything more at this point. Picking up all these impressions was one thing, making sense of them was quite another. Often she would know things, but could not explain how she knew them. Something told her, though, that there were more than a dozen victims by now.

Much more.

"Can I help you?" The sergeant at the front desk asked.

"Marshalls Angel and Buffy O'Conner are expecting us." Willow said. "We're Tara and Willow Rosenburg."

The policeman seemed unimpressed by their names, which was surprisingly pleasant, Willow thought. They had been called the Bill Gates of the 21st century and there weren't a lot of people these days who didn't know their names, if not their faces. Going about in private had gotten almost impossible for them.

A phone call later Buffy came down the stairs toward them, a look so tired on her eternally youthful face that almost made the two witches gasp. Rings were beneath her eyes, her blonde tresses hanging down limply. Tara visibly flinched when she saw the air of frustration and despair surrounding her friend.

"Will, Tara!" She greeted them with none of her usual cheer. "Thanks a lot for coming."

Willow banished all thoughts of hugging her friend. This was not a joyous occasion and Buffy wasn't in the spirit for hugs. She seemed in desperate need of sleep, though.

"Of course we came." Tara said softly. "After what you told us..."

"We found yet more victims." Buffy said without preamble, her voice worn out and lifeless. "The body count is up to twenty-three now."

Tara closed her eyes, shaking her head. Why was she always right about such things?

"Did you find out anymore about the ritual so far?" The witches and the Slayer walked up the stairs into the office Buffy and Angel used.

"Nothing. Darla is looking into it, just like the PID and just about every other federal agency you ever heard about it. Angel was right about some of them being from basic demon summoning rituals, but that's all we have. No one seems able to make sense of the rest."

"You said something about a birthmark." Tara remembered. "Found on some of the victims."

"Five of them so far." Buffy nodded. "All of them are surrounded by special editions of those symbols. Identical down to the last brush stroke. If they used brushs."

Buffy's puns sounded tired and forced.

"We should take a look at one of the murder sites first." Willow said as they stood in front of the map with the red dots. "Maybe Tara can ... Tara?"

Tara was staring at the map, the red dots that signified snuffed human lives standing out like bloodstains. Something about the image it made caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was. Something hovered just outside her grasp, something she saw but couldn't quite make sense of.

Her eyes trailed over the spots, passing that on Broadway and the one on Fifth Avenue, both of whom were marked with an 'x', too. Three dots without further marks were situated along Franklin D. Roosevelt Drive, close to the United Nations building. An x'd dot was on Eleventh Avenue, close to a few others without an x sprinkled among the warehouses near the harbors.

It seemed like a random collection, scattered over the city without pattern or system. The only thing that seemed certain was that all murders had occurred in an area that started just south of Central Park and ended at about 23rd Street.

"Are the ones with the x those with the birthmark?" Tara asked without looking away from the map.

"Yes." Buffy said, frowning. "Can you make anything of it?"

"I'm not sure." She confessed. "There is something there, but ..."

Her headache kept pounding beneath her temples and Tara closed her eyes to rub her forehead.

"Sorry. Maybe I'm imagining things. All the fear hanging in the air is giving me a headache. A big one."

"OH MY GOD!" Someone yelled.

The three women turned around. Angel had walked in the door, followed by a young woman neither of them had seen before. She seemed about eighteen years old, if that much, jet-black hair trailing down her back. She was dressed all in black, too, and carried an abundance of charms and necklaces.

"This is Selina." Angel made the introductions. "She's been helping the NYPD with their magic-related cases and ..."

"It's really you!" Selina interrupted him, walking up to Tara and Willow with a look of pure excitement on her face. "I can't believe it."

Tara narrowed her eyes for a moment, reading the girl in front of her. Selina was powerful, that much she could tell immediately, but the power was mostly undirected, more potential than actual ability. She might become a very crafty witch some day, but still had ways to go.

She also radiated so much excitement and joy that Tara had to look away for fear of going blind.

"I'm your biggest fan in the whole world!" Selina rambled, stepping from one foot to the other. "When they said you'd be coming to help I thought they were making fun of me. But you're really here. I've got the book you wrote about modern witchcraft. And the one about the founding of Magitech. And ..."

"Selina!" Angel said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry," she smiled sheepishly, "I always do this when I get excited. I was just ..."

"Excited." Tara said, smiling at her. It was hard not to be infected by her cheer. "There is no need to, though."

"I'm sure this case will be solved real quick now that you're here!" The young witch forcibly kept herself from jumping up and down. "I mean, I tried to figure this out, but I'm still rather new at this. The two of you, though, ..."

"Have you been to one of the murder sites, Selina?" Tara interrupted her, now able to sense some of the impressions hidden underneath Selina's cheery exterior. A flash of horror passed over the girl's face, giving Tara all the answer she needed. Selina's aura visibly darkened, weighed down by the memories those few words had brought to the surface.

"Yeah, I did." She said, looking down. "It was horrible. I ... I got sick from the stench and I ... well, I ..."

"It's okay." Tara assured her. "May I?"

Selina looked at her extended hand, puzzled for a moment, then understood.

"Sure! I would be honored! No problem, you can read whatever you ..."

Tara grabbed her hand before she could fall into a new ramble, establishing a connection between them. The girl's excitement washed over her like a wave of sunshine, distracting her for a moment, but then Selina concentrated on the things Tara wanted to see.

A second later Tara regretted grabbing her hand.

Cold! Blood! So much blood! The stench of death, dead flesh! A soul frozen in the moment of death! Screaming, still screaming! The magic, so dark and cold! Old death! Old fear! Surrounding her! Suffocating her! So cold! Trying to pull her under, down to where the dead things were! So much darkness!

Something was looking at her from the darkness. Something with eyes of flame.

Tara stumbled, letting go of Selina's hand. Her stomach heaved as revulsion ran through her and she barely managed to keep from throwing up the lunch they'd had on the plane. Willow was by her side in an instant, supporting her when her shaky knees threatened to give out.

"My God!" Tara whispered, looking green around the edges. Her hands were shaking.

"Did I do something wrong?" Selina asked, worried. "I didn't mean to ..."

"Don't worry!" Tara said quickly, not wanting to girl to blame herself. "It was just ... what you saw ... you're a strong psychic, Selina! Be thankful you don't have enough training yet to really see all you have perceived there."

Buffy and Angel walked closer to her, all signs of tiredness gone from the Slayer's face for the moment.

"What did you see, Tara?" She whispered. "What are we facing?"

Tara swallowed, looking over at the city map again.

"I'm not sure." She said, feeling that the picture hidden in those dots was getting clearer by the second. "Something is going to happen. Something is coming. Something old and terrible. I could almost see it and ... and ..."

Willow pulled her closer, only now realizing that one of Tara's blonde tresses had turned a silvery white.
 
 

7  -  The Girl of My Dreams
 

#
 

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!"

Buffy looked over the shoulder of the police officer who worked the crime computer. Angel had almost manhandled her onto the couch a few hours ago, forcing her to sleep for a while. She felt a little better now, though they had found another two bodies during the two hours she had been out. That, coupled with Tara's violent reaction to Selina's impressions from the crime scene, pretty much erased all the positive effects of sleep.

Together with Angel and some phantom artists from the NYPD she had sketched a picture of the girl from her dream before falling asleep and the computers had worked hard to find her ever since. Now it seemed they had finally managed.

A hologram flared to life in front of her, showing the now-familiar girl.

"That's her!" Buffy said. "I'm sure of it."

"Her name is Dawn Heywood. Born March 3, 2023. Parents Melanie and Henry Heywood. Looks like the girl is a bit of a troublemaker. She was arrested for shoplifting once, that's why we have her in the computer."

"Do you have an address? Does she live in New York?"

"Sure does. Here it is, West 23rd Street. Corner of Eight Avenue."

Right at the edge of the killing zone, Buffy thought.

#

Not wasting any time Buffy grabbed Angel and barely ten minutes later their car screeched to a halt in front of a large apartment building on West 23rd Street, corner Eight Avenue. It was in the middle of the night, barely a person out on the street.

"This is it?" Angel asked, looking up the building, making a mental note never to let Buffy drive again when she was this agitated. He loved her, but his wife wasn't a good driver under the best of circumstances.

"Yeah." Buffy hesitated a moment, looking out the nearly abandoned street they stood on. Flanked by large skyscrapers, dark night sky above them, it almost looked like the street she had seen in her dreams. Without wanting to her eyes scanned the nearby side alleys for a black knight riding a black horse, a huge sword flashing in the moonlight.

There was nothing, though. Just darkness where the city lights didn't reach.

"Let's go!" Buffy said, checking the gun she wore under her coat.

The Heywoods lived on the fifteenth floor of the building, but no one answered when Buffy rang the door bell. Making their way up to the apartment they found themselves standing before a closed door with an unmistakable smell emanating from behind it. A smell all too familiar to both of them.

"Blood!" Angel whispered, drawing his gun.

Buffy pushed down the ice-cold fear clenching her stomach. Was she too late? She had promised to protect the girl, even it had been in a dream. She couldn't be too late, could she?

Without waiting any longer Buffy kicked open the door, storming inside with Angel half a step behind her. They had done this a thousand times, each of them knowing exactly where the other was and what area of the room they had to cover. Business as usual.

Both of them froze two steps beyond the door, though. Froze and stared at the scenery in front of them.

"Merciful God." Angel whispered.

The stench inside the room was almost overpowering, making bile rise in Buffy's throat. Flies were buzzing around the sorry remains of what might have been a human being once upon a time, spread out over the floor like a shattered toy. Every inch of the floor was coated with dried blood, soaking the cheap carpet.

On the far wall hung a female body, crucified in a pose that was agonizingly familiar to them by now, surrounded by symbols drawn in blood. The remains of the second body were spread out beneath it like an offering to a vengeful god.

Angel scanned the apartment for threats, then put his gun away. Whatever had happened here had happened several days ago, judging by the sorry state the carved-up body was in. They were much too late. The woman crucified to the wall was like all the others, not a mark of decay on her. And, judging by the symbols surrounding her, she carried the birthmark.

"Melanie Heywood, I guess." Angel said, looking at the woman's face. There was a lot of resemblance to the girl Dawn there.

"Is ... is this ...?" Buffy said, gesturing at the remains at their feet.

"I don't think so." Angel tried to assure her. "From what little I can make out this was the body of a man. Probably the father, Henry Heywood."

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief, only too feel incredibly guilty a moment later. How could she be relieved when two people were lying dead before her? Two people who were the parents of the girl she was looking for. She mumbled a brief prayer that Dawn had not seen this done to her parents. No one should be forced to see something like this.

"Mrs. Heywood has the birthmark." Angel said, having checked the crucified body. "There is no way to be sure about Mr. Heywood, I fear, but as he hasn't been crucified ..."

"Something different happened here." Buffy said, forcing the rational part of her mind to the surface, banishing everything else for the moment. "This is the twenty-sixth victim we've found, but so far no one else has ever been killed at the murder sites. Why do you think they killed him in this way instead of crucifying him, too?"

She hated herself for the cold and analytical sound of her voice. Some days she almost hated Angel for the way he was able to deal with things like this so casually. It wasn't his fault, of course. She herself was beginning to grow casual with these things. Nothing monstrous about that, just human. See it often enough and even the most gruesome sight ceases to make an impact on you.

She hated it.

"I don't think Mr. Heywood was meant to be a victim." Angel said. "They were after his wife. Maybe his daughter. Odds are he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time."

"His own home." Buffy added.

Angel nodded sadly.

#

Half an hour later the apartment was filled with policemen, securing what little there was in the way of evidence, gathering up the remains of Henry Heywood. Just like with all the others there was no way to remove Melanie Heywood's body from the wall.

"No sign of the girl." One policeman reported to Buffy and Angel. "Her room is over there, but nothing seems out of place. She is probably out partying or something."

"I don't think so." Buffy said. Her eyes were drawn to a framed photograph standing on the table nearby. It showed a happy family, parents and daughter, smiling on a sunny day. "Her father was killed at least two days ago, maybe more. Odds are she came home and ... found her parents."

"Then she's on the run." Angel said after a moment of silence. "Frightened and alone. She could be anywhere."

The policeman took out his com. "No record of any other family in the city. According to the neighbors she has grandparents somewhere in Georgia, but they didn't know the names or address. We're trying to track them down. Maybe the girl ran to them."

Buffy shook her head. She couldn't say how she knew, but she was certain that Dawn was still in the city. Certain that whatever was after her wouldn't just let her leave. Whatever was going on, it would happen here in Manhatten. And Dawn was part of it somehow.

"We have to find her." Buffy resolved. "And fast!"

#

Dawn didn't know how long she had been running and hiding. Two days? Three days? She couldn't tell anymore. Her stomach was grumbling, reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything in quite a while. Her clothing was dirty, the thick winter jacket she wore not enough to keep her warm in the cold alley she had last slept in.

Something was after her. The same thing that had ... that had killed ... oh, god, her parents were dead. They were both dead. This had to be a nightmare. Any moment now she would wake up and the nightmare would be over. She would be back home with mom and dad, telling them about the good grade she had gotten for her science project.

They were dead! Oh god, they were dead!

Dawn saw something move in the shadows at the end of the alley and started running again.
 

8  -  Last Exit Salvation

#
 

There was fresh snow falling down from the skies and Dawn shivered, clutching the dirty winter jacket closer. All around her the people were going about with smiles on their faces, carrying shopping bags full of presents to give to their kids in a week's time.

Kids that still had their parents.

Dawn stopped walking as the despair threatened to suck her under. She couldn't breathe, clammy hands closing around her heart. Oh God, her parents were dead. Someone had broken into their home and ... and ... done that to them. How could one person possibly do this to another? To her parents? They had never hurt anyone. Why? Why did this have to happen?

"You okay, kid?"

She opened her eyes to look into the eyes of a man who had stopped, looking down at her with a worried glance. Dawn didn't see the worry, though. She only saw a stranger. A stranger like the ones who must have broken into her home and ...

"Stay away from me!" She yelled, running down the street as far as she could, leaving a very puzzled man behind, who shrugged and went on his way again.

Dawn kept running until her feet hurt too much to continue, resting against a cold stone wall. She had to do something. Go to someone. She was only fifteen for God's sake, how was she supposed to handle something like this? She wanted her parents. Mommy and daddy would know what to do. They always knew, even when Dawn had gotten herself into major trouble. They would scold her, give her a lecture maybe, but they would always ...

Mommy and daddy were dead!

She had lost track of the tears rolling down her cheeks. They were hot when they first fell from her eyes, but then cooled in the winter weather, freezing on her cheeks. Her small body was shaking with sobs, a cold far more terrible than the December frost had settled deep inside her bones.

Made all the more terrible by the fact that she knew something was still after her. The things that had killed her parents. She had never seen them, but she knew. Somehow she knew. They wanted her for reasons Dawn couldn't even guess, wanted her dead, wanted to do to her what they had done to her parents.

She couldn't banish the face of her mother, slack, her eyes still open and so empty. So very empty. Her mother couldn't have eyes like that. They were supposed to be filled with warmth and love. Not empty.

"Mommy!" Dawn whispered.

Maybe it hadn't been her father down on the carpet. Those ... those things ... all red and ... so many things ... maybe her father was out on the streets, looking for her even now. He had always been there to protect her. She remembered the time a bad man had tried to touch her. Her daddy had been there to keep him away. He couldn't be gone. He would find her and protect her. He would ...

He was dead! Just like her mother.

Dawn sagged to the ground, ignoring the cold seeping through the bottom of her pants. Hugging her knees close to her chest she tried to figure out what to do now, tried to figure out a way to get past the pain and the shadows that seemed to have closed around her until she couldn’t breathe anymore.

She had dreamed about it. Just the night before ... before it had happened. Dawn remembered but a few impressions, but she knew that it was related to ... to what had been done to her mother and father. She remembered something moving in the darkness, something that wanted to hurt her, kill her.

She also remembered a blonde woman appearing out of nowhere, trying to protect her. She had never seen that woman before in her life, yet somehow she had seemed familiar. As if something inside Dawn recognized her or something about her.

“Who are you?” Dawn somehow felt that the strange woman might hear her whispers. “Why did my parents have to ... have to ...”

Fresh sobs broke from her throat. She had to do something, but she couldn’t think. There was so much pain, so much cold. She couldn’t handle this. She was just a kid, a kid who had just lost ...

“Dawn!” Something moved in the shadows, something that was whispering her name.

“No!” Dawn started running again, not caring in what direction as long as it was away from that ... whatever it was. She didn’t want to know what was chasing her. If she turned to look it would get her, it would ... it would do to her what it had done to her parents.

“Dawn!” The whispering was closer now, seemingly just a step behind her.

“Get away from me!”

Dimly aware that she was running through yet another alley she looked for a way to escape, to hide. This thing was surrounding her, boxing her in. Dawn had tried to get out of the city, maybe head for Georgia where her grandparents lived. She couldn’t, though. Every time she had begun to do something other than run and hide in stark fear the shadows had appeared, cutting her off, sending her running back into the alleys.

Was there anything to New York but dark alleys? Shouldn’t the sun have gone up by now? Dawn didn’t know and she was too scared to form any coherent thoughts at all. The shadows were after her again and she could hear them whisper, telling her what they would do once they caught her.

“You are the last,” they whispered. “You will open the door.”

Dawn didn’t know what the shadows were talking about and she didn’t care. She didn’t want to know. The only thing she wanted was for them to go away, to disappear and give her back her parents, restore her to the world she had lived in until everything had been torn away in a single night. Some small part of her kept hoping that this was all a nightmare, that she would wake up any moment now, looking into the worried face of her mother who had heard her trash and scream while she slept. Mom would make it good with a  smile and a caress and all of this would just fade away.

Only it didn’t happen. She knew it wouldn’t.

The alley ended and Dawn burst out onto the street, some street she didn’t recognize. Cars sped past here, some of them swerving wildly, honking as they tried to avoid hitting her. Dawn was barely aware of them, didn’t even notice that metal death was brushing past less than an inch away. She only knew that death was behind her, the shadows churning and wavering as they trailed after her.

“Look out!” Someone yelled and Dawn found herself yanked aside by strong arms. Moments later a truck thundered over the spot she had been on a heartbeat earlier.

“What do you think you’re doing, girl?”

She looked up at the man whose arms were around her. He wore a police uniform, but Dawn didn’t see that. He was just another stranger, one who was holding her for the shadows, which were coming closer with every passing second.

“Let me go!” Dawn screeched, trying to break out of his arms. “They’re coming after me! Let me go!”

“Who is after you?” The cop asked, looking around for whatever might have frightened this girl so much. She had come out of the alley across the street, but there was nothing there. Nothing but empty shadows.

“What’s up, George?” A second cop came over from a parked police car.

“Please let me go!” Dawn was crying, pounding her small fists against her captor’s chest. “Please!”

“Something has spooked her but good. I don’t know ...”

“Hey, isn’t that ...” The second cop looked at Dawn, then quickly ran back to the car, returning a moment later with a sheet of paper in his hand. A sheet that showed Dawn’s face.

“That’s the girl everyone is looking for,” he told his partner, excitement ringing in his voice. “The one connected to the killings.”

“What?”

Both of them studied the sheet, then looking at the face of their unwilling captive again. Dawn’s struggles had almost ceased, the girl reduced to a shivering bundle of sobs. George gently lowered her to the ground, trying to make her look into his eyes.

“Dawn,” he asked her. “Dawn Heywood?”

“I want my mommy,” Dawn sobbed, refusing to acknowledge them. “Please, I want my mommy.”

George sighed, taking her into his arms until she was cradled against his chest.

“Let’s take her to the station.” He carried her toward their car. “I guess those marshals will be glad to see her.”

Somewhere on the way back to the station Dawn finally fell into troubled sleep, once again seeing the face of the mysterious blonde woman who promised to protect her.
 

9  -  Comes a Horseman
 

#
 

The shadows watched as the girl they sought was brought into the police building. They had been in this time and place long enough to know everything about it, including the fact that it was wise to stay out of sight of this world’s authorities until their plan had reached fruition. Had they been able to feel such emotions as frustration it would have irked them that they had to hide from such pitiful creatures.

As it was they simply reported what they saw to their master. Reported that they had finally tracked down the last of their prey. Shadows closed around the police station from all sides, waiting for whatever orders their master would give them.

Their master was pleased and decided that it was time for the hiding to cease.

#

Buffy was almost running by the time she reached the interrogation room, where two armed policemen were standing guard with grim looks on their faces.

“Marshal O’Conner,” she introduced herself by flashing her badge. “The girl is in there?”

“Yes, ma’am. She was brought in twenty minutes ago.”

“And you left her in there all the time? Alone? After what she went through?”

Before either of the cops could react to Buffy’s shout of indignation she brushed past them and opened the door.

The interrogation room was little more than a gray cubicle, about five by five meters, with a table and several chairs standing in the middle. A large mirror on one of the walls allowed people from the neighboring room to look in without being seen. A lamp above the table was the only source of light.

A sobbing figure was huddled in one of the corners, a large blanket wrapped around her shoulders almost swallowing her up.

“Dawn?” Buffy asked softly, walking closer.

The girl’s head shot up, showing Buffy a face streaked with tears, eyes red and puffy from hours, maybe days of crying. The look of fear and terror on the girl’s face almost wrenched a sob from Buffy’s own throat.

It was the girl from her dream. There was no doubt about it.

“I ... I know you,” Dawn said, her voice barely audible. “Who are you?”

Buffy was confused for a moment, but then shook her head and went to kneel down beside the child, putting a warm smile on her face.

“I am Buffy O’Conner, Dawn. I’m a marshal with the PID.”

Dawn just looked at her, her eyes shimmering with yet more tears.

“I ... I saw you. In a dream.” Dawn wiped the tears away with her sleeve. “You said ... you said you would protect me.”

Buffy’s eyes widened on hearing this. Was it possible they had shared the same dream? God knew she had seen stranger things than that in her many years. Not much stranger, though.

“I had a dream about you, too.” Buffy put a hand on the girl’s shoulder, feeling her shivering. “We’ve been looking for you for a while now.”

For a moment Dawn looked at her with the barest shimmer of hope in her eyes, but then she shook her head and looked away, squeezing her eyes shut.

“This is just stupid,” she mumbled.

She had said the exact same words in her dream, Buffy realized. In the exact same tone of voice, too. This was getting creepy even for her.

“It’s not stupid, Dawn.” Buffy edged closer to the girl, everything inside her screaming to take her into her arms and protect her from the world, no matter what it took. What was going on here? Why was she having such strong feelings for a girl she had only just met? “I promise I will do my best to protect you, but I need your help doing it.”

“My help?”

“You ... you know what happened to your parents?” Buffy really didn’t want to ask her that, not after everything this poor child had gone through, but she had the terrible feeling that time was running out on them. The body count was rising with every passing hour, almost like clockwork.

Or maybe a countdown.

So far they had miraculously managed to keep the public in the dark about it, but even without news about the grizzly murders the air of fear and malice that hung over the city was growing worse. It had led to the first signs of unrest, a sharp rise in petty crime and violence. The police was barely able to keep the lid on the powder keg New York city was quickly becoming.

Whatever was going to happen would happen soon. And Dawn was their only clue.

“My parents, they ...” Dawn’s voice broke.

“I’m so sorry, Dawn, but I have to ...”

“As if you care!” The girl edged away from her, pressing herself closer into the corner. “They weren’t your parents. You didn’t have to see ... to see ...”

Ignoring yet one more déjà vu from her dreams Buffy closed the distance again, softly brushing loose strands of hairs from Dawn’s face.

“I care, Dawn,” she just said.

For another long moment the girl just stared at her with anger in her eyes, but then the barriers broke and three day’s worth of sorrow and despair came pouring out of her.

“Mommy! Daddy!” Dawn buried her face in her knees, sobbing.

Buffy finally reached out and gathered the girl into her arms, letting her tears soak into her shirt, rocking her like she would a baby. Dawn clutched her as if drowning, holding on to the last solid thing in her entire world.

“They took them away,” Buffy could make out between sobs. “Then they came after me.”

“Who, Dawn? Who came after you?”

“The shadows. The shadows.”

#

Angel was two stories above the interrogation room, but he felt Buffy’s emotions across his link. Her desperate need to help this girl, to keep her safe. Just like her he wondered where these feelings came from. Buffy was a compassionate woman, he never doubted that, but from the fierceness of her feelings one would think she was the girl’s sister or mother, not a total stranger.

Just one more thing they didn’t understand about all this.

“Any luck?” He approached Willow and Tara, who had taken up camp in the staff room with the ominous city map. A map that was sprinkled with lots and lots of red dots.

Every dot signifying a snuffed life.

“Not much,” Willow admitted sadly, rubbing her tired eyes. “We have managed to identify about half of the runes used in the murders without the birthmark. Nothing terribly special there, just basic demonic summoning runes like you already guessed. The funny thing is that all of these runes normally require a conjuring circle or something to actually make the demon appear, but there is no such thing at any of the murder sites.”

“And the others?”

“They ...,” Willow began, only to be cut off by Tara.

“What did you just say?” The blonde witch was staring at the city map again.

“Say about what?”

“About what was missing.”

“Missing? Oh, you mean the conjuring circle. Yeah, these runes require a conjuring circle to make a demon appear, something to function as the doorway between dimensions. Only there is no ...”

“Yes there is,” Tara said.

She had been staring at the map for hours now, trying to see the picture she was certain was hidden in there somewhere. Now Willow’s words had provided the final spark she had been missing. Now Tara could see the picture clear as day.

“Give me a pen,” she told Willow and Angel without turning around.

Moments later someone dropped the required object into her hand and Tara began to draw on the map. Five straight lines and a circle later she stepped back and a shiver ran down her back.

“Your circle, Willow,” she muttered.

Angel and Willow could only stare at what Tara had drawn. A giant pentagram, carved right into the face of the city.

At the same moment someone began to scream.

#

The sergeant manning the front desk of the police station barely had time to scream when the doors in front of him suddenly exploded inward without warning, showering him with broken glass. The last thing he saw was a giant black shape, a huge horse carrying a man in night-black armor, swinging a glimmering sword.

A sword that connected with his neck a moment later.

“Find her,” the Harbinger thundered as shadows poured into the station behind him, blacking out every source of light in a heartbeat. “Bring her to me! Kill everyone that stands in your way!”

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