¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

There were nights when the wind was so cold

That my body froze in bed if I just listened to it

Right outside the window

There were days when the sun was so cruel

That all the tears turned to dust and I just knew

My eyes were drying up forever

Then I banished every memory you and I had ever made

But when you touch me like this

And when you hold me like that

I just have to admit that it’s all coming back to me

When I touch you like this

And I hold you like that

It’s so hard to believe but it’s all coming back to me now

There were moments of gold

And there were flashes of light

There were things I’d never do again

But then they always seemed right

There were nights of endless pleasure

It was more than any laws allow

If I kiss you like this

And if you whisper like that

It was lost long ago

But it’s all coming back to me

If you want me like this

And if you need me like that

It’s so hard to resist

And it’s all coming back to me

When you see me like this

And when I see you like that

Then we see what we want to see

All coming back to me

The flesh and the fantasy

All coming back to me

I can barely recall

But it’s all coming back to me now

If you forgive me all this

If I forgive you all that

We forgive and forget

And it’s all coming back to me now

-It’s All Coming Back to Me, Celine Dion-

¤

Lesson the Thirty-Fifth

¤

Cordelia massaged her neck as she closed the door to the room which held a fairly fuming vampiress. Willow had said she’d guard the former seer, encouraging the vampire and mortal to get a spot of well-deserved sleep. Angel looked up as Cordelia walked further into the room, not sure why she had chosen to join him instead of going to her own bedroom. She looked tired. No surprise.

He thought of their unofficial first date. Less than a week ago. He had thought that this was finally it; he would be able to approach her with the questions which had been lingering on his mind ever since the night she stepped back into his life. He had remembered the night she had been the one to inform him that Buffy was alive again, and he hadn’t really compared the emotions running through his chest then as apposed to five months ago, because he had treasured them in equal measure. He had fallen in love with Buffy against his better judgment. He had fallen in love with Cordelia against all odds. He had never thought he would allow himself to love another mortal, not after he had made the decision that it lead nowhere and that whomever he would direct his emotions at deserved better. But still it had been all too easy, hadn’t it? Love proved, as always, that one thing out of any boundary of control.

Of course their unofficial first date had resulted in an interrupted dinner thanks to three feasting vampires – he truly loathed his kin, he had concluded – and it hadn’t gotten better when Fred had called and said that she needed help with the last preparations before she and Gunn left for Sydney. Cordelia had merely smiled when they headed to Wolfram and Hart, and he had wished he knew what she was thinking.

He had almost kissed her goodnight, but backed off at the last moment. The tent they had shared at the Dandy-camp had felt more filled with friendship than anything else, though he stole as many glances her way as he could. It made him feel insecure and silly. He was over two-hundred years old. He should be able to do this, and he should be able to read her.

But he couldn’t.

Now he smiled at her where he sat on the bed. She sat down on the other side with a smile in return.

“You can take the bed, if...” he began, but she shook her head as she stretched out.

“Don’t be stupid, it’s your room! I just don’t wanna be alone,” she said. “Now, lie down, get some rest.”

He tentatively did as she instructed, turning on his side and observing her face for a while. She seemed to have fallen asleep and he reached out a hand and let his fingers touch her cheek. She moved on her side, her hand going to his as he was about to pull it away, and then she opened her eyes. She smiled a little and he mirrored it as his hand relaxed in her grip. Then she closed her eyes again and he closed his as well.

¤¤¤

“This won’t help your friends.”

Willow ignored the vampiress, concentrating on the cards she had before her on the table. She hated when her head couldn’t figure it out, she thought she’d done it enough times for her to be able to read them. But no – Patience was making her as impatient as usual.

“You won’t save them.”

“Shush!” the Wicca muttered with a glance at the other. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

“What will killing me accomplish? You will never find the page.”

“I’ll read a curse over your ashes and force it to lead us to it,” Willow replied with a shrug, looking at the card she had just picked up and sighing when it proved to be a king.

“You can’t do that,” Tilla said, though she sounded uncertain and Willow smiled.

“It’s actually very simple. But, it only works if you’ve died from sun-exposure. That’s why we’re waiting,” she replied, fastening her gaze in the vampiress’. “That’s why you have to die,” she added coldly and Tilla cocked an eyebrow.

“I’m already dead,” she stated and Willow’s smile widened just a little.

“Yes, but after you’ve burned you won’t exactly be desiring people’s necks anymore, now will you?”

“You don’t know what I am,” Tilla scoffed. “You will never know.”

“I knew there was a reason for this empty feeling inside,” the Wicca murmured ironically, glaring at the new card in her hand and throwing it on the table as she had lost the game.

She leaned back and looked at the being to her left.

“What about your sister?” the redhead inquired and Tilla sighed.

“She is very insignificant in the big scheme of things,” she replied. “I know she understands.”

Willow frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“She wants me to be happy,” Tilla answered.

“And you’re happy? As that?” Willow asked skeptically and Tilla laughed.

“Says the witch that has befriended one of the cruelest vampires of the seventeenth century,” she shook her head. “You’re pretty funny. Besides... you’ve never wondered what it’s like? To change?”

“I changed once,” Willow said, her face growing solemn. “I never want to do that again.”

“Yeah, I can sense that evil just beneath the surface,” Tilla nodded. “Maybe that’s what attracts me to you... Or, I guess it might be your scent... You smell like a strawberry field in the rays of the rising sun,” she murmured and for a moment Willow’s gaze was caught in hers before she turned back to the cards and started to gather them up. “You’ve killed,” Tilla nearly whispered. “I can sense it. A part of you wants to do it again, isn’t that right...? A part of you wants to submit to the thrill...”

Willow rose, grabbed the stake off the table and stalked up to the other, pressing the weapon’s pointed end to the vampiress’ chest.

“Shut. Up,” the Wicca warned and Tilla smirked.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll show you all the things the Slayer has taught me,” Willow replied and Tilla’s smile cooled down at that.

Willow stepped back, tucking the stake in the back pocket of her jeans and crossing her arms over her chest as she eyed the vampiress for a moment.

“I’m going to enjoy watching you smoke,” Willow stated through tight jaws. “I truly am.”

Tilla watched her as she walked up to the table once more, grabbing the cards and beginning to cut the deck.

Willow felt desperate. She needed the vampiress to break. She had to know where the page was or she knew it was over, she could feel it. It was critical. They needed...

“What would happen if...?” Tilla began slowly and Willow kept the rising hope out of her eyes as she fastened a casual gaze in the others. “If I told you what I know?” Tilla finished and Willow shrugged.

“I suppose we’d keep you with us ‘til we knew you were telling the truth, and when we have the page... and know it’s authentic... we’d cut you loose,” she answered.

“And I’m supposed to trust that? The three angels of Death?” Tilla asked and Willow raised one shoulder.

“It’s a take it or leave it kinda deal.”

“And if...?”

“No,” Willow interrupted. “That’s it. All I have to offer. Take it... or leave it.”

¤¤¤

Cordelia woke slowly, the scent of familiar cologne filling her nostrils and she realized she had her nose shoved into his shirt-covered chest. His arms were loosely around her, her right hand was placed on his hip and as she carefully moved her head to look up she noticed his chin an inch from her face. Her heart leapt. Then she smiled slyly, letting air blow lightly from her lips and having him move a little. She blew harder when there was no further reaction and his grip on her tightened, pulling her to him and having her draw a breath with the surprise of his body against hers.

He opened his eyes and released his grip to look down at her. She met his gaze sheepishly and he smiled, something she returned immediately.

“Rested?” she asked and he nodded.

“You?” he mumbled.

“Oh, you know,” she sighed, having his smile widen.

She moved away from him further, looking rather self-conscious, and he cleared his throat, sitting up.

Suddenly the oddest thought struck him. Or, not so odd. He saw Buffy before him, and Spike, and then he saw them fandangoing around each other, their inability to simply state what was on their mind and be done with it. Whether it was good or bad, just say it. Whether it was love or hate, just have it out of them. He knew it all stemmed from fear of the good being bad, of the love being hate... or less than love. But...

He moved his legs over the edge of the bed, scratching his head and hearing her sit on the other side. He glanced over his shoulder, taking in her back and having another smile on his mouth before he faced forward again. He hesitated but for a second and then said:

“You know I’m very much in love with you, right?”

She thought her heart literally stopped, and then it jump-started as she furrowed her brow and twisted her upper body to be able to fasten her eyes on his neck.

“I had a hunch,” she offered, completely stumped and he turned his head back to her, a slight smile on.

“Why dance?” he asked gently. “We’ve got better things to do with our time, don’t you think? Especially now. Something... anything could happen. I want you to know... I love you, Cor. And I don’t want to lose you again.”

She eyed him for another few seconds and then she crawled across the bed and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“And I don’t wanna go away again,” she mumbled and he closed his eyes, hugging her to him. “Just don’t let me go.”

“Not ever,” he assured. “Not ever.”

She smiled.

“Well, this was unexpected,” she laughed, meeting his gaze and he smiled as well, stroking her hair gently with one hand.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “It was.”

She kissed him softly on the mouth and soon it deepened.

¤¤¤

“We’ll gather here,” Maeve instructed in the ancient tongue which was that of her people. She placed her finger on the map and the men, gathered around her, nodded their heads. “Good. Peace to you all,” she said and they rose from their seats, bowing their heads in farewell before they exited the small shop for the street.

She folded the map and looked up as Matthew stepped into the room from the adjoined smaller one, used when the shop was still up for business as storage. He kept his blonde hair in a tight ponytail at the neck, a few strands leaking over his forehead, and his green eyes alert as he observed her.

“You are very bold,” he commended and she smiled, putting the map inside the folds of her cape.

“There is necessity for it,” she replied.

He observed her for another moment, then said:

“Have you told Theo?” The slight rigidity on her was really answer enough. “I suppose he didn’t approve,” Matthew remarked and she gave him a look he knew far too well. “Don’t do that,” he shook his head. “Don’t shut me out like that, it isn’t fair.”

“Are you to be the judge of what is fair and what is not?” she retorted. “You, who scamper out of the city at every whim of her majesty? Who draws up treaties with demon races so far away from her that she can have no use for them?”

“It keeps me busy.”

“It keeps you out of the way!” Maeve exclaimed, regaining her self-control as she held his gaze. “She has sent away many members of the Advisory whom she has feared would appose this change she is planning. Many of them she has sent willfully to their death. I am certain she did not expect you to return alive from your last excursion.”

“It was touch and go for a second or so,” he joked, but it didn’t go by well and he stifled the attempt as he grew serious again.

“There is war on the horizon,” she said. “It will pounce on us no matter its guise... but I do want it to take place here, and not entail the deaths of innocents.”

“You are quite remarkable,” he stated. “I’ve always been aware of this, but now... You take such pity on a race much more inferior. Why?”

“Oh, Matthew, do you truly not know?” she asked and when he merely waited she added: “I remember... You might not think I should, but I remember how it was to be human. My pity comes from simple understanding of them. I look at the Slayer... Perhaps she has heightened my fury with our ruler. What Clara does is... It’s barbaric. I am ashamed to be part of her. She wishes to enslave them, Matthew, do you realize to what extent this goes? It is unheard of! I cannot...”

“Alright... Calm down,” he said gently. “I do understand. And the Slayer... Isaiah was right; she has a fire deep within her, doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” Maeve nodded, then paused before looking at her friend. “What?” she asked and he seemed to catch himself before he took his eyes off her. “What about Isaiah?” she pressed and he shook his head. “Matthew!”

He clenched his jaws together, meeting her gaze again.

“I saw him,” he confessed and her eyes grew with astonishment.

“When?”

“Three days before his death.”

“What? Why?”

He hesitated and then he replied, defeated:

“Because he sent for me.”

“How did he know where you were? He has not been in contact with anyone of us since he...” She trailed off, staring at the other. “No,” she murmured. “He has been in contact. Only not with me. Is it not so?”

Matthew nodded a little and she blinked, sinking down on a chair.

“Why?” she asked.

“He knew you would never leave the city. He wanted to save himself the pain.”

She closed her eyes. She had only been nearer to one single being other than Isaiah through her entire existence. Isaiah had been like a true brother to her, though he had been her childe. She had loved him with all of her heart. He had taken her out of the darkest age of her lifetime and delivered her into one of new enlightenment in which she had cast off a damnation she had seen herself suffer for all eternity. His gentleness and kindness had been one that she hadn’t easily taken to her, but once she let it rub off on her, bring forth the already existing traits inside herself, it didn’t take long for her to have it take over. She had stopped drinking the blood of man a half millennia ago, and had never looked back. Not once.

It had been her choice, her sacrifice. She had lived for so long, she knew salvation was far out of her reach, but at least she could find some peace within her if she didn’t kill in the manner of her kin.

She had been condemned for it, of course. Ridiculed for a long time, then frowned upon and finally drifting, every year, a little further away from a society that had once worshipped her. She had never cared.

But when Isaiah left the Holy City to live above, to find his own place, as he put it, she had felt as though she lost a piece of herself that was irretrievable. If she had only gotten to see him once more. Speak with him one more time...

She bowed her head and let cold tears sting her cheeks.

“Maeve,” Matthew said silently. “I am sorry.”

“I simply... wish...” she tried, but broke off. Sniffling she composed herself and met his gaze again. Pausing she then added: “I do not understand how he could contact you.”

“He couldn’t have if it hadn’t been for Theo,” Matthew replied, brushing off a speck of dust from his cape and when he turned his head to the chair it was empty. “You always do that,” he muttered to the now not present vampiress.

¤¤¤

Willow walked up to the closed door of the bedroom and twisted the knob.

“Alright, time to get...” she began, halting when the seconds before kissing vampire and mortal turned their heads to her with quizzical expressions. “Jeez, I’ve been dubbed Interruption Girl as of late,” the Wicca muttered, turning her eyes from them with a slight smile. “Apologies,” she added as the other two slowly pulled apart and sat up.

“Better be good,” Cordelia warned and Willow’s smile broadened.

“We have a talkative vampire on our hands,” she stated as the other two came up to the doorway as well. “I worked my magick and she’s ready to spell it out.” The other two gave her a look. “So much for trying to be cute,” the redhead sighed, making the other two smile as well.

They walked into the other room and all faced the still tied up being who glared at them.

“So, you’ve chosen undeadliness instead of... deadliness...” Angel said and Tilla growled silently in affirmation, looking away from him. “Where do we go?” he asked Willow, whose gaze was still locked on the vampiress.

“You hold her and I’ll cut her free, then we’ll see,” she replied and Angel nodded, walking around the chair to grab hold of Tilla’s upper arms as Willow brought out a knife and cut off the ropes.

Tilla didn’t put up a fight, seemingly having resignated to the fact that the best way to get out of the situation was by trying to play along with the set rules. At least for the time being.

“Where?” Angel asked; his hold hardening and the vampiress glared at him over one shoulder before she said:

“Notre Dame.”

¤¤¤

Somewhere the sun was coming up.

Somewhere it was filing through green leaves, allowing the mortals to run and play in its warmth, go for long swims in heated up lakes, and watch the sunset with the one they loved.

Spike had never felt more immortal than in this very moment, holding Buffy in his arms and knowing that no matter how much he needed her with him, no matter how he wished it wasn’t so, someday she would be taken from him. She would die and he would be left to wander the earth alone, abandoned, elevated in the memory of her love for him... but never to feel anything like it again. There was no redemption for him. Angel had been right when he said that the only place they had ever been meant to go ever since the bite – was to Hell. Heaven was reserved for light... and could not omit darkness, and there would be no eternity with her waiting for him.

He felt sorrow now in a way he never had, not even those few months right after he got his soul back, for all the evil which had lead him to the only thing that had ever mattered to him. Had it not been for Drusilla, had it not been for her kiss which had given him his immortality, he never would have known the truth of love, because he would never have met Buffy; and he would never have understood what power this unsoiled emotion has to change the course of someone’s life. Listening to his own thoughts he had to huff. He was turning right back into William, wasn’t he? The driveling, romantic fool who dreamed the days away with silly boyish hopes of the future. But...

He looked at Buffy again, her face resting against his shoulder, slightly turned upwards so that it was easy for him to take all of it in. He felt another ripple of happiness, of pride that after everything, and in spite of everything that they had gone through, this was where they had landed. Together. And she loved him.

He kissed her forehead lightly and closed his eyes as he held her to him.

He would enjoy her, he would love her, and he would stand by her, come Hell or high water. Finally there was nothing that would divide them.

“Sicothia,” Clara’s voice hissed and he jerked with surprise just as hands grabbed his arms and pulled him forcefully off the bed.

Buffy woke with the movement, for a second unfocused, not aware of anything but the fact that his nearness for some reason had been removed. Then she cried out when she saw the two vampires holding him and tearing him away from her. She grabbed the sheet and put it up to cover her breasts as she fought to the edge of the bed and stood.

“Spike!” she yelled, Clara’s cold finger’s clasping her upper arm and with the flick of one wrist having her fly and land on the bed again. “Let him go, you...!”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Clara shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked down at the Slayer. “Sshh,” she added with a sardonic smile, her eyes gleaming in the light of the dying fire in the fireplace, her vampire exterior on and the tips of her fangs showing slightly as she smiled her emotionless smile. “Easy now.”

Buffy felt the tears rise, the panic not far behind, and the anger a drumming in the middle of her stomach. She wanted to claw the she-devil’s eyes out. Wanted to seek revenge for every wrong the vampire princess had ever befouled the human race with. Her hate flowed easily through the Slayer’s veins now, and the blackness of it was picked up by the blackness of the other. Clara’s slim pupils dilated slightly and she licked her lips, a sudden approval on her face.

“Feed it,” she said, voice lowered. “Let it find a nest deep down...” She paused, observing the other for one more moment before she turned and walked toward the door. “I will not lock you in again... there is no actual point to it. But do not try to see him...” Buffy was about to rise just as the princess stopped in the doorway, turning back to her with a diabolical smirk on as she said: “And do not worry, he will be most excellently taken care of.”

Buffy stared at the door as it closed and then she sat back on the bed with an overwhelming sense of loss and emptiness settling inside her. What could she do? She closed her eyes as the tears ran over.

His demon had already manifested itself in a way that was more shocking and more disturbing than she would have ever thought possible.

‘Buffy, you’ve never seen the real me.’

She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice making that statement in a memory from what seemed like eons of time ago. In her basement, chained to the wall, telling her that she had to kill him.

And he had been so right, of course. Only, she hadn’t even been able to imagine how right he had been. His demon was something powerful, and she realized that he must’ve always held it back. Somehow he had never let the full force of what he had within him show. If he had...

She wasn’t sure she would have been able to resist him as long as she had. It was an almost silly thought, perhaps. She was the Slayer, she was above it. But thinking back, how her restrained lust for him had taken over completely once she had unleashed it... Had he used a deeper thrall on her, had he approached her with no love in his heart and seduced her in a weak moment... She would have succumbed to him. Because she had wanted to. Her Slayer side had always been drawn to him, and her rational Buffy side had been fascinated with him. The allure of him had been intoxicating once it was hers to dwell in.

Now the demon had pushed forth with all its might, and she had wanted it... Had wanted to witness it, and hadn’t been armed for the consequences. She hadn’t been ready, and then... But there was more. She nearly quivered as she had to admit it, but there was nothing else for her to do now. She had to lay all the cards on the table because if she wanted to get out of this alive she knew she had to use all of her intuition, and that meant all of her self-knowledge as well.

In the darkest hours since the year when she was brought back and to this very day, when her despair for the future was at its deepest reaches, and her sorrow for the loss of him had been in its most shadowy stages, she had imagined what this would be like –his teeth bringing her forever out of the indecisiveness and trivialities of her mortal life; his bite delivering her onto him and his world. They would never be apart, if he did. She would never be without him or him without her.

She had always buried the thought in the farthest corner of her being once she had let it shimmer through her mind for a few seconds. It was unthinkable. But now she knew it had never been as concealed as she had fooled herself. A part of her had wanted him to drink her up...

Every Slayer has a death wish.

He had once stated that. Arrogantly and in the manner of any bully he had proclaimed he knew her and her race better than she did. He had really had a knack for pissing her off back then. But he had also had a knack for hitting the sore spots, and homing in on her fears, insecurities and weaknesses. And he had been right, somewhere inside of her there had been the tick-tock of waiting for the inevitable. Even Giles had drilled her that Slayer’s didn’t, weren’t even supposed to, last for very long. She had been expecting her death and when it came... She had felt complete, finished. Rest was hers to have after years of slaving to keep those she loved safe... not to mention the rest of the population of both the city she lived in and the very planet she existed on.

She had been ready.

Her wish of death had then been a silent one, a song from those who had gone before her, and she knew that it was right.

But she had not wanted to die tonight. Not at Spike’s lips. Not to be reborn.

She had been nearly drained before. That had been out of necessity to save the man she had then loved, to bring Angel away from the clutches of the poison running through him. This time...

The absoluteness of her giving herself to Spike in the way she had, made her heart beat quicken, her cheeks flush. The sensuality, the romanticized picture of the vampire taking his victim, had often made her frown. When the younger slayers discussed the view on vampires which most of the outside world had, tied to Hollywood produced movies or mass-produced books, painting these killers and hunting predators up to be something suave and sexy... It had always made her shudder. It was so far from her own reality.

Of course, she had always dealt with the lowest hierarchy of the race. That much she had learned from spending the passed two days in the company of the elite she was in the midst of. The beautiful creatures stalking the night in search of a willing prey, they were real. But the gleam in their eyes was far from that which she had learned to see in Angel and much later in Spike. The killers of the underworld looked at a human and saw raw, pumping blood. Nothing else.

There were the exceptions to the rule.

Maeve, Matthew...

Compassion shone in these two. Understanding. They were rare traits indeed.

She lay down on the bed and rolled over on her back.

Every day brings a new lesson, she thought glumly to herself.

The sensation of Spike’s teeth sinking through her flesh as though it was made out of butter, the soft ache of his mouth pulling the blood from her, it made a twirl of longing appear in her stomach and she sat up again. It WAS sensual, and it was the ultimate limit to how far she could go – they could go. She found herself wondering how she had tasted to him... how deeply he had craved her once he had had that first...

“No,” she said out loud, her hand going to the side of the throat which now carried his mark.

Her love had spurred on the event to take place, she knew it. Her need to be part of him, have him fill every particle of her, and her wanting to share everything of herself with him had taken over in this unguarded moment and had led her to do something she never would have done under normal circumstances. It had gotten out of hand, and they both knew it.

She wished she could feel utterly sickened by it, but she couldn’t. Mostly because she knew she had to forgive not only him, but also herself, and then let it go. It was done. In the past, as they had already declared.

She suddenly hated the confinement of the room. She wanted to go in search of him.

Clara.

What was she doing to him? And even worse... what was he doing to her?

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Can’t you see

There’s a feeling that’s come over me

Close my eyes

You’re the only one that leaves me

Completely breathless

No need to wonder why

Sometimes a gift like this

You can’t deny

‘Cause I wanted to fly

So you gave me your wings

And time held its breath

So I could see

Yeah, you set me free

You’re in my heart

The only light that shines there in the dark

-You Set Me Free, Michelle Branch-

¤

Lesson the Thirty-Sixth

¤

Spike was latched to the foot of his bed with powerful ropes. He was standing, his arms bound together behind him. Around his waist had been tied a simple piece of cloth and he felt even more exposed due to the lack of clothing than he did because of the cold gaze in the being before him.

Clara looked at him for a long while without speaking. He couldn’t tell if it was from held back anger that her complexion was growing even one shade closer to alabaster, or if it was from her immaculate screening of him in which she so clearly found many things lacking.

“I have always thought that you would be taller,” she finally spoke, making him cock an eyebrow. “Like Theodore,” she added. “But then, your physic molds so perfectly with hers, does it not? I suppose that was taken into account...”

He stared at her. For every second he spent with the princess, the more she seemed on the border of lunacy. Then her eyes flashed, and the intelligence in them made him want to take a step back. The calculative glare she gave him was followed by a smirk. Then she shook her head at him as she approached him and came to a slow stop just in front of him as she said:

“Do not think your being here was unplanned, William. I have waited for over one thousand years for this day. It has been tattled of in our texts and I have bided my time, and now... it is arrived. You forge the last link, you create the final blow... Without you, none of this could be happening. That is why you were brought back, my darling. That is why you live.”

He couldn’t believe it, and he knew the shock on his face was evident. She smiled a little.

“Ah, yes...” she nodded. “Second chances rarely come at a bargain price.” She put up a hand, touching his cheek, but he turned his head away from it and she looked hurt. He knew it was all an act. Everything about her was false. “Hush your evil thoughts,” she whispered. “I have sides to me that are good.”

Flashes of carnage and blooded orgies where the mortal victims cried for salvation and through which Clara walked with the fires blazing behind her showed before his eyes and he drew an involuntary breath at the suddenness of them. They stopped as quickly as they had begun, and when he fastened his gaze in the princess’ once more she had her vampire exterior on.

“Poor William,” she mumbled. “What have you not been through, to land you here? You will see it will all get better...”

“I will... never join you,” he gritted out between clenched jaws and she glared at him before she took a step back.

“No,” she silently agreed, “you will not.”

In the next blink she was gone.

¤¤¤

The great hall was empty.

The castle had an eerily deserted feel to it.

Everything was resting. Waiting in the stillness for something with the design to break it. It came in the form of footsteps against the hard marble. The rhythmic clicking noise of heels, which was picked up by the walls of the room and thus echoed between them as though they were singing a joined song. Soon others fell into the tempo. Five pairs of feet heading for the platform, for the throne and the being which it now hosted.

Clara watched them approach.

Her most trusted.

Gabriella. Mathias. Patrick. Benjamin. And Theodore.

Gabriella came up and went down on one knee in a slight curtsey before she smiled at her ruler. Clara returned it, reaching out a hand and having the other come up to her to kiss it. The vampiress then took her place to the right of the throne. Mathias merely bowed his head and Clara did the same in greeting. He had brought what she had asked for and now placed the scrolls on the table which had been set up to the left of the throne.

Patrick bowed deeply and so did his right hand – Benjamin.

Theodore walked up to the princess and kissed her gently on the hand, in the manner Gabriella had. Clara met his gaze and they both smiled.

“Theo,” she said softly. “I have something to discuss with you. Come.”

She rose and they walked to the side, through one of the doors leading into the orchard, and Theodore closed it behind him.

“What is it that cannot wait, milady?” he asked and she smiled, looking out over the untouched snow and watching it glitter.

“Ree wishes to meet with you,” she said and he was taken aback for but a moment, before he collected himself and raised his eyebrows.

“I shall be pleased to meet with her,” he replied with the indifference of anyone not in love.

Clara cocked an eyebrow in disapproval and he felt defeat begin to fill him at the outlook of going against her wishes. He had never seen her take a personal interest in which couples formed in her court... but then again, Gabriella was no mere vampiress, was she?

“You cannot tell me you have not noticed her affections,” Clara remarked and he smiled.

“No, that would make me a liar,” he confirmed and she returned his smile. “But, milady... these things...”

“Of course,” she interrupted. “They take time. They need to grow and mature.”

“Yes. And I have only known Gabriella for eleven hundred years,” Theodore stated with a slight smirk, but his input wasn’t taken lightly by the other and he stripped his enjoyment for a more sincere expression.

“Is there anything else which... hinders you?” Clara asked.

He could see Maeve’s smiling face before him, but beat it back. He shouldn’t even think of her.

“No,” he replied to the princess’ query and she observed him for another short while before she smiled again.

“It is well,” she said. “You will meet with Ree then. Yes?”

“I will be honored,” he assured, biting his jaws together harshly as he followed the other back inside.

Patrick, Benjamin and Mathias were all leaned over the table and the now rolled out scrolls. Gabriella watched as Clara came up to join them, then she stepped forward to intercept Theodore before he could add to the group.

“I saw that Matthew is back,” she said and he nodded, looking down at her and remembering when she first came to the castle.

Maeve had told him that she had found Gabriella and Isaiah in an abandoned house somewhere in the west of France. Isaiah had been enchanted by the vampiress. There was no life left for the two mortals after their parents had died... He had wanted what Maeve offered even before she had finished speaking. But he could not leave his sister. And so Gabriella had been turned as well. When they got to the Holy City both of them had had a different sort of innocence than was known there. Isaiah had right from the start begun posing questions of all sorts and had violently refused to kill any of the humans they sent to his chambers... Gabriella had taken after her brother, until... Well, Isaiah had not been able to stay in the city; both because he had reached his limit, and because so had those around him. Gabriella had refused to leave...

Theodore wondered if it was around that time that Clara had begun to poison her mind, or if it had started long before then. In any case, the princess had shaped herself a lethal assassin. And the cruelest killer Theodore had ever encountered.

Maeve... She had been so influenced by her beloved “brother” that she had stopped murdering as well. Shortly after he left. Theodore had never fully been able to understand how one could give up the feed. It seemed the one thing which made their existence worth anything. He never took children – he found it too macabre. And he had never enjoyed the torture or head games that some loved so. But the taste of fresh blood on his tongue...

He knew Maeve never judged him – how could she. But he also knew she could never fully approve. He supposed she had lost her understanding of the rush, having been without it for so long.

“You seem far away,” Gabriella’s voice brought him back to reality and he met her gaze. “What weighs on your mind?”

“You,” he smiled and she looked surprised, then smiled hesitantly back.

“I take it that is a good thing?” she tried.

He nodded, glancing at Clara. Then walked with Gabriella at his side to the table. The scrolls were in fact very old maps, depicting the Hellmouth. Theodore took them in with renewed interest.

“Here,” Clara pointed. “The seal was here, now it has been obliterated.” She moved her finger to a star-shaped point further down on the map. “Here is the gateway. We will have to go around it. It is useless to us, of course, but there is a narrow passage going here,” she showed. “This is the path we will use,” she finished.

“It sounds wise,” Mathias nodded. “But what of the rise? Will you bring all of us?”

“No,” she replied. “We will leave in groups of one hundred. I will lead the first, Patrick will lead the second and Ree the third. These will be my primary forces against the slayers, but it will not take many days for them to realize that they already have forfeited their chance. An army with no leader will scatter for the wind like leaves from a tree, mark my words.”

“Yes... there is that aspect that is still unclear,” Theodore spoke up.

“Do not worry,” Clara merely replied. “Soon enough you will know the answer.”

Theodore straightened his back when he suddenly had the oddest sensation down his spine. He furrowed his brow and turned to look out through the high windows and further into the orchard. He didn’t hesitate.

“Milady, forgive me,” he bowed and she nodded as he left the table, walking back up to the door he had used before and opening it.

He checked to make sure he was alone and then moved in the manner of his species, his quick journey barely disturbing the soft snowflakes on the ground and had an untrained eye watched the scene, he would have seemed vanished into thin air. He reached the farthest corner of the orchard, a tall tree stretching its leafless and gray branches toward the cave ceiling in a twisting picture of obscure beauty. He stopped when he stood in the middle of the round shaped little clearing, the roses blooming in their soft blues all around him. He knew he wasn’t alone, though it seemed like it.

He let his eyes take the surroundings in and then he shook his head.

“Declare yourself,” he demanded. “Or have me be gone.”

It seemed impossible, for the trunk of the tree was half her width, but none the less Maeve’s form folded out from behind it. The cape she was in dragging softly in the snow as she came forth to face him. He stared at her. Of course he had known it was her... but the look on her face...

Maeve had searched for him everywhere. Her need to see him had scarcely been greater. She trusted Matthew, and knew that he would never lie to her – but she had to hear it from Theodore’s lips. She had to hear him confess to the blind he had pulled down before her eyes. She had to know why. He had to explain himself. She was nearly quivering, standing before him. Finally she held up a small crystal and Theodore watched as she let it drop to the ground.

“What are you...?” he began but she put up a hand.

“We only have a few minutes until it wares off,” she stated. “The crystal,” she explained. “None can listen in on our conversation,” she added and he watched her in tightening silence now.

“Is there one to be listened in on?” he asked and she clenched her jaws together to keep from slapping him.

“You have deceived me,” she murmured. “Admit to me that you have.”

He cocked an eyebrow and she took a step forward, her hands made into tight fists as her patience was growing very thin.

“Tell me!” she demanded.

“Of what?” he asked.

“Of how you helped Isaiah,” she replied and she could see that the absolute surprise this bestowed upon him wasn’t in any way faked.

She might as well have slapped him.

“We cannot discuss this here,” he said, about to turn, but she moved faster and her hand grabbed his arm in a harsh grip.

“All this time, all I’ve ever worried about when it came to what I wish to do to Clara, was what my doing it might do to you,” she said when he refused to look at her. “I thought your adoration for her went as deep as...” She trailed off, loosening her grip and standing down, unsure of what to say.

“You thought I was in love with her,” he mumbled, glancing at her before he turned to rest his eyes in hers and Maeve swallowed, then nodded.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” she said. “I never wanted to do all this behind your back. It was my greatest burden, Theo. I wanted to entrust you with everything that was on my mind... But I knew I could not. At least... I thought I did,” she finished, her eyes glinting with a sudden anger and he observed it before he smiled a little.

The next moment her arm raised and he caught it before her hand hit its target.

“Does this amuse you?” she asked bitterly. “Why did you not trust ME enough to tell me you knew where Isaiah was? That he was alive?! That you...”

“Sshhh,” he hushed her gently, bringing her arm down. “Calm yourself,” he added softly and she glared at him, pulling her wrist out of his grip.

“I thought I knew you,” she murmured.

“No,” he shook his head. “You did. You always did. You still do, better than myself at times. But for me to be in the position I am right now, I HAD to put a guard up against you. Is it so hard to understand? Is this why you are so mad with me? If Clara – or anyone close to her – got even a tingle of treachery from me... And I had to be in their midst at all time. I had to know what they were planning. And now we are so close to the target. The day is here, Maeve. You have to realize why I did this. Our minds are fortified against attacks, but they are not clear from them. We all have frail moments, and I could not risk you knowing anything – nor I knowing too much of you.”

She was weakening under his gaze. She took hers out of his and turned from him. She was torn for another short moment, and then a slight smile displayed itself on her lips. It was so silly to think that they had been on the same side for so long, fighting for the same goals... She had never suspected it. Not once. And now she was completely filled up by the understanding that he wanted exactly what she wanted.

“Forgive me?” he said and her smile broadened as she turned back to him with a nod.

“There is nothing to forgive,” she stated. “Apart from my lack of self-control and insight,” she added, suddenly embarrassed for her outburst, but he returned her smile and took the step dividing them, gently taking her hands in his and she felt a ripple near her heart in a way she didn’t think she could remember ever having before.

When she looked up at him the ripple turned into a wave and she knew that the love she held for him was and had always been the very cornerstone of her existence. When she hadn’t been able to talk to him about everything going on in her life she had felt alone and enclosed in a tight shell. This liberating fact of there being nothing she could not confess to him was somewhat overwhelming.

“Maeve,” he said and she smiled a little again.

The glow of the crystal died in the snow at their feet and he took his eyes out of hers to look down at it. Then he brought her hands to his lips and gave her fingers a feather-light kiss before he let them go and turned to head back to the castle.

Maeve stared after him.

Things sure were changing.

¤¤¤

Dawn pushed the book away from her with a discontented grunt.

“I hate that stupid thing,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest as Xander came up to see what she was complaining about.

“What is it now?” he asked, flipping a few pages and then frowning. “Apart from all of it,” he added and when he glanced at her he could see she was smiling a little. “There we go,” he nodded, leaning against the edge of the table as he turned to her. “My work here is done with the smiles.”

“You’re good for a lot more things than that,” she stated and he looked questioning. She grabbed a pen and added: “Taking notes, for example.”

He sighed, then took the pen and had a seat next to her, pulling the notebook to him as she focused on the book again.

“How does it look?” Giles asked as he entered the room.

“Rows and rows of I-speak-thee-not,” Xander replied.

“Topped with I-read-thee-not-either,” Dawn muttered and Xander smirked.

“Well, what is this?” Giles asked, pointing to a part of the text just as they heard a thud from upstairs.

They glanced at each other. Dawn rose at the same time as Xander. They walked into the hall and looked up the staircase to the second floor. Something moved in the shadows and they filed backwards, back into the parlor from where they had come. Dawn shut the door and Giles walked up to the weapon’s chest, opening it up and handing Xander an axe.

“I’ll take this,” Dawn said, grabbing a long sword and swinging it to try out its weight in her hands.

“Just don’t kill yourself,” Xander remarked. “Or me,” he added and she gave him a look just as there were the sound of footsteps down the stairs.

“And you be careful too,” she shot with a nod toward his weapon, “don’t wanna poke out that one good eye of yours.”

He was about to retaliate when the knob of the door twisted.

“You didn’t lock it?” he asked, baffled.

“There was no key!” she defended.

“Isn’t that your official title?” he asked and she gave him another, and darker, look just as the door was pushed open.

In the doorway stood four hooded figures.

“Why do these guys ALWAYS have to dress up like Death?” Xander shook his head. “You’d think someone SOMEwhere would have a need to walk the less traveled.”

“Somehow I think their clothing is the last of our concerns,” Giles pointed out as the four figures stepped through the door.

“I know them...” Dawn said, glancing at the book still on the table and then thrusting herself forward, flipping it shut and clutching it against her chest as she backed away again. “They’re in here,” she added, clumsily moving one arm to implicate she was referring to what she was holding. “They’re Arderia!” she finished as the four spread out.

“Give us...” one hissed, its eyes glinting under the hood, reflecting the dim light of the room.

“How the hell did they get in here?” Xander asked, backing further away, though the space was growing narrower as the four vampires drew closer. “Dawn?”

“It wasn’t me!” she exclaimed.

“Give us...” the vamp repeated, reaching out a claw bearing hand to try and get the book, but Dawn swung her sword at its head and had it draw back.

“How do we get outta here?” she yelled to Giles.

He was looking around the room, but the doors to freedom were blocked. He reached out for the window he was closest to, but when he turned his head his eyes landed on another hooded figure just outside it. He drew a breath in surprise and then put the crossbow down to take his glasses off and polish them as he tried to think. Xander glanced his way, then did a double take and blinked.

“See, they should use THIS as an advertisement for getting contacts!” he said, Giles looking up and replacing his glasses before he said:

“Dawn, give them what they want.”

The room paused, the vampires now stopping and Dawn furrowed her brow, turning to the Watcher.

“What?” she asked.

“Give it to them,” he repeated.

“But... I’m so close to...” she began. “We’re just a little away from...”

“Give it to them,” Giles merely said again and she hesitated, reluctant to give something away that she had set her very heart on cracking.

Finally she sighed and threw the book into the arms of the vampire that had placed the demand.

“Anything else?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

The four backed out of the room and disappeared.

“Are you crazy?” Dawn asked, twirling around to face Giles.

“What we want lies on Willow, Angel and Cordelia to find,” he replied calmly. “That book is of little consequence, I am sure.”

“Oh, you’re sure?” Dawn asked. “You’re sure?! Then how come I’ve spent the passed twenty-four hours of my LIFE trying to decipher it for you, huh? Riddle me that!” she exclaimed.

“Well... I thought that was because you enjoyed it,” he said and her eyes widened. “And it was also very good training for you,” he added and she took a step forward, but Xander placed a hand on her shoulder. “Lord, every day you grow more and more like your sister,” Giles mumbled, almost thoughtfully as he brought the crossbow back to the chest and left the room.

“Good, then soon I’ll be able to kick your ass,” Dawn said loudly and Xander smiled widely at that.

¤¤¤

The sun was creeping up over the rooftops of Paris as the two vampires, the Wicca and the mortal made their way in the darkest part of an alley which lead them directly to the massive cathedral, stretching its two clock towers toward the sky, which was slowly growing paler.

“Where?” Angel asked the vampiress, whom he was holding in a strong grip.

She glared at him and he smashed her back against the wall behind her. She had tried to escape twice, which had resulted in Angel nearly pushing her into the side of the street where the suns first tentative rays had barely begun to paint their light. Now the vampiress muttered her answer under her breath and he turned to Willow.

She nodded that she had heard and she and Cordelia headed toward the mighty church.

They stopped to the right of the doors farthest to the left and examined the rocks of the wall. It didn’t take them long to find one that had a very small mark on it in the form of a vine carrying small flowers. It was so tiny and weathered it was barely visible, but it was without a doubt there and the two women began to search for the place which would enable them to break the rock loose. After another minute they got it, Willow bringing her fingertips into the small dents in the upper left corner of the rock, and then she pulled at it. It didn’t take much force until it gave way and tumbled to the ground.

They both stepped back, looking at it and then nervously around before stepping forward again. A small compartment had been hidden behind the rock and in it lay a folder made of red leather. It was dusty, but Willow paid no mind as she brought it under her arm and turned with Cordelia not far behind; together they headed back to Angel and Tilla.

Once there Willow kneeled on the ground, placed the folder before her and almost reverently opened it up. Inside was a letter written in the dead language, or so the Wicca concluded at first glance, and behind it rested the page they had searched for.

“Thank God,” she whispered, closing her eyes and sitting back on her heels.

“No, thank ME,” Tilla said cheekily and Cordelia gave her a cold glare.

“You’d do best making with the not talking,” she said.

Tilla presented her with an uncaring glance before she looked away from all of them and toward the cathedral.

“I’m so dead,” she murmured to herself. “Are we gonna stay out here and roast?” she added with a look at Angel, who was still holding her in a firm grip.

“No,” he said. “Let’s get back to the hotel.”

Willow closed the folder and rose, following as the others headed back the way they had come. She wished she could feel more relieved, but their troubles were far from over. That she was sure of.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

I will meet you

In some place

Where the light lends itself to

Soft repose

I will let you

Undress me

But I warn you, I have

Thorns like any rose

You could hurt me

With your bare hands

You could hurt me using the sharp end

Of what you say, but

I am lost in you now

There’s no amount of reason

To save me

So break me

Take me

Just let me fill your arms again

Break me

Take me

Just let me feel your love again

-Break Me, Jewel-

¤

Lesson the Thirty-Seventh

¤

Spike raised his head when the door of his room opened. Clara came through it and signed for whoever stood guard to close it behind her. She walked to the middle of the room and then stopped, facing the vampire. Her eyes were cut in stone and he knew more than anything that she was not to toy with. He felt a deeply hidden fear stir somewhere near the small of his back. He wished he knew what was being planned, what she intended to do with him.

He thought of Buffy and felt a sorrow rise without restraint within him. The jubilant emotion which was there all the time now, since her love for him was real, since her love was a fact to never be discarded again... this emotion the knowledge of it left to circle inside him, pained him. He was so scared that he would never get to see her face again. Hear her voice, her laughter...

“I am almost moved,” Clara said. “But I do believe it will take more than that to make my heart beat. You truly are a sappy little one, aren’t you? Always beneath and beyond the touch of those you covet. You have destroyed her love for you.”

He looked away from the princess and she let out a low laugh.

“You know it,” she taunted. “You bit her, William. You wanted to turn her into what you are, wanted to go against everything you have proclaimed to love about her and make her something she considers filth. To her you are nothing but dirt! And you... you dare call yourself a warrior.”

Her disgust was enough to make him look at her again.

“I wished to help you,” she said, her tone calmer. “I still do. Let me help you, William. Let me... get it out of you. It does not belong in you.”

“The only thing that doesn’t belong,” he murmured, “is the demon.”

Her eyes widened just a fraction, but the look in her gaze could cut through steel and she stalked up to him, hitting him hard on the mouth and cracking his lip. He could taste the blood just as she stepped into him.

“You have a hex upon you,” she whispered. “I wished to give you the chance to... But no, you will not take it, will you? No matter what, you are my childe. My precious forsaken.” Her hands slipped over his hair, down his face and stroked at his cut. “You are my savior, my darling. Never forget that.”

She stepped back and he stared at her as she licked the blood from her fingers and turned, walking back up to the door and through it as it opened. He leaned back against the footboard of the bed, shaking his head to himself.

He burned to see Buffy. Closing his eyes he produced the image of her and had a small smile on his mouth. Clara’s words had run off him like water. The Slayer loved him. She had said it though he had produced those cursed wounds on her neck. She loved him.

He felt the happiness spread through him and the hope came with it. They would get out of this alive, and together. They would.

¤¤¤

Buffy got off her bed and walked up to her closet.

For over an hour she had just laid there. Thoughts had raced through her head. She had tried to puzzle all the pieces together to make a whole, but it was impossible. All the important parts seemed to be missing and she couldn’t make those she had into any sort of sensible picture. She also felt like she was about to rip her hair off her head, thinking of how Spike had just been torn away from her. She had to see him. She would see him, if it proved the last thing she did.

She grabbed the first dress she saw, pulling it on and struggling with the buttons in the back. She didn’t give a damn about etiquette, about fixing her hair or putting on the layers of undergarments which usually were procedure. She left the room, stepping into the hallway and looking both ways before she hurried the way that lead her to Spike’s suite. She peeked around the corner of the hallway after having gone down a short set of stairs and noticed a vampire outside Spike’s door.

Oh, balls, she cursed silently in her mind, pulling back and nearly jumping when Maeve turned her around.

‘She’s locked him in!’ Buffy said and Maeve nodded.

Though her face was serious there was a new glow to her cheeks and a glitter in her eyes. Buffy furrowed her brow, about to ask her about it when the vampiress beat her to it and her voice sounded softly in the Slayer’s head.

‘I am afraid that the end of this is drawing nearer much sooner than even I anticipated.’

‘Then I have to get him outta there,’ Buffy stated, about to charge around the corner when Maeve stopped her.

‘No,’ she said. ‘It is not the way.’

‘Is he safe?’

‘None of us are safe anymore,’ Maeve grumbled. ‘Come with me. I wish you to meet those allied with me. Then we will think of a way...’

‘I have to see him,’ Buffy interrupted, the plea in her gaze making the vampiress forget her hesitation and give a slight nod.

‘Wait,’ she said, gesturing for Buffy to stay behind as she walked down the hallway toward the door.

The guard straightened his posture and took on a very important expression as the vampiress approached.

“Your command wishes a word with you,” she stated. When the vampire only stared at her in surprise she added: “You may leave.”

“But her highness gave explicit...”

“You have seen me with Theodore on more than one occasion,” Maeve interrupted. “Do you doubt I tell the truth? Another will be along shortly to take your place, I am sure. I shall stay here until his arrival. ...Go on.”

The vampire gave her a salute and then turned to march down the hallway, disappearing from view just as Maeve signed for Buffy to come around the corner. Buffy hurried up to her and Maeve pushed the door open.

“I’m sorry if this endangers...” Buffy began, but Maeve shook her head.

“Not more than I have endangered myself,” she assured. “Now go, see your loved one. I am only sorry it has to be so quick.”

Buffy smiled her thanks and slipped in through the slit. Maeve closed the door behind her and leaned against the doorframe with a silent prayer for no one to come.

Buffy walked through the living room and up to the bedroom door. It was closed, but she knew he was behind it. She slid it open and walked inside. He looked up as she entered, his face showing that he had expected someone completely different and it lighting up with a surprised smile.

“Buffy,” he said and she smiled back, running up to him where he was still tied and sitting leaned against the foot of the bed.

She went down on her knees, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him hard. Burying her face against his shoulder. He wanted to hold her back, but wasn’t quite able. He settled for kissing her neck right by the healing injury, and then rested his forehead to it as her fingers moved into his hair. She kissed him on the cheek, on the forehead, on the nose and on the lips, suddenly noticing his own wound and pulling back, taking in the ropes around his wrists.

“I’ll get you out of here,” she said, reaching for the restraints, but he stopped her with one shoulder in the way and made her rest her eyes in his again.

Her gaze softened under the love he was looking at her with, and then he kissed her gently on the mouth. She kissed him back, deepening it slowly.

“I love you,” he whispered once they broke apart and she felt tears sting her eyes as she nodded a little.

“I love you,” she whispered as well.

She held his gaze for a long moment, then slowly rose to her feet. She backed away before turning and hastening to the door. It closed with a low click and he felt like he had just lost the most important part of him. In a way, he really had. But she had come. A smile was born on his mouth as he sat back. He felt strengthened.

Buffy dried her tears before stepping into the hallway. Maeve turned to her with a wondering look and Buffy gave her a smile. The other returned it and they walked down the hallway, back to Buffy’s suite.

‘Get your warmer cloak,’ Maeve instructed. ‘It will be very cold.’

Buffy nodded, grabbing the emerald green cape and wrapping it around her shoulders.

Most of all she wanted to go back to Spike, but pushed the thought aside. Both their futures now rested in her hands, and she knew she would have to face up to the challenge. The Slayer side to her was powerful, was forcing her back into focus, but the situation was so utterly different from before. He loved her, and he needed her. He was tied up in a room and God only knew what might happen to him.

He had obviously fought back his demon... He must have. The gnawing worry was beaten down as she followed Maeve’s lead through the winding hallways of the castle. The fact that he had bitten her must have been the last straw for him; Buffy had seen the shock he had been under. The demon wouldn’t gain in influence again. With this belief safe in her breast she walked into a narrow, low tunnel with Maeve in front of her. It took them steeply downwards and the vampiress had been right, the air was getting colder for every step.

¤¤¤

Patrick halted his walk when his foot landed on something hard. He frowned, going down on his knees and stroking away the snow which covered the item. He picked up the crystal and stared at it for a short moment before he looked back at the snow. Straightening his legs he looked around at the traces of footprints. Then he spun around and walked straight to the great hall.

¤¤¤

Ten thousand feet below and to the left of the castle there had been a cave handmade, carved with pointed pieces of metal to form a perfect oval. Its ceiling wasn’t higher than a couple of yards above the floor, the size of the room stretched over an area not larger than one hundred feet in length and fifty feet in width. In the middle of it stood a round table and in the wood were carvings showing the Hellmouth. On the walls there were torches hanging from heavy iron holdings, their fire blazing obscure and moving shadows on the smoothed stone.

On the part of the wall facing the entrance hung the crest of the First Clan – a backdrop of dark purple, a silver slit, in the form of the prolonged tip of an arrow, cut through it from the middle of the top hem of the cloth and nearly all the way down to the bottom, the tip stopping a few centimeters from joining it. To Buffy, it looked like a stake.

Around the table sat an ensemble of very glum, serious vampires, all of them eyeing her with clear suspicion and many of them not withholding their disliking looks from Maeve. They all seemed tall and well-built, and there was only one vampire that was shorter than the rest. He sat closest to the right as Buffy and Maeve stopped at the two places vacant at the table, their backs to the entrance through which they had just stepped.

There were also only two vampires that looked older than the rest, their faces barely marked with age though their hair carried gray streaks. They were both on the left. In front of Buffy, across the table, sat Matthew, and he smiled calmingly at her. She could barely return it.

What she felt surround her wasn’t hate, only a deep mistrust and clear distaste of them having to have any dealings with her whatsoever.

“Gentlemen,” Maeve said. “I am glad we could all find a time to sit down together,” she added, signing for Buffy to take a seat as the vampiress did the same.

Buffy sunk down on the high backed chair and glanced around at the others at the table. She counted fourteen if she included Maeve. All of them looked solemn and deeply concentrated. Some of them, she noticed, were looking at the table and soon she directed her gaze down as well. She noticed the map and her eyes widened slightly as she looked at two certain markings that seemed fresher. She wondered what they were for.

She was about to find out.

“Clara is preparing to launch her primary attack,” Matthew stated, everybody’s attention fastened on him. “Safe sources inform me that she will take Dorian’s Pass to get around the gateway. It isn’t the safest route, but it’s definitively the fastest. She can be above ground by nightfall day after tomorrow, if she so wishes.” There were confirming mutters from the others. “We must make our stand now, or not at all.”

Maeve exchanged a look with Buffy and then said:

“Do we have any information about WHEN she plans to set her attack into motion?”

“No,” Matthew replied. “But if all the signs are right, they add up to her not postponing this any longer than until tomorrow evening.”

“What time is it now?” Buffy asked Maeve silently and the vampiress smiled a little.

“It is by your calendar the twenty-seventh of December... Above us the sun is just setting.”

“I thought your clock worked for you to sleep while the sun is up,” Buffy remarked and Maeve’s smile widened slightly before she replied:

“The sun is always up in some part of the world. We cannot realistically follow its course, and there’s really no need for it down here.”

“Do you mind?” the short vampire reprimanded them and they both turned their gazes in those of the others, as they were being observed by them all. “We have more pressing matters still at hand,” the vampire added snottily and Buffy cocked an eyebrow.

“We do,” she then agreed. “I’m sure you all already know who I am so there’s no need for formal introductions,” she continued, looking around at each and every one of them. “I want to stop this... and I know I can’t do it alone. Fact is, if we don’t stop this whole thing now – I don’t think we ever will. If she reaches the surface...”

“That is what I have been saying the whole time,” a redheaded vampire spoke up and suddenly Buffy recognized him from the first dinner she had suffered the night of her arrival. He proceeded with: “We need to get to Clara. We need to strike at her before she has a chance to react.”

“And turn her into a martyr?” Maeve snapped impatiently. “And it is not your turn to speak, lord Gayle. Please, do not interrupt our guest.”

He gave her a look, then turned his eyes out of hers in submission. She gave a small nod.

“Our people are blinded by her power. We know this, and this is why we have been forced to wait. We cannot strike at her before she has announced her abandoning the old ways. When her subjects realize...”

“When they realize what is happening it will already be too late,” another vampire stated.

He had long black hair and dark green eyes and reminded Buffy a lot of Theo.

Perhaps they’re from the same line, she thought.

That was closer to the truth than she could even imagine. Ewan was in fact Theo’s grandchilde.

“Clara has not been seated on the throne for four thousand years because she does not oversee every last detail,” the vampire went on. “She knows that there will be commotion, confusion... chaos. I am certain she is expecting this. She will wait until the eleventh hour before pronouncing her plans. She will take her strongest and most loyal and they will take to the surface in the blink of an eye, while she leaves her trusted advisors to tend to the masses. In all this panic and uprooting, the people will cling to the one thing that has been consistent – and that is, unfortunately, her. They will follow her blindly once their old life comes crashing down.”

Maeve sat silent for a short while.

“You are right,” she finally nodded. “But we all knew these circumstances are fragile. Clara has been speaking of changes ever since she was a child. She has wanted a new place for herself ever since she first sat down to begin her reign. She thinks we do not belong here. She says we were never meant to hide, and it is this conviction which drives her away from a Holy City she herself has been the driving force in creating... In a way, it is sad... I doubt we shall see the same golden age once she is gone.” She paused, then got a hold on herself and added: “There is, however, no other way. We have connections, Ewan. The people will not only have to listen to the preaching of those close to the princess, they will have scattered influences from those close to THEM. Sam has made sure of that,” she finished and another round of agreeing nods was seen.

“The question is no longer where,” one of the older gentlemen now said. “Nor is it how, for we all have concluded that nothing but a swift assault can be in any way victorious. What is now to be answered is ‘when’.”

Maeve nodded, looking at the map before her and then rising. She reached out a hand and touched the marking recently made by the small sign saying Dorian’s Pass. And then her finger slid to the other, situated by the orchard entrance from the courtyard. This had been formed into an X and it was where the resistance had decided to gather their forces.

And then what, she thought to herself.

“We have a great leader on our side,” she finally stated. “He has lead armies into enemy territory and come out a hero more times than one. It is powerful that he stands with us, and I know this will win over more trained soldiers than we could have hoped for.”

Buffy noticed that the vampiress glanced at Matthew, who smiled barely noticeably.

“Theodore will find a way to aid us,” she finished and there was a soft mumble through those assembled at the mention of the name.

Something lifted after the realization that they were far from alone in this fight. The aristocracy had the funds to go up against their ruler, they had the born elegance of the kill and they knew they would all stand long in an actual fight. But to have someone as renowned and respected as Theodore to join them, this was something they hadn’t even dared hope.

Maeve sat down again, pleased with the impact her speech had had, and now convinced that her revelation had been for the better. She had a smile on and her gaze wore traces of clear happiness at the thought of Theodore.

Buffy watched the vampiress for a moment, feeling her curiosity suddenly grow. Something had happened after all. She had thought she had seen a change on the vampiress when they met in the hallway, something indefinable and yet apparent. Now she knew what it was.

“I must speak with him, and develop a plan stabile enough for us to accomplish what we need to,” Maeve said, her determination becoming a layer over her whole being and Buffy let it take her over as well. This was real, and dangerous. They were entering the very last part of the path, and there was no telling what was up ahead. “I believe we should all be ready to put it into action at a moment’s notice.”

The others all nodded again, beginning to discuss quietly with each other.

Maeve turned to Buffy and then rose, reaching out a hand and Buffy hesitated for only a second before she placed her own hand in the vampiress’ who made her stand up and then led her with her up to the crest hanging on the wall.

“There are many things that you do not know,” Maeve said. “I have explained a few... and I know it is a lot for you to digest. But I believe there are more that you have to know before we more forward in any way. I am afraid that Clara has her eye on you now... William biting you is...”

Buffy’s fingers went involuntarily to the wounds on her neck and Maeve watched her for a prolonged second and then she said:

“Do you feel prepared for this?”

“I do,” Buffy affirmed.

“Close your eyes,” Maeve instructed and in the next instant Buffy felt like she was falling backwards.

She opened her eyes but saw nothing but an impenetrable black and when she reached out her hands they grabbed at nothing but air. She hit the ground with a hard thump and lay still for a minute until she groaned and rolled over on her stomach. Raising her head her eyes fell on Maeve, who was standing a bit further away. Her pale skin looked even paler in the cold light spreading in the cave. It looked like moonlight, but Buffy had no idea where it could be coming from.

She pressed herself up off the ground, sitting on her knees and brushing the earth off her arms and front.

“What...?” she began, but Maeve shook her head slowly for her not to speak.

Buffy sighed, rising to her feet and again getting the dirt off, but this time from her thighs and back. There was a slight noise behind her and she turned around, watching as the mighty form of the dragon stepped out of the shadows. She backed away, then stopped as she thought she heard Maeve tell her to. The dragon approached, its glittering, sharp eyes observing her in silence. It stopped when its head was only a few inches from her, its neck bent so that its nose hovered just before her face.

She smiled a little, astonished at the feeling of calm which settled within her. Then she reached out a hand and carefully placed her palm against the bridge between the creature’s eyes. She stroked its scales and then let her arm fall to hang at her side.

“The end is here,” the dragon spoke. “I feel the earth tremble. There is not very much time. You must remember what has been foretold.”

She frowned.

The line of sight before her suddenly stretched, the dragon being pulled away from her and when she blinked her surroundings had changed. She felt dazed, as though she was in a dream where she wanted to clear her view, but all the blinking in the world wouldn’t get the muddiness out of her eyes. She looked around almost sluggishly. She was in her suite in the castle. She noted Maeve by the fireplace, the parlor furniture looked... not different, and still not the same. The colors were clearer. She realized that it was because they were newer. She heard humming coming from the bedroom. Her sight slowly cleared as she approached the doorway, and stopping in it her eyes fell on Clara. She was sitting at the foot of the bed with a baby wrapped in her arms. Buffy looked closer, squinting... It wasn’t Clara. Clara was the one in baby blankets; the vampiress holding her was... Lyria.

Buffy took a step forward and entered the room. The queen seemed to not notice she was even there, continuing to hum and smiling lovingly at her child. Buffy observed them, watching the helpless baby girl and feeling a nauseating need to snap her neck. The need lifted as she saw the love of Lyria, how she stroked her daughter’s forehead and kissed her cheeks softly.

“Someday,” Lyria said silently, “you will be as mighty as the sun. You will be the guiding star for all our people... They will turn to you to lead them. And your day will come when it is time...”

She trailed off and Buffy saw her gaze pull toward the desk on which lay a collection of scrolls. The Slayer hesitated, then walked up to them. She sank down on the chair and flattened out the stiff paper. The penmanship was thin and long, elegantly performed. It was in letters she recognized mixing with ones she had never seen before.

The dead language. The tongue of the Ancients in its truest form. Buffy touched the parchment.

“’Mithir dor karanahth lihm’,” Maeve’s voice recited behind the Slayer’s back. “’Rothim simirith harakath birh. Sithir dorh mahkora sahahleth.’”

“What does it mean?” Buffy asked quietly.

“You are the chosen, the one who walks with shadows. Through birth you were given the power. Every vampire shall follow you,” Maeve translated.

“Not a bad prophecy, is it?” Buffy wondered and Maeve shook her head slowly. “So this is what will happen...?”

“Yes,” Maeve nodded.

“And this is what pushes her forward?”

“Yes.”

Buffy turned the sheet and looked at its follower. The text was smaller.

“’Through blood you were born, with blood you shall rule. Let the power of those above bring you forth until the sacred date of rebirth. Baptize the new epoch with the sacrifice of anarchy; let its chaos wash you clean of disarray. When the consecrated ground admits you, when the light yields to the darkness, the earth shall be yours to inhabit. You shall feed off glory and steep candles of black and forgetfulness. The first bloodline shall rule all others when it is completed. When the tide turns it shall bring with it a gift, and this gift shall be in the form of a champion.’”

Why did I have to give him that stupid amulet? Buffy thought angrily.

“’At last waiting is no longer yours, you shall turn your path into that which you have always walked, you shall bring all who do not obey to tremble before you. The Blessed ones shall be no more.’”

“The Blessed?” Buffy wondered.

“You,” Maeve answered.

Buffy looked at the text and then turned to the vampiress.

“It’s in plural.”

“Yes,” Maeve nodded. “Those of us who have known about it always thought it was talking of the slayer line being wiped out... but since you unified the generations the text has in some ways gotten a completely new meaning.”

“Right,” Buffy murmured, looking over at Lyria, who had risen and was placing Clara in a beautifully crafted crib.

The baby made a gurgling noise and then she laughed happily. Lyria smiled.

“She was... so loved,” Buffy murmured and Maeve turned her head to the scene as well.

“It was not enough to change her nature,” Maeve replied.

“Sometimes... it is,” Buffy said and the vampiress nodded slowly.

“Sometimes,” she agreed. “But Clara’s soul is... untouchable. It is made of hard granite, impossible to break through. She has never sought love, and has never received it. She holds the deepest respect from those who follow her; they are as ruthless as her and believe none deserve mercy.”

The crib and the queen faded away, the furniture aged slowly and soon the Slayer and vampiress were in the suite as it looked like now. They barely picked up on the change as they simply carried on their conversation. Buffy asking:

“And you? Why do you believe in mercy? Why are you doing all this?”

“When Clara turned me I was... young. I had only turned twenty-one a day before and Clara watched me at my birthday party. She was sixteen. She told me many years later that I virtually vibrated with life, and that she felt she had to be a part of it or she would perish... She seduced me with talks of her world... I never imagined it would turn me inside out. Into a monster... You could not begin to imagine the things I have seen during my lifetime... upon lifetime upon lifetime.” Buffy smiled at that and Maeve returned it weakly before she continued:

“Clara has not ventured out of the city since her twentieth birthday. She has been bound by shackles created for her mother, I think. She has clung to the prophecy due to a great fear, I believe, that crossing the barrier to the world she so desperately craves part of will curse her... Through the prophecy she thinks herself have the excuse... the invitation to change... I, on the other hand, have spent a lot of time outside the city walls. Above ground... stalking the night, as so many of my kin do.

“Fresh air... the scent of burning autumn leaves... dew in the grass the hours before sunrise... birds drilling their seemingly unstructured tunes... And the people. It is extraordinary what standing outside a window watching a family get ready for supper can tell you of them... Little details create a picture which tells you of their day to day lives. I was always enchanted by it. Knowing I can never have a family of my own, and wishing fervently to be part of theirs... But time passed, as it inevitably does, and soon my dreams began to wither away in the face of truth. My truth was that I was a hunter, and nothing else. For many years, many, many years, I lived under this belief.

“I turned Isaiah on a whim, and he insisted on bringing his sister along... They were alone, you see, and he refused to leave her behind. Gabriella was charming, funny and dear to me for a long time... But she was also always hungry for more, and for some reason Clara picked up on this trait. She lectured her in the arts of seduction, head games... and cruelty.”

Maeve stopped, her face drawn with sorrow and Buffy felt the need to reach out and take her hand.

“I lost her, but not until Isaiah made his decision to leave. He was always attentative to the smaller details of life. He loved to paint and could spend days studying an object before he put a brush to canvas... But his paintings were so vivid that they nearly startled you... Clara has one in her chambers, I don’t know if you have seen it.”

Buffy nodded that she had, remembering the breathtakingly clear view of a moonlit meadow. Maeve smiled in recognition, pausing before she once more continued.

“He was a sensitive man, and he grew into a sensitive vampire... There has been a few of those throughout the ages... beings who gave up the hunt, recognizing the still human sides to them and embracing them. Many would go mad if they did this. A human psyche was never meant to see beyond death, was never designed to fully comprehend the meaning of life and how time change to then repeat itself. If you live long enough... you get to see a great deal of things you will come to want to erase. Those of us that are weakened by emotions, tend to go a little bit insane.”

Buffy smirked again, Maeve sighing, sitting down and looking into the fireplace for a long while. So long, in fact, that Buffy was about to say something to stir the silence; but it was as though Maeve sensed it – and once more beat her to it.

“Isaiah was my brother... I loved him deeply. He taught me about compassion, reminded me that deep down I do know the difference between right and wrong. My race tends to mess it all up, because they look at it from our perspective. In the vampiric society it is wrong NOT to kill, NOT to join in the feasting of innocent victims dragged down here from their families to serve as food for us. I could only keep my eyes closed for so long, and then I forced them open... and began to hate it all. It is the predators nature to seek out its prey, cats play with live mice to learn the skill of the hunt, and to perfect those it already possess. But we are not animals. We have minds that produce thoughts, we have hearts that once beat, and deep down we have souls that ache to be recognized.

“In most, the demon proves too strong. The demon lusts for blood, for demented pleasures... And yet traces of our human roots show in everything we do. In how we choose to live, in what we choose to wear, in the music we love to listen to and in the dances we love to lose ourselves in. Even in Clara’s obsessive longing to walk through waist high grass and feel it drag around her legs. It is a call that is directed at us from where we can never return to... Most turn this into a hunger for a revenge they never see themselves seeking. They turn to their victims for a single moment of sharing the life they long for and can never have. In blood lay salvation. It is madness...

“I never wanted war... I never wanted it to come to this. But as it is, it seems I have little say in the matter. Why do I wish to stop Clara? Because I believe in the old ways. I believe the elite should stay out of sight. I cannot perform a miracle and have them all stop feeding, Buffy, but I will not sit back and watch as the human race is turned into slaves. It would disrupt the balance, and it would bring about an apocalypse in a magnitude even Clara cannot foresee. I know it.

“I have lived for four thousand years. I have seen more battles than you could ever comprehend, more wars started, fought, won or lost than is even documented in history. And all I get from them is death and deep misery. Families torn apart, children and innocents killed, burned, blown to pieces... Beautiful cities destroyed. The planet cries from the blood spilled into its soil. And for what? For what?! Freedom? One man’s freedom is another man’s chain. And both sides fight for the same thing, for a belief in their people, in their own convictions, and they kill each other over a piece of land, over a spot of gold, over which God should rule the earth. It was never any religion’s intention to create so much chaos, and I can assure you that no god wishes its worshippers an early admittance into their heaven... Why can they all not simply stop their blind marching and look further ahead? Why can they not see the broken wings of the dreams they fight so hard for? Why can they not look at each other and see what they have in common – and not what sets them apart?

“There is no point to war. To any of it. And I will not submit you poor fools to the domination of my kin. We were never meant to be. We were an accident. Unfortunately, we are also damage that is irreparable and we will not go away... but to see the beauty of your world turned into ashes... it would be more than I could stand. I love it too much. I respect it too much. And this is why I want to overthrow my ruler, and my sire. She is crossing the line, and I cannot let her.”

Buffy felt a slight swindle as she was brought back into the small room where they had held their conference. She was still standing by the crest, and the vampires were still seated around the table, talking and discussing. Maeve was right in front of her and Buffy realized she was holding either of the other’s hands in her own. The vampiress slowly opened her eyes and met Buffy’s gaze.

Buffy had never met anyone like her, and she knew she never would again. She felt a sudden regard for the woman before her, and an adoration she wasn’t sure where it stemmed from. She felt related to her, in some odd sense. Maeve wore a small smile and the Slayer mirrored it.

“Alright,” she said. “Let’s overthrow her, then.”

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

One minute you’re on top

The next you’re not

Once you drop

Making your heart stop

Just before you hit the floor

One minute you’re on top

The next you’re not

Missed your shot

Making your heart stop

You think you’ve won

And then it’s all gone

-Hit the Floor, Linkin Park-

¤

Lesson the Thirty-Eighth

¤

Xander stared at the TV-screen. His face was a stale mask of horror. Dawn looked at him, then at the screen, then back at him with a frown.

“What’s with you?” she asked, the crackling noise as the praying mantis kept biting through the neck of her smaller mate being the only thing disrupting the stillness.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” he replied, swallowing with effort.

“The mantis is a fierce lover indeed,” said the male voice-over.

“INDEED, indeed,” Xander nodded with feeling.

“Its size makes it a not very easy target for the predators it may come across. However, there is one animal in the kingdom that does not back down willingly – a certain line of the jumping spider. This small, green fellow is barely visible against the backdrop of the leaf, but its eight eyes takes in most of what is around – and in front – of it. There is a moment’s pause and then... we see who goes victorious out of this battle.”

“My main man, the jumping spider!” Xander cheered. “Now, if I only had known how to conjure up one of those in my hour of need,” he added glumly, turning the TV off and turning to a rather perplexed Dawn. “You don’t remember my rendez vous with the bug lady?” he asked at sight of her expression and she cocked an eyebrow.

“Xan, your love life is way too messed up for me to have all the details straight,” she said, rising and walking around the couch. “Personally,” she added, “I always thought Faith was your low.”

“Hey, there had been nearness to death and saving and helping to save,” he defended matter-of-factly as her back disappeared through the doors of the room. “Very much helping,” he added to himself, sitting back and then rising as well, following her. “You know,” he said as he entered the parlor where she was unfolding her laptop and turning it on, “there’s something in me that can’t take a girl walking out on me like that. It’s simply...”

The phone rang and she picked it up with a meaningful glance for him to shut up.

“...disrespectful,” he finished, giving her a friendly glare as he sunk down on a chair.

“Hi, Will,” Dawn smiled, slapping Xander’s hand away when he started pressing the keys of the computer at random.

“What?” he mimed. “I’m trying to...”

She gave him another look and he huffed.

“Yeah?” she said, sitting down and beginning to open up a document with one quick right hand. “Okay,” she nodded, hitting the Internet Icon and having the opening page come up.

She clicked her way to her email account, making understanding noises all the way.

“What’s she saying?” Xander asked.

“Yeah, it’s here,” Dawn said, ignoring him. “I’m opening it up n-... whoa.”

“I know,” Willow nodded, looking over at where Angel was strapping Tilla to a chair, Cordelia looking on. “So, do you think you can try and work your mojo on it?”

“Well,” Dawn murmured, “there’s not much mojo to work. We had a little visit.”

“Visit?”

“Arderia. Stole the book. Or rather, was GIVEN it. Giles insisted. He’s gone clinically goo-goo-gah-gah and we had to lock him up, that’s no biggy, right?”

“No, not at all. But... the book’s gone?” Willow wondered, baffled.

“Very much so,” Dawn nodded, looking at the scanned page she had in front of her on the screen. “Except for the most important part,” she added silently and Willow smiled.

“Hopefully,” she nodded. “I’ll try and crack it from over here. We have to hurry, Dawnie.”

“I know,” Dawn assured.

They hung up and Dawn turned to Xander.

“Go get Giles,” she said and he rose.

“Thought he’s in the loony bin,” he muttered and she smiled brightly at him, having him smile back in the midst of his sour-spell.

“Thank you!” Dawn called after him and he waved his hand no-need.

¤¤¤

Clara let her fingers touch the paint of the picture before her. It went from floor to ceiling, framed in silver tainted mahogany. She reached no further than up the stem of the tree depicted closest to the viewer, she could let her hand slide over the captured hills, but could not reach the forest beyond them. The moon was full and painted light blue with white details. From farther away it truly looked real. If she could only remember the scent of fresh grass. If she could only recall the feeling of the wind stroking through her hair, untangling a few of the strands, playing with them carelessly. If she could only have it all, right there...

She wanted it.

Right now.

Her patience had been veining for some time, and the closer she got to the selected date the more eager she grew.

She knew it would all click itself into place. She smiled to herself as she moved from the painting to sit down before the fireplace. There was a strange stillness beneath her breast; an unkempt wanting that had been harbored there for so long now seemed to have run out of power. The wanting for this day to arrive.

Now it was here.

It would change everything.

With one breath she would blow out the candle which had illuminated the path of her people, and then she would light another one to show them the road they had always been meant to walk. They would follow her. They would see that there was no other way.

And those who didn’t...

Well.

“I will be free,” she said to the fire. “Free.”

And so would all the others.

They would all, at last, be set free.

¤¤¤

Spike worked his way into a standing position, looking around the room for some means of escape. He tried yanking at his restraints for the thousandth time, but they must have been fortified because there was no sign of them giving way even a millimeter. He grumbled his annoyance and leaned against the foot of the bed.

He was worried. He had the most creeping notion that something was very close to going down and he could not be locked up in his bedroom while it did. He nearly regretted stopping Buffy’s attempt at freeing him. He leaned forward, bracing himself and trying to pull the bed apart, make at least a piece of the thick wood which held him give way. The bed creaked, but nothing more. He growled loudly, sighing as he had to give up.

“Bloody buggering sodding hell,” he muttered under his breath.

He remembered the first time he had ever seen her, his Slayer. He remembered all the hits and kicks and punches, all the snide remarks, all the snazzy comebacks, all the hateful glares, all the passionate glances, every single kiss and every last smile. He had her voice in his head, replaying over and over her lips forming the words that he had never dared believe he would hear from her again... that she loved him. And he had seen it in her eyes, had known that it was real. That this time... everything was different. It wasn’t something fluty, it wasn’t something he couldn’t dare trust. She loved him as deeply as he loved her.

He felt his heart jump for joy when he thought of it, and the situation they were in didn’t seem as hard to bear. She was there with him, in the room, with her arms around him, softly stroking his hair and kissing his neck.

“She loves me,” he whispered, smiling to himself.

When she had said that she believed in him... That had made him endure every last second of the torture that the First put him through. It had made it seem almost worthwhile. He had thought that it was his pay, his debt for being admitted to hear her utter that sentence. She believed in him, and he would never fail her in any way again. He would never shame that belief, would never have her feel the need to regret it.

How he had longed to touch her that year, how he had absolutely forced himself not to. And then... He closed his eyes. She had been so frail in his embrace, so open and finally not afraid to show him that in some ways she needed him. She had looked at him with an intensity that had mirrored in his own gaze and they had both tried to work it all out, without words, without misunderstandings they had held each other... and perhaps that had been all the answer any of them had needed. The fact that she fell asleep in his arms for the very first time that night had told him everything he could want to know.

The taste of her blood suddenly filled his mouth and he snarled in desperation as he opened his eyes again. He admitted that he had wanted it, had craved it for as long as he could remember. A part of him would always want the blood, and her blood in particular... but he couldn’t believe that he had bloody done it! To her. It didn’t matter what she said about it, the promise he had made to himself not to violate her trust seemed to have been broken. He couldn’t wrap his head around it and he knew that he would never forgive himself. Because if he did... he might be tempted to repeat it.

She had omitted him into a place that was so sacred and so intimate to the both of them that he didn’t think he would dare go there again. And he wouldn’t want to. No. Never again. It was wrong, for both of them, and the only reason they had gone there in the first place...

“Is because of THIS place,” he murmured, glaring around the room and feeling helpless.

Yet he had to admit that part of him felt honored... felt like it had been so special that a second time would taint it... He had been filled with her, with her essence, and the only time he would ever be able to return the favor would be if she was carrying his child... Which would never happen.

He felt a sting near his heart, but pushed it aside.

Then he remembered her words on the cliff, and a smile was born on his mouth again.

‘It’s just... I guess that reality never was for me. I can see Dawn with kids and grandkids and everything. And I can see me being the fun auntie Buffy who baby-sits now and then... But it feels out of reach for me.’

‘Why?’ he had wondered.

‘I’m not even sure I want it,’ she had mumbled. ‘Maybe...’ And she had smiled. He remembered it so clearly. A hint of tease in her gaze as she had turned it in his before she had finished: ‘Maybe I’m supposed to live fifteen stories up with an amazing view.’

‘You really think that’d be enough?’ he had asked. ‘An empty apartment? No children? No family? No white picket fence?’

And what she had said now warmed his still heart in a way that almost brought tears to well in his eyes. She had said:

‘Well, I think... I KNOW that if I just have someone... you know... that loves me, that’d be enough.’

She said that to me, he thought. She said that ABOUT me... She was talking about me all along.

He felt the happiness rising again. Suddenly the door opened and Clara came through it, she had three vampires with her.

“Danihath,” she commanded. “Burh dih sakhareth.”

The vampires walked up to him and grabbed his arms, holding him as they untied the ropes.

“What’s going on?” he asked and she smiled sweetly.

“You’ll find out,” she replied, turning and walking ahead out of the room, the guards pulling him with them after her.

¤¤¤

Ophelia straightened out the linen of the Slayer’s bed when she heard the commotion of many feet trampling down the hallway and voices speaking in low whispers. She felt a chill of sudden premonition, but it was too late. The door to the room opened before she had a chance to react and then everything went black.

¤¤¤

Buffy wrapped her cape tighter around her. The cold from the room she had now left was still icing through her bones. Maeve was at her side, Matthew not far behind them. The other members of the resistance had slipped out through the tunnel’s many passageways. It would take them safely and undetected back to their homes. The orchard was peaceful. Most of those that would have chosen to journey its white paths were sleeping.

Maeve and Buffy said goodbye to Matthew, who bowed his head as he walked off to a door at the opposite side of the orchard wall. He had a mission to help spread the word of the need for preparation, and Buffy watched him go with a slight feeling of being torn. She had seen so much good be said and done by these creatures... and yet years of silent intuition kept telling her that she shouldn’t believe everything she saw. This doubt coexisted in terrible conflict with her trust in Maeve, with the knowledge that the vampiress cause was just. The Slayer wanted to broaden her vision, and try and take to heart the now stated fact of these beings having much more to them than fangs.

She had seen Spike as something of a sacrilege when it came to the ways of the vampire, and of the demons. Naturally, he was – but her view of it had been twisted into thinking that he also was the only one, that feelings never ruled beings who had no soul. She was reappraising her convictions and finding them left wanting. Looking at Maeve she found a spurring need to know more of her, of where she had come from and of what she had seen and done. She wished to know all of it.

The vampiress, walking ahead of her, suddenly stopped. She seemed to be listening intensely for something and Buffy halted as well. There was nothing but silence, and then Buffy began to notice what had Maeve so tense. The air. It wasn’t as crisp with cold. The sound of snow falling off a branch and rushing to land amongst its kin beneath it, the low thud it produced, had both females turn their heads that way in perfect synchronicity.

The orchard was thawing.

Buffy couldn’t stop it, her heart beat grew a few degrees hotter with a flare of understanding.

It was beginning.

Maeve shared a look with her, both calming and alarming in that calm. Buffy knew it was only there for her benefit, and she almost wished that the vampiress had screamed bloody murder instead. Feeling as though this act of a more human reaction to the mere thought of war soon flooding this place would have offered more comfort. However, she lent from the strength of the dark haired as they walked the stairs to the different floors hosting their suits; and had to be grateful that Maeve’s head was, for better or worse, always leveled.

They stopped before Buffy’s bedroom door and said goodnight.

“Get some rest,” Maeve encouraged. “Tomorrow shall be long, I fear.”

Buffy smiled to the best of her ability, gave a nod and slipped inside her suite, closing the door behind her.

She stretched and decided to push the coming morning on the future, where it belonged. She was tired, she realized, and looking forward to a few hours of good sleep. She walked into her bedroom and began to unlace the cape at the throat. Pulling it off she let it fall over the foot of the bed and had a flash come over her of the time she had just hours before spent with Spike. She smiled a little, then it faded and she felt herself become rigid.

God, what am I gonna do? she thought.

She undid her carelessly buttoned dress and let it drop to the floor before she climbed into the bed, not caring about a nightgown and pulling the covers over her head. She wished she could’ve felt Spike’s arms close around her with all the reassurance they had to give, hear him whisper her name, feel him kiss the top of her head as he pulled her close. She wanted to relax with her cheek against his chest and feel protected... and loved.

She clenched her jaws together to keep the tears from coming.

She had no right to mourn something that had yet to begin. Because it would begin. They would have everything they had ever wanted and they’d finally have it together.

Together, she told herself; suddenly sitting up when she thought she could hear him scream.

Her heart was racing. She listened further. Nothing.

It’s just my head, she said. I’m hearing things...

But she lay down not feeling very sure on the matter, and it wasn’t exactly helping her fall asleep. She lay stiff as a board for nearly an hour, barely breathing in fear of missing any sign that he was in trouble. She felt uneasy, but knew the penalty she would suffer if she ventured out into the hallways again.

Clara’s planning to kill me, she thought to herself. Clara’s planning to kill me.

She kept drilling the sentence into her and felt how she was growing more and more attuned to the fact that she was again in mortal danger. Slowly she drifted off, her Slayer side now in control and feeling how much she needed it.

But a dream would come to haunt her, and it would wake her through a startle.

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Willow clicked on the icon on the computer screen and typed in a search word. The scanned page was immediately worked on, and then a blinking sign of “no matches found” came up. She muttered in frustration, clicking ok and pausing before she typed in another word and repeated the procedure. The same result was the sum of it and finally she stood, turning her back on the ill-willed piece of machinery as she walked up to the window of the hotel room.

It was dark, the city lights creating pools on the pavement and laughing couples walking by on their way to restaurants and museums and movie theatres. An older man in a hat and coat slowly strutted by with a cane swinging in one hand. A girl with three dogs on a leash which forked into three smaller ones jogged passed. Willow turned from it.

She hadn’t felt this powerless in a very long time. She had tried to meditate in order to establish a connection with Buffy, but there was nothing. Not a trace that she even existed. It frightened the Wicca more than she would admit to herself. She had brought Buffy back in an act of desperation at the thought of her being trapped in some sort of a hell-dimension for all eternity. She had thought it would be that kind because Buffy had jumped off the tower in order to close one... She had had no idea that Buffy’s sacrifice was supposed to happen, was to take her to the place she so rightfully deserved after a life of protecting all those around her.

She knew Buffy wanted to live... but what if everything had a purpose? What if the Slayer had been brought back in order to cut the boundaries of the slayer line and create this powerful army to fight the forces of darkness? What if she had been brought back to face this ultimate threat, and then what if she was again about to look at something resulting in her death, as the right outcome?

Willow licked at her tear drenched lips and turned her head as Cordelia entered the room. The latter hesitated for only a few seconds before she was at the other’s side and wrapped her arms around her.

“You’ll see it’ll be okay,” she promised soothingly. “You’ll see.”

Willow held the other in a tight grip and prayed with everything in her to the Powers, to the Goddess, to God and to every other protective power she knew that Cordelia was right. She had to be right.

Suddenly there was a small tingle from the computer and Willow pulled out of Cordelia’s arms to run up to it, clicking on the flashing icon of “Incoming Mail”. The Wicca dried her tears with hasty movements as she sat down and began to read the short message from Dawn.

Then she picked up the phone and called Giles’ number, the younger Summers sister picking it up instantly.

“Are you sure?” Willow asked.

“Ninety-nine point nine percent sure,” Dawn confirmed, her voice strained.

Cordelia leaned forward to read what the message said and then her eyes widened.

“Oh,” she mumbled. “Oh, no.”

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The Slayer was trapped in a glass cage, four walls enclosing her and a space only big enough for her to stand upright in. She looked around, but couldn’t tell what the shadows outside were. She placed a hand against the glass before her, and it broke under the feather light pressure, splitting into an intricate spider’s web which centered in the palm of her hand and which spread over the whole pane until the pieces suddenly flew outwards, leaving her the space to step out through.

She did, walking forward and feeling the ground beneath her feet give way to her steps as though it was soft moss. She couldn’t tell where she was, it didn’t smell like a forest, the shadows she could tell surrounding her didn’t look like trees and then she found herself standing in the gaping mouth to a cave. It was sand that was under her feet, and before her on the wall hung... herself.

Spike stood before her, with a knife in his hand, and before she could stop it he let it sink deep into her side.

She saw a flash of a black-haired, blue-eyed, smirking vampiress standing beside them.

The Slayer’s heart began pumping and when she looked down she saw that her side was wounded from the knife, blood pumping out of it with every heart beat and the top and pants she was in getting soaked. Then the liquid started to drip from somewhere else as well and she put one hand up to the left of her throat and when she brought her hand down to look at it, it was covered in sticky red. She blinked, a wave of shock pouring through her.

Suddenly two arms grabbed her from behind and when she turned her head to the side her eyes met the yellow ones of Spike’s vampire self. He was smirking.

“Hi, honey,” he said.

“There is no trust,” Clara, now standing before the Slayer, stated; finishing: “that cannot be broken.”

Buffy stared at her and then felt Spike’s fangs dig into her flesh in a way so totally different from how it had felt in reality that she let out a startled scream. She was pushed to fall forward and landed among soft cushions. Spinning over and onto her back she looked around the red painted room. The oriental theme was rather unsettling instead of being soothing. She had no clue where she was.

The blood was gone.

She slowly rose.

The room was tiny. She could touch both walls with her fingertips if she stretched her arms out to her sides. The walls were dressed in fine silk which shimmered crimson. In the wall before her sat a glittering ruby. She approached it, reaching out a hand to touch it when something hissed behind her shoulder and she spun around.

She was in the middle of a field, the wind tearing through her hair and she looked up at the sky. The stars were quickly being covered by clouds.

“It will be dark soon,” Giles said to her right.

She looked at him, her arms around her waist as she was growing more and more scared she’d simply blow away. He was unmoved by the wind, taking off his glasses and reaching them over to her. She took them with a questioning frown.

“Keep your eyes pert,” he advised, then turned and strolled leisurely down a picturesque country lane.

The wind was picking up its pace and a tornado was forming right above her head. She looked up, but had no time to react before it hit ground by her feet and the suction grabbed her and brought her with it into the air. She was swirling in the skies for what felt like forever and then she landed in twigs.

It was the roof of the oracles house.

“Tick, tock,” Drusilla said where she was peaking up from the other side of the roof. “Tick, tock like the bells and the clocks in my heart. Slayer... Tick, tock.”

Buffy stared at her and then Drusilla pushed her to fall to the ground with a snarl.

“So have him! I wish only to eat cake with miss Edith and you told him to bring me some and he didn’t and now it is all for nothing! Nothing!” the vampiress screamed before she disappeared from view.

Buffy got up with effort, looking around the garden which slowly had a layer of frost come over it. Then snow began to fall and Buffy wrapped the cape she now had around her shoulders tighter as she began to walk into the white haze. The flowers became bushes carrying blue roses. Buffy stopped under a black sign with silver letters.

She entered the tavern. Maeve was there, and so was Theodore, Matthew and the rest of the vampires the Slayer had met in the oval room. Spike sat by the fire, staring into the flames.

“I never wanted it to be like this,” he mumbled. “I always loved you, Buffy.”

She frowned and then felt herself be pinned down to the floor as all the vampires crowded around her for the feast. The first bite went into her wrist. She felt herself choking.

“No!” she yelled. “No!”

She heard dripping noises all around her. She felt cold stones under her cheek. She was in a fetal position, trying to save herself from the attack... which had seized. She heard a rustle and looked up. Her eyes landed on a young girl hanging against the wall before her. Her hair was dirty, her form half-naked.

“Jessie?” Buffy whispered, slowly curling out of her stance and sitting up.

She looked around with her eyes growing round as she saw her fellow slayers chained, beaten and drained of blood more times than one... They were all hanging from the wrists against the dirty stones of the walls.

“You must...” Jessie said, her voice cracking.

Buffy got to her feet, slowly approaching her.

“You must not...” Jessie tried again and Buffy stopped before her. “You must not... let her.”

Then she kicked out a foot and hit Buffy’s chin, making the Slayer tumble backwards. She fell into the arms of Spike and he held her tightly.

“No matter what,” he said softly. “No matter what, this is where I’ll be.”

He touched the place of her heart and disappeared in the next blink.

Buffy felt tears rise in her eyes.

“Shh,” Dawn said, wrapping her arms around her sister and holding her to her. “Shh.”

She stroked the Slayer’s hair and Buffy returned the embrace.

“Soon it’ll be over,” Dawn said. “Soon, it will all come to a close. What’s this?” She touched Buffy’s neck. “You’re inside of him now,” she whispered with widening eyes. “You’re a part of him.”

Dawn disappeared and Buffy found herself in the great hall. She turned around and came face to face with Gabriella. She had a silver stake in one hand and raised it high with a devilish smirk before she brought it down hard, straight into the Slayer’s heart.

Buffy woke with a gasp, tears still staining her cheek and her eyes landing in Clara’s.

The vampiress smiled, her eyes gleaming in the light of night as she slowly moved around the bed.

“Are you ready?” she asked, her voice so low it seemed it was more an echo in the Slayer’s head.