DISCLAIMER: I have neither rights to the characters of the television series "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" nor "Angel". I'm not making any money doing this, but I appreciate the chance to play in Joss' sandbox.
SYNOPSIS: Buffy is brought back from the dead to a world where Angel never existed.
RATING: R to NC17 for violence, especially when Dru gets involved. J
DISTRIBUTION: Fanfiction.net, Land of Denial, Spoonless Realm. Interested? Let me know.
DEDICATION: To Flippy, for all the mad ideas. And Peygan, for offering to promote me to Goddess-hood.
MANY THANKS TO: Leni, Smurfette, Tango, Aurora, Jaisel, Rehatha, Jill, Melanie, Matt and Phil, for emails, discussions and comments.
A.N. As always, domo arigato to D. M. Evans for ‘awl deh reedin’.

Buffy slowly walked up the steps to her house. Exhaustion wrapped around her like a thick blanket, cutting off emotions and feelings and everything of the good. All she really wanted to do was soak in a long bath and go to bed but she was afraid she’d fall asleep in the tub and drown.

Unlocking the door, she walked inside. Riley wasn’t in his customary place on the couch, not that that really surprised her. Their disagreement had only escalated after Jenny revealed what else she remembered the wise woman telling her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t much.

“So, I’d rise from the dead and it’s the end of the world,” Buffy remembered herself saying.

Jenny had nodded sadly, spreading her hands. “I wish I had more.”

“B-but maybe we can get more?” Willow asked, twisting her head to look from Buffy to her one-time teacher. “There’s the ‘Net and-and Giles can contact the Watchers’ Council, right?”

“Not to mention the Giles collection,” Xander said, sweeping his hand towards the loft of books, off-limits to customers.

“Maybe I can find out something,” Riley said, sounding a little grudging but willing to help. Buffy remembered that he’d been like that, helpful.

“Thanks,” Buffy had said and Giles had taken notes on what little Jenny remembered from her youth about the statements of an elder of the tribe. “I don’t suppose there’s someone else she might’ve told these things to.”

Jenny tapped her first two fingers against her mouth, thinking. “Maybe,” she said. “I have an uncle. Perhaps the elder woman spoke to him or to someone he knows.”

Buffy blinked, remembering Jenny’s uncle. She couldn’t recall a name but she did remember the words, painted in blood on a wall.

“Buffy? You okay?” Oz’s voice had broken through the memories, jolting her back to the present. “You look a little pale.”

“Yeah,” she’d said and gave him a weak smile. And then, she’d gathered up weapons to go on patrol only to have Riley argue with her about that, too.

He’d followed her into the back room where she worked out and asked “Are you in any shape to patrol?”

“It’s no big, Riley.” She hadn’t bothered turning to face him. “This isn’t something new to me, going out with the end of the world hanging over my head.” Buffy picked up a stake, tucking it into her jacket pocket.

“But this, on top of everything else. I’m just thinking you might feel a little off your game.”

She’d spun around then. “Game? Is that what you think this is, a game? Riley, this is my calling. It’s what I do. It’s who I am.” She thumped her hand on her chest. “I’m the Slayer. The Chosen One. Or doesn’t that mean anything here? It’s my duty to go out and make sure that no one dies tonight.”

Riley’s jaw flexed. “It means something,” he said, his voice low and angry. Buffy watched his big hands clench and unclench. “It doesn’t mean I don’t care for you and that I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“But I’m not her, Riley. I’m not the one you got engaged to,” Buffy said, suddenly tired of all this. God, she wished she was at home, her real, true home. Here, she felt like an intruder into these people’s lives. She didn’t even dare think about heaven. “I’m a different person than that girl.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Riley asked, his frustration making his voice quiver. “But you are her, even if you’re you. The way you move, the way you smell; the way you think and talk and the way you’d protect Dawn with your life.” He drifted closer to her and she watched him out of the corner of her eye. “The differences aren’t as great as you’d think, Buffy.”

“Maybe,” Buffy had said doubtfully, “but maybe those differences are all that matter.” She tried to brush past him but Riley had grabbed her arm, holding her in place.

“I’m going with you,” he said.

“No.”

“Buffy,” Riley said, almost pleading.

She’d pushed those emotions his voice brought back aside, shoved them deep within herself and managed to meet his eyes. Those sweet, worried blue eyes, so different than…no, don’t go there. “I need you to make sure Willow and Dawn get home safely,” she said.

“Oz can do that. Let me come with you.”

Buffy shook her head, hard enough that strands of her hair came loose from the knot she’d put it up in. “No. No way. Not tonight.”

Riley folded his arms and blocked her way. “Why not?” he challenged.

Buffy glanced up at him, the irritation building again, even if she didn’t want it to. “Riley, I don’t need this right now. I need to go on patrol, by myself. I need you to take Willow and Dawn home.”

“What, you want to go moon over the vampire who doesn’t exist?”

The words cut deeper than Buffy thought they might. She bit her lower lip hard and pushed past Riley. “Take Willow and Dawn home,” she said and she’d stormed out of the store, barely saying her goodbyes. Dawn and Spike were still outside, Dawn leaning against the pale vampire like he was a giant stuffed animal or something. Buffy managed to keep from snatching her sister off of Spike, but only just.

“Riley will take you home,” she said to Dawn.

“What about you?” Dawn asked, her eyes widening.

“I’m going on patrol.”

“Maybe I’d better go with you, pet,” Spike said.

“I’m fine, Spike,” Buffy snapped.

Spike grinned, a slow, lazy curl of his mouth. “Aw, Slayer, don’t be that way,” he said. “Let’s kiss and make up.”

Rage flared in her gut at the thought. “Never gonna happen, Spike,” Buffy managed to say.

“Spike, cut it out,” Dawn said, smacking his arm. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home with us?” she asked Buffy.

Buffy sighed. “Dawn, I really need to patrol. It’ll help, you know?”

“At least let Spike go with you,” Dawn said.

“No.” The word came out stronger than Buffy thought it would but she didn’t back down. “I’m going. You go home.” She’d pointed at Dawn and spun on her heel, taking off for the nearest cemetery.

Where, Buffy had to admit, she’d had some good hunting. And Spike didn’t follow her, for once. Neither did Riley. And now the living room was empty and all she really wanted to do was climb those stairs, take a shower, since she really did feel tired enough to fall asleep in the tub and go to bed.

Turning off the lights, Buffy made her way towards her room, stopping to peer inside Dawn’s room to make sure her sister was all right. Dawn lay in a knot of blankets, one of her pillows on the floor, the other squashed in her arms. Buffy smiled fondly. Dawn was the definition of restless sleeper, twisting all over the bed. Knowing better than to attempt to straighten out anything on the bed, Buffy stepped back out of her sister’s room and went to her own.

She flicked on the light as she entered, stopping in the doorway as she saw who waited there. Folding her arms, she tried to hold onto the reins of her temper. “What are you doing here, Spike?”

He smiled at her from where he lay on her bed; stuffed animals shoved aside, pillows fluffed up behind his head. “Louder, Slayer,” he said, “I’m sure little bit an’ Red could stand to be woken up. Not like it was easy for them to go to sleep now, was it.”

Buffy leaned against the doorjamb, scowling at the blond. “You didn’t answer me,” she said, managing to keep her voice low.

“Just wanted to know why you drove all the way to Los Angeles to talk to a seer when your answers are. Right. Here.” Spike hooked his thumb at his chest in emphasis.

“Yeah, well, you haven’t said anything useful before.” She tossed her head, coming the rest of the way into the room.

“Come on, love, don’t be that way,” Spike made a show of scooting over on the mattress, pulling down the covers. His eyes twinkled as he ran his tongue over his teeth. “We didn’t kiss and make up earlier.”

“I’ll tell you this once, Spike. Get out of my bed.”

He obeyed, moving in that blindingly fast way vampires could, suddenly pressing her back against her vanity, his mouth a scant inch above hers. The breath escaping him was tainted with cigarette smoke and the faint copper scent of blood. Buffy met his eyes, refusing to back down. “I’ll tell you, pet,” he said, his voice a low murmur, the words cool against her skin. “Your Angel? He doesn’t exist. Ain’t no seer in the world gonna change that.” Spike started to move a little closer.

Buffy straightened, her eyes widening, then narrowing. “How’d you find out about…?”

“Li’l sis, she likes to talk,” Spike said, obviously enjoying her discomfort. “Told me all about it. How Red’s spell brought back the wrong Slayer. Again with a vampire with a soul, even though there’s never been such a thing. A trip to a demon seer in Los Angeles.” Spike tsked, shaking his head. “I thought I was part of the gang, Slayer. But nobody told me nothing about this. Like it ain’t worth your time to keep me informed.”

Buffy shoved him aside, stalking to the center of her room, claiming it as her territory again. “It isn’t any of your business, Spike,” she said.

“But you’re still looking for him,” Spike said, lounging against her vanity, playing with some of the jewelry there. “Awfully persistent of you.” He shot her a look. “Almost as if you’re obsessed.” He smirked and shoved off from the piece of furniture, prowling closer; getting in her personal space. “Maybe you’ll have to look elsewhere for your kicks.” His breath stirred the fine hairs next to her ear.

Buffy swatted at him like he was a mosquito. Spike caught her wrist and planted a fleeting kiss on her knuckles before she ripped her hand free. “Don’t ever touch me like that again,” Buffy snarled.

“Temper,” Spike said. “I like that.” He cocked his head, the smarmy grin firmly in place. “How do you want me to touch you, Buffy?” He leaned in close. “How did your Angel touch you?”

She hissed, “Do you think I’d tell you?”

“I think you might want to.” Spike traced a cool finger along her cheek. “I think you crave it, Slayer. Like a drug.”

Buffy thrust him back. “Get away from me,” she said, her voice thick.

Spike laughed. “For now, pet.” He blew her a kiss and tossed himself out of her window. Buffy ran to the sill, peering over to see Spike roll off the roof and land on the ground. He waved up at her cheerily and sauntered off into the night.

Buffy pulled the window closed and dragged the curtains over it. Suddenly, she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep in her bed, not where Spike had been. With a shudder, she gathered up her pajamas and hurried out of the room to the bath. The idea of falling asleep in the tub sounded more attractive every second.

* * ** *

Samael rose from the bed he’d shared with Darla and Drusilla, leaving both women in undignified heaps amongst the covers. Absently scrubbing his hand along his stomach, he padded to the doorway of the bedroom, snaring a silk robe from the closet on his way. He opened the door, remembering what Holland Manners had said, that the suite was theirs, well, his, until the deed was completed. As eager as Darla had been earlier, Samael didn’t doubt that the child predicted in the prophecies wouldn’t be long in coming.

Penn sat in the main room of the suite, lounging on a leather sofa, his hand cradling a remote control for the television. The channels flicked by rapidly, a continuous stream of images. The tow-headed vampire glanced over his shoulder at his master, the corner of his mouth curling up. “So,” he said.

Samael fished in his jacket for a pack of cigarettes, tossing one in his mouth and lighting it. “So,” he said around the butt. “The end of the world, just waiting for you.” He twisted around in his seat, running his tongue over his lower lip. “How does it feel, Samael, to be considered that important?”

He inhaled deeply, feeling his dead lungs expand, trying to think why he smoked. His senses weren’t designed to taste the flavor of a cigarette, to savor the scent. In all actuality, he tried to avoid smokers. The taste of nicotine-flavored blood wasn’t one of his favorites, despite what experiences Spike had extolled over the years. “What do you think, Penn?” he asked.

The younger vampire laced his fingers behind his head. “I think you’re ready. I think you’re just about thinking this place, those vermin, have to go.” He lolled back, tilting his eyes to look at Samael from an up-side-down position. “And I’m just thrilled I get to walk at your side for the final battle.”

Samael let out the smoke in a long sigh, the smoke curling towards the ceiling. “Dru and I will be going out later,” he said. “There are a few things we need to do before we leave L.A.”

“Heading for the Hellmouth?” Penn seemed excited as a child promised a treat. “You are taking all of us?”

“Maybe not the first time out, no,” Samael said and at the blond’s petulant expression, raised an eyebrow. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“Just…Hellmouth? Slayer? She’s there, you know.”

Samael stubbed the cigarette out in a crystal ashtray. “Yes. I do.” With a wicked smile, he patted Penn’s cheek and headed back into the bedroom to collect his Seer.

* * *

The telephone rang, a loud jangling that dragged Rupert Giles from his rest. Jenny, rudely wakened from her sleep, rolled over in the bed, hugging a pillow over her head hiding from the alarm. With a sigh, Giles reached out and located the receiver, more from feel than anything else. It rang a second time before he could catch it and fumble it to his ear. A glance at the time snarled his gut. No one called after four a.m. except in the most dire emergencies.

“H-hello?” he asked the mouthpiece.

“Mr. Giles?”

“Wyndham-Price?” Giles winced at Jenny’s moan and lowered his voice. “What the devil are you about, calling at this time?”

“We tried the Magic Box, Mr. Giles,” Wesley said, his voice firm even in light of Giles’ irritated tones. “I wouldn’t have rang you at home unless—“

“Unless it’s an emergency.” Giles swung his legs out from under the bed, grabbing the telephone console and pacing with it away from the bed. He heard Jenny’s mumbled question about who was calling, what was going on behind him. “What is it?”

“Um, we’ve gotten a spot of bad news,” Wesley said.

“What kind?”

“I’m afraid to say that we have conclusive evidence that the end of the world is rapidly approaching.”

Giles glanced over his shoulder at Jenny. She pushed into a more upright position on the bed, her dark hair messily framing her face, her inquisitive eyes blinking awake. “You don’t say,” he said, walking back to the bed and sitting on it, tucking the receiver under his chin and setting down the console to grab his pad and pen. “What evidence have you received?”

“We have had a spy, if you will, working on the inside of a local law firm for some time,” Wesley said. “This law firm has been involved in some rather, er, ‘shady’, I believe is the vernacular, business.”

“Wesley,” a voice said from the background. “Talk plain English.”

“He don’t know how, Irish,” another voice said.

“Ahem,” Wesley’s tone became firmer. “At any rate, our spy has brought us information that the law firm is involved with demons who seek to bring about the end of the world.”

Jenny, her shoulder pressed into Giles’, gave him a look. She could obviously hear at least part of the conversation. He nodded. “Yes, Price, we also have heard a prediction about this apocalypse,” he said.

“It’s not exactly a prediction,” Wesley said, sounding nervous. “A-and Doyle has had a vision. It’s very important that he speak with the Slayer.”

“Buffy?” Giles shifted his grip around the receiver. “Whatever for?”

“He says it is quite important she come to Los Angeles. There is some information he needs to impart to her.”

“Have him give it now, I’ll make sure she gets it.”

There was a slight muffled argument in the background as Price relayed the information, then a new voice came on the line. “Giles, Doyle here. I can’t just give you the information. Sorry. I need to see the Slayer, I can’t come to her, she needs to be given this info in L.A. I know that means another trip for you and her, but I wouldn’t be calling if it weren’t important, you know what I mean?”

Giles was afraid he did know exactly what the Irishman meant. “All right. I’ll get in touch with Buffy later this morning. Should…” he hesitated briefly, then plowed on, “would it be necessary for all of us to come, this time?”

“All of you? Nah, just the Slayer. What?” Doyle asked someone not on the line. “Sorry, Giles. We’ve got to go. Just come up here, with the Slayer. Or send her with someone. This’s big, man. Don’t fail us now.”

With that rejoinder, the line went dead in Giles’ hand. He stared at the receiver, somewhat perplexed, then set it back into the cradle.

“Who was that?” Jenny asked, picking a strand of hair from her cheek and looping it behind her ear.

“That,” Giles said, “was Wyndham-Price. It seems that Doyle, one of his associates, needs to speak to Buffy in person.” He turned to her, cupping her face in his hands. “And that your wise woman’s prophesy may be correct. Price mentioned the end of the world.”

Jenny’s eyes widened. “Rupert,” she said, her mouth trembling slightly.

“No worries yet,” Giles reassured her, gathering her into his arms. “We’ve gotten through these things before.” He kissed her temple, rocking her gently. “How many times have we faced an apocalypse before?”

His wife relaxed slightly against his chest. “Do you want me to go with you and Buffy to Los Angeles?” She tilted her head to meet his eyes.

“If you’d like.”

Jenny sighed softly, pressing her lips against the hollow of his throat. “No, Buffy is a little nervous around me still. I’ll open the shop. You go.” She smiled to show that it didn’t bother her much. “She’s still getting her footing here, Rupert. Let’s try not to force too much more on her.”

“I wish it were that easy,” he said. He wasn’t sure how much more the girl could take. Glory had nearly done Buffy in before, his Slayer, and he didn’t doubt that this Buffy had experienced the same thing. Her mother had died, her sister had turned out to not be real, she’d been brought back from the dead (and he spared a brief thought on how Willow had managed to get that particular spell, too) only to find out it wasn’t her world she’d been brought to. Her own world was lost, according to her own soft, hesitant words, lost in a way that precluded her ever returning to it. He couldn’t even imagine the stress Buffy was under. The tiff with Riley last night had been minor compared to the hysterics he might have had, under the same circumstances.

“We’ll be there for her,” Jenny said, pulling Giles back down onto the bed with her, wrapping an arm around his chest, pillowing her head against his shoulder. Her voice was muzzy; already she drifted into sleep again.

“Yes,” Giles said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “We will.”

* * *

Lorne flicked a rag over the countertop of his bar. There was still a film of sawdust coating the air. He could see it in the rotating lights near the stage. Still, he couldn’t complain, not really. The workers had done an excellent job, getting the work done in what Doyle had assured him was record time. He’d given them a hefty tip out of his own cash, pleased with their work, once he’d gotten them to understand exactly what he wanted.

He felt good about it. With the wall Gunn’s truck had crashed into knocked down, the floor was a little bigger. Tomorrow, new chairs and tables would be delivered and once the bar was restocked, he’d be able to have the grand reopening. Lorne beamed to himself. He’d already gotten messages asking when he’d be ready for business again. People needed his services and he’d missed giving them. Besides, after dealing with that little Slayer he wanted nothing more than the normal person or demon wanting to be read.

Sighing heavily, Lorne did a full circle in the middle of the floor. It looked good. Not too caught in any particular time period, so nearly anyone would feel comfortable. The tabletops in the booth sparkled under the lights. The vinyl that he hated but put up with because it was easier to clean than anything else was clean. The lights all worked again. He allowed himself a congratulatory smile and sauntered over to the bar. A nightcap to top off the morning would be good then sleep, then he’d start making calls about restocking his liquids. Wouldn’t do to open without the top three sellers: beer, blood and brandy.

The sound caught his attention as he busied himself behind the counter. Raising his head, he blinked in surprise at the trio who appeared before him, all dressed in those sloppy hip-hop clothes. “I’m sorry, we’re not open for business,” he said, straightening up and fixing them with a gimlet eye.

The human hunched his shoulders, his lower lip shoving out into a pout. The other two were scraggly Geradan demons, their tentacles waving. Lorne was careful to avoid them. The tentacles were full of toxins that could cause bad reactions in nearly any other life form.

“We heard,” the human said, shoving his shaved head towards Lorne. “We thought we’d come early, avoid the rush.” His hands moved in some awkward way, the fingers stiff and thrusting into the air. Lorne wondered if the man might have some sort of affliction in his hands.

“I won’t be open until sometime later this week,” Lorne said, taking a step away from the gently waving tentacles of one of the Geradans.

“S’okay,” the human said, showing a mouthful of golden teeth. “We don’t wanna mess up your clientele.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lorne dodged the other set of tentacles. “Wait, is this a hold-up?”

“Yeah,” the human said, bobbing his head. “Sure is.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Smiling engagingly, Lorne gestured towards the stairs. “Get out.”

“Wanna say that again, man?”

“You really don’t want to piss me off,” Lorne assured the trio.

“Yeah?” The human rocked back, folding his arms and grinning confidently. “Who you gonna tell? Cops don’t care what happens to demons. Me and my friends know that.” He poked a finger at Lorne suddenly. “Give us money, we go away. Don’t give us money,” he waved his hands around, “we take out your bar. And we know you just got it fixed up real nice.”

“Listen, sweetie,” Lorne said, reaching over the counter and patting the young man’s cheek before the Geradans could move, “you want to try to take out my bar? Go ahead.” He noticed the two demons’ attention wavered from him, reminding him strangely of cows, just before his people would charge down on them. One of them made a strange, gurgling noise.

It almost covered up the soft tick-tack sound of someone coming down the stairs. Lorne and the boy turned towards the bar’s opening, watching as a pair of delicate feet laced into a pair of black high-heeled witch’s boots stepped down into the bar. A frothy red skirt hem appeared, followed by the willowy body of a brunette. Her languorous movements made her almost seem to be underwater. Pausing on the last step, she swept her gaze around the club. “How lovely,” she said, her voice nearly a purr.

Both Geradans gurgled now, shifting back and forth, their tentacles nearly twirling in their agitation. Their human companion stared at the woman in surprise, his jaw dangling. “Damn,” he said, “where you come from?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “Dark star, it’s lovely here. There are lights, like the stars and the moon and the planets, all flashing at me.” She turned back, her shoulders rolling, the motion sliding down her arms until her hands moved, almost mimicking the Geradans. “Oh,” she said, swaying, “it calls to me.” With each syllable of the sentence, she pounced farther into Caritas.

“Good morning,” Lorne said, recognizing her as a vampire. “Caritas isn’t open for business yet. If you’d like to come back, or if you could leave a number, I’d be happy to call you when I have an opening date—“

Her ice blue gaze caught his attention. “Not open?” she asked, the corners of her mouth turning down. “But they’re here.” One of her hands fluttered towards the Geradans and their companion.

One of the Geradans shifted around the human, the other starting to follow. He noticed and nodded. “We just leaving,” he said, giving her an apologetic grin. “Don’t want no trouble.”

“Isn’t that funny.”

The new voice boomed in the nearly empty club and Lorne dragged his eyes from the female vampire to the steps, seeing someone dropping lightly down them. Dressed in black, with a ruby shirt to match the female’s dress, the male smiled lazily as he entered Caritas. His large hands rubbed together lightly then parted, opening wide. “See, we don’t want any trouble, either.” He walked farther in, past the female, running his fingertips along the edge of the bar. “Nice work,” he said, then brushed the dust on his pants. “Still needs cleaning, though.”

The young man tried to make a break past the female vampire, who dodged in front of him, wagging a finger. “Ah, ah, ah,” she said, a secretive smile on her face. “The party’s just started.”

“Party?” The man shifted back to the Geradans. “This ain’t no party.”

“You don’t say?” the male vampire asked, tsking. “See, I heard that Caritas was the place to go if you wanted a party.” He leaned his elbows on the bar top, his dark eyes fixed on Lorne. “And we’re in a partying mood.”

“Then you’ll have to come back when we’re actually open for business,” Lorne said. “First drinks will be on the house.” He laid his hands on the bar opposite the vampire. “But it’s a one-time offer. You have to leave now.”

“But I like it here,” the vampire said. He smile was lazy, almost casual. When he snapped back and grabbed the Geradan who stalked him, it startled Lorne. The vampire threw the Geradan across the room, sending it crashing into a wall. The human and the second Geradan drew back in horror.

“Man, you cain’t do that!” the man said, his eyes wide.

“Oh,” the vampire said, the smile not changing, “I think I do that.” The female giggled charmingly, clapping her hands together, delighting in the violence. “You like, Dru?”

Dru? The name echoed in Lorne’s thoughts, bringing out memories freshly set aside. He stared at the male vampire, comparing him to another. “You’re him!”

The vampire slowly turned, eyebrows lifting. “Him?” he asked, his voice low and silky.

Lorne stabbed a finger at the male. “The Slayer’s vampire.” His thoughts churned on the human mythos and something clicked. “Dark star. Lucifer was the dark star. The fallen,” his red eyes widened, “angel.”

“You know,” the vampire said, walking slowly in front of the bar, tapping his fingertips together. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve heard that.” He cocked his head slightly, as if listening to voices only he heard. He reached the Geradan at the wall and watched as it attempted to struggle to its feet. He kicked it in its middle, the squelching sound as he drew back nauseating. “Huh,” he said. “I heard your type were deathly dangerous.” He grinned, making claws out of his fingers and leaning close. “Boo.” Laughing soundlessly, he turned as if to start back towards the bar, then spun around and hammered two more blows into the Geradan’s soft flesh.

It gurgled frantically, its tentacles waving in protest. It lashed out at the vampire, cutting his face. He didn’t bother to touch the wound; instead, he leaped into the Geradan’s mass, jumping up and down on it. The Geradan’s cries of pain reverberated. Lorne ran from behind the bar, grabbing the vampire and yanking him off of his prey.

“This is my bar,” he snapped, “you will not behave this way!”

The vampire’s laugh was chilling. “You do know these three were planning on robbing you, right?” he asked, brushing off Lorne’s hands. “You should thank Dru and me for coming to your rescue.” He went to the female, draping an arm around her waist. She tilted her head up and lapped at the cut.

Lorne straightened his jacket cuffs. “I know who you are,” he said. “The Slayer knows you, too.”

“So I’ve heard,” the vampire said, tossing back his long hair and pulling a sad face. “It’s a shame, really. I’ve managed to keep out of the Watchers’ sight for so long, then this Slayer starts spreading the rumors of my existence.” He disengaged from Dru. “She’ll have to pay for that.” He sauntered towards the human, who darted a glance at Lorne. “I mean, I’ve worked very hard at keeping my name from them and suddenly, everyone seems to know who I am.” He grabbed the young man, pulling his head back so his throat was exposed. The man struggled but the vampire kept a tight, sure grip on him. “And I don’t like it.” His face changed from the human to the vampire mien, his yellow eyes glaring. The young man squeaked in terror. “I don’t like it at all.”

Dru watched, smiling, as the vampire bit into the young man’s throat. Her own laugh chimed like silver bells. The Geradan next to her squished and shuddered, its tentacles twitching, torn between going to its own and the young man who the vampire suddenly released. The man fell to the floor and twitched, his eyes rolled up in his head.

Lorne folded his arms. “If you’re doing this to frighten me, Angel, it’s not working.”

“Oh, darn,” the vampire said. He wiped his mouth delicately. “I guess we’ll have to try something else, won’t we, Dru?”

She smiled, showing a set of pointed teeth. “Let’s play, my star,” she said. “Please.”

He grinned down at her, then up at Lorne. “What can I say. I can’t refuse her anything.” He struck out suddenly, his boot catching Lorne in the face and sending him tumbling over the bar top. “Well, baby, what do you fancy first? Calamari or lizard?”

* * *

There had to be easier ways to wake up, Xander thought as the telephone next to the bed jangled. Or he thought he had, though it may’ve been something Cordelia moaned just before throwing a pillow over her head. At any rate, he found the telephone by smacking the top of the bedside table until the receiver clattered to the floor. A voice floated up from down there and he contemplated leaving it but somehow, Willow’s concern penetrated the early morning fog in his brain.

“Mm,” Xander said, or groaned or grunted.

“Xander, it’s Willow.”

As if he couldn’t guess that. “Mmph?”

“Listen.” A pause. “Are you listening?”

“Mmhmm.” He turned over in the bed, discovering while he was occupied with the receiver that Cordelia had stolen not only his pillow but also most of the blanket.

“Well, Giles got a call from Wesley in L.A. and are you sure you’re listening?”

“L.” Xander yawned. “A.”

The letters brought Cordelia’s partially out from under one of the pillows and she fixed Xander with one of her sleepy brown eyes. He could tell she was rapidly waking and almost foisted the receiver off on her but he couldn’t see her hands anywhere.

“Xander?”

“‘S’me,” he said, waggling the receiver hopefully at Cordelia. Her eye squinted in irritation and he put the receiver back to his ear, stealing some of the covers back spitefully.

“Oh, good. I thought maybe I had Cordelia. Anyway, Xander, Giles got a call from Wesley and we’re going back to L.A. I thought,” here her voice took on that slightly wheedling tone and he just knew she was twisting the phone cord around her fingers. “Maybeyou’dliketocometoo?” Xander fended off Cordelia’s attack on the blanket. “Wha-huh?” he asked, feeling almost coherent enough for actual words.

“Go to L.A.? With Buffy? And me and Giles, too. You know, solidarity. The Slayerettes, backing their Slayer?”

“Dawn?” Xander asked, starting to rally towards wakefulness.

“She’s gonna hang out at the Magic Box with Jenny and Oz said he’d take her to the movies if she wanted to see something.”

“How long?”

Willow translated his shorthand with the ease of long friendship. “We don’t really know. Giles just was, you know, Giles and sounded all British and stiff. I think it might have to do with the apocalypse.”

“Bad.” Xander frowned, chewing absently on a cuticle. Giles sounding stiff never meant anything of the good. He rolled his eyes at Cordelia, curiosity pulling her out from under the pillows more surely than him stealing them back. “When?”

“Soon.”

“Uh.”

“What is it?” Cordelia finally gave in and asked.

For an answer, Xander handed her the receiver, slumping back into the bed. Yeah, solidarity for the Slayer. It made sense. And, hey, weekend, so he could actually go to Los Angeles and not miss any work. He rolled onto his side to watch Cordelia digest whatever Willow was telling her. She nodded and made the same affirmative type grunts he did, though hers were a lot more coherent, as far as he was concerned. Xander smacked his lips and let his eyes drift towards closure again.

Then it hit.

Los Angeles. Buffy. Apocalypse.

“Oh, god.” Xander flung himself out of the bed, yanking open the chest of drawers and pulling out a pair of jeans. “Oh, god.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes expressively as her fiancé darted into the bathroom. “Yeah, Willow,” she said, “he’s finally awake. I’ll get him to the Magic Box in a half hour.”

* * *

Kate shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She didn’t like the feel of the day. Something clung in the air, made it seem strange and shivery. She didn’t mention it to her friends even though she knew they’d pay attention. When she’d been on the force, she’d chalked up this sensation to cop’s intuition. Now she wasn’t sure what to call it.

It was late for her. She’d grown accustomed to the night shift, working with Wesley and his people. It wasn’t much different than being a cop. She still was on the side of the good guys even if the bad guys were much more than thugs and creeps but the monsters she’d had nightmares about since she was a little kid. But if she did her job right, the monsters wouldn’t scare anyone else any more. And that was a plus.

“Hey, Kate,” Gunn said, appearing like some sort of dark-skinned apparition, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. “Brought you this.”

“Thanks.” She accepted the mug and tasted it. The faint bitter aftertaste of caffeine stung her throat and she sighed. “Better than mother’s milk.”

Gunn laughed and leaned against the wall next to her, his own cup in hand. “So, what do you think about our boy’s end of the world threats?” He swung his gaze towards where Lindsey sat with Wesley and Fred, who both took notes on whatever the now ex-attorney told them.

Kate moistened her lips, her pale eyes narrowing as she studied the long-haired man. “I don’t trust him but you already know that.”

“Don’t really know that any of us do,” Gunn said almost cheerfully. “I’m sure as hell not letting him be alone with any of us.”

“Not a bad idea.” Kate took another sip of the coffee, rolling it in her mouth. “What about the Slayer? What did Doyle say about her?”

Gunn shrugged eloquently. “Don’t know. He didn’t want to talk about it to me.” Though his tone was light, Kate could tell her companion was disappointed. “But if his vision matches up with what our cowboy has to say, I’d say we got problems.”

“Mm.” Kate straightened, catching sight of a group of people making their way through the hotel courtyard. “Head’s up,” she said, raising her voice to alert the others. “We’ve got company.”

Lindsey ducked into Wesley’s office, closing the door behind him as the others drew together, presenting a united front towards whomever might dare to approach the hotel lobby. Kate relaxed slightly, recognizing three of them from before. “Ease up,” she said, not taking her eyes off of them. “It’s the Slayer.”

“Fred, if you would please find Doyle,” Wesley said and Fred responded in the affirmative. Kate could hear the other woman scuttle off deeper into the bowels of the hotel to locate Doyle. Gunn set aside his coffee and folded his arms, in that instant changing from the affable young man to a deadly street fighter. Kate pulled on her cop persona, her face settling into the familiar stern lines and her stance firming. Neither of them would let their friends get hurt willingly and while Wesley trusted the Slayer, they didn’t trust too many people outside of their little group.

The doors swung open and the older British man walked through, the tiny blonde glancing automatically around the room as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting. Kate approved. The girl didn’t miss a trick, even taking a quick step so she was ahead of the others in her group even if they didn’t realize it. “Hey,” she said, catching sight of Gunn and Kate, “I see you’re waiting for me.”

“Actually, that would be Irish,” Gunn said, “but, yeah, we’re standing guard.”

A corner of the girl’s mouth quirked. “Better you than me,” she said and continued into the lobby, the others following her. The boy, for he was that, no matter what his age, goggled up at the ceiling, letting out a low whistle. The redheaded girl, who’d come the last time, walked casually with the older man. His attention focused on the Slayer, he gave only the barest of sideways glances at Kate and Gunn. Kate bit back an expression of surprise. By that sharp gaze, she recognized a fellow warrior, even if the man was older. He would no more allow this girl to go into a situation unprepared than she would allow Wolfram and Hart through the doors of the Hyperion without a challenge. Gathering up her coffee, Kate trailed behind the quartet like a reluctant puppy. There was more to the little blonde than met the eye.

* * *

Holland Manners clicked off the video and spun in his chair to face Lilah Morgan. “It didn’t take very long for him to try our Darla, did it?” he asked, a beatific smile spreading across his face.

Lilah folded her arms, her cool face revealing no emotion. “Did you expect it would, Holland? Darla did tell us that he would be more than willing.” She personally had been surprised that Darla would accept the punishment doled out on her body before the coupling but somehow, it made sense on an animalistic level. The male had to exert his dominance over the pack that he’d been separated from. Darla had taken control. He had to wrest it back from her. Lilah was only happy to think that she would never be left alone in the same room as the male vampire. Kinky sex was best experienced from this side of the whip as far as she was concerned.

Holland nodded, a smile creasing his face. “I just didn’t realize he’d be so eager.” He clapped his hands together. “No matter.” He swept the office with his gaze, turning an engaging grin towards the woman. “Tell me, where is Lindsey this morning?”

Her left shoulder lifted in an almost imperceptible shrug. “I’ve paged him and he hasn’t answered,” she said. “I’ve also contacted his secretary and Jennifer said he hasn’t arrived yet.” Folding her hands together, Lilah said, “My informants did say that he left his apartment last night and he hasn’t returned.”

An eyebrow raised and Holland pulled the corners of his mouth down in surprise. “Is that so? Do we have any idea where he went?” His fingers tapped lightly on the desktop.

“Not yet. I do have people looking into it, Holland,” Lilah said. She did, too. She wanted to know where Lindsey was. She needed him, if nothing else as a scapegoat should something go wrong.

“All right. As soon as you hear something, let me know.” Holland turned his attention back towards the television screen, an obvious dismissal.

Lilah nodded and strode from the office, closing the door behind her; happy she wasn’t asked to view the video a second time. There was something about that male vampire that could get under her skin and she didn’t want Holland to realize it. He was not the most handsome man she’d ever seen but there was something raw and powerful about him, the predator in him gleaming off his skin like an incandescent glow. She shuddered and pressed her thighs together. No, she decided, she didn’t ever want to be left in a room alone with him. Not unless she could be sure she had the upper hand.

* * *

“I can’t believe this,” Xander said.

Doyle pursed his lips. The blighter had been saying that since they got into the car to go to Caritas. It was probably the tenth repeat. And he thought Fred got repetitive at times. She was nothing compared to this boy.

“Xander,” the redhead said.

“What, you don’t think it’s weird?” Xander asked. “A demon who listens to people sing karaoke and then tells their future?”

“Or their pasts,” Buffy said, her pretty eyes haunted by more than ghosts. Doyle squeezed her shoulder bracingly, wishing he could take that pain away. He knew. He knew that the Slayer’d been dragged from Heaven. Lorne told him what the Slayer’d lost. “Don’t you be worrying,” he said.

Her smile was wry. “You can’t even tell me what your vision means,” she said.

Doyle bobbed his head in agreement. “Which is why we go see Lorne. Get him to decipher this.”

Giles flicked his eyes at the mirror. “I-I beg your pardon, Doyle, but when we spoke earlier, you did say that you had a vision.”

“Yeah, do we get a preview of the apocalypse, or what?” Xander asked.

Doyle sighed. “It’s hard,” he admitted, “really hard to explain. Kinda like there’s variables.” He caught Willow’s nod of encouragement or understanding, he wasn’t quite sure which. “See, what I saw, it doesn’t make sense even to me. I mean I saw bad things, a whole lotta bad things.” He shuddered, remembering some of the things he’d seen in the vision; dragons wheeling in a dead crimson sky, bodies littering the ground.

“What can you tell us?” Buffy’s voice was soft but strong, honey dripping along a steel rod.

“Uh, not much.” He didn’t want to tell her about the vision of her and her friends, dead and dying. “Besides,” Doyle made his voice firm, “Lorne’s so good at the interpretation gig, you know? Best have him take a look-see and do the hard job of figuring it out.”

“Huh.” Xander subsided at that thought, absently drumming his fingers on his knee. Doyle glanced at him, then at the redhead seated between them. The Slayer sat in the front with her Watcher. He wasn’t sure why Xander’d been invited along on the trip but here he was. He wondered exactly what that Cordelia girl that Wesley still got moony over once in a while saw in the boy. Doyle thought he was daft.

“Oh, here, Giles. Turn here. And it’s the next block up.”

“Yes, I recognize it,” the Brit said, though he sounded pleasant rather than pissed about it. He parked the car and they climbed out, heading for the doorway to Caritas.

“Let me get that, princess,” Doyle said, grabbing the handle on the door and tugging. It swung open gently and he wondered that Lorne had remembered, finally, to oil the hinges so they didn’t squeak. The Slayer hesitated, one hand on the doorframe, her eyes widening. Doyle caught the scent rising up the stairs, a silent welcome of pain. “Lorne!” He tried to push past the girl but she caught his arm, holding him back.

“I go first,” she said, her voice low, pulling a stake from a purse that looked too small to carry anything that dangerous. She glanced at the others. “Stay here.”

“What is it, Buffy?” the redhead asked, her expressive face falling into a concerned frown.

Her attention already focused elsewhere, Buffy said, “Blood. I can smell blood.”

“A-are you sure it’s safe?” Giles shoved at his glasses. “We’ll follow.”

“No.” She whirled on him, the predator in her so evident to Doyle that he was amazed the others didn’t fall back upon seeing it. “Stay here. I can’t protect you down there.” And saying that, she disappeared into the black hole that was the stairwell to Caritas.

“We should go after her,” Xander said, starting for the door.

Doyle grabbed him. “Hold on, boyo. Your Slayer said wait. We’re waiting.”

“But we can help,” Willow said, dancing anxiously from one foot to another.

“Buffy is in a rather trying time right now,” Giles began then sighed, his shoulders drooping, suddenly showing his age. “But she is right. We will wait here until she calls.”

“But,” the redhead protested.

“Willow, quiet, otherwise we won’t hear if Buffy calls for our assistance.”

Doyle glanced from one to the other, the bouncing in place of Willow, her hands wringing together, the studied nonchalance of Xander, who kept his gaze firmly on the doorway and Giles polishing his glasses with a handkerchief retrieved from a pocket. He studied the lenses carefully before settling the glasses back on his face and tucking the handkerchief back in his pocket. He pulled out the keys to his car and calmly unlocked the boot, revealing a stash of weapons that would’ve made Gunn drool. He took up a wicked double-recurve bow and a quiver to match while the redhead took a baseball bat and the boy a small Roman sword, a pair of stakes tucked into the deep pockets of his painter pants. “Mr. Doyle?” Giles asked, gesturing towards the trunk, still containing weapons, “You might want something.”

“Thanks,” Doyle said, grabbing a nice hand axe from the collection.

Giles closed the lid and nodded. “Right, then. Willow, to the rear. Xander, you and Doyle protect Willow. I’ll go down the stairs first.”

They started forward as a unit, Doyle revising his thinking about the trio, especially the boy. Giles pulled open the door and stepped inside, gesturing at the others to follow but not too closely. He made his way down the stairs, arrow on string and bow slightly pressed. Creeping carefully to the opening that led into the club, he hesitated.

The Slayer appeared, snatching the bow out of Giles’ hands. “I thought I told you to wait on the street,” she snapped.

“We waited for two minutes,” Giles said, “and you didn’t return. We thought you might need some assistance.”

She glared at him for what seemed like a long time, then her expression relaxed into a fond, though tired smile. “All right,” she said, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She stepped aside, laying the bow and arrow on the bar top, standing out of the way of their view.

“Oh, god,” Xander said, choking on the words. Willow nearly dropped the baseball bat but somehow managed to keep hold of it. Doyle could hear her frantic swallows as she tried to keep from vomiting. Giles moved across the room, stooping next to the black boy on the floor.

He touched the boy’s throat, trying to find a pulse. His fingers came back smeared with blood. “Dead,” Giles said softly. He glanced around the room, his eyes lighting on the remains of a demon and he carefully made his way to it. “This is bad.”

Xander, his left wrist pressed close to his mouth, said, “Bad? Bad? Giles, oh master of the understatement, this is a slaughter. The kid, the Cthulu reject, hey, that isn’t your buddy, is it?” He turned to Doyle, compassion shining in his eyes.

“No,” Doyle said, shaking his head. “They’re Geradans. Careful, Giles.” The Watcher knelt next to the demon on the floor. “Their tentacles are toxic.”

“Yes,” Giles said, “and something tore them off.” He swept a hand beyond the body. “Something with incredible strength.”

“And a real kick for violence,” Buffy said, her voice sounding almost normal. She hooked a finger beyond the bar. “There’s another one of those Geranimals back behind the counter.” She shook her head as Xander moved closer, as if to take a peek. “You don’t want to see, trust me.”

“So who did this?” Willow asked, the words squeaky.

“And where’s Lorne?” Doyle asked, spinning to survey the club. He couldn’t spot his friend anywhere and a sick feeling flooding his stomach.

Her hands clasping together, Buffy said, “I didn’t see him.”

Doyle ignored her, running towards the back rooms where Lorne lived. The Slayer followed him with a shout but he ducked through the doorway and careened off the narrow walls as he made his way to a series of doors. “Lorne!” he shouted, Buffy pounding behind him. Flinging open the first door, Doyle took in the storeroom where nothing seemed to be harmed. Buffy caught his shoulder and flung him back into the wall before he could go any farther.

“Don’t do that,” she said, furious. “I can’t protect you if you run away like that.”

“Yeah, an’ he could be hurt,” Doyle snapped, pushing off her restraining hands. “I’m not one of your gang, Slayer. You don’t order me around.”

Her eyes narrowed but she nodded once curtly, stepping back to let him open the next door. It was dark inside and musty, obviously long unused. Doyle checked it out anyway but the Slayer was already moving to the final door and turning the knob. He caught up to her as she pushed it open, letting it swing into a room that looked like a flashback to the nineteen-seventies, disco ball swinging from the ceiling, avocado green, harvest gold and pale orange wall paper, beads cordoning off one part of the room from another. Doyle gulped, fighting with his desire to heave out his insides.

Someone had taken great delight in trashing the room. Fluff from the pillows still floated gently in the air. A strange stain of copper marred the effect of the flocked wallpaper and the table underneath it was standing on edge.

“He fought back,” Buffy said quietly, entering the room.

Doyle trailed after her, fighting to control himself. The sight made him want the added protection of his demon form.

Lorne hung in bits on the walls. His torso was flung across the bed, his head facing the mirror, so the reflection showed wide eyes, an astonished expression, a mouth drooping open.

“Buff? Buffy?” Xander’s voice carried down the hall and he skidded to a stop inside the room. “Oh, man,” he said softly. He huddled next to the doorway, shooting glances into the room. “What happened?”

“My friend got murdered,” Doyle snarled, taking three giant steps back and clutching the front of Xander’s shirt. “He’s dead.”

“Doyle.” The Slayer was suddenly next to him, her hand on his wrist. He could feel the pressure on the bones and knew she’d break his arm if he didn’t release her friend. With a shake of his head, Doyle moved away from the kid, letting go. The Slayer loosened her grip on him, giving him an awkward pat on the arm. “I’m sorry, Doyle,” she said, sounding as if she meant it. “I liked Lorne, too.”

He jerked free, stomping to the middle of the room. “If they’d just cut off his head,” he said softly. “Just his head, he’d’ve survived this.”

Xander cleared his throat behind them. “Uh, I really don’t want to interrupt or anything,” he said, “but doesn’t it look like that arm is pointing at something?”

Buffy and Doyle turned to the limb, tacked to the wall. It was hung above a personal karaoke machine, the fingers curled back in except for the index finger, poised above the “on” button. Exchanging a look with Doyle, Buffy picked her way across the room carefully, avoiding the mess on the floor. Frowning, she turned the machine on.

The sound screeched through the speakers. Doyle clapped his hands to his ears at the electronic wail that bounced off the walls before Buffy managed to find the volume control. The music thumped heavily, compulsively, and a man’s voice sang as if on a continuous loop, “Do you wanna die? Do you wanna die? Do you wanna die?”

Doyle thought Buffy’s eyes would fall out of their sockets, they were so big. She slammed her fist against the machine, cutting off the next line in a squeal. She pushed a button to open the disc player and snatched the CD from its holder. Visibly trying to control herself, she turned back to Xander, the skin around her lips paling to white. “Slayer,” Doyle asked, “are you okay?”

She shook her head once, nearly violently. “I-I just want to get out of here.” Her back stiffened. “There’s no one else here. I don’t know if you call the cops or what, in L.A.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Doyle said soothingly, hoping the little thing wouldn’t fly to pieces in front of him. “Why don’t you and your mate go on out of here go wait outside?” He fixed Xander with a mad blue gaze. “It’s a good idea.”

“Yeah, Buff, why don’t we mosey on out of here?” Xander offered her an arm to shelter under and she took it, allowing the boy to lead her out of the room and down the hall. Doyle could hear Xander’s soft words, though he couldn’t catch what he actually said. Not that it mattered.

Puffing out a long, slow breath, Doyle glanced around the room one last time. He’d have his friends come back to do the honors for Lorne. Right now, he had to get the Slayer to someone else who might be able to explain the vision. Slowly, he left the room and his dead friend, consoling himself with the thought that others might die unless he hurried.

***The view was incredible, a panoramic scene overlooking the city of Los Angeles. Sahjhan stood with his hands behind his back, staring out at it, the smog that blanketed the tops of the tallest buildings, the glints of sunlight straining to touch the earth below. He wondered idly if it were true, about a penny being dropped off the Empire State Building gaining enough speed in its descent to kill a human.

He wondered what that might do to him.

Perhaps it was a good thing they were so far from the capital of the United States.

Sighing softly, he studied the city before him. The sparkles of metal far below, vehicles loaded with passengers intent on going somewhere important only to them, offices full of humans, offering up the particular cruelty only they could to each other. Oh, surely there were some good ones but most were driven by greed or hatred or vengeance. Take Holtz. Willing to be put in cold storage for the hatred he had for a certain pair of vampires. He thought he was the player. Sahjhan paced in front of the window, surveying the scene. Holtz was a fool. They were all of them fools. Even this man who walked through the doorway to the room now, trailed as always by that insipid female, was a fool.

Still, dealing with fools led to good business, as long as they realized you held their reins.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Manners, Ms. Morgan,” he said. “I’m so glad you could make time to see me.”

“We always make time for our clients, Mr. Sahjhan,” Manners said, smiling that jovial smile, the one that said one thing and meant something entirely different. “It’s part of the package deal with Wolfram and Hart.” He almost wagged his finger playfully at Sahjhan. “But you should know that.”

He allowed himself a smile. “Oh, I do, Mr. Manners.” He sat down and indicated that they should as well. They both took a seat across the table from him. “Isn’t Mr. McDonald coming as well? I was looking forward to speaking with him.”

The woman shifted slightly in her seat, saying, “Lindsey was unavoidably detained, Mr. Sahjhan.”

With a nod, Sahjhan said, “Too bad. But I suppose that’s life.” Tapping his palms on the tabletop, he went on. “And our little experiment? How is that going?”

“We can safely say that the ball has been set in motion, Mr. Sahjahn,” Manners said. “A pair of vampires arrived, as you said they would. It shouldn’t be long before the child is conceived.”

“They’re in the suite, then?” Sahjahn was interested.

“Yes. The pair went out to run an errand, they said, but they have returned.” Manners’ smile was extravagant. Sahjhan wondered how he felt, playing a pimp to a pair of bloodsuckers and decided it really didn’t matter, in the grand scheme of things.

“And the spells on the suite?” he asked.

“Still active. Our staff makes sure they’re refreshed every day, per your requirements,” Morgan said, leaning her elbows on the table and entwining her fingers.

“Then our results are guaranteed.” Sahjhan almost let out a smile at that idea. Once the vampires bred, the whelp would start growing at a rate enhanced by the magic wrapped around the suite. The female vampire wouldn’t survive the pregnancy, not as quickly as the child would be brought to term, but that didn’t matter. The child would be born; there would be one less vampire to deal with. Not a bad thing, he thought to himself.

Manners nodded, that beatific grin still firmly in place on his mouth. “They are, Mr. Sahjahn,” he said.

He rose to his feet then, both humans following his lead. “Excellent. Exactly what I wanted to hear, Mr. Manners.” He nodded at them both in farewell and waved off Manners. “I’ll show myself out, thanks.”

The door closed behind him and Lilah sucked her upper lip between her teeth, the only sign that she was perturbed. Dealing with one of the senior partners always made her feel that way.

* * *

Buffy chewed on her lower lip, staring at the CD in her hand. The top side had a woman’s face in profile, the hole obscuring a portion of the face and three round silver dots taking over parts of the disc. A black cog encircled all of it. She could make out green letters on the outer rim but the cog piece made it nearly impossible to read them. She flipped the disc in her hands, glaring down at it. It wasn’t one she recognized at all.

Looking up, she watched without really paying attention as Doyle told his friends what had happened to Lorne. Wesley sucked in his cheeks, making them seem almost as hollow as Spike’s. Fred shook her head, her eyes full of anguish. The others seemed equally as shocked at the destruction of Caritas and its host.

Willow sidled up to Buffy, her head cocked to one side. “Whatcha got there?” she asked, feigning some interest.

Buffy handed her the disc. “Do you recognize this? I mean, I know it’s a CD, Will. I want to know one of the songs on here.”

“I don’t know,” Willow said, “but maybe we can try playing it on the computer.”

She shook her head slightly, folding her arms. “I think it’s damaged,” she said, “it only played a part of a song when I,” she dropped her head, studying the floor beneath her feet. “You know.”

Willow sighed softly, not quite discouraged. “There isn’t a name on here,” she said. She twisted the disc in her hands, squinting slightly and tucking back a loose strand of hair in an attempt to see the words better. “Nope.” Shrugging, Willow glanced towards the computer. “It doesn’t mean I can’t figure it out, though.”

Buffy gave her a smile, laying a hand against Willow’s shoulder. “If anyone can do it, you can, Will.”

Beaming, the redhead nodded. “Let me at ‘em.” Slipping past Wesley’s group, she dropped lightly into a chair in front of the computer system and inserted the CD. “Just a matter of letting the computer do the work for us,” she said, fiddling with the ends of her hair. Buffy leaned over her shoulder, watching as a screen came up, showing her first the words “Unknown Artist” then a few seconds later, “Toadies” and “Mexican Hairless”. Willow tapped a finger on the screen. “The name of the disc is ‘Rubberneck’,” she said.

“Anyway to figure out what song I was listening to?” Buffy studied the titles listed for the songs. None of them sounded at all like anything that might have a chorus of “Do you wanna die?”

Willow nodded. “We can look up the album on the ‘net and find the lyrics. It won’t take long.” She slid the mouse up to minimize the window and brought up the connection to the Internet. Buffy realized as her friend worked that the sound of the Doyle’s voice had died down and she glanced behind her to see Fred and a guy she didn’t recognize looking at her with equally curious expressions on their faces.

“Got a problem?” she asked.

“No,” the man said, adjusting the cuffs of his flannel shirt as if it were a silk jacket, “just wondering what you’re doing.”

“Whoever trashed your friend’s place and killed those people may have left a clue behind,” Willow said, not taking her eyes from the screen. “Aha! Got it. The lyrics to The Toadies.”

“The Toadies?”

“Rock group, I think,” Buffy said.

“I say, what are you doing?” Wesley poked over, his nose almost twitching.

“Looking for clues,” Willow said, pulling up another set of lyrics. She skimmed it quickly, her eyes flicking down the column, looking for the key words. “Huh. Who are you, Velma?” the flannel-shirted guy asked.

“Nope,” Buffy said, dropping her hand on Willow’s shoulder. “Better. Velma wasn’t a computer whiz like our Will, here.”

“Yeah,” Xander chimed in. He eyed up flannel shirt. “Hey, who are you?”

The man drew himself up, his height not much more impressive than Xander’s as far as Buffy was concerned. “Lindsey McDonald,” he said. “And you?”

“Xander Harris. You weren’t around earlier.”

“Oh, I was here.”

“Hiding?” Buffy asked, turning around and leaning her hips against the desktop, folding her arms.

“Occupational hazard,” Lindsey said, “when you aren’t sure who’s walking in the door.”

“Does that mean someone’s looking for you?” This was a little interesting.

“You don’t want to know who might be looking for me,” Lindsey said, a smile curling the corner of his mouth, his eyes daring her to ask.

“You’d be surprised.” Buffy glanced at Willow, who brought up two more sets of lyrics while they were bantering.

“Yeah, I hear you’re the Slayer,” Lindsey said. “My ex-bosses aren’t real happy you came back to life.”

“Hey!” Willow spun in the chair, causing Buffy to leap out of the way to avoid being knocked down by her friend’s knees. “We’re happy to have Buffy back. We missed her.”

Lindsey held up his hands placatingly, his eyebrows arching up into his longish hair. “Hey, I don’t have a problem with it, Red. Just that it throws a monkey wrench into their plans. And what’s bad for them is good for us.”

Willow, with a scowl, turned back to her computer. Buffy smoothed her hair back out of her face. “So, who are these ex-bosses of yours? How ex are they?”

“That’s just it,” Gunn said, breaking into the conversation easily. “See, our cowboy here,” he ignored the slanted look Lindsey gave him, “was doing undercover work for us at Wolfram and Hart. Set it up to look like he’d double-crossed us.”

“Wolfram and Hart,” Giles said, musingly. “Why does that sound vaguely familiar?”

“They represent demons,” Fred said cheerily. “The bad ones.”

“They’ve been a thorn in our sides and vice versa, since we opened up business in Los Angeles,” Wesley said.

“Yeah.” Lindsey nodded. “Shady characters all of ‘em. Even me,” he admitted. “Before I saw the light and got out while the getting was good.” His expression clouded. “Lorne convinced me to be these guys’ eyes and ears in the firm.” He straightened his shoulders, almost as if he planned to go into battle. “I got a lot of dirt.”

“You know about the apocalypse?” Xander asked eagerly.

“I know about the vampires that got called in to do some dirty work for the senior partners,” Lindsey said.

“Ooh, got it, Buffy!” Willow flashed an excited grin up at her friend. “The title of the song is ‘Possum Kingdom’.” She frowned then shrugged. “It’s, uh, weird.”

“Weird?” Buffy leaned over so she could read the lyrics, her brow furrowing as she read them. “Will, can you print these up?”

“Sure,” Willow said.

“What’s it say?” Xander craned his head, trying to get a glimpse of the words. “Anything good?”

“Not exactly,” Buffy said, her voice trailing off. She waited as Willow printed up the lyrics and handed them out, sitting back on the corner of the desk and staring at them.

“I don’t get it,” Xander said, after looking over the words with Fred. She shook her head as well. “What is this? A stalker?”

“A warning,” Giles said softly, meeting Buffy’s eyes.

“Worse,” she said, setting her own copy of the lyrics aside. “I think it’s a challenge.”

“Huh, that’s odd,” Lindsey said, glancing up from the page.

“What?” Doyle asked, handing off his own copy of the lyrics to Kate, who scowled reading them.

“These lyrics. I mean, creepy, yeah, but it reminds me of that vampire and his girlfriend who showed up at Wolfram and Hart. They made me decide to get the hell out of Dodge.” He rattled the paper.

“And? Did this pair have any names?” Xander asked.

Lindsey nodded. “The female was little and dark, thin and crazy.”

“I know that one.” Buffy raised her hand, a self-mocking smile on her face. “That’s gotta be Drusilla.”

Lindsey cocked a finger at her as if he were a game show host giving her a point. “See if you can get this one, then,” he said. “Taller guy, dark eyes, long dark hair, more than a little on the sadistic side?”

Buffy shook her head, glancing at her friends who replied in the negative as well. “Dunno.”

“Damn, and I thought you were good.”

“Just tell us, man, stop playing twenty questions,” Giles snapped.

“Sure thing,” Lindsey said. “But he said he wasn’t giving his real name. And I’ll just bet he didn’t.”

“What name did he give?” Giles sounded like he was losing what little patience he had left.

“He told us to call him ‘Angel.’”

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