She does not understand the relief the body is feeling; the sensation drifts away and she forgets entirely this first moment of contact. Later she will remember jumping; she will remember hot white light tearing her apart; she will not be able to stop remembering. And then quite suddenly the body will be turning, the arm lifting. A killing instinct she will lean up against her first months, something cold and hard that will slowly take hold of her, moves her now. She registers a hideous, shocked face, a red mouth full of pointed teeth. It explodes slowly into dust. Bones clatter at her feet and she suspects, suddenly, that she is in hell.
All eyes are watching the dance of death; the air has gone out of the room and the hunters move toward each other. As though on cue the rest of the battle stops, all heads swiveling toward the center of the storm. It draws them in, a force harder than gravity, and as one they watch.
Oz feels the blonde's death as if it is his own. He sees only the cold hands bracing her, the sickening crack of her neck. He cannot read her eyes, dressed though they are for this moment, for the death she has been seeking these past long years. His neck aches and his hands clench and she sways on her feet. He, careful pupil of Giles, knows what this means. He knows the only star in their sky has just gone out.
When her eyes snap suddenly, impossibly, open, she looks as surprised as he. There is something viscerally beautiful in the way she turns, in the sure grace of her hand plunging the stake into the creature's chest. He is gone in a whirl of dust and a high, animal scream.
The rest of the vampires stumble over themselves to escape the girl who does not die. And it is fortunate, for as they flee she drops her weapon and casts her eyes wildly over the mayhem. Oz is locked suddenly in that gaze, in that torment of confusion.
"Where am I?" she says, and her hand flies to her throat, her face. She touches her hair and her horror is growing. He can see her next question moving on her mouth and he is grateful that Larry has taken everyone to safety, that only his fellow White Hats remain.
"Hana," he says softly, his eyes never leaving the blonde's, "let's bring those back to Giles." The dark-haired girl at his elbow moves forward and kneels to collect the bones. He sees new caution in the eyes of the blonde, who still stands where she struck down the vampire. Where she was struck down by it.
"I need to see him," she says, her hands trembling, her heart trembling. "I need to see Giles."
* * * * *
Giles looked up from the mess of books before him as his front door swung open. He rose hastily but stopped halfway to the door as Oz, Hana, and the slayer trooped in.
"Oh thank god," he said, pushing his glasses back on and starting forward to take the large cloth bag Hana was carrying. "How did it go? What's happened?" he asked, glancing between the three.
"The Master's, well, in there," Hana supplied, gesturing toward the bag Giles had set on his desk. She pushed her hands into her back pockets and stepped toward the door. "I need to go help Larry and get home. They cleared out of the factory but we should go there tomorrow, make sure they stay gone."
"Quite right," Giles said with a nod. "Keep safe, Hana." As the dark-haired girl left, the watcher took a moment to study the slayer. She was curiously silent and still, given her earlier demeanor. Oz's reticence to speak was usual and so less troublesome.
"Giles," the blonde whispered when the door had clicked shut, her forehead creasing. "Giles, where -- when -- what is this place?" she asked, her eyes darting around his apartment, her voice growing fainter and fainter. "Is this hell?"
"Ah, nearly," he answered carefully, gesturing her toward the couch. "As I told your watcher, Sunnydale is situated -- "
"No," she cut him off, ignoring his invitation to sit. "I don't have a watcher. I'm not the slayer, my sister is, and you're her watcher. Please, Giles, what is this? Did Glory do this? I don't -- I -- I died," she choked out, remembering again the tower, every detail vivid. The hot breeze, the air electric with energy, the sway of metal beneath her, her feet setting just before she leapt.
Giles and Oz stared at her, and after a moment the older man stepped toward her and guided her to a seat on the couch, exchanging a baffled look with the guitarist. "Perhaps you two had better tell me what happened, from the beginning," he said gently.
Oz sat heavily in an armchair as Giles sank down next to the blonde. The boy scratched his head for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "Ah, I think she did die," he said, eyeing the slayer. "The Master snapped her neck, but then she turned around and staked him."
"Are you certain?" Giles asked.
"I heard it," Oz replied quietly.
"Miss Summers?" the watcher prompted, and then, at her silence, "Buffy?"
"No," she whispered, staring at her hands, moving her fingers. "I'm Dawn. Not Buffy, Dawn. What's wrong with me, Giles? Where's my body?"
"Dawn?" he echoed faintly. "Your, ah, the slayer's sister. I understand you haven't seen your family since -- "
"No!" she shouted, standing suddenly, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm Dawn. I -- I jumped into the portal, Glory opened it and only blood would close it, I jumped in and I died, Giles, I died, I died."
The watcher stood, holding her awkwardly as she sobbed. She clung to him and for a minute he was her Giles, the low murmur of his voice comforting, his arms a shelter. But then it was alien, his posture a bit too stiff, and he was the staid librarian she had met those years ago.
She pulled suddenly away from him, wiping quickly at her tears. He watched her silently for a moment, then nodded and guided her to the couch, glancing to Oz. "Daniel, there's a trunk in the upstairs closet, would you bring me the box inside?" he asked. The boy nodded.
"I, ah, would like to try a spell," the watcher said gently to the girl. "It will take some time, but it should help answer a few questions."
"You think I'm crazy," she said flatly, looking over at him.
"No," he countered, pushing off the couch and moving to his bookshelf. "But you understand we need some answers. Either you are under a spell or -- we need to know what's happened, if you've switched bodies or -- or something else."
She nodded, watching as he selected a book from the row and began leafing through it.
"You don't even live here any more," she whispered.
"Pardon?" Giles said, looking up at her. "I -- I've lived here for three years."
"Three?" she asked sharply. "How old is Buffy? Why aren't you her watcher? Where is everyone?"
"Buffy is seventeen," he replied calmly. "And I'm not entirely certain what you mean by 'everyone'." He set the book open on his already-cluttered desk, reaching for the phone. As he dialed he glanced back to the stairs.
"Is this right?" Oz asked, holding up the small wooden box he carried as he descended the stairs.
"Yes, if you could just set it on the chair over there," Giles replied, gesturing. "Thank you -- yes, hello, Jonathan. No, everyone's fine, the Master has been defeated. We do have another, ah, slight problem, I was hoping you could -- " he paused. "Of course, thank you. I'll see you shortly."
Giles set the phone back in the cradle, then crossed to the armchair, picking up the box Oz had deposited there. He opened it, glancing inside but addressing the slayer. "That was one of our group, our resident warlock. He will assist me with the spell. If it works correctly, I'll be able to, well, see your soul, your essence."
"And then you can put me back in my own body?" she asked, leaning forward, her eyes full of entreaty.
"One thing at a time," Giles cautioned, glancing up at her. "We won't need you physically present, though it would be useful to know where you are. I don't suppose you recall where you were planning to stay?"
The slayer shook her head, her eyes dropping. "I, uh, could stay at home?" she offered. "I could just tell my mom I'm tired, avoid ques--"
"Buffy," the watcher interrupted gently.
"Dawn."
"Ah, Dawn, yes," he amended. "Dawn, your parents live in France. It's a rather far trip for one evening."
"My -- they -- oh," she finished lamely. Giles frowned, noting her glazed, overwhelmed look. He glanced to Oz who, much to Giles' relief, offered the frightened girl a smile.
"Well," he said quietly, "my place is the size of a shoebox, but the couch is comfortable."
Dawn nodded, pushing up off Giles' sofa. "Thanks, Oz," she said faintly, her eyes moving again over the watcher's apartment.
The guitarist, who stood patiently at the door, looked curiously at the blonde. "It's Daniel, actually," he corrected. "I haven't been called Oz since I was twelve."
"Be careful," Giles cautioned as they stepped out into the darkness. Daniel nodded, and as the door swung shut the librarian leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh.
* * * * *
The slayer is shorter than she expected, and it is an odd sensation, being at once so hemmed in and so filled with an expansive, boundless power. She has already broken the doorknob to his bedroom, though he merely smiled in that cool, together way of his. She cannot worry about it, not in the face of that. She leans forward and Buffy's eyes narrow slightly. They are ringed in black and so look larger, darker, smoke blue. Otherwise she wears no makeup, her frowning mouth adorned with only the faint crease of a scar.
She lifts her hand and touches the soft grey cotton of the slayer's shirt, the cool metal of the cross at her throat. She shifts and everything is slightly different, her perspective off. When she glances to the window her skin prickles and she knows. She is a killer.
But no. A slayer is not a killer and she is not --
The girl in the mirror looks scared, and Dawn reaches to touch the glass, her mouth opening.
"I love you," Buffy whispers hoarsely, and her whole body is alive with the chill of it. Dawn closes her eyes and tries again, tries to draw on her sister's strength, tries to speak unobtrusively but hear with all of her being.
"I love you."
* * * * *
Daniel came awake all at once, lying rigid for a moment before he remembered -- he had slept on the couch, and the noise that had woken him was the phone. He twisted, grabbing for it.
"Hello?" he answered, his voice rough with sleep.
"Daniel, it's Giles." Beneath the usual calm, Daniel recognized the Englishman's excitement. "How is she?"
"Ah, not sure, just woke up," Daniel said, clearing his throat and throwing the blanket back. He pushed up off the couch and padded toward his bedroom.
"I need to see her immediately," Giles said.
"She's sleeping," Daniel replied, leaning against the doorframe for a moment, watching the girl's face, which was smooth and untroubled in slumber.
"Wake her, if you would," the librarian said. "I'll be over in fifteen minutes."
"Sure." Daniel clicked the phone off, then lifted his hand to knock softly on the open door. "Dawn?"
Giles had been leaning forward earnestly during the girl's story; as she finished he sat back, touching the edge of his glasses. "Well," he offered, "that fits with what I found. If this Glory did open a portal and you -- well, portals are uncertain creatures, there's really no predicting... I believe when Buffy died, you, ah, inhabited her body. It's a tricky thing to discuss. The spell last night, well, your body does not house your soul quite properly. The resonance is slightly off, but I believe over time it will even out; your training will be set back some, but -- "
"Over time?" Dawn interrupted, staring at him. "My training? No, I'm not the slayer, and I want to go home."
"I'm afraid that's quite beyond my abilities," Giles said gently. "I'll look into it, of course, but even if I knew anyone who could wield that sort of power it would be foolish to try it. I wouldn't begin to know how to locate your body; I'm not sure it's even possible. If we did find it, it's likely we would lose you and perhaps others in the attempt to return you. Also, there's no telling what effect this will have on the lineage of slayers. We can't chance losing you -- you're needed here too badly."
"What about Willow, or Tara? What if they -- " Dawn hesitated at his blank expression. "Willow and Tara. Willow Rosenberg -- "
"Is a vampire," Giles supplied.
"Was a vampire," Daniel amended quietly.
"Willow's -- right," Dawn said, her voice faint. "And Tara?"
"I'm afraid I don't know any Tara," Giles said, glancing to Daniel, who shook his head. The Englishman sighed and continued. "I don't want to rush you, but your watcher called this morning. I can't put him off forever, but I'm worried about how the Council will take this."
"Why aren't you Buffy's watcher?" Dawn asked.
"Ah, that's complicated," Giles evaded, frowning. "I don't know a great deal about your training, but I believe you've been in Cleveland for some time, God knows why. Your watcher is there waiting for you to return."
"I can't go to Cleveland," the girl said hastily. "If I have to wait here until you figure out how to send me back, I want to wait here-here. You can pretend to be my watcher or something, I'll -- "
The librarian's mouth thinned and he shook his head. "I'm afraid it's not that simple. You can't just hide out in Sunnydale, you're needed too badly. You'll have to take on Buffy's duties, including slaying and training. No one must sense the change, least of all your watcher. Who, I've no doubt, the Council will send here, should you choose to stay."
"I can't be Buffy," the slayer protested. "I don't know anything about her life here, I don't know her friends or where she's been or her watcher or anything."
"A slayer doesn't have friends. The rest I can teach you," Giles assured her. "Starting with your watcher, since he'll no doubt be here within a day or two. His name is Wesley Wyndham-Price."
* * * * *
"Again, Buffy, and watch your elbow! Honestly," Wesley muttered as he glanced back into the librarian's office, "she has never cared much for technique, but the past week -- she acts as though she hasn't had any training at all."
"The Master -- " Giles began wearily.
"Yes, well, she'd better get over it soon. She won't survive much longer on luck," the young man complained, frowning as he looked back out at the slayer. "Elbow, Buffy!" he shouted, starting toward her.
"My elbow. Doesn't. Bend. That. Way!" the blonde growled, punching hard at the training dummy.
"You're doing it all wrong," Wesley retorted, miming a movement in slow-motion, emphasizing his primly-tucked elbow. Dawn stopped and whirled slowly to face him.
"Fine," she said quietly. "You slay the vampires while I sit around drinking tea."
"Buffy," Giles warned from the office.
"Ah, if I may," Daniel interjected quietly. The slayer and her watcher glanced to him as he approached. "I think he means throw your power more -- like this," he continued, stepping up behind the slayer. He wrapped his hand over her fist and traced the trajectory of the motion once, then again a touch faster.
Dawn relaxed, letting her frustration drain away as she replicated the move on her own. "Thanks, Daniel," she said softly.
"Giles always says it's a mental thing. Except he uses more words, and sometimes diagrams," he said with a smile, wandering back toward the table.
"I'll bet," Dawn muttered.
"Back to work," Wesley broke in. The slayer sighed, but turned back to her practice dummy.
* * * * *
Giles looked up as the library door swung open and brightened.
"Your two favorite students," Hana said with a little wave. "You're looking unusually cheerful."
"Yes, well, it's difficult not to be," he began.
"Snyder's announcement?" the brunette supplied, grinning at the librarian's quick nod.
"Announcement?" Dawn asked, setting her wobbling stack of books heavily on the table, followed by her backpack. She blew out a sigh of relief, dropping into a chair. "Ironic how I need the slayer strength to carry all of the books I need because with the slaying I have no clue what's going on in school."
"Actually," Giles interjected, approaching the table, "I don't think that is irony."
"Ah, announcement," Hana said. "Monthly student memorials are now going to be held every other month."
"There's something wrong when I'm glad to be officially mourning classmates every other month," Dawn said, pushing her hair back and slouching in her chair.
"Yes, well, we're all working on it," Giles commented mildly, flipping one of her texts open. "Calculus, Buffy, this shouldn't be too difficult for you. Mr. Underdahl is supposed to be lenient, and I'm certain you could get a tutor to catch you up."
"Sixteen, Giles," Dawn reminded him. "At home I was just starting precalc. Senior English? So not happening. I'm maybe Dr. Suess level. The only thing I can do here is gym, and seniors don't take gym."
"Well, either you really work or you stay another year," the librarian said with a slight shrug.
"We'll get you through it," Hana reassured her. "You have time."
"What I need is Willow," Dawn complained. "That's how Buffy got through school. Sorry," she muttered at Giles' sharp look.
"I understand," he said gently. "But you know we must be cautious."
"So," Hana offered after a long moment of silence. "Birthday soon?"
Dawn blinked, frowning as she quickly counted the months she had been there. "Eighteenth," she whispered, her eyes lifting to Giles, who glanced uncomfortably away. "So the Council here has extra-special eighteenth birthday parties for their slayers too." It was not a question.
"Buffy," he hissed, grabbing her arm to stop her as she stood and turned.
"Don't," she snapped, pulling roughly away from him. "Were you even going to tell me? Were you just going to let them? Or were you going to help? You know I can't do this. You know I can't even do it with the extra strength."
"Keep your voice down!" he growled, and in a flash he was again a stranger, an agent of the Council, an unknown commodity. "Listen to me. You must not mention this ever again. The test is invalidated if you know."
"Good. Good, I want it invalidated. I won't do it. I've died once and I won't do it again. This," she gestured angrily around the library. "This is all over. You stop the test or I quit."
"Buffy," he said, his voice gentler, weary. "You know I can't. I'll help you all I can. We'll train harder, I'll tutor you in math and English and whatever else you need, I'll see that the White Hats redouble their patrols to take some of the pressure off of you. We'll prepare you and you will deal with this, because it's what you do. It's your job."
"No," Dawn whispered, backing away from him. "No, it was her job. I just want to go home."
"It bloody well is your job now and you'd do well to start believing it!" Giles snapped. "You don't take this seriously and people die. Real people. This isn't fantasyland, it isn't a dream, and you may not care but I do."
"Guys," Hana tried to interrupt meekly.
Following Giles' lead, Dawn ignored her, plowing on. "What in hell does this have to do with some barbaric -- "
"Buffy!" Giles warned, his eyes lifting to the main doors. One swung open and Wesley stepped into the sudden deafening silence. He stopped, glancing over the trio of tense faces.
"I'd like to train with staffs today," he announced. Giles turned away, his head bowing. Dawn stepped into the weapon's closet, pulling two staffs out and stalking toward her watcher. She tossed one roughly to him, and he caught it with a soft grunt of annoyance.
"Let's go outside. More room," Dawn said shortly, breezing past him. "I'll be back for my books."
Wesley looked up at Hana, offering her a quick shrug before turning to follow his slayer.
* * * * *
"Here, you need to -- no, start from -- " Daniel winced, reaching out to grab the hairbrush from Dawn. "Start from the bottom." He sat down on the couch, turning toward her as she joined him. "I had an aunt," he said with a grin at her questioning look, reaching to separate a portion of her hair.
"It was that demon," she complained. "All that sludge, I had to shampoo like five hundred times."
"Chillicothe demon," the guitarist supplied as he began to gently work the tangles out. "Helps to keep it short," he noted, eyeing the wash of blonde hair that nearly reached the small of her back.
"And change the color often?" Dawn quipped, glancing back at his hair, which was newly bluish black. He chuckled, turning her head away again and resuming his careful brushing. "You're right, of course," she continued. "It's a pain in the ass."
"Why don't you cut it?" he asked quietly.
"It's not -- it doesn't seem right," she sighed. "I mean, she must like it, if she -- "
"You," Daniel interrupted gently.
"Me?"
"You're the one who has to like it," he clarified. "It's your hair, Dawn."
"She's not coming back," the slayer said softly, staring down at her hands. She did not see his shrug but she could picture it perfectly: the simple rise and fall of his shoulders, the direct intensity of his hazel eyes.
* * * * *
Giles flipped the book shut and Wesley yanked his fingers out of it with an abbreviated curse, his mouth opening to protest. He looked up and the words died in his throat; he straightened and offered his slayer a smile.
"Buffy, hello," he said smoothly as the librarian began to stack books neatly atop the volume they'd been bent over.
"Hello, Wes," Dawn said, her smile growing as he frowned. "And what are you boys up to?" She perched on the edge of the table, but as she reached for the stack of books Giles lifted them and headed behind the counter.
"Researching," Wesley answered, still staring at her hair. Where it had usually been a severe blonde braid it now swung freely just above her shoulders, dyed a rich chocolate. "As you know, since you defeated the Master it's been a bit quiet, not at all what we expected. We, ah, believe that is because there is, ah, a new vampire who has, ah -- "
"Go ahead," Dawn said, still grinning. "You know you want to say something about it."
"He has taken up residence here and is attempting to take control," her watcher continued. She pouted, twisting to look back at Giles, who was returning to the table with a pair of short knives.
"Your hair looks lovely," the librarian said obligingly, setting the weapons down and gesturing toward Wesley. "But I think you ought to pay attention to this."
"Daniel helped me with it," she said, pushing her hand through it to enjoy its new lightness and remembering suddenly his fingers against her scalp, the shiver that slid down her spine. "Sort of an early birthday gift." Her emphasis earned her a sharp look and another gesture from Giles. She blew out an annoyed sigh and turned to Wesley. "So fang wants to be the new top dog, got it. Where is he? The White Hats are always ready for some good stakeage," she said.
"We're not entirely certain yet," Wesley answered, fussing at the knot of his tie. "I'm waiting for some sources to contact me. With some luck you'll be able to go in tomorrow night. If this is the case, it would be best for you to go alone, allow the others to continue their patrols so he isn't tipped off."
"Tomorrow night's no good," Dawn answered glibly. "I'm making myself a birthday dinner and I have a date with the television. No blood or slime or vamp dust in my hair tomorrow."
"Buffy," Wesley said, his tone sharper. "You have a sacred birthright to -- "
"Protect mankind, yadda yadda. I'll go out tonight, okay? And the night after tomorrow. But none of this birthday stuff," she implored. Wesley frowned, his eyes meeting Giles' briefly.
"We'll see," the watcher replied. "For now, some knife work. You're still overexerting yourself with them," he went on, reaching for the black-handled of the pair. Dawn frowned and grabbed it quickly.
"I want this one," she said, inspecting the blade quickly, wondering if the poison was invisible, how deeply he would need to cut her.
Wesley looked at her strangely but nodded. "Of course. Let's begin with your block."
* * * * *
"They took my mom," Dawn explained, pressing a hand back through her hair in frustration. "Buffy knew what it was but she had to go."
Daniel nodded silently, his mind still working through the sudden rush of information, trying to grasp the idea of the Council and what it meant.
"But my mom isn't here," the slayer continued. "Buffy hasn't even spoken to her in years, so -- oh god, Giles. He's as good as family, and the Council could easily take him. I have to go. I have to watch him."
"Dawn -- " he began, frowning.
"I've fought vampires without slayer strength before. I feel damned weak but I can't just leave him," she said, pulling on her coat. She caught him in a quick, impulsive hug, and his surprise chased away his doubt, his curiosity about her calling the librarian family.
"Thank you, Daniel," she called as she pulled open the door.
"Yeah," he whispered, watching it swing shut, still breathing the clean, warm scent of her hair. "You're welcome."
"Touching, isn't it?" A new voice drifted from behind him, low and smooth, English. "She thinks Tweed Man's the target, but I have better ideas. Oh yes, I have many ideas for you. We're going to have a party. The guests are all waiting for you."
Daniel fought against the arm across his chest, the hand over his mouth. There was a sharp blow to the back of his head and all was suddenly dark.
* * * * *
"Buffy? Buffy! Have you heard a word I've said?" Wesley demanded, annoyance coloring his voice.
"Hm? Oh, yes. Vampire, blah blah blah. One is a lot like another, Wes. Do you have a Cliffs' Notes version of this lecture?" Dawn asked, covering a yawn and glancing back to the stacks.
Wesley shot her a withering look and lifted his book primly, straightening his posture and beginning to pace slowly back and forth in front of her. "Berkley reports that the vampire and his mate were located sixteen days later in Prague. The mate was destroyed in a mob but the vampire was seen leaving the area. Reports of unusually ruthless activity in parts of France and Germany were not conclusively traced to him, but an incident in Amsterdam involving railroad spikes is almost certainly -- "
"Railroad what?" Dawn interrupted, her attention fixed suddenly on her watcher.
"You might try listening," he snapped, flipping angrily back a few pages. "Honestly, Buffy, as nicely as your physical training is coming along, you are sorely lacking and it will get you killed. Now, back to the beginning. William the Bloody -- "
"William the Bloody?" Dawn cut in again, though her voice was faint. "Spike?"
"Yes," Wesley sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He glanced up at the ceiling and then to Giles, who shrugged and stood.
"Buffy, please try to take this seriously," the librarian urged as he pulled his jacket on. "I'll see you both tomorrow."
"Wait!" Dawn leapt up, scrambling into her own coat. "I'll go with you. With, uh, Spike around and all, can't be too careful."
"Buffy," Wesley began, dismayed. "It's likely this vampire already knows a great deal about you. We haven't the time to spare. In matters such as these it is prudent to act early. Prevention -- excuse me!" He gaped at the slayer as she snatched the book out of his hand.
"I'll read it tonight," she said.
"This is unacceptable," Wesley protested.
"Buffy, truly, I can drive myself home," Giles offered.
"No," Dawn said, giving him a sharp look. "I'm done with this tonight. I'm tired and we're not even looking for answers about this sudden and mysterious lack of slayerness for me. I'm leaving." She whirled and pulled the library door open, but stopped short, staring at the ground. There was a torn, blood-stained shirt crumpled there. Dawn flipped it to show a faded Dingoes logo and half a dozen Polaroids. A swipe of her hand spread them across the floor, revealing Daniel's bruised face, his wrists straining against their tight bandages, his closed eyes.
"Oh my god," Dawn whispered, pushing to her feet and stumbling back. She whirled to face the expressionless Englishmen. "Where is he?" she growled.
"Ah -- " Wesley began, but Dawn cut him off with a raised hand.
"Cut the bullshit. You have about three seconds to tell me where he is before we find out how dangerous I can be without the strength."
Wesley swallowed and nodded, pointing to the book she still held. "It's all in there," he said.
"He gets hurt and I'm gone," Dawn said quietly, her eyes locking with Giles'.
* * * * *
"What the hell was that all about?" Wesley demanded, rounding on the librarian. "She knows? You told her?"
"I didn't tell her," Giles snapped. "I don't know how she found out, but it doesn't matter now."
"Bloody hell," Wesley muttered, flipping his cell open and dialing quickly. "Yes, hello, Wyndham-Price here. She's gone, but she's angry. You'd best call in a few extras... Well, get them up. She's clever but she's clearly not thinking at the moment." He paused, listening and nodding gravely. "Quite right. I'll hold." The watcher turned to face the librarian, frowning but saying nothing. After a few solid minutes of uneasy silence, Wesley tipped the phone up again.
"We're on our way," he said. He shut the phone and grabbed his jacket. "Let's go," he said.
"Excuse me?" Giles replied, crossing his arms over his chest.
"We're going to see Travers," the watcher replied, with a disapproving frown for Giles' hesitation. "Now. You care about the girl so much, prove it."
Giles' mouth opened and shut abruptly. He pushed past Wesley and out the door.
"Right," Dawn whispered to herself. "Hello irony." She glanced up the long, cracked driveway to the run-down, three-storied mansion. The windows were shattered, most of them boarded up, and the lovely stained glass panels flanking the sturdy front door were long gone. But it had the same architecture as the home she remembered, even if it was surely less sound. "And thank you fate," she muttered as she stepped up the walk.
The door swung open with a low groan. The entryway was full of cool, silvery moonlight that fell in from the upper windows, those that were too high for the vandals to reach. The chandelier still hung from the ceiling, though it was fuzzy and grey, nearly invisible with cobwebs. The sturdy railing flanking the two sweeping staircases was cracked in places, missing posts, coming loose. But what caught Dawn's attention immediately was the shadowed form collapsed on the second floor balcony. The hand hanging over the edge was still, though blood continued to gather slowly on the fingertips and drop to the first floor, where it had formed a small pool.
She stared in mute horror for a moment before the sound of the door swinging shut behind her snapped her back to awareness. She shifted her grip on her stake and started slowly up the left staircase. As she approached the body she could see it was not Daniel -- this man was larger, broad through the shoulders, with a mop of blonde hair. She edged closer, near enough to turn him with her foot. He rolled to his back and was suddenly staring at her, his eyes blue and glassy, like a doll's, his throat ripped open.
"Guess he got out on you," she whispered, though she immediately regretted it. Even the silence was better than the ghostly echo of her own voice, the small sound that revealed her scared, helpless. She backed away quickly, turning to flee down the stairs. She would start in the basement, in the secret cellar room.
"You've what?" Giles demanded, his palm smacking down hard on the desk as he leaned forward. Quentin Travers moved uncomfortably in his seat, shifting back.
"We will regain control," he said, his voice considerably more calm than his body language had betrayed him. "We've sent in additional units. And there is of course the chance that Miss Summers will prevail. It's happened many times before."
Wesley frowned, his arms folding over his slim chest. "This is Council responsibility," he said, with no little venom.
"Wesley," Quentin warned. "The Council will not spurn Mr. Giles' help, should he choose to offer it again." He glanced to the librarian, his expression cool, unreadable. It was Giles' turn to be uncomfortable, and he pulled his glasses off, his eyes dropping. "I understand the slayer has warmed to you," Quentin continued smoothly. "Accepts your advice, seeks it out. You must understand this has created something of a quandary for us. She has been less than tractable from the start, which -- " he lifted a hand to stop Wesley's outraged protest -- "which is probably what's kept her alive. But if she is to remain that way, she must come to trust us. Especially here."
Giles nodded, cleaning his glasses quickly before pushing them back on. "Of course I understand that Wesley is properly her watcher, but remaining here was her idea. The right decision, too, as far as I'm concerned, considering -- "
"Your hellmouth, of course," Wesley supplied, just short of rolling his eyes.
"Rupert, you may remain but understand that should you undermine the authority of the Council or its representatives, we will have to remove you," Quentin said, standing and grasping Giles' hand in a firm shake. "A rogue watcher is bad enough. I don't want to imagine a rogue slayer." The older man smiled, releasing the librarian's hand. "Now, the matter of this test."
"All right, this is getting ridiculous," Dawn muttered, turning in a slow circle, looking again around the last third floor bedroom. She had swept the house with meticulous care, triggering all traps and investigating every newly-bricked passageway. She was bruised and cut and had found four other bodies during the course of her investigation, but there had been no sign of Spike or Daniel. The slayer bit back a cry of frustration, her hands slamming down on the windowsill. She leaned forward, looking through the dirty glass and trying to figure out how long she had been there, how long it had been since she had last seen Daniel. She fought furiously against the sudden sting of tears, focusing instead on the clouds moving across the stars, blotting them slowly out. And then she found herself staring straight back at the tower.
She swore, shoving away from the window and sprinting toward the stairs. "Stupid, Dawn, stupid stupid," she muttered. Her dash through the house was a blur, conducted without thought, and she found herself crouched in the garden, half-hidden by a riot of brittle, dead foliage. She looked through the unmistakable thorny tangle of what was once a rosebush to where the tower stretched against the sky.
"Slayer," came the whispered voice. "I can hear you, I can. All your breathing and heart-beating and fear. Don't you want to come play?" The sound crept up Dawn's spine, the painful familiarity prickling her skin. "She always loved to play," Spike continued, his voice drawing nearer but still indistinct, still coming from everywhere at once. "With her dolls and her cakes. She loved little boys and girls. And puppies. And slayers. I kill them all for her, I kill them all but she stays away. I'll prove it though. William's a faithful boy."
Dawn knew, suddenly, that one more moment and he would be there, he would have her. Without her strength and out in the open she stood no chance. If she could get him in the house again, maybe... She rolled suddenly beneath the bushes to her left. Somehow she broke through them, was yet safe in the maze of the overgrown garden.
"Scared little slayer. She would know, she would know what to do about you, she'll like to watch you die, she'll taste it and sing her songs and she'll see," Spike continued, his voice retreating and growing close again. Suddenly, everything fell together in Dawn's mind.
"Drusilla," she whispered.
"Don't!" Spike shouted. "Don't you say her name! Get away from her!"
Dawn sprang up, leaping awkwardly over a low row of brown hedge and sprinting toward the house. She could hear him behind her, could hear his snarl and sudden flight. Almost as soon as she slammed the door shut it was ripped open, and she whirled to face him.
It was unmistakably Spike, though she had rarely seen him in game face and his hair was longer, tousled and beginning to curl, almost entirely brown. His eyes were yellow, crazed, his clothing torn and smeared with dirt. The slayer and the vampire stopped on opposite sides of the kitchen table, frozen for a moment as each waited for the other to move. Dawn's world narrowed to the high, violent hammering of her heart and the coldness of his eyes.
"What? Don't want to go a few rounds?" he asked, leaning forward over the table. "Afraid, slayer?"
Dawn braced her palms against the table and pushed as hard as she could. It budged only a few inches, but it was enough to throw him off balance. She spun and sprinted down the hall into the entryway, but as she reached the front door a hand closed over her ankle and pulled. She fell hard, the air rushing out of her lungs. She turned and he clawed up her body, looming over her, but as his fangs descended toward her throat she wrestled her arm free and smashed a vial of holy water over his head.
He screamed, his skin smoking, and she pushed him away, scrambling to her feet and running for the stairs. As she hit the second floor landing and broke left she realized her mistake: there were no exits on the upper floors, no way back out.
"Fight with me!" Spike shouted behind her, and she had no choice but to run blindly through the maze of the master suite as he closed in again. She pulled a stake out, turning to meet him, still backing quickly away. When she hit the wall it made a hollow sound and she remembered suddenly the dumbwaiter. Whirling, she pulled the doors open and glanced down the empty shaft before working her way inside. Spike slammed hard against the wall as she dropped. She landed awkwardly on the first floor and wrestled the doors open before rolling out into the kitchen. She pushed to her feet, wincing at the stab of pain in her ankle.
She made it to the top of the tower stairs before he caught up with her again, and it was only base instinct that moved her past her shock into the room. Daniel was bound to a chair in the center of the room, facing the back wall. She could see his awkwardly-bent wrists straining against black electrical tape, the moonlit slope of his bare shoulders and neck, his bowed head. The room was lined with shelves; where the wood had not rotted through there were dolls, dozens propped in rows, all watching through blank, glassy eyes.
Dawn rushed toward the guitarist but Spike beat her there, yanking him upright in the chair and twisting his head to bare his neck. He bit back a cry of pain, his eyes closing tightly.
"No!" Dawn shouted, her stake raised but her feet leaden.
"Ready to fight, slayer?" the vampire snarled, his fingers tightening in Daniel's hair.
Dawn fell back against the shelves and Spike's eyes widened as he stiffened. She reached up and grabbed the nearest doll, holding it tightly. "I'll smash it," she whispered, holding the delicate porcelain face near the wall. "I'll smash them all."
"No," he croaked, his grip loosening.
"A trade," Dawn said, her voice becoming more sure. She stepped forward, the doll in one hand and the stake in the other.
"Yes," Spike whispered, nodding quickly. When the slayer was near enough he lunged forward to grab the doll, abandoning Daniel entirely. The vampire huddled against the far wall, sweeping the dolls down from the shelf into his arms.
"Dawn?" Daniel rasped, his chin lifting.
"Shh," she said quickly, stepping between him and the vampire. "She's dead, Spike. She's gone."
"No!" Spike shouted, though he fell to his knees, the dolls dropping one by one as his arms loosened. "It's forever, she told me it's forever. If I just keep her things nice everything will be like it was and we can sleep, she'll come home and we can sleep."
Dawn stepped forward slowly as the vampire sagged, his arms falling to his sides. He sat back on his heels, leaving her a clear shot at his chest. "I'm sorry, Spike," she whispered, holding back tears as she slammed the stake quickly into his heart. His head shot back, his eyes wide and blue, and his mouth twisted into a smile before it crumbled away.
* * * * *
"Daniel? Are you okay? Talk to me," Dawn urged as she knelt behind him, trying to free his wrists.
"Yeah," Daniel said, his voice rough. He cleared his throat, shifting in the chair, trying to ease the ache in his elbows and shoulders. "New levels of fun."
"Are you hurt? Did he do anything to you?" she asked, unwinding the tape. When she reached his skin she yanked it off quickly; though he winced, he brought his wrists around in front of him with a small, grateful smile.
"Tied me up and talked a lot," the guitarist replied, his eyes falling to her as she crouched in front of him. "Hey, shh, I'm fine," he whispered, touching her cheek, his thumb sweeping beneath her tear-filled eye. She straightened, her fingers brushing back through his hair, her gaze locking with his. And then she was kissing him, his mouth surprisingly soft beneath hers, gentle.
They broke apart at the sound of several people running up the stairs. They both scrambled to their feet, Dawn pressing a stake into Daniel's hand as they turned to face the room's entrance. Three men burst in, armed to the teeth with crosses, stakes, and crossbows.
Dawn relaxed, her tense expression melting into one of mild disgust. "Nice timing," she muttered, turning pointedly away from them. "Daniel," she said, more gently, "let's go."
He nodded, but as they started toward the trio of stunned Council lackeys he frowned, noting her limp, the bruises forming beneath her skin, the network of cuts. "Hey, careful," he said, moving to support her.
"You got him, then?" one of the Englishmen asked, striding confidently into the room.
"Yes," Dawn snapped. "And I'd rather not discuss it with you."
"Hey," the second man said, fixing her with a sharp look. "There were three more in the house. It's not like we stopped for a show on the way."
"And who set this up?" the slayer countered, gesturing harshly toward the house. "You know, nevermind. I don't want to hear it." She shoved past them and started down the stairs.
The first man turned to the others, rolling his eyes. "Wesley was right," he muttered before they fell in behind her and Daniel.
* * * * *
"We did not intend for the vampire to escape," Quentin explained calmly as Wesley set the tray in the center of the table and began pouring tea.
"Didn't intend?" Dawn demanded. "Your intentions amount to pretty much nothing. Daniel could've died."
"People did die," Quentin continued coolly. "It's the risk we all take."
"Why risk it stupidly?" she countered. "We face enough danger every day without needing stupid tests to tempt fate. We live on a hellmouth." Wesley rolled his eyes and threw up his hands, turning away from the group gathered around the table.
"We live on a hellmouth," Dawn reiterated, glaring. "An open hellmouth. We are tested every day."
"I'm well aware," Quentin said. "I know what you face, and that's why this test and the guidance you receive from the Council is vital. Absolutely vital. Yes, there is a chance you could have died, but we lost eight men trying to prevent that. I recognize that you do not trust us yet, but we are your allies in this war. We are here to help you become a better warrior, but you must be willing to put some faith in your watcher."
"This is crap," Dawn snapped. "You and my watcher are trying to get me killed. A slayer has no friends, you say. It was a necessary test, you say. But you take my strength. You take my best weapon -- "
"No," Quentin cut in. "No, and that is what this test is designed to show. Your mind, your mind, Miss Summers, that is your best weapon. As for slayers not having friends, surely you have learned this lesson also? They are a weakness for you, yes, but much worse it is a grave danger for them. Because of your strength, because of what you are, your adversaries will look for these sorts of weaknesses. A slayer's friends and confidantes, should she keep them, are invariably targeted and eliminated."
Dawn blinked, wilting in her chair. "So you're like...good guys?" she asked meekly.
Quentin, Wesley, and Giles all stared at her for a moment, then nodded slowly.
"Miss Summers," Quentin began, rising and moving to her side. "Buffy, I am terribly sorry for tonight. I hope you will use the experience to grow, however. The Council certainly will. We are very proud of your progress, though you've a long way to go. If you're feeling more yourself tomorrow, which you should be, we would like to observe some of your training sessions. Then we'll return to England and continue work on the problem of how to close this hellmouth of yours."
Dawn nodded, glancing up at the Englishman's kind face. "Of course," she said quietly.