Part 20

As requested by a couple of readers, this chapter is what happened with Ayledan, Spike, and Buffy.

2711

I sit alone, staring out the window at the cloudy skies. Today's weather is fitting. A lump fills my throat, and I swallow past the ache. Reaching up a finger, I trace a clear path through the condensed precipitation on the glass pane. I think ironically that everything was clear before today, but now. . .

"Are you ready, pet?" Spike runs a hand over my neck and kisses my cheek gently. I feel the tension in his body.

Looking up at him, I note how handsome he appears clad in black with his hair blond for the first time in I don't recall how many years. His eyes are shiny with unshed tears, and his evident pain squeezes my heart in a way only he can move me.

My gaze returns to the world outside. I tremble and fight the tears that threaten to spill over my cheeks. "No."

He sighs, half out of impatience, half out of dread to go himself. "Buffy, we'll miss the ceremony unless we leave now."

"I don't know if I want to go." The grey skies are crying gallons of water, and I want to retreat to the warmth of the bed with my lover, so I can put off facing the truth for a little while longer.

"What would Ayledan want you to do?"

I close my eyes, and Ayledan's broken, bloody body lights up my mind. Guilt rips through my gut. "I know. She'd want me to go."

"Yes." He takes my hand as I rise and laces his fingers with mine. I peek up at him from under dark waves. Then, I hug his arm to me; I need him now more than he can know.

"Did you get the memory box?" I ask softly, rubbing his forearm tenderly.

He brushes a strand of hair off my face, and then, his hand dives into his jacket pocket, pulling out the tiny black strip. He cradles the bit of technology in his palm as he held Ayledan as her life melted out of her. In that little strip is the final bit of our daughter. I stroke the metal with two fingers, and then, the truth overwhelms me.

Ayledan is never coming home.

My voice is almost inaudible, "It feels wrong."

"It does," he responds.

"I've seen so many people I love die, but I never expected to see my daughter go before me," I murmur.

"I never expected to have a daughter," Spike whispers more deeply than normal.

"Me either."

Our tears fall together, and soon, we are seated on the floor with our legs crossed and knees touching. He holds my hands in his larger ones, and our lips meet briefly. . . in reassurance that one of us will not leave the other.

Then, I'm startled as Spike laughs. My lips turn up in involuntary reaction. "What's funny?"

"I was just remembering what she said to those wankers on the Council when we approached them about taking on her training and making her our daughter."

I giggle. "I remember."



***"But Ayledan, You do not know what you ask. We cannot allow you to be trained by and live with monsters," the Council leader protests.

"But, you see, I have no family now." Ayledan stands before the Council board with her hands clasped behind her back. Her long, black hair is swept up off her neck, and she is dressed in a light brown suit and heels, giving her a responsible, adult appearance. "And they," she gestures toward Spike and I, "can give me everything I need. Training and a family."

"Why do you need a family? You are an adult. And you have friends and a Watcher to aide you. And we can't abide you communing with them. Spike has killed four slayers, including Buffy. We cannot chance that he would do the same to you. You are, therefore, forbidden from any connection with either of them."

Ayledan is swift in her reaction as she rushes at the Council leader. In an instant, he is thrown back and pinned to the table behind him. "You have no right to tell me what to do with my life. And I have a right to choose my own family. And unless you make this adoption go through, I'm through with you. I'll walk away, and you won't hear from me again."

She releases the leader, and he turns to the other board members. They gather in a tight circle, talking in quiet mumbles amongst one another. Although they speak the international language, they seem to be talking in gibberish. Then, their leader confronts the slayer again, face wearing a deep frown.

"All right, Ayledan. You may stay with them on one condition."

Ayledan straightens her shoulders and says, "And what might that be?"

"Spike and Buffy must work with us as well and abide by our rules."

An expression of panic brightens her eyes briefly as she turns to us in uncertainty. Without a word, I nod to her. A broad grin spreads across her features. She faces the leader and states, "We accept your terms."

Two seconds later, Ayledan rushes to us and engulfs us in a huge hug. "Hi, Mom and Dad."***



"What's your favorite memory of her?" I touch my forehead to Spike's.

"I dunno. There're so many, love." He thinks for a bit. "I think my favorite is when we bought this place. . . when we showed her for the first time."



***"What's the surprise?" Ayledan is wearing an eager expression. She's taller and stronger than me, but she's also still younger than twenty years of age.

Spike is just as excited as she is. "Keep your eyes shut tight, bit. Soon, very soon, you'll know."

Eyebrows raised, I glance at Spike with my hands on my hips. "I think she better cover her eyes with her hands, too."

Ayledan laughs loudly and presses both hands to her eyes. "They're covered; they're covered. What's the surprise? Hurry, I wanna know."

Spike takes her by the elbow and guides her to the public transport room. I enter behind them and lean against the wall as Spike gives the location to the computer. In the next instant, we're stepping into our new home.

"Okay, open them!" I exclaim.

Ayledan shrieks as soon as she uncovers her eyes. "A home! I've never had a home before!" She runs up the stairs in the loft apartment and finds the bedroom that's bare except for a bed and a feminine dresser, mirror, and chair. There's also a large ceiling to floor window with a cushioned window seat where she can curl up with books or nap or daydream.

Spike and I follow her, smiling goofily. We are giddy to have a new life amongst us. ***



"And yours?" Spike fields the question back at me.

My response is immediate, "When we had our talks."

"Ahhh. Any one in particular, pet?"

I smile wistfully. "Yeah."



*** "Buffy, Mom, can I talk with you?"

Glancing at her upside down from my stretching position in the training room, I reply, "Sure." I bounce back to an upright stance. I bend to snag my towel and water, leaning to the wall to shut off the thrumming exercise music. Even though I don't need the water and don't sweat, old habits die hard. "What's up, sweetie?" I take a drink of water and pat the seat next to me on the wall bench.

Ayledan gracefully settles next to me. A line appears between her eyes. "Will I ever have a normal life?"

Of all the questions that I thought she might ask, that was not one of them. I suppose I should have expected it. I take time to gather my thoughts before answering her query with another question. "What's normal?"

"I don't honestly know."

"Why are you asking me this, Ay?"

She studies her hands in her lap. "I just figured you might have felt the same way before. . . I mean, since you were the slayer, too."

I lean forward to force her to look me in the eye. "What happened?"

"Ben broke up with me." Tears fill her eyes.

I stroke her shoulder. "Oh, Ay. When? Why?"

She sniffles, and her tone is angry when she speaks again, "Last night, we went to dinner for our anniversary, you know, and a couple of vamps sat at the table next to us. So, you can guess what I was doing the whole night."

"Ben was trying to be romantic, and you couldn't focus because the vamps were there," I finish the story for her.

"Yeah. And we had to leave when they did, so I could stake them. He asked me if we would ever have a normal date. . . if we'd ever get married and have babies." Her expression is dejected.

"What did you tell him?" I urge her to continue.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I told him he knows I don't want kids and that I'm not ready to be married and that he would have to accept that slaying is part of who I am. And he said he couldn't take it anymore, and he couldn't see me anymore."

Ayledan bursts into tears then and lays her head in my lap. "Why can't he love me for who I am? What's wrong with me? Am I a freak?"

I allow her to sob for a few minutes before telling her to sit up. "Listen to me, Ay. You are a beautiful young woman. You are not a freak, and nothing is wrong with you. And Ben. He's just insecure. And one day, someone will accept you for who you are and love every part of you."

She smiles through her tears. "Like Dad loves you."

"Yeah, like Spike loves me." I return her smile.

She wipes her eyes on my sweat towel and takes a drink of the water I offer her. "I'm so lucky."

"And why's that?" I replace the strand of her hair that's come loose again.

"Cause I have you and Dad to talk with."

"And we're lucky to have you."

"And all those things you said. . . I needed to hear them. I mean, I know they're true, and it's a really simple thing, but I needed that." Her eyes are wide and earnest.

"I know. I needed to say them. Reminds me of who I am, too."

"Do you think Ben will come back?"

"Sweetie, I don't know. But if he doesn't, he's a fool."

She grins. "I know."***



Spike is smiling at my memory. "I didn't realize you'd discussed that with her."

"Yeah."

Ben had come back to Ayledan. Unlike most of the men in my life whom I can hardly recall, Ben didn't walk away forever. Like Spike, he made an effort to change and returned to Ayledan. They were engaged when Ayledan was killed. . . .

"Spike, we missed the ceremony," I realize, coming out of our sea of memories.

"Ah, pet, we had our own ceremony."

"What about the memory box?" I tap his pocket.

Spike presses his lips to my forehead. "We'll bring it later."

I agree without saying a word. "We were lucky to have her."

"That we were, love; that we were."

* * *

Part 21

3000

"Buf. . . y." My name echoes through my mind, fading in and out like bad reception on one of those old television sets. "uf. . .y."

I place my tongue between my lips and concentrate on the miniature needle and thread in my hand. Just have to get the thread through the tiny opening. Then, I can finish the job.

"BUFFY!"

The sound overwhelms my eardrums, and I jerk, stabbing the needle into my finger. "Ouch! Dammit!" I make sure I transmit my exclamation with my mind.

"Bloody hell!" I giggle because this time the voice is outside my head and about thirty feet away.

Spike peeks around the corner of the cabin porch to glare at me. "That hurt, woman!"

"Serves you right for shouting at me and making me stick myself!" I retort playfully. My ears catch more grumbling from Spike's direction. "Come on; keep practicing."

"I don't want to." Even after hundreds of years, Spike has an uncanny knack for sounding like a little kid sometimes, which is one of the many reasons I love him.

"You're doing good; you just need to practice." I'm trying to teach Spike to transmit messages to me with his mind. The technology is new and not easily accessible, but as usual, the Watcher's Council has us testing things out.

Silence. Then, . . . "Buffy. How. . . the sew. . . ?"

"Hush. Like to see you do it," I signal back. I'm trying to sew up a hole in one of Reyni's shirts. "That was better; I could almost hear everything you were trying to say."

"Threaded the needle, yet?"

"Spike, that was perfect!"

I can picture the wide smile on his face. "Thanks, pet!" he returns.

"And no."

"No, what, love?"

"I haven't threaded the needle."

The thread is unraveling against my fingers from repeated moistening and attempts to poke it through the needle hole. Frustrated, I throw the shirt, the needle, and the thread across the porch with an exasperated moan and stomp over to Spike, plunking myself down beside him.

I speak aloud, "I hate sewing!"

Spike is trying hard not to smile too big, and he pats my bare knee. "Why are you doing that again?"

"Because we're on this darned retreat with Reyni, and we're supposed to teach her survival skills."

Reyni is the slayer, and at nineteen, the Council decided that she should have what they termed "survival skills." Several Council members believed that the slayer should train for any situation, so they commissioned a few acres of land to be transformed into an artificial "field" training ground. Only problem is, the type of training ground they created doesn't exist anymore. Trees, grass, wild animals, and cabins do not exist except in fantasy rooms or vids or museums.

"Since when has a slayer ever had to worry about clothes or sewing?" Spike wonders with a smirk.

"That's what I'd like to know. You'd think 'field training' would be more realistic."

"Maybe they're trying to teach me what it used to be like," Reyni speculates as she exits the cabin. Petite and shorter than me, the current slayer has shoulder-length dark hair with natural curls that float about her shoulders when she moves or talks.

Unlike Ayledan, Reyni comes from a two-parent home and went to the learning institute to become a musician. She and Spike both play the piano and have spent many an hour challenging each other musically. In the past, the amount of time they spend together might have made me jealous, but since Spike and I have been training slayers and acting as their guardians, they have been like our daughters. Watchers still play a role in training but are actually more specialized in research now.

"Trust me; Buffy never sewed," Spike notes, squeezing my thigh.

I slap his hand in false horror. "Hey! How many wounds of yours did I stitch up?"

"Hmm. Quite a few, I suppose, but you never mended clothing," he insists. He grins and adds, "You just bought new outfits."

"Hey!" I protest again; then, I pause. "That's true."

Crossing her arms, Reyni laughs and leans against a support pole on the porch. "You guys are goofy."

Spike peers up at her solemnly. "We try."

I pat my lover on the head, enjoying the feel of his now honey-blond curls against my fingers. "*Spike* does quite well at it. Me, I'm not very good, yet."

Spike twists his head and nudges my hand down from atop his head, planting a kiss on my palm and nibbling the tip of one of my fingers. I almost lose track of where I am when his eyes meet mine.

Disrupting my reverie, Reyni quietly clears her throat, and I glance up blushing. Spike is grinning. . . cocky boy.

"So, where are we going this evening?"

The sun disappeared below the horizon only an hour ago. Sunrises and sunsets are about the only thing that hasn't changed about Earth's environment. With new technology that was invented by demons, Spike and I can watch a sunrise or sunset behind a specially designed window built into a wall. The new windows are terribly expensive, so we're lucky to have one in our city home. I, for one, have enjoyed the amenity greatly.

Spike glances at me. Actually, he's never stopped looking at me. Sometimes he watches me as if he's never seen me before. . . even after centuries. "Where are we going, oh fearless leader?"

I punch him softly on the upper arm as a signal to stop teasing and tell Reyni, "Back to the woods. . . third quadrant for some live practice."

Reyni's energy is pouring off her in the uncontrollable fashion of youth. "Oooo. What kind of demon?"

"Doig'ash," Spike inserts.

"Weird name. What the heck are they?" Like me, Reyni has never been good about studying the books although her Watcher, Vincent, would like her to be.

In this area, Spike is the expert, so I let him take over. "Doig'ash are forest green, about six and a half feet tall, and covered in scales. They tend to live in marshy areas and feed off wildlife that lives there."

"Hence, why we're going to quadrant three," I interject. "Although they don't live there out in the real world because there aren't marshes. But they do live in other damp places. . . like the underground."

"So," Reyni asks, "how do we kill them? And why? They don't sound so dangerous."

Spike nods as if he knew Reyni was going to ask that very question. "Well, in the past, we wouldn't have bothered, but since there's a shortage of wildlife for food, they've a tendency to feed on humans."

"Ah, that would be of the bad."

* * *

3000, about thirty minutes later

"How many are there?" I ask Reyni. She is to use her senses to determine where and how many demons there are.

Spike has not gone out with us tonight; he's staying at the cabin, making the necessary communications with the Council. Dressed in black and with our hair pulled back, Reyni and I are crouched in the marsh near the location of the Doig'ash demons.

She reaches outward with her heightened slayer powers. After a few seconds, she whispers back, "Three. . . one near the trees over there." She points to the left. "And two in the cave to the right."

"Very good. And how do you kill them?"

"With these." She lifts up two foot-long, silver-plated knives between us almost directly in my face. "Because silver is like poison in their bloodstream. . . goes straight to their hearts and stops them beating."

"Right." I push her hand and the knives down. "Be careful. Doig'ash have long arms and are quite fast even though they're big. And you have to go for the major arteries. And where are they?"

Reyni moves her feet to redistribute her weight. "Umm. In the neck and upper thigh."

"Right. Any weaknesses?"

"Problems hearing. So, they're easy to sneak up on." She bites her lip. "Okay."

"All yours." I nod toward the demon on the left.

"Right." Reyni stares at the nearby demon.

Paying careful attention to her every move, I record her fight with the first Doig'ash demon. Reyni, Spike, and I will analyze her moves and strategy later. I'm simply here to make sure Reyni doesn't get badly hurt. She takes the first demon in record time and manages the other two with ease. Within a few minutes of her exiting the hiding place, I follow and join her in standing over the corpse of one of the demons.

"Buffy, where does the Council get these demons?"

"What do you mean?"

She squats next to the demon and lifts his arm. "Look."

Oddly, the dead demon has a vid messenger attached to his wrist. Curious, I push the button on the tiny machine, and Reyni and I step back to watch.

A young woman dressed in a simple black pantsuit and cloak appears before us. Her long red hair is blowing around her, and her face transforms into ridges, fangs, and yellow eyes. She does not open her mouth, but her voice echoes eerily in the silent marsh. "Come, slayer. Come and discover your destiny." Her body folds inwardly until she is an ebony ball that disappears to reveal a set of location coordinates, which I quickly memorize. The vid ends and shuts off.

Reyni shivers and looks at me with questions written in her eyes. I frown.

"What's wrong?" she asks worriedly. "Do you know what this is about?"

"I know who the vamp is."

"Y-you do?"

"Come on. We need to go tell Spike about this."

"Is it bad?"

"Yes, Reyni, I do believe it is."

TBC. . . okay! Next up. . . we find out who the vamp is! Still the year 3000! Hope you're still enjoying this! ;o)

Part 22:

3000, several minutes later

"Richard."

Richard, the half-Torakal demon, appears in actual size in the living area of the cabin. Of course, he's not physically present because we are just calling him. He's wearing an old-fashioned white apron on his tall form, and a jaunty, mismatched hat caps his head. His long tail swirls around him like a cat's tail with a mind of its own as he juggles a large pan and spoon in his hands.

"Buffy, I haven't heard from you in a while," Richard says in his usual happy-go-lucky manner. He swipes his hat off, uncovering tousled curls. "And Spike. And Reyni." He gives a little bow to Reyni.

I laugh in spite of the grave news I have to share. Richard always has always had the ability to make me smile. "I didn't know anyone cooked anymore with the advent and perfection of the food dispensers."

"Guess I'm sort of into more primitive forms of art." He grins, setting the pan and spoon aside so that they disappear from view. He props himself against a cabinet and crosses his arms. "What can I do for you?"

"Have you heard anything about a new uprising in the demon world?"

Because Richard is no longer working with slayers, he has somehow wedged himself halfway back into the demon world. He remains a valuable source of information for Spike and I when we come across something that looks like trouble.

A concentrated look crosses over his face, and he's silent for a minute, his tail the only body part moving. "No. Actually, I haven't. Why?"

Spike's voice rises from behind me, "Buffy and Reyni ran across a Council-picked Doig'ash demon tonight. The demon's dead, but he carried a vid message about the slayer and destiny, and it came with a set of location coordinates."

Richard's eyes brightened. "Hmmm. That's interesting."

"Yeah," Spike continues, "Real interesting. The vamp who delivered the message was real interesting, too."

"Who?"

"She has red hair now, but we think it was Lydia," I supply, sitting forward in my chair.

"Lydia?" Richard sounds surprised. "I haven't heard a thing about her since the battle with Nabald's crew."

"Seems she might have been one of the vamps who escaped."

Reyni interrupts, "Umm. Who's Lydia?"

I glance back at her. "Lydia was a vampire in Nabald's faction when Spike and I infiltrated. That was about three hundred twenty-five years ago. She didn't like Spike and I very much."

"Pet, she was jealous of you," Spike mentions, raising his eyebrows at me.

"Really?" Reyni is intrigued.

"No," I respond insistently. "She just didn't trust us."

"No, love, she came onto me. I rejected her."

I fire an unspoken message into his mind, "What? When?" The low throb of rage fills my body. Why is he telling me this? "How come you didn't tell me?" I ask aloud.

Spike shrugs. "Knew your temper. Didn't need you flying off the handle and blowing our cover."

Allowing a little golden glow to come through in my eyes, I shoot daggers at the vampire across from me. "Bastard," I growl into his mind. He blanches slightly at the name-calling that only he can hear, and Reyni's eyes widen. She's seen us fight before, and she knows what to expect. Although she usually leaves the room when she senses the other shoe about to be dropped, now she's stuck because she doesn't want to be impolite to Richard.

"Don't look at me like that. You know it's true," Spike retorts but less strongly than normal. He knows better than to banter with me too much in front of guests.

Swallowing my anger and making a mental note to address the issue later. . . not much later, I return my gaze to Richard who is watching with a half-embarrassed, half-amused smile. "Sorry."

Richard seems to be fairly amused as if he expects displays of temper from us. "It's okay. What do you need me to do?"

I nod. "Keep your ear to the demon world. Listen for any rumors about what might be going on. . . with vamps and for any news on somebody being after the slayer."

"After Reyni?"

Frowning uncertainly, I reply, "I'm not sure."

Coming to my side, Spike places his hand firmly on my shoulder. I resist the urge to shrug his touch away. "Would you mind checking the coordinates for us, too, mate? On our little retreat here, we have minimal technology."

"Okay. . . give me an hour. I'll get a quick picture of what's going down. And then, I'll do a more thorough search for info later." Richard winks at Reyni. "Reyni, try not to worry. We'll help you figure this out."

Then, he is gone as if he had never been present.

Throwing off Spike's hand as rudely as possible, I am on my feet and whirl to confront him. "What the hell was that about?" I ignore the flicker of panic that crosses Reyni's face.

The corners of Spike's mouth threaten to lift. "What, pet?"

I advance on my lover, and he takes a step back. "You know very well what."

"The thing about Lydia?" he asks in a small voice that's tinged with amusement. . . amusement that pisses me off even more.

"Yeah! The *thing* about Lydia."

"What about it?"

"You know damn well what!" I repeat and glare, my skin tingling more with each phrase he utters. How does he know how to push all the right buttons, and why do I still let him push them after all this time? I know the answer, but at the moment, I don't like it. "I don't like that you kept that from me!"

"What?" I say nothing but plant my hands on my hips. Spike attempts to look helpless. In reality, he's loving every minute of his act. "The thing about Lydia coming on to me?"

"Duh!" I roll my eyes.

"I explained my reasoning when we were talking with Richard," he states calmly.

"Not well enough!"

"What do you mean?"

I want to hit him, but I restrain myself. . . .no small feat for me when I'm angry. "What exactly happened? Tell me from the beginning." Okay, that sounds firm but not too aggressive.

"But it happened over three hundred and twenty-five years ago," he protests.

"Pffff! What's that to us? Tell me everything. Now." I am standing on tiptoe with my face inches from his, my toes digging into the thick carpet and every muscle alert.

"Okay, okay." He places his hands on my upper arms, and I allow him to force me down. I cross my arms, waiting impatiently. "It happened when you were out that one day, you know, the day you came back with all the blood from Joyger's messenger?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Well, Nabald said I was free to take advantage of the other females among the group. He offered me the pick of his little harem. Had them all parade in front of me one at a time, wearing next to nothing."

"What?!" Nabald better be glad he is already dead.

"Yeah. When it was Lydia's turn, Nabald got called away for a minute."

"Yeah, right. Conveniently."

"Will you let me finish the story, pet? Then, you can make all the comments you want."

Sticking out my bottom lip, I pout but remain silent.

A faint beeping noise echoes in our heads. Someone's trying to call us back. Spike and I don't move, but a frozen Reyni gains her bearings and heads into the other room to respond to the call.

Spike continues, "Well, she approached me. . . "

"Let me guess, all flirtatious. Did she take her clothes off?"

Now Spike is getting annoyed with my interruptions; I can read his frustration in the way he holds his body. He sighs, "No, pet, she didn't. But she did try to kiss me."

"What?!" Lydia is dead if I ever find her. "And what did you do?" I demand.

"Pushed her off of me. What do you think I bloody did?!"

"Oh." My heart lifts; my arms relax. I need to hear that he was noble.

"Yeah. And she didn't take too kindly to it either. She asked me what was wrong with me."

Now that I know what happened, I'm merely curious. "What did you say?"

"I told her that I loved you, that I was committed to you." Guiltily, I reach out to stroke his arm. He flinches away, which is a reaction I deserve. "Thought you trusted me, love."

My stomach aching, I reply, "I-I do."

"Got a funny way of showing it." He refuses to meet my eyes with his.

Holding my elbows in my palms, I whisper, "I get jealous about that kind of thing, I guess. Don't want anyone else to have you. It just hurt that you didn't tell me then."

Spike can't stand to know I hurt, and his arms encircle me tightly. I relax gratefully against his familiar form, laying my head and palms against his chest. "Oh, pet, I know." After a few seconds, he adds, "Now you know why I didn't want to tell you at the time. Knew you'd react like this."

I laugh, letting loose the pressure in my body. "Guess you're right as usual. How come you're usually right?" I prop my chin against his body and stare up at him with a smile.

He shrugs. "Dunno. Just know whom I'm dealing with I suppose."

A thought suddenly pops into my mind. "Is that why she made the comment about getting a room when I got back with the blood?"

He smiles widely, flashing teeth. "Yeah."

Bending over me, he kisses my collarbone and moves up my throat until he reaches my mouth. My body sends a rush of tingles dancing over my skin. However, before he can kiss me good and proper on the mouth, Reyni interrupts our moment.

"Hate to interfere with the makeup session, but Richard just talked with me about those location coordinates." She sounds more worried than amused.

Spike and I break away, but he keeps his arm around my waist. "What did he say?" I ask, trying to brush off the desire that ripples through me.

"Well, apparently, it wasn't too hard for him to figure out cause it's the location of an international news broadcast." Reyni looks too tired for her age.

"Really."

"Yeah, apparently, there are bodies."

"Bodies?" Spike queries. "How many? Human or demon? When?"

"Over two hundred. Human. It happened tonight. Apparently, there was some kind of magic involved."

"Damn." The use of magic worries me because it might mean someone really powerful was involved. "We'd better check it out before the sun comes up."

TBC...

3002, fifteen minutes later

The body in front of us is burned beyond recognition, threads of clothing woven with blackened flesh. I squat near the lifeless form, balancing on my fingertips and studying the damage. Where tissue was once plump and probably soft, muscle is laid bare and cheekbones and teeth flash stark white like dominoes against charred, flaky black. Tufts of blond hair detach themselves in clumps from the destruction and float away in the breeze. My hand tentatively touches the corpse's arm, and I try not to flinch at the icy cold. The smell is horrendous. . . like rotten meat and is laced with. . .

"Magic," Spike supplies from directly behind me. He steps to the side and squats next to me, forearms on his knees. His elbow brushes my thigh, and I lean into his touch.

The sound of Reyni retching in the background is not unexpected. She's probably never seen anything like this in her young life, and I know I have to let her get the initial reaction out of her system.

"That's what we thought because there's no sign of flammable substances." Rhonda Zaiman, an international police investigator with cropped dark hair and petite frame, does not join us near the body but remains upright. As the youngest investigator on the team, she's the most ambitious. She's already been at the crime scene for three hours and probably doesn't need or want to re-examine the damage. "But I'm glad you're here to confirm."

Since the existence of vampires and demons has become public knowledge, the world government and criminal investigators have worked closely with the Watchers' Council. Hence, Spike and I occasionally assist in cases in which demon activity has been suspected. Rhonda is one of our favorite members of the force because she's the only one who takes our word, runs with it, and actually sometimes brings demons to justice.

"But what kind of magic would do all this?" Looking a little green around the gills, Reyni sways slightly next to us. She gestures at the artificial field around us. "And why?"

The two hundred bodies are strewn across the field, some in piles, some alone. All are human, and the only signs of life are the rescue workers who dot the carnage, bagging bodies to be brought to the autopsy scan and then the public incinerator. Reporter droids line the edge of the force field seal just beyond the reach of the victims. The international press is probably having a field day. Disasters of this magnitude are virtually unheard of nowadays.

"Lydia couldn't have done all this by herself," I speculate, giving Spike a glance.

"No." Spike and I rise. "She couldn't."

"Who's Lydia?" Rhonda asks, confusion playing across her features.

Reyni's eyes widen. "Don't ask."

Rhonda raises her eyebrows, demanding more from us. As a group, we start toward Rhonda's co-workers, lieutenants who work under her in investigating crime scenes.

Spike plays diplomat. "A vampire we knew a long time ago. Buffy and Reyni got a message from her this evening on a Council-chosen demon at our training camp. She gave us coordinates for this location."

"Really?" Rhonda pushes a button on her wrist computer, starting a recorder. "Tell me everything you know about her."

"Well, we don't know much," I reply. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Spike smirk at me. I bite back my temper. "When we were infiltrating Nabald's facility. . ."

"Nabald, the vampire?" Rhonda looks surprised.

"Yeah."

"That's interesting." She puts her index finger to her lips, deep in thought.

As we pass by a passel of as yet untouched bodies, Spike picks a stray vid-bulletin off one of the corpses.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my stomach churning with fresh nerves.

"The humans in this field. They were experts in demonology. They were meeting for their annual international convention. And the topic was. . ."

Spike interrupts, "Vampires with a particular focus on Nabald."

"Yep. Lydia definitely has something to do with this," Reyni states the obvious.

We reach the portable transport where Spike, Reyni, and I arrived. An officer hands Rhonda a tray with cups of coffee for all of us.

"Thanks," Rhonda flashes a smile at the equally young officer and takes the tray.

Spike adds sugar and cream from the condiments generator to coffee for Reyni and me, and I take the proffered mug gratefully. The wind is chilly, but the fear makes me shiver. The coffee helps me hide my feelings.

"Lydia couldn't have done this by herself," I summarize for Rhonda. "She had some kind of help with this. Although it's been over three hundred years,. . ." I earn a slight choke from Spike because he's mid- sip. "There's no way that she could have attained skills in magic this strong. She definitely has help in her endeavor, and for some reason, she wants us involved in this case. Spike and I'll put our ears to our demon contacts. You investigate what you can here. We'll check back in a few hours with what we find out."

"Sounds good." Rhonda nods.

"What can I do?" Reyni protests, cupping her cup in both hands. Her nose is red from the cold, and she seems to have gotten some of her bearings back even though she turns her head when the officers bring a body or two by.

"You can help Spike and I," I consent, brushing a stray hair out of my face.

"Phew. No more training? Real stuff now?"

Spike winks at her in big brotherly fashion. "Yeah, bit."

"Good. I was sick of the training."

"I could tell," he teases referring to her upset stomach from earlier, dodging her light punch as we enter the transport.

* * *

3000, twenty-two minutes later

The underground demon recreation bar is one of the most popular in the Western hemisphere. Their attractions include demon prostitution and orgies, high stakes blood gambling, fantasy vid-making, and mind-mutating combat. Dim lighting, thick crowds, and killer drinks (literally) brought in even the lowliest creatures. . . and also the most sinister. Tonight is no exception.

Spike and I left Reyni with Richard to explore some of the less dangerous demon haunts, taking on "The Blood Room" without them. Richard provided us with our demon personas as well as the matching mirage technology. The owner of the bar is no pushover like the human Willy from centuries ago. After two successful assassination attempts, he installed form transformation detectors in the entrances. If a demon or human attempts to enter in a magical guise, he or she is cut dead on the spot. Thus, we had to use guise-producing technology. Unfortunately, no such technology exists. . . unless one knows Richard.

Therefore, we enter the bar with ease disguised as Morna demons. The floor is slick with unknown liquid and various recognizable demon fluids that make me wrinkle my nose. . . if I had a nose. The entry room is fairly free of demons and cluttered with empty scuffed chairs and tables. The main area branches off into several hallways, and various demon languages and other bodily noises filter loudly from the hidden clusters of rooms. A bar lines the back of the main room, and various demon heads are mounted from above the mirror on the rear wall. A few of them are still moving as if they have been freshly slaughtered. However, the bartender is neat, and no demon corpses litter the place.

I glimpse myself in the mirror and bite back a gasp. . . partly because I haven't seen myself in a mirror in I don't even recall how many years and partly because. . . I'm extremely ugly.

Spike chuckles, and his voice emits in a rasp that does not fit his tone. "What did you think we'd look like, pet?"

My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. I'm afraid to speak because I might sound as bad as I appear. Finally, I utter in a guttural whisper, "Morna demons aren't very attractive."

They aren't. Although my body is humanoid, my head is shaped like a large grey melon with scales. I have no nose because the large apparatus on either side of my head serves as my hearing and breathing organ. My mouth is a purple slash with swollen lips that when pressed together look like a plum, and my eyes are thumb-sized bulbs on the ends of thick stalks that protrude three inches off my face.

Spike's laugh raises an octave in Morna tone. "You saw me after. . . you know. Why are you surprised?"

"I don't know. I guess I thought the females would be prettier." I blink up at him, having no idea how I actually appear in his eyes. "And I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

"Ahhh."

A slender vampire, whom I estimate has been a demon less than one hundred years, slips behind the bar from one of the hallways. He palms a glass bottle and places one hand flat on the bar's surface. I know he is a vampire because he's not breathing and he casts no reflection. "May I help you? Would you like a Xartok slug sour?" he asks in a smooth international tongue, offering us a traditional Morna drink.

A bit jolted by his sudden entrance, I scoot behind Spike as a proper Morna female does with her mate.

Spike bobs his dastardly head, saying, "No, no drink. We're looking for someone actually."

Sliding the bottle back in place, the vampire hides his disappointment easily. "You sure you're not interested in the vid- fantasies? We just got a new one in with Wiglou demons."

I have no idea what a Wiglou demon is. Spike shakes his head.

"Well, maybe I can help you. Who?"

"Prenwick. We're looking to talk with Prenwick," Spike asserts confidently.

Run of the mill demons don't know about Prenwick, so the bartender's frown deepens as expected. He throws aside a towel that he was using to wipe the bar down. "All right. Follow me."

The vampire leads us down one of the quiet hallways. No demons line the halls and no recreation rooms are present. The hallway seems to be a dead end, but the vampire pauses in front of the stone and does not move, apparently engaging in some sort of mind data transfer. Spike and I glance at each other. Demons in possession of such technology are virtually nil, especially in a context such as "The Blood Room."

The stone disappears effortlessly and then reappears as we cross the threshold. The area on the other side of the stone is a stark contrast to the atmosphere of the bar. . . clean and technologically sophisticated. I file the information away for later. We follow the bartender wordlessly, and I evoke the mind technology the Watcher's Council has us testing.

"Spike," I mentally transmit. "You notice how advanced this place is?"

Spike reaches back and squeezes my hand tenderly. I feel the uncertainty about our situation in his grip. Maybe that is why his voice came clear as a bell in my head. "Yeah, pet, I do."

"What are we getting ourselves into?"

The bartender stops when we reach a small room, decorated in the current trends in interior design in human homes. He sits in a chair in the center of the room and motions for us to sit across from him. Spike and I hesitate but settle down.

"Before you meet with Prenwick. I'm supposed to ask some questions. Don't worry. They're standard questions to screen for those who might be playing games with Prenwick."

Alarm swirls in my abdomen, but I don't dare look at Spike, much less send him a mind message.

He crosses his legs and rubs his hands together. "Now. What is your business with Prenwick?"

Spike lifts his wrist, showing his wrist computer. "May I?"

"Of course." The vampire brandishes his own computer to accept the information.

The vampire scans over the information Spike gives him. . . some old Watcher's Council data that appears legit and fresh but is actually quite dated and unusable. Richard says that no one should be able to tell the difference. Apparently, the false information does its job because a slow smile spreads over the vampire's face, revealing his pointed teeth.

Spike snaps his wrist back before all the data can be processed. "Prenwick gets the real stuff. This is just a sample."

The vampire is disappointed. "What do you want from him?"

Here's where we try the alibi. Spike takes a deep breath. "We want to be in on whatever he's planning. We heard from a reliable source that he's got several people working on a something big, and we want to offer our aid in exchange for a piece of the action."

Luckily, Morna demons are known for their love of, no, need of action and physical fights. The vampire buys the story. I read the acceptance in his eyes.

"All right." He leans back in his chair, boldly placing his feet in my lap. I am annoyed but merely place my hands to the side. Morna women are known for their passivity in social circles. . . but oddly enough not on the battlefield. "I'm Prenwick." He flashes his demon verification. . . taken as proof in the demon world.

"What?!" I shout in Spike's head.

Luckily, Spike is unruffled. "Great. So, you can help us. What can we do to get more actively involved?"

"Go to this location." He transmits some coordinates to Spike's computer, simultaneously receiving the Council information. "Wait for more information." He removes his feet, allowing Spike and I to stand. "And, by the way, I know you're vampires. Nice disguises."

My heart plunges, and now I find my voice, "So, how did you know?"

Prenwick winks at me. "Morna females never sit beside their mates. Only behind. And I have created similar technology myself. Yours is good. I almost didn't catch it."

"How do vampires have this kind of technology?" my mind asks Spike's. Spike doesn't respond.

Prenwick bounces up and guides us back toward the bar area. "What are your names?"

Spike issues the backup names we chose, "I'm Justin, and this is Amber."

Prenwick smiles. "Nice to meet you."

In silence, Spike and I exit the bar. I'm numb with shock at the turn of events. What are we mixed up in now?

TBC. . . still 3000. Okay, I promise this will make sense soon! It's more complicated than it looks! *g* I hope you're still enjoying! Keep reading. . . more twists to come! Thanks again for the lovely reviews! You guys are great!

3000, four hours later

Spike and I board that international transport system after reconvening with Richard and Reyni and also contacting the Council about the current situation. We gave them all the information we had, and Reyni took charge, assuring me that she'd be working on the situation from outside. My stomach is an apprehensive knot because I have no idea what's going to happen, but outwardly, I appear as cool and confident as ever. I can't recall how many years have passed since I felt this ominous about something I'm willingly doing.

Of course, Spike senses my tension as we find our seats. "You okay, love?"

Providing him a tight-lipped smile, I tell him a half-truth, "Yeah."

He cradles my hand in his large one in reassurance. "We'll figure this out."

"Yes, I know." I peer up at him with a question in my eyes. "But will we make it out alive?"

He is honest as usual. "I don't know."

"How will we know when to get off?" The world outside the window is cloaked in darkness. Once we start moving, the windows will close, and we will literally fly from place to place close to instantaneously. The train system is useful mainly because public transports are often overcrowded and not everyone can afford a personal transport. The system is also useful for demon travel and avoidance of international criminal justice.

"I have a feeling we'll know, love. Why don't you get some rest."

As people continue to board, I lean my head on his shoulder, trusting him to protect me. A few moments of stolen dozing are likely to be precious in the long run. His arm is strong and unmoving beneath my head, and I feel my muscles relax against him. Lost in the cloud of muddled thoughts, I notice his strong fingers sweeping slowly and soothingly through my long hair and massaging my scalp.

* * *

3000, about thirty minutes later

"We're here."

My mind is instantly alert as I blink off sleep. "Where are we?"

"New View."

Known for high crime rates, New View is a major city in what used to be North America. Somehow, I'm not surprised that we're here. "How?"

"The android ticket taker. When it came by to check our passage id's, it gave me the stop and a new place to go once we disembark." Reading my mind, he adds, "I sent the coordinates to Richard and Reyni."

"Good." We climb off the train transport and head toward the nearest public transport. People are swarming around the main area, and we sweep past them, Spike using his taller form to plow me a path. Just before we enter the transport, I pull him down into a gentle kiss, which he deepens eagerly, and I feel the stirrings of an indescribable desire flowing through me. I open my eyes to search for him and am overcome as usual by the passion in them. "Have I told you how much I love your hair like this. . . all soft and un-styled, and curly?"

"No, but I love you, too, Buffy." He smirks, and I grin.

"Let's go."

We enter the transport, and Spike transfers the coordinates from his wrist computer. In the few seconds until we arrive, I whisper, "Love you." Spike slips an arm around my waist and then, squeezes and releases me, as we face the door.

Dressed in a light green jumper that matches his icy eyes, Prenwick opens the door with his eyes alight. "Welcome to my humble facility. You are about to join an organization that will change the world forever. First, you get a tour." His eyes rake over my small frame, and I suddenly wish that I'd cut my long blond hair short again. "I must say, you look better in your true forms."

An unconscious growl emits from my throat, and the bones in my face start to shift as I glare at him.

He holds up his hands palms toward Spike and me. "Hey. No harm meant." My demon calms. "But I like the spunk you got in your woman, Justin."

Spike doesn't reply. "I'm ready to get started, mate. Amber can take care of herself." Annoyance at Spike flashes through me, but I don't let him show that his change in demeanor affects me. I'm sure he knows without me having to say anything.

Prenwick chuckles, and in a display of trust, he turns his back on us, leading us down a stark, bright hallway that is a stark contrast to the dim cave-like quality of "The Blood Room." He pauses outside a thinly outline door in the wall. "What you're about to see will blow you away."

Then, he simply walks through the door and disappears, presumably on the other side. I glance at Spike. Raising his eyebrows, he shrugs his shoulders and goes through the solid wall without hesitation. Sighing reluctantly, I follow.

Not surprisingly, the wall isn't solid, and I only feel a faint tingle as I close my eyes and rush through.

What does surprise me is what I view when my world is lit again. Thankfully, my jaw stays firmly shut.

I barely hear Prenwick say, "This is 'Rapture.'" He spreads his arms wide and turns around to gesture at the sight before us.

The three of us are standing on an indoor balcony at the top of a large open area that stretches down for over ten stories. The base of the facility is divided into two well-lit parts. The first is a lounge with synthetic plants and large comfortable chairs that would swallow me but would fit the largest demons just perfectly. The other half is a large computer network system, complete with what I recognize as some of the most recent technology though some of the equipment is a bit dated. Frankly, I find it scary how I'm able to recognize things like that now. Buffy of old didn't know zip drive from a hard drive. Aside from the base floor, the different levels each have several rooms with clear glass walls so that I can see what is happening.

Throughout the facility, demons are engaged in various activities. . . some of which I don't understand. Now why didn't I study up on my demon lore like Spike told me? I haven't seen this large a collection of demons since. . .

"Pet, this reminds me of the Initiative. . . only without the bonehead scientists running about." Spike's voice sounds amplified in my head.

"And without the demons in cells," I transmit to Spike. "Spike, what's that demon doing over there?" A demon the color of deep red wine seems to be working on a piece of some sort of technology, and tiny Tinkerbell-esque lights are flashing all around him. "And why does it smell funny in here?" The smell is like a mixture of manure, musk, and the magic from the crime scene from earlier.

Because I'm speaking into his mind, Spike, of course, has no clue where or what I view. "Well, it smells in here because that's what you get for inviting the Lingmith demons in groups of two of more to congregate in one place."

"Oh."

"And where are you looking?"

"Over there."

"Love, that tells me nothing. . . say something out loud, so. . ."

"You may be wondering what is going on here." Prenwick seems to be unnervingly psychic today. "See that Tuopei demon over there." He points to the exact demon I have been studying but attempting not to stare at.

I nod to Prenwick and say internally to Spike, "That one." Spike grunts in reply.

Prenwick continues, "He's learning to fuse his magic with a transport device that he built so that all he has to do is think a thought, and he will be transported anywhere in the world."

"Wow." I'm genuinely stunned.

"You see, our goal is to train demons to use their natural, inborn talents for magic and any other special abilities they might have to improve their lot in life. . . to improve demon lives." Prenwick is starting to sound very scary. "In addition to fusing pure mechanics and technology with magic, we are also attempting to unite magic with other fields, such as the medical field, psychology, the arts, and others. I realize it's a lofty goal, but one that will make things a lot better for the demons in this world. . . to prepare us."

Spike asks the question that I have on the tip of my tongue, "To prepare us for what?" Whenever Spike feels nervous, his normally faded British accent sneaks in a little, and I catch the edge in his voice.

A smile spreads over Prenwick's face. "I'm glad you asked, Miss Summers, Mr. Henderson." He raises his hands and snaps his fingers.

My eyes widen, and my muscles tighten, but before either Spike or I have time to regroup, four large demons of an unknown variety appear behind us seemingly out of nowhere. In a whirl of seconds, Spike and I pinned against the wall, and Prenwick is pacing back and forth in front of us with his hand to his chin in a gesture that reminds me vaguely of Rhonda's thoughtful movement earlier today.

"Now, let's see. What shall I do now that the famed Buffy Summers. . ." Why does everyone call me by my first and last name and attach "famed" to it? ". . . and William the Bloody have attempted to infiltrate? Don't look so shocked. I knew you were coming. In fact, you're only here because I let you get this far. I have something I want to share with you."

He ceases his panther-like march in front of me. His fingers are like ice cubes roving over my cheek, and I hold back a shiver. "I have some thoughts. . . about pleasuring you, Miss Summers."

This time Spike reacts by shifting into vampire face and lunging at Prenwick. The demons virtually throw him back into the wall so that a loud echo flows through the air. Prenwick takes the moment to laugh at Spike, so I use the distraction to chomp down on Prenwick's hand and kick my legs forward, knocking him to the ground. The demons holding me tighten their grip until stars flood my vision, and my knees buckle from the pain.

Prenwick hops lightly to his feet, sucking on the bleeding wound in his hand. He is far from angry. In fact, he laughs. "Cute, very cute, Miss Summers. May I call you 'Buffy?'"

When I just glare at him, eyes burning yellow, he continues, "Well, Buffy, we'll see how you fare after a few days in here. You may just give in to me, yet. But first, we have to finish the tour." His eyes never leave me, and he orders, "Take them to the meeting room. I'll meet you there."

* * *

3000, five minutes later

Spike and I are seated in two synthetic leather chairs across from a large cherry-wood desk in a spacious study. Real paper books, or else the illusion of books, line the walls in floor to ceiling bookcases. A fireplace is nearby with a holographic fire blazing. I know no vampire would have a real fire anywhere near him or her although the glow and smell are amazingly realistic. Two more chairs are positioned behind the desk, no doubt soon to be filled.

The demons who brought us here are long gone, and we are held to the chairs with invisible barriers. To try to break the barrier meant certain death. I am amazed that they have the technology because it is something only the international police force possess.

"Pet?" Spike transmits warily to my brain.

"Yeah?" I try not to sound too tired.

"You okay?"

"Yep. I'm fine. Guess we expected this going in, huh?"

"True. We'll figure a way out of this, I promise. And if we can't figure it out, we know that Reyni and Richard have our location. If we don't. . ."

I finish for him, "Contact them in twenty-four hours, they're contacting the Council and coming after us."

A noise at the door behind us alerts me, and this time, I hear a heartbeat that I know Prenwick doesn't have. This time, my mouth does fall and remain open.

"A-amy?"

Long brown hair, swirling unnaturally about her face and eyes black as inkwells, Willow's fellow-Wiccan friend stands before Spike and me. . . ten centuries after she is supposed to be long dead.

TBC. . . still 3000 (sorry to my dear readers who noticed that I made a typo on the last part. . . it was definitely set in 3000! Okay, next up. . . what's Amy got to do with the plot, and what's the mysterious "Rapture" project? Does it have anything to do with the burned bodies or Lydia? Tune in next!!!

;o) To all my readers: Thanks for the lovely review. . . please tell me what you think so far!

Part 25:

3000, seconds later

Prenwick laughs at my shocked expression. "Didn't expect this, did you, Buffy?" His tone has a way of sounding kind, gentle while making me feel like I'm being stripped naked and violated.

"Not really." My voice carries a self-assurance that I do not actually possess. "Amy, what are you doing here? How?"

The witch smiles, pearly teeth contrasting with her midnight eyes. She sits calmly in the chair across from me, dressed in a filmy grey dress that appears to flow like her thick hair. "Actually, I'm not Amy. . . at least, not the Amy you knew."

"What do you mean?" I'm confused.

Amy glances at Prenwick as if silently asking for his permission. He nods. "I am a clone of your friend."

Spike speaks my thoughts, "Cloning of whole creatures has been outlawed for centuries."

Amy ducks her head almost shyly, flirtatiously. "Yes, but Prenwick's team did it here. . . in the labs here. He raised me as his own. I *am* Amy, just not the Amy you remember." Prenwick places a protective arm around his charge as he situates himself next to her.

Now her youthful appearance and aura makes sense to me. Still doesn't make me feel better about her interest in Spike. I direct a question at Prenwick, "How'd you get Amy's DNA?"

"You know as well as I do that everyone's DNA has been on public file since the early twenty-first century." He smirks at me while Amy is staring blatantly at Spike.

Keeping my eyes blankly on Prenwick, I choose not to respond but project to Spike, "Why Amy?"

Spike's voice sweeps reassuringly through my mind, "The better question, love, is why does he need a powerful witch? Why does he need the magic? Pet, I'm letting you ask the questions. Prenwick's more likely to try and impress you. We'll get more information."

My brain works fast and furious. Aloud to Prenwick, I ask, "So, how did you know Amy was a witch. . . a powerful witch?"

Amusement fills his eyes. "Watcher's journals."

"And how did you get a hold of those?"

"How do you think?"

He's playing with me, and I hate it. "The Watcher's journals aren't as easy to obtain as the DNA."

"I have my ways."

"The only way would be. . ." The truth rushes through me like dawning horror. "There's someone working for you on the Council."

Prenwick claps his hands together like I'm a child who's solved a riddle. His grin is obnoxious. "Bravo, Buffy, bravo."

I swallow my shock. "Still doesn't tell us why you need such powerful magic."

Amy's asserts herself, "Oh, it's not just me. Prenwick's cloned several of the most powerful witches and warlocks for his plan."

"Willow?" I transmit silently and fearfully to Spike.

However, I receive no response from Spike. Instead, Prenwick replies to my anxious visage, "Not your Willow. I couldn't control someone as free- spirited as the Watcher's journals describe her to be."

Unbidden relief flows through my mind. "Good. That's as it should be."

Prenwick frowns slightly. "I suppose. And you being here is as it should be. Don't you want to know why I've brought you here?"

"Other than to keep us from mucking up your plans?" I snap, not bothering to hide my annoyance.

"Well, yes, there is that part," he acknowledges thoughtfully, "But, I do have other plans for you and Spike."

"And they are?"

He smiles broadly. "I want you to witness the end to humankind."

"Okay, and what harebrained scheme do you have in mind?"

At my tone, Spike echoes in my head, "Careful, pet."

Prenwick gestures to Amy to tell the story. She becomes more animated in response to his attention. She makes certain to talk directly to Spike, ignoring me. "Yes. The end. You see, the demons in this world have been made to suffer for too long, to be subjected to endless cruelty in the face of mankind. Now, it is their turn to have the upper hand."

Spike takes the cue with the grace of a pro, "How, pet?"

Flicking her hair over her shoulder, Amy giggles at his use of endearment with her. "Through the 'Rapture,' of course."

I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying anything, but I silently relay to Spike, "The burned bodies have something to do with this."

Spike agrees with me, and asks, "The bodies. What were you trying to do with them?"

"The bodies in the field you were sent to?" Amy pauses for effect, and I want to kick her. "We're. . . the witches like me. . . are still working on focusing our power. We haven't been able to get it right from distances just yet, so that's why the bodies got all burned up, but we're getting be. . ."

Prenwick interrupts, "I think what Amy is trying to say is that we are working on a way to send all the humans in this world and on Mars and the moon to an alternative dimension. . . hopefully, a nice hell dimension. And we plan to do it instantaneously. . . at a future scheduled time. . . which means soon. The witches are gaining strength, and they were already able to make a whole city of people disappear only an hour ago."

At his words, my legs feel weak even though I'm still seated. His focus is me, so I speak next, "Like reverse rapture in the Bible. You twisted the Bible."

"What can I say? As a human, I was a preacher. . . a corrupt preacher but a preacher nonetheless. Either way, I studied the Bible quite extensively."

"Yet, you choose to focus on and distort the one part of the text that suits your goals and plans."

He shrugs indifferently. "Well, I *am* a demon."

"Not all demons do what you choose to do," I point out angrily.

"You're not going to change my mind, Buffy."

As Prenwick rises to his feet, the chairs to which Spike and I are tied detach from the floor and hover in the air. I glance at Spike, and he regards me without answers to the questions on my face.

Prenwick clears his throat. "Okay. Now I'm going to put you in the holding tank until our final moment. It'll probably be in a couple of days. Try to get some rest to be fresh for the affair."

Prenwick begins directing the chairs to the office door when Amy jumps up. "Sir, may I have Spike for awhile? I'd like to show him something."

"But, of course, my dear. Take him." He hands control of Spike's chair over to his cloned, pseudo-daughter. "Gives me some time to be alone with Buffy. What a marvelous idea."

Alarm blazes through me, and my eyes slam into Spike's. He telegraphs, "I love you, Buffy. Don't worry. No matter what happens."

I barely get in my "I love you, too" before my lover is out of sight.

* * *

3000, minutes later

Prenwick stops my chair's motion after we have reached the end of another long series of corridors that look and smell exactly like the one that led to his office. We pass several demons along the way, many of species that I've before seen.

"Here we are." Pacing around to face me, he places his hands on my thighs, rubbing his fingertips over the clothing covering them. "Now, what shall I do with you?"

I push my legs as far down in the seat as possible in attempt to avoid his touch. "Nothing. Just put me in the cell and go away."

"Ahhh, but I don't think so. I want to play." He brushes a lock of hair over my shoulder, tucking the hair snugly behind my ear. His breath is cool on my skin.

In response, I spit in his face. He draws back in surprise, wiping away the fluid.

"I like my women with bite." The cell door disappears momentarily and forces the chair inside. Entering behind me, he adds, "And my mind wonders what you will do if I release you from the chair, especially if I do this. . ."

Before I realize what is happening, he abuses my space and smashes his lips into mine. I turn my head abruptly, and he laughs long and hard. The restraints on my arms and legs dissipate on his command, and immediately, I lash at him with a firm kick to the jaw and two punches to the abdomen. He groans as he is thrown back but regains his equilibrium, massaging his jaw and smiling while backing out the door. I leap after him but meet with a solid but invisible force field that flings me to the ground.

"Miss Summers, I will break you, yet." Then, he is gone, and the wall is opaque once more.

Climbing to my feet, I circle the dark room, noting the blank brown walls and the small sink along the back wall, the drain in the center of the floor, and the dim bulb above, which I mark as a possible future weapon. To my left, there are two bunks jutting out from the wall. A mattress covers the metal, and on one of them lies. . . someone. . . an unmoving someone.

Warily, I approach the form, wondering if the person, demon, whatever might be dead. As I get closer, something seems familiar about the body. Then, the stray lock of stringy red hair sends recognition to me. . .

"Lydia," I breathe. Hurrying toward her, I balance on the edge of the pallet and tap her shoulder gently. When she doesn't react, I roll her onto her back.

She is awake, but her eyes are slits because the rest of her face is covered in huge purple bruises. My plans to slap her and give her hell for kissing Spike if I ever ran across her were at once gone. Skimming over the rest of her body, I note that the state of her face is likely the state of the rest of her flesh, and compassion washes over me.

"B-buffy?" Lydia sounds hoarse, probably because someone punched her in the neck.

TBC. . . Now that you know Prenwick's plan. . . how can Buffy and Spike do anything to stop him? Why is Lydia beaten? Who is the Council member who's working for Prenwick? Stay tuned. . . Dear readers, thanks for the lovely reviews! Makes my day that you're still enjoying the story! ;o)

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