"After many months of successful hunting, there is the very real danger of your Slayer exhibiting hazardous complacency. The most common type of vampire, and thus the one that your Slayer is most likely to encounter, is the fledgling. A weak vampire, these newly-turned beasts are often brutal and stupid, attacking singly or in very small groups with little plan or purpose. It is easy, after having faced hundreds of these demi-vampires, to forget that there are more powerful fiends skulking in the shadows which are capable of brilliant depravities and delicate cruelty..."
--Senior Watcher Jonathan Wilkes, "Advice to a Young Watcher"

"Father. We're here." The young woman kept her bright blue eyes downcast, unwilling to intrude upon the Father's thoughts by meeting his eyes with hers, unasked. She stood with grave patience in the aisle of the private jet, her body seemingly motionless despite the gentle swaying of the plane taxiing into position at the tiny Sunnydale airport.

To look at her, one would think that she was nothing more than a slip of a girl, around twenty years of age and just shy of true adulthood. Indeed, she couldn't have been more than a few inches over five feet tall; but though she was small and slender, she carried herself with an air of powerful confidence. Her hair was as deep and black as a raven's wings, and fell in soft, thick waves to just past her shoulders. The young woman's pale skin and delicate facial features indicated strong Celtic blood.

The man made no affirmation, no indication that he had heard her, but she knew he had. Little escaped the Father's notice. A book, an examination of 15th century Italian art, lay open on his lap, a picture of Bellini's _Madonna and Child_ adorning the page. The faces of the holy mother and son glowed with an ethereal luminescence, even in the poorly printed reproduction.

Eventually, the Father turned his dark eyes on the young woman. He closed the book, the picture of Bellini's opus disappearing from view. The man stood and straightened his clothing, even though his black jacket and trousers were as crisp and orderly as ever. He reached toward the girl with a delicate, manicured hand, cupping her chin and bringing her eyes in view of his.

"Trinity." His rich tenor resonated through the small cabin of the chartered plane. "Has all been made ready?"

The young woman nodded, her expressive eyes meeting his in adoration. "It has, Father."

Thin, cruel lips became a smile which could, somehow, only be described as beatific.

* * *

The teenaged girl known as Buffy Summers flopped down on her bed with a groan. "Can't we just set it all on fire?" She asked plaintively. "It really would solve all our problems."

"Yep, and create a whole host of brand spankin' new ones, like jail time and arson charges. Not to mention losing all our stuff," Willow answered, without batting an eye. The redhead was standing on her side of the room, carefully wrapping and packing her various little crystals and ceramic knick-knacks, some of which she used for spellcasting and some just for quirky decoration. The Slayer, on the other hand, was staring off into space, wondering with some distress exactly how she had collected so much _stuff_ over the course of nine months.

Their dorm room was in a state of tragic disarray; boxes, newspapers, and packing materials were strewn about in the center, while the two girls worked to wrestle their belongings into some kind of movable shape. Their success was apparently very limited, as only two boxes had been filled, taped, and stacked by the door. This was despite the fact that finals had come and gone the week before, giving the girls theoretically plenty of time to move out of the dorm.

"When's your mother getting here?" Willow asked.

Buffy gazed at the ceiling, still unwilling to move. "Ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Is Riley going to help you move?"

Buffy looked over and caught the smile that Willow was trying to hide. "I know what you're thinking, but it's not like we're moving in together. He's got his own stuff to move into his new apartment, and I'm going to be staying at mom's. It's all completely innocent."

"Oh, of course," the redhead responded, nodding vigorously. "I totally believe that, really I do..."

"Will." Buffy interrupted her friend, wanting to head-off the babbling before it got a chance to start. "There is such a thing as laying it on too thick. Besides, what's up with you and Tara?" The Slayer had had some difficulty getting over the initial shock of Willow's 'unconventional relationship', but having seen how happy Tara made her best friend, she was actually very grateful to the blonde witch.

Willow ducked her head, blushing a little. "Tara is, uh...staying with me for the summer."

"Really?" Buffy cocked an eyebrow and a smile, bounding off the bed to give her best friend a poke in the ribs. "And you were teasing me because Riley is staying in the same _town_! You and Tara are living together?"

"No," Willow answered quickly, holding up her hands in apparent protest. "Not really living together. It's just...with my parents gone most of the time, it gets pretty lonely there all by myself, and since Tara said she really doesn't have any family to go back to..."

"So, your parents know about you?"

Willow blushed again. "Not really, no. They just know that Tara's a friend of mine, and needs a place to stay over the summer. It's not like we'll be living in the same room..." She paused for a moment, in thought. "At least, I don't think so."

The blonde Slayer grinned knowingly and turned back to her own packing. "Well, as long as the vamps and beasties stay away, this should be a pretty fun- and all around good-times-filled summer. Adam's been dealt with and the Initiative is gone, so we don't even have to think about any of the bad stuff that happened this past year."

* * * "You know, normally someone in your position would be a lot more excited than you seem to be." The lawyer looked across the table at his client, a young brunette woman who seemed unaccountably distressed by the news he had just delivered.

The lawyer, a court-appointed public defender to be specific, was a young man with a healthy measure of ambition. His family hadn't been wealthy or influential enough to support him in a good criminal law firm after he had passed his bar exams, so he had decided to begin his career by going into the Public Defender's office. Little had he known how remote the chance really was that a lowly PD would get noticed by a top law firm; but so far he had a reasonably good record. He wasn't about to let this young girl mar that record with her desire for self-flagellation.

"I don't understand," the girl, whom the lawyer knew only as Faith Wilkins, said quietly, almost despairingly. "My confession..."

"A confession doesn't mean anything if there isn't any evidence to back it up," the lawyer said, with ill-disguised impatience. "The murder charges you were up for in Sunnydale had to be dismissed, due to lack of evidence." Which was true; for some reason, the Sunnydale PD had been unable to produce any of the evidence they'd claimed to have had originally to pin Faith Wilkins as a suspect. The lawyer wasn't positive, but he assumed that it had something to do with this girl Faith sharing the same last name as Sunnydale's late Mayor.

"What about all the other stuff?" she asked dully.

"The assault charges here in L.A. won't be pressed. It seems that the man you _allegedly_ put into the hospital didn't want the police asking too many questions about why he was hanging around a bus terminal talking to newly-arrived teenage girls. Considering that two girls in the last three weeks have disappeared from that same bus terminal, I'm pretty inclined to think that you did the police a favor, and apparently the D.A. agrees with me. He was willing to drop all the other charges, too, as soon as I mentioned the press." The lawyer closed his briefcase with a snap and stood up.

"Oh, and the young girl you allegedly assaulted in Sunnydale won't be pressing charges either. The police can't find her; apparently she's joined Sunnydale's list of Missing Persons." He shrugged, unwilling to spend valuable mind-share on a case that now meant very little to him, other than a tick in the 'Win' column. "You've just been given a 'Get out of Jail Free' card, Miss Wilkins; I suggest you make the most of it. Apparently somebody up there likes you." The lawyer strode out the door of the visiting room, whistling softly.

"Somebody up there likes me," Faith mumbled, still staring blankly at the table in front of her.

* * *

The taxi pulled up outside the Sunnydale Plaza Hotel, nearly clipping a slow-moving valet parking attendant in its rush to its destination. A bellboy stepped forward and opened the rear, passenger-side door, from which stepped a tall, older man, and a young, very beautiful woman. It was difficult to tell exactly how old the man was; as far as the bellboy was concerned, he was at that indeterminate age somewhere between thirty five and fifty. His black, wavy hair and olive skin marked him as Mediterranean, though the thing that the bellboy noticed the most was that the man was dressed in the black suit of a Catholic priest.

The woman got the lion's share of the bellboy's attention; she appeared to be about his age, late teens to early twenties. He jumped to help her with her only luggage, a large black gym-bag which she withheld from him and insisted on carrying herself.

The young woman paid the taxi driver and the pair entered the hotel, leaving behind one heartbroken young bellboy and one angry cab driver who took off with a squealing of tires and a loud string of curses about the cheapness of the two travellers whom he had just brought from the airport.

* * * Trinity followed the priest closely as he strode up to the check-in desk, his shoes echoing loudly on the marble floor. He flashed a bright smile at the young, african-american woman behind the desk. "Hello, Miss. I believe I have a reservation under the name Frank Pallazo." Trinity had always found his voice quite pleasant, a rich tenor that held just a hint of an Italian accent.

The young woman behind the desk, Lydia if her name tag was to be believed, returned the smile. "Certainly, Mister--"

"Father," Trinity interjected smoothly.

"Father Pallazo," Lydia finished with an apologetic air. She printed up the registration form and set it out for the priest to sign. "A penthouse suite of rooms. Do you need help with your luggage?" Her eyes scanned the floor around their feet, reflecting momentary confusion at the obvious lack of suitcases.

The priest signed the form and handed it back to the hotel clerk. "No, just the keys will be sufficient," he said with another smile. Trinity saw his smile falter a bit, but Lydia, looking as if she had already embarrassed herself enough for one customer, didn't seem to look closely enough at the Father to notice.

The two travellers made their way up to their suite and let themselves in. The common area was spacious and well-furnished; large, heavy curtains covered the east-facing window, which pleased both of them greatly.

After a brief period of settling in, a period which was made much shorter by the fact that they had little luggage, Trinity dropped heavily onto the suite's couch. "It disturbs me, Father," she said quietly, "that you are unable to use your own name around these cattle."

The priest chuckled, setting himself on the arm of the couch, and stroking Trinity's hair with one gentle hand. "Soon, my child, soon. There are some here who may recognize the name of Father Francisco Sedona. There is no need to tip our hand." He stood, walking over to the window and throwing back the curtains to reveal the city of Sunnydale by night.

"What to do next, Father?" Trinity asked.

Father Sedona appeared to study the view through the window as thoroughly as he had meditated on Bellini's _Madonna and Child_ earlier. "We bring the kin of this city under our control. It should prove to be tragically simple."

He turned toward Trinity and smiled, his canine teeth elongating into sharpened points. "But first, we eat."

* * * Daniel Corbensen drove his patrol car quickly down the darkened street. He was a security guard, but not just any security guard; when pressed with large amounts of alcohol, he would proudly proclaim to anyone within earshot, whether they were interested or not, that he was "the best damn security guard in Sunnydale."

He was probably the smartest, too; because while some other security guards would walk their nightly patrols of darkened mini-malls and schoolyards, Daniel never set foot outside his locked patrol car. He reasoned that most everyone who didn't belong there could be frightened off by his spotlight, and those that weren't he didn't want to tangle with anyway.

Like anyone who had lived in Sunnydale for a few years and managed to survive, Daniel was certain that there were some things which stalked the night that he didn't want any part of. After his third co-worker disappeared under mysterious circumstances, Daniel decided that no job was worth whatever happened to them; but fitting with his philosophy of life, Daniel didn't quit, he just started doing his job in a thoroughly half-assed fashion.

So when he spotted a lone, crying girl by the side of the street, he was torn. His survival instincts, finely honed after years of Sunnydale residency, told him not to get involved, to keep moving. At the same time, his conscience, rusty from disuse and too often ignored, told him that it was his job to help people, and that girl certainly looked like she desperately needed help. Besides, he thought to himself as he slowed his car to a stop, she won't last the night out there all alone.

Daniel stepped out of the car, sliding his baton into its ring on his belt. "Excuse me miss," he said, slipping easily into the role of savior, "but it's very dangerous out here at night. Can I take you somewhere?" He slowly approached the girl who appeared to be sobbing piteously.

"Oh, officer, thank God," the girl said brokenly, practically falling into his arms. "I was so scared!"

"Now, now," Daniel said, patting her on the back awkwardly, "I'm not police, but I can help. What seems to be the problem?"

"The problem," she replied in a stronger voice now, "is that I'm hungry." With a strength that belied her slender form, the young woman pulled his neck down to her mouth, sliding her sharp canines into his yielding skin.

It took a moment for Daniel to realize what was happening; the sickening feeling of blood being tugged out of his veins by an eager mouth was really the only input his body seemed able to process. His vision swam and he felt, more than saw, a man -- a _priest_ -- standing a few feet away watching the spectacle. As a deadly lethargy began to overtake Daniel, he heard the man speak.

"Ah, a good Samaritan. It should console you to know that the Lord has a special place in Heaven for those who help the less fortunate. You should have just enough time to get there and settle in...before I arrive and throw Him from His throne."

******

It hadn't taken as long as Buffy had feared to move everything over from her dorm room to her mother's house. Only a couple of hours work and all the boxes, suitcases, trunks and cartons containing most of the Slayer's worldly possessions lay in a disorganized mess on her bedroom floor. As soon as the last box had been carried up to her old room, Buffy had rushed out of the house with a shouted, "Bye, Mom! Be back later!"

Her mother, Joyce, was in the kitchen when she heard Buffy's quick, noisy exit. She looked down at the counter where she had been busy making sandwiches for their lunch, and with a resigned expression began putting the cold cuts and other foodstuffs back in the refrigerator.

Buffy walked down the bright, busy street humming to herself cheerfully while keeping a sharp eye out for street addresses. She occasionally consulted a piece of paper she held, upon which was printed in a strong, steady hand:

314 Wilson Street, #8

Buffy found the address without much difficulty; it was an older apartment complex, probably built during the late 60's or early 70's in the Spanish style that was so popular in Southern California. Huge palm trees flanked the shaded walkway leading into the middle of the complex, which was a large common area with a pool and several tables and chairs. A strong, cool breeze ruffled both the large fronds of the trees and the blue waters of the deep, inviting pool. Buffy smiled at this, and after a few minutes of looking around, finally spotted apartment number eight on the second floor.

The Slayer jogged easily up the stairs and knocked on the front door. After a moment the door opened, and Buffy's face lit up as soon as Riley appeared at the entryway.

"Buffy! Hi, c'mon in." He stepped back and waved his arm, proudly presenting his new home. "What do you think?"

"Wow, this is a great place you've got here," Buffy said, looking around the disorderly apartment, packed boxes still laying strewn about the floor. "Kinda like living in Melrose Place, without all the husband and boyfriend stealing...You don't have boyfriend stealing around here, do you?" she asked, her face suddenly drawn with mock concern.

Riley grinned at Buffy and wrapped her in a big hug, kissing her enthusiastically. "Nope, not so far, at least."

"Good thing." Buffy nodded emphatically. "So, do I get the nickel tour?"

"You're my girlfriend, I'll give you the quarter tour," Riley replied, taking Buffy's hand and leading her around. "Over here's the kitchen--"

"And just why did you show me that first, hmm?" Buffy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh, well, I thought it was in better taste than showing you the bedroom first. But since you asked, here's the bedroom," he pointed to a large bedroom with an adjoining bathroom, "and here's the extra room that I kinda converted into a workout room." This room was across the short hallway from the bedroom and already held some small training mats and a Nautilus machine.

"Very nice," Buffy said, impressed by Riley's new apartment, and feeling just a bit jealous. "And just how are you able to afford all this?"

"Well, for a secret, evil, government organization, the Initiative paid pretty well. It probably had something to do with the nightly putting your life on the line thing."

"Must be nice to get paid for that," Buffy said, wistfully.

Riley smiled down at the young blonde and hugged her close. "Hey, if you want I can pop some microwave popcorn and we can watch videos. Just give me a minute to get the TV set up." Buffy watched as he walked over to the makeshift entertainment center -- in reality some pine boards and cinderblocks -- and began setting up the VCR.

She sat down on the couch with a contented sigh. A boyfriend who wasn't a vampire, videos to watch, and microwave popcorn. Her life was starting to really look good, and best of all, it was starting to look blissfully _normal_.

* * *

Faith stumbled along hot, stinking L.A. streets, not knowing or caring where she was headed. She had been walking, just walking, ever since the police released her the previous night.

Her only chance for peace, her only hope for restitution had been denied. Jail -- the word had been like a beacon to Faith ever since Buffy had spoken it with such insistence in Angel's apartment. Finally there was something she could do, something clear-cut and simple that would enable her to pay for her crimes and move on. Only thing was, she wasn't allowed to do even that.

Way to go, Faith, she thought with disgust. Can't even get sent to prison without fucking it all up.

Maybe it was fate. The public defender had said that someone "up there" liked her, but what if it was someone "down there" instead? Maybe she really was meant to be evil, heart and soul, and this was just someone's way of telling her, "Hey, wake up, dumbass. You used to have a good thing going."

Faith swallowed hard, wanting to believe it, willing herself to believe it. She still felt the deeply buried pain twisting her gut; it flared up relentlessly whenever she thought of any of the things she had done in the past. She was sick to death of the torment, sick of the fact that it hurt so much and she couldn't get it to stop. Her brow ached, and she realized with dull surprise that it was because her face reflected a perpetual wince that had nothing to do with the bright sunlight.

She took shelter in a shadowed alleyway, sinking down against the cool brick wall and holding her head with trembling hands. Faith didn't know how long she sat there, she was just trying desperately to shut out everything -- the memories, the denials, the wrong decisions, the missed opportunities.

Finally, the empty gnawing of her stomach could no longer be ignored. This is just perfect, she thought with despair. It's bad enough I'm miserable, do I have to be broke and starving too?

She had almost forgotten what it was like to be hungry and not have any money to buy food. When Faith worked for the Mayor, he always made sure she had plenty of both; and after he was gone she just took what she needed. She'd wait in a dark corner somewhere until an easy mark came by, and then she'd jump him. Faith figured the world owed her that much at least; after all, she didn't have any money and they always had more than enough. If she got a little carried away and sent someone to the hospital, or the morgue, well, at least she always got what she wanted.

At least she was never hungry.

Faith clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stand up. I'll be damned, she thought, if I let myself starve because of a few regrets. I've got to do it. I got no choice. It's just the way I am.

Faith waited there in the alley, the shadows lengthening with each passing minute. She felt that never-ending remorse flare up in her gut like a black wave, but the dark Slayer clamped down on it hard, willing herself to ignore it with the iron discipline that came from years of hard-earned survival. Finally, she saw him: the perfect mark. He was some young Yuppie type, walking around in a full suit even though the temperature couldn't have been less than 85 degrees. He was chatting breezily on a cell phone about some hi-tech stock deal, not even noticing that his route took him a little too close to that shadowed alley.

Okay, Faith, she thought to herself. No problem. You've done this dozens of times before. Her hands clenched and unclenched as she heard his footsteps getting closer and closer.

Faith hauled the man into the alley with strong hands and threw him against a brick wall with brutal force, causing his cell phone to fly out of his grasp. She held him against the wall with a grip of iron, solid and immovable. The man struggled briefly, and Faith could see shock written on his face, an incomprehension that such a young, strong man was unable to budge a single inch from a girl whose strength was clearly something other than natural and who looked at him with desperate eyes which seemed to chill him to the bone.

She cocked a fist back, ready to slam it into his face and silence any possible cries for help. "P-please," he begged, looking at her wildly, sweat standing out on his forehead. "I've got money. Take the money, just don't hurt me!"

Faith looked up into his eyes and stopped short. She saw fear -- no, _terror_ -- appear in those wildly darting eyes and the Slayer knew she was the one who had put it there. Faith knew that look all too well; she'd used to love seeing it, she thought it was her way of striking back at the world, of telling it, "Fuck you, you can't beat me."

She had seen the same look of terror in the eyes of the Deputy Mayor, the professor, and countless other victims. _Her_ victims, carefully cultivated with blood and sweat and razor-sharp steel, and savagely reaped as a sacrifice to the god of her hate.

Something occurred to her then, as she looked into the eyes of her prey; it slid into Faith's mind like quicksilver inspiration.

She didn't hurt people to strike back against the world, against the lousy hand that fate had dealt her. She hurt people because she _liked_ it. It was power. It was control. It was pain, and it was murder.

And she needed it.

Faith fell back with a sob, dropping the man to the ground. All the agony and suffering threatened to overwhelm her; the faces of her victims lodged firmly in her mind, staring at her with shocked, terrified eyes, each look an accusation, a condemnation. She turned and ran; she didn't even see where. She didn't care.

* * *

Faith didn't know how long she had been running, it was all just a huge blur. People, cars, street signs, it all became one large, indistinguishable mass as the dark Slayer sprinted through the city at speeds of which mere humans could only dream. When she was finally forced to stop, her mind barely registered that it was nighttime; the sodium vapor streetlight she was leaning on cast a sickly yellow pall on the surrounding area.

Exhaustion and nausea both fought to overwhelm her; nausea won, and Faith doubled over, one hand on her stomach, the other wrapped around the lamppost, clutching at it to try to stay on her feet. Over and over again she vomited up the only thing in her stomach, dark bile, until that was eventually exhausted too. She crouched there for almost a full minute, dry-heaving and gasping for breath, fresh tears springing to her eyes.

Finally the nausea subsided, and Faith wiped an unsteady hand across her face. She looked around, and with bleary eyes took notice of exactly where her feet had carried her.

It was Angel's place, but the windows had been boarded up, and the scorch marks and huge pieces of missing concrete gave mute testimony that no one was working or living there anymore.

That realization barely had a chance to sink in when Faith heard a low, soft voice behind her.

"Faith."

She turned around slowly, one arm still wrapped around the lamppost in a feeble attempt at stability. "Angel."

The vampire stepped out of the shadows near the building where his black clothing had rendered him nearly invisible. He looked at Faith, his eyes regarding her sweat-stained clothing and generally filthy appearance. His face softened in sympathy. "I heard you got out. I've been waiting here, last night and tonight, hoping you'd show up."

Faith laughed weakly. "Yeah, well, coming here wasn't exactly the plan." What had brought her to Angel's? Coincidence, or maybe instinct? Do Slayers home, like pigeons, Faith wondered irrationally. She glanced up at the burned-out building. "What happened?"

Angel followed her glance with his eyes. "Wolfram and Hart. Wesley was hurt, but he's better now." He took a step toward the Slayer, and Faith felt herself flinch away when he did so.

She looked up at him, unable to meet his gaze for more than a second. "Angel, I..." She stopped and licked dry lips, feeling her tenuous self-control slipping away. "I-I tried, Angel, I really did..." Her vision blurred with tears and she let go of the light pole, feeling her knees finally give way.

The vampire stepped forward, gathering the crying girl into his arms before she could slump to the ground. "I know you did," he said, smoothing the young girl's hair while great sobs racked her slender frame. "I know."

* * *

In life, John Coleman had been a bully. He had skated through High School and junior college primarily on his twin abilities to intimidate others and destroy quarterbacks. He had encountered very few problems that couldn't be solved by the judicious application of either one or the other. Little had he known that once he had tried to find an actual job neither one of those skills would help him in the least, and he had been stuck flipping burgers for ten cents above minimum wage.

So it was with great happiness last year that he had found himself turned into a vampire by one of the Mayor's henchmen who was on a recruiting kick and liked John's attitude. After the Slayer was done at Graduation, of course, the Mayor had been turned into popcorn shrimp and most of the vamps had been dusted by Sunnydale High's Class of '99. But not John.

He was one of the few vamps who bothered to step into the power vacuum left by the Mayor's untimely incineration. John had gathered a few vampires that he felt could be distrusted a little less than the others, chosen a new name for himself that he considered immensely cool -- but most everyone else thought was lame and pretentious -- and Diablo's Nighthunters were born.

"Diablo" did pretty well for himself and his gang; mainly because he avoided any area that he thought would be patrolled by the Slayer. When asked, he huffily explained that it wasn't because he was _scared_ of the little blonde Slayer, it was because he didn't feel the need to prove anything. Then he would promptly stake the questioner. Diablo didn't like being challenged.

So when he and his "Nighthunters", all six of them, returned to their home crypt that evening, they were a little surprised to see two people already there, a young brunette woman and a middle-aged priest, sitting around like they owned the place.

"Just who the fuck are you?" Diablo snarled, stepping toward the couple with fists clenched. He always thought it was good policy to start any conversation with a show of force, if only to bring things into the arena where he was strongest -- physical violence.

The priest just shook his head with mock regret. "Such language does not befit a civilized man. I suggest you apologize to the lady." He inclined his head toward the young brunette.

"Apologize my ass," Diablo growled, and leaped forward, aiming a punch right for the priest's face.

A punch which, surprisingly enough, never landed. His fist was halted in mid-air as the young woman, her movements a blur, reached up and grabbed Diablo's heavily muscled forearm in a solid grip, stopping it dead just inches from the priest's face. Before the vampire realized what was happening, the girl wrenched his arm behind his back and shoved him face-down onto a nearby stone slab.

Diablo struggled, flexing his muscles to try to break the girl's grip, but without success. They had never failed him before, either on or off the football field, but they failed him now. In desperation, he shot a glance at his Nighthunters, none of whom would meet his gaze.

The priest never lost his smile, never blinked during the whole confrontation. "I believe I asked you to apologize."

"Fuck you!"

The priest shook his head sadly. "You don't seem to realize that you no longer hold the power here." He glanced over at the Nighthunters, all of whom were staring at the priest in fear. "I trust this is a lesson I will not have to teach anyone else."

He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a pair of pliers and a slim-bladed stiletto. Diablo's eyes widened at the sight, and for the first time he felt real, honest-to-God terror. Handing the pliers to the young woman, the priest intoned, "And the Lord God said, 'If your eye causes you to sin, pluck it out; it is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than with two eyes be thrown into Hell.'"

The young girl forced Diablo's mouth open, catching his tongue painfully in the grip of the pliers. The priest advanced with the stiletto and admonished, "Trinity, make sure you pull the tongue far enough out this time. You know how I detest needing to make more than one cut."

*****

"I know I told you 'mi casa es su casa,' but I didn't think that meant you'd invite over Miss Teen Psycho USA."

Angel pulled Cordelia into the kitchen with an apologetic glance at Faith. The Slayer was sitting in the living room busily polishing off the second of four cheeseburgers that Angel had picked up for her on their way to Cordelia's apartment, and didn't let on that she had heard. She did, though, every word.

What can I say, she's right, Faith thought to herself. I am a psycho. I shouldn't have let Angel drag me here.

What did he think he was going to change, anyway? Her pain? Angel would see that as 'useful,' something to remind her of the past. Her instincts? Faith's instinct to kill was what made her a Slayer; you couldn't just beat the vampires up and tell them they had to be good from now on. Or maybe it was the sheer joy it brought her...

Faith flushed with embarrassment and ducked her head, despite the fact that she was alone in the room. She killed. She killed and she liked it. No, that wasn't quite right, she killed and she _loved_ it.

Her stomach twisted into knots and she set down her half-eaten hamburger. It was like a curse; Faith remembered every single moment when she, with almost child-like enthusiasm, went out on some hit job for the mayor. She hadn't cared why, or who; all the Slayer had cared about was that she got to kill. At those moments, Faith had ultimate control over that person's life, control which she executed with vicious efficiency.

Faith's head sank into her hands, and she sat there for a moment, overwhelmed. She caught a word from the conversation in the other room, "Buffy," and listened closely, bringing a small amount of her enhanced hearing to bear.

"I'm not going to tell her. This doesn't have anything to do with her," Angel said. The strain in his voice was obvious.

"Your funeral," Cordelia replied, her shrug audible. "From what I heard about the last time, her royal highness wasn't too pleased to be kept out of the loop."

Angel seemed to pause, considering. "I don't want a repeat of last time. I think a phone call out of the blue will upset her more than anything. As long as we can keep all of this quiet, there will be no reason for Buffy to get involved."

Yep, Faith thought, just call me the dirty little secret.

Angel walked back into the room, and Faith noticed that Cordelia didn't follow him. He glanced down at Faith's dinner, and said, "You done already?"

Faith gave the vampire a half-smile. "I suddenly got not hungry."

Angel sat down next to the Slayer, giving her that concerned, sympathetic look that he was so good at.

Of course he's good at it, Faith thought, he's had a hell of a lot of practice.

"Anything you want to talk about?" he asked.

Faith immediately got up and took a few steps away, distancing herself both physically and emotionally. "Not really."

Angel didn't move. "I can't help you if you won't talk to me."

"You can't help me anyway," Faith said, laughing at herself weakly. "What are you gonna do, huh? Make it all go away? Make it so the past doesn't matter? Make it so I don't see their faces every time I close my eyes?" Faith stared, unfocused, at the wall. "They all had names, didn't they." It wasn't a question.

"Who?"

"My--the people who died. They all had names. Like Allan and Lester. It's easier with vamps and demons, you know, cuz you never know their names. It's almost like they're not real, just targets for you to shoot down. But Lester had a name. Professor Lester Wirth." Faith passed an unsteady hand over her eyes. "Probably had a family, too. Not a wife and kids, but a mom and dad. Maybe brothers and sisters. People to miss him."

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Sometimes I wonder what he was like as a kid. Probably kind of a geek, must've got teased a lot. Collected rocks maybe. Sometimes...I wonder what his life would have been like if I had never been born."

* * *

Trinity watched Father Sedona patiently, waiting for him to turn from the hotel room window and acknowledge her presence. It had been four days since they arrived in Sunnydale, and every night it was the same thing: find more of the weak, pathetic vampires that made this place their home and bring them under the Father's dominion. So far they had operated in secret, and all had gone according to the priest's plan.

No, it hadn't taken much to convince the kin of this town that they were better off coming into the fold. That large man, his friends said he went by the name of Diablo -- he would prove an adequate enforcer, now that his loyalties had been made clear.

Diablo... Trinity shook her head. What a name. The Father had chuckled at the blasphemy of it.

The phone rang, and Father Sedona walked over to pick it up.

"Yes?...Yes, it is. I would. Is she, now? I know of him. Thank you, it is useful. No, just keep me apprised. Goodbye."

The Father placed the phone back on the hook, and stared at it for a moment in a speculative manner. "That was one of my contacts in Los Angeles."

The young woman raised an eyebrow. "Those jackleg lawyers that you employ?" The scorn in her voice was clear; she harbored no love for those who hid behind petty threats and manipulation, preferring instead serious threats and physical encouragement. "What news did they bring?"

"It seems that the other Slayer has been placed back on the chessboard. She is out of jail and staying with a vampire named Angel."

"Angelus..." Trinity whispered. It had been a long time. There were a few memories attached to that name, and most of them unpleasant.

"I remember him," the Father responded, tapping his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully with a delicate finger. "A young one. One of your countrymen, if I remember correctly. Rash, unfocused, and ineffectual. But this other Slayer, now she shows promise. Should the first Slayer prove difficult, perhaps the new one would be more...accommodating." A crooked smile emerged on his patrician features. "Her name is Faith. Quite auspicious, don't you think?"

Trinity leaned forward intently. "What is your plan, Father?"

"All in good time, my child," Father Sedona chuckled. "All in good time. For now, our strategy remains the same. The next step requires the book."

Trinity smiled, eager to be accomplishing something useful. "You wish me to retrieve the book now?"

The priest stepped forward and ran a gentle hand down her face, cold fingertips brushing cold skin. "Ah, Trinity. So eager, so helpful. Yes, I wish for you to retrieve it. And do be careful not to get carried away. I know how you so love your work."

* * *

Giles took a sip of tea and glanced up from the book he was reading, a second edition _Tale of Two Cities_, to the clock for what seemed like the third time in fifteen minutes. The tea was peppermint -- it wouldn't do to drink caffeine at such a late hour -- but it still did nothing to soothe his nerves.

Something, some instinct was making him feel disquieted; occasionally, in his more frivolous moments, he thought of it as Watcher's Intuition. But regardless, he had the distinct feeling that something bad was happening, or going to happen shortly. And his thoughts, as they often did when danger was involved, shifted to concern about Buffy.

It had been easier on the Watcher when Buffy was in High School, he realized; every morning she would give an accounting of her previous night's patrol, and he would try to divine if there were a more sinister evil brewing. Every afternoon the two of them would dedicate an hour or two to training and weapons practice. The routine worked well, and forged them into quite a formidable team.

That was then.

Now, he'd be lucky to get a daily phone call, or perhaps a short visit; and never after a routine patrol. No, only something unusual would cause Buffy to enlist his help with research. And the two of them never trained together anymore.

Giles sighed and removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to ward off an oncoming headache. Finally, he decided not to ignore his intuition any longer. Picking up the phone, he consulted a list of telephone numbers and dialed.

"You have reached the Summers' residence. No one can come to the phone right now. Please leave a message--"

Giles hung up the phone, consulted his list again, and dialed.

After the third ring, he heard Willow answer on the other end. "Hello?"

"Hello, Willow, sorry to disturb you."

"Giles! Hi." Willow's voice faded a little as she spoke to someone else in the room. "It's Giles, Giles is on the phone."

He could almost hear her blushing furiously, and decided he was better off not knowing. "Yes, Willow, I called because--"

"Hi Mr. Giles." A faint voice could be heard in the background. Was that Tara? He shook his head, and decided he was _really_ better off not knowing.

"Tara says hi," Willow said, and with a small gasp, cut herself off abruptly.

Giles winced. "Yes, well say hello to Tara for me. The reason why I called--"

Willow began to babble nervously. "Not that Tara's staying in my room. I mean, she's in my room now. But we weren't doing anything. I mean we were, but nothing bad--"

"Willow, please," Giles interrupted, massaging his temple now. "I would really rather not know. I'm trying to get ahold of Buffy, do you know where she is?" Not with you two, I assume, Giles added silently.

"Oh, Buffy." Willow coughed apologetically. "I think she's spending most of her time over at Riley's lately."

"I was rather surprised to get her answering machine this late at night, actually," Giles responded.

"Yeah, I think Buffy's mom is working until after midnight most nights at the Gallery. She told me when I called that she's getting caught up with some shipment, and since Buffy is spending all her free time with Riley..."

Giles nodded in understanding. "Do you have his telephone number?" Another glance at the clock suggested that it was probably too late to call, but it would be useful to have a contact number for her nonetheless.

"Um, I don't think so. I've been trying to get ahold of Buffy for a couple days now, but we've been playing phone tag."

"I see. Well, thank you anyway, Willow. I'm sorry for calling at such a late hour."

"Oh, no problem, Giles! You really weren't interrupting--"

As Willow appeared to be well on her way to another nervous babble, Giles cut her off. "Goodnight Willow," he said, hanging up the phone with a smile.

The Watcher stood, and took another sip of tea. The feeling of foreboding had lessened somewhat, now that, he assumed, Buffy was safe. If not, he probably would have heard from Riley by now. And yet...

A sharp knocking on his front door startled him, causing him to set down his tea with shaking hands. "Ah, yes, coming," he called out, and taking a moment to steady himself, opened the door, half expecting to see the worst.

What he saw instead was a distraught young black-haired woman with mud-caked shoes and splattered jeans, looking like she was very much in need of help.

She smiled at him, apparently relieved. "Um, hello sir. I'm really sorry to bother you this late, but I saw the light in your windows. My car broke down not too far away, and I didn't realize my cell phone's battery was dead," she held up said phone, "so I really need to use someone's telephone.

Willow placed the phone receiver back on the hook and chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. It wasn't like Giles to be so urgent, she thought, not when there was no great evil out there for them to be wary of. Since Adam had been taken care of, they were definitely in between great evils at the moment. Maybe Giles was getting lonely again?

She was forced to admit that although the Scooby gang was together again, the core problems that had led to the big split a couple of weeks ago had not been dealt with. Xander was still holed up in his basement, Giles was still lonely and unemployed, Buffy was still spending every waking -- and non-waking -- moment with Riley, and Willow...

The hacker felt a small tug at the sleeve of her robe, and she looked down toward the source. Tara was giving her a sweet smile from where she lay, covers pulled up to the blonde girl's shoulders, her fingers abandoning the terrycloth to gently brush the exposed skin of Willow's arm.

"I don't know why you jumped up to put on that robe when you found out it was Giles on the phone," Tara said quietly, her eyes shining as she teased her girlfriend.

Willow captured Tara's hand in her own and gave the knuckles a brief kiss. "That's just it, it was _Giles_. He's like a father, o-or one of those strict, disapproving British uncles that you see on PBS shows. I can't talk to him naked. Not when I'm naked, I mean, although I really wouldn't want to talk to him when he was naked either, geez, you don't think he was naked, do you?" The image was strangely attractive and disturbing at the same time.

Tara giggled at Willow's discomfiture. "Probably not." Her expression turned serious. "Is everything ok?"

The hacker nodded. "I think so. I think Giles might be feeling a little out of place again, though. Think we could go over there tomorrow morning and talk to him for awhile?" Maybe I could pry Buffy away long enough to go with us, Willow thought to herself.

"Of course," Tara agreed immediately. "First thing tomorrow morning." The blonde reached out and grasped the front of Willow's robe, pulling the hacker down towards her with a smile.

"Tomorrow morning is soon enough," Willow concurred, meeting Tara's lips with her own in a gentle kiss.

* * *

Trinity watched the Englishman closely, careful to keep her hopeful, vulnerable expression in place. Jesu, but she hated acting this way! Since her childhood she had despised weakness; it had been obvious even then that the strong were the ones who drove this world, and those who lacked strength were little better than slaves, however much they might pretend otherwise. Regardless of her personal feelings, however, she had to admit that playing the part of the weak, helpless female often enabled her to easily manipulate otherwise cautious men.

She also knew that this Englishman -- a Mr. Rupert Giles, if the information the Father had was correct -- would probably prove more cautious than most.

Sure enough, his survival instincts seemed to be well-honed. "I have a cordless telephone," he replied in his smooth accent, "I'll let you borrow that." He gave her a perfunctory smile, undoubtedly meant to reassure, and turned to fetch the phone.

Fine, she thought with a glare at his retreating back, we do this the hard way. And by that, I mean hard on you.

Digging the fingernails of her left hand into her palm, she felt the skin break and red blood welled up between her fingers. She squeezed her hand shut, and felt a few drops fall to the ground. With her right hand, she signaled to the vampire that she knew was hiding in the bushes, several feet away.

The Englishman returned with the telephone. "Here you go, Miss...?" He held out the phone to her, and she watched as his eyes followed her injured hand. "Oh! Ah, you've hurt yourself," he said, his calm British exterior slightly ruffled now.

She pushed him even farther. "Oh yes, I was trying to change the tire by myself, and my hand slipped. I cut myself on the tire iron. That'll teach me." She chuckled weakly, all the while allowing her eyes to dart around the small courtyard nervously. "Um, that's really why I'm here right now, you see, I think someone's following me," she finished, her voice dropping to a stage whisper.

The vampire took that as his cue, and began rustling the bushes and emitting low growls. It was all Trinity could do not to roll her eyes in exasperation.

Giles's raised his eyebrows in alarm. "Yes, there are very dangerous things out here at night," he said, grabbing ahold of a crucifix and crossbow that were conveniently placed next to the door. Stepping outside, he held the crucifix up in front of Trinity's face.

The vampire swallowed hard and crossed herself, trying to maintain the illusion of casualness. Crosses, though they made her uncomfortable, did not incapacitate her as they did other vampires; one of the advantages of having a priest as a sire and mentor, she assumed. Father Sedona enjoyed collecting ornate crosses and crucifixes, and he was never without his Rosary.

It appeared to work; the Englishman nodded to himself, and turned toward the bushes. Behind him, Trinity gestured at the hiding vampire.

The fiend jumped out of the bushes, hands held before him as if they were claws. He was a minor lackey, very young and inexperienced, but competent enough to follow the simple instructions that Trinity had given him. "Ha!" he exclaimed, very melodramatically. "I have you now!"

Trinity rolled her eyes for real this time, but collected herself quickly. Giving a small shriek, she grabbed on to Giles's right arm, holding on for dear life. "Oh no! What is that thing? It's going to kill me!"

The mortal tried his best to shrug her off, while still holding the vampire at bay with his crucifix. "Please, miss! I need you to stay calm!"

The lesser vampire laughed cruelly, causing Trinity to shriek even louder and grab on even tighter. Finally, the Englishman pushed her behind him, saying, "Get in the house! I'll take care of this!"

Gladly, Trinity thought with a small smile, and turned and entered the mortal's home. A moment later she heard the thrumming of a crossbow string, and she looked to see her lackey turning to dust, a wooden bolt sticking out of his chest.

Pity. Well, plenty more where that came from, she thought with a mental shrug.

Giles came back into the house, and Trinity beamed at him, playing the part of the rescued princess. "Oh, thank you sir! I don't know how I can repay you!" She mentally chastised herself for such stilted speech, undoubtedly due to the Father's great love of old Errol Flynn movies.

"I don't think that will be necessary, miss," the man said to her, in all likelihood made uncomfortable by her display. He set down his crossbow and crucifix. "Now, let's see to your injured hand, shall we?"

Trinity clenched her hand, feeling that the shallow cut she made earlier had already healed. "Yes, thank you sir, and something for the pain if you have it?" she lied smoothly.

He nodded and jogged upstairs, probably searching for a first aid kit.

As soon as he was out of sight, Trinity looked quickly around the living room, spotting the large bookshelves against the far wall. She rushed over and started scanning the titles, looking for one book in particular.

"_A Devil's Bestiary_; _Demons, Demons, Demons_; _Blood Rituals of Pazuzu_; and, oh, a first edition copy of _Sense and Sensibility_," Trinity muttered to herself softly, shaking her head. "The Father was right, these mortals are hardly deserving of the gift of life."

Giles's voice floated down from the loft. "Will aspirin be sufficient for the pain, or do you need something stronger?"

"Aspirin will be fine, thank you, Mr. Giles," Trinity replied distractedly. She continued scanning the spines of the books, until she came across one that matched the title that Father Sedona had given her. Reaching out, the vampire was about to pick up the book when she heard a small 'click' behind her, in the direction of the front door.

She immediately identified it as the sound of a crossbow being loaded.

Straightening slowly, Trinity carefully turned to face the Englishman, whose crossbow was held in a steady hand, pointed straight at her heart.

She gave him a wry smile. "Is there something wrong?"

Giles's eyes narrowed as he regarded her closely. "Who are you, and how did you know my name?"

"Oh, you are quite well-known from whence I come," Trinity replied smoothly. She smiled sweetly, just the picture of beatific innocence -- until her canine teeth began to sharpen, her features shifting into those of her true nature.

The crossbow string thrummed as Giles shot a bolt straight for her heart; a missile which she easily snatched from the air, mere inches from her chest. Holding it up, she examined the bolt thoughtfully. "We could have done this the easy way, but no. Now we do things the hard way. My way."

* * *

As soon as that fiend in girl's clothing grabbed the crossbow bolt out of mid-air, Giles knew he was in trouble. "Why are you here?" he asked warily, edging closer to the door. "Let me guess, you're a vampire with an interest in rare and unusual books, a-and all the used bookstores were closed?"

The vampire laughed easily. "Do you think me some villain in a penny dreadful that I would so easily reveal our plans?" Her voice was low, smooth, and terribly hypnotic. "No, you will discover them soon enough...but not until it's too late."

"At least tell me your name before you kill me," Giles said, with the barest of glances toward the door. Almost there...

"I'm not going to kill you," the girl responded. "But..." Faster than Giles could react, the vampire placed a solid foot on his coffee table and launched herself over the couch, right for him. She shoved him against the door with bone-jarring force, capturing his wrists in one strong hand. Leaning forward, she whispered into his ear, "Neither can I allow you to leave."

Giles's mind raced with the possibilities that were laden in such a statement. "What are you going to do?" he asked, calling upon all his famed British detachment and cool-headedness to keep his voice steady.

A grudging respect shone in the girl's -- the demon's -- eyes when she regarded him. Tracing his jawline with one delicate finger, the vampire forcibly turned his head to the side, baring his neck.

"What comes naturally," she answered.

* * *

Willow knocked on the door a second time, and shot her girlfriend a concerned look. They were standing outside Giles's home; the day was bright and sunny, and it appeared that Sunnydale was once more in the grip of one of its famed heat waves, it being already eighty degrees at only nine o'clock in the morning.

It was entirely unlike Giles not to be up at this hour, Willow thought with concern. Even when he was hung-over that one time, he was still up by eight, latest. She knocked again, hoping to hear a British-accented reproach from inside.

Nothing.

"M-maybe we should go in," Tara said softly, returning Willow's worried look. Willow could tell that her girlfriend was bothered by this as well; she almost never stuttered unless she was embarrassed, or under stress.

The hacker nodded at Tara, and prepared her mind to cast an unlocking spell on the door. Thinking the better of it, she reached forward and tried the knob first, expecting it to be locked. When the knob turned easily in her hand, she shot another alarmed look at the blonde.

Pushing the door open slowly, Willow peeked inside, her eyes adjusting to the dimness of the living room. All the curtains were drawn, as if it were still night out; Willow stepped into the room, her foot kicking something which clattered across the floor. She jumped, taking a quick step backward and almost running into Tara in the process.

"W-what? What is it?" Tara asked, with a timid look over the hacker's shoulder. "What's that?"

"It's a crossbow," Willow said softly, glancing around the room and then stooping to pick up the object in question. "This isn't like Giles at all, to leave weapons lying around like this."

"You mean it doesn't belong to Giles?"

The hacker gave her girlfriend a wry smile. "No, I mean it isn't like him not to put something away." The worried feeling came back, and she held the crossbow in front of her, like a talisman. "C'mon, we've got to find him."

That proved not to be difficult at all, as a second later Tara grabbed Willow's arm and pointed to the couch. "Willow, look!"

Willow followed the blonde's gaze, and what she saw chilled her. Giles was laying on the couch, his body perfectly still, his face so pale that he almost appeared to glow in the dim light. His arms were arranged so they were crossed over his chest, in a classic death repose.

"Oh no, Giles," Willow whispered, and rushed to the man's side. She reached out and touched his neck gingerly, feeling for a pulse. She felt one, it was faint, but it was there, and she noticed with relief that his skin was warm to the touch. "He's alive," she breathed, looking up at her girlfriend, her body awash with relief. "We need some smelling salts, he's got some in a first aid kit upstairs."

Tara nodded and rushed upstairs, returning a minute later with the first aid kit. Willow took the smelling salts from her, and waved them briefly underneath Giles's nose.

The ex-Watcher inhaled sharply and immediately started coughing, tears springing to his eyes. "What...Willow..." He sat up, or tried to anyway, before dizziness appeared to overtake him and he laid back down again.

"Stay down," Willow admonished. She noticed the bite mark on the right side of his neck, red and ugly. "What the...were you bitten, Giles?"

The Watcher instinctively reached for his neck, only to have his hand held back by a disapproving Willow. She immediately began slathering the wounds in antibacterial ointment; once she was done, she placed a bandage securely on the side of his neck.

"Well, yes," he said weakly, "it appears I was."

* * *

Father Sedona sat in the darkened hotel room, admiring the book that Trinity had placed on the table in front of him. He had been sitting there for hours, running his fingertips over the delicate leatherwork and thick parchment, losing himself in the musty scent of old knowledge. And reading. Oh yes, he was reading.

"You are pleased, then?" Trinity asked from her spot on the couch where she sat, regarding him.

The priest smiled. "I am very pleased." Trinity seemed to swell under his praise, and he made sure to give it often; she was a valuable thrall, and in his way he loved her as the pinnacle of his creations. His Magnum Opus. "Did you run into any resistance?"

"Minor," she waved her hand disdainfully. "A pity, though, that you did not want our Mr. Giles killed. It would have made the mission faster and easier."

Father Sedona chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Time enough for that. We don't want a head-strong Slayer hunting us with vengeance on her mind. At least, not yet." The priest looked down again at his book. "I know we've made great strides in gathering followers over the past few days. Tell me, Trinity, how many have you chosen to be among my Disciples?"

Trinity paused and thought for a moment. "Eleven," she said slowly. "Including me. Why?"

The Father leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Because I think it's about time for us to find our Judas."

*****

"So who was she?" Willow wondered aloud, after Giles had finished describing his late-night encounter with the mysterious vampire. "And who do you think sent her?" The hacker shivered at the thought of another cunning vampire stalking the night in Sunnydale; not for the first time, she wished she had been able to get ahold of Buffy, and tell her the news. As it was, the best she could do was to leave a message with Mrs. Summers to have Buffy stop by as soon as she could.

Giles shrugged from where he lay on the couch, propped up by a few pillows Tara had gathered from upstairs. He was starting to look stronger, probably due to the rest he was getting and the orange juice that the girls kept plying him with. Well, that, and the healing spell that Willow and Tara performed probably had something to do with it.

"I don't know. I should have known that girl was no teenager; she was far too polite." Willow and Tara both gave Giles a look, and he quickly continued. "I'd like to have you two start going through the Watchers' diaries, looking for someone who fits her description. From the way she spoke, it seemed as if she were from the nineteenth century, perhaps earlier." His brow furrowed, and the ex-Watcher pinched the bridge of his nose, as if to stem a rising headache. Tara had brought up the fact that he shouldn't be given any pain-killers because a lot of them thinned the blood, and Giles already had dangerously low blood pressure.

The hacker nodded, busily jotting down some notes on the vampire's description. "What book did she take? I mean, it's probably important, considering she took the book and left everything else in the house alone. Except for you, I mean." She gave the older man a half-smile in apology.

Giles looked over at his bookshelf, his brow furrowed in thought. "I believe the one she took was a translation of the early teachings of Simon Magus. Yes, that was the title, _The Teachings of Simon Magus_."

Tara looked back and forth between Willow and Giles. "Who's Simon Magus?"

Giles cleared his throat in preparation for what Willow called 'lecture mode.' "Simon Magus was a famous magician who lived during the reign of Emperor Claudius of the Roman Empire. Depending on whose account you read, he was either the first Gnostic or the first Christian heretic. Supposedly he would travel the land casting out demons, healing, raising the dead, and so on..."

Willow shared a glance with Tara. "Sounds familiar," she murmured.

Giles nodded at the two girls. "It should. He also claimed to be the Son of God. According to him, if someone would accept his Gnosis, or knowledge, they would be saved from the demons of the lower planes. Many followers gathered behind Simon, and according to the stories, they were taught the ability to perform magical acts as well. Eventually, as the tale goes, Simon finished his work on Earth, and his last act was to ascend into Heaven.

"The Gnostics, with their emphasis on knowledge and the wisdom of the self, soon ran afoul of the early Christians, who emphasized faith and community. They were branded a heretical movement, and actions were taken to attempt to wipe them out."

"So what's in the book?" Tara asked, listening intently.

"Precisely what the title says. The magical rituals and teachings that Simon passed down to his followers. Healing the sick, changing water into wine, calming the seas, that sort of thing," Giles tossed off, seemingly unconcerned.

Willow's eyebrows came together in alarm. "All that and ascending into Heaven too?" Giles nodded. "That's in there too, of course. The ultimate magical ritual."

"You don't seem very concerned about this, considering how powerful those spells are," Willow noted, worry evident in her voice.

"Willow, it's all hyperbole and metaphor," Giles countered. "There isn't really a spell you can do from that book to control the weather, or change water into wine, or ascend into Heaven. It's all about seeking inner wisdom, and once you've achieved that level of self-awareness, you're supposedly able to perform those acts, like Jesus did, and like Simon did."

"S-so why would a vampire want to steal that book?" Tara asked softly.

Giles frowned, his eyes taking on a grim cast. "I wish I knew."

* * *

"I want her off my couch, Angel!" Cordelia fumed.

The vampire spared a look for the person in question, a brunette Slayer who was sprawled on said couch, busily munching popcorn and watching the latest Tae-bo infomercial on television.

"She never cleans up around here, she expects me to do her laundry -- as _if_ -- and I never get the remote control!" Cordelia crossed her arms as if that were the last straw. "If I want to watch my shows, I have to get Dennis to change the channel for me."

"Cordelia, you know this is just for a few days--"

"It's already been a few days! Actually, it's already been several days, Angel. Just when do you think that new place of yours is going to be finished, anyway?"

"Probably a little while longer." Angel looked at Cordelia, staring at her with that 'soulful pleading' look that was always so good at getting him what he wanted. "Look, she needs our help, right now more than ever. I think I'm getting through to her, we just need a little more time."

Cordelia stood there, arms crossed, and regarded Angel for a long minute. If the vampire had to breathe, he would have been holding his breath right at that moment.

"Ok," she finally replied, "but just three more days. And it's not because of that brooding look you're giving me, either."

"I was going for soulful," Angel replied sheepishly, allowing his satisfaction to show only as a small twitch at one corner of his mouth.

"Well, they all come out looking like 'brooding'," Cordelia grumbled, stalking off toward the refrigerator.

Angel sighed as he turned to regard Faith, seeing more than just her outward appearance. The fire, the energy that always shone in her eyes just beyond mortal ken had seemingly been extinguished. She seldom bothered to respond when people spoke to her anymore; after that night Angel found her, she had flat-out refused to talk about the past. Faith just lay there, day after day, eating whatever they put in front of her, her flat brown eyes staring at the television.

Angel knew that Faith was used to action; she used to proudly tell people that she never felt more alive than when she was fighting. More than once, Angel wondered if maybe he should take the girl slaying; he really wasn't convinced that it was the right thing to do so soon, however. She still seemed to have nightmares about the blood she spilled long ago; he didn't want to put her in a position where she'd have to spill blood again. And yet, Faith just lay there, unwilling to visit the sins of her past, and unwilling to participate in her future.

"Yeah, just a few more days," Angel whispered, feeling as unsure and lost as Faith looked.

* * *

Buffy practically skipped through the front door of her home, tossing her purse on a convenient chair in the living room. She was in an uncommonly good mood, lately, and why shouldn't she be? Vampire activity was way down since Adam had been dealt with, leaving her spending less time on patrol, and more time doing the stuff that she wanted to do: like going to the mall, with Riley; sitting in coffee shops, with Riley; and just generally hanging out -- with Riley.

Buffy knew that she was spending an awful lot of time with her boyfriend recently, and probably, to some small extent, falling back into the habit of neglecting the other people in her life. But they all had stuff they were doing too, didn't they? Her mom had the gallery; she was working there really hard recently. Willow had Tara, and Buffy knew those two were spending a lot of time together. Xander had Anya; they had gone on some road trip up to the San Bernadino mountains, a place Anya said she hadn't seen since she granted some wish to have a cheating ski instructor shot to death. Giles...he was probably doing some Giles-y stuff with books. Or maybe writing letters. Giles seemed like the correspondence type.

"Well, hello, young lady." A voice stopped Buffy dead right at the foot of the stairs. Putting on her best, brightest smile, she turned to face the speaker.

"Hi mom! Back from the gallery this early?"

Joyce leaned against the entryway separating the foyer from the dining room. "Yes, I decided to take a long lunch break, since I've been working so much overtime."

"Hey, that's great. You have been working hard, you deserve some time off." Meant to be a conversation-ender, Buffy turned toward the stairs. It wasn't that she was avoiding her mother, exactly, the Slayer realized, just that she was avoiding the lecture which was sure to come any minute.

"Maybe I do. Maybe you deserve some time off, too. All this Slayer stuff must really be taking up a lot of your time, considering how many nights you've been gone," Joyce replied smoothly, with an arched eyebrow.

Buffy winced internally. "Um, yeah, kinda. Well, you know how it is..."

"I know exactly how it is," Joyce responded with a motherly stare that told Buffy she knew precisely how her daughter was spending her time, and with whom. "Buffy, I know you're the Slayer, but that doesn't mean--"

"Mom, please," Buffy interrupted gently. "Later?" She fixed her mother with a pouty, pleading stare that she knew always worked to good effect. Sure enough, her mother sighed, breaking off the impending lecture.

"Just as long as there is a later," her mother replied wearily.

Buffy immediately brightened. "I promise. I gotta run and get my swimsuit. Riley's new apartment has a pool!"

Joyce smiled, Buffy's enthusiasm proving contagious. "Ok, but before you go, Willow called. She said she had something really important to tell you, and she needs you to meet them at Mr. Giles's house."

Buffy frowned a bit, her curiosity piqued. "Huh. I wonder what's up. Ok, I'll stop by there on my way back to Riley's. You're the best, mom." Giving her mother a quick peck on the cheek, Buffy raced upstairs to gather her things.

* * *

Willow set down the book she was reading, and rubbed her tired eyes. She, Tara, and Giles had been looking through his extensive collection of Watchers' diaries, trying to find some reference to the vampire he'd described. So far, they had covered everything from the present back to the early 1800s, and found nothing.

"Either she's a real stickler for privacy, or she's a lot older than we thought she was," the hacker said, breaking the dusty silence.

Giles nodded absently. "I have to agree. Perhaps her path and that of the Watchers do not cross that often."

"Or maybe she just kills everyone before they have a chance to talk about her," Willow muttered, with uncharacteristic pessimism.

Tara looked over at her girlfriend worriedly. "You ok?" she asked, rubbing Willow's knee softly.

Willow gave the blonde witch a half-smile. "Yeah. I'm just getting a really bad vibe from this, y'know? I mean, summers are supposed to be calm, a time for us to rest and recoup from all the horrible stuff we see the other nine months."

"We've fought things during the summer before, Willow," Giles responded, looking at her with concern. "Granted, this feels different somehow..."

"That's just it," Willow replied glumly, "it feels different. This isn't just your regular vampire gang, or heart-eating demon. She had a _plan_, Giles." The hacker sighed heavily. "I just wish Buffy were here."

"Well, wish no more, my Willow-shaped friend," Buffy said, closing the front door behind her. "I'm here. So what's got you guys in such a gloom?"

* * *

Buffy listened as Giles recounted his story of the previous night, particularly his description of the vampire who had invaded his home. Well, as much of an invasion as a vampire could manage, since they had to be invited inside.

"So, you think she was working with this other vampire, the one you dusted, to create a diversion so you'd let her in?" Buffy asked, all business now.

Giles nodded. "First she tried to get me to invite her in using the broken down car trick. When that didn't work, she tried something a little more elaborate. I'm ashamed to say it worked."

"And this was all so that she could get her hands on that book?" the Slayer asked, trying to work out the angle. "Why would she need that book so badly? And excuse me for asking, but why didn't she just kill you and enter your house once you had died?"

The ex-Watcher blinked; it appeared that was something he had not considered. "I-I'm not sure why not. She had ample opportunity to kill me, but she didn't. She even went so far as to make a point of telling me that she wouldn't kill me." He lapsed into silence for a moment, as if considering for the first time exactly how lucky he was.

"Giles, the book?" Buffy prodded gently.

That seemed to snap him out of it. "Ah, right, the book. As far as that goes, we're not sure why she wanted it. It's not exactly freely available, but many scholars have copies of it. Why she'd need it here, and now, I'm honestly not sure."

"We've been reading through the diaries to try to find some background on her," Willow piped up, "but we haven't found anything yet."

Buffy nodded sharply in acknowledgement. "Ok, you guys keep looking, let me know if you find anything." She scribbled out Riley's phone number on a piece of paper. "If you do, call me. I'll keep an eye out tonight when I go on patrol, and see if I can get anyone to talk. Someone has to have seen her. And don't worry, guys," Buffy said, giving them her most confident smile. "Once I find her, she'll be dust. No problem." Giving her friends a small wave, Buffy left.

Willow smiled to herself, and started flipping through her book again. She knew she could count on Buffy, they all could; she was the Slayer, and now, she was on the job.

* * *

Night had fallen, and Trinity crept silently through the bushes, watching the entrance to the small, filthy crypt. Horrendous places, these stale tombs and dank caves; not for the first time, she wondered why any vampire would be caught dead, no pun intended, in any one of them. And yet, most vampires _chose_ to live in those rank places.

Thank God that Father Sedona loved his creature comforts. Since her Turning, Trinity had lived in spacious villas, luxurious townhouses, and elegantly-furnished hotel rooms. She had certainly lived better when she was a vampire than when she was alive, sharing a two-room thatched house with her parents and three siblings. Before it had been burned down by the English, that is; just their bad luck to be in the way of one of Cromwell's armies, she thought bitterly. The family had travelled hard after that, trying to reach her father's sister in the hope that she would be able to provide them with some shelter. Trinity never got that far, though, the men came to take her away long before that...

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a shadowy figure emerging from the crypt, a tall, lean man with short-cropped blonde hair so light it was almost white. He looked around cautiously, more like a rabbit than the wolf he should have been. Trinity shook her head sadly, and stepped out of the bushes.

The rustling vegetation caused the man to start, and he gave her a sharp look before relaxing somewhat. "Christ, but you gave me a fright," the man said, his punk British accent annoying her. "Who are you, lurking around like that?" He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and lit one with only mildly shaking hands.

"William, I've warned you before about taking the name of Our Lord in vain," Trinity replied with a small smile. "Besides, is that any way to greet an old friend?"

The man looked at her more closely this time, his eyes registering shock. "Trinity? Is that you?" He took a half-step backward before collecting himself, gathering indifference around him like a suit of armor. "How have you been, luv?"

"Very well, William. I'm glad you remember me. I certainly remember you." Trinity gave him a wide smile, meant to reassure.

"Yeah, well, you're a hard one to forget. And I should know. What has it been, eighty, ninety years?"

"Closer to ninety, I believe. In Prague." Trinity took a deep breath, her voice filled with memory. "Walking along the Golden Lane by gaslight. And that old Romani woman that your Drusilla was so interested in. Speaking of whom, where is dear Drusilla? I don't picture her easily living in some old, musty crypt." Trinity made a show of glancing around, but it was simply that: a show. The Father had already informed her about several pertinent details of William's life.

William rubbed a hand over his jaw. "Yeah, well, me and Dru split up awhile ago. I got other things going on now. Plans. Big plans. Ah, by the way," his eyes shifted about nervously, "if you're here, does that mean...?"

"Oh yes," Trinity said smoothly, "the Father is here as well. Which is part of the reason why I came to talk to you, you see, he's very interested in your help, William. If you can delay some of your big plans, that is."

He nodded reluctantly. "Ah, sure. And...call me Spike. Everyone else around here does, anyway."

Trinity smiled. "Certainly. Follow me, Spike."

****

Faith's booted heels rapped a staccato rhythm on the surface of the gravestone she was sitting on, a sound which echoed hollowly through the desolate cemetery. Looking around, the dark Slayer noticed that it was Restfield cemetery, one of the dozen or so graveyards within the Sunnydale city limits. She didn't think to question why she'd be sitting in a graveyard at midnight so far away, but that's the way dreams are. Some things, you just accept.

Faith leaned her head back, the cool night air washing over her face; she still swung her legs as if she were a small child sitting in a grown-up chair for the first time, her heels beating a cadence on the hard stone.

"Has anyone ever told you that that's really annoying?"

Faith sighed resignedly and looked at the speaker without surprise. "Maybe that's why I'm doing it, B."

Buffy stood a few feet away, the moonlight turning her hair a paler shade of gold. Faith winced at the sight, being reminded not for the first time exactly how much she had lost. No, not lost; of exactly how much she had ripped apart with her bare hands and stomped on until there was nothing left.

"What are you doing here?" Buffy asked calmly. "Waiting to die?"

"Maybe." Faith shrugged, unable to summon up any of the old passion, either the love or the hatred, it didn't matter which. Ever since Angel had taken her in, all she had was pain and remorse, it overwhelmed everything else -- her fire, her passion, her excitement. Probably for the best, Faith thought. After all, everyone saw where those got me.

But the remorse...that was too painful; she had found that she couldn't handle it for very long. So she blocked it out, pushing it down so far that she didn't have to think about it. Day after day, she focused on the television, letting it consume her consciousness until she finally fell into fitful sleep. If Cordelia were the type to keep drugs or alcohol around the apartment, Faith probably would have started using. But even without chemical assistance, the routine she'd established at least allowed her to fight down the regrets, to banish them from her conscious mind, leaving her with--

"Nothing," Buffy finished, voicing Faith's thoughts aloud. "You have nothing, you feel nothing. Isn't that right?"

Faith looked at Buffy sharply, surprised at the Slayer's astute comments. She snorted. "You're not B."

"Why are you avoiding this, Faith? Why are you denying what you are?"

"What am I?" Faith asked wearily. "I'm a murderer. A killer. While I'm alive, no one is really safe around me."

"No one is really safe without you," Buffy retorted angrily. "Have you forgotten? You're a Slayer, Faith. Start acting like one."

Faith gritted her teeth, the stirrings of anger coloring her words. "I'm _unnecessary_. You're the Slayer. I'm just a fuck-up. An accident. A mistake. Just like I was from birth."

"You're still a Slayer. People need you, need your strength. _I_ need you," Buffy added quietly.

Faith looked at Buffy, searching her eyes for something unfamiliar. "Now I know you're not B. She's not exactly the type to forgive and forget. Who are you?"

The Buffy clone grimaced, her little ruse exposed. "I'm not Buffy, no, but that doesn't make what I said any less true. You're letting yourself die, Faith, slowly. Fading away, bit by bit."

Faith shrugged, slipping back into her accustomed apathy. "Everyone'll be better off."

Buffy, or rather the thing wearing Buffy's body, shook her head emphatically. "No, they wouldn't. That's what I'm here to tell you. You think that because you weren't able to go to prison, you can't serve your punishment, and you can't be redeemed. That's bullshit, Faith. Prison would have been an easy way out for you -- with your strength, you wouldn't have to worry about anything; people tell you where to go and what to do; and when it's all over, you pop out the other side feeling as if you'd actually accomplished something. While in the meantime, everyone you know is out here, fighting a war. They're sacrificing and they're dying, and you'd be in there getting three squares a day."

Faith opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Buffy continued relentlessly. "And now you think that because you can't go to jail, there isn't anything else you can do to pay for what you did. Well, how about what you were chosen to do in the first place? How many people do you think you saved when you were hunting vampires? What did you tell Buffy, thousands?"

The dark Slayer watched as Buffy walked toward her, stopping only inches from Faith's face. "I'm not saying that you shouldn't care about what you did. What I am saying is that the best way to make amends for it, the _only_ way, is for you to take up your mantle as Slayer again. Because people need you."

Faith dropped her head, unable to meet the impostor Buffy's hazel eyes, unwilling to see the perfect understanding in that face...that she could never hope to see from the real thing. "If I...do this, if I come back...what's to say that I won't go psycho again?"

"You." The simplicity of it astonished Faith. "Your memory. Your knowledge of what you are capable of, and how it feels to live with the consequences of your actions. It won't be easy, Faith; only death is easy, for yourself if not for the ones you leave behind."

The dark Slayer looked up at Buffy, meeting her eyes with her own. For the first time since she was sitting in that prison cell, she felt hope. "And I can help people, I can help...Buffy."

The blonde looked at her sadly. "Unless you come back, Buffy will die."

* * *

Just bloody marvelous, Spike thought with disgust as he followed Trinity through the access tunnels and sewer systems under the city. Exactly how am I supposed to get out of this one with all my limbs intact?

He stared at the back of the deceptively young-looking woman walking ahead of him, her shoes making very little sound as she crossed the wet concrete ahead of him. Every so often she'd look back, as if to reassure herself that he was still following. All the interest she was exhibiting in the vampire didn't please him one bit.

"So, what do you and the Father want with me, anyway?" Spike asked in what he hoped was a casual tone, breaking the uncomfortable silence which had built up between the two of them. He was itching to smoke a cigarette, to do something to dispel his nervousness; but he knew that an open flame probably wouldn't be the best idea in a sewer. Still, it would solve his current problem...

Trinity turned and smiled, showing her teeth. Maybe she meant it to be reassuring, but Spike just thought it looked predatory. "I'll let him fill you in on the details. Relax, William; it won't be like last time."

Spike wasn't particularly comforted by her statement. He cocked an eyebrow skeptically. "Does that mean you won't try to kill me?"

The woman's eyes flicked to his face and then back to the tunnel ahead. "Should I be trying?" Spike met the question with silence, and after a moment she relented. "As far as I know, no, we have no such plans. The Father isn't at all upset about your previous abandonment of us, William. In fact, he admires you so much, he's willing to grant you a key role this time."

"Oh, bloody good for me," Spike muttered under his breath. If the Father was behind it, then this plan had to be mad beyond words; and a certain cyber-demon had already insured that Spike had reached his quota of mad plans for the year. Unfortunately, the Father wasn't the type to take no for an answer. Which is why last time, Spike's answer had consisted of his sudden absence, and nothing else.

"We're here," Trinity said suddenly, interrupting his musings. Spike looked up and saw her standing next to a rough-hewn hole in the tunnel wall. The brunette motioned him inside, and Spike took a hesitant step forward.

He found himself inside a church, or at least the remains of one. It was a Catholic church, judging from the crucifix behind the altar, and the crumbling statues of saints lining the walls. The place looked to be almost a hundred years old, but what a church was doing buried underground, he had no idea. "What is this place?"

Trinity smiled thinly. "When the so-called 'Master' tried to open the Hellmouth seventy years ago, a great earthquake buried parts of the city, including this church. It's quite lovely, don't you think?"

Spike grimaced, wondering exactly what the brunette found 'lovely', the skittering rats, the noxious smells, or the skeletal, desiccated corpses of the church's last parishioners. "Quite."

Trinity led Spike up the center aisleway, toward a sizable group meeting at the front of the church; about ten vampires stood around the altar, each receiving instruction from a black-clad figure who seemed to blend into the deep shadows so completely that only his bone-white hands and face were visible. The Father.

As they walked up the aisle, Spike noticed that there were other vampires stationed around the church, acting as protection; obviously the Father didn't want anyone stumbling across this place who wasn't expressly invited. One such vampire stood in the center walkway, and as Trinity approached, he bowed and stepped back hurriedly. The vampire stood over six and a half feet tall, and was nearly that broad across the shoulders. He waited there quietly, his hands clasped behind his back. "This is Diablo," Trinity told Spike with a smile. "An amusing conceit, don't you think? He is one of our most capable assistants."

Spike walked up to the large vampire, assuming a cocksure attitude. "Diablo, eh," he said with a sneer, "I've seen you around before, haven't I? Pretty pathetic group you used to head up." The vampire's nostrils flared, but he set his jaw and said nothing, refusing to respond to Spike's taunts. "What's the matter," Spike mocked. "Cat got your tongue?"

"No," Trinity interjected quietly. "I do."

Spike lost his smile instantly, taking an involuntary step backward from the unfortunate vampire. Covering his surprised reaction, he pretended to brush dust off the sleeve of his jacket. "Oh. Ah, good work, that."

Trinity pursed her lips wryly, and continued walking toward the front of the church, Spike following hurriedly, and with only the briefest of glances back at the large enforcer. The brunette walked up the dais and stopped a few feet away from the father, head bowed submissively.

The more things change, the more they bloody well stay the same, Spike thought uncomfortably. That old priest was like her god, her father, her king, and her confessor all rolled into one. No vampire really knew why the priest and Trinity were they way they are, but there were rumors, some of which Trinity had confirmed for him herself. Oh yes, at one time, she and Spike had been close. Too close.

"Stay away from them!" his sire Angelus had warned him with a snarl. "She's beautiful, yes, but she's lethal, and if that priest told her to, would cheerfully cut off your balls and nail them to a church door!"

"This 'parental concern' you have for me is touching," Spike sneered. Behind the bluster, he thought he could detect a sliver of fear in his sire, which compelled him to continue. "Does this have anything to do with the fact that she kicked your arse from here to the German border?" He snickered before Angelus wiped away his grin with a strong backhand, sending the fledgling crashing to the floor. In the background, Spike could hear the sing-song tone of Drusilla's laughter.

"If you want to live through the night, you'll shut your hole," Angelus growled, looming over his bruised childe. "Heed me, and don't see her again; to do so will only mean your destruction. You're playing with fire, you little fool."

And he did stop, at least for awhile. Soon after that, he and Dru left Angelus, cutting their own swath through the population of Europe. Until Prague.

"Ah, Trinity, I see you've brought our friend."

Spike raised his head and looked at the Father, who was striding toward them, his arms held out in a warm, welcoming gesture. "Hello," Spike responded with a forced smile. "Trin said you wanted me for something."

The Father glanced at Trinity reproachfully. "Did she not tell you what plans we had in store?"

"I thought I would leave that to you, Father," the girl responded apologetically.

Father Sedona shook his head. "No matter. All will be made clear. But where is dear Drusilla? Where you are, I would have expected that she would be close behind."

Spike shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, well, she's gone off to do her own thing, and I had plans in the works, so..."

"Ah." The Father nodded as if he understood. "Probably for the best. She always seemed a bit...moon-mad anyway. As for why you're here," he paused, smiling winningly in a way that set off alarms in Spike's head, "I'm building an army, William. And I need generals."

Spike raised a skeptical eyebrow. "An army? For what?"

"Conquest, of course. What if I told you we could shape human history, bend it to our will, just through our combined strength? Take our places as the proper rulers of the Earth."

"I'd probably ask what you needed me for," came the cynical reply.

The Father chuckled. "Straightforward as always. You've got power, William, and the qualities of leadership. Once our army is assembled, none shall be able to stand against us."

"What about the Slayer?" a hesitant voice asked, and Spike looked over at one of the vampires standing around the altar. He recognized him as an old-timer in Sunnydale, by which he meant a vampire that had been around for at least a year. Because of the Slayer, vampires in town had a rather high attrition rate, and anyone that survived for very long had to be strong, cunning, and practical.

The Father waved a hand dismissively. "The Slayer is of no consequence. By the time she learns of our plans, it will be too late to stop us. The key, my friends, is community." The old priest seemed to warm to his subject, and spoke in a charismatic way that tugged at Spike's memory. He gathered his followers with both threats and promises, and it was impossible to tell which had the better effect. "We will bring our fledglings back here to be reborn, rather than allowing them to be buried as has been our custom. The Slayer will not see them until they have been properly trained, and forged into a single unit -- not alone, and weak, clawing their way out of the earth."

Spike cocked his head to the side, considering. He had to admit, the Father had a good idea. "And where are all these fledglings going to come from?"

Father Sedona smiled, a predatory grin that did nothing to dispel the ice in his eyes. "That is the best part. Each night, every one of us will go out and create a childe, taking them from the streets, the parks, their very homes if possible, and bring them back here. Obviously this step is the most important, and failure will not be tolerated." The Father fixed his followers with a flat stare which caused them to shift uncomfortably.

Spike blinked, his butcher-store blood roaring in his ears. Fledglings...fledglings require feeding, and feeding requires hurting, and hurting...

Is impossible with this blasted chip!

Spike ran a trembling hand through his hair, and swallowed nervously. His gaze darted around, and he caught Trinity watching him closely, puzzlement etched on her smooth features. He quickly schooled his expression into one of indifference, and tried to concentrate on what the Father was saying.

"...be chained, his blood drained to feed the hungry until he is nothing but a shriveled husk of pain and hunger. And then, when his agony is at its greatest, he will be buried and forgotten for millennia. Does anyone else have any questions about my punishment for failure?"

Oh, bloody Hell! Spike thought wildly, his eyes widening. I'm a dead man! Er, vampire. They get an inkling of the fact that I can't bite, and they won't need me anymore. Even worse than that, they won't need me, _and_ I'll be a security risk.

"Wow, all right, sounds like a solid plan to me," Spike said, giving the Father a half-hearted thumbs-up and backing towards the door. "Sounds like we need to go out and make some fledglings, eh?"

"Not quite," the Father replied, causing Spike to freeze in mid-step. "There is one more thing." The priest walked behind the altar, to where a large book lay open on the dusty marble. "During the day is when the kin are at our weakest. The very sun burns the flesh from our bones, as if we were an affront to the purity of God. And while I can do nothing about God for the moment," he smiled enigmatically, "I can do something about the dawn.

"The sun has risen for its last time on the town of Sunnydale."

* * *

The Father stood behind the candlelit altar, his hands raised high in the air. His followers, Trinity and William included, stood at regular intervals around him; he could feel their mystic power, probably far more than they could feel it themselves.

This town, even this church in which they all stood were specifically chosen because of the mystical energies prevalent here; the kin called it "The Hellmouth", and the Father knew it would be the perfect place to work his magicks and carry out his plan.

One thing which the book had taught him was that all creatures, mortal, demonic, and beatific alike, held a strong connection to the force of life, a link that could be used to mould and shape creation according to the mystic's will. Five hundred years ago or so, Father Sedona would likely have burned this book for its rankest heresy; but now, he had seen and done enough that he recognized a deeper truth when he heard it.

"I call on the spirit of Aleph," he began, pulling on the mystic force of his followers as if they were threads which he could weave. "Absolutely one, whole and perfect; infinite and eternal; indivisible and changeless. The source of all which exists and the ultimate of all that has passed from existence."

He could see them, in his mind's eye -- the blood-red threads that he was drawing from his followers. William's was a little duller than the rest, and the Father spared a brief thought of disgust as he realized the cause was ingesting animal blood instead of human. Regardless, he joined them together with his own, sending the life-force upwards through the stone and dirt into the sky; for barriers of matter were as nothing to forces such as these.

"For nothing _is_ that does not live, and nothing lives that does not have a source. You are the source, the pure knowledge from whence all things flow. From you the universe hath its beginning, and to you the universe returns." With an act of finely honed will, he fashioned the threads of sanguine energy into a vast lacework which he flung wide across the sky. Supported by the power drawn from his Disciples, he bent the natural forces of wind and water to his purpose, forcing clouds to coalesce from empty air, gathering them together in defiance of the natural order of seasons. He couldn't see it happening, but he _knew_, and because he knew, it transpired.

"For you are the virgin snow on mountain heights; the howling wind on storm-tossed seas; the driving rain on fruitful plains; the tortured thunder in threatening skies." He felt, rather than heard, loud thunderclaps as cloud piled on cloud, creating a thick, dark layer over the doomed city.

"Aleph! Very source of exhaustless power, I call on you to see my will fulfilled." The Father lowered his arms, satisfied; far above, the brightening sky, anticipating dawn, went unseen as stormclouds muffled the city like a thick blanket.

Eleven vampires shifted their weight uneasily and looked around as if they expected to see evidence of the Father's spellcasting; only Trinity stayed calm and patient, with perfect love and trust reflected in her gaze. Father Sedona looked at her and smiled.

Picking up the book, he held his arm out for her to take. "Remember," he said to the other vampires, favoring William with a pointed stare, "we meet here tonight, all of us, with your newest fledglings. I know you won't disappoint me." Turning to Trinity, he said, "Shall we go, my dear? It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day."

* * *

Far across town, Buffy lay sleeping, her head pillowed awkwardly on Riley's chest. Awkwardly, because she had moved about quite a bit in her sleep, as if in the throes of some nightmare she could not recall. The bedroom window was open, allowing a mild pre-dawn breeze to cool the sleepers.

A sharp clap of thunder jolted Buffy awake, and she sat up, with a muffled protest from her boyfriend. She looked back at him apologetically, but he had already drifted back into slumber. The young woman blinked tiredly, wiping a hand across her eyes.

Another clap of thunder convinced Buffy that it wasn't a dream, and the intermittent sound of raindrops caught her complete attention. She climbed out of bed and headed for the window, noticing that the sill was already slightly damp from the rainstorm. The Slayer frowned at the unusual weather; having lived her whole life in Southern California, she tried to think of the last time it had rained during the height of summer, and couldn't. It was unusual enough to receive rain during the winter, getting it during the summer was almost unheard of.

She closed the window, muffling the sound of another thunderclap, and climbed wearily back into bed. There wouldn't be much the Slayer could do until she could consult with Giles in the morning, so she decided to make the most of the time she had. Drifting off, she fell into an uneasy sleep.

Giles woke abruptly from the formless nightmare to find himself drenched in a cold sweat. Confused and disoriented, he cast his bleary gaze around the dim loft in which he made his bedroom; it took him a moment to realize that he was indeed at home, rather than...where? Had it been a church?

He frowned, trying to gather up the fleeting threads of his dream. Those images that had been so clear just a moment before seemed to vanish, slipping away from him like smoke through his fingers. The ex-Watcher shook his head, clearing it, and took a few deep, slow breaths. At first, he believed his sudden wakefulness was due to the anxiety of his nightmare; a loud banging on his front door convinced him otherwise.

Stumbling out of bed, Giles pulled on his bathrobe, cursing softly. A feeling of unease settled over him, and he flew down the stairs and pulled open his front door, half expecting to find an injured and bleeding Buffy on his doorstep.

What he discovered instead was a blonde, trenchcoated vampire, dripping wet and looking for all the world like a half-drowned, highly-pissed, rat.

Spike pushed past Giles, leaving a small but steady stream of water dripping off his coat from a prodigious rainstorm outside and completely drenching Giles's socks in the process.

"No time for pleasantries," Spike responded, cutting off Giles's outraged protests. "We've got a problem."

* * *

"Dead men working, a sinner, a saint
Mixing up a pail of paint,
Painted the house black as night
When the sun came up the house was white..."
-- Violent Femmes

Faith leaned on the living room windowsill, breathing the damp, pre-dawn air. The air smelled different at night, maybe it was the dew on the grass, or night-blooming jasmine.... Or maybe it was the fact that all the people and their stinking cars were at home. Either way, Faith always felt more relaxed after dark, more accepted.

The night knew its own.

The sky was the dull, waxy grey of an old corpse, and Faith wished briefly that not everything she thought of would remind her of sex or death. She was pleased when at last the sun began to rise, tinging the clouds in deep pink and orange hues.

Faith was not a girl prone to self-examination; the faults she had she was aware of because they had practically bludgeoned her to death with their very existence. Faith had been content to leave all the soul-searching to Buffy; as far as the dark Slayer had been concerned, it would only get in the way.

Truth was, she was running, from herself, from what she had turned into. Her whole life was one big escape -- the fights, the clubs, the sex.

Oh yes, the sex.

Nothing was better than that feeling she got when she came, that molten gold flooding into every cell, rushing down every nerve, setting her skin ablaze. Faith was sometimes amazed that she didn't cause anything and everything touching her to combust, the sheets, the pillow, the sweat-slicked Ken doll grunting and thrusting on top of her.

Buffy's boy, Riley, was exactly the same. Groaning with exertion, the perspiration running down his body in little rivulets across a chest so smooth that it made Faith wonder if he and puberty existed in the same zip code.

It was always over so soon, and Faith would wake to herself and the meaninglessness of her life. She had come to that realization during her night with Riley; it had practically been thrown in her face. Sex was the cheapest of drugs, and every time Faith came down off that high, she got dumped back into her pathetic little life, rushing for the shower to try to scrape some of the feeling off of her skin.

Meaningless. Cheap. Irrelevant.

Her hands tightened on the windowsill as she clamped down on a tide of self-loathing. It's not like that now, she thought to herself harshly, her teeth clenched. I'm not running anymore.

Faith heard a sound behind her, and she turned to see Angel entering the apartment; as usual, he'd stayed outside until the last possible moment before sunrise. He stepped inside and looked at her, cocking one eyebrow slightly in that way which she knew meant surprise, at least for him.

"Faith?" he asked softly, closing the door and taking a tentative step toward her. "You ok?"

She might have laughed at the understatement. No, she hadn't been ok. She hadn't been ok for a long time now. But this morning... "Yeah," she answered, just as softly. "Better."

"Good," Angel said, still moving slowly, tentatively. "Hungry?" He lifted a paper bag from which came the distinct smell of fresh donuts.

"Yeah. Thanks." As Faith began to eat, Angel eyeing her speculatively the entire time, Cordelia's phone rang, the shrill electronic sound breaking the uneasy silence.

"Hello?" Angel answered quickly, out of consideration for a sleeping Cordelia in the other room. "Giles. Hi." Faith saw him glance over at her, gauging her reaction; for her part, she just sat there, eating her donut. "I don't know if I can get away right now. I--" Angel cut off abruptly, and Faith looked over, holding her breath unconsciously. When he spoke again, his voice chilled her, raising the fine hairs on the back of the dark Slayer's neck.

"Trinity. I know her." Angel sighed, and covered the receiver's mouthpiece with his hand. "I need to go to Sunnydale for a few days. Cordelia will let--"

"Take me with you," Faith blurted, interrupting. Seeing his incredulous expression, she continued. "Look, it's too much to explain right now. But I know that I have to do this, I have to help. I have to try to make it up to--" _her_, "them."

Angel stared at her for a moment, considering. He nodded abruptly, and spoke into the phone again. "Giles? I'll be there two hours after dark. Faith is coming with me." The vampire winced a bit at the response, and Faith sighed internally. "She's coming with me, unless you don't want either of us...Ok, see you then."

Angel hung up the phone, and turned to regard Faith thoughtfully. "Thanks," she said, dropping her eyes. "For trusting me." A rustle of leather accompanied the vampire as he sat down next to Faith on the couch.

"I do trust you, Faith," he said softly. "Now it's your turn. Why do you want to go to Sunnydale so badly? What do you hope to accomplish?"

Faith smiled wryly. "You might not believe this, but I had the weirdest dream..."

* * *

Giles set down the phone tentatively, distractedly. "So the poof is coming here to Sunnydale, is he?" Spike asked, sneering a bit as he lit a cigarette. "And he's bringing the psycho bitch with him? You're never in so much trouble that you can't bloody well make it worse, can you?" He snorted in derisive laughter, laughter that was abruptly cut off as Giles plucked Spike's cigarette from his mouth and extinguished it in the vampire's mug of blood. "Hey, now!" Spike yelped.

"Listen to me," Giles hissed, his patience at an end. "We're all in as much trouble as we've ever been, and you're sitting there making stupid comments. I called Angel because, according to you, he knows this girl, Trinity, better than almost any other vampire. We need his help, no matter what the cost. So if you don't have anything else useful to contribute, then I suggest you sit down and _shut up_!"

Spike recoiled, his composure momentarily lost. Narrowing his eyes in hatred and impotent fury, he stood abruptly and picked up his mug, stalking into the kitchen and dumping the spoiled blood in the sink. Giles retrieved a slim, dusty volume from his bookshelf, and began paging through it, looking for more information on the vampires Spike had described. The blond vampire remained in the kitchen, fuming, until they both heard the door open some time later.

"Giles?" Willow asked, entering his home with Tara a few steps behind her. Shaking out her umbrella, the redhead folded it and stored it neatly beside the door. "Some storm, huh?"

Giles smiled briefly at the girl and her friend. "Yes, that's one of the reasons I asked you two over." Glancing at a still-fuming Spike, he said, "I have reason to believe that the storm is a symptom of something much, much worse."

"The world isn't ending again, is it, because Tara and I have plans..." Willow began, barely pausing for breath.

"Please, Willow," Giles interrupted, "this is very serious."

"Who was joking?" The redhead asked. Tara laid a calming hand on her girlfriend's arm.

Giles's response was interrupted by the ringing phone. Impatiently, he picked it up, answering, "Yes?"

Buffy's voice drifted over the line, sounding vaguely amused. "Giles? Everything all right over there?"

"Yes, Buffy, we're all fine." The ex-Watcher released a sigh which was part relief and part frustration. "I suppose you've noticed the storm."

"A little unusual for Sunny Southern California. It's very English, though. Bet you feel right at home."

Giles rolled his eyes. "This is quite serious, Buffy. Willow and Tara are here now; we're trying to discover the source of this sudden deluge."

"Let me know if you find anything," Buffy replied. "Riley and I are going out patrolling. What with Mr. Sunshine hiding his face today, the fang gang is probably going to try to take advantage."

"Ah, yes, an excellent idea. We'll keep in touch. Do be careful." Giles winced a bit at his omission of Angel's imminent arrival.

"Yeah, ok. Bye Giles," Buffy said, and they broke the connection. The ex-Watcher set the phone down, frowning, until a loud laugh caused him to look up.

"Well, now, look who's lying to his little blonde superhero?" Spike sneered, fixing his eyes, filled with undisguised malice, on Giles. "Go on, you want to tell your little admirers here what they're missing out on?"

Willow and Tara turned expectant eyes on Giles, who sighed heavily. Removing his glasses, he began cleaning them to stall for time. "Spike has very kindly informed me as to the identity of the vampires who are now stalking Sunnydale. The girl's name is Trinity; little is known about her other than that she is from the 16th Century, and that she was turned by a vampire named Father Francisco Sedona."

"A priest?" Willow interrupted curiously.

Giles nodded. "Yes, a priest. I'm going to need your help to find out all we can about these two, as well as the magickal storm they have created, for whatever purpose."

Willow exchanged a look with her girlfriend. "Anytime, Giles, you know that, but... Did you really lie to Buffy?"

"I called Angel to ask his assistance in dealing with these creatures. He, or apparently Angelus, knew them fairly well." Giles paused. "He's bringing Faith with him."

Spike laughed again at the shocked expressions on the two witches. "Bad to worse," he scoffed.

* * *

"A dream," Angel said, softly, as he drove his car through the rain slick streets of the outskirts of Sunnydale.

"You still thinking about that?" Faith asked. "Yeah, a dream. You get used to 'em when you're a Slayer. Though they never seem to make any sense." She fiddled with the radio, trying to bring in a decent station. "Never was any good music in Sunnydale," she grumbled.

"Do you think that it was a message from The Powers that Be?"

Faith sighed in exasperation. "How the hell should I know? Tell you what, next time I get dream-napped, I'll get their names."

Angel looked at the dark Slayer askance. "Nervous, huh?"

"Yeah," she replied softly, dropping her eyes. "You?"

"Yeah." The vampire's brow furrowed slightly, but he fell silent.

Faith nodded. "Understandable. I heard that the last time you came here you had a run-in with B's new boy-toy."

"I heard the same thing about you," Angel said quietly.

"Yeah." Faith leaned forward, and started fiddling with the radio again.

* * *

Buffy's stake plunged into the vampire's heart with a wet cracking sound, leaving the creature with only a moment of life to register its shock before dissolving into dust, leaving the Slayer with grit-caked hands. Buffy looked at herself, disgusted, and brushed damp bangs out of her eyes with her sleeve. "Okay, it's official. I'm cold, I'm wet, I'm muddy, and I want to go home."

Cold sheets of falling rain poured on the town since early that morning; sometimes a downpour, sometimes a penetrating drizzle that seemed to foil all raincoats and other efforts at protection. Having soaked the Slayer to the skin long ago, the rain now appeared to be trying to freeze her to death. Not exactly perfect June weather, Buffy thought wearily. At least most people are smart enough to stay in out of the rain.

Fortunately, the storm wasn't the feeding frenzy that the Slayer had feared it would be. With very few exceptions, people stayed indoors, or rushed to and from their destinations, leaving only a few on the streets.

Riley favored Buffy with an easy smile before removing his own thick army jacket and placing it around the Slayer's shoulders. "We have been going at this all day. Might be a good idea to knock off for the night. If Giles and the rest haven't found a solution to the rainstorm, we may have to do this again tomorrow."

Buffy sighed dramatically, fixing Riley with her best pout. "If they don't find out soon, I'm going to have to pull Slayer rank on those slackers. I'll talk to them tomorrow, and find out. In the meantime..." Buffy pulled Riley close, his arms settling around her shoulders. "I could use a nice hot shower and a nice comfortable bed. Care to join me?"

The young man chuckled. "For the shower, or the bed?"

"Both," replied Buffy, eyes twinkling as she pulled him through the rain and darkness toward Riley's apartment.

Unseen, a slim figure detached itself from the shadows and followed them silently.

* * *

Faith wiped her hands on her jeans, unsure whether the dampness was caused by the rain, or sweat, or both. She stood next to Angel, maybe just a little behind when the vampire knocked on Giles's front door. And maybe she just happened to move a little farther to the rear when Giles answered.

"Ah, please, come in," the ex-Watcher said, standing back so they could enter. Faith followed Angel inside, remembering with some discomfort about the last time she was here, during her masquerade. She could have killed them all, then, but she hadn't...that had to count for something, right?

Apparently not, Faith thought, as she looked around the room, all eyes fixed on her -- Angel's supportive, Giles's cautious, Willow's accusing, Tara's nervous, and Spike's amused. "H-Hey."

Willow spoke, and Faith winced as if anticipating a blow. "We'd better get going, we'll see you tomorrow morning, Giles." She pulled Tara along after her, protectively it seemed to Faith. "Angel," Willow said in brief greeting to the vampire. And then they were gone.

"That could have gone worse," Faith said, breaking the uneasy silence.

"I hope you didn't expect it to go any better," Giles replied, his voice thick with fatigue, looking older than Faith had ever seen him. "We've been researching since the early morning, Angel, so you'll excuse me for the lack of hospitality. We agreed to meet here again in the morning, and go over our findings. The rain should continue, so you shouldn't have any problem coming here."

Angel nodded to the ex-Watcher. "That will be fine. Faith and I will stay in the mansion. See you tomorrow, Giles. Spike." He barely acknowledged the blond vampire before leaving, Faith right on his heels.

"They hate me, don't they," Faith said, climbing into the car, her voice kept carefully neutral.

Angel looked over at her sympathetically. "For now. But what you did in there -- it's a start."

* * *

Faith jogged through the moonlit cemetery, her boots digging into the soft turf. She was following someone; a bent blade of grass here, a broken twig there was all she needed to track her prey. Who her prey was, she didn't know. She also didn't know why she was in a Sunnydale graveyard with no trace of rain clouds in the sky, but dreams are like that. Some things, you just accept.

"You're on the right track." The voice didn't surprise her, and neither did the figure of Buffy who was jogging alongside her.

"Am I?" Faith replied, not slowing down. "I guess you should know, you led me here."

"I did. But you still have a long way to go." Buffy came to a stop, and it took Faith a minute to realize this and stop herself. Neither one of them were even breathing hard.

"Why don't we just skip to the end, huh?" Faith asked, walking up to Buffy, getting as close as she dared. "Save us all a lot of trouble."

"Can't do that," Buffy replied, looking up at the other Slayer. "It's got to be done the hard way."

Faith paused for a moment, thinking about what she had told Angel. "Who are you? Who sent you?"

Buffy looked down, turning away slightly. "You don't need to know that."

"Tell me or I walk," Faith said, crossing her arms. Damned if she was going to be someone else's pawn, without knowing who the hell they were.

"You won't do that," Buffy replied easily. "Not if it means risking Buffy's life."

Faith opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She was right, dammit, she wasn't going to run again and desert Buffy when she needed her. "Who are you?" she asked again, impatiently.

Buffy sighed. "I could give you a dozen names, and none of them would mean anything to you. Suffice it to say that I come from up there." The blonde Slayer pointed up to the starlit sky.

"Aliens?" Faith smirked, and then relented when she saw Buffy's disgusted look. "Ok, Heaven?"

Buffy shrugged at the suggestion. "An imperfect definition, but close enough for our purposes."

"So what am I supposed to do?"

"You'll know when the time comes," Buffy answered, laying a comforting hand on Faith's shoulder. "At least, I think so, I'm not so clear on that. That's the hope, anyway."

"Great," Faith groaned, rolling her eyes. "You're depending on a psycho, you know that, right?"

Buffy grinned in response. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

Buffy was awakened early the next morning by the sound of drawers and closets opening. Cracking an eyelid, she peered out to see Riley dressing, quite literally, in his Sunday best.

"That time of week again, huh?" she mumbled, trying rather unsuccessfully to block out the small amount of light in the room.

"Every Sunday like clockwork," Riley answered, leaning over to give his girlfriend a kiss. "Sure you won't come with me?"

"Y'know...church, religion, me, they don't seem to mix so well. I figure I'm paying my dues with the whole exterminating evil gig." Buffy finally gave up on going back to sleep and sat up, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"Ok. I should be back around ten." Riley grabbed an overcoat and tossed it over his shoulder.

Buffy rose, walking somewhat unsteadily up to Riley to give him a hug goodbye. "I'm going over to Giles's, so meet me there."

"Will do." Riley kissed her and left the apartment, shrugging on his overcoat as protection against the rain.

Buffy hummed to herself as she got dressed; the hot shower of the previous night, the sleep, and...everything else...had really helped restore her energy level. Even with the threat of vampires in daytime, the Slayer couldn't help but be in a good mood.

Arriving at Giles's, Buffy opened the door and let herself inside, calling out to her watcher. "Giles, hi, it's me..." She trailed off as she looked at the crowded living room. Somewhere on the periphery of her awareness part of her brain acknowledged the existence of Giles, Willow, Tara, Spike...but she only had eyes for two people in that room. Angel...and Faith.

Ice cold anger gripped her heart, her vision narrowed, and she spoke with a voice that meant death.

"What is she doing here?"